Title: A House Distracted
Author: hwshipper
Pairings: House/Wilson, House/OMC. References to Wilson/Julie and Wilson/OMC (Chris).
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.
Warning: Contains that rare beast, House/OMC! - mainly in parts 2 & 3.
Beta: the always splendid starlingthefool. Inspired by a detailed plot summary from dropthetowel. Initial medical advice from siljab.
A/N: Sequel fic to The Story of Chris (click on my username for a list of my fics). The worlds of Wilson and Chris collide again. Meanwhile House is distracted by someone new in his life. One story told in four parts, each from a different point of view.
A House Distracted - Part 1: Chris
It was early evening and Chris was at his club. He was sitting at the upstairs bar, reading a newspaper, while a cigarette smoked itself out in the ashtray by his elbow. The room was quiet and the bartender was polishing glasses down the other end of the bar.
Linus came in and plumped his portly frame down on the next stool along.
"Hey," Chris barely glanced up.
"Hey." Linus graciously accepted the beer that the bartender had placed in front of him. "Chris, I need a favor."
"Oh?" Chris looked up, only half-listening.
"I'm going to the doctor's tomorrow, to get some test results." Linus picked up a beer mat and twisted it between his fingers. "I need someone to come with me."
Tomorrow wasn't really very convenient; Chris was going to see a restaurant for sale some way up the coast. He didn't think he'd want to buy it but thought it worth a look. "Can't Raul go with you?"
Raul had appeared in Linus's life about six months before. Appallingly young, terribly high-strung, and with a great capacity for blowjobs (which Chris could testify to personally), he had moved into Linus's house one day and so far Linus showed no signs of throwing him out. Although Linus did periodically joke to Chris that he fully expected to wake up one morning and find Raul had vanished along with the big-screen TV.
"Much as I adore Raul," Linus said, his voice dry, "he's not the kind of person I want there with me when I'm possibly going to be informed that I've got a life-threatening disease."
Suddenly he had Chris's full attention. The key words sunk in: doctor. Test results. Life-threatening disease. Chris closed the newspaper and sat up. God, he'd always feared this day would come. A lifetime of risky behavior, coming home to roost.
"I'm sorry, Linus, of course I'll come with you," Chris said hastily. "Um--it's not the death sentence it used to be, of course."
"My dear Chris," Linus's tone was gentle. "Not that disease. They think--they think I've got cancer."
Chris felt a wrench turning in his gut. Shit.
Not knowing what to say, Chris picked his cigarette up. He and Linus both looked at it, then Chris grimaced and put it down again.
They watched as it turned to ashes in the ashtray.
It was a sunny spring day at Princeton Plainsboro, and Chris was waiting perched on the table inside Exam Room 1.
He didn't have to wait long before Wilson walked in the door, looking down at the file in his hands. He'd had a new hairstyle since Chris last saw him, a year and a half ago; it was shorter, and made him look more serious. Or perhaps that was the white coat; Chris was used to seeing Wilson in casual clothes, and ridiculous as it might be, it was somehow a bit of a shock to see him looking like a doctor.
Wilson shut the door and looked up, and at the sight of Chris, his eyes widened in alarm and he stopped short. Chris spoke swiftly, before Wilson could speak, "I'm here about Linus."
"Linus?" Wilson echoed.
"He's got cancer. Prostate cancer. He needs a referral to a hospital for treatment." Chris got the important information out quickly, afraid Wilson might simply walk out. "And apparently Princeton Plainsboro has the best oncology department on the eastern seaboard, and you're in charge of it."
Wilson stood still for a moment, digesting the news.
Chris took the silence as hesitation. "Wilson, please..." He didn't know he was going to convince Wilson to take Linus on, except that he'd do whatever necessary. Stay, go, put out, shut up, whatever.
"Of course I'll take him," Wilson said hastily. "I'm just a bit... shocked. Um... are you all right? I mean, you're not a real clinic patient, are you?"
"Oh no, it was just an excuse," Chris explained. "I told the nurse you'd seen me before and she put me on your list."
Wilson smiled a little. "Right. Look, I should see some patients that are actually sick now, but if you don't mind hanging around for a bit, perhaps we could go for coffee or something?"
Chris nodded, relieved. An hour later they met in a cafe outside the hospital. Over coffee, Chris explained Linus's state of health as far as he was able. Wilson listened intently.
"Tell Linus of course I'll take him, get his doctor to refer him to me as soon as possible. I'll keep an eye out for it, we'll have him in as soon as possible." Wilson paused. "I'm really sorry he's sick. You know I was always very fond of Linus."
"Yeah." Chris stuck a spoon in his coffee and stirred it, even though there was no need to do so, and tried not to look like he was studying Wilson too closely. He really had forgotten just deep a brown Wilson's eyes were. On the other hand, the blue striped tie he was wearing had to be the ugliest tie that Chris had ever seen. He wondered if Wilson's wife picked his ties out for him. Chris took a deep breath and said, "I hear you got married again?"
"Uh, yeah." Wilson met Chris's eye. "Julie. We've been married a year now."
Chris let his gaze drop deliberately down to Wilson's left hand, which was bare. "All well?"
"Fine." Wilson fidgeted slightly, twisting his coffee cup around in his hands. "I've never been any good at wearing a ring... I take it off for a procedure and forget to put it on again."
Chris wondered what Julie made of her ringless husband.
"Look, I don't want to cause any trouble," Chris said abruptly. "If you'll take Linus I can be around or not, whatever you want. If you don't want to see me, then I'll push off and not come back. Or I'll hang around, if you don't mind."
Wilson smiled a little. "I don't mind you being around. I guess Linus needs a friend at the moment."
"Yeah." Talking of friends... "And House, how's he?"
"House is... fine." Wilson nodded, looking slightly surprised at his own words. "Yes, he's definitely going through a good patch. Not sure why. Best not to know, sometimes."
They parted amicably; Chris was relieved with how everything had gone. And a little wistful. He'd forgotten just how... good it was being with James Wilson.
Chris invited himself along to Linus's initial appointment at Princeton Plainsboro, as it didn't seem right to let Linus to go on his own. Linus protested a little-- "Let's not make things any more awkward for Wilson, the poor dear boy, than they already are--" but eventually acquiesced, and Chris was sure that Linus was secretly glad of the company.
At the hospital, a nurse took down Linus's details on a form while they waited to see Wilson in his office. They came to a halt at the last question.
"I don't have any next of kin." Linus let out a large theatrical sigh. "I outlived them all long ago. Chris is the closest I've got." He waved an arm towards Chris.
The nurse looked sympathetically at Chris and nodded, and Chris realized instantly that she thought they were a couple. The idea made him want to laugh, but he nodded back seriously instead, and saw Linus's face crease into suppressed mirth behind her.
The nurse solemnly took down Chris's details, then left, saying Dr. Wilson would be with them shortly. She threw another sympathetic look at Chris as she left. The minute she was out of the door they both burst out laughing, and that was how Wilson found them when he walked in a minute later.
"Wilson!" Linus was immediately thrilled. "How fantastic to see you. And as a doctor, too--that white coat, so cute! You look great."
"So do you, actually," Wilson said, smiling, sitting behind his desk. "Laughter as the best medicine, perhaps."
"Ah, your nurse there assumed Chris and I were a couple," Linus explained delightedly. He looked at Chris and raised a shrewd eyebrow. "Best not to dissuade people of that, perhaps?"
Chris nodded thoughtfully; he hadn't thought about it, but of course such an assumption would serve to detract from any connection with Wilson. Why not play along?
"Unless Raul is going to come visit you here--" Chris began.
"I have expressly forbidden that," Linus said firmly. "He said he would, but the poor dear has a hospital phobia and I'm not having him swooning all over the place. There's only room for one drama queen around here, and that's me. He's to stay at home and mind the house. You'd better pop along occasionally and make sure the parties he'll be throwing don't get out of hand."
Wilson was listening in obvious fascination. Linus looked at Wilson and said with a wink, "Ah, don't you miss all this, Wilson?"
"I take the fifth," Wilson said, deadpan.
Chris sat back in his chair and listened as Wilson talked to Linus about his cancer and his options. Linus had prostate adenocarcinoma; it had been caught fairly early and hadn't yet spread. Wilson was at pains to stress that he'd discussed Linus's case with a colleague, to ensure his personal connection with Linus didn't affect his medical judgment. The opinion of Wilson and his colleague was that surgery was unnecessary (which Linus was pleased to hear; "My prostate's given me a helluva lot of pleasure over the years, I'd hate to lose it,") and radiation therapy was recommended.
"Is that anything like chemotherapy?" Linus asked, apprehensive.
"Not as extreme, but it does have possible side effects." Wilson produced literature on radiotherapy, and talked Linus through it in detail. He listed some side effects; fatigue, tender skin, nausea, diarrhea, peeing a lot...
"Cut to the important stuff here, Wilson," Linus said, wide-eyed and earnest. "What about sex?"
Wilson rolled his eyes and fed back the line Linus was expecting. "Not right now. But seriously..." and Wilson looked hard at Linus, "Between 30 and 50 per cent of patients have some erection problems afterwards."
Linus sighed and remarked, "I guess this is when Viagra's really supposed to be used, isn't it?"
After further lengthy discussion of possible alternative treatments, once Wilson was satisfied that Linus understood everything necessary, it was agreed that Linus would start a six-week course of radiotherapy the following week. The course was intense, with treatment every day, and because of the long journey he would have to make to Princeton, it was also agreed that he would be admitted to Princeton Plainsboro for the duration. Wilson offered Linus a tour of the hospital, and walked Chris and Linus through the oncology wards.
Chris found it strange seeing Wilson at work, as the professional, the doctor, the department head. Staff came up and asked him questions; patients paused to chat. It was clear that Wilson was in his element; comfortable in his role, well regarded by all. It was a side of Wilson that Chris had been aware must exist, but never seen before. Chris started to feel really quite impressed. He was starting to remember all the things he'd liked about Wilson that really had been Wilson, and not a dim reflection of Edward.
Linus seemed to appreciate it too. He stopped by the large board displaying donor's names in the foyer and asked, "So how much do you have to donate to get your name on this board?"
"I don't think there's a threshold, exactly," Wilson laughed. "Not a publicized one, anyway."
Linus gazed at the board, then looked at Wilson with penetrating eyes. "Would it help?"
Wilson hesitated, then said, "Linus, you know you don't have to give anything to the hospital to get the best possible treatment." He shrugged, and added in a breezy tone, "But my boss, Dr. Cuddy, would never forgive me if I didn't say at this point that the hospital always welcomes all donations, large or small."
Chris grinned a little. He knew Wilson wouldn't have said anything like that if he hadn't known Linus was both wealthy and philanthropically inclined.
Wilson dropped his voice considerably, and added, "Don't worry about it, Linus, really."
Linus nodded: they walked on. Linus muttered, "Cut the crap, Wilson; would it help?"
Wilson sighed a little, and said almost under his breath. "Yes, it would. At least, it certainly helps patients get to be treated by House, if they want to be. Not that House gives a damn of course, but Cuddy does. It's possible if Cuddy knew you were a donor she'd be much more sympathetic to me skipping board meetings and committees and so on, if I needed to."
"Say no more," Linus said, and they said no more.
Later, Chris found out Linus had indeed gotten out his checkbook and doubled the amount that Wilson had tentatively suggested.
Linus had another planning visit, and was then admitted to Princeton Plainsboro for his course of radiotherapy. Chris accompanied him on the first day, hovering in the corner of Linus's room and watching Wilson at work, settling Linus in. Wilson really was the consummate professional doctor, giving Linus just enough explanation to make what was going to happen comprehensible, just enough reassurance without false platitude.
Eventually Wilson departed to see other patients. After he'd left the room, Linus lay back in the bed, stretched his arms out and said, "Chris. You have to leave the pretty boy alone."
Chris jumped. "What? I'm not--"
"Oh yes you are. You're undressing him with your eyes each time you look at him." Linus shook a finger at Chris. "Now I know him in that white coat is just beautiful, but you have to resist. If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times... stay away from the married men!"
The reminder that Wilson was married was immediately depressing. Linus was quite right. "Okay, okay," Chris said, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
On future visits, Chris made a conscious effort not to hang about too much when Wilson was around; he made polite excuses about Linus needing privacy (which were just excuses; Linus had no qualms whatsoever about sharing every physical twinge) and left the room.
But inevitably, the less he saw of Wilson, the more he thought about him, the more desirable the man became. And Chris was uncomfortably aware how one-sided this was: Wilson hadn't given him so much of a hunt of encouragement.
This was brought abruptly home to him a couple of weeks after Linus was admitted. Chris was visiting Linus and had gone down to the cafeteria for a break. On his way back, he bumped into Wilson in the corridor outside Linus's room.
"Hey, Chris," Wilson greeted him.
"Hey, Wilson," Chris said, smiling, thinking that Wilson got possibly cuter each time they met.
"I guess you're spending a lot of time traveling back and forth at the moment," Wilson remarked.
Chris was indeed spending a lot of time whizzing up and down between the Jersey coast where he lived and Princeton. It was a journey he'd done a lot at one time."It doesn't take that long on the bike," Chris said, and added a little daringly, "I get a sense of déjà vu sometimes."
Wilson's brow furrowed; he looked perturbed. Chris immediately regretted the reference to their shared past, and all the more so when Wilson said unexpectedly, "Chris, could we have a word in my office?"
Surprised, Chris nodded and followed Wilson towards his office. Once inside, Wilson shut the door behind them and turned to face Chris.
"Look... Chris..." Wilson said awkwardly. "We get on well, don't we? No hard feelings, are there? There's no reason we can't be friends, don't you think?"
Chris stared. No reason? Other than Wilson being still completely fucking irresistible, no, no reason at all. Chris felt his cheeks go hot with humiliation; his feelings must have been really obvious. There was no way Wilson would initiate such an embarrassing conversation unless he'd really felt this needed to be said.
"Uh... if that's what you want," Chris eventually managed to get the words out.
Wilson looked extremely uncomfortable, but nodded firmly. "Yes."
"Does House allow you any other friends?" Chris asked, trying to joke but with an undercurrent of seriousness.
Wilson smiled a little. "Well, he doesn't know you're around, yet... I guess we'll have to wait and see. But he's really being very... undemanding at the moment, for House." He looked at Chris, his deep brown eyes moving like searchlights. "Are we okay?"
"Of course we're okay," Chris said immediately, not wanting to cause trouble in the least, and desiring above all to maintain some sort of connection with Wilson. Wilson nodded, apparently satisfied.
Chris muttered that he should go, and left the room. As he walked, he felt his stomach sink, and he wanted to crawl into a corner and curl up in a ball. What a ghastly conversation. Chris would have left the hospital immediately, but he'd left his jacket in Linus's room. He might even have abandoned the jacket there, but the keys to his motorcycle were in the pocket. He stomped back to Linus's room and found Linus lying still, but not asleep.
"You look like you just got your dick slammed in a door," Linus remarked.
"It feels like that." Chris grabbed his jacket and checked the pocket for his keys. He hadn't been going to say anything, but he couldn't help it, and anyway Linus should know. "He just wants to be friends."
"Ah." Linus lay back and digested this information. "Well, thank heavens one of you has a bit of sense." He looked at Chris. "Go back to my house and get Raul to blow you. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."
"Thanks, but no thanks, Linus," Chris said tiredly, and left.
Chris headed for home, but realizing there was no way he would ever settle tonight as he was, he stopped on the way at one of his bars; the roadside bar next to a motel, the place where he'd first met Wilson and House all those years ago. He picked up a stranger, a traveling salesman staying at the motel for a night; middle aged, with burnt-out eyes and a white mark on the third finger of his left hand where a wedding band usually resided.
Later that night amid sweat and thrusting limbs, Chris thought in a detached way that on one level this was deeply unsatisfying. But on another level, he felt it was the only thing to have kept him sane that evening.
It was only a matter of time before House found out about Linus being a patient at the hospital. Wilson appeared to be content to wait for House to find out. The only surprise was that it took as long as it did; it was a good three weeks after Linus had been admitted as a patient before it happened.
Having swanned through the first half of the radiotherapy course, Linus had just started to suffer side effects and was distinctly more lethargic. He also felt sore, and sick most of the time, and as a result wasn't eating properly. Wilson had just come in to check on progress, and was telling Linus how important it was to keep eating, when House came barging in, apparently in pursuit.
House saw first Wilson, then Linus in the bed, and then Chris, leaning against the wall. At the sight of Chris, House's eyebrows hit his hairline.
"Dr. House, I assume?" Linus said, never one to be silenced by awkward situations. He had met House before, but only once.
Chris braced himself for--well, just about anything, actually. House shut the door behind him and leaned on his cane, regarding the scene before him thoughtfully. They all waited for him to say something.
"How cozy," House said eventually. "Hospital gossip said there were a same-sex couple who were friends of Wilson's in room two-oh-four. I was hoping for a pair of hot teenage lesbians. What a disappointment." His blue eyes swiveled and pierced first Linus, then Chris. They stayed on Chris. "Since when have the two of you been a couple?" House barely paused before going on, "You're not, are you? You're protecting Wilson from any nasty hospital chit-chat. So kind of you both."
"Fuck off, House." Chris said evenly. He'd never taken any crap from House before and wasn't about to start now.
"House," Wilson said, a pleading note in his voice, and House looked at Wilson.
Chris watched an unspoken conversation take place, almost invisible to anyone but House and Wilson, before House shrugged and looked away. Wilson looked ever so slightly relieved. House turned and picked up the chart from the end of Linus's bed, saying airily "It's all right, I'm a doctor."
He flipped through it quickly. "Prostate cancer? Lucky you." He put the chart down and looked at Linus. "I'm sure Champion the Wonder Oncologist here has it all under control."
"Oh yes," Linus said dryly. "We passed the point of diagnosis some time ago, I fear."
"Then my work here is done." House looked around. "Nice room you've got here. You must've slipped Cuddy a backhander." He paused, then added, "I would just say you'd slipped her one, but I know that's not your scene."
And House departed, banging the door behind him. Chris let out a breath; that had been okay.
"So, what we were afraid of again?" Linus inquired. "He didn't seem to give a damn."
"Thank fuck," said Chris.
But Wilson was standing with suspicion writ large on his face, and said quietly, almost under his breath, "I don't get it; he's being far too... affable." Frowning, he muttered "Excuse me," and left the room.
Chris and Linus looked at each other and shrugged. Chris didn't really care whether House was indifferent or affable, so long as he wasn't causing trouble.
A few days after House had come on the scene, Chris was lurking in a corner of the room while Wilson chatted to Linus, when they were unexpectedly graced by a personal visit by Dr. Cuddy, the Dean of Medicine. Chris had never met her before, although Wilson had talked about her on occasion.
Cuddy came bustling in. She had big hair and was wearing a low-cut black lace-trimmed top. She smiled benevolently at Wilson and then turned a hundred-watt smile on Linus. "Delighted to meet you, Mr.-"
"Linus, please," Linus said, offering his hand majestically, tilting his head to one side.
"I wanted to thank you personally for your most generous donation. The hospital really appreciates it. I'm only sorry it's under such circumstances," Cuddy said. "But you're in the best possible hands, as I'm sure you know."
They shook hands and talked briefly about how Linus was doing. Linus was in superb camp overload mode, making sweeping gestures with his hands and fluttering his eyelids as he described the ghastliness of the side effects. Chris watched in amusement and thought you shameless old queen. And he wasn't entirely sure which of the two of them that description applied to more. At one point, having just informed Cuddy that he had lost all his "hair down there'" Linus observed, "Of course that may be a good thing. Women pay good money for getting rid of all that, I believe?"
Cuddy laughed, and said, "We certainly do. Clearly radiotherapy is the way to go." A thought apparently struck her; she glanced up and remarked, "Oh, by the way Dr. Wilson, your wife was here a minute ago. She was down in the lobby looking for you."
At the word wife Chris froze, and saw Linus go still, too.
Wilson merely raised an eyebrow though, and said, "Julie's here? I had better go and find what she wants. Do excuse me, Linus."
Linus nodded, looking a little dazed, and Wilson left the room, not glancing at Chris. Chris watched him go, waited for a few seconds, then muttered an excuse and left the room himself, leaving Linus with Cuddy.
He was just in time to see the elevator doors closing behind Wilson. Chris took the stairs, hurrying without running, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Down in the lobby, he hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, looking around--and there she was. Wilson standing talking to a small brunette woman whom Chris had only ever seen in photographs. Julie.
Chris watched, mesmerized, for a moment. He knew Wilson was married, had been married twice before, but Chris had never actually seen him close to a woman like this. She seemed to be vaguely annoyed about something; Wilson put a pacifying hand on her arm. Then he bent his head to kiss her.
Chris felt like his heart was being sliced systematically across, like a loaf of bread, the knife cutting in again and again.
"Aren't they just the perfect couple?" a voice said next to him.
Chris nearly jumped out of his skin. House the bastard, creeping up on him. Chris turned and glared, angry and hurt. "Fuck off, House."
House was looking at him as if at a specimen under the microscope. "I diagnose an extreme case of the green-eyed monster. Exacerbated by the fact you can't rationalize it, and have no hope of getting into his pants ever again."
Chris glared again, then a thought struck him. He looked at House, and asked, "How do you stand it?"
"Me?" House grinned slightly, a wolfish smile. "Habit of a lifetime. And anyway, it's always easier when you're getting some elsewhere."
Chris wasn't going to give House the satisfaction of being curious about that last statement. He turned away and headed back towards Linus's room.
Life went on, even with Linus in the hospital. As the weeks of treatment continued, Chris still went up to Princeton every few days but found his time squeezed; one of the administrators at his club left, and left a bunch of incomplete financial paperwork behind him.
Chris was vaguely comforted by the fact that Linus had befriended one of the younger doctors at the hospital, Dr. Robert Chase, who worked for House but didn't seem to mind sitting gossiping and playing cards with Linus. Chase was very new in the job, apparently, and House wasn't giving him much work to do.
Chris was at his club in his office one Friday evening looking through accounts when a call came through. It was the bouncer on the door to the upstairs bar.
"Uh, boss? There's a guy here who says he knows you."
The upstairs bar was invitation only. Chris was used to getting messages about people claiming to know him; they usually didn't. "Yeah?" Chris said idly, most of his attention still on the columns of figures.
"Dr. Greg House. And there's another guy with him."
All thoughts of work suddenly vanished from Chris's head. Chris gaped down the phone, and said, "Uh--yeah. That's fine. Let them in."
"Uh, they're already in. Dan met them downstairs and brought them up. I just thought you should know..."
Dan, a longstanding poker regular, knew House from way back when Chris had first met House and Wilson. Chris was a bit surprised to hear this, but not hugely; he'd always thought Dan had a thing with House that Chris (and Wilson) had never heard about.
"That's fine." Chris put the phone down and wondered what the hell was going on. House, turning up here, at his club? And with another guy? Who? It couldn't possibly be Wilson. All his staff knew Wilson and had been most sorry to see him go. If Wilson ever walked into this place again he'd be mobbed with delighted doormen, cheering hat-check girls, and pleased-as-punch bar staff.
Suddenly alive with curiosity, Chris abandoned the books, and made his way out of his office and down the short corridor that came out behind the bar. He paused, looking into the room. It was House, and with him was a man Chris had never seen before. Tall, fair and very skinny. And yes--he wasn't just with House, he was with House. They were just sitting down at a table, and House, conversing animatedly with Dan, had a hand closed around the other's man's arm.
Chris strolled over casually. He didn't want to join them, couldn't bring himself to be friendly with House, who was bound to slap any such overtures back anyway. But he did want to meet the new guy.
"Hi," Chris said, leaning on the back of a chair. "I'm Chris."
"You're the owner," the guy said immediately, and they shook hands. "I'm Gary. Pleased to meet you."
House was otherwise occupied, talking to Dan (deliberately ignoring Chris, Chris thought), so Chris chatted to Gary for a minute and found out some boring facts like he worked in IT in Princeton, and the rather more interesting fact that he'd met House nearly three months ago when he'd moved into House's apartment block.
"And how do you know House?" Gary asked in return.
Chris hesitated: what to say? The connection was Wilson, of course, and Chris took it for granted that anyone going out with House would have to know Wilson, or at least know of Wilson. He chose to keep it simple. "I'm a friend of Wilson's."
"No shit!" Gary's eyebrows shot up, then he glanced at House.
"You know Wilson?" Chris asked innocently, wondering does he know you?
"Met him a few times. Only briefly though." Gary definitely looked like he wanted to ask Chris something.
At this point House looked round at Chris, and said, "You still keep exclusive single malts in your office?"
Chris had always thought House was an outrageous scrounger, had never understood why Wilson put up with it. "You might find out, if you spend some money at the bar first," Chris answered, and strolled away, back to his office.
He couldn't concentrate on accounts after that though. He forced himself to try, and an unproductive hour later, Chris came back to the bar to find House and Gary now involved in a poker game. Chris perched himself on a stool near the end of the bar, his favored spot, and watched from a distance. House was being loud and flamboyant.
Gary spotted Chris, and excused himself from the game a minute later. He came up and sat on the stool next to Chris. Chris waited.
"So. House and Wilson," Gary said casually. "What's the deal there?"
"Shouldn't you be asking them that?" Chris was wary.
Gary waved a weary hand. "House won't open up to me. Bastard keeps his armor on at all times. Happy to take it up the ass so long as I don't try and get in his head. And Wilson--whenever I see him he leaves the room as quickly as possible." Gary stared hard at Chris. "Is it complicated, or is it actually really simple?
"Simple how?"
"Like, boy meets boy, but boy has a yen for his best friend. And the best friend is so fucking pathetic and repressed that he has to keep on getting married to convince himself."
Chris discovered at that moment that he couldn't stand to hear criticism of Wilson. Even if there was a grain of truth in it. He didn't answer, but glowered at Gary sufficiently fiercely that Gary actually looked alarmed.
"Hey, keep your shirt on. I was only suggesting." Gary dropped his voice. "You had a thing for Wilson, did you?"
Chris then discovered another thing he also couldn't stand; hearing his relationship with Wilson trivialized. "Mind your own fucking business."
"Hey." Gary held his hands up in supplication. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't know."
Chris relented a touch. "You really want my advice?"
"I want it. I may not take it."
Blunt speaker, this one. Chris supposed anyone going out with House would have to be. Chris shrugged and imparted his words of wisdom. "You want to be with House? Then there's no point being jealous of Wilson. It won't do a damn bit of good. Learn to live with it."
Gary pondered this. "You're saying, just put up with it? Just grin and bear it while they exchange meaningful glances, and have silent conversations, and eyesex across the room?"
"I'm saying, put up with it or walk away. And be grateful they're not actually fucking each other." Chris wasn't going to explain any more to this impudent stranger.
"That advice sucks," Gary declared.
Chris shrugged again. They both watched the poker game for a few minutes; eventually Gary went off to rejoin the game.
Later that evening when the club had just closed, Chris was standing leaning on his open office window, looking down at people spilling outside towards cars. His office was on the second floor and overlooked the parking lot. It was an old habit of his to look out at closing time. He had been in the habit of having his final cigarette of the night while doing so, but he had now given up smoking, again. Chris hadn't smoked since that moment at the bar when Linus had told him of the possible diagnosis: the fact that smoking apparently had no connection with prostate cancer hadn't detracted from his revulsion. Linus now joked that his prostate was saving Chris's lungs.
Chris spotted House perched waiting on a bollard down below, then saw Gary come outside to join him, maneuvering through the crowd. Gary walked up to stand in front of House, and Chris watched as House slid an arm round Gary's waist.
Then Gary slipped an arm round House's shoulder, and the two of them kissed. It was a brief moment, but intimate and surprisingly tender. Chris felt like he'd been given an insight into a side of House he hadn't seen before.
Chris wondered again what Wilson made of all this.
Linus's course of radiotherapy was nearing its end, and going well, except that Linus seemed to be suffering every side effect possible. He was constantly tired and pale and sick, and had lost quite a lot of weight. He moaned constantly about being sore, and of endless bowel problems and other indignities.
Chris had driven up to visit on a day when he was also tired, and would rather not have made the journey. He found Linus shifting around in bed, white as a sheet, exhausted but unable to sleep with discomfort.
"Chris," Linus said, his voice crackling with pain. "There's something I wanted to tell you."
"It can wait," Chris said, deliberately harsh.
Linus wasn't to be put off. "I updated my will. Before I started in hospital, here. Just in case, y'know..."
Hell. Chris was an executor. "Linus, we really don't need to discuss this now..."
But Linus was determined. He took a moment, coughed a couple of times, and spoke much more firmly. "Not many changes. Still all the usual good causes. You still get a bigger boat."
Chris laughed a little. He and Linus had quarter shares in a fine sailing boat, and occasionally joked that they needed a bigger boat. Linus's share was the one thing Chris was bequeathed, which was fine; Chris didn't need or want anything from Linus.
"Just one change, really." Linus hesitated, then went on. "I've left Raul the house."
"What?" Chris's jaw dropped. He looked carefully at Linus; apparently his friend was serious. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"I can't abide the thought of him out on the street. He could end up in a really nasty place."
"I mean, he may not be old enough to legally inherit property." Chris was exaggerating to make a broader point.
"Oh please," Linus snorted. "This is why I wanted to mention it to you, so you know it's what I actually want, and it's not that he guided my trembling fingers as I signed the new document... He doesn't know about it. And you mustn't tell him. Or I'll have to watch my back for the rest of my life."
Chris shook his head in confusion. "Well, if you're sure..."
"Another thing, he'll have run out of money by now," Linus rattled on. "I went to the ATM this morning, very convenient to have one in the hospital, don't you think? There's an envelope in the drawer there, take it round to my house and give it to him tonight, please, Chris. I may not get the chance to see him again..."
"Linus!" Suddenly Chris was very upset. "You're not dying! You're doing really well. The side effects will pass--"
"And leave me in God knows what sort of a state. Who the fuck wants to live forever, anyway? We are all dying, Chris," Linus flung out a hand in an attempt at drama, but lacked the energy to really make a point of it. "I mean, any of us could end up under a truck at any moment."
That was a singularly thoughtless comment which could only bring another tragic traffic accident to Chris's mind, one he'd managed not to think about too much for quite some time now. Linus realized belatedly what he'd said, and looked horrified. "Chris, I didn't mean--"
"I know." Chris cut him off. But it was too late; Chris felt his gut wrench. He hadn't thought about things in this way before, but he'd lost Edward and now he might be losing Linus too. This was all just far too fucking much to cope with. Suddenly Chris really couldn't stay there with Linus anymore.
He took the envelope Linus had asked him to give to Raul, and muttered he had to go, would be back tomorrow. Then he walked into the corridor and put a hand over his face. He felt wetness on his palm; Goddamnit, he was crying. This would not do. He blinked furiously, then took his hand away, and saw a blurred Wilson in front of him.
"Chris?" Wilson's voice, concerned, close to his ear.
Chris felt himself start to shake, then felt Wilson's hand on his arm, propelling him forward. Chris walked blindly alongside Wilson until a door closed behind them; Chris rubbed his eyes, looked around, and they were in Wilson's office.
"You okay?" Wilson's voice again, gentle, almost a murmur.
"Yeah." Chris's nose was running. He sniffed, then aware of how gross it sounded, groped in a pocket for a handkerchief. He blew his nose, and said through the cotton, "Just Linus."
Reassuring. "I know the side effects are bad, but he's doing really well."
"I know." Chris stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket, and had to spill a little. "He's fucking talking about his will..."
Wilson was silent. His hand was still on Chris's arm; he lifted it and rested it on Chris's shoulder instead.
And suddenly Chris was very aware that Wilson was standing right next to him, really close, closer than they'd been at any point since that ghastly let's-be-friends conversation. He could feel Wilson's breath on his neck, and thought perhaps that was Wilson's silky hair brushing lightly against his ear. He didn't move, tried to keep completely still, as if the moment would go on forever that way.
Then Wilson sighed a little, and moved away, and Chris let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
"Let me take you out to dinner tonight," Wilson said, and it was so completely unexpected that Chris shied away.
"Can't--have to go home--" Chris remembered the thick wedge of an envelope in his pocket. "Have to go to Linus's, give some money to Raul."
"Tomorrow night, then." Wilson's tone was gentleness personified, and this time Chris took a grip on himself, and nodded dumbly.
Wilson's dinner invitation had one immediate very welcome benefit: it kept Chris thinking about it, and not the pale-as-death Linus, all the long drive down to the coast. Was it just dinner on offer? Or dinner as a prelude to something else?
The more Chris told himself that Wilson was just being nice, the more he remembered what House always said: Wilson fed off neediness. Was positively turned on by it. Chris could recall occasions in their own relationship when Wilson had offered comfort by offering sex. And Wilson might just be in the right place for it to happen now. After all, House was distracted by Gary at the moment: and as for Julie, well, Chris had no idea. But surely it wasn't beyond the bounds of possibility to hope...
Chris arrived back at Linus's house to find lights on, but apparently nobody home. The place hadn't been trashed, and the flat screen TV was still on the wall. He looked around the living room and found Raul was there, after all; curled up asleep in an enormous beanbag in front of the large flickering log fire. Long black eyelashes were curled shut over smooth olive skin. Chris could see why Linus wanted to keep him around; Raul was beautiful, no denying it.
He nudged the beanbag with a foot, and Raul woke with a jump. He was alert and sitting up in seconds.
"Chris!" Raul exclaimed. "How--how is he?"
"As well as can be expected," Chris said laconically, and put the envelope down on a nearby shining walnut surface. "He wanted me to give you this."
Raul glanced at the envelope, and rolled his eyes, and flung out an arm dramatically. "I don't want money, I want him! Why won't he let me visit?"
"Because he looks like crap and he doesn't want you seeing him like that," Chris said bluntly. He really did not want Raul tagging along to the hospital.
"I wouldn't care!"
"Well, he cares," Chris said firmly.
"I just want him to get better and come home," Raul said sadly.
Chris looked at Raul, and a small evil cynical part of Chris wondered, would you think that if you knew he'd left you the house? And then Chris immediately felt ashamed of himself. He glanced around the room; Linus's house felt warm and comfortable, and suddenly he didn't want to return to his own place, which would be cold and empty. "Look, I'm going to stay here tonight. I'll see you in the morning."
"You want company?" Raul asked, not archly, just asking.
Chris hesitated, then said, "No," and headed off towards one of the guest rooms before he could change his mind. He had dinner with Wilson to look forward to tomorrow night.
He woke in the middle of the night to find Raul had crept in beside him anyway, and was curled up asleep a few inches away. It was like having a puppy snuggled up against him. Chris found it curiously comforting. He fell asleep again, and slept until morning.
END OF PART ONE. TBC: next part - House.