Blind (PG)

Title: Blind
Author: thebirdmachine
Pairing: House/Wilson
Spoilers: none
Summary: Wilson is blind, and House is there for him.
Rating: PG
Warning: not recommended for readers who take displeasure in ailments affecting Wilson, SLASH (male/male relationship)
Notes: there’s no talking in this, it’s simply an account of Wilson’s blindness. And set a little in the future, maybe a few years.
Words: 980
Disclaimer: Don’t own House and Wilson isn’t really blind :)
Beta: the ever so lovely miss_xdivine



Wilson didn’t want a cane; he told House that that was his forte. No, Wilson bought a stick: a boring, white, unimaginative stick. House told him that a person’s cane reflected their inner being. Of course, he was joking, but Wilson was still sensitive about the matter and it hurt, a bit.

The stick taps on the ground when he walks. Every day the nursing staff groan as they hear the repetitive thumps and taps of Dr House and Dr Wilson. Rarely will they only hear a thump on the linoleum, butnever a solitary tap. The tap and the thump come together in a package deal, side by side. Some say that’s the way it’s always been, some say never, but the oldest of the crew denies the rumours. Ever since the incident, she tells them, never has Dr Wilson been left to walk by himself. And all the nurses sigh, wishing someone cared enough to do that for them.

Chase and Cameron are together, finally, although House thinks it won’t last. Wilson always smirks and tells House to get over it. He knows he isn’t jealous; far from it. He’s just sickened by their constant display of public affection. House tells him they should be shot, and Wilson frowns, hiding a smile.

Cuddy always seems to look so sad when she regards Wilson in the corridors, pretending not to look at him. House growls under his breath, wishing she wouldn’t. But then, what does Wilson care; it’s not like he sees it. Wilson asks what he’s growling at, but House never replies. It’s always the same, droopy smile that she gives him which makes House want to slap her and tell her to grow a pair. Sorrow doesn’t suit Lisa Cuddy’s face.

And when they get home, House hangs up his cane and Wilson discards his stick in the special device they have bolted to the wall. He grins to himself as he walks to the sofa; he grins because he finally doesn’t need House to lead him there, as he has memorised the floor plan. House pretends he doesn’t notice, and makes a note to be sure never to change the living room around. Which is a shame; he’s sure the armchair would look so much better on the other side of the room. But he doesn’t really mind; it’s worth the irritation just to see Wilson smile as he gets up and make his way to the fridge by himself. He chucks House a beer, and House pretends he didn’t have to dive silently a metre to his left for the bottle.

They never watch the TV much now; Wilson says that he doesn’t care. He tries to explain to House that you don’t need pictures to see a TV show, but House snorts at his logic. Instead, he plays for Wilson. Wilson listens, and House watches his reactions carefully as he purposely plays a wrong note. At the beginning, Wilson didn’t bat an eyelid. Now, however, Wilson frowns slightly, and House grins, overwhelming pride settling in his chest. Some days he teaches Wilson; some days he just plays and is content with watching Wilson listen to him carefully, his lips tugging into a gentle smile as he begins to recognise the pieces House plays.

And when it’s dark, Wilson can tell; House jokes that Wilson isn’t really blind, and it’s a huge charade, but he knows that Wilson can feel the dark. It’s odd, as when the lights are out Wilson tends to stumble in the dark more, losing his sense of coordination. But House is always there, at his elbow, guiding him into bed. For the first few days House refused to let Wilson sleep on the sofa, and Wilson vice versa. Now it has been months, and he is still lying awake next to Wilson every night, listening to his steady breathing and watching his chest rise and fall. He had suggested buying a new bed, but Wilson shrugged his shoulders. There was no need. Besides, Wilson didn’t really want House to go. He liked pretending to rest, feeling House’s eyes on him as he feigned sleep. He liked it when House lay on his side and inched his hand closer towards his shoulder, stroking Wilson’s shirt with uttermost care. Even though Wilson couldn’t see it, he knew that House was crying silently. And he silently thanked him for it. After all, it was nice to know that someone cared.

Sometimes Wilson asks what the hardest part of all this has been, and House takes a very long time to answer. He says he can’t think, and then changes the subject. Wilson thinks within himself what has been the hardest part. Some days he thinks that not being able to see a sunset again is the worst. Some days he thinks his patients; he finds it unstable to not be able to look into their eyes and tell them they’re dying. But most days he thinks that losing the shade of blue in House’s eyes is the very worst thing. The memory of them is crystal clear, and he thinks it always will be. But to never see the colour again in real life is down heartening. Instead he has to make do with touching House’s face with his hands, exploring with his fingertips. When he suggested it House laughed, but then he shut up when he saw Wilson’s face. It was awkward, at first; House simply sat there, unresponsive, and Wilson felt stupid. But then they begin to talk, and Wilson feels the muscles move under the skin, and the stubble grind against his fingertips.


And when Wilson kisses House, he doesn’t have to be able to see to know that House is grinning, because he knows that House is happy. And he’s pretty damn sure that he is too, in spite of everything.



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Comments loved! <3 (I’m a whore.)