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Alignment
by Jaryn
Sitting on House's couch, Wilson glances at his watch, taps his fingers on the armrest and glances at his watch again. Wilson admits that he might be suffering from a touch of paranoia, because he can't seem to let House out of his sight for more than a few minutes. Which is ridiculous, because they're at House's apartment and it's just them.
And anyway, Wilson already surreptitiously checked the shadows for gun-wielding madmen.
Despite that though, Wilson gets to his feet and goes to find out what is taking House so long in the bathroom.
"House?" Wilson calls out at the bathroom door, ear close to the wood, finger pressed to a lone crack in the door's paint.
"Go away," House tells him, but he's not using his `I'm serious' voice.
Turning the handle slowly, Wilson pushes the door open. House is standing in front of the mirror and the bandage on his neck has been peeled back, exposing the half-healed gunshot wound. The sight of it is not new to Wilson, but it still gives him a small, slightly sickening lurch in his stomach anyway.
"What are you doing?" Wilson knows the bandage doesn't need to be changed; House had his dressings changed before they left the hospital. Leaving too late for House and too early for Wilson. If he'd had his way, House would still be in a hospital bed right now.
House meets his eyes in the mirror and Wilson is reminded of a time, which seems like years ago now, when he'd been staying with House after his divorce. He'd been brushing his teeth, standing where House is standing now, and House had asked about the scar on his shoulder.
"Admiring my battle wounds," House finally replies flippantly, but there's an undercurrent of bitterness in his voice.
Wilson takes a step into the room, "It won't be so noticeable once it's healed properly," he says.
House's lips twist in some semblance of a smile and he looks away from Wilson's eyes. "It'll be noticeable to me."
That's when Wilson gets it. Scars. House already has the horrible scar on his leg, reminding him of failure and betrayal. Now he has two more.
Cautiously and slowly, as if he's approaching a wild animal, Wilson walks forward and raises a hand to gently press the bandage back into place. House meets Wilson's eyes in the mirror again, frowning a little, but doesn't move to stop him.
"Do you remember when you asked me about the scar on my shoulder?"
"Tree branch?" House raises an eyebrow.
Wilson smiles faintly, "It wasn't a tree branch."
"I already knew that."
Wilson let his hand fall to House's shoulder, thumb brushing over the thin cotton of his t-shirt. "My brother...he cut me. It wasn't his fault, not really. I didn't blame him, though everyone else freaked out." House remains silent, his eyes searching but not demanding. Wilson breathes in and lets out a quiet sigh. "It was when he was starting to get really sick, I was eighteen, he was twenty-four. We had a fight, I kept pushing him and he just...he just lost it."
"Wilson...."
"I don't blame myself either," Wilson says, dropping his gaze down to where his hand is resting. "We're all scarred in some way. It's how we bear the scars that make the difference."
"You think I should bear them with pride?" House asks cynically.
"No, I think you should just bear them. They're part of you, but they're not you."
House turns slowly to face Wilson and Wilson's not sure what the expression on his face means. He almost pulls his hand away but something in House's eyes stops him. They stare at each other and Wilson is not sure how much time passes.
"So, do you think I'll still be loved if I look like Frankenstein?" House asks finally, and while there's sarcasm in his tone, there's also a hint of a smile on his face...and a hint of something else in his eyes.
Wilson drops his eyes, smiling, before looking back at House's face. "You'll still be loved."
Looking at House's neck, Wilson moves his index finger and slowly traces the skin just below the bandage before pulling his hand away. House is looking at him, his expression unreadable once more, but neither of them say anything for a short while.
"I'll go order some pizza," Wilson eventually says, turning to leave.
"Wilson," House says and Wilson pauses, looking back at him. There's a small frown on House's forehead, before it smooths out and he smiles briefly, "There's some beer in the fridge."
Wilson eyes House a moment longer before nodding with a brief smile of his own and walking away to the kitchen.
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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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