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A fellow of infinite.
by l57371
Hmm? Sure, go ahead. Nobody's sitting there. Bartender? Another please.
James. James Wilson. Nice to meet you.
No, nothing's wrong. Not really.
You know, I've always thought that saying was awfully trite, but I think, this time, maybe I actually have lost my best friend. Nice to know I actually look it.
What happened? That's a really long story. Or a very short one maybe. Which one do you want?
Heh, fine. Short version: I kissed him and then ran away. Sure you still want the long version too?
I don't know that it'll do good to talk about it at all. It might be best to just ... forget it ever happened. Try to go back to the way things were.
It might work. He has a ... way of ignoring things that he doesn't like. Dismissing them. Like me, sometimes.
This is gonna require another drink, I think. One for you too? Two beers, please.
Okay. So. We were at his apartment, on his chesterfield. We usually end up there, I don't know why. Okay, I do know why. Because he's comfortable there and doesn't like to go anywhere, and because I am ... currently between residences, I guess you could say.
No, not homeless. I'm staying in a hotel. Indefinitely. Well, for now, anyway. So anyway, we're on his chesterfield, drinking scotch and watching TV. He has this thing for mindless formulaic teenage soap operas. And adult soap operas, come to think of it. I don't know why he likes them, I can't stand 'em personally.
Because he likes them, and it's his TV, so that's what we watch.
God only knows. I suppose it's because he can turn his brain off while he watches them and doesn't have to think. Or maybe it's because they're so brainless that he can watch them and follow the story line and still be able to think about whatever puzzle it is that's bothering him at the moment. Sort of a two-level thing maybe. I dunno.
Right, sorry. Anyway, we're on his chesterfield drinking scotch and watching vacuous TV. I said that already, didn't I? Well, we were. I don't even remember now what he said. Probably something about some girl's breasts. That's what he usually talks about when we watch those shows. I turned around to face him, kinda sideways on the cushion, and I said that being as he's nearing 50 he probably shouldn't be extolling the virtues of young girls' ... ah ... assets, pardon my language, and he just kind of snorted at me.
Well it's not ... right, is it? I mean really, she had to be less than 25. He's twice her age, he shouldn't be ogling. At least not that obviously.
True, I guess. But even if she does put them out there, that's no reason to go all cave man about them.
Of course I was looking too. I just didn't say anything. Anyway, he says to me, Jimmy, yours aren't spectacular enough to warrant looking at, sorry to say. He's always saying things like that to me. As if I didn't know better. But then he says, Your ass, on the other hand... And he just kind of stopped talking. But he was looking at me, totally serious.
You know, that look. When someone says something completely off the wall and then waits to see how you'll react. He does that a lot. But this time there was no ... he didn't ... it was like he was serious.
Yeah, I think he was serious. I thought he was at the time, anyway. So I kind of said, what about my ass? And he says, Well, it's spectacular enough to ogle, of course. And he's still looking at me with that totally serious look on his face, and asks me if I mind if he ogles my ass.
What do you think I said? I said absolutely nothing. I just sat there with my mouth hanging open and my brain totally frozen. Then he said I looked like a fish and kissed me. Just grabbed me by the shoulders, pulled me in and laid one right on me.
I did, but he did it first. I ... don't think I responded when he did though. I was still trying to work it all out. And when I realized what he was actually doing, that was when he pulled away from me and let me go. He was just about to get up and walk away so I had to do something. I pulled him in and kissed him.
He has limited mobility so it takes him a while to work up to getting off the chesterfield. I had time.
Yeah, he did it first. But after he did it, and then I did it, I think my brain finally caught up with what was going on and I kind of ... panicked I guess.
Because I was KISSING him! He's my BEST FRIEND! And I KISSED him!
Of course I like him. Friend, remember?
I know what you mean. I've never really thought about it before, whether or not I like him. I mean, it was never an issue, was it? Never really came up.
And now ... And now I don't know.
Well I just said, I never thought about it.
I am thinking about it now! He's my best friend. For the last ten years, he's always been the one who stuck around. I've divorced three wives in the meantime, but he's still here. Once he ... heh heh ... he stopped me from doing something really, really dumb. I could have lost my license, lost my practice. He harangued me until I stopped but never told anyone about it.
No, nobody could have died, it was just really unethical. Ha, that's funny. He's the most unethical, amoral person I know, and yet he made me give my head a shake and think about what I was doing from an ethical point of view.
Yeah, I guess he did kind of save me. From myself.
Yeah, he cares about me.
Of course I care about him.
I ran because ... I ... I don't really know.
Heh, yeah, probably. Hetero freak-out is as good a term as any I guess.
Of course I love the guy, he's, again, my best friend.
I just said I love him.
'The guy' meant him. Okay, yes then, I love ... him. I love him. I love him?
I don't know if he does or not. He doesn't tend to use words like 'love'. Or 'please' or 'thank you' for that matter.
Okay fine, it's possible, sure. But a kiss doesn't mean love.
All those other things don't mean love either.
Oh, I don't think so. I don't really want to go back there right now. And I most certainly don't want to have a conversation about who may or may not love whom.
You can bet all you want. Doesn't make it true. Bartender! Set 'em up...
I have lots of choices! Well, a few. Okay, two. I can go back there and subject myself to ridicule and abuse and attempt to have a conversation that neither of us really wants, or I can stay here and get piss-assed drunk. Door number two sounds good right now.
Yeah, a cane. Why?
Oh, fuck.
What are you doing here? Did you follow me or som ... mmfff ... mmmmmm ...
House, don't kiss me in public, seriously.
Because you're embarrassing the young lady here.
Okay, fine, you'll embarrass me.
No, I'm not embarrassed by you, I just ... well, PDAs aren't exactly my thing. Or yours, either, if I remember correctly.
Home? You mean your place?
It's not my home. It's your home.
There is no 'our home.'
Mmmmffph! ... mmmmmmmm ... oh ... !
Here, this should cover the tab. And have one on me. Sorry. And thanks. It was good talking to you.
House, you could at least wait for me! Cripple, my ass...
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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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