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Cat Scratch Fever
by Taima Hiroshima
For two whole days Wilson seemed to be returned to normal. He laughed, scolded, made decent food. Everything seemed to return to its normal state of harmony and balance.
House was sitting calmly on the couch watching wrestling. He sipped at his whiskey and let his mind wander from the sweaty, bulging muscles of Paranoid Pete. Erotic as it was, he had other things on his mind.
Wilson was extremely late, and not just for his cycle. House wondered idly if maybe there had been an emergency at the hospital. But if there had been, why hadn't he called home?
"Oh, what am I so worried about?" House said out loud. "Not like we're married or anything." He tossed back the rest of his drink and decided to focus on the match. Just as he set down his drink, the door opened.
"Finally! Where have you been? Betty the Hot Nurse has first shift so I know that---," he turned on the couch and gawked.
Wilson stood there just inside the front door, smiling from ear to ear. He was juggling a cat carrier, a litter box, a bag of kitten chow, and a sack of litter.
"What the hell is that?? Please tell you brought a patient home!!" House cried.
"None of mine fit into a cage." Wilson shook his head. He trotted gleefully towards the couch.
"Then please tell me its Chase!"
"Something better," House could almost hear Wilson's brain buzzing. He almost asked what could be more fun than a submissive Australian with hair that just begged to be mussed up, when Wilson flopped down next to him. He was about to see for himself.
What was supposed to be 'better' turned out to be a white shorthaired cat with big blue eyes. She meowed pitifully as Wilson brought her out of the carrier.
"Shh, House doesn't like whiners." Wilson warned.
"Well, I keep you around, don't I?" House grumbled. He felt like he'd need another drink. He got up and poured a generous amount of whiskey in the glass.
"So, you're cat sitting, right? Trying to put the moves on some gorgeous nurse by showing her what a nice guy you are? Please tell me that's what it is." House knew he was begging, but he couldn't help it. A kitten was the last thing he wanted.
"What's your obsession with me being a nurse whore?" Wilson blinked as he looked up. "No, she's ours. Her name is Pearl."
"I refuse to have a kitten named Pearl." House shook his head.
"So call her something else." Wilson suggested. He sat back. The kitten sat daintily between the two men and glanced from one to the other. She seemed to be gauging which would be more likely to pet her.
She obviously wasn't a very smart cat, as she headed straight for House. He grimaced and looked like he was going to flick her off when Wilson's hand stopped him.
Wilson's hand, warm and gentle against his arm. Wilson's hand. It felt like electricity flowing through his veins. He wondered if this was how his patients felt when he had to jump-start their hearts.
"Don't House," Wilson looked at him, brown eyes begging. "Just give her a chance, please?" House sighed in defeat.
The kitten snuggled against House's stomach and began to purr. House raised one hand and carefully began to pet her. She would have fit in the palm of his hand.
"Birdie. We're going to call her Birdie." He said suddenly. Wilson looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
"Do I dare enter the Twilight Zone known as your mind and ask why?"
"Because a little birdie told me." House said simply. Wilson looked confused for a moment before he laughed softly. Birdie had stopped purring and had fallen fast asleep against House's belly. House felt his hand over the warm furry bundle.
"See? She likes you." Wilson sounded excited.
"She'd like anyone who gave her a warm lap and attention, I can tell." House muttered. "She's a whore and she hasn't even gotten old enough to catch mice." He sighed.
"What in God's name ever made you decide to get a cat, Wilson?"
"You said if we could keep a cat alive, then maybe we could have a baby." The oncologist's voice was small and sheepish. House looked at him like he had just landed from Mars.
"You're shitting me, right? You still aren't on that whole baby thing, are you Wilson?"
Wilson shrugged and looked down at his shoes. House sighed and shoved the kitten at Wilson. She awoke and gave House a very dirty look before hopping indignantly off the younger man's lap and stalking over to sulk beneath the end table.
"House--,"
"You take her for tonight. Shared custody, ever heard of it? You have to her tonight and she sleeps with me tomorrow." He turned and walked towards the bedroom.
"Have fun with Mommy James, Birdie." He sang before slamming the door to his room shut.
He lay awake in his bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, hands stacked behind his head. He could hear Wilson in the other room, setting up the litter box, and talking in low tones with the kitten. He couldn't quite make out what was being said, be he had a suspicion it was about him.
He can't be serious about having a kid, House decided. It's a phase... Like his Julie stage or any of his other stages. He's insecure and he wants to love something knowing full well it's going to love him back. That's it.
House sighed and rolled onto his side. He stared at the door, stared at the light coming in through the cracks below. In his mind's eye, he could see James stripping out of his work pants and button down shirt. His mind's eye lingered a bit too long and James's chest and bare upper arms before he forced it to move along.
He could imagine the man laying down, tucking in the kitten next to him, who was probably traumatized. Or at least trying to figure out why Mommy and Daddy didn't sleep in the same bed. He choked down a laugh at that. Good thing they didn't have a real kid. That would be hard to explain.
"Does it have to be?" a voice in his head asked.
"Shut up," he snarled to it. That voice had been talking a little too often lately. James was--.
He jumped. When had he started thinking about Wilson by his first name? He sighed and scrubbed his face with his hand and then smiled softly. The spot where James had touched him was still warm.
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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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