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Subtle Inflections Of Meaning
by Topaz Eyes
Author's note: Written for timbershiver based on the prompt: Who are they and what do they want?
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"Who are they and what do they want?" House groaned, cracking open one bleary eye at the first insistent knock on his front door. The clock display on the nightstand read 7:10. "Who's even alive at this hour on a Sunday?"
Wilson, lying beside him, rolled over and burrowed deeper under the blankets to try to muffle the racket. "Do you think if we ignore them they'll just go away?" he mumbled in a sleep-clogged voice.
The knocking quickly grew from only annoying to a open-me-soon-or-I'll-kick-the-door-down rhythm.
"I doubt it. Go answer it, Jimmy."
"I'm not answering! It's your apartment."
"Oh sure, make the cripple hobble out of bed--"
"Whoever's at the door wants you, not me."
Wilson wrapped his pillow around his head and curled into a tight, motionless ball. House stared at the smooth white ceiling with his own hands over his ears, lying perfectly still. They kept up their game of possum until the knocking grew loud enough to reverberate through all their combined layers of skin, bone, flesh, cotton, feather and wool.
Wilson broke first. "Oh all right," he grumbled as he hauled himself out of bed. "All right! I'll get it." Wearing only boxers and T-shirt, he shivered in the contrast of cool air as he stumbled towards the door, pinching the bridge of his nose. The knocking only pounded in counterpoint with his head. Combined with the taste of sour fur in his mouth and the blinding brightness of the early March sun, this hangover was well on its way to becoming truly spectacular.
He reached the front door and opened it just a crack. And gaped.
"Mrs. House!"
"Well hello, James, how are you doing? Can I come in?" House's mother said cheerfully.
"I -- er, well--" Wilson stammered. He hid behind the door as much as possible and glanced nervously back at the bedroom. "Greg's sleeping right now--"
"Well, I know he isn't expecting us, but we're out anyway and I thought we'd drop by and take him to breakfast. John's just waiting in the car."
"Ah. Uh... OK. I'll -- I'll go wake him then," Wilson said, voice rising an octave. "If you can wait--"
Wilson went to shut the door but Blythe House pushed her way in. "Oh really James, there's no need to be shy..." she began, unbuttoning her coat. Wilson rubbed his neck and looked away, embarrassed. "You're here rather early on a Sunday morning," she continued, noting his sleep-tousled hair and relative lack of clothing. Her kind face saddened. "Oh dear, I hope there's nothing going on between you and Julie."
Wilson nodded miserably despite his embarrassment. "I'm afraid so, Mrs. House."
"I'm so sorry," she said, patting his arm in sympathy.
At that moment, House came out of the bedroom and into the living room, wrapped in a blue and red-striped robe, leaning on his cane. "Hi, Mom."
"Hello, Greg," she said, going to him and giving him a hug. "How are you?"
"The usual," House said absently, gingerly returning her embrace while looking over his mother's shoulder towards Wilson in the process; who had now turned a spectacular shade of pink.
"Oh sweetheart," Blythe said, a note of knowing concern in her voice. She eyed House up and down as only a mother could, and sighed. "Anyway, dear, your father and I are just passing through on our way to Allentown, but did you want to come for breakfast?"
"Uh, I'm -- we're good, Mom." He smiled down at her. "Really, it's fine--"
"You know James is more than welcome to join us," Blythe said, looking around to smile kindly at Wilson.
Midway, she stopped to stare at the sofa between them.
Blythe knew James sometimes stayed over at her son's place, having heard the distressing tales of his rather frequent marital woes. She felt very badly that he never seemed to have any luck with his marriages. He was a good man, who deserved a loving wife. That he had been there for Greg after Stacy left had been an absolute God-send. Indeed, she loved James Wilson as a second son; he complemented Greg perfectly in so many ways. She knew that James was a strong and loyal friend who cared for Greg deeply, and she knew that despite his own acerbic exterior, Greg cared just as much for James...
She just didn't think they cared for each other in that way though.
At least, not until now, if the complete absence of bedding on the sofa and Wilson's instantly guilty look were any indication.
She blinked, turning back to stare at House for confirmation, her eyes perfectly round with stunned astonishment. He simply smirked at her knowingly. Next she whirled to stare at Wilson, who stood rooted to the floor and blushing furiously, hand still on his neck. Her hand flew to her mouth.
"Oh," she whispered. "Oh. My. I -- oh dear. I'm interrupting something, aren't I?" Blythe herself flushed scarlet.
House nodded with a grin just this side of evil. "Yes Mom, you're interrupting our pre-coital snuggle. Jimmy's an absolute bear all day if he doesn't get his morning nookie. So if you don't mind, we'll skip breakfast with you today. Maybe next time."
Blythe's jaw dropped and she stood slack-faced and numb, until she heard the impatient honking of the car outside. She quickly snapped her mouth shut and straightened her shoulders, her voice turning brisk as she turned on her heel and went to the door. "Of course, next time. Well then, I'll call you tomorrow, sweetie. You two--" she trailed off, at a loss for words.
"We'll have a very nice day. Don't you worry. 'Bye now."
Blythe simply nodded, and fled, not able to look at either of them.
House and Wilson stood utterly motionless until the car drove off down the street. Wilson again broke first. "I don't believe you," he said slowly, gesturing to the door, then between them, anger flaring. "You lied to your own mother about us!"
House shrugged and rolled his eyes cheerfully. "We did sleep together last night, Jimmy."
"Well, yes, of course we did. We were drunk. I helped you into bed and I passed out beside you." Wilson placed his hands on his hips.
"She was the one who jumped to the conclusion that we were sleeping together." He placed a subtle emphasis on the different meaning. He lowered himself down onto the bare sofa, rubbing his leg beneath his robe.
"Because there were no blankets on the sofa? And you encouraged it! I don't appreciate that, House! You just used me and my situation with Julie to achieve whatever twisted goal you set out with your parents! What was it, that they don't even come visit you anymore?"
House looked up and their gazes locked.
"So?"
"So?" Wilson ran his fingers through his hair. His voice shook slightly. "A lie of omission is still a lie, House! Your mother is now most likely traumatized for life."
"No. Catching us in the middle of the act would have been 'traumatized for life.' Hmm..." House tapped his chin thoughtfully.
Wilson shook his head in exasperation. "Now she thinks we're both gay and that we're having wild, passionate sex with each other!"
House leered at him. "It's early enough, we could still make the lie come true."
Wilson threw up his hands, turned abruptly on his heel and strode back towards the bedroom. "You're incorrigible!"
"And that's why you love me, Jimmy!" House called at his retreating back.
Wilson's only answer to that was a slamming bedroom door.
In the living room, House chuckled then winced as pain shot through the remaining thigh muscle in his right leg. He withdrew the ubiquitous pill bottle from his robe pocket and tipped one tablet into his hand, dry-swallowing with effort. Oh, if Wilson only knew about making the lie come true... but he put that thought out of his mind. If it meant his parents did not drop by unexpectedly to visit him at all now, he could live with his deception. The complications with Wilson -- well, he would deal with those later.
After breakfast.
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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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