Sooner than expected (rp for incorrigibledoc)
Please, don't tell Lisa I told you...I don't know if she wants you to know. She and House are sort of... I don't know, but I know she's kind of in love with him...
Wilson wasn't very aware of himself as he walked up the stairs and fled back into his room. His towel dropped to the floor once he was in the bathroom and he found himself leaning against the sink once again, just as he had when House was in here with him last. He tried to steady his breathing, staring down into the white porcelain and refusing to look up at himself. What?
What? Alice's words wouldn't stop looping inside his head. Images of House with her, images of Cuddy. Cuddy. In love?
He didn't know what to think. Wilson didn't know how to process that. It just...
He shook his head to himself and shut his eyes, inhaling deeply and turning the water on. He bent down and splashed some on his face, his already wet hair falling in his eyes. Beyond not knowing anything, not understanding anything, Wilson wasn't sure how to feel. Outside of being shocked and strangely detached. The memories of House pressing him up against a wall - the wall just outside the bathroom he was standing in - rose again and made his chest tighten.
He couldn't handle this. He didn't want to handle it. Coming to terms with something so unexpected, so confusing, meant coming to terms with his own feelings about it. He couldn't even begin to work that out, separate his own reactions and emotions from the sheer hugeness of the information itself. House and Alice. House and Cuddy. Sex and more than sex and--
Wilson shut the water off and spun around, leaving the bathroom and moving to his dresser. He was astounded to find his clothes inside the drawers. His mouth opened for the fifth time that hour and he glanced over his shoulder. The pile of dirty laundry wasn't there. His clothes were clean and neatly arranged in the drawer. Too much. Too much to think about.
The awareness of wanting, needing, a drink hit him hard in the gut and he snatched a pair of pants and a shirt, slipping out of his swimming trunks. All he knew was he wasn't staying in this damn room. But he had no where to go, once again. No one to go to. There was one thing to be certain of and that was he couldn't see House. Or Cuddy. Or even Stacy. Not right now. Perhaps he didn't have to be concerned about the first of the three, realizing bitterly that House probably wanted nothing to do with him either. After dressing he slammed the drawer shut and shoved his key in his pocket, slamming his door firmly after exiting the room.
Time for the bar. Maybe he wouldn't drink. Maybe he would. God, he didn't know. He'd promised Hou- he didn't want to think about House. He just wanted to breathe. A glass of water, orange juice, scotch...just out of his room and away from these thoughts.
Before he knew it, his feet had faithfully carried him to his destination and Wilson took a seat on the same stool he'd been sitting on next to House so long ago. He didn't look around, didn't check to see who else was there. Part of him was afraid to and another part of him didn't care. When the bartender approached him and raised an eyebrow, asking him what he wanted, Wilson rested his head in one hand.
"I don't know," he muttered miserably. That summed everything up nicely, he thought.
Wilson wasn't very aware of himself as he walked up the stairs and fled back into his room. His towel dropped to the floor once he was in the bathroom and he found himself leaning against the sink once again, just as he had when House was in here with him last. He tried to steady his breathing, staring down into the white porcelain and refusing to look up at himself. What?
What? Alice's words wouldn't stop looping inside his head. Images of House with her, images of Cuddy. Cuddy. In love?
He didn't know what to think. Wilson didn't know how to process that. It just...
He shook his head to himself and shut his eyes, inhaling deeply and turning the water on. He bent down and splashed some on his face, his already wet hair falling in his eyes. Beyond not knowing anything, not understanding anything, Wilson wasn't sure how to feel. Outside of being shocked and strangely detached. The memories of House pressing him up against a wall - the wall just outside the bathroom he was standing in - rose again and made his chest tighten.
He couldn't handle this. He didn't want to handle it. Coming to terms with something so unexpected, so confusing, meant coming to terms with his own feelings about it. He couldn't even begin to work that out, separate his own reactions and emotions from the sheer hugeness of the information itself. House and Alice. House and Cuddy. Sex and more than sex and--
Wilson shut the water off and spun around, leaving the bathroom and moving to his dresser. He was astounded to find his clothes inside the drawers. His mouth opened for the fifth time that hour and he glanced over his shoulder. The pile of dirty laundry wasn't there. His clothes were clean and neatly arranged in the drawer. Too much. Too much to think about.
The awareness of wanting, needing, a drink hit him hard in the gut and he snatched a pair of pants and a shirt, slipping out of his swimming trunks. All he knew was he wasn't staying in this damn room. But he had no where to go, once again. No one to go to. There was one thing to be certain of and that was he couldn't see House. Or Cuddy. Or even Stacy. Not right now. Perhaps he didn't have to be concerned about the first of the three, realizing bitterly that House probably wanted nothing to do with him either. After dressing he slammed the drawer shut and shoved his key in his pocket, slamming his door firmly after exiting the room.
Time for the bar. Maybe he wouldn't drink. Maybe he would. God, he didn't know. He'd promised Hou- he didn't want to think about House. He just wanted to breathe. A glass of water, orange juice, scotch...just out of his room and away from these thoughts.
Before he knew it, his feet had faithfully carried him to his destination and Wilson took a seat on the same stool he'd been sitting on next to House so long ago. He didn't look around, didn't check to see who else was there. Part of him was afraid to and another part of him didn't care. When the bartender approached him and raised an eyebrow, asking him what he wanted, Wilson rested his head in one hand.
"I don't know," he muttered miserably. That summed everything up nicely, he thought.