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Gossip
by Gena Fisher
Title: Gossip
Author: Gena Fisher
Rating: PG
Pairing: House/Wilson
Disclaimer: Not mine. I borrowed them but put all characters back where they belong (yes, Wilson is in House's bed where he belongs).
Summary: Someone is starting rumors about the boys.
Notes: Just another random bit of fluff.
Gossip
"Greg! What the hell are you doing?" James Wilson raced after his friend, catching up to him and carefully taking his arm just as House started down the sidewalk.
House looked down at himself, then raised his eyes, a look of comic surprise on his long face. "I'm walking! It's a miracle!" He pulled out of Wilson's grip and resumed making his way towards the hospital clinic's entrance.
"You know very well what I mean," Wilson said. He fell into step beside House, shooting anxious glances at the snow crusted stretch of walkway between them and the door. "Maintenance hasn't gotten these sidewalks cleared yet, you should be using the main entrance."
"Did you know there's no handicapped parking in the physician's lot?"
"So you're going to break your neck just to prove a point?"
"No," House snapped, "I'm going to break my neck so I can sue the shit out of this place! You'd think that after telling me I can't park my car in the main lot, she would have made some concessions."
"Well, Greg, the ambulance drivers did complain," Wilson pointed out.
"Complain? What did they have to complain about? Those things come equipped with lights and sirens for a reason, James. Something comes roaring up, wailing like a banshee -"
"It is a hospital."
"- people get out of the way even it they're on the sidewalk." House's cane hit a patch of ice, slipping out from under him. He would have nose dived if Wilson hadn't reacted with amazing speed. Dropping his briefcase he caught House around the waist as his bad leg crumpled under him.
"Greg, damnit! Easy!" He held the older man up, pressed the length of House's side. He could feel House trembling, hear the sudden rasp of his breath as pain raced through him. "Take it easy. I've got you." It took a moment but House finally signaled he could stand on his own. He looked up, blue eyes unreadable and Wilson steeled himself for one of his friends needle sharp barbs but House only nodded.
"Thanks," he said softly. Wilson smiled. It felt good, House felt good against him. They'd been friends for a long time, spent many hours working together but House rarely let him help him in anyway. Proud, stubborn and arrogant, Greg House hated relying on others. That had never been more evident than when Wilson had watched his friend endure an agonizing, life altering ordeal. He'd always felt a little sad that Greg hadn't once asked him to stay beside him. He had anyway, but he'd always wanted to be asked. So he did what he could, what House would accept, but that didn't stop his longing to be able to ease House's pain. Wilson allowed himself a small smile, this simple act was a start but secretly he wanted more than to pick Greg up when he fell. Wilson relaxed his grip but didn't let go until House offered him his usual smirk. "People are going to talk if we stand here like this much longer."
"They already talk," James said and had the pleasure of seeing Gregory House speechless for the first time.
"They talk?" House asked. "About us?"
Wilson shrugged. "Of course. I thought you were gossip central? You think people don't notice we spend an inordinate amount of time together?" As he spoke Wilson saw the surprise in his friend's eye change to something a bit more speculative. "Oh no. What are you planning?"
"Nothing, nothing at all."
**********
"He'll be an outpatient from now on," Wilson said and signed his name to the bottom of the form.
"Yes, Dr. Wilson."
"Ah, Dr. Wilson, I've been looking for you." Wilson turned at the sound of his name, his pleasure quickly changing to alarm when he saw the over bright glint in House's blue eyes. Wilson reached out and caught House by the shoulder.
"Are you okay?" He studied House with a practiced eye; flushed, slightly manic and grinning. Never a good sign. It either meant his pain meds were wearing off or he was bored and had come up with some fiendish way to amuse himself. `Let it be the drugs,' Wilson prayed silently.
"I am fine," House assured him, "more than fine." His grin widened. Wilson didn't have a chance to say anything else, House leaned in, his left arm looping itself casually over Wilson's shoulder so that their faces were scant inches apart. "Just peachy, in fact." He wasn't sure, but Wilson thought for just a moment House's hand had slid down his back, brushing lightly over his ass. So startled by the sensation, it took him a second to realize Greg was dangling a tie in front of his eyes. ".....found it. I know it's your favorite. For the life of me I don't know how it got inside the piano."
"W-what? Greg?"
House gifted him with another smile, this one definitely had a wolfish tint. Wilson watched him turn, heading back in the direction of his office but the bemusement he felt quickly changed to horror when House stopped at the end of the desk. There, in full view of everyone passing by, House gave him a broad, conspiratorial wink. Wilson couldn't stop the blush which rose across his cheeks anymore than he could halt the napalm blast of heat heading south to his groin. The bastard! He stared at the crumpled tie in his hand a moment then shot a look at the diligent nurse and found her engrossed in the file he had handed her earlier. She was reading it up-side-down.
That had been on Monday. On Tuesday Greg showed up in his office with lunch and not House's normal idea of lunch; bagels and cream cheese in a crumpled paper sack. He brought a basket - with napkins and cutlery. Everyone passing the oncology office could see the two of them, sitting at the desk, dishes everywhere, grinning at each other as they ate. Wednesday House seemed to tire of whatever game he'd been playing and didn't show himself at all. Wilson got a call around 2:30 from a worried Cameron saying that she thought House wasn't feeling very well. When he rushed to the infectious diseases office he found his friend looking pale and in a rotten mood. He finally got it out of House that he hadn't slept well the night before and the cold weather was making his leg ache more than usual. Wilson took him home unaware of the looks being traded all around the two of them as he helped House to his car. Thursday he discovered House's watch in his car and figuring it must have fallen off when he gave him a ride home, returned it at the clinic desk. House's evil smirk and vaguely leering gaze made him blush in a way a 36 year old man never should. Wilson decided to hide in his office the rest of the day.
***********
But it wasn't until Friday that Wilson got any real sense of the situation. He'd spent the morning consulting with patients and their families, a task which drained half the soul from his body. Sad, tired, and needing some time alone, he made his way to the cafeteria. The end of the week crowd had staked out the tables closest to the door, so after grabbing a coffee and danish, he had to parade past them all to an empty spot. Five tables in, Wilson noticed a bizarre phenomenon; as he past each group the buzz of conversation grew exponentially. Not normally self-conscious, it took another three tables to realized they all really were talking about him. He heard his name several times, followed by muffled gasps and then, ominously, House's name.
Oh god. What now? Wilson plopped down at the table furthest from anybody, and put his head in his hands. Why had he ever let himself become friends with Gregory House? If he hadn't Wilson knew his life would have been much less complicated. "Peaceful, serene," Wilson whispered aloud. He sighed and unable to lie to himself, added, "and boring." There had been times he left House's company with his ribs aching from laughter and his heart pounding in exhilaration. Greg House was fearless, willing to try anything for the sake of the experience. Wilson had never felt more alive than in those early years of their friendship. Or more helpless when House had collapsed in front of him, writhing in agony. That year had been a test for both of them.
He'd never had to fight as hard for a life as he had for Greg's. Not as a physician, but as a friend. Wilson had slowly watched the exuberant, outgoing personality wither, becoming a shadowy form from his memory. Afterwards pain and anger had clung to House like a sour odor. He'd become deeply depressed and lashed out at anyone who attempted to help him, afraid of their pity, driving them away with the only weapon he could wield - his disdain. Wilson knew he would have been hard pressed in those early days to say what had made him stay, maybe it was the memory of aching ribs, but he had come back day after day, ignoring the insults, brushing aside the condescension, and forced House back into his life. He'd loved Greg, he'd never had a better friend, but it had been something else that made him push so hard, something he had never really understood. He needed Greg House; they had too much potential together. Inside he knew that they had not reached the point in their lives they were destined to share.
"Are you all right, Dr. Wilson?"
Wilson looked up into Allison Cameron's concerned blue eyes. "Oh, sure, fine," he stammered, smiling automatically.
"Okay. You just looked a little - down," Cameron said.
"No, I'm fine, really. Sit down," he offered, pushing out the chair beside him. "House giving you a hard time today?"
"No," Cameron said and sipped at her coffee. "He's been - strangely inoffensive this week." She met Wilson's gaze. "Do you think he might be taking too many painkillers? I caught him giggling on Tuesday and he hadn't even been irritating Dr. Cuddy."
Wilson thought it over. "I don't think it's any reason to worry, Allison. It's probably just the voices in his head." Cameron's eyes narrowed, as if she'd always suspected something of that nature from her boss. "Kidding! Really," Wilson said. "I'm sure Dr. House would never intentionally endanger his health like that."
"Still, he seems very pleased with himself," she laughed lightly, "I know, how is that any different than usual?" They grinned at each other a moment. "I better be getting back. His good mood usually evaporates about the time his clinic duties are over." She rose but stopped and turned back to Wilson. "Are you staying for the Christmas party tonight?'
"Is that tonight? I, yeah, I guess." She smiled again and left. Wilson sighed. He didn't feel like celebrating anything at the moment, but his staff would expect him to make at least a token appearance.
******************
9PM found James Wilson shutting the door of his office and starting off in the direction of the main staff lounge. When he turned the corner he caught sight of House a few feet ahead, going in the same direction. He couldn't help but smile. There had been a time when neither he nor any of Greg's doctors had thought House would ever be up and around. `I like to walk.' House usually said this with a smirk but Wilson knew his friend well enough to see the genuine gratitude he had to be able to move as well as he could. House had been forced to use crutches in the first months of his new life but as soon as he was able had demanded a better solution. Wilson had bought him his first cane, a simple hickory stick that had been broken one crazy night when House started a bar fight in Newark. He still used the second one. It had taken a few months and some trial and error on his part, but now House could walk amazingly fast for someone in his condition.
"House," he called and caught up with his friend. "Don't tell me you're attending the Christmas party?"
"Okay, I won't tell you," House said, "but when you see a tall, crippled guy with a cane, act surprised."
"I just never thought of you as the Christmas party type."
"I can photocopy my ass just as well as you can, James," House said airily, "Besides, there are cookies."
They entered the elevator and pressed the third floor button. "Have you noticed anything strange about me lately?" Wilson asked.
House eyed him, "The pocket protector?"
"Wh- no! I always wear a pocket protector. Do you know how much good lab coats cost?" He studied House's rumpled blue shirt. "No, guess you wouldn't. People have been whispered behind my back."
"About what?" The doors pinged open and they could hear the faint sound of music and voices coming from the far end of the hall.
"I don't know,' Wilson confessed. "They stop talking whenever I get close enough to hear."
House shrugged. "Couldn't say. Unless they're talking about our affair." Wilson stared open-mouthed as House limped towards the party.
"Our affair!" Two nurses emerging from the other elevator shot Wilson and House a startled look before hurrying into the lounge amid quiet laughter and knowing smiles. Wilson caught House by the cane, ignoring the exasperated sigh this action caused. "We are not having an affair!"
"That's not what I heard," House declared with a devilish smile, waving towards the noise.
"What have you done?" Wilson moaned. Unintentionally he tugged on the cane, pulling House off balance. House staggered into him just as Doctors Chase, Foreman and Cameron appeared in the opening elevator doors.
"Oh, uh, hi," Cameron said. Foreman and Chase shared a look that spoke of money changing hands in the near future. "We were just -"
"We weren't -" Wilson began at the same time.
House rolled his eyes and pulled away from Wilson. "Are we done with the awkward little committee meeting here? Good. Let's raid the food."
Plastic snowflakes twirled above the tile floor and a tiny fake Christmas tree sat in the center of the room. Garland had been hung from the ceiling and a tape player sat atop a silent piano in the corner spitting out nondescript Christmas music better suited for standing in an elevator. The party was definitely on the downswing but the buffet table still had a pretty good selection. All five began filling plates, House struggling with one dangerously overloaded, while the others grabbed two. Soon they had enough to feed a small third world nation. House hobbled towards the rear of the room, ignoring the few people still sitting around who called Christmas greeting to his team and Wilson. No one stopped House, most looked away as he approached, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his biting wit. Wilson knew colleagues hated House butting in on their cases, or loafing in their territory. They despised his arrogance, never seeing their own, and they thought Cuddy showed too much favoritism towards him. They seemed to have a grudging respect for his diagnostic abilities but none of them liked him. Of course Wilson knew perfectly well House didn't like any of them either but just the thought that no one could see past what House wanted them to see made him feel kind of sad.
They sat at a round table in the corner, shoving all the empty paper cups to one side. "How about a toast?" Cameron suggested.
"To the benefactor of our feast," Chase asked, "Mr. Scrooge?"
"If you think I'm going to say god bless us everyone," House growled and slid his cane onto the table, "I'd have to kill you."
"To Mr. Scrooge," Wilson said and they all raised their own cups in salute. They ate slowly, talking shop for a while then gradually switching to a wider range of subjects. Cameron liked to ask probing questions, her beautiful face earnest as she listened to Foreman tell of growing up in the projects and seeing a man die for the first time when he was seven years old. It was Chase who broke the silence after that, making them envy Christmas days spent surfing in Canberra. Wilson sat back, occasionally smiling at the three younger doctors and shooting glances over at his friend. House had remained unusually quiet, and when he'd leaned over and asked if Greg felt okay had gotten only a nod in return.
"You sure you're alright?" Wilson whispered a while later.
"I'm fine," House insisted. The room had cleared as the five of them sat there, the party finally ending and the people drifted off home. He rose and picked up his cane and Wilson watched him limp over to the piano. House traced a hand over its dusty top before snapping off the tape player, and settling on the bench. He didn't play Christmas music, just slow haunting notes that somehow turned the air around them heavy and blue. Cameron drew in a sharp breath and Chase shifted in his seat. Foreman wore a frown, as if he were trying to solve some very grim puzzle. It was Wilson who finally did something about it. He got up and stood behind House, one hand resting on his friend's shoulder as the last notes died gloriously noble deaths in the air.
"How about something a little cheerier?" House grunted, and using two fingers, picked out the first lines of Grandma Got Runover by a Reindeer.
"Not that cheery," Wilson said. He slid onto the bench beside House, letting his own warmth creep across the space between them. House relented and began to play White Christmas instead. "This affair everyone thinks we're having," he said just loud enough for Greg to hear, "do you know how they got the idea?"
"I think it was that whole helping out a crippled thing," House guessed. "I'm in pain and being a bastard to everyone, so they call you because you're the only one able to handle me. Pretty soon everyone assumes you're tucking me into bed and holding my hand as I suffer."
"We always watch porn and drink beer and you fell asleep in your chair,' Wilson reminded him.
House shook his head sadly, "Yes, yes. But they imagine some noble and generous act on your part. Imagine a secret devotion to each other which allows you to put up with an asshole like me because you see past this." He inclined his head towards the ever present cane. The words, so close to what he'd been thinking earlier made Wilson freeze in place. House gave him a curious look but continued playing. For a long time, neither said anything and the only sound was of the soft, gentle music House's long fingers coaxed from the piano's wooden heart.
When Wilson finally looked up Cameron and Foreman were dancing and Chase was staring at the wall as if he could see the Ghost of Christmas Past. "Don't you think it's time we all left?" Wilson asked.
"Ah, yes, of course," House said and shot him a cunning little look. "The lovely Julie will no doubt be wondering where you are." His expression lost some of its guile as he said, "she'll know you're with me."
"How about the others," Wilson asked. "Don't they have things to get back to?"
House glanced up, "Cameron has a fish. Or else she has strange taste in snacks. Foreman has recently been cuckolded by a radiologist and Chase," his fiery blue eyes wandered over the youngest member of his team, "I'm sure he had meaningless sex last night and will spend tonight flagellating himself, figuratively I hope, for being such a bad boy."
"Kind of harsh," Wilson observed.
"Sex is like that, James, or hadn't you noticed?" His hands played effortlessly over the keys, slender fingers picking out the notes.
Wilson grinned at him, "Just how long has it been since you had sex, Greg?"
House titled his head, thinking. Wilson saw the impulse to lie spring into Greg's eye a moment before he squelched it. "Six years, four months and thirteen days." Wilson's gaze dropped to the every present cane propped on the edge of the keyboard. "Some people get off on pain, I can't get it up."
"Could be the drugs," Wilson said in a none too subtle gibe.
"Could be the fact it hurts to walk, and stand, and sit," House guessed. "Sometimes it even hurts when I -"
"Excuse me." House's hands crashed onto the keys in a discordant crash blow as they turned around. A maintenance man in the hospital's brown coveralls stood with a broom and a anxious look. "Is it okay if we start to clean now?"
"Of course," Wilson assured the man. "We were just going."
House closed the cover on the piano and gripped his cane. Wilson tried not to make it obvious but House needed help standing after sitting for so long. "Might as well bring me flowers," House whispered with a wicked smile and leaned just a bit more than necessary on his friend's arm. James let him, savoring the contact between them but when they walked out of the room, House did so at his usual awkward but swift pace. They parted company with the others at the elevator, James and House heading towards the clinic's parking lot. "Wanna come back to my place?"
Wilson thought about his wife, alone in their bedroom, her arm over his pillow. "Yeah, I do." He left his car in the lot, knowing full well he wouldn't make Greg get back out in the middle of the night to drive him back to it. House shot him another look, this one unreadable as he started the car. He worked the hand brake and accelerator with the ease of years of practice and James couldn't help but admire the strong lines of Greg's hands. Pianist's hands. He'd told House that once, when they'd both drunk a bit too much after his first divorce. Greg had brought his hand up, looking at his own fingers for a moment and then slowly, eyes still on his fingers, he had reached out and touched James on the cheek. The touch couldn't have been called a caress by any standards, but it had seared straight through James, down to his soul. "If I lost this," Greg had told him, "I really would have nothing." For a moment James didn't understand, and then those amazing fingers had ghosted over his lips like a sightless man remembering what he had lost and Wilson has shaken his head, "no, you wouldn't." There had been nothing more, no smile, no tears, no regrets, no remorse, just a longing stretched between them like moonlight across water; fluid and changing, rippled by the passing of time and people, but always there, reforming and shining whenever they chanced to see the reflection. But it hadn't been enough, not then and not now.
They parked in front of House's building, his handicapped sign allowing him the space nearest the door. "What happens if the power goes out?" James asked, eyeing the top floor where House lived.
"I sleep in the lobby," House said. "Mrs. Potter in 107 leaves a saucer of coffee out for me in the morning."
"That explains the clothes," Wilson said. House shot him a glare as they entered the elevator. He liked Greg's apartment, the warm, cozy feeling that seemed to envelop him the moment they entered. It felt real, lived in, a place where he could loosen his tie and put his feet on the coffee table if he wanted. Books lined two walls and were spread over the piano in an eclectic heap. James ran his hand over Pepys, flicked through the pages of Bleak House and read the back of Dan Brown's latest. He could see case files filled with notes in Greg's spidery scrawl, dog-earred journals and letters mixed throughout and smiled at the homey mess. The rest of the room was spotless, as were the others. James knew how much House hated the thought of tripping over something and needing help to get up.
"Drink?" Wilson shook his head and without turning around felt House move up behind him. He closed his eyes, willing Greg to have the strength he himself lacked. For a long moment, neither man seemed to breathe and then strong hands on his shoulders turned him. He'd never kissed another man before, and kissing Greg felt, not awkward and wrong, but like a special brand of magic. It was like tasting the night sky, like opening his mouth and letting the stars pour in between his lips. James knew then that all his marriages had lacked the one element crucial to success, love. He could feel it in the arms hesitantly encircling him, in the lips pressed to his own, in the heart beating so close to his own. "James," House whispered when they parted and leaned his forehead on Wilson's shoulder. "Stay with me tonight."
"Yes." But when he started to lead House into the bedroom, the older man stopped him.
"James," House said and even in the dim light Wilson could see the pain in his friend's eyes. "I can't - do anything."
James smiled at that, "A talented doctor like you? I find that difficult to believe."
House quirked a smile, "Well, Cuddy is always saying I have a big mouth."
*************************
James rolled over, his arms instinctively reaching out for his companion but finding only emptiness. "Greg?"
"I'm here," House said. Wilson flipped on the small lamp and gazed at his lover. House looked rumpled and wanton, sprawled in the bedside chair. He had a slender body, his chest nice but not over muscled, a thatch of brown hair arrowing down to the waistband of his faded sweatpants. Wilson felt his own groin stir at the memory of proving Cuddy right several times in the few hours since they had gone to bed.
"You okay?"
"I don't sleep very well," House admitted. Wilson could see the Vicodin bottle sitting on the nightstand at House's elbow. "Go back to sleep. I'll come back to bed in a while."
"Okay," He closed his eyes, still feeling the weight of House's intense gaze on him. "Greg?"
"Hmmm?"
"They're right now, aren't they?"
"Who?" House asked and Wilson smiled at the confusion he could hear in the deep voice.
"The ones who think we're having an affair."
"No they aren't," House said.
Wilson felt his heart skip and the breath he'd started to draw in lodged in his throat. "We - we aren't having an affair?" The bed dipped and House hissed in pain as he settled beside Wilson.
"No, we aren't," he said softly and nuzzled James' chest. "An affair implies a brief, Romantic fling." He smiled and let his fingers brush through Wilson's hair. "This is going to last for a long time."
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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