Fiction: Fading Light, 1/1 PG-13

Title: Fading Light
Author: gena
Pairing: H/W
Rating: PG-13 (boy kissing)
Summary: As Wilson loses his sight, some thing are easier to see.
A/N: Written because I was feeling sad and have had eye problems the last year.




Ironically he saw the truth in House’s eyes before he heard the words. “You’re going blind.” He shook his head, not in denial – House was never wrong – but because he could think of nothing else to do. House would not offer false platitudes; there would be no crying or wringing of hands, no sugar coating or pep talks about all the things he could still do. It was the truth and it had to be faced.

“How long?”

House shifted, looking at the file again. “Couple of months, maybe half a year.” Wilson sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes in a gesture that had become increasingly frequent. They burned, and he would have liked to drawn the blinds against the summer sun but somehow he felt that would be like giving up. He’d known for a while what was happening, it ran in his family after all, but the headaches and the blurred vision could have been caused by working too hard. It wasn’t until House caught him reading with his nose barely an inch from the print that he had admitted there was a problem.

“At least we’ll have matching canes,” he said with a shrug.

“We can start a gang,” House said. “You trip them with yours I beat them with mine and get their wallets.”

Wilson grinned. “Could be a problem with the getaway.”

House pretended to mull it over. “You’re right. Guess we’ll have to sell pencils on the street corner.”

“I thought I was the one enamored of old movies,” Wilson muttered. He put his head back and closed his eyes, sighing loudly. He could hear House fidgeting around on his desk and then the faint squeak of his chair as he stood. A moment past and then came the soft uneven scrap of his shoes over the carpet.

“Ah, Jimmy,” House murmured and a brief warmth brushed over his brow. Wilson didn’t open his eyes, unable to face whatever it was he might and might not see on House’s face. He told himself it was practice, that from now on he would have to start relying on his other senses for clues to the world around him. But how can you trust your ears when everyone lies?

In the weeks that past Wilson struggled to adjust to his future. Cuddy knew, of course, and she helped with the professional side of it. He would remain with oncology, his expertise still available to his staff, but he would no longer see patients. The thought always made him chuckle. He filled his days with paperwork and his evenings with learning Braille, and discussing new technological advances to help him do his job.

A month after the diagnosis he moved back in with House, somewhat surprised when he was led into the single bedroom. He glanced at his friend, but couldn’t read the expression on that familiar face, whether because his eyes were worse or because House refused to give anything away he couldn’t tell. His days were full, everyone understood and helped him as much as they could but there were times when Wilson found himself unable to comprehend how vast this change was going to be. Some times he would just wander out onto the balcony and stare at the sky, trying hard to remember every shade of blue he saw. He studied the trees, and the grass and people on the sidewalk, burning them into his brain so that when everything was dark he would have those images locked inside him like small treasures. He memorized sunsets and the way shadows fell across the pavement and the colors of jet plumes woven through the clouds.

Nights in House’s presence changed little, they talked and laughed and House made fun of everyone who had crossed his path that day but House didn’t flick on the TV the moment they got home. There were nights when all he could do was lie on the couch, eye-drops numbing the pain that burrowed deep behind his lids and caused his temples to throb, but those were the nights House would softly play his piano. With his eyes closed, the music took on shimmering form inside his brain, images dancing to the melodies House brought to life. Wilson found himself replaying all the sights he had horded, polishing them with his memory so that they would shine for the rest of his life. House said little on those nights, after the last notes of his music died away he would limp to the couch, shifting Wilson so that he lay with his head in House’s lap and the night would pass in silence with only House’s fingers moving across his face to mark the hours.

And though he fought against it, there came a day when Wilson knew the next day he would not see the rising sun. House walked beside him, silent as he stood in the pediatric cancer ward, smiling at the children who clustered around them. He’d grown use to the hand which gripped his elbow and while he could distinguish shapes and colors it was only close up that he had any sight left. He knelt to speak with them, trading hugs and kisses and listening as they told him all their hopes for the years to come. He had his own hopes but they were blurred and fading and a few hours later Wilson asked House to take him outside. They made their way to House’s ‘vette, driving to the river to park in the sunshine while birds sang overhead. He had spent months memorizing the world around him, saving every thing he saw with the diligence of a bureaucrat but there was one sight in which he had invested everything he had.

House’s face was like the river before them; ever changing and beautiful, filled with a wild fury that could hide placidly or rage unpredictably. There had been days when all he could do was watch the play of light on those familiar features, how the blue of House’s eyes could ripple from cornflower to indigo in the span of a heartbeat or how his mouth could twist itself into a dozen different contours with one sarcastic sentence. He’d spent hours just studying the shape of his brows and the curve of his cheek and how the stubble of his beard was darker in the divot over his lip. He’d thought House would grow annoyed with his scrutiny but those bright blue eyes would lock with his and brow would quirk in a fond expression.

He didn’t look at House while they sat by the river, just watched the light begin to fade as the last day he would see ended. When he could make out only faint shapes, Wilson asked House to take them home. He didn’t close his eyes as they sped along the highway, and the streetlights became buttery streams that followed beside them all the way to Baker Street. The shifting pattern of neon and florescent created a magical world that he didn’t want to give up. Wilson could feel the tears on his cheek when the wind died and House pulled the car to a stop outside his place. He got out of the car, standing there and wishing the sky had been clear because he would have liked to see the stars once more. But House had his arm and they were inside before he really realized it. He shook his head when House offered food and instead he led House to the bedroom, settling them on the mattress, lying face to face.

“I want you to be the last thing I see,” Wilson whispered. He reached out to lay his hand on House’s cheek and smiled when House covered it with his own. They never spoke about what they felt for each other; somehow words had never been important when it came to that. They could argue for hours, talk about everything under the sun but the feelings they possessed for each other were the one thing that defied their skill to analyze. House turned his head and his warm lips pressed a kiss into Wilson’s palm. Wilson saw the glimmer of tears on his friend’s cheeks. “No,” he said softly, “don’t.”

“Okay, Jimmy,” House nodded, finding a smile for him.

The light was fading and he had to move closer still to make out the startling blue of those eyes. He saw love there, sparkling and irreverent and bright and as he watched it grew brighter. He traced House’s face, running his thumbs over the arched brows, capturing every line with his fingers, burning the image before him into his brain. He didn’t want the night to end, he didn’t want to close his eyes and lose the sight of House’s smile, of his frowns, of his mobile features twisting this way and that. He didn’t want to forget how House looked, and he knew he would. Someday he would no longer remember, there would come a day when he couldn’t bring the image back, there would be a faceless void inside his heart and Wilson didn’t know if he could stand that. He pressed his lips to House’s suspending the hour, chasing away the future as well as the past. They existed only in that moment and it seemed to stretch away into eternity.

“I love you,” he whispered and as his words faded they began to take the light with them. It was as if a thick fog drew close around them, tendrils creeping over the bed, over their entwined bodies until only the blue of House’s eyes remained. Wilson stared into them, seeing all the things he had never heard. Pain burned across his eyes, making them water and sting and though he tried not to, he had to blink it away. When he opened his eyes there was nothing left to see. The world had gone black and he was lost in it, fear surging in the wild beating of his heart but then House’s arms closed around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. The world had been lost to his sight, but Wilson could feel a whole new one opening up before him; a world he would need help navigating, but one in which he would thrive with the right guide.