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cindylouwho House bangs through the door. "Wils . . ." He stops and just stands there, the name frozen on his lips in time.
He has no idea how much time has passed when Cuddy places her hand on his shoulder; seconds, minutes, hours. He turns to her; his eyes so dark. They remind her of the ocean during a storm.
"I heard this rumour about the tranny nurse," he begins. He stops. There is no more he can say.
Cuddy just stands there, listening and waiting. This is one of the reasons she hasn't assigned this office to anyone. She can't. He can still see the diplomas on the wall, the stacks of patient files on the desk.
House stares down at the carpet. "Fuck." He turns to walk out the door, Cuddy's hand falling back. He pauses at the door itself and lightly fingers the faded outline of Wilson's name still faintly visible. He doesn't look back.
Cuddy doesn't know how long she stands there after House has left. Her cheeks are damp. She turns to leave and closes the door without so much of a sound of the lock, or the squeak of a hinge. She lifts her face heavenward, as if to make sure the tears and the unsaid words don't go unnoticed.
House watches from the conference room. He sighs and palms two Vicodin, and silently wishes he could trade places with Wilson.
He has no idea how much time has passed when Cuddy places her hand on his shoulder; seconds, minutes, hours. He turns to her; his eyes so dark. They remind her of the ocean during a storm.
"I heard this rumour about the tranny nurse," he begins. He stops. There is no more he can say.
Cuddy just stands there, listening and waiting. This is one of the reasons she hasn't assigned this office to anyone. She can't. He can still see the diplomas on the wall, the stacks of patient files on the desk.
House stares down at the carpet. "Fuck." He turns to walk out the door, Cuddy's hand falling back. He pauses at the door itself and lightly fingers the faded outline of Wilson's name still faintly visible. He doesn't look back.
Cuddy doesn't know how long she stands there after House has left. Her cheeks are damp. She turns to leave and closes the door without so much of a sound of the lock, or the squeak of a hinge. She lifts her face heavenward, as if to make sure the tears and the unsaid words don't go unnoticed.
House watches from the conference room. He sighs and palms two Vicodin, and silently wishes he could trade places with Wilson.
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Date: 2008-03-07 03:42 am (UTC)That was so brilliant. Love the way House can't let go of his routine, and Wilson... <3
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Date: 2008-03-07 11:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-07 05:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-07 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-07 09:21 am (UTC)sad, but well done.
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Date: 2008-03-07 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-07 02:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-07 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-07 09:41 pm (UTC)<3
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Date: 2008-03-07 11:30 pm (UTC)