Summary: Songfic to "On My Own" from "Les Mis," House/Wilson slash (sort of).

A/N: This would take place between 7.20 "Baggage" and 7.21 "Help Me".

Disclaimer: House, Wilson, and Sam do not belong to me, they belong to David Shore. I wish House and Wilson belonged to me, but David Shore can keep Sam, I don't want her. The song lyrics in italics do not belong to me, they are from the musical "Les Miserables" and belong to Alain Boubill and Herbert Kretzmer (according to Wikipedia).

On My Own

On my own, pretending he's beside me
All alone I walk with him till morning
Without him I feel his arms around me
And when I lose my way I close my eyes and he has found me

House's fingers danced across the keys of the organ Wilson had given him. It was truly the best gift he'd ever received from someone, and the fact that it came from Wilson...the man he meant more to him than he could possibly describe. He couldn't play something on this magical instrument and not play it for Wilson, his Wilson...

"Greg?" this man's voice came from somewhere behind him.

His fingers left the keys as he turned to face him, to smile at him, to see his Wilson's beautiful smile in return.

"Come to bed," Wilson requested.

In the rain the pavement shines like silver
All the lights are misty in the river
In the darkness the trees are full of starlight
And all I see is him and me forever and forever

House did not respond verbally, but he stood up, rising slowly from the piano bench to meet his Wilson and envelop him in his arms. They kissed—he marvelled at the feeling of his Wilson's lips beneath his, his soft warm tongue, tasting of toothpaste because it was nighttime and he'd already brushed his teeth...

His hands clasped his Wilson's as they made their way to the bedroom. Soft kisses...gentle touches, His Wilson fell asleep in his arms.


House woke up in his bed, alone. He was in his apartment. He couldn't even tell if he'd dreamed of Wilson again or just fantasised about him before bed like he did every night...every waking moment...

He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection. He tasted toothpaste, having just brushed his teeth, but the minty freshness just felt cold and synthetic compared to last night...

And I know it's only in mind
And that I'm talking to myself and not to him
And although I know that he is blind
Still I say there's a way for us

It wasn't all fantasy. Wilson had given him that wonderful organ, its music so vibrant, its feel so alive beneath his fingers. And he knew Wilson loved him. The fact that he bought the organ in the first place, and the way...the way he and James had looked at each other across the room...That was love, he knew it, it was almost tangible in the air between them. He could feel it. He could feel it every day, in chest, sometimes making him feel light enough to float, other times making his heart so heavy he thought he might drown...

"Sam...likes you..."

"But she wants me to move out."

"No. I want you to move out."

Unrequited? Or just denied?

The why made little difference; the result was the same. Whether he loved him or not, Wilson did not want him.

House tried not to think about that as he went to work, went through his day. Tried being the operative word. How could he not think of Wilson when his thoughts, his love for the man consumed him like they did?

He had to be with Wilson, preferably in person, not just imagination.

They only saw each other at work now, now that Sam had taken over. When Amber had been the woman in his life, House had been able to reach a custody agreement with her, splitting their time with the man they both adored. As much as the two of them disliked each other, they'd at least respected Wilson's need to have the other in his life.

House knew he'd have no such luck with Sam.

I love him
But when the night is over
He is gone, the river's just a river
Without him, the world around me changes
The trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers

House didn't take his lunches with Wilson for granted. It was time...the only time, he could be with his love just to be with him. To talk about nonsense of little or no importance, everyday conversations quickly forgotten that kept their friendship alive.

They hadn't gone down together, but there Wilson was, at their usual table. His fries sat on his plate, waiting for House, almost as tantalising as the man who'd purchased them...

House made his way to the table, eyes fixated on the object of his desire that would never know, refused to know, the depth of the older man's feelings for him. Wilson hadn't seen him yet, but he hadn't started eating, either. They did this almost every day. He knew he was having company...

But no...

House's stomach swooped as he saw Wilson rise and greet someone else...a woman with curly blonde hair who was carrying her own lunch. They kissed for a moment before she sat down...

Wilson had been planning on company for lunch...just not House.

I love him
But every day I'm learning
All my life I've only been pretending
Without me his world will go on turning
A world that's full of happiness that I have never known

He hadn't talked to Wilson all day. Because his patient hadn't showed any signs indicating cancer. And what else was there to talk about between them? What else was there to say?

House's fingers danced across the keys as he closed his eyes and let the sound fill the room...his left hand kept playing as his right hand reached for the glass of scotch on top of his piano...

I love him
I love him
I love him...
...But only on my own