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  Risk 
 by Kass  

 

Wilson started in before he'd even hung up his coat. "I know you don't
want to talk about it."

"You're right! I don't." House collapsed onto a chair, more relieved to be
home than he wanted to admit. 

"Unfortunately, you can't always get what you want."

"I've heard that. Can't we skip this part? I'll save you the trouble: I
was irresponsible. All's well that ends well. Okay? Are we done now?"

"Ends well? You think this is over? Because I don't." 

Well, circumventing the conversation had been worth a try. House shrugged.
He didn't disagree; he just didn't want to discuss it. 

But Wilson could be a stubborn bastard. "Cuddy could tell you were being
cagey in the transplant committee meeting. And Vogler--"

"Fuck Vogler." House levered himself up, pushing past Wilson on his way to
the liquor cabinet. If they were going to talk about this, he needed a
drink. Badly.

"For God's sake, use your much-vaunted brain, would you? You're lucky they
didn't fire you."

No, I'm lucky they didn't fire you, House thought, pouring two fingers of
whiskey into his glass. "Tenure," he said, airily. The word had lost its
power to comfort him, but he wasn't about to let on. 

"You don't think Vogler can find a way around that, if he wants to?" 

Damn. House really didn't want to talk about that. "Anyway, she wanted to
live." 

"Funny; I'll bet everyone else on the transplant list does, too." Great:
now Wilson was getting pissy. Just what House needed. The perfect topper
to an otherwise beautiful day.

"They're not my patients." House slugged back his drink. He just wanted to
get drunk, get laid, and go to sleep, in that order. And yet he was having
a conversation about medical ethics. Because Wilson wanted to. Don't ever
say I don't do anything for you, he thought, sourly.

"Also -- you put me in an awkward position." There it was, the wounded
tone he'd been expecting. 

"Yeah. I did." It wasn't an apology.

Wilson exhaled, and suddenly House could see the tiredness in him. His
head tipped back on the couch. "Just...be careful," he said to the
ceiling. "Please."

The concern warmed him. Or maybe that was the scotch. Either way, sarcasm
was the better part of valor. "Yes, Mommy."

Wilson raised his head. "It's a brave new world with Vogler in charge,
Greg."

"You sure you want to be associating with me, then?" As flippant as he
could manage. Wanting, and not-wanting, Wilson to hear the warning behind
the words. Damning himself for the fact that he needed Wilson too much to
protect him by cutting him loose. 

Wilson just looked at him, intent and unreadable. "Let's go to bed." 

It wasn't a clear answer. But as Wilson's mouth descended along his body,
wringing a choked gasp and his usual string of muttered curses, House
prayed to whatever deity might be listening that Wilson understood the
risk in their liaison. And would choose it anyway.

(500 words)

  
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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.