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Contamination
by Hllangel
Title: Contamination
Author/Artist: Hllangel
Rating: NC-17 (to be sure)
Words: 16,532
H/W Fest Prompt: 70 : Someone overhears House's "confession" to Stacy in "The Mistake", and the rumors get a little out of hand.
Disclaimer: I wish I was David Shore so I could own the boys, but I'm not. Really. But a girl can dream.
"What are you hiding?"
"I'm gay. But that's not what you meant. Does explain a lot, though. No girlfriend, always with Wilson, obsession with sneakers."
-- 2.08 - The Mistake
************************************
Stage 1: Contamination
Tracy was heading back to the clinic after a bathroom break when she caught sight of Dr. House arguing with Stacey Warner. Arguments between those two were regular occurrences, but the words this time brought her up short.
"I'm gay."
She didn't want to let House know that she'd overheard the confession so she kept walking. A few steps later, she managed to catch another half phrase, "...with Wilson,..." She hurried back into the clinic and hoped like hell that she didn't encounter either House or Dr. Wilson that day.
She half-forgot about the entire episode until a few weeks later, when she was having lunch with Brenda. Wilson was a few tables over looking entirely absorbed in a conversation with one of the new travelers in Oncology.
She took a drink to wash down her sandwich and gestured towards them. "I wonder what House thinks of that," she said.
"What do you mean?" Brenda replied.
"A few months ago, I overheard House telling Stacey that he was gay. I didn't catch the rest of the conversation, but I also heard `something with Wilson.' I think House is in love with him. I wonder what he thinks about Wilson's women."
"Not a clue. There's always been talk about those two, but I wonder if there's actually any truth behind it."
"From the Wilson acts, I doubt he knows about it. House is pretty damn good at hiding things."
"True," Brenda finished her sandwich and gathered up her trash. "We should get back. Who knows what destruction House has caused?"
They left the cafeteria together. Wilson was still seated with his nurse, leaning forward and looking for all the world as though he was absorbed in what she was saying.
Brenda prided herself on knowing everything that went on at the hospital, and a good deal that went on outside of it. She'd pushed Tracy's information to the back of her head after that lunch, but when she found out that Wilson was on the fringe of his third divorce and was apparently living with House she pulled it back out and examined it.
The two men were still arriving at the hospital separately, but that didn't really mean anything. She doubted that `play it safe' Wilson would get on the back of House's deathtrap on wheels. Who knew what they'd do behind locked doors in House's apartment?
She watched House limped past into exam two before turning to her long-time friend and coworker, Anne.
"Have you noticed anything odd between House and Wilson lately?" Brenda asked.
"Not really. Wilson was chatting up one of the new residents the other day, which set House off on a rant about his womanizing and marriages and divorces. But it's the same rant I've heard about ten times before. Why?"
"Tracy was telling me the other day that she overheard House telling Stacy that he was gay and apparently in love with Wilson."
"No way. Remember how he chased after Stacy when she was here?"
"She's the one he told. He's also the one who sent her away. I heard something about a one night stand."
"You're kidding me. He chases Stacy, admits that he's gay, then sleeps with her?" Anne looked around to make sure that no one in question was actually listening. "Maybe he's trying to hide from himself? Falling in love with your best and only friend can't be an easy thing to live with. Even for a right bastard like House."
"I guess you're right," Brenda was about to say something else, but spied House coming their way. She quickly picked up a folder and shoved it at him before going off to see to the patient waiting in exam one.
Anne didn't really care much for gossip, and usually ignored the conversations Brenda tried to pull her into. But gossip about House was too good to pass up. Especially if it involved Wilson. And this was better than anything else she'd heard about them over the years.
It was a damn good thing, she thought as she walked through ICU that a code sounded just as she was outside the door. And that the attending was none other than Dr. Chase. They gave the patient epinephrine to stop her reaction to the antibiotics and switched the IV drip. She waited patiently for Chase to finish writing on the chart before she confronted him.
"What's going on with House and Wilson?"
Chase looked startled at the blunt question. "What do you mean?"
"Is anything odd or new going on between them?" She asked. She wanted an answer before she let go of her tidbit of information. Though she knew Tracy's ability to spread gossip faster than wildfire might've caused the rumor to reach diagnostics already.
"Wilson's getting divorce number three and is living with House. And House is apparently really annoyed with Wilson's morning habits. That's all I can tell you." Chase looked puzzled.
"I was just wondering if House was acting any different than usual towards Wilson."
"Why?"
"A few months ago, Tracy, one of the clinic nurses, overheard House telling Stacey that he was gay and in love with Wilson."
"I haven't noticed anything to that affect. But I'll keep my eyes open," Chase promised.
Anne tidied up the room from the recent activity and watched as Chase made a final note of her vitals. He hung the chart and they left the room together, Chase heading for Diagnostics and Anne going to the ICU nurses station.
Chase loved gossip. He thrived on it. And he was exceptionally good at hearing all of it. He made it a point to have coffee at least once a week with Brenda, who was known to be the worst of the worst gossips in the hospital. But he also chatted fairly frequently with all of the ICU, Radiology and Clinic nurses. Between the three departments, they knew everything, and he was well up to date. But House being gay was a new one. He'd never heard a hint to that effect before and he'd never seen it directly either. But if House had been talking to Stacy at the time...
True, or not, he decided it wasn't worth arguing with the rumor mill. He'd just play his part and pass it along.
When he reached the conference room, only Foreman was around. There was a list of symptoms on the board for their latest patient, and he added the antibiotic allergy just to be safe. Though he didn't really think it was connected. He poured a cup of coffee before sitting down and picking up the journal that Foreman had just discarded.
"I heard something interesting from one of the nurses today," he stated casually. Foreman liked gossip just as much as he did, but always tried to pretend that he wasn't interested. The eyebrow went up, and Chase continued. "House is in love with Wilson."
The book Foreman was reading dropped to the table with a loud thud. "You're joking, right?"
"No. Apparently Tracey, that cute little blonde nurse in the Clinic heard House telling Stacy."
"Cameron's wasting her time, then."
"And Wilson's being stupid. He keeps going after every good looking woman in this place."
"Whatever. One of us should tell Cameron, though."
Chase nodded and went back to the article. Foreman would pass it along, he always did. It wasn't fair if only two of them knew something like that.
Foreman chewed over the newest gossip. Chase claimed to have something interesting every day, but mostly it was about nurses and doctors that he didn't really know. This on the other hand, was interesting. Their gruff, cranky boss in love with his best, only and male friend. Cameron really was wasting her time. And he felt it was his duty to tell her. He finished the entry he was reading and closed the book.
He found Cameron in the lab, where she always was. She was currently staring at a slide, so he waited by the door for her to finish, clean up, and record her findings. She took off her glasses and turned to him.
"What do you want, Foreman? You've been sitting there for ten minutes. If it was something to do with the patient, you'd have interrupted."
"Are you still hung up on House?"
"How is that any of your business?"
"Just answer the question. Yes or no, are you still hung up on the most arrogant bastard in this hospital?"
"No."
But Foreman could hear the underlying wistfulness which meant that she was. He'd have to be somewhat gentle. But really, how did you do gentle when the news was `the guy you're hung up on is gay and in love with his best friend'? In the end, he decided to be blunt.
"Well, I have some bad news, then. House is apparently in love with Wilson."
Cameron said nothing.
Foreman turned and walked out of the lab.
Foreman's words literally hit her like a blow to the chest. House. In love. With Wilson. His best friend. His only friend, come to that. But he'd chased Stacy for so long. He taunted Cuddy about her breasts nonstop. He occasionally checked her out if her top was cut low enough. And He complained about Wilson nonstop. Especially now that Wilson was living on his couch. It couldn't be true, could it? She made a few more notes in the log and turned off the bench lights. Oncology was just around the corner from Diagnostics. She wondered if she should go straight there or try to find Wilson somewhere else.
In the elevator, she decided just to go to his office. They could talk privately there. And they'd probably need it.
She walked through the Oncology lounge, and past a few of the other doctors in the department. They knew she worked with House and that House called Wilson in on sometimes pointless consults. They also knew that Wilson was the go-to guy when House went off the deep end, so they didn't look twice at her passing straight through to Wilson's door. It was open, and she could see him at his desk going through a file. So she knocked once and entered, closing the door behind her.
He looked startled to see her, but closed the file and looked at her expectantly. "What can I do for you?"
"I-" She stalled, wondering exactly how she should put this. "Is there anything unusual going on between you and House?"
"What do you mean?"
"Has he been acting strange since you moved in?"
"Apart from stealing my food and playing college type pranks on me, no. Why?"
"Because - " She hesitated again. "Because he's in love with you." The words came out in a rush, much faster than normal, but she knew Wilson understood. He was completely shell-shocked. He gathered himself together remarkably quickly. Cameron thought that he was probably used to shocks when it came to House.
"Thanks for telling me. Can you give me a few minuetes?"
"Sure." She got up to leave, pausing at the door to glance back. He had his elbow on the desk and his head buried in his hands.
She shut the door behind her.
Wilson wasn't sure what to do with what he just heard. House had managed to shock him too many times before, but this one was bigger than any other. House is in love with you. He'd probably hear the words reverberate in his head for months.
A sharp tap on the balcony door brought him back to full attention. Of course. The bastard had always had perfect timing. He gathered himself the best he could and opened the door, walking out on the balcony to join House. Who, he noted cynically, didn't look like there was anything out of the ordinary going on.
"What's up?" House asked. "You look a bit off color. I didn't slip anything into the food, I promise."
"Nothing's wrong," Wilson replied, meeting House square in the eyes. He felt bad about lying, but he wasn't ready to broach the topic yet.
**********************************************
Part 2: Incubation
Several weeks later, Wilson still didn't know what he was going to do. It helped that he was no longer living with House, that he wasn't dealing with the man all day at work and all night, but he really couldn't make either heads or tails of the situation.
House wasn't acting any different than normal, but Wilson knew that he could conceal almost anything if he had enough preparation. He wondered how Cameron had known about it in the first place. As far as he knew, she didn't pay attention to the rampant gossip in the hospital. At least, not like Chase, who actively sought it out. And he hoped that she wouldn't give much credence to anything Chase said. The fact that the information had leaked out bothered him, but the actual information bothered him a whole lot more.
Since when was House gay? And when had House fallen in love with him? In between staring at Cuddy's breast and having one night flings with Stacy? But then again, House didn't actively seek out relationships with women. He knew House wasn't attracted to Cuddy, and only taunted her for the fun of it (and because Cuddy could give it right back to him), and Cameron had extorted that date from him because she knew he wanted her back after the Vogler fiasco. Stacy was different, but she was in the past. And she was back in Short hills now, two hours away.
As he thought back over their most recent fight, he wondered if House's concern about his short lived relationship with Grace was based more on jealousy than on concern about his career. Though in the heat of the moment, he'd chalked it up to the lies.
Without any proof of what Cameron had said, he kept on with his life. Sparring with House, fighting a battle he couldn't win against the cancer and offering impromptu counseling for House's fellows, and having the occasional lunch date with nurses, residents and Cuddy. All normal really.
At that moment, House's cane broke through the slightly-open door, followed by the man himself.
"You up for some lunch? Or are you looking for a new patient to seduce...I mean, help?"
"Leave it, House. It was a bad situation in the first place. I don't need you constantly rubbing my nose in it."
"Fine. But my original question still stands. Lunch?"
"Sure. There's nothing I can do about this mess," Wilson said, gesturing to the larger than normal stack of files in front of him. Brown was on vacation and Wilson had volunteered to take his patients. Partly because someone needed too and he didn't feel right foisting it off on someone else when he was the department head, but partly because the extra work gave him more time to avoid House and work out, what, exactly was going on.
They were silent all the way down to the cafeteria. House picked up the most expensive piece of meat he could, but covered it with salad. Wilson just took a salad and some yoghurt. House actually paid for his own, which didn't happen often.
They ended up sitting in a corner, with several empty tables around them, and Wilson could almost feel the glares that were directed at House. But he was long used to it. But there was something else too. He looked out and caught Brenda's eye. She was having lunch with one of the other clinic nurses, and they were both trying their hardest not to look his way. Knowing Brenda, she'd either heard about House, or started the gossip. Probably the latter.
But there was still the question of where it had come from in the first place. Anyone new at the hospital quickly learned that you didn't do anything to piss off Dr. Gregory House. He was good at revenge and he carried a big stick. Not a good combination. The only reason Wilson could think of for the fact that Brenda and giggly blonde were still alive was that House hadn't found out that they (and probably the whole hospital by now) knew more than they should about House's personal thoughts.
Wilson kept up his part of the conversation, but he knew he was sounding detached. He kept House off his tail by quickly finishing and claiming that he had an appointment. Instead, he took shelter in his office, locked the door and closed the blinds. He lay on his couch and let his mind wander.
Given that he'd had almost no sleep in the past few days, and that he'd gotten incredibly good at sleeping on couches for several weeks, he drifted off almost immediately.
He opened his eyes to see Greg standing over him, leaning heavily on his cane as though he carried more burdens than normal. He lay without moving and watched as Greg slowly lowered himself to his knees and set the cane down on the floor. He could almost physically feel those blue eyes boring into his own dark ones. They were telling him things that he wasn't sure he was ready to hear, but he listened to them all the same. They stayed in the same position for what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. Finally, Greg broke the silence and the eye contact between them. He shifted again and brought one hand up to gently brush aside James' hair and continue running down his jaw to his chin. Greg grasped his chin firmly and tilted it up as he leaned in.
Wilson woke up, short of breath and startled. He didn't move, and as the clock continued to tick, he slowly lost his grasp on the dream. The only thing he could really remember was the intense blue of House's (Greg's) eyes. Deeper than they were in real life. Probably what they had looked like to Stacy, and only her. For a brief second, he wondered what it would feel like to have those eyes directed at him in real life, before shaking off the thought and going back to the files on his desk. He didn't bother unlocking the door or opening the blinds. They could page him or call him if they needed too.
No one did. He finished out the workday in peace, made it through all of Brown's charts and most of his own. He checked at the Nurses station before going home, and none of his patients were in critical condition. So he went home and set about preparing dinner. He vaguely wondered if House was eating at all. Or if he was, if it was anything healthy. He flipped on the TV as a distraction, but the only things on were Law and Order repeats and primetime soaps. Without thinking about it, he picked up his phone and started to dial House's number. Catching himself before entering the last digit, he hit clear and put his phone back on the side table. House didn't need to be in his life every second of every day.
Instead, Wilson picked up his keys and drove to the nearest bar. A drink or two wouldn't affect his ability to drive, he knew, and he needed to clear his mind a bit.
The next morning, Wilson woke up to a blinding light and a body next to him. It was female, at least, but he couldn't shake the guilty feeling creeping over him. He was divorced, had no girlfriend. Nothing in his life was constant except House. And it all came back to him. Since House's infarction, their lives had pretty much revolved around each other and their job. He slipped out of bed as quietly as he could and peeled the sticky, used condom from his thigh. At least he hadn't been gone enough to forget something like that. Cleaning up, he decided, was something he could do in his own shower. Dressing quietly, he left. He didn't remember her name at all, only that she'd been willing.
In the shower, small flashes of sensation crept over him. The only thing he could remember clearly were her eyes, clear blue and penetrating. Much like Greg's. She'd also had long, tapered strong fingers that had found every spot on his body that his wives never had. Eyes closed, Wilson slid his hands down his body and grasped his swelling penis. He concentrated on what he could remember from the night before. But the name on his tongue as he reached orgasm was Greg. He quickly opened his eyes and finished cleaning himself up. He hadn't just done that. House would probably kill him if he found out. But then he remembered Cameron's words; the sentence that had started this whole episode: Because he's in love with you. And if that were true, then House would probably want to join him.
Knotting his tie, he went to find some aspirin. He was criminally late for work.
Two days later, Friday, Wilson thought he was going to explode. And House was still acting like everything was perfectly normal. Wilson was getting more and more distracted by House's eyes. Or hands. Or suggestive comments. And House was picking up on Wilson's distracted manner.
Given his history, House thought he'd just found a new female fling. But aside from that drunken night with Miss Blue Eyes, he hadn't been seeing anyone. Or even making the attempt to. Because he was being haunted by a different pair of blue eyes. Ones outlined in wrinkles. Ones that held shadows from constant pain. Shadows that James could make vanish in his dreams. Something he wished he could do in real life.
Wilson continued to hide in his office when he wasn't seeing patients, and for once, Diagnostics didn't call him in on a pointless consult. They almost never actually got a cancer case. Cancer was too easy to diagnose, and it normally went straight from the GPs to Oncology. Normally, he'd be all for an excuse to skip his own pile of charts for a while, but he couldn't do it this week. Not when his heart jumped every time House met his eyes in some private joke. Not when he had to catch his breath every time he watched House handle his cane, trying to stop himself from wishing that House was handling him instead. He pushed that thought out of his head as soon as it formed.
House wasn't on the balcony, and the weather was nice, promising more nice weather in the near future. There was a reason he'd bought the patio set after all. Picking up the file he was working on and the few underneath it, he went outside and sat down.
The sunlight was a good influence, and he managed to put thoughts of Greg out of his head long enough to do some work. When he finished the files, he put them back on his inside desk, but instead of grabbing more, he snatched a cold soda from his office fridge (he wished he had a beer, House probably had a stash of them in his office, but he always felt guilty about drinking at the hospital) and went back outside to enjoy the sun. He slouched down in his chair, crossing his arms and letting his chin fall to his chest.
He slept though the sound of Greg's door opening. He missed Greg awkwardly hopping the dividing wall between the balconies. He woke up when Greg was standing in front of him, grasping his chin and boring into him with those passionate eyes. The one's he'd only imagined. Greg set his cane against the patio table and moved closer, Lifting James' chin and running a second hand through his hair. Greg leaned closer and closed his eyes. James could feel the warmth of Greg's breath sweep over his lips.
Wilson woke up to find himself looking into the eyes that were in his dreams. Though not the version he'd been dreaming of. House's hands were on his shoulders, and they were gently shaking him awake.
"Are you sure you're ok, Wilson?"
"Fine, House. I guess I'm just not used to my new bed yet."
"Don't forget our date tonight." Wilson started on the word `date.' "Beer, Chinese and crappy old B horror movies." Their usual Friday night activities.
"I won't forget," Wilson said. This time he avoided House's eyes. "I'll see you later."
They both walked into Wilson's office. Wilson sat down at the desk and House continued out through the lounge to the hallway.
******************************************
Part 3: Outbreak
At 8:15pm, Wilson knocked on House's door. But he knew that House wouldn't get up for him, because he had a key. One he intended on keeping. The door opened to reveal House seated in the middle of the couch, steaming Chinese on the table in front of him, and The New Yankee Workshop on TV.
"I really don't know how you can watch this, House. They're not going to show any blood and gore. And if he did injure himself, they'd just put on reruns until he got better." Wilson put the beer he'd brought into the fridge opened two of the bottles and carried them out to the living room. He sat in his customary seat on the right side of the couch and helped himself to the Chinese, handing House his beer. Their fingers brushed and Wilson shivered just a bit. House, apparently, didn't notice.
"So what if they don't show it. The suspense is there none the less."
They watched the show for awhile. Wilson broke the silence. "What B horror movie have you picked out for us tonight?"
"I picked out an excellent film. Attack of the Giant Leeches. There was a cute chick on the cover, wearing entirely too many clothes."
"House, she's only wearing a bathing suit."
"Like I said, too much clothing."
Wilson rolled his eyes, but picked up the case and went to put it into the player. He wondered when House was going to give in and get a DVD player instead of holding Wilson's hostage. Even after the failed poker game, House hadn't returned the bloody thing. He silently weighed up his irritation at trying to get it back and the cost of buying a new one.
He pressed play and picked up the remote, moving to sit back down next House. He couldn't help himself. He sat just a few inches closer to House than normal, stretching his legs out onto the coffee table so that both of their rested side by side. Wilson's were just a little closer than normal.
The little space between them was building up heat like a furnace, even with House's air conditioning turned fully onto cold and all the way up to ward off the heat of the New Jersey summer. He tried to concentrate on the screaming, scantily clad women in the movie, but every time he blinked, House's eyes swam in front of his. Sighing, he moved down on the couch, just a little, letting his hand slip to the side of his knee, so that it was resting against House's thigh, below where he knew House's scar was.
Greg didn't flinch away, or try to get away from him in any way, Wilson noted. And turned his attention back to the movie. The giant leeches were very terrifying, he thought. Though it was possible that in the light of day, they'd be nothing more than utterly silly. Giant rubber things covered in slime. He laughed.
"What? You wouldn't be laughing if that thing dragged you into a cave."
"That's what I was thinking about, actually. They seem scary. But off camera, in daylight? They're just giant bits of rubber covered in slime."
"And giant rubber things aren't scary? Where did you grow up?"
"Mars."
"That explains it, then," House reached for the food again. "You sure you're full?"
"Yeah, go ahead."
House sat up straight and dug through the carton of broccoli beef, looking for the last bits of meat among the discarded bits of broccoli. He finished off his beer around the same time that Wilson finished his. He was reluctant to leave his comfortable seat, nearly plastered against House's side, but he needed more alcohol.
He opened the two bottles in the kitchen and downed a good portion of his before going back out. This time, he sat even closer. Their legs were pressed against each other from hip to knee, and in his comfortable slouching position, he was very nicely tucked under House's arm.
By the time House had finished with the beef and started working on the beer, Wilson was almost finished with his. He debated getting up for his third, but that would mean getting up. And he was singularly reluctant to do that. Just sitting like this, pressed up against House made him feel better than he had during any of his marriages and countless affairs. The only thing he could remember coming remotely close was when his mother had held him as he slept after breaking his arm when he was ten.
As Attack of the Giant Leeches came to a close, House switched back to regular TV, finding a primetime show that doubled as a soap. Either that, or it was a soap cleverly disguised as primetime TV. But then again, it was Friday night. The worst night for TV, aside from Saturday. House seemed to be absorbed in the show, and Wilson let himself drift off a bit.
They were sitting, just watching TV. James was pressed close into Greg's side, with Greg's arm flung around his shoulder, drawing lazy circles on James' upper arm. It was comfortable. The programming had switched to infomercials, as it was now nearing 3am. It was comfortable and comforting. He'd told Greg once, he really only had two things in his life - their relationship and his job at the hospital. He really enjoyed his work, but he could be a good oncologist anywhere. Greg was his reason for staying where he was. Greg, the only other constant in his life, other than cancer. And a much better alternative. The hand on his shoulder moved up to his scalp and started massaging gently. Greg's hand grasped the back of his head and turned it to face him. James met that blue gaze for what felt like forever. James leaned forward.
The warmth and support at his side disappeared abruptly and Wilson started awake. House was reaching for his cane and levering himself to his feet. Wilson stared, blearily as House marched off in the direction of the bathroom. His own bladder was nagging at him, but he'd have to wait for House to finish, first. Either that or piss in the kitchen sink.
He heard the toilet flush, and scrambled to his feet, brushing past House in the hallway on his way to use the toilet. He finished quickly, but stayed in there for a long time, leaning against the sink. What am I doing here? He asked himself. But he knew what he was doing. He was doing either the smartest or the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life. Possibly some of both. But he couldn't help but feel that this could work out to be the best thing in both their lives. And maybe they'd both be a little less miserable.
He splashed some water on his face, dried it on the guest (his) towel and went back to the living room.
"I was beginning to wonder if I needed to offer you a laxative."
"No, I'm fine."
"You've been saying that a lot lately. What's going on?"
Wilson took a deep breath and sat down, pressing right up against Greg's side this time. He turned, placing one hand gently on Greg's right knee and twining the other up into Greg's hair. He closed his eyes and leaned forward before he could give his better sense a chance to protest.
And then his lips hit Greg's, and reality shattered. He moved his hand from Greg's knee to his chest, feeling he heartbeat. It was racing, very much like his own. But it took a minute to realize that Greg wasn't kissing back. Wasn't moving at all, actually.
Feeling suddenly cold, Wilson pulled back, away from House. Off the couch. Out the door. Into his car. Back to his apartment before he even realized what had happened. What he'd done.
Through the sounds of breaking glass (his heart, he decided) and the pounding blood in his ears, he vaguely reasoned that he'd probably just ruined the best thing in his life. The only constant; because he'd listened to Cameron, and possibly the hospital gossip mill. Which never talked about House, because they were all afraid of his cane and his sarcasm.
Wilson stripped mechanically; for once not caring that his stuff was lying on the floor. He could take care of it tomorrow. He struggled not to cry. Grown men didn't cry. He closed his eyes, and soon enough he was asleep.
Greg's presence in his dreams was normal now. Those blue eyes floated in front of him almost every time he closed his. And this time he knew he was dreaming. But it didn't stop him from hoping it was real. He was back in Greg's apartment, sitting on the couch. He placed one hand on Greg's knee and threaded the other into Greg's hair. He closed his eyes and leaned forward before he could give his better sense a chance to speak up. And when his lips hit Greg's, reality shattered again. He felt for Greg's heartbeat. It was just as rapid and seemingly sporadic as his own. But he wasn't concerned. And this time, Greg kissed him back. Greg moaned, leaving James enough room to slip his tongue inside. The taste of the Chinese and the beer lingered in Greg's mouth, but beneath that there was something warm. Something alive. Something that was just Gregory House. He half-stood, never breaking the kiss, and slowly pushed Greg back onto the sofa, being careful that his right leg didn't knock into anything. He used his knees to gently pry Greg's legs apart so that he could slip his hips between them, lying flat and lining up their bodies part for part. He felt Greg's hands running up and down his back, tickling his spine, and making him shiver. James started to slowly thrust his hips, lining up his erection with Greg's, creating a pressure so perfect that he hadn't known such a thing existed. He abandoned reality completely, focusing only on his hips pressed against Greg's, his lips and tongue dancing with Greg's. It seemed to last forever. When his orgasm hit, it shattered reality again. He broke the kiss and buried his face in Greg's neck, feeling the tendons against his cheek tighten when Greg threw his had back and groaned out his release. James stayed where he was, not rolling off, not saying anything, just being. Nevermind that they were both going to be sticky when they finally did part.
Wilson woke up and chocked back a sob. That's what he had wanted to happen. He didn't know how, but somehow in the last few weeks, he'd gone and fallen in love. It felt different than his wives. He had thought he'd loved them, but he'd never really known them, beyond their good looks and the fact that they'd needed some stability in their lives. House was right about his need for neediness. But this time he didn't need House. He wanted Greg. He wanted him in a way he'd never thought about before. In a way that he didn't think he could continue to live without. And he didn't know what he'd do if House walked away from him.
******************************************
Part 4: Spread
House sat in shock. Wilson had just kissed him. That was something he'd never expected in his wildest (or weirdest) dreams. But it had happened in his real life. He felt Wilson back away. Heard Wilson leaving the apartment, and he didn't do anything to stop him. At least it was the weekend, and he wouldn't have to go back to the hospital unless there was some emergency over the weekend. But their current patient was on the road to recovery and he didn't expect a call from the FCC.
Maybe it would give him time to figure out just what the hell was happening. But first he had to clean up a bit. Normally, he was all for leaving things where they were (at least for the night) but there was a good bit of leftover food that would go off overnight, and he could probably make it last another two meals. Small ones, but he could live with that.
He slowly closed up all the containers (snitching a piece of broccoli. He only avoided it to annoy Wilson) and put them back into the bag they'd come in. Putting the containers back into the fridge, he found two fortune cookies in the bottom. He set one aside for Wilson (if he ever saw him again) and cracked open the other one.
The fortune read, "In God we trust. All others must pay cash." He mentally tacked on `in bed.' Much more amusing. He picked up the phone to dial Wilson's number, but stopped short. He had no idea what he'd say. He closed the phone and went back to the living room, grabbing another beer, and a bottle of whiskey. This was as good an excuse as any to get blind drunk. He'd just have to hope like hell that his team didn't call. Or, if they did, that they wouldn't mind picking him up. Or he could just keep it to a phone consult. They'd solved an entire case like that once. Right before I slept with Stacy, House remembered. But Stacy was gone. Wilson had stayed. Wilson had refused to go. Until now. Wilson had run away. After Wilson had kissed him. He needed to know why.
He shouldn't have been surprised to see Cuddy in her office on a Saturday morning. She did a double take, though. He was wearing his sunglasses because his head hurt like hell and he was leaning on his cane just a bit more than usual because it kept the world from spinning quite so much. In reality, he wasn't sure why he'd come to the Hospital. He only knew that his office would be a safe place to barricade himself and think.
He pulled out his iPod, turned on his classical playlist and settled down in his armchair, leg propped up and cane leaning on the wall next to him. The shades were drawn, the door was locked, and no one would think to look for him here on a Saturday, especially when his patient wasn't in any danger of dying, or even remotely close to death.
But he couldn't put a finger on what had changed about Wilson. Sure, he'd been acting a bit strange the month or so, but House had chalked it up to divorce number 3, and probably a new woman on the side, after the cancer patient. Though this time, he'd seen Wilson's new apartment, and it was actually his. No terminal patients in sight.
Wilson's behavior was puzzling. Before the attempted kiss, House could swear that Wilson had been cuddling with him. Every time Wilson got up, he sat just a little closer. The feeling wasn't uncomfortable. He'd never admit it out loud, but he liked cuddling. He liked human contact. It reminded him that he wasn't, in fact, completely alone. But Wilson? He thought that Wilson was a bit more stable than that. Obviously not. Maybe his latest girlfriend had turned him down for a second go-round, and he was just horny. But that still didn't explain why he had made a pass at House.
Irritated that he couldn't even begin to solve the problem, House got up and started stalking the hallways. There were fewer people than usual, but that didn't keep the nurses from gossiping. House caught a snatch of their conversation as he passed. He was almost surprised that it was about him, but not quite.
"Wonder what he's doing here on a Saturday?" Blondie asked.
"Not a clue. Maybe a lover's spat with Wilson?" Busty responded.
"I didn't know they were together. But someone told me awhile back that House was in love with him," said Blondie.
"Does Wilson know?"
"I have no idea."
They moved out of House's range, and he didn't want to follow them and make it even more obvious that he was eavesdropping. Was that what this was about? The rumor that he was in love with Wilson had reached Wilson and made him react?
As he moved towards the elevator to go out and back home, he wondered who had started the rumor, and why said person wasn't afraid of his cane.
He winked at Cuddy on his way out.
Climbing on the bike, he decided that he'd rather go for a ride than go home and sit in front of his TV for the rest of the day. He went past Wilson's new apartment, but didn't stop. He couldn't face Wilson yet. So he went for a ride. He crossed the Pa border and rode into the woods for awhile, twisting and turning, and trusting his sense of direction to get him back home safely. He thought about nothing while he was on the bike, just enjoyed the wind and the sun.
He arrived home, just after sunset. He threw the leftovers into the microwave and poured himself a scotch. He sat on the far end of the couch. The view of the TV wasn't quite as good, but it wasn't where he had been sitting the night before, and it wasn't Wilson's spot. Eventually, he passed out on the couch.
James' eyes were boring into his. They were on the couch, like they had been before. But James wasn't touching him at all. He was just starting, as though he was trying to read Greg's very soul. If it still existed, that is. James reached out to touch him, but his hand never quite made contact with Greg's cheek. It was just a millimeter away. Greg tried to move into it, to make the contact, but James' hand started moving farther and farther away. James himself was moving, shrinking. Out of the living room, out the front door. James was fading away, though their eyes never broke contact. The second he lost sight of James' eyes,
He woke, covered in a cold sweat. He couldn't lose Wilson. Wilson was all he had left. He had to do whatever he could to keep Wilson (James) in his life. He grabbed his helmet and jacket and was out the door as fast as his leg and cane would let him. Within minutes he was pulling into the parking lot of Wilson's place and knocking on the door.
*******************************************
Part 5: Differential
A loud, sharp knock interrupted Wilson's sleep. Only Cuddy and House knew his address (Cuddy for hospital business) so there was only one person who would interrupt him in the middle of the night like this. And only House would knock on his door instead of calling him or paging him. He rolled out of bed, threw on some clothing and went to open the door.
"House, its 2 a.m. Can this wait?"
"I don't know. What's been going on, with you?" That was exactly the question that Wilson was unprepared to answer. He was ready to blame this whole thing on Cameron and whomever she had gotten information from. The source was obviously faulty. But faulty or not, he couldn't deny that he was not looking at House differently. That he wanted things to be different. That he wanted to move back to House's place, to House's bed, to stay with the man as long as he could. He wanted it so much that he probably wouldn't be able to pretend that things could ever be the same again.
"I not sure how tell you. But you probably need to sit down."
"Fine. Got any beer?"
Beer was a phenomenally stupid idea. It was already 2 in the morning and Wilson just wanted to sleep. Anything was liable to come out of his mouth at this point. Beer would make it worse. And given House's current mood, the beer would just make him even more abrasive, pushy and rude. Wilson didn't think he could deal with it. The situation was bad enough as it was.
"I don't think it's a good idea for either of us to have alcohol for this conversation."
"Fine."
Wilson watched as House carefully made his way through the still half-unpacked living room to the couch. He sat down heavier than normal and propped his leg up on the coffee table. Wilson took the chair. They sat like that for ages; silent, staring, neither one sure of how to bring up the issue. Predictably, House broke first.
"Why?" he asked. No clarification was needed.
"I'm not sure. Cameron told me something awhile ago."
"Cameron? Why would you listen to anything she has to say, aside from when she's diagnosing a patient?"
"House! Bashing your employees isn't going to make this conversation easier. I know you're pissed off at me. And I know you want answers, but you're going to have to be civil before I give them to you."
Wilson was angry, and he knew it. He had every right to be angry. At Cameron, At House. At anyone. At himself. It didn't matter anymore. But House's only possible target was Wilson.
"What, exactly, did she say?"
And how could Wilson answer that? Cameron's words, `he's in love with you,' were cemented into his brain. But he couldn't exactly repeat it without sounding like a fool. He looked at the floor, noting that he'd need to have his carpet cleaned, soon.
"Wilson. What did she tell you?"
He took a deep breath. "She told me - She said that you were in love with me."
There. It was out. And it looked like he'd managed to actually Shock Greg House. Those blue eyes were open about as wide as Wilson had ever seen them, and House was just managing to control his goldfish-like expression. House said nothing, just got to his feet and walked out the door. Wilson wouldn't put it past him to go straight to Cameron's place and demand to know where she had heard such a thing.
Knowing House, he'd probably find the original source of the offending remark, but even if he did, there was nothing for it now. Word was out and it had already fucked up his life. And probably his job. He doubted that he would be able to work at the hospital again.
Wilson watched House limp out of the door to the complex and out to his bike. Saw House clip his cane into its holder and seat himself. But instead of driving straight off, House just sat there; and Wilson really wanted to know what was going on inside his friend's head. Eventually, House started up the engine and drove out, somewhat slower than usual. Wilson listened until the sounds were lost among the other late-night city sounds before giving up and going to bed.
*********************************************
Part 6: Diagnosis
House was flabbergasted. Absolutely floored. There was nothing for it, really. He rode back to his apartment without really thinking and eventually found himself in bed. Fine, he decided, it can wait until morning.
He stormed into his office around noon on Monday. He'd gotten a voicemail that the patient was being discharged, and he felt justified in taking the few hours off, given that he'd come in on a Saturday of his own will. Foreman and Chase were in the conference room, reading journals, it looked like. Cameron was probably in the lab. That was as good a place as any for this, he decided.
Pathology was almost completely deserted. Only Cameron was there, glasses on, staring into a microscope and recording her observations in her ever-present lab book. He decided to be blunt.
"Who the hell told you that I was in love with Wilson?"
She looked startled. Good.
"Foreman."
Figures. Forman loved gossip almost as much as Chase.
"And you chose to believe him?"
"I didn't see any evidence to the contrary."
House backed out of the lab and headed back to his conference room. Foreman had probably gotten it from Chase, who made it his goal in life to be the most informed person in the hospital, aside from Brenda. Come to think of it, she was probably involved in it somehow as well.
His other two employees (soon to be ex-?) were still sitting at the table.
Again, he decided to be blunt. "Who the hell told one or both of you that I was in love with Wilson?"
Foreman just pointed at Chase. Chase looked uncomfortable. "Well?" he asked, waving his cane around in what was supposed to be a threatening manner.
"One of the nurses told me."
Great. Nurses. House knew there was a reason he hated nurses.
"Which one, and where do I find her?"
"I assume that if I tell you, you're not going to kill her?"
"Just give me the damn name."
"Anne. She'll either be in ICU or the clinic."
House went to ICU first. The longer he could avoid the clinic and Cuddy, the better. But first, he stopped to look up `Anne'.
He found her in ICU, filing out charts at the nurse's station. He pointed his cane. "You, Anne, right?"
She looked up. "Yes. What can I do for you, Dr. House?"
"You can tell me why you thought it was a good idea to inform my employee that I'm in love with Wilson?"
"Curiosity. Brenda told me."
House gave her mental points for not cringing away from his cane, though he mentally cringed at what she told him. Brenda. The Clinic. It could wait a little while. He was on shift starting in two hours, and he'd use some of his slave-time to get to the bottom of this. Except that he didn't want to go back to his office. Foreman and Chase were still there. He turned and walked the other way down the corridor. He hadn't been to visit Coma Guy for awhile.
When House walked into the clinic on time for his shift, Cuddy did a double take. But she figured that whatever got House there was good enough for her.
House spotted Brenda at the nurse's desk right away. She was always there. As he approached she tried to hand him a file. "I've got more important things to do at the moment."
"Which is why you're on time for your clinic duty, right?" She asked.
"Actually, this involves you. And probably more people, but for now, you're it." He stole a lollipop and unwrapped it as he spoke. "I want to know who, exactly, told you that I was in love with Wilson."
"Tracy," she pointed out Tracy, "told me that she heard you saying something about it to Stacy. Months ago."
"Thanks," House straightened up. "Tracy! Need your help in exam one."
Brenda once again tried to hand him a file, but he brushed it off and went to the exam room, Tracy following behind, not aware that anything was going on.
The room was closed, locked and the blinds pulled. Brenda made a note to check for bodies in an hour.
"Why did you tell Brenda that I was in love with Wilson?"
"I heard you arguing with Stacy several months ago. You said `I'm gay' and then something about `....with Wilson....'"
House wracked his brains for that particular argument. From before Chase's hearing. With Stacy. She'd asked what he was hiding.
"You idiot! I wasn't being serious. Do you really think I'd confess something like that to my ex? Or in the middle of a crowded hallway in this hospital?" House almost laughed, but managed to keep his threatening faade intact. "Get out. I'm leaving. Tell Brenda and Cuddy that I'm sick."
He needed to tell Wilson.
He found Wilson hiding in his office, like usual. Of course, Wilson did have piles of work to do; Oncology was one of the biggest departments in the hospital. He didn't bother knocking.
"Wilson, we need to talk."
"About what?"
"You've been wrongly informed. A clinic nurse overheard an argument I had with Stacy, in which I jokingly said `I'm gay.'"
"Then where do I come in?"
"Apparently I then mentioned your name. And nurses have nothing better to do than assume things about doctors." House hesitated. He made himself look Wilson in the eyes. "Wilson, I'm sorry about this."
"Then what do we do now, House?"
"I guess we go back to the way we were before."
"I'm not sure I can do that."
House watched Wilson closely. He wondered how long Wilson had been sitting on that phrase. Something had changed, he wasn't sure exactly what, but something was different about Wilson.
He watched Wilson heave a sigh. "I don't think I can go back to the way things were, House. I don't want to. I -" he stopped for a minute. "I think I love you."
Again, it was House's turn to be shocked. He abruptly stood and walked out of Wilson's office.
*********
Wilson watched him go. Saw him walk into his office and sit down behind his desk. House started playing with his ball. A sure sign that something was going on in House's brain. Wilson decided to knock off early and go home. He couldn't stand being around the hospital after he'd just said that. He walked quickly to his car and drove as fast as he dared back to his apartment. House really was going to kill him this time.
**********************************************
Part 7: Treatment
House really didn't know what to do. His argument with Stacy was months in the past now. They'd survived the fallout of that disastrous case, but now it was costing him his best (and only, if he was honest with himself) friend. And he didn't want it to. He wanted Wilson to stay, to try to keep it going. They'd had any number of arguments and fights in the past, but nothing quite like this. Like he'd done on Saturday, he barricaded himself in his office, closed the shades to the outside balcony (so that he wouldn't see Wilson) and the inside hallway (so he wouldn't see anyone else). He wasn't sure about his life anymore.
He took up his normal position in his armchair and picked up the newest copy of The Journal of Molecular Diagnostics and started with page 1. Something he almost never did. But he was really just killing time. He should be down in the clinic. He should be hunting up a new patient, but he didn't want to do either thing. Cuddy would be on his tail soon enough, so he intended to let himself get lost in the journal and not think about Wilson or Brenda or Tracy or about how many people in the hospital probably thought he was sleeping with or wanted to sleep with Wilson.
But now, apparently, Wilson wanted to sleep with him. It was never a situation he'd had to deal with, and he was lost. He wanted everything to be ok with Wilson, but didn't see how it would happen if Wilson continued to act (or think) the way he was.
House was so absorbed in his journal that he didn't notice the sun setting, his team leaving or the shift change. Of course this was helped by the fact that he had all of his shades drawn. Eventually, it was completely dark in his office, save for the slight glow of his screensaver. House drifted off to sleep.
They were back in Greg's apartment, sitting on the couch, exactly the way they had been Friday night. James was tucked into his side and Greg had an arm casually draped over James' shoulders, drawing lazy circles on his upper arm. James felt so content that he was almost purring. Greg felt something in him unlock. He couldn't remember a time when he was just content to stay where he was, thinking nothing, doing nothing. They didn't have to be anywhere; they didn't have to say anything. Communication with James was limited to James' hand on his leg, and his arm over James' back. There was something still playing on the TV, but Greg couldn't tell what it was. Something useless and boring, most likely. But, then again, most TV was. The remote was sitting on the table near his feet, but he didn't want to move from this comfort. James shifted, putting one hand on Greg's knee and sliding the other into Greg's hair. James leaned closer, closing his eyes. Greg felt warm breath ghost over his lips. He closed his own eyes and waited. But contact never came. James was hovering a centimeter away from his lips.
And then James started moving away. Not moving, fading away; part by part, he was going. Pretty soon he was going to be nothing. Greg grabbed James' head and tried to keep him there, but James just kept disappearing. Finally it was just James' lips, hovering exactly where they had been, a centimeter away from Greg's lips. Greg tried to close that centimeter but as soon as they made contact, the lips were gone, and Greg was left with nothing.
House was startled. His first thought was that he must have taken something other than vicodin before going to sleep - the same thing that Lewis Carroll had apparently taken while writing The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland. He then imagined Wilson's eyes on the Disney version of the Cheshire cat. It was quite cute, he thought. But Wilson's eyes would be cute no matter where they were put. his bed, for example. House squashed that thought before it was fully formed. Eventually, he realized that he was still in his office, and there was no reason for him to be there. He picked up his helmet and went home.
When he got there, he immediately turned on the TV to keep both his thoughts and the silence away. Wilson had said that things couldn't go back to the way they were. Wilson had also said that he was in love with House. House knew that he wasn't in love with Wilson, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this was going to tear Wilson from his side. Then he'd have to be Cuddy's friend, and that wasn't good for anyone. The dreams weren't helping; Wilson kept getting taken from his side, nothing he could do to keep Wilson from leaving.
Except that Wilson didn't leave. Wilson faded away. Wilson died, piece by piece. What did it mean? Was the Wilson he knew going to change so much from this that he wouldn't be House's friend? House abandoned his spot on the couch, downed a vicodin and went to bed. Dreams were bullshit anyway. Everybody knew that. But they wouldn't go away.
Greg was back in the Hospital, after the infarction. James was sitting in the chair by his bedside while Stacy was at work or running errands, or just off nursing her guilt. James held Greg's left hand with his own, while the right one was lightly running up and down Greg's forearm. There was nothing overtly sexual in the gesture, and the contact was comforting. Greg was due to start physio the next day, and he knew what that involved. His leg hurt enough as it was, but the physio would make it worse. His doctor's sense knew that it would help him in the long run, but he couldn't help cringing from the pain. They'd already started dialing down the morphine, and the pain was creeping in around the edges.
But James was there. James had always been there. It had cost him one wife already. There was something he wanted to tell James. It was there. He turned his head to look at James, but James wasn't there. Only his hands. Greg reached out to grab them and just before he could, they were gone. The only thing left of James was the lingering warmth on his arm.
Stacy walked in the door, carrying a hospital tray of food.
House woke up. He took a vicodin and went back to sleep. He didn't remember the dream the next day, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Wilson was going to leave.
The situation was fast becoming another puzzle in his life. He still saw Wilson every day, ate lunch with him, watched old horror movies (at Wilson's place now) and joked about Cuddy's breasts and love life. But something was missing. Wilson's eyes were different now. They were shadowed, as if he was trying to hide something. He didn't seek House out anymore, it was always House. If his team wondered why Wilson never dropped in anymore, they didn't say anything. House got the impression that Wilson was somehow preparing to break away, to put up walls between them and go back to the mainly superficial working friendship they'd had for years, before something had shifted.
House could identify the moment that had happened. He had always been under the opinion that the young oncologist was way too serious. He made it his personal goal to get Wilson to smile at least once a day. For the most part, his antics (two legged at the time) had managed it. Until one day, House had gone overboard. He'd been staging a false complaint against Cuddy before she became top dog and was `merely' the head of her department. Cuddy was always good at fighting back, but something she said got under House's skin. He retaliated by putting his hands on his hips, leaning forward and sticking out his tongue like a petulant child. Wilson, who had been watching the scene from the beginning, cracked a smile. Then burst out laughing. A grown, scruffy doctor with a double specialty sticking out his tongue at a colleague for no other reason than that he could. House took Wilson out to the bar that night, and they'd had their first real conversation. They'd started chipping away at each other's walls.
But now, after more than ten years and near death experiences on both their parts (Wilson had been in a car crash after divorce #1), House could sense that Wilson was trying to put those walls back up. And House sure as hell didn't want that.
Maybe he should let Wilson have what he wanted. He'd get laid on a regular basis (they would have to have talk about the mechanics of it), and he would keep his best friend.
He didn't see Wilson that day, and he even went voluntarily to the Clinic to look for him. All Cuddy would say was that Wilson had taken a personal day.
House went home, defeated. The further he got from his resolution, the more doubt he had about it. He wasn't gay, and Wilson held no attraction for him. But his chances of finding a new girlfriend at his age with his cane and his abrasive personality were slim to none. Stacy was semi-happily married, and Cuddy sure as hell didn't want him. He didn't want Cameron, he'd never be able to live with her. But Wilson was different. Ever since that night, Wilson had always come first in his life. Over Stacy (except when they were in bed) mostly over his job. But then again, most of his job involved Wilson in one way, shape or form.
The only thing he knew for sure was that he wanted Wilson in his life, no matter what it took. He downed a few drinks with his vicodin before going to sleep, again. He felt that he'd been doing too much of that lately. But Wilson wasn't around to distract him.
This time, James was in his bed. Greg was on his back, and James was on his side halfway on top of him. They were naked, but nothing felt sexual. Greg had one hand flat on James' back and the other on his own stomach, laced with one of James'. They were comfortable, they were touching. James started to pull his hand away, but given his most recent dreams, Greg knew that James would start disappearing soon, and he couldn't let that happen. He refused to let go. James kept trying to get away, but Greg knew that if he lost his hold he'd lose him for good. He tightened his arm around James' back and pulled the other man fully on top of him. James' pupils were dilated, which made his already dark eyes look completely black. There was a longing in them, hunger, but it was overlaid by fear. Fear of what would happen to them after this moment. Fear that they'd lose everything. Because both of them knew that they were dependent on the other to keep them sane and somewhat mentally healthy (minus addiction).
James was lying flat out on top of him and Greg could feel his erection. But that didn't matter at the moment. The only thing that mattered was keeping James there, in that spot forever. He stretched up and brought James' lips to his. It was a chaste kiss, though there was nothing chaste about the situation. They just stayed there, feeling each other's heartbeats reverberating through their lips. When they finally broke apart, Greg felt like he'd lost something truly important, but he didn't know how to get it back. And then James started to move. Just little thrusts of his hips at first, meeting Greg's eyes the entire time. As time passed, the thrusts became wilder and wilder. Each trying to piece together this new reality. James initiated the kiss this time, pinning Greg to the bed with hips, hands and lips. A triple restraint wasn't really needed, Greg though, he'd be happy to never again move from this bed. Cuddy might have a few problems, though. James' tongue invaded his mouth, exploring the last bit that had not been given before. Greg felt open, needed and wanted. He knew James wasn't going anywhere.
House woke up hard, aching with James' name caught in his throat. Feeling somewhat guilty, he snaked his hand beneath the sheets to grasp himself and finish what the dream had started before the feeling of peace was gone for good. It didn't take much, but he deliberately didn't let himself moan or say the name that was on the tip of his tongue the entire time. To say it out loud while awake would be to surrender to whatever tide was trying to take him away. He didn't surrender easily. But he couldn't deny anymore that some part of him wanted James the way James apparently wanted him. And if that's what it took...
The thought was terrifying. Scarier than anything he could remember, up to and including his father in uniform. Sitting up, he decided that he really needed to talk to Wilson about this. He felt half crazy and at the same time, more sane and rational than he'd ever been.
He picked up the phone and dialed Wilson's number. He'd interrupted his friend's sleep more times than he could count over the years, and he knew that if he sounded like he really needed help, Wilson would be dressed and at his door in a flash.
A sleepy Wilson answered, "What do you want, House. It's 3am."
"Get over here. Now."
"Can this wait until normal working hours."
"This isn't work. This isn't something that should come close to work. Just get over here."
"Fine."
The line died. House then realized that Wilson would be there in about ten minutes, and he had nothing on. Grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a worn Stones t-shirt, he limped to the living room and sat down on the couch, deliberately not picking up the remote to turn on the TV. Several minutes and several lifetimes passed before House heard knocking. When he didn't answer, Wilson used his key. House stood up. Now that Wilson was here, he didn't quite know what to say.
***************************************
Part 8: Recovery
They stood facing each other for what could have been hours, House thought. Time didn't matter anymore. Eventually, he broke the silence.
"Kiss me."
"I beg your pardon?" Wilson looked astonished. His eyes were wider than normal. Wider than House could ever remember them being, even when he'd been doing something insanely stupid.
"I need to know something. Kiss me."
"You're insane, House. I won't do it. Use patients as lab rats, not friends."
Since Wilson wasn't going to give him what he needed, House stepped forward, advancing on Wilson step by step, until Wilson was flat against the door, and his hand was searching for the handle to try to get out. House took a minute to silently thank his landlord for installing inward-swinging doors. Wilson wouldn't be able to get away easily.
"Neither patients nor rats would be able to help. And I refuse to expose Steve to any more toxins."
"Right, because he's now over his life-saving quota."
"Damn right he is. Foreman should be grateful." House was now nearly pressed against Wilson, and Wilson's back was going to break through the door soon. But House was determined to do this. He hooked his cane over the door handle and moved his hands to rest flat against the door by Wilson's head. He took a breath.
And pressed his lips against James'. Kissing was more than just two sets of lips pressed together. Kissing was intimacy in its own right, sometimes more than the physical act of having sex. It was probably why hookers wouldn't do it for any amount of money. House's cynical voice was calmly reciting all the diseases one could get from kissing (herpes, mono,...) but he didn't care. The world had narrowed down to the door of his place, where he and James were kissing for the first time. And it was nearly perfect. After a few seconds of shock, James reached out to grasp at Greg's hips and pull them against his own, taking care to keep Greg's bad leg from bumping against anything with enough force to remind him of his pain. Greg grasped James' shirt in one hand and his hair in another. Again, an eternity could have passed and neither man would have noticed it. Greg felt something break. The feeling was remarkably familiar to him, but he knew that he'd never experienced it in real life.
This was what he'd been dreaming of, for longer than he could remember. For the last few days since James had first tried to kiss him, and then fled the scene. Ever since Stacy left him with constant pain, a bottle of pills and a cane as his closest companions. Since before he'd even met Stacy, if he was honest with himself.
Eventually, they were forced to break apart, but Greg refused to give up his hold, so no space opened up between them. Space that, once created, would probably never cease to exist. Greg wanted this moment to last forever. From the look in his eyes, James did too. Despite his cynical outlook on relationships, there was a chance that they just might make this work.
"Wilson -" Greg paused, "James, I don't really know what I'm doing here. I don't love you, I'm not even attracted to you sexually. But I... I care enough about you not to let you go because I can't give you what you need."
When House met James' eyes again, there was a brightness to them that he'd never directly seen. It looked like James was about to cry, but was fighting himself tooth and nail to prevent that from happening. He lowered his hands to Wilson's hips and pulled them both away from the door, grabbing his cane at the same time and giving James a gentle shove towards the bedroom.
"Come on. We both need sleep, and we both need time to decide if we really want to get into this. We can't go back now." He kissed James again, nothing deep. Just a gentle press of lips on lips, completely chaste, but he felt James sigh into the gesture, and relax a bit more.
They had to separate to walk, but Wilson kept his arm wrapped around House's back, following slightly behind in the narrow hallway. They undressed separately, and climbed into bed. The first few moments were awkward, as neither really knew what the other was expecting. House broke first. He took a vicodin dry, turned off his lamp and reached out to pull Wilson closer. That was the whole reason they were doing this, right?
Eventually, they settled with House on his back and Wilson half on his side and half on House. Their combined body heat broke through House's initial apprehension about the situation and he was soon asleep.
They woke up opposite where they had started; Wilson on his back and House wrapped around him, bad leg cushioned by Wilson's thighs. One of Wilson's hands was carded through his hair, and House's hand was resting on Wilson's chest, feeling his heartbeat. From that position, he could tell the exact moment Wilson woke up. He lifted his head and started to pull away, but Wilson tightened his grip, and after a few seconds, House relented. He pillowed his head on Wilson's chest and moved his hand in random patterns over Wilson's chest. Neither of them wanted to move; to get up, get dressed and go off to work like nothing had happened.
Unfortunately, the FCC chose that time to page him. The message said that he had a new patient. A quick phone call confirmed that he really was needed at the hospital immediately, and so he reluctantly moved away from Wilson and their warm bed (their bed? When had that happened?) to take a quick shower and head back to his office. Wilson had fallen back to sleep while House was in the shower, and House smiled as he turned back one more time to look at him. Wilson looked peaceful, and there was a funny little smile on his face.
*******
Wilson woke up to the alarm alone, and in an unfamiliar bed. Well, it was familiar, but not from this angle. He'd never woken up there before. Wilson knew that he needed to get back to his own apartment before work, unless he wanted to show up either looking like House, or in House's clothing. Neither option sounded appealing. Despite what the rumor mill held about his relationship with House, he wanted to keep the truth between just the two of them. Not that there was anything to tell yet. Even if nothing happened beyond this, he believed he could keep going. Having House in his life was better than nothing at all, what did it matter if their friendship was now more screwed up?
He called Cuddy and told her that he was going to be late before heading back to his apartment to get ready for the day. He wondered what had happened to House, but he vaguely recalled a page and a hurried phone conversation. House would probably be in his office by the time he arrived.
He took his time, knowing that none of his patients were in immediate danger and he had no appointments. By the time he finally walked in, it was nearing 10:30 and business was in full swing. He spotted Cuddy in her office, Cameron in the lab and Foreman and Chase in with a patient. He did rounds quickly and efficiently before heading over to Diagnostics ostensibly to get coffee. House would see right through the excuse, but it didn't matter any more.
Everything was in the open and it was up to House to make the move if he ever wanted to. Wilson felt exposed and vulnerable, but despite House's gruff facade, he knew that House cared about him, and cared about keeping their friendship at the very least. Hell, he'd admitted it. He smiled at the memory. Wilson had shown up at House's door at that insane hour of the morning not expecting House to shove him against a door and kiss him. It was everything he'd discovered he wanted, and at the same time not nearly enough. But House had control, just like he always did. And House had chosen to hold back.
House was in his office, hunched over their newest patient file, brows furrowed in concentration. It must be bad if his team had left him to stew in his office alone.
"What is it?" he asked, cautiously.
"Five year old kid with kidney failure."
Wilson winced. The kids were always the worst. He moved behind House and set his hands on House's shoulders, rubbing gently. He could feel the uneven distribution of muscle. Huge knots and more tension on the right side, from leaning on the cane all day, but the left side was pretty knotted as well, probably from tension. House dealt with the most difficult cases in the hospital, and probably the state. Just because he foisted the grunt work off on his team didn't mean that the cases didn't get to him. And despite how hard he worked to stay away, he met with all of his patients at least once. He moved his hands, digging into House's back, arms and shoulders, feeling him relax by degree.
Reluctantly, he pulled away and moved back around to his chair on the other side of the desk. It felt too far away, but with the amount of glass in House's office, there was nothing he could do about the situation without feeding the gossip chain more than he wanted to at this stage. Or ever, for that matter.
"I'll be in my office if you need me."
House met his eyes. "Thanks."
Wilson knew that it was for more than just the backrub.
The kid had lupus, and House kicked himself for a week for missing the diagnosis earlier, after all, how many patients had he had that they'd thought presented with lupus before now? He sulked for days and Wilson did what he could to cheer him up, even resorting to the plastic-wrapped toilet once. They continued to sleep together at night, but nothing else happened. In Wilson's mind it really was just a more screwed-up version of their friendship, and it wasn't at all what he wanted. But House was in no condition to talk about what was going on, and Wilson knew better than to push him. He reflected briefly that this type of logic was probably what had cost him all three of his wives. Wilson moved back in with House and gave up his bleak little apartment. Most of his stuff went into storage, as there just wasn't room at House's place, but his books joined the shelves and his CDs and DVDs were soon indistinguishable, unless he made an effort to remember which were his (the porn was all House, really).
Wilson felt that they were living the life of an old married couple, and he couldn't stand it. There hadn't been romance to begin with, and House had never promised him a rose garden, but he wanted it all the same. He just didn't know if House would be able to provide it.
***********************************************
Part 9: Cure
They were sitting on House's couch, again. Just like they'd been doing every night for the past six weeks. Something was playing on TV, something that House had chosen, but Wilson had long ago stopped paying attention.. All he was thinking about was the warmth radiating from House and soaking into his side, the fingers running softly on his arm and raising the hairs on the back of his neck. It was comfortable, it was safe, and neither of them wanted to break the moment.
But Wilson had grown tired of `safe'. He wanted something more, something that only House could give him. Except that House had never been the giving sort and Wilson decided that he needed to take it. Feeling a strange sort of deja-vu, he turned and places one hand on Greg's thigh, careful not to jar the damaged muscle he knew was there, but has only seen in the context of treatment, and slowly ran the other up Greg's back to tangle in his graying hair. Greg's eyes turn on him and he saw something in the blue depths, something that went beyond any words that he could recall. They're not quite the passionate eyes that he'd dreamt about so many times, but something else. Something that only he can see, because he's the only one that's stuck with House long enough to recognize it. It looked almost like trust. And it took James' breath away.
Hardly daring to believe that this wasn't a dream, he leaned up and kissed Greg. He made is long and slow and leisurely; and this time, Greg kissed him back. There's more to it this time than the night he'd shown up here and Greg had shoved him against the door. Every hour of the last six weeks was dissected and discussed in this kiss. The hesitancy at first, reluctance to take what was offered from both of them. The more frequent touches and verbal honesty as they grew more comfortable just being.
They hadn't kissed again since that night. But James was tired of waiting for Greg to do something. And so here they were, kissing in a really uncomfortable position on their couch. James broke away, but kept his hands where they were.
"I don't want to wait any longer," he said, just before breaking eye contact. "I can't."
Greg brought one of his own hands into the tangle of their bodies and lifted James' chin, making sure that their eyes met. This time, James caught a flash of desire in them before Greg spoke.
"Neither do I."
James watched as Greg reached for his cane and slowly got to his feet. James let his hands linger in their positions as long as possible, but eventually the contact broke. And he shivered.
House started to limp away, towards the bedroom, and Wilson thought that his heart was going to tear out of his chest until Greg turned back and met his eyes. The silent invitation was there, and James quickly made to follow. To their bed, to what was possibly going to be the defining moment of their relationship. He chuckled quietly as he thought that they'd had an awful lot of those lately.
James watched from the doorway as Greg took a vicodin and placed his cane securely by the nightstand. Greg sat down on the bed, slumped over, looking defeated and vulnerable. James crossed the room as silently as he could and placed his hands on Greg's shoulders, hoping that the gesture would say more than he could.
Greg stood up and they folded into each other, standing by the bed, clinging on to the shreds of the past and the glimmer of hope for the future. Here, in this room, in this moment, there was no capacity for lies. James gently pressed his lips to Greg's, and the moment shattered, splitting away and dancing around them. The air was thick with tension and need; and for the first time since they'd started this strange new relationship, desire and arousal. It hit James like a steam engine, rolling over his better sense and his higher reasoning like they were nothing, leaving him flattened and bleeding once they were gone. There was nothing for it.
He pulled away and worked his hand up under Greg's shirt, reveling in the feeling of skin on skin. He kept his hands in constant motion, circling and rubbing Greg's back. He moved his hands higher and higher, eventually moving back to pull Greg's shirt over his head. James stayed where he was to pull his own tie and shirt off before wrapping his arms around Greg. They stood there for a time, not saying anything, not doing anything, just feeling the connection between them. Finally, James couldn't stand it anymore.
He started teasing the waistband of Greg's jeans with his fingers, working them underneath and feeling the softer skin that they hid. He brought his hands around to the front and worked at the buttons of both their pants at the same time, needing to feel more.
Greg's trousers come unbuttoned and James moved to shove them down, but a hand stopped him, held him right where he was. He heard Greg's choked voice say, "not yet. I... not yet."
But James refused to listen. He knew that it was about Greg's leg. While House might parade his cane and his disability to his advantage as much as possible, Greg was still almost ashamed of the injury. If he had diagnosed his own problems sooner, instead of leaving himself in the care of whatever doctors had staffed the clinic that day. Greg was still mad at Stacy for giving the ok on the surgery, at Cuddy for doing it, at Wilson for not stopping them. James had always regretted that he had been out of town for that, but there was nothing he could do about it now, except to prove to Greg that the leg didn't matter. And he was determined to do it.
He freed himself from Greg's tight hold and pushed the jeans down to pool around Greg's ankles. He left his underwear on for now. Not breaking eye contact, he reached out to touch the gouged out muscle. At first, he just laid his fingertips over the actual incision, moving them up and down, feeling the ridges from the sutures and the lips of the wound. He then laid his palm flat over it. He let his hand conform to the space where the muscle had been. They stood there for ages.
Greg felt the heat from James' hand seeping into his damaged and torn muscles, almost making them feel whole again, if only for a brief moment. He choked back a sob and buried his face in James' shoulder.
When the moment broke, it was Greg who took the initiative this time, shoving James' pants and underwear down his legs along with his own, leaving them standing naked in the middle of the bedroom. James met his eyes again, and this time, James could see the passion he'd dreamt about, the (dare he say it?) love that he knew was lurking in the shadows of House's forceful personality.
They kissed hungrily, desperately, and James stepped forward, pushing them both onto the bed. They took a few separate moments to get into a more comfortable position, with Greg on his back and James sitting between his thighs, bodies lined up inch for inch. And then Greg was kissing him again, and that was all that mattered. James slowly started thrusting his hips against Greg's, slowly. A burning heat built up between them, nearly scorching James, though he had no intention of breaking apart anytime soon. He didn't want this to end, though he knew it had to at some point. They never broke contact, never stopped kissing as they moved and writhed against each other, feeling the building arousal and passion, enjoying it, reveling in it.
James was running his hands up and down Greg's sides when Greg finally broke the kiss and sucked in a deep breath, body stiffening on the brink of orgasm. James felt it against his stomach and quickened his own pace just enough to let him reach the same point. He collapsed somewhat bonelessly to Greg's side and just lay there, wondering what, exactly was going to happen next. He also thought he should get up and find something to clean up with, but he was fast losing a battle with sleep. oh well, he thought, the shower will be there in the morning.
When he woke up, he was still curled around Greg, and he felt uncomfortably sticky but completely at peace. For once, he decided that the latter was more important and stayed where he was, moving a hand to play with the sparse hair on Greg's chest. Some part of him was still in shock that he'd gathered up the courage to approach his prickly friend about this in the first place, months ago. That same part was almost dead from the shock of what he'd done last night.
At that thought, he couldn't help but grin foolishly. He really would have been content just to live and sleep (actually sleep, not have sex) with House for the rest of their lives. Except for the part where he wanted something more, something he suspected Greg wanted as well, but was too scared to try taking.
When the alarm went off, he cringed, before reaching across Greg to turn it off. It was too bad that they had to go back into work today, but it really couldn't be avoided. Wilson had a full day's worth of appointments, and House, he knew, had a patient. He kissed Greg awake before rolling off and heading for the shower, smirking.
He was only halfway surprised when Greg climbed carefully in a few minutes later. They were both sticky, after all, and they both had to clean up before work. He turned around to rinse the shampoo out of his hair, and get a good look at Greg. He seemed content, though nervous; as though he was afraid of losing everything. James felt the same thing. It was scary as hell, but they couldn't go back now. And besides, he wanted everything that the change in their relationship would bring.
He smiles at Greg, and to his surprise, Greg gave him a genuine smile back.
*************************************
Part 10: Follow Up
Cameron couldn't pinpoint when, exactly, House had stopped being miserable. But it was probably some sort of progression anyway - you couldn't give up misery cold turkey like you could give up vicodin. But he was taking less of the drug, too. She watched him for signs of anything, really, that could cause him to do that, since she knew he wouldn't do it on his own.
But she really couldn't find anything out of the ordinary. He still avoided patients and clinic hours, and fought with Cuddy over it. He still insulted all of them liberally and he still came up with strokes of genius just before the patient died. He still called Dr. Wilson in on consults, and Wilson kept coming by even if they didn't need him for the case. Despite the fact that everything seemed to be normal, something was different.
Finally, she managed to catch him out. Their patient was on the meds that would allow her to recover fully, and the whiteboard had been erased, waiting for the next differential. House was out on the balcony with his coffee, watching the clouds, or doing something that didn't involve hospital business. The shades were drawn, but not closed, so that she could see, but the corridors would have a bit more trouble. She watched as Dr. Wilson came out of his office and hopped the fence between the two balconies. They stood and talked for awhile, smiling and laughing. Nothing out of the ordinary, and Cameron was about to turn around and go back to her work when she saw it.
She watched as Wilson stepped closer than normal to House and rested a hand on House's shoulder, thumb tracing gently over House's collarbone. And House leaned into the contact, relaxing more than he would around anyone else. She remembered what Foreman had told her months ago, and smiled. He must have done something about it.
Chase came into the diagnostics conference room and saw Cameron bent over paperwork, smiling to herself. He was always a curious one.
"What's up?" he asked. Not that he expected a real answer, of course.
"Have you noticed House acting odd lately?" she asked back.
"Well, not really, but the last time someone asked me that question, I got an earful of House being in love with Wilson." The situation was eerily familiar.
"I think whoever said that the first time was wrong, but now it's true. I saw them on the balcony earlier."
"Saw them?" he said, incredulously, "Please tell me they weren't having sex out there."
"Nothing like that. I just noticed that they looked happy together. And you can't deny that House's moods have been much better than normal, lately."
"True. You really think that he and Wilson are together?"
"Watch them yourself, but only when they think they're alone." She put down her pen and walked out of the room, leaving a completely flabbergasted Chase behind. He automatically poured his coffee, stirred in two packets of sugar and sat down at the conference table. It couldn't be true, could it?
But as he watched, a flurry of motion by the balcony door from oncology caught his eye. The door opened and the two came out, grinning like they owned the world. Maybe they did, and Chase had just missed the memo. He watched as they kissed quickly, hands lingering on hips and shoulders as they parted. Wilson went back into his office and House hopped the fence before settling down in his balcony chair.
Chase drank his coffee and dumped the mug in the sink. He needed to get out before House came in and figured out that he'd seen them. The clinic seemed a safe place to hide.
Foreman walked out of Exam 1, making a note on the chart he carried, and walked straight into Chase.
"What are you doing here? I didn't think you were on the schedule."
"I'm not. I'm hiding from House."
"What did you do."
"I did nothing, it's more an issue of what he did. And to whom."
Foreman's eyebrow shot up, "What are you talking about?"
"I saw him kiss Dr. Wilson on the balcony outside Wilson's office. I ran away before either of them saw that I was there."
"Well, we have an overflow today. You're definitely needed around here." He picked up a file and handed it to Chase. Exam 3 is empty."
Chase glanced through the file and called out for the patient to follow him, and Foreman stood at the nurse's station, pretending to be busy with the file of a kid who had nothing worse than a cold. Had Chase really seen House and Wilson kissing? He dismissed it as irrelevant to his own life and finished the chart, picking up a new one and heading back into Exam 1.
Or, at least, he'd thought it irrelevant until he came back to Diagnostics to find House slumped in his chair with Dr. Wilson standing behind him giving a back massage. Wilson's mouth was hovering close to House's ear, whispering things that made House laugh and also made him look less like a bastard.
Maybe it was true. But it still didn't matter. House would be an arrogant son of a bitch that made his life miserable no matter who he was sleeping with. As he looked back over into the office, he saw that Wilson had moved to the other side of the desk, leaning back in his chair with a self satisfied smile on his face. House's matched. They were still talking, though now they'd moved onto hospital business and patients, judging by the open file in front of House.
The thought of patients brought Foreman back into himself. Their current patient was on the road to recovery, and House without a patient was a dangerous thing. He headed down to Cuddy's office to see if she had anything interesting to offer.
Cuddy had long since stopped being surprised by one of House's fellows coming into her office without preamble. But as far as she knew, House hadn't pulled any outrageous stunts lately and their patient was getting better. Which begged the question of what Foreman was doing standing in front of her desk. She hit `send' on the email she'd been writing and turned to face him.
"What did House do?" she asked.
"Nothing, actually. Which is why I'm here."
She said nothing, just continued to stare at him.
"He needs a new case. The way he's been acting lately makes me want to keep him occupied."
"What do you mean, the way he's been acting?"
"Did you hear the rumor going around a few months back that House was in love with Wilson?" She nodded and he continued, "turns out that the gossips got it right, for once. They're together, and they're both wearing grins like they're about to take over the world, starting with this hospital."
Cuddy blinked. It couldn't be true, could it? With all the jokes House made about her breasts, and the massive campaign he'd put on to get Stacy back into his bed, he couldn't have taken up with Wilson. Besides, Wilson had been married three times and knew better than to do something that idiotic. She came back to reality.
"I'll see what I can dig up."
Foreman left, confident in Cuddy's ability to find something that would interest his boss.
Cuddy sat, still partially in shock. After almost 10 years of working with House, she'd thought that nothing he could possibly come up with would shock her. Apparently, she'd been wrong. It wasn't the fact that he was dating/sleeping with another man, really, so much as his choice of partner. Though maybe it wasn't so odd afterall. Wilson was the only one who'd really stayed with House after his leg got screwed, he was the only one willing to put up with an even more forceful House. She could keep him in line as far as treatments went, but in terms of personal matters, she couldn't do a thing. Wilson was his conscience, really.
She went back to her paperwork, and decided to ponder about House later.
At 5:00pm, she watched as House limped and Wilson walked past her office and out through the clinic doors, each carrying a helmet and wearing a leather jacket. They were both also laughing at something.
Watching them go, she thought that maybe this could turn out well for both of them.
The End
And they all lived less miserably ever after.
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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 NBC/Universal, 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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