A/N: This sad, very short piece takes place during the episode "Dying Changes Everything" in between the scene where Foreman talks to Wilson in his office telling him he should leave, and House returning to the hospital and speaking with Cuddy.
Disclaimer: Own nothing, not even a copy of Vertigo.
Vertigo
There was a knock at the door, and House felt a relieved smile slide across his face. The sharp knife of fear that had seemed rooted in his stomach somehow lessened just a bit. It was Wilson, he knew without a shadow of a doubt. He swung the front door open a little overenthusiastically, but he didn't care.
"Wilson," he practically cheered when he saw his best friend standing in front of him. It was true, there he was-his high cheekbones, gentle eyes, standing in the familiar stance he knew so well, of one hand nervously clasped behind his neck.
It wasn't until Wilson held something out that House realized he had an object in his other hand. He flinched when he recognized it.
"What are you doing," he demanded angrily. He took an unsteady step back.
Wilson dropped his eyes and the older doctor recognized this as a sign of weakness and guilt. It didn't appease the pain that wasn't in his leg. "Please, just take it," Wilson forced out. He pushed the Vertigo poster back towards House.
"No."
"It was a gift. You should have it back."
House narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously. How could he be doing this to him? Yes, it was true that their friendship had had more than its fair share of bumps in the road, but they had always survived. They'd always been able to, well, if not talk, at least understand each other. "I gave it to you," House answered quietly. "Please, don't do this." He stepped back, unsure if Wilson would even enter the apartment. He was a little startled when he did.
Wilson held out the poster again. "Take it."
House took a deep breath. "So help me god, Wilson, if you try to give that to me one more timeā¦"
"Greg," Wilson gently pled.
Butterflies erupted in his stomach the way they always did when Wilson used his first name. "Please talk to me," House begged. "Don't give up." He saw the tortured look in the younger man's eyes. "You're not here about the damn poster. You knew I wouldn't take it. You wanted to hurt me."
The remark hit home. Wilson looked away, but not before tears began streaming down his cheeks. "That's not fair," he whispered. "This isn't easy for me either."
"Don't do this to us," House said. Two steps forward and he was inches from the man that, seconds ago, had seemed miles away. "You love me." Without even realizing what he was doing, he reached out and pulled his best friend to him so that their foreheads rested against each other. He saw Wilson's eyes slip shut, watched him drink in the moment while he searched for the words to save his friendship. "We're connected. We always have been. You know that."
There, in that moment, Wilson's carefully placed mask slipped completely away. Despair, anger, and the something else that he reserved for conversations with his best friend all darted across his face before he crushed his lips against House's. They both knew they should pull away, but instead they pulled closer, tired of fighting what was instilled in both of them from the moment they had met so many years ago. House's lips searched Wilson's while they had the chance. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he was absolutely certain that he would find it, if given enough time. But too soon, the oncologist pulled away, and they were left in silence.
"You're right," Wilson finally said. "I love you. But it doesn't change anything. I can't stay here and try to pretend that my girlfriend didn't die. I have to move on, and you have to move on and I can't-" His voice broke, but he swallowed and continued. "I can't watch you move on. I won't be able to be strong, I won't survive it." He turned, and headed for the door, but when he caught sight of the Vertigo poster he stopped. With a deep sigh he picked it up and carried it with him out the door.
The End
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