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Wednesday Morning, 3 A.M. - Part two
by Evilida
Wilson was in the boxing ring, dodging and throwing punches with professional skill. His opponent, a cartoon kangaroo, was indefatigable, and advanced on him mercilessly. Wilson tried to block his blows, but the kangaroo was definitely winning. He tried a blow to the body, but the kangaroo just bounced back like a rubber ball. Wilson was tiring, and knew that unless he took action quickly he would lose the fight. With all his strength, he launched an uppercut to the animal's chin. The force of the punch launched the kangaroo into the air. Wilson watched as the kangaroo headed for the stratosphere, until only a small dot, and then nothing at all, could be seen.
"Winner and still champeen!" announced the referee.
Wilson expected Sylvester the Cat to be the referee, but it was instead House the Diagnostician. House raised Wilson's arm above his head to the roar of a crowd that hadn't existed a second before. House smiled at the crowd, and then turned to look at Wilson, and suddenly they were alone again. House was coming closer and closer, and House was going to kiss him, and even in the dream, Wilson wasn't sure whether he wanted the inevitable kiss to happen or not.
Then Wilson opened his eyes, and there was House's face only inches from his own.
"Yah!, " screeched Wilson, his voice an embarrassing octave higher than usual. He sat upright, accidentally hitting House in the nose with his skull.
House clutched his nose, and also let out a cry, though not quite as high-pitched as Wilson's.
"If you've broken my nose, Wilson, I'll never let you sleep on my couch again. I'll let you sit out in the hallway all night in your damp clothes and catch pneumonia!"
"Let me look at it," Wilson said. "Take your hand away, and I'll see if it's broken."
"I'm probably disfigured for life," House grumbled. "I'll spend the rest of my days looking like Owen Wilson."
Wilson grabbed House's hand and pulled it down so that he could look at his nose.
"It's not broken," he said, relieved. "I'll get the cold pack from the freezer."
He headed toward the kitchen, and House sat down on the couch and leaned his head back. There was a little trickle of blood from his nose, and a drop of blood on his t-shirt.
"I'm sorry, House. You startled me," Wilson said, as he handed House the cold pack.
"I figured that was what happened," House said, glaring at Wilson. He'd have to change t-shirts, and he wasn't sure he had any more clean ones. In fact, he was pretty sure Wilson was wearing his very last one.
"When we go into work today," Wilson joked, "with my cheek and your nose, everyone will think we were in a fight."
"Are you planning to go to work today," House asked, "wearing my t-shirt and my sweatpants, neither of which even come close to fitting you?"
"I'll have to pick up my clothes from Paola's place first," Wilson said. "I think I should probably wait until she's left for work. Umm, do you think you can give me a ride to her building? I left my car keys at Paola's apartment last night, and I didn't want to go back and get them, so I walked to your apartment in the rain."
"Do you actually think that any of your possessions are still going to be there intact?" House asked. "Paola will have used her handy butcher knife to slash your tires and rip your clothing to shreds. That's if she hasn't driven your car into the nearest lake."
"It wasn't a butcher knife," Wilson corrected in the interests of accuracy. "It was a bread knife. Will you give me a ride?"
"Yes, I'll give you a ride," House said, "but you'll have to make me breakfast first. Lately, I seem to be doing you an awful lot of favours. I'm supposed to be the needy one."
House had changed into an almost clean t-shirt and was driving Wilson to Paola's apartment. Wilson was looking out the car window, pretending to enjoy the scenery.
"House," Wilson said, "what were you doing last night?"
"Sleeping."
"I mean, when you got up in the middle of the night and we were talking. You kissed me. Were you coming on to me?"
"Really, Wilson, you're a grown man, not an innocent girl from convent school. I hugged you. I petted you like a pussycat. I gave you a massage and then I kissed you. You seemed to be enjoying it at the time. What did you think I was doing?"
Wilson shook his head. He couldn't explain what he'd thought at the time. Really, he hadn't been thinking at all, only enjoying House's touch. It had been a long time since anyone who actually cared about him had touched him. He knew Paola didn't love or even particularly like him, and neither had the woman before her. Not since Amber...
"You were supposed to follow me back to the bedroom for an evening of erotic delights," House said, "but instead you curled back up on the couch. I was very disappointed. First Candie let me down, and then you."
"I didn't mean to lead you on," Wilson said, awkwardly apologetic. "I'm straight. You know that. I thought you were straight too. I had no idea that you felt ...that way. If my staying with you makes things awkward I can move to an hotel."
"I'm straight," House said, " but I'm not sure if it makes a difference. If you're a vegetarian stuck on a desert island and all there is to eat are fish, then you eat fish. If you're straight, and the only person you love and care about is another man...well, you can finish the analogy for yourself."
"Pull over," Wilson said, happy to change the subject of the conversation. "This is Paola's building here. Her apartment is on the left side, third floor up. Do you think the light is on?"
"Can't tell," House said. "Don't tell me you're afraid. She's only a hundred and five pounds, you said."
"But she's got a bread knife. A bread knife can be very intimidating when someone is waving it inches from your face. You'd be surprised how scary a small angry woman with a bread knife can be."
"Do you want me to come up with you?" House asked.
"No, of course not. I can handle Paola if she's there. " Wilson said. "Just call 9-1-1 if I'm not back in fifteen minutes."
Wilson came back in less than five, carrying his laptop and an armful of assorted clothing.
"She wasn't there," he said. "Thanks for waiting. I've got my car keys, and I'll just check that my car's okay, if that's all right. Then you can leave and I'll take my car."
Wilson's car was parked in the alley next to the apartment building. The tires seemed to be fine, and the engine started. He waved at House, who drove off. Then Wilson got out of the car and went to retrieve more of his possessions.
House was angry with himself. He'd ruined things with Wilson. He'd pushed him too hard and moved too quickly. He hadn't given Wilson enough time to adjust to the idea of his best friend also being his lover. He was sure that he could have coaxed Wilson around to the idea, given enough time. Wilson was lonely, and he loved House and wanted House to be happy. If only House hadn't rushed things, everything would have worked out in time. The trouble was, House hadn't been sure how much time he had. Wilson was so desperate these days; always looking for the next woman to distract him from his memories of Amber and his regret over his three failed marriages. House couldn't wait; he was impatient and he'd bungled it. He'd scared Wilson away.
House had a new case which occupied him all day. He didn't have a chance to talk to Wilson. By the end of the day, the patient was stabilized, and he left Taub and Thirteen to look after him.
"Phone Foreman first if anything goes wrong," House told them. "Don't phone me. I need my beauty sleep. And if Foreman decides that he needs to call me, it's on his head. It had better be a dire emergency. The sky must actually be falling."
House felt exhausted and his leg hurt more than usual. He popped a Vicodin as he walked down the corridor to his apartment. As he got closer, he smelled something delicious. One of his neighbours was going to eat well tonight.
House opened the door. Wilson was on the other side. House came in and Wilson kissed him. There was a slight taste of garlic, but House didn't really mind.
"I've been thinking," Wilson said. "that maybe the life I've been dreaming of isn't the life I need. Maybe you're right. We can try anyway. Give it a shot. What do you think?"
"Sounds good," said House, trying not to let Wilson see how happy and excited he was. "What are you cooking? It's smells heavenly."
"Just spaghetti sauce. I stole Paola's secret recipe. The magic ingredient is anchovies. You're going to love it."
"I'm sure I will," House said, reaching toward Wilson, drawing him closer for another kiss.
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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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