Short Stories

Disclaimer: I don't own House or anything related to it (other than random merch, of course!). I've written this purely for my own, and hopefully, your enjoyment.

A/N: Not much to say about this one, really. Just a little one-shot inspired by Wilson's note to Kutner that was on the House site. Rated T just to be safe, seeing as it deals with Kutner's death and everything.

Stepping into the foyer of Princeton Plainsboro, Wilson couldn't help but wear a small smile. It was one of those extremely rare days when he had good news for almost all of his patients. That and there was no sign of House since it was so early. He could finally go and grab a coffee without the diagnostician stealing it. Wilson headed over to the elevator and was just about to press the up button until he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"James... I've got something for you," Cuddy spoke quietly from behind him.

"What is it?" Wilson asked as he turned to look at the woman standing behind him. She was cradling a large yellow envelope in her arms as if she was scared to drop it. He couldn't help but feel somewhat concerned; Cuddy, or anyone else in the hospital, rarely called him by his first name unless it was important.

"I wouldn't have a clue. Kutner's mom dropped by about an hour ago, she told me that Kutner left it for you," Cuddy spoke in the same quiet voice that she had before, although she looked slightly puzzled now. Handing the envelope over to Wilson, she spoke again, "I won't hold you up any longer."

"Thanks Lisa," the oncologist smiled slightly as he watched the dean walk off. Cradling the envelope in his arms, he turned and stepped into the elevator that had just conveniently opened with a small 'ding'. For the entire time that he was in the elevator, he didn't look at anyone else that was riding with him, instead his gaze was fixed on the parcel Cuddy had given him. Wilson felt a sense of dread wash over him, did he really want to know what was inside? Maybe it held the answer to why Kutner had done what he'd done... Wilson wasn't too sure if he really wanted to know the truth.

Once he had gotten to his floor, Wilson headed straight for his office. This morning's coffee could wait an hour or so, surely. He hastily made his way into his office, hoping that a certain diagnostician wouldn't spot him; Wilson locked his office door just to make sure House wouldn't come barging in. Nestling into the couch, the oncologist opened the envelope carefully. Although there was really no need to be worried about damaging anything inside it, seeing as he pulled out a large brown notebook.

Wilson smiled sadly as he traced his fingers over the pictures Kutner had doodled on the cover of it. He recognized this book, in fact, he had read through it many times before. Kutner was always jotting down some sort of story and Wilson had been the one that he had shown them to. He had confessed to Wilson that he wasn't confident in his work, so he hadn't shown anyone else. Although, Wilson didn't quite know why the young doctor was so insecure about his writing, he definitely had a knack for the written word, no matter how much he denied it.

As he skimmed through the book, reading some of his favourite stories, Wilson let out a chuckle at one particular story he came across. It had always been one of his favourites, but with Kutner depicting House as a grumpy old man and yelling at the local neighbourhood kids, how could it not be? Scarily enough, Wilson could picture it happening in about twenty years. Of course, he liked all of Kutner's stories, regardless of them being about his colleagues or a sci-fi epic.

Flipping through the last few pages of the notebook, Wilson laughed at the random comics, sketches and notes Kutner had put on them. It would have been when Kutner had stopped writing for a few weeks, actually... Wilson frowned as he glanced at the dates. Most of them were dated a week to a few days before Kutner had killed himself. It was almost as if he had everything planned and he wanted to fill the rest of the book before he did it. After all, doodles took no time to draw compared to writing stories and it wasn't like the rest of the book was filled with random pictures.

Turning to the last page, the doctor spotted a small envelope sticking out. Pulling it out gently, he looked at it in confusion when he saw Kutner had scrawled his name on it. He didn't really want to know what was inside it, but Kutner had left it for him... It'd be wrong not to open it. After taking out the neatly folded piece of paper, Wilson unfolded it. Whatever had been left of his good mood had now completely vanished as he read the letter.

'James,
If you're reading this, then I haven't been around for a fair while. You'll know why. I wanted to leave the book with you since you're the only one that really knew about it. I never really did think I was any good, but thanks for the encouragement, I appreciated it.

Anyway, I suppose you're wondering why I did what I did. Well... I guess you could say I wasn't the guy that you thought I was. None of you knew the real me. If there's one thing I've always been good at, it's hiding away from other people. Everything just kind of fell apart but I never let it show. I let all these little problems build up and become so much worse, to the point where I couldn't handle them any more. I should have sought help before it got to this point, but I couldn't find another way out.

But, since you're reading this, there's not much either one of us can do about it now. I just really wanted to say thanks. We really didn't know each other for all that long but your friendship was one of the best things that's happened to me in years. Thank you. I'm just sorry I was an idiot and cut it short.

Sorry.
- Lawrence'

Heaving a sigh, Wilson carefully folded the letter back up and placed it back where he found it in the book. Why didn't Kutner say something? Why did he... "No. It's over," the oncologist stated out loud to himself as he shook his head. There was no point in dwelling on it, what was done was done and there were no more answers to find, despite how many questions still needed answering.

Tap, tap, tap.

Glancing over at the balcony where the noise had come from, Wilson let a small smile cross his lips. House was standing outside with two coffees stacked in one hand and his cane raised to the glass door in the other. "Hurry up and open the damn door, these coffees are hot!" House called, his voice muffled by the glass.

Wilson stood and walked over to the door, opening it as he shook his head. "Thanks, hey... How'd you know I was even here, let alone have my morning coffee yet?" Wilson glanced at the diagnostician in confusion.

"You're always here on time and I didn't see you getting coffee," House replied, settling himself down on the couch exactly where Wilson had been sitting earlier. Noticing the brown notebook, House picked it up and flipped through it. "Kutner's?"

"How'd you-"

"I worked with him for two years. You'd think I know what his handwriting looked like," the gruff doctor rolled his eyes before returning to the page he had started reading. "I didn't know he wrote, he was pretty good... Can't say I really like the one about me, though."

"Well I can see you as the type of old man that would yell at kids for being on his lawn," the oncologist answered smugly before taking a sip of his coffee.

"I don't think my story will end like that," House commented, now placing the book back down on the couch. This earned him a strange look from his friend. Flashing the other doctor a rare smile, House continued, "after all, I don't have any lawn."