Fic: Snow
Title: Snow
Author: kiwi_from_hell
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I wish
Summary: Wilson needs to make sure House is okay. A short post-ep ficlet for "One Room, One Day."
Notes: My first piece for a while. I hope I still have their voices right.



“Why haven’t you gone home? Or back to that hotel room you call home now.”

“I saw the light on.”

House imagined his pores tightening in the cold room; the heating systems to the offices had clicked off for the night, and the stifling warmth was filtering away. Soon it would be bitterly cold, he supposed, and he would get up to turn the radiator on manually. It was always hard to find that balance. He blinked once, slowly, to focus on the sharp air against his face.

House was resting his forehead to the top of his cane, using the pressure to relieve the pain in his head that Vicodin just wouldn’t work for. It made a black line down the centre of his vision, a solid block he couldn’t see. On one side was his desk, the other the window.

He turned his eyes to the window and watching the snow turning to a light slush on the concrete. It had been pretty earlier, gracing the landscape and gently weighing down tree branches. Like a Christmas card, with significantly lower levels of God and good tidings. It settled up here more. The park had been clear during the day, with enough exposure to sunlight and enough people traipsing through to make it melt. Droplets of rain were falling now.

A metaphor could be pulled out of that, House thought, if he tried. Best not to. The desk on his other side; it had pens, papers, more pens…more papers. There was nothing interesting about the desk; it was another distraction, another step back. This time, a distraction from the person sitting just to the other side of it. Wilson had been sat there for how long now? House hadn’t been paying attention.

Without moving his head, House could only see his hand, and he didn’t want to move his head as that would invite conversation. One hand was resting on a clear space on the desk. House could see the pale ring left by Wilson’s wedding ring, a chewed shard at the side of his nail that must have been painful. The skin was slightly inflamed around it. House timed his breathing to the soft sound of Wilson inhaling and exhaling.

“Are we going to talk then?”

The sudden sound was enough to make House’s chest clench. “I told her the truth. That was all she wanted to hear.”

“It’s all any of us do.” Wilson tapped a pen on the edge of House’s desk. “You okay?”

House shot Wilson a look. “One day, pay attention to a speech I make.”

“One day, let me answer it before you walk out of a room. I’m not asking because I want you to feel pain, get over and become a healthy human being. I don’t want miracles. I’m asking because I want to know if you’re okay.” Wilson paused, and looked over to House. He wasn’t responding. “It’s this thing called compassion. Some of us are able to display it for more than once a lifetime without bursting into flames.”

“I’m okay.”

Wilson dropped his hands down onto his knees and eased out of his chair. “You’re not going to tell me anymore than that, are you?”

“It’s not important,” House said. He looked up met Wilson’s eyes for the first time, just briefly. The concerned look was familiar; a few curls of hair out of place, a weary control over his features. His office was too dark to make it out, really, but he didn’t need to see it.

“Yeah, it is.”

“You are in every room, every day. I have to keep something quiet or I’ll lose my air of mystery.”

“Yeah,” Wilson murmured. “How much longer are you planning on sitting there?”

“Until the snow goes away.”