Disclaimer: Don't own, can't claim
Disclaimer: Don't own, can't claim.
Spoilers: Season 4 finale….we are the ship. :)
About the story: No beta, so all mistakes are mine. It started out as a response to so many fics that portrayed Wilson as an uncaring and selfish jerk, self-righteous, unable to forgive, wallowing in self-pity, and/or worst of all, ignoring/hating/avoiding poor, innocent House who was just at the wrong time at the wrong place with the wrong person. You get the idea. :) …and I didn't agree with that particular view as it's probably obvious. :P
Anyway, in ideal world (i.e. my ideal world), they would both apologize to each other with preferably a hug included, but I doubt we would see this before the last episode of the last season, if at all.
There are many arguments I didn't include, but even in the show both of them are good at pointing out mistakes of the other but neither at acknowledging their own good or bad traits. They rarely communicate with actual words unfortunately.
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"Need you for a consult." House limped in with a file and an X-Ray in his hand, tossing them both on Wilson's desk.
Those were actually the first words Wilson heard from his friend after two weeks of silence and he had to wonder, again, whether he entered some type of time-warp as he came to the hospital this morning. He had spent two weeks in almost complete isolation, except dealing with Amber's family and attending the funeral. At times he wanted to call somebody, but every time he picked up the phone, he realized he would only spoil their day. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to talk about or what the point of talking would be, so he hung up every time, knowing he was capable of dealing with this alone (he refused to admit his thoughts resembled House's). Cuddy called him a couple of times, asking how he coped, but he always turned the conversation onto House's progress. While he couldn't face the man himself, he needed to know about his health and Cuddy was always more than willing to talk about him. So willing, in fact, that after every conversation Wilson realized with a bitter smile that they talked about House the whole time. With exception of necessary greetings at the start and inquiries after mental and physical health, that is.
Today was his second day at work, after returning from his leave. While everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells around him yesterday, today felt as a completely normal, working day. Even House apparently decided to pretend life outside the hospital had no effect on the life inside.
Wilson looked at the file and back at House who was at the moment looking at his book collection behind his desk. House looked tired and slightly thinner, but otherwise, Wilson could detect nothing alarming from his appearance. Physical therapy and rest did help, despite that Cuddy nearly had to use physically force him to do either.
"Is it urgent? I can bring you the file to your office in about half an hour."
House nodded, his shoulders dropping slightly. Still not looking at him, he turned and headed for the door, and stopped there.
"Do you hate me?"
Wilson's mind became blank at the question. After a minute or two of silence and House's fiddling with the keys, locking and unlocking the door of his office, he realized an answer was necessary.
He cleared his throat.
Lock.
"I don't…hate you."
Unlock.
"But I am….angry with you."
House's shoulders stiffened and he nodded.
Lock.
Wilson sighed. "Listen, House…" but the diagnostician beat him to whatever he wanted to say. Even Wilson wasn't sure actually.
"You still blame me for her death, don't you?" before Wilson could answer, House unlocked the door once more and started to walk slowly towards his office, stopping abruptly as he shouted over his shoulder.
"It's ok Wilson, just bring the file to my office when you're done." If he looked back at that moment, he would've seen his friend's puzzled expression turning to introspective.
House dropped gracelessly on his chair, hooking his cane over its back and looked through the glass to the whiteboard. Until Wilson brings the file back, the only thing they could do is wait. He ordered his team to study the symptoms in the mean time, and come up with at least two more possibilities in case it wasn't cancer. With tasks successfully delegated, he had nothing to do but waste time, which today meant playing online poker. And no thinking. He rubbed his right tight forcefully and turned the computer on.
…Poker proved a useless distraction and ten minutes later he was almost glad when his office doors opened and Wilson walked in. 'Almost' being the operative word, because all his thoughts were about him in the first place.
"I double-checked the scans just to make sure I didn't miss something. Couldn't find any cancerous marks." he put the file on House's desk and looked at the older man, whose eyes got the familiar faraway look.
"Alright, one idea less then…and we can stick some more needless into the guy. I guess there really is a positive side to everything."
With his focus turned inward, House grabbed his cane and hefted himself to standing position where he remained still for a moment, leaning heavily on the cane, deep in thought.
Wilson sighed when House shut out everything but his puzzle and put hands on his hips. "We need to talk."
House lifted his head, appearing surprised to see the oncologist still in the room…or because of the demand, Wilson wasn't sure. They stared at each other quietly for a few seconds, then House nodded. "Give me a minute." he limped slowly into the other office and Wilson observed as he crossed something on the whiteboard, gave the team instructions and turned without another word back to his office as the team started preparing to go.
"Alright," he sighed as he joined Wilson again. "What do we need to talk about?"
Wilson awarded him with a hard look and House swallowed. He could tell this was going to be fun. He hobbled to the nearest chair and sat down, eyes never leaving his friend.
"It would take years just to name everything we should discuss, so let's just continue with our conversation before you left my office."
Wilson sighed deeply. He wanted to avoid such discussions, ignore the past events and pretend he was ok, that he and House were ok, as they did so many times in the past. Of course it didn't work. This was too big even for them to just brush off.
He cleared his throat. "You think I blame you for A-…her death?" he rubbed his neck and cleared his throat again. House merely eyed him warily, keeping completely still as though any sudden movement might cause Wilson to attack. Taking silence as confirmation, Wilson continued.
"I never…blamed you for that. Perhaps at one point I did, like I blamed the garbage truck driver, pills, ..probably even the bartender for giving her that drink, but…." he let out a bitter chuckle. "I guess telling families about their loved-ones dying did teach me a thing or two about anger and blame…" he looked up and back at House. "Once I got over the initial shock, I realized how…irrational I acted. I couldn't allow myself to fall into that trap. I guess that was one of the reasons I couldn't visit you before." He sighed again and jammed his hands in his jacket pockets. "I don't blame you, but at that time, I was afraid I might start if I saw you."
When he finished they both remained silent for a long time. House was gripping his cane tightly and looked down, while Wilson remained absolutely still, his gaze following a bird perched on the balcony ledge.
The minutes dragged on when neither of men wanted to disturb the silence, until finally House couldn't take it anymore.
"In your office,'' he started quietly, knuckles going white from the way he gripped his cane, "you said you were angry with me. But now you say you don't blame me for Amber. What…?"
His question remained unspoken but they both knew what it was he asked. Wilson cleared his throat again, wondering whether he might be coming down with a cold but knowing the symptom wasn't physical.
"I know every relationship with you must be on your terms. It's always been 'take it or leave it' and I guess I'm already resigned to the fact. Or at least I want to believe that." he smiled sadly to no one, looking fixedly at the floor to avoid seeing House's expression. "I know your puzzles always come first, either it's a disease or a person you find interesting, and everybody or everything else is pushed in the back of your mind…" he suddenly jerked his head up and looked at House, his eyes narrowing with anger. "I've been with…with her over a month before you even noticed anything. You came to my office every day either to rant about something or for a consult…usually both.
I don't-I don't even remember the last time you invited me, either to your place or to a bar, or even called me. The last time you came to my hotel was when I took your guitar. You didn't give a damn what I was doing while you were busy playing your games. Of course the moment you started to feel threatened, you did everything short from gluing yourself to my back, because sharing doesn't exist in your vocabulary."
House shifted on his chair, uncomfortable at the direction this conversation was taking. "Wilson, I-"
"No, let me finish." Wilson paced back and forth, trying to suppress the anger he felt. Finally he stopped and looked back at House again.
"You're like a rich kid with toys, House. You get excited whenever you get a new one, but soon you get bored, and you throw it in the closet. You don't even notice it until someone else wants to take it away, then it becomes your favorite toy again and you start playing with it just so no one would take it away, even though it'll end up in the back of the closet the next day."
House winced. If Wilson thought so little of his role in House's life…
"You think you're just one of my 'toys'?" he asked, grimacing the moment the words left his mouth. Calling Wilson his toy was just a bit too weird even for him. Apparently Wilson was oblivious to the meaning.
"Tell me how I'm wrong? Nine times out of ten when we hang out it's on your terms. Even the topic of discussion is usually yours. You tell me only what you feel like sharing, you're barely ever honest with me, I usually have to force the truth out of you. Not to mention whenever I need a favor, I have to wait until you discover every little detail about it and question my motives, only then you decide whether it's even worthy of your attention." he lifted his arms and looked up as though he would find an answer on House's ceiling. "God, House, even when you do a favor, you twist it in such a way it takes some time to realize it's even a favor."
House imagined Wilson would be amusing to watch on mute; his hands telling almost as much as words. One of these days he's going to ask him if he ever wanted to be a mime…
He realized Wilson was done and expected an answer. He merely wanted to get away. Or change the subject.
"…Wilson, you realize you sound like a frustrated wife right now?"
Wilson rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly. He felt drained, resignation evident in his posture.
"Might as well be with the way we keep coming back to each other. With your age, even our sex-life wouldn't be different if we were married."
House looked at him startled. "We're not having sex."
Wilson's lips twitched. "Exactly." That earned him a glare. "For your information-"
"House!" Wilson lifted his hands, trying to stop House from saying anything that might give him additional nightmares. "Shut up."
They both fell silent, not looking at each other. The silence felt…odd. It was familiar and not uncomfortable even though it was supposed to be.
Finally, Wilson, who's been standing the whole time, walked over to House's desk and leaned against it. He still waited for a response although there wasn't much hope in his expression and House wondered whether he really wanted to push it. This time he could very well succeed…
"Listen, I….you know me. People don't change, I'm not going to change but…" He scratched his forehead with his thumb, acutely aware of his lack of skills in expressing feelings. Knowing Wilson watched his every move expectantly, he finally gave up with frustrated sigh and looked straight into Wilson's eyes.
"James, I really am sorry." They both knew it was much more than just Amber he was talking about.
Wilson slowly nodded, his eyes coming to rest on the carpet. "Yeah, me too." he whispered, both hearing everything spoken underneath.
House cleared his throat. "We're going to be ok?" whether it was a statement or question, it wasn't too clear.
Wilson looked him directly in the eyes, searching for something, that House hoped he was capable of expressing. Finally, dark eyes softened and Wilson got up.
"Are we ever?" but his hand slightly brushed House's shoulder as he walked past him on the way to the exit.
A tiny smile crossed House's face as he looked through the window and saw another bird landing close to the one that was perched on the ledge.