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Watching Wilson
by Gena
Watching Wilson
House limped through the door off their balcony and into Wilson's office only to find it empty. He checked his watch - 12:30 PM - lunch time. Where the hell was Wilson, he didn't have any appointments this morning and it wasn't his day for clinic duty, he should be slogging away at paperwork like he normally did. House frowned and crossed the office to Wilson's receptionist's desk. "Where's Wilson?" He demanded as if she were hiding the oncologist on purpose.
Immune to House's charm, she glanced up, "Room 421."
"With a patient?"
"With a migraine."
A migraine. Damn. House considered getting his lunch and slinking back to his office but the every present memory of waking from pain filled dreams to find Wilson quietly sitting beside him, touched some spot in his heart he'd thought paved over. Not allowing himself to consider his motives, House snagged a bagel and coffee from the maternity ward lounge and made his way to room 421.
The blinds were closed when House eased the door open. Deep velvety shadows blanketed the room, spread over the antiseptic hard edges they somehow made the room feel welcoming. House chided himself for his fanciful thoughts, hospital rooms were never welcoming, no matter the lighting or the effort to make them comforting. He'd spent too much of his adult life in them, both as doctor and patient to find them truly hospitable. Still as he made his way to the bedside, House felt a weight lift away from his heart at the sound of Wilson's soft breaths. But when he gazed down at the figure lying there a new, vaguely unsettling and achingly tender emotion gripped him.
Wilson lay on his side, facing the door and House, his dark hair tumbled across his forehead. He looked so impossibly young that for an instant House wondered if he'd entered the wrong room. He kidded Wilson about his looks, the perpetual bloom of youth that lingered over his high cheekbones, but it was only teasing. A person only had to look into Wilson's eyes to know he was not a child, he hadn't been for a long time. Those deep brown orbs had seen too much pain, too much death, to be anything other than world weary. House settled himself beside the bed, glad to be off his feet. It had been a long week and his back and right leg had been aching more than usual, leaving him feeling shaky at odd moments. He set his coffee on the table, pulled the bagel and cream cheese from his pocket and took a small bite. An amber bottle caught his eye and House squinted at the label, Imitrex, Wilson's prescription migraine meds. He'd switched, this one was a bit stronger than the last. House sighed.
He knew Wilson had suffered for years, the pressure of his job, the strain of three marriages, and, he hated to admit it, House's own demands, often took their toll on the younger doctor. House, himself, was use to pain, it had been his companion for years now, something that defined his days, marked the hours and reminded him of all he'd lost. But it seemed terribly unfair that someone like Wilson had to endure the same fate. Wilson was the one thing he'd never lost and that fact meant more to House than he cared to admit. He leaned closer, studying Wilson's sleeping face. How could he look so young, so innocent - so appealing. House sat back, thinking about the fact he found Wilson's face appealing. He'd always known James was good looking - hell, the way women mooned over the boyish Wilson was nauseating, but to actually apply the knowledge of his friend's being handsome to his own feeling should have come as a shock. And yet it didn't. House thought back over the times he had spent with Wilson - all the laughter, the support, the silent connection they'd had from the first moment of their meeting. A clear, sharp tone seemed to ring inside his head, one that marked the shift in his feelings from mere friendship to something they'd been fighting against for years. He loved Wilson. And he found him very attractive.
"House?" Wilson blinked at him, one hand coming up to rub at his face. "What's going on?"
"I thought you were in a coma," House said, "so I brought my lunch."
"That's nice. I'm sure if I was in a coma, having you drop crumbs all over me would make it so much better." Wilson rolled onto his back, sighing. "I'm tired."
House watched him, strangely tempted by the soft brown hair sticking out at all angles to touch him but unable to bring himself to do it. "Well, I'm sure Cuddy won't appreciate you sleeping on company time."
"Mmmm, she knows," Wilson said still sounding groggy and looking twice as appealing as he had asleep. "She caught me throwing up in the restroom."
"Hanging around looking for dates again?" House guessed.
"Someone ratted me out," Wilson told him with a resigned sigh. House's intense stare finally penetrated the fog and he looked askance at him. "What's wrong? Did I drool all over myself, or something?"
"No," House said. He shifted closer, tilting his head so he could stare straight down into Wilson's eyes. "Your eyes are the same color as that commercial for Dove chocolate."
Wilson blinked at him in silence for a full minute before frowning. "O-kay."
"And your eyebrows have these little - wings at the ends," House murmured.
"Like in the panty liner commercial?" House gave him a sour look but didn't answer. "You realize I'm going to have to call the psych department, don't you?" Wilson asked, slowly pushing himself up into a sitting position. "I'm the one suffering from a migraine yet you're the one having sensory delusions."
"It's not delusions," House maintained, "if they're true."
Wilson returned House's stare. "Is there anything else about my face you want to critique?"
"I'm fairly certain there is," House peered at him with one eye closed. "Yes, your cheekbones are impossibly high and that mole at the corner of your mouth is very endearing."
"House," Wilson said and his tone had changed from amused to something hard but fragile. "You're scaring me here. What the hell is going on?" He swung his legs off the bed, swaying a bit as the last throb of his headache made itself known. They sat, knees touching while both men continued their scrutiny.
"I've had an epiphany," House announced with the air of a man who had discovered the meaning of life. "Yes, scoff if you want, but sitting here, staring at you I have decided that you are the love of my life."
Wilson didn't respond for a moment but House could see several emotions flicker across his face; surprise, doubt, annoyance, and finally something that looked like a little bit of hope mixed with a lot of anger. "Yeah, that's me. I was planning on asking you to run away to Vegas as soon as Julie dumped me, and now you've ruined my plans. Guess I'll ask Cuddy."
"I'm serious."
"Uh-huh. You have a reputation for seriousness, House," Wilson muttered and tried to edge his way off the bed without colliding with House's right leg. "You want to move?" House shook his head. "Should I just climb over you then?"
"You should sit there and let me think this through."
"Think what through," Wilson demanded. "You said I was the love of your life, that sounds like you've given it some thought."
House chuckled. "I have, but only about ten minutes." He pointed a warning finger at Wilson. "Ahhh, don't give me that look, Wilson. Ten minutes of my brain time is comparable to 10 months by anyone else."
"Of course, I forgot," Wilson said and slumped back on the bed, idly fidgeting with the blanket. House kept staring at him, but Wilson decided not to engage or encourage more talk by returning the look again. So silence crept around them as the minute hand ticked away until House finally drew in a deep breath and clicked his tongue in satisfaction. "What?"
House smiled. It wasn't his smirk, or his evil I'm-smarter-than-you grin, this was a genuine happy-with-the-world smile. It made Wilson shift uncomfortably but he waited for House to speak before making any rash moves. "The reason your marriages all fail is because you're in love with me."
"I'm what?" Wilson crossed his arms over his chest, rolled his eyes and then, "this was your epiphany?"
"Yes." This time House smirked for all he was worth.
Wilson sighed. "House. I could have told you that if you'd asked me any time in the last - oh, ten years." It was his turn to hold House off, he raised a hand. "Yes, I love you. Yes, I am in love with you. You, however, might love me but you aren't in love with me." He shrugged. "End of that road."
House frowned, "I just said I was."
"You aren't."
"I am!"
"Are not!"
"What the hell do I have to do, you moron," House shouted, "to make you believe that I love you?"
"Is anything wrong?" A nurse poked her head in the room and stared at the two doctors.
"Yes-"
"No-"
Exchanging glares, they both answered, "No" and waited for her to leave the room.
"So, you're suddenly gay," Wilson declared with a snarl.
House looked a bit uncomfortable, but said, "Maybe I've always been gay. How do you know I haven't been playing hide the salami with Chase?"
"Because he has better taste." Wilson's dark eyes flashed with fire. "People don't change just like that - even you."
House sighed, chin lowered to his chest as he gazed at the cane in his hands. "I don't think I've changed, Wilson. I think I've loved you for a long time. I just didn't know what it was. This isn't what it felt like with Stacy." He lifted his eyes, seeing the hurt in Wilson's face. "She and I are so much alike. We're combustible, gas and oil with a lit match tossed into it. I -it's different with you, you don't fight me, you fit me." He looked away, embarrassment clear in every line of his body. "I better go." Cane planted firmly on the floor, he started to push himself to his feet but a hand stopped him.
Wilson clutched his wrist. "House," he said it with resignation, with hope and with love. House met his dark eyed stare. "I'm sorry." House flinched, and tried to tug his wrist free of Wilson's grip but Wilson refused to let go. "No, listen, I'm sorry I didn't believe you. You know I love you and you're right - every time I got married it was because I couldn't stand the thought of living alone - without you."
"I knew it," House said in a voice only slightly like his normal arrogant self.
"This isn't going to be easy. It might not even work, but I want to try." House nodded and turned away. "Hey, where you going?"
House stopped and looked back at Wilson. "Not now, you've got a headache."
"It's almost gone." He smiled at House; the open, sparkling look House had, until recently, thought signaled only friendship and now knew was love in its most pure form. With an answering smile, he moved back to the bed, bent until his lips brushed Wilson's forehead and kissed him tenderly.
"In that case," House whispered, "don't ask Cuddy to run away to Vegas with you and come home with me tonight." He left Wilson still sitting on the bed, a huge smile spread across his face. Smiling, himself, House stepped out into the hallway and went back to his office, happy for the first time in years.
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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 Fox Television, 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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