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  Kiss of Judas 
 by Jaryn  

 House rolled the stool closer and picked up Wilson's hand, holding it
between both of his. Wilson wasn't looking at him; his eyes were focused
towards the window and his expression was a stony mask. Full marks for
exuding resentment, House thought. 

Yet... Wilson had still come to him. 

"What'd you do?" House asked, his eyes intent on Wilson's face. House knew
the answer already--Wilson had punched something, probably a wall--but he
wanted to see if Wilson would actually admit it. 

Wilson blinked but still didn't look at him. "It's not broken. I just need
you to wrap it up... I can't do it with my right hand." 

House looked down and brushed his thumb gently over bruised knuckles,
which made Wilson flinch. "How do you know it's not broken?" 

"House." 

"Gating mechanism?" 

"Go to hell." 

House smiled even as his insides twisted and spread one of his hands out
underneath Wilson's, holding it like a trophy. "I am having serious dj vu
... though with a slightly different twist."

"Just wrap it up," Wilson snapped. 

House gave him a look before he let go and rolled himself over to a
drawer. He pulled out some tape and a bandage before rolling back. Wilson
hadn't moved an inch; apparently he was still trying to impersonate a
statue. 

After eying him for a short while, House picked Wilson's hand up, leaving
the tape and bandage on his lap. Cradling Wilson's hand in his own again,
House used his free hand to straighten out Wilson's middle finger and
Wilson flinched again. 

"Are you trying to hurt me?" 

"No," House muttered, eyes down. 

Wilson turned towards him and House felt the weight of his gaze on the top
of his head. "Yeah. Right." 

House looked up and met Wilson's gaze before quickly looking down again.
He turned Wilson's hand over and put a finger on the centre of his palm. 

"What are you doing?"

"Reading your fortune," House said. He tsked and shook his head, tracing
one of the lines on Wilson's palm with his finger tip. "Hmm. Ah... yes.
Too bad. Too bad." Looking up, House saw that Wilson wasn't in the least
bit impressed. "What? I said I was reading your fortune, not that I was
going to tell it to you." 

"You know what? Forget it," Wilson said and pulled his hand away before
starting to get to his feet. House grabbed Wilson's shoulders though and
forced him back onto the chair. 

"All right, drama queen. I'll do it." 

Wilson visibly clenched his jaw but sat back down. He then resumed staring
out of the window. House took his hand again and laid it on his own leg,
which got a quick glance from Wilson but nothing more. 

Tearing off a strip of the tape, House began to, very slowly, and very
carefully, wrap it around Wilson's fingers--taking about three times
longer than was really necessary and about five times longer than it would
have taken him with a regular patient. Wilson kept silent but House
noticed that some of the tension in his body had eased. He looked tired
though. Extremely tired. 

When he was done with the tape, House set Wilson's hand down and opened
the bandage. 

"That's not necessary," Wilson said, though he didn't try to take his hand
away from where it was on House's thigh. House ignored him and took even
longer with the bandage than he had with the tape, checking after each
wrap that it was all in the right place, that it wasn't too loose or too
tight, until Wilson's entire hand was swathed in white. When he was
finally finished, House looked up to find Wilson's eyes on him. 

After a long moment, House let Wilson's hand go. It remained in space for
a few seconds before Wilson took it back, cradling it protectively against
his stomach. 

They both sat there as if the concept of even standing up was beyond both
of them right then. 

Wilson looked away, but this time he stared at the wall and not the
window. "Do you think it's easier to love someone or hate them?" 

The question went unanswered but House wasn't even sure Wilson had wanted
him to reply anyway. Scrunching up the bandage wrapper, House tossed it
into the nearby bin and they sat for a while longer in silence. 

Wilson looked defeated and House felt much the same way. He was defeated
by the situation, by everything he couldn't say and everything he'd just
said without saying anything at all--because it wasn't enough. It wasn't
enough to fix anything. 

"Maybe I should be asking..." Wilson said, sounding distant, "...if it's
worse to love someone who doesn't love you back, or to hate someone." 

House closed his eyes and let out a slow, shuddering breath. Something
burned through his middle; an unidentifiable emotion. 

After another pause, Wilson got to his feet and started to walk past House
towards the door. House reached out at the last moment though and caught
Wilson's uninjured hand, gripping it tightly without looking at him. 

Wilson froze in place for a seemingly long time, still facing the door,
before he wrapped his hand around House's in return. House breathed out
the breath he'd been holding and turned to Wilson just as Wilson turned
towards him. 

Stiffly, Wilson bent down and pressed his lips to House's temple. The kiss
of Judas. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and was gone a moment later. 

Looking at the hand that had just held Wilson's, House curled his fingers
into a tight fist. "Me too," he said. 

  
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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.