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Damage Control
by Adrienne S.
House watched his team, joyful in their relief that he wasn't
dying, then turned away. They'd welcome him at first; that much
he knew. He also knew that it would take about an hour for the
conversation to turn to his admittedly appalling behaviour. An
hour after that would come the anger. He wasn't about to subject
himself to that. No, he'd go home and try to accept that he had,
indeed, pushed away those who might actually care if he were
dying. Damn Wilson, anyway.
If the kids were going to be angry, he could not imagine how
angry Wilson was going to be when he finally shed the bizarre
amusement he had gotten out of the situation. He wanted to start
with the Wilson prescribed small steps and have a beer with his
friend, but he'd shoved Wilson away, too.
With a sigh, he made his way home. Despite his instinctual
denial, he was depressed and he was thoroughly sick of feeling
that way. The last few months had been hard on him and he didn't
have Wilson's naturally sunny disposition to compensate.
By the time he got home, he was tired, achy and ready to just
crawl into bed after crawling into a bottle. Vicodin or booze;
it didn't matter.
To his surprise, there were lights on, music playing and the
scent of pizza wafting through the apartment. And sitting on the
couch was Wilson, tie askew and slice of pizza in his left hand.
"Took you long enough," Wilson greeted him, then got up to get a
beer out of the fridge. House shrugged off his coat and threw it
across the desk chair, looking all the while at Wilson with a
puzzled frown.
"You do realize that I didn't actually ask you to be here for a
beer and pizza party."
"Yeah, but I figured it would be better for you than the pity
party you'd probably have without me," Wilson replied. "Sit down
and steal some of my food. You know you want to."
House had to grin at the mischievous look Wilson gave him. He
sat down, grabbed the beer Wilson held out and took the slice of
pizza out of his hand. Taking a huge bite, he handed it back
with a grimace.
"You put green pepper on this."
"No, the pizza parlour did," Wilson objected. "On my half.
Yours has pepperoni, bacon and onions."
"And yours is green pepper, mushrooms and broccoli," House
stated. That was what Wilson always had. "Why do you always
have veggies on yours?"
"I happen to like veggies. Besides, I get a better chance at
actually eating while you're preoccupied with picking off the
peppers."
House nodded and took a slice of the meat occupied pizza. Wilson
finished his slice and took another. They ate in silence for a
while, until House couldn't stand it anymore.
"I'm not depressed."
"Yes, you are," Wilson replied promptly. "It's no big surprise,
House. These past few months haven't been easy."
"I was going to stop in with the three Stooges for a drink
tonight," House said abruptly. "I decided not to."
"Wise, if that's what you were going to call them," Wilson said.
"Which reminds me..." He leaned over the back of the couch to
retrieve his jacket and took out his cell phone, placing it on
the coffee table next to his beer.
"What?"
"Damage control." Wilson leaned back comfortably. "What are the
odds that, eventually, Cameron, Chase, Foreman and Cuddy will
want to rant over this whole thing?"
"No bets," House said, with a grim set to his mouth. "They're
gonna want to tear a strip off me for this."
"Oh, yeah," Wilson agreed. "You're not home, by the way. When
they get that superbly obnoxious answering machine message,
they'll call me."
"And you'll say what? That you'll hold me down while they
shove my cane up my ass?"
"I wouldn't do that." Wilson gave him an exaggerated look of
horror.
"You'd protect me? After all this?"
"Of course. I'm first in line to do the cane shoving, after
all." Wilson sounded perfectly serene about it and House had to
suppress a shudder. When he wanted to, Wilson could look as
innocent as a newborn lamb, and he'd already proven that he could
lie successfully to House. Was Wilson lulling him into a false
sense of security?
He didn't want to do this, but he had to smooth things over with
Wilson, if only to protect his proctological integrity.
"Look, Wilson...," he began, only to be interrupted by Wilson's
cell.
"Cuddy?" Wilson guessed as he picked up the phone. "It's too
early for it to be any of the kids."
House dropped his head back onto the couch, waiting for the axe
to fall. If it was Cuddy, which Wilson confirmed as he answered
it, he was in deep shit.
"...No, I haven't... Calm down, would you? He wasn't going to
get into the study anyway," Wilson was saying. "Because I spoke
to... Yes, obviously we know each other... I agree, it was a
rotten thing to do..." Wilson rolled his eyes and House stared
in wonder as Wilson actually looked amused.
"Yes, of course I'll talk to him about it. In fact I already
have...," Wilson said soothingly. "It's not about getting high,
Lisa."
Uh-oh. First names and serious tone. Time to listen carefully
while pretending he wasn't listening at all.
"No, it's really not," Wilson repeated after a long pause.
"Look, I'll talk to you about it tomorrow. I think I know what
this was all about and if you think about it, so do you.... He
copped a feel? And this surprises you?... If I were dying would
you let me cop a feel, too?... Goodnight, Lisa."
"I did not cop a feel," House protested, after a long silence.
"Yeah, you did," Wilson objected. House smirked and nodded.
"Yeah, I did. Nice ass, too. Did she say yes to you doing the
same?"
"She said she'd let me do a lot more than that if I really were
dying." Wilson grinned. "Of course, after this, she'd need
medical proof."
House smiled back, then twitched a little. So Wilson thought he
knew that this was all about, eh? Like Hell it wasn't about
getting high. He didn't want to admit it, but that was exactly
what this was all about. It frustrated him that Wilson thought
he had a better, possibly nobler, reason for trying to get into
the study.
"Look, Wilson...," As if to taunt him the phone rang again.
Wilson picked it up and looked at the caller ID.
"Hey. It's Foreman. I thought Cameron would be next," Wilson
said cheerfully as he answered.
House slouched down and covered his eyes with his hand.
"...Years of practice," Wilson was saying. "Of course I like
him. Don't you?" Wilson pulled the phone away from his ear
abruptly. House couldn't catch the exact words, but the meaning
was clear enough.
"Foreman," Wilson said sternly. "I know he's an ass. You don't
need to give me examples... Look, he said he wasn't sick from the
beginning, right? You jumped to conclusions and you ignored your
patient. After all this time, does it really surprise you that
he let you think he was?... Yes, that's right. Making you three
look like idiots is one of his favourite pass times, remember?...
Yeah, it was a crappy thing to do. I agree... Drug seeking
behaviour? From House? I'm shocked... Yes, I will talk to him
about it... No, you can't punch him out for it. You'll just end
up hurting your hand and it won't solve anything... Exactly.
Goodnight, Foreman." Wilson was laughing as he hung up the
phone.
"What did he say?"
"You really want to know how much of an ass you really are?"
Wilson gave him a sceptical look.
"I think I already know. Nothing Foreman said will hurt my
feelings."
"Really? Shall we test that theory?"
House took in Wilson's raised eyebrows and decided that, no, he
really didn't need or want to know what Foreman had said. He
could make an educated guess and, besides, Foreman's reactions
weren't anywhere near as interesting as Wilson's. Why the hell
wasn't Wilson mad, or at least lecturing him?
He took a deep breath to try again when Wilson's cell rang again.
He growled and gritted his teeth.
It was Chase. After the first greeting, Wilson was silent for a
long time, listening, amusement fading rapidly.
After a moment, Wilson rose and went into House's bedroom,
listening intently. House rose as well and went to eavesdrop,
only to have the bedroom door shut quietly in his face.
"If anyone is going to be saying sweet nothings to you or Chase
in my bedroom, it's gonna be me," House shouted through the door.
This got Wilson to open the door a little bit, showing his right
hand with the middle finger extended, then shut again.
Wilson was gone for a long time. In the meantime, his own phone
rang twice. Caller ID said it was Cameron, but she didn't leave
a message. He thought briefly about answering it, but he kept
Wilson's admonishment about not being home in mind. He had to
deal with Wilson before he could deal with Cameron.
When Wilson emerged from the bedroom, his eyes were a little red
and watery and his expression grim.
"The little Aussie cried all over you about big, bad House?"
House sneered, not liking the look.
"Leave Chase alone, House," Wilson said quietly, which meant he
was right. He knew he'd hurt Chase, perhaps worse than any of
the others. The hug was not for him, it was for Chase; the whole
scene had daddy issues written all over it. He knew, too, that
Wilson had gone into protective mode for Chase and House knew
more than he really wanted to about how far Wilson was willing to
go to protect someone.
He wasn't sure what to do, so he limped into the kitchen to fetch
each of them another beer.
"How long do you think it'll take Cameron to call?" Wilson
asked, in a not entirely successful light tone.
"She's called me twice, so any minute now."
House's reputation as a prophet was reinforced when Wilson's cell
rang a few seconds later.
"...Cameron, this is House. Byzantine plots are his stock in
trade," Wilson said, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I know what he
did... Of course rehab didn't work. You have to want to change
to make any real changes... No, I don't think it was a wasted
effort. If nothing else, it gave his liver a chance to rest..."
Interesting. So Wilson hadn't told Cameron about the drugs he'd
scored in rehab. Yet he had told her about his supposed brain
cancer. He'd thought Wilson had told her to commiserate with
her, but he didn't seem all that sympathetic to her now.
"...No, there is nothing I can do to change that. I tried,
remember?... Cameron, blow your nose. Please... Did he?... He
actually said he was dying?... Yes, it was a horrible thing to
do, I agree. But what exactly am I supposed to do about it?...
Cameron, I am not defending him or what he did. All I'm saying
is it's done now... Think of it this way. At least you did get a
chance to let him know you care and he didn't push you away,
right?... Yes, he does need to know that... One step at a time,
Cameron. That's the only way... Yes, I will talk to him... Yes,
I think I can make it perfectly clear that making all of us think
he was dying was cruel... No, I don't think that would be a good
idea... For one, he's not home. For another, he needs time and
space to think about how he his behaviour affects the people
around him... Well, not recently, but I still have hopes... Yes,
I will. Goodnight, Cameron."
House hung his head. He wondered how much of the conversation
was for Cameron and how much was for him. Based on the look on
Wilson's face, most of it was directed at him. He wasn't even
really trying to comfort Cameron.
House narrowed his eyes. Wilson had lied for him; par for the
course. But there was something else going on here. The tone
was letter perfect, Wilsony comfort, but he wasn't putting much
effort into helping them.
There was anger in Wilson's body language, but somehow it wasn't
directed at him. He was angry at Cameron. And at Foreman. And
even at Cuddy. Not at Chase, he didn't think. What had those
three done to have Wilson hold a grudge? That was worth thinking
about.
He'd subtly insulted Cuddy's perception. He'd dismissed
Foreman's concerns. He'd deflected Cameron's pain. He'd not
sympathised with any of them, except Chase.
And Chase was the only one who hadn't ostracised Wilson after the
deal with Tritter. House knew vaguely that his team and Cuddy
had been worried on his behalf during that whole debacle, but had
any of them been worried on Wilson's behalf?
He had been too wrapped up in his own pain and his need to know
he had a decent supply of Vicodin to really pay attention, but
now that he thought about it, Wilson had been going through a
rough time, too. Maybe Wilson could tell him what Cameron, et.
al. did to piss him off.
No. Now was not the time to remind Wilson of that fiasco. Not
when Wilson had a whole new reason to give up on him. So why
hadn't he?
"Why aren't you pissed at me?" House asked abruptly.
"What makes you think I'm not?" Wilson returned mildly. House
snorted.
"I won't rehash all of what happened in the last few days. You
know as well as I do. So why aren't you pissed at me?"
Wilson sighed and ran his hand over the back of his neck.
"Because I know why you did it."
"Bullshit. I did it for the chance for the ultimate high."
"Bullshit," Wilson shot back. "You did it for the same reason
you tried the ketamine."
"What? What does the ketamine have to do with it?"
"Everything. The ketamine was supposed to rewire your brain to
stop the pain," Wilson said bluntly. "You're an all or nothing
kind of guy. Get that one high to remind your brain that it is
possible to feel pleasure again. Knock back that depression with
a big dose of happy. Just like the ketamine. And it would work.
Just like the ketamine. For a while. Depression doesn't just go
away with one pill, House."
"And you're the expert on depression, what with your specialty
and all," House retorted.
"Yeah, I am," Wilson replied. "And not just because of my
specialty. Here. Take one of these. It's slower but more
effective in the long run."
Wilson reached into his pocket, pulled out a prescription bottle
and threw it at him.
House caught it and read the label. Anti-depressants, prescribed
to Wilson. He looked at his friend and caught his eye and
understood.
"Should I be taking these with Vicodin?"
"Doesn't matter if they don't mix well. Your half of the pizza
is infected with botulism. You'll be too sick to go to work
anyway."
House looked doubtfully at the pizza and then at Wilson. Wilson
held his gaze and he felt a stab of fear.
"You will be too sick to go to work tomorrow," he enunciated
clearly and distinctly. House watched suspiciously as Wilson
tried to keep a straight face, then twitch a smile. He smiled
back and opened the bottle, tossing back one of the pills.
"That bad, eh?"
"Oh, yeah."
They sat in silence for a while until House's curiosity got the
better of him.
"So who ratted me out? Cameron, Foreman or Chase?"
"About it being a scam? None of them. I knew about an hour
after I confronted you in your office."
"You did? How?"
"I know most of the doctors involved in the study. When I
called, they sent me the test results you submitted," Wilson said
smugly. "I saw that it wasn't cancer and told them to take that
particular case off the study. Then again, I also knew that they
weren't your tests."
"How?" House frowned and Wilson gave him a sardonic look.
"Who's been prescribing for you for the last seven years? I've
pulled your records more often than you've pulled pranks on
Cuddy," Wilson replied. "And I know you don't have syphilis."
"I might."
"Don't make it sound like a slur on your sexual prowess, House,"
Wilson admonished. "I pulled your results from the mandated
tests for infectious diseases last round after you posted mine to
the hospital intranet with my cell number attached."
"Looking for ammunition?"
"You seemed disappointed that I tested clean. I got curious."
"So you knew it was a scam all along."
"Well, no. Not until after I talked to you about it."
"And you didn't tell anybody."
"Nope."
"Why not?"
"If any of them had thought to ask an oncologist to look into
your case, I would have mentioned it," Wilson said softly. "They
didn't."
Oh, yeah. He was pissed at them.
"And you're really not pissed at me?" House asked quietly.
"No. If I really believed that all you wanted was to get high, I
would be. But I don't."
House wanted to lie, to tell Wilson that he was wrong, but he
wasn't. He was dead on as to why House had done this.
"But you're disappointed."
"About you not telling me? No. I would have ruined your little
scam and you knew that."
"So you're not disappointed?"
"I didn't say that."
"So you are disappointed."
"Damn right." Wilson stretched out his legs and folded his arms
over his stomach. "Foreman gets you listening when he tells you
he cares. Chase gets a hug. Cameron gets a kiss. With tongue.
Cuddy gets an ass grab. And what do I get? Bubkis."
"Your Yiddish accent is uncanny."
"Imagine that."
"Look, I listened to Foreman because he bribed me with
information on the patient. Cameron got a kiss because I wanted
to get close enough to her to get the sharp out of her hand. She
was going to stick me for blood tests. Chase... well, I can't
explain Chase. It would be like kicking a puppy and I already
hit Chase once this year."
"And Cuddy?"
"Well, I did get an ass grab, but she turned down my offer for
life affirming sex."
"She did?"
"She told me to contact the Make a Wish Foundation," House
admitted sheepishly. Wilson laughed.
"Cuddy is a goddess." He saluted her with his beer bottle.
"That she is." House saluted, too.
"So what do I have to do to get some action from you, anyway?"
Wilson asked. "I already bought you dinner."
"You think I'm going to put out for pizza and beer?"
"I would."
"Yeah, but you're easy."
"Hey, it's been a while."
"Must be, if I start looking good to you."
House expected a smart ass remark back, but when Wilson said
nothing, he looked searchingly at his friend.
"You do know that, if I really had brain cancer, I'd tell you
first, right?"
"No, I don't know that."
House started to protest, then decided to tell the truth.
"No, I wouldn't. In fact, I'd lie to you about it as long as
possible and blackmail everyone I knew to keep it away from you."
"Why?" House winced at the hurt in Wilson's voice.
"Because you'd be professional about it," House said quietly.
"When you thought I had cancer, you were calm and soothing and
every inch the oncologist. Very professional. And you'd stay
that way, at least in front of me. You'd be the perfect Dr.
Wilson."
"And that would be a problem?"
"Hell, yes," House said seriously. "If I am ever in that
situation, I want my friend Jimmy by my side, raging and swearing
at the crappy hand I'd been dealt. Now, stand up."
House could tell that Wilson was a little puzzled, but he got up
anyway.
House stood in front of him and put his hands on Wilson's face,
as Cameron had done to him. And, as Cameron had done to him, he
kissed him. With tongue. Wilson, after a moment's hesitation,
kissed back.
House pulled away, then wrapped his arms around Wilson, as Chase
had done. Unlike what he had done, Wilson hugged him back.
Once he had hugged Wilson exactly as long as Chase had hugged
him, he reached down and grabbed a handful of Wilson's ass.
"There. Now, in the interest of full reciprocity, you may now
tell me how you feel about me."
"I love you," Wilson said promptly, without hesitation or
sentimentality. "But you knew that."
House smiled. Yes, he did know that.
"So. Do I have to call Make a Wish Foundation or what?"
Like Cuddy, Wilson just walked away in the direction of a
bedroom. Unlike Cuddy, he threw a glance over his shoulder that
told him that the call was completely unnecessary.
END
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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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