Author's Note: Hello all, this is my first House fanfic, and my very first oneshot, so I hope you all enjoy! I've had it written for quite awhile now but I'm only just now getting around to posting it. Anyway, it takes place right as "Sex Kills" is coming to a close and you may notice that the first little bit, up until House offers Wilson a beer, is in fact the very end of that episode. Read and review, and I hope everyone enjoys!
Disclaimer: I do not own "House, M.D." and I have even almost come to terms with the fact that I probably never will. :Sigh: Ah well, one can always dream right?
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Home At Last
Dr. Gregory House stood in his kitchen, his weight carefully distributed on his left leg, so as not to cause any undue pain to his right; his cane was propped up a few feet away against the counter. It was late at night and the esteemed doctor was making himself a snack. His mind was blissfully blank and he was listening to some music as he put the finishing touches on his sandwich.
No sooner had he finished and taken a big bit out of his treat when there was a sudden knock at his door. He sighed, annoyed, and put his sandwich down; who the hell would be knocking at the door this late? It was ten to midnight for crying out loud! He limped unsteadily the few steps to his cane, grabbed it and headed to answer the door. Once he reached it he looked through the peephole and sighed, for a moment just resting against the cool wood. He should have known. Wilson.
He opened the door and without saying anything just looked at his friend. "Could I stay here a few days?" Wilson asked tiredly.
House narrowed his eyes and took in his friend's appearance more carefully. He was in an overcoat and a scarf and both were hanging open over the shirt and pants he had worn that day. Most significantly though, on the floor next to him he had a suitcase. "You idiot," House said finally, unable to contain himself. "You told her."
Wilson sighed wearily. "She told me," he admitted reluctantly. "Things have been crappy at home lately. I figured I wasn't spending enough time there." Another frustrated sigh and still House didn't say anything. He had been wrong. Wilson was not the one cheating this time. "It turns out you were right," Wilson said angrily. "It is all about sex."
House was not quite sure just what to say. This was a surprising turn of events. What was he supposed to do now? Crap. He sucked in these situations and he knew it. He didn't know what to do to comfort people and he didn't know how to have serious conversations.
Finally he just stepped aside so Wilson could enter his apartment. "You want a beer?" he asked for lack of anything else to say.
Wilson allowed himself a small smile as he stepped inside and House snapped his door shut. "A beer would be good," he said, watching as his friend nodded and limped into his kitchen. He tiredly put his suitcase down by the couch and sat down gratefully. Here in House's apartment with just himself and House, and no others he cold be more himself then anywhere else. He leaned his head back with a sigh and closed his eyes, kicking off his shoes.
"Here," came House's voice after a moment and he opened his eyes and accepted the offered beer as House sat down, carefully lifting his leg to the table.
"Thanks," Wilson murmured as he carefully raised the bottle to his lips and took a gulp.
House nodded, his face holding that screened and yet slightly uncomfortable look that he tended to get when a situation was out of his control. "You're welcome," he said after a moment. He took a drink of his own beer, noticing as he did so that Wilson was already finished most of his. "We're going to need more at this rate," he remarked. "Glad I got that twelve pack the other day."
"You mean the twelve pack that I bought because you insisted you wanted to have beer but at the last possible moment decided it was bourbon you needed. That twelve pack?" Wilson said, rolling his eyes and putting his empty bottle on the table.
"Oh specifics," House said with a little shake of his head that suggested a long suffering on his part. "I offer you my beer and you have to be unreasonable and argue with me."
"Actually I bought it, so it's in fact my beer that you're offering me," Wilson commented, unfazed.
"Can you prove it?" House asked, raising his eyebrows challangingly, glad the conversation was back on a plane he could deal with. "It's in my fridge, which is in my apartment."
"Fine," Wilson said, exasperated. "It's your beer. Happy?"
"Well that's no fun, you just gave up," House pouted as Wilson rolled his eyes again and got up.
"I'll get the beer since it doesn't look like you plan on getting up anytime soon," he said.
"Bum leg," House called after him, at the same time removing his Vicodin bottle from his pocket. "Wouldn't want me to strain it, would you?"
When Wilson came back with the beer House was just tossing back a pill. "You do know there is a sandwich with only one bite out of it on your counter right?" he asked.
"Yeah, not hungry anymore," House said, taking another beer; Wilson had opened his from the kitchen and already had half of it gone.
"It's going to attract ants," Wilson remarked off handedly.
"No ant would dare come near it. I'd beat them to death with my cane for such an offense," House said, twirling said cane.
"Right," Wilson muttered, trying to get out of the way of the dangerously whirling cane, and very relieved when House finally stopped.
An old movie was on the TV and the two of them fell into a comfortable silence as they drank their beer and watched it. House, however, was not just watching the movie, a part of his attention was covertly fixed on Wilson and causally noting his alcohol intake and the blank way his eyes just stared at the screen.
He drank like a man who wanted to forget, even if only temporarily. As the movie eventually came to an end House knew his friend would start talking soon and he was glad they were drinking. The alcohol took away some of the awkwardness of the situation and would make it easier to pretend, in the morning, that the upcoming conversation had never taken place.
"Three marriages," Wilson said quietly after awhile, his voice slurring some. House glanced at his friend, right on time, he thought, but he didn't say anything yet. "Maybe there's something wrong with me, the third time is supposed to be the charm," Wilson continued angrily.
"Only in fairy tales," House said. "In reality we are far less likely to come across the person we are compatible with."
"That's comforting," Wilson snorted. "So you're saying I'm doomed to be alone for the rest of my life. Makes sense I guess. The only time I'm really comfortable is when I'm doing my job." Taking another drink of his beer he chuckled humorlessly, "And the only person I'm at all at ease with is you," he added, shaking his head drunkenly.
"Bros before hoes man," House couldn't help but say and he noticed that Wilson smiled into his beer a little bit.
Silence fell between them again, and for a while they both just sat there, staring sightlessly at the TV, lost in their own thoughts. "Why does this keep happening to me?" Wilson muttered after a time. "Where do I go from here?"
"Well it's never to late to turn to a life of celibacy and foreswear off all women," House offered snarkily, snickering at the thought of a celibate Wilson.
"Do you think I'll ever meet anyone else?" Wilson slurred quietly, ignoring House's 'suggestion' and looking as though he would pass out soon.
"Debbie in Accounting is cute, I'm sure she would jump at the chance to be with the Boy Wonder Oncologist," House remarked cheekily. "You certainly flirt with her enough."
"Debbie in Accounting is half my age," Wilson muttered, his eyelids drooping, "And I don't flirt with her."
"That's an exaggeration don't you think? She's not half your age," House commented, but Wilson was already passed out from a mixture of the alcohol and pure exhaustion.
House sighed as he stood up and surveyed the beer bottles littered over his coffee table. Wilson had drank at least five or six to his three. No matter, he would bounce back in the morning, House knew, though he might have a headache to contend with, House thought to himself as he glanced to his sleeping friend.
He limped to his hall closet and pulled out the blanket and pillow he reserved for nights when Wilson stayed with him. He draped the blanket over his friend and tossed the pillow to the arm of the couch, using his arm to gently lower Wilson to a lying down position. Most people would not be able to believe that the sarcastic and seemingly uncaring Dr. Gregory House could be this gentle and considerate just for the comfort of another, but for Wilson he could make such exceptions. This was his best friend and he felt secure in the knowledge that in the morning his friend wouldn't comment on the blanket and pillow that had suddenly appeared, and knowing that he wouldn't make a big deal over it somehow made it easier for House to do the gentle and caring thing.
It was nearing 4:30 in the morning now and after glancing at Wilson one last time he turned and limped into his bedroom for the night, fully expecting to toss and turn as he usually did. Somewhat to his surprise though, sleep came more easily for him this night, and he smiled very slightly as he dozed off.
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Once House's bedroom door was closed Wilson opened his eyes again, on the very edge of sleep, and smiled, snuggling down into the blanket and pillow. They were the same ones he always used when he was here and he wondered if House knew the comfort they gave him. Maybe he was just drunk but as he remembered how House had so gently put the blanket over him and lowered his head to the pillow he thought he did know, and he smiled again. He would probably have a headache in the morning, he knew, and he had to be at the hospital, but he would manage, and it was somehow worth it all, because at this moment, he was warm and comfortable, and at home.