(no subject)

[xlizabeth-x.livejournal.com]

Title: Autumn.
Author: Liz [me]
Pairing: House/Sick!Wilson. [oh noes.]
Rating: PG?
Disclaimer: I don't own them, this is just for fun - not profit, so please don't sue.
Notes: After I drew that picture, I was inspired to actually write out the story behind it - so here it is. It's a bit bittersweet/angsty. Reviews and Suggestions are loved. ♥



“God, I feel like I’m trapped in here sometimes,” He whispered against the glass, as he peered onto the outside world.

House stood beside him, watching him instead of the autumn leaves falling all around outside. “They need to get you better before you can outside.” His voice was softer than usual, but more likely from him being so tired opposed to affection.

Wilson looked at him, and the older man made a face before saying “Duh.”

Wilson rolled his eyes and looked back outside, a bittersweet smile on his face. “I just want to go outside.” He was whispering now, even though it was only himself and House in the corridor.

“No.” House said sternly, grabbing Wilson by the arm and steering him away from the window. “Your immune system is still recovering, you might catch something.” He was staring at Wilson with such intensity, that the younger man shuddered.

He wasn’t about to give up though. “I’ll wear a mask!” He tried to rip his arm away from House, but his grip was too tight. “I’ll wear like a million sweaters if you want me to, so I won’t catch a cold!” He sounded much like a teenager persuading his parents to let him go to a party where there were no parents.

“The answer is no.” House said, finally letting go of Wilson. The younger of the two looked down at his feet with a disheartened sigh, and let his shoulders slump forward.

“I just wanted to feel the wind again,” He whispered more to himself than House. “You know, before I die . . . “

House’s eyes snapped over to Wilson, and he looked absolutely rigid for a moment; like he might reach out and strike Wilson, but then his expression went soft. “You’re not dying.” He said his voice uncertain and shaky.

Wilson shrugged “Everyone dies.” He looked back out at the autumn trees, and gave a small smile. “My time’s coming soon I think,”

House gave a small laugh that sounded much too mirthless, like he was trying to mask up a sob. His hand gripped Wilson’s shoulder in an uncharacteristic way, and he squeezed it a little. “You’re time isn’t coming up for a long time.” He reassured him. “I’ll figure it out; you’re going to be okay . . .”

Wilson smiled, but it was sadder than a real smile, and he looked down. “I hope so.”

They stood there like that for a few silent moments, until House dropped his hand and smiled. “So where is it that you want to go?” House asked.

“What?” Wilson asked, confused.

“You said you wanted to go outside,” House gestured out the window. “Where outside?”

* * *

They were standing in the park, underneath a shower of cascading leaves, when Wilson finally turned to him and grinned. “Thanks.” Was all he said, and House simply nodded.

The younger doctor turned away and looked up at the falling leaves.

House watched him with a twinge of pain nipping at his heart. His best friend had grown considerably thinner in the last few months. His skin was paler than it once was, that glow of life slowly slipping away. Often his skin looked too tight, like it was being stretched across the bones instead of hanging comfortably. Dark circles formed under his brown eyes, taking on purplish bruise-like tints. His movement had become sluggish, rather than the graceful step he used to have.

He was dying.

House watched as Wilson held his arms out and began to spin through the leaves, grinning and laughing at himself. A smile worked its way onto his lips at the sight of him living.

“I love autumn!” Wilson shouted towards House, but it sounded like he was shouting it at the leaves in actuality.

House leaned against his cane, his eyes trained on Wilson as he ran in circles, batting at the leaves, and twirling amongst them. He’d trip over his feet every now and then, which would only make him laugh a little more.

After a few moments, Wilson stopped; his breaths heavy and labored. “Are you okay?” House asked, stepping towards him.

Wilson nodded, and held out a hand, as if to stop House. “I’m just tired.” He said, smiling up at House, who was hovering over him with concern.

The wind picked up suddenly, blowing right against the two. Wilson cringed at first, and House wrapped his coat around himself a little tighter. Then Wilson slowly relaxed, and let the wind whip his hair all around him, and cut against his face.

House watched the scene, and had to swallow a lump in his throat to keep himself away from the pain; the tears he knew he’d never cry. “You’re going to get a cold doing that.” House said, removing his scarf from around his neck and wrapping it around Wilson’s.

Wilson looked at the scarf and removed it, handing it back to House. “You’re cold.” He said simply. “I don’t want it.”

“Take the damn scarf.” House said, his voice shaking again.

“No.” Wilson growled, glaring up at House.

House grabbed the long scarf and wrapped it around his own neck, and then Wilson’s, tying it awkwardly in the middle.

Wilson blushed wildly, and House couldn’t help but smile as a fraction of what his color used to be returned to his face. “Seriously . . . ,” Wilson whispered “I’m not that cold.”

“I’m not taking any chances.” House said, just as softly, before he found himself locked in a stare with the other man.

Wilson looked away first, only to smile gently. He turned to the side, so that his back was facing House, and pressed against him. House faltered, unsure of what it was Wilson was doing.

His arms, as if working on their own, wrapped around Wilson’s slender waist, and pulled him all the more closer. He stood like that for a moment, before he set his chin on Wilson’s shoulder, and pressed the side of his face against Wilson’s face.

Wilson leaned into House, and brought a hand up to touch the hands around his waist, the other hand venturing up to caress House’s face. The feel of the stubble on his fingers made him smile, but he wasn’t sure why.

Wilson eventually closed his eyes, and allowed himself to rest against House, who was staring at him fondly. “Maybe . . . ,” Wilson muttered. “Maybe my time isn’t coming up as soon as I thought it was.”

House felt hope surge through him, and couldn’t help but hold onto the other man tighter. “Yeah,” His voice was still shaking. “Why is that . . . ?”

There was silence, filled only by the sound of the leaves scraping the earth as the wind tossed them around. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Wilson spoke gently – so gently, House doubted he really even heard it.

“I’m not ready to give up yet . . . ,”

House bit into his lip, and clamped his eyes shut, hiding his face in the crook of Wilson’s neck. Wilson’s hand came up and played with the hair by the nape of his neck, his soft fingers tickling the skin there.

“You’re going to be okay . . . ,” House said, reassuring himself more than Wilson. “We’re going to be okay.” His voice cracked slightly, but he didn’t care, he was too busy memorizing the feel of Wilson against him – breathing, speaking . . . living.

“I love autumn,” Wilson said suddenly. House looked at him, and the younger man smiled affectionately at him. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” House said, blinking away some tears. “I really do.”