Dreaming In RBGColor

by YoungFreak92

In which House dreams, Reason won't leave him alone, Wilson has much significance and absolutly nothing makes sense. [HouseWilson preslashslash]

Title: Dreaming In RBG-Color
Author: YoungFreak92
Beta: None, so please point out any grammatical errors
Fandom: House MD
Rating: PG-13 (a couple of swear words, light M/M make out-session)
Genre: Gen?
Pairing: House/Wilson pre-slash... sorta
Setting: Sometime after S3, contains spoilers for the latter half of it
Wordcount: 4 101
Disclaimer: I do not own House MD or the characters. The utterly random song belongs to Joseph Arthur.
Summary: In which House dreams, Reason won't leave him alone, Wilson has much significance and absolutly nothing makes sense.
Author's Note: Yikes, first House MD-fic::hides in a corner:: But seriously, I'm so nervous my stomach is a knot. I warn you now, this is probably bordering to crack!fic. I was aiming for surrealistic, but I think it didn't get better than crack. Also, the fic contains hideous references to famous House/Wilson dialogues from S3. The basic idea of the fic came to me when I mused over the fact that most dreams in fanfiction are very lucid, while when I dream reason seems to be shunned. So, this is what I came up with. I also put in a lot of dream-ish "hidden" meanings, since dreams in fics always has a deeper meaning. They are quite obvious though, I'm afraid, since I think I'm the most unambiguous person in the world. What I'm most anxious about is if they're even remotely IC and if I got their voices right. But I won't torture you with my babbling any longer. On with the fic!

House knows he is dreaming the moment he realizes he is playing piano in his office. It's not that he hasn't played an instrument at the hospital before - he has and multiple times, a piano no exception - but there is just no way that his Baby Grand would fit in his office. Thus, he is dreaming. House starts to grow a little irritated with the voice of reason in the back of his head that has to explain everything. He knows he is dreaming, he knows that things are bound to be illogical. He doesn't want a commentator that won't shut up about it. (Illogical isn't always bad - his leg doesn't hurt in his dreams for example) Trying to ignore Reason, he concentrates on the music. His hands are moving on their own accord, playing a song he doesn't even know he knows. It's a calm and soft rock ballad that sounds vaguely familiar. He knows he has heard it once before, but he can't remember when or where. Though when he keeps on playing, a tiny voice in his mind starts singing little random bits of the lyrics. The voice grows stronger as he continues playing, and suddenly the voice isn't in his head anymore but in the room with him. He knows that voice, and he also knows that it isn't the original singer.

"We've got too much time to kill, like pigeons on my windowsill we hang around."

Tenor, decent singer. Has a history of singing both jazz and Whitney Houston when he's drunk. House looks up from the piano and into the eyes of James Wilson. His friend is leaning against the wall in the office, dressed as immaculately as always. A shy smile is tugging at his lips, as if he's slightly embarrassed of being caught. It doesn't stop him from continuing, though.

"Ever since I've been with you, you hold me up all the time I'm falling down."

House is looking down at the piano again, though a small private smile is playing across his lips. He would deny it even under torture, but playing piano with Wilson singing along late at night always made him feel as close to content as he was ever going to get. He is just about to give himself a mental slap for such sentimental thoughts but Reason is faster. Stop it, Reason hisses at him. House doesn't answer, just keeps on playing. He hits the final note of the song and suddenly his surroundings change in a split second. He isn't sitting on a piano bench any longer, but is standing in the middle of a room. It's light outside, probably sometime before noon. He looks around. He is in the Diagnostic's conference room together with his fellows, Cuddy and Wilson. Something is off though, but he doesn't pay attention to that right now. Reason asks him dryly to tell it something that isn't off. Ignoring Reason, he turns around and looks at the whiteboard, reading the symptoms. The words

Misanthropic

Chronic pain

Caustic

Genius in medicine

Drug-addict

Inability to shut up

Coward

glares back at him, written with a black marker in his own handwriting. He looks over his shoulder at the others in the room. The fellows are sitting at the table, Cuddy is leaning against the doorway and Wilson is in the corner by the coffee-machine. Now he sees what is off. They are not dressed as they used to be. Cuddy wears a vest that can't belong to anyone else than Cameron. Cameron is dressed in one of Foreman's shirts. Foreman has one of House's jackets on him, and House knows that the sneakers Chase is wearing is his own. It's a bit disturbing, but he can live with that. House glances at the corner. Wilson is also wearing the wrong clothes, which disturbs House much more. But on a second thought, it isn't that disturbing, House muses. He admits that Wilson does look good in his favorite jeans, sneakers, T-shirt and leather jacket. And also much more unprofessional. Wilson in House's clothes gets a ten out of ten. Reason gives him another mental slap across the face. House just leers at Reason before concentrating on the medical case he has been presented with.

"Okay, differential diagnosis, people," House says and the room instantly stirs to life.

"Could be Misunderstood," Cameron says, looking much too concentrated. Foreman huffs.

"It's textbook Asshole," he mutters but is almost interrupted by Chase.

"Could be Asperger's Syndrome," he offers, making it sound like a question. Cuddy shakes her head.

"Wouldn't explain the pain. I'm thinking Mad Genius," she says and Chase glares at her. It's silent for three seconds before everybody's eyes turns to Wilson. Wilson looks much too calm and uninterested for the other's liking but House is appreciative. Wilson just shrugs, looking rather comfortable.

"It's not cancer," he says and leaves it at that. He looks in House's direction and their eyes lock for a second. House knows his distress for the other's diagnosis' shows in his eyes, but right now only Wilson sees it so it's okay. Wilson manages to somehow give him a reassuring smile with only his eyes. House breaks the contact and looks at the others, no trace of vulnerability left in his eyes.

"Suggested treatment?" he asks blankly and the fellows and Cuddy starts talking at the same time again.

"Urgent and intensive caring," Cameron says, a light flush on her cheeks.

"A punch and a reality-check," Foreman says, smirking slightly.

"Psychiatric help?" Chase says, and this time it's no doubt that it's a question.

"Restraining," Cuddy says, her face indifferent. House casts a glance at Wilson. Wilson is silent for a second, then a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. House knows that smile. It's the smile only House gets to see.

"Beer, pizza and a bad movie along with a friend," Wilson says, the smile now bright. House blinks and suddenly he's at home, sitting on his couch. It's dark outside and the TV-screen shows a stereotypical action movie. The table is filled with cartons of pizza and beer cans. He looks at his side. Wilson is sitting there, eyes on the TV. They watch the movie in silence for a few minutes. Reason comments that this movie doesn't exist. House tells Reason to shut up. House takes a drink of his beer and then turns around to look at Wilson.

"How's things with your wife?" he asks, and sees how Wilson jumps a little. The younger man turns his head towards House, looking both surprised and suspicious at the same time.

"Are you... asking me about my personal life? That's very un-you."

Suddenly they're in the middle of House's inexplicably enlarged living room-floor, and they are dancing. Their bodies are dancing a fast and flawless jive, perfectly in sync despite the fact that there is no music on. It's not clear who is leading who, it seems to shift all the time. Reason yells that this is outrageous, and that House can't even walk with his leg and let alone dance with it. House just flips Reason off. Despite the unusual way their bodies are moving, their faces are perfectly calm and normal, looking just like they did when they were sitting on the couch. It almost looks like it's been arranged in Photoshop.

"So? Why can't I ask you about your boring life? You always seem so keen on talking about it," House retorts, raising an eyebrow. Wilson doesn't look surprised anymore, just suspicious and vigilant. Like when I offered him the drugged coffee, some part of House's mind notes but House ignores it.

"But that would mean that you are doing something for me, and you only do that when you want something from me in return," Wilson says, his eyes narrowing. House makes a fake theatrical sigh.

"Don't you have higher thoughts about me, Jimmy?" he asks with a falsely wounded voice. Wilson's only reply is a raised eyebrow and a look. House glares at him. Then he turns serious, although awkward. "How are things with Julie?"

The dance is suddenly not a jive anymore, it's a waltz. It's an awkward and stiff one, but all of the steps are correct. This time is clear that it's House who is hesitantly leading a very uncomfortable Wilson.

"We... manage," Wilson answers, vigilant though his eyes look slightly guilty. House nods shortly, clearing his throat a bit. He feels distressed, unsure if he should change the subject a little or spin further on Julie.

"So... What about Bonnie, then?" he tries, choosing the former. Wilson looks away. Reason asks him snappily how Wilson can have two wives at the same time. House ignores Reason.

"We... manage," he repeats, not looking at House. House wonders what he should say next when Wilson looks up and meets his eyes.

"Julie's been having an affair," Wilson confesses, his voice blank. House stares at him and messes up the next two steps in the dance, causing both him and Wilson to almost lose their balance. Wilson glares at him but doesn't say anything as House corrects himself. Reason tells House that this already has happened. House doesn't hear Reason. He opens his mouth but closes it again. What should he say?

"Then you have an affair in due," House eventually says after a few seconds. Wilson gives him an incredulous look and lets out a short and humorless chuckle.

"House, listen to what you're saying. I have nothing "in due", especially not when it comes to affairs," Wilson scoffs, his voice dry but still dripping of sarcasm. House notes that the waltz' tempo speeds up and it's not as stiff anymore. "You know very well that I have cheated on Bonnie multiple times."

"Yeah, I know," House agrees all too willingly, which earns a glare from Wilson. "But that was Bonnie. You've never cheated on Julie. She owes you an affair," House reasons as he continues. Wilson looks confused for a second or two, when a smirk slowly spreads over his face.

"House, are you... encouraging me to have an affair?"

The dance changes once again. Now it's a samba. Reason doesn't know if it should cry or laugh at the absurdity of it all. House decides to not listen. House seems is the one leading, but Wilson is the one who has control over the situation. Like most times, that small part of House's mind says. House wants it to shut up.

"You should have a huge affair, preferably public so that everyone knows about it," House muses, ignoring Wilson's question. Wilson raises an eyebrow and pretends to look troubled for a moment.

"Really? Then who do you suggest I should have his huge affair with?" he asks with a sly smirk, accompanied with an obscene movement of his hips. Oh, that was low, House thinks but at the same time is appreciative. Whenever Wilson lets go of the Perfect Son-facade he becomes ten times more fun.

"Something among the lines of Angelina Jolie," House replies with a leer. Wilson's smirk morphs into a gleeful smile.

"Do you really think that sleeping with a celebrity would improve my reputation as a man-whore?" he asks incredulously even though mirth gleams in his eyes.

"Trust me Jimmy, nothing you'll ever do will redeem you from that label. Might as well have fun in the meantime," House says cheerfully, grinning by now. Not many things could put a smile on his face, but bantering with Wilson without inhibitions does.

"Maybe. Though I think I would prefer Liv Taylor," Wilson muses, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"Well, I'm sure that could be arra..." House starts but is interrupted by Wilson. Obviously the man hadn't finished.

"Or George Clooney," Wilson continues as if House had never spoken. House takes a terribly wrong step, trips, falls, is caught by Wilson, Wilson turns it into a complicated dance-step and ohheywaitaminute is that even allowed in samba? Wilson chuckles at House's flabbergasted expression that came from both the confession and the bold placement of his hands. At least the dance is right again. Reason pipes up that even if Wilson actually liked men, he would never tell House that. House tells Reason to fuck off and leave him alone.

"You... consider an affair with George Clooney?" House repeats just to make sure he heard right. Wilson smirks at him and does a dance-step that most people would call obscene.

"My memory isn't what it used to be, but didn't I just say that twenty seconds ago?" Wilson said, quoting a line House had used some time ago, looking much too smug for House's liking.

"I just didn't know that you went for older men," House comments and knows it will backfire against him tenfold from the look of mischief in Wilson's eyes.

"Well, if you were to date a male celebrity, who would that be then?" Wilson asks innocently, and manages to keep looking so even when his hands move. House is quite sure that you aren't allowed to touch your partner's ass in samba, but who cares?

"Brad Pitt," House answers without missing a beat. "Or possible Johnny Depp," he continues, flashing a leer. He wonders for a second how long they can keep this up before crossing the line. A smug smile spreads over Wilson's face.

"Men with boyish good-looks, huh?" Wilson says, his voice so low and smooth that it is basically a purr. The answer to the previous question; not long. House wonders if they're even dancing anymore, or just using it as an excuse to blatantly molest each other. He hears how Reason silently cries in the background. That brings a huge smile on his face. That is the moment House's pager decides to go off. As the living room shrinks and Wilson pulls back from him, House reaches for the item. When he has pulled it out of his pocket, Wilson is leaning against the couch with a mildly curious expression on his face, his arms crossed. It is as if the event mere seconds ago never had happened. The screen on the pager reads "Esther". House glances at Wilson before hurrying to the front door. As he opens it and walk through, he steps in to a patient's room. His fellows turns around and looks at him.

"He is refusing the treatment," Cameron informs him, concern and distress written all over her face. Chase and Foreman looks mostly annoyed. House turns his head to look at the patient. He sees himself and frowns. He had never looked good in hospital gowns.

"That's because it isn't lupus," Patient-House mutters, stubbornly looking up at the ceiling. House feel a wave of nausea coming when he sees the pity in Cameron's eyes. Foreman looks at him with a raised eyebrow, as if asking What now?. House shrugs and reaches for his bottle of Vicodin.

"I agree with him. It's never lupus," he says blankly and swallows a pill. All three of the fellows groan at this.

"You came up with the diagnosis!" Chase complains, looking highly offended. Cameron looks like House had insulted her personally. Foreman just looks tired. Patient-House looks rather smug, though. House nods towards him.

"What do you think it is?" he asks his patient-self. Patient-House is still looking at the ceiling, though his smirk has been replaced by a serious expression.

"Muscle death," he says and Foreman sighs.

"He's been saying that ever since he came here," he informs House, looking very annoyed. House looks unimpressed at his fellow.

"Then he's probably right," he says before turning around to leave the room. He doesn't have to turn around to know that the other three doctors are staring dumbly at him. Smirking, he walks out the door and winds up in Cuddy's office.

"I haven't done anything," House defends himself instantly. "Yet". Cuddy looks up and gives him a tired look.

"In the past week six people have sued you. What is this, are you trying to break a record?" she asks as she tries to clean her desk. House raises his eyebrows in surprise. Cuddy's right, that is a new record.

"So, what do you recommend I do?" he asks her, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Well, either you do the responsible thing," she says blankly and a red door with the number "1" on it pops out of nowhere. "Or you go home to your wife and pretend this never happened," she finishes and seems oblivious to the second door, this time blue and with the number "2", that appears beside the first one. House looks confusedly at the two doors at the right respectively left side of Cuddy's desk, when he turns his head towards the woman, his brows furrowed.

"Did you just refer to Wilson as my wife?" he asks curiously, looking both amused and bewildered at the same time. He can hear Reason banging its head against a wall. Cuddy's face splits up in a sly smirk.

"Well, there is a pool going on in the hospital about your relationship," she explains, leaning back against her chair. "There is the one with that you're only friends - not much money there, I'm sure you can imagine - and another one where you are "having sex without commitment". The last one is that the two of you are having a not-so-secret, full-blown relationship. After Wilson's divorce with Julie and him moving in with you, half the hospital put their money on the last one". Cuddy is looking way too smug for House's liking. Still, it was an interesting bit of gossip. He and Wilson weren't anything other than friends, but the idea of a real relationship didn't sound so bad actually... Reason stopped banging its head against the wall to yell death-threats at him if he continued that thought. House was just going to answer Reason when he blinks and once again is teleported somewhere else. At least he thinks he is teleported, because suddenly he is sitting on his couch once again, only that this time he is entangled with Wilson, who is currently kissing his jaw-line. House mutters something intelligible and then tries to catch Wilson's lips with his own. It's a success. First it's just lips teasing lips, to then turn into eager open-mouthed kissing. Reason is stunned but finds its voice quickly and yells that there is no excuse for dreaming about kissing one's best friend. House tells Reason to go to hell. The kisses are growing more urgent. House tugs and Wilson's shirt and slides a hand through the younger man's hair, while Wilson's hands are busying themselves with House's T-shirt.

"You're so damn easy, you know that?" Wilson mutters suddenly between kisses. House growls and tugs at Wilson's tie.

"What is that supposed to mean?" House asks both surprised and offended when Wilson breaks the kiss. Wilson leers at him before starting to kiss down his neck.

"To get your attention. It's so easy," Wilson says and nips at a particularly sensitive spot, making House groan lightly. "It is ridiculous. All one have to do is to not take your crap". A hand slides in under House's T-shirt and up his stomach. "Why do you think you keep Foreman?"

House huffs, but it turns into somewhat of a groan when Wilson finds another sensitive spot on his neck. "I am not interested in Foreman," House protests.

"Sure you aren't. What about Cuddy?" Wilson mumbles as he tries to unbutton his shirt with his only free hand. It's his right, so he fumbles terribly. House doesn't answer, which may or may not have to do with the fact that he has once again caught Wilson's lips with his own.

"And she's your beautiful boss. She's pretty high up there, isn't she?" Wilson continues between kisses when House didn't answer. House's hands are currently untying Wilson's tie and at the same time trying to unbutton his shirt. He is surprised that his mind is as clear as it is when his body's acting like he's drunk.

"... Chase doesn't stand up for himself. I like him," he mutters. Personally, he thinks it's idiotic to talk about other people during a make out-session, but Wilson was the one who started.

"Well, we've already established that you like pretty men," Wilson says as he starts to unbuckle House's belt, a smug smile tugging at his lips. House isn't sure if his comment about great hair ever leaves his mouth or just stays in his mind, but he does run a hand through Wilson's now tousled hair.

"Following that logic, I shouldn't even be in this situation with you. You are a doormat," House reasons as Wilson starts to kiss down his neck. "And stupid. Why are we even discussing this?" he adds, voicing his earlier thoughts. His breath hitches when Wilson chuckles against his throat.

"Me? I lie to you, I manipulate you. I just don't take your crap, I also throw it back at you," Wilson says in that seductive voice again as he buries his head in the crook of House's neck. "You". He pauses for a kiss. "Couldn't stand". Another kiss. "Living without me".

House was just going to make a smartass retort including masochism and housewives when a disturbingly loud sound, not entirely unlike an alarm-clock, fills his ears. He woke up a second later.

"Did you get any sleep at all?" Wilson asks from the kitchen when House limps towards the couch. Wilson has obviously been up for a while, House muses when he sees that the pillow and blanket Wilson had used already are tucked neatly together on the floor beside the couch.

"Yeah," House says mid-yawn as he sits down on the couch. The smell of pancakes lingers in the air of the apartment and he feels how his stomach rumbles lightly.

"Well, then here's a follow up; Did you sleep well?" Wilson asks as he moves around in the kitchen. He knows all too well about House's bad sleeping habits. House leans forward and peers into the kitchen. Wilson is already dressed. People that are alert in the morning are evil.

"I did," he replies. He ponders for a moment whether or not to tell Wilson about the dream, but decides not to. The clatter of plates and cups came from the kitchen and a moment later Wilson comes out of it with two trays with breakfast. He sits down beside House and gives him one of the trays. They eat in silence.

"Do you dance samba?" House suddenly asks after a few minutes. Wilson has to stop himself from spitting out his coffee. He swallows it with difficulty and then has a fit of cough for a minute before looking confusedly at House with teary eyes.

"What is this coming from?" he manages to croak. House looks at him, his face blank.

"Do you?" he persists. Wilson has finally recovered and is now looking both confused and expectant.

"House, how many pills did you take last night?" he asks, wondering if House still was on a high.

"Just tell me," House demands, reminding Wilson all too much about an obstinate child. Suddenly a light goes up for the younger man.

"You dreamt something, didn't you?" Wilson says, his eyes narrowing.

"What if I did?" House says, fully aware that he's giving himself away. Wilson groans. When House had a puzzle, he would concentrate on nothing else. Wilson takes a deep breath and sighs.

"Well, if I did tell you that I dance samba you would think you've had another paranormal experience and make my life a living hell by trying to figure out a way to prove that there is a scientifically explanation, just like you did the last time," he explains, giving a not-so-subtle reminder of the marine soldier House had treated some time before.

"So, you're saying that you do dance samba?" House asks, completely ignoring all the other things Wilson had said. Wilson is just about to pinch the bridge of his nose when he stops and a smirk starts to tug at his lips.

"Maybe," Wilson answers cryptically. House eyebrows rise in surprise.

"Seriously?" he asks, disbelieving. Wilson's face turns serious.

"No," he states and goes back to his breakfast. House looks bewildered at him for a few seconds before looking up at nothingness, thinking hard. It's too damn early to be thinking.

"Haven't we had this conversation before?" he eventually says. This time Wilson does spit out his coffee as he starts to laugh.