This is my first fic in this fandom, and House's personality is hard to capture properly, so if he seems a bit OOC, I apologize. I know this chapter is a short one, but I wanted to get it out here. I also do not know how long this is going to be, so we're all in for the same ride. This is the first time I'll be posting something that isn't already complete. And now I must add the obligatory, if you recognize it, then it's not mine. Reviews are love!
For once, when his team arrived, House was already in their office, albeit distracted. When Chase, Park, Adams and Taub walked in, it was to House and Wilson arguing heatedly, but quietly. Sensing it would be a while, they seated themselves and began to discuss the files waiting for them while the pair continued to argue several feet away. Wilson's diagnosis had sent House into a state none of them had ever seen before.
Soon enough they gave up, the argument commanding their attention as it got louder.
"Damnit Wilson, I'm telling you the exact same thing you tell all your patients. Take your own fucking advice!"
"If I'd had any idea what it was really like I never would have given that advice because it sucks! I've seen what I'm in for, House. Day in and day out for over twenty years and I want no part of it!"
"If you hadn't told them what I'm telling you now, how many people would be dead, Wilson?"
Silence was his only answer.
"How many?" House asked forcefully, stalking toward Wilson.
The younger man heaved a deep sigh, and answered reluctantly. "Hundreds," Wilson said softly.
"Do you honestly wish you had just kept your mouth shut?" House continued forward, backing his friend against the glass wall. Wilson shook his head in a defeated way. "Then why won't you take your own advice? You can beat this damnit! I know you can, so why won't you try?"
"Why do you care, House?" Wilson yelled as he finally snapped. "This isn't a puzzle, it's not something you can solve!"
House looked momentarily stunned, before getting even angrier. "What do you mean, why do I care?" House screamed. "It couldn't possibly be because you're my best friend!" House said, voice dripping sarcasm.
But it wasn't convincing enough for Wilson, apparently, who fired right back. "Well that's never made a difference before," he yelled, tears spilling over.
House looked as though he'd been slapped, and Wilson deflated, noticing for the first time that they were virtually chest to chest. "Why can't you just let me go, House?" Wilson asked softly.
It was Chase who answered. "He can't let you die because he's in love with you. Can't you see that?"
Chase's words knocked around Wilson's brain for several deafeningly silent, endless moments before a bubble of slightly hysterical laughter escaped him, and he turned his eyes back to House, waiting for a sarcastic, scathing remark that didn't come. House's expression sunk in slowly, and his grin faded.
"He's so full of crap," Wilson tried valiantly. Still, House remained silent, eyes fixed on some point over Wilson's shoulder. "Right?" he asked in a hopeful, unsure voice.
House's eyes finally met Wilson's, and what he saw there made his chest tighten. "Right?" he tried again weakly. House's blue eyes were wide and honest, before they flicked downward.
'Uh oh', thought Wilson.
He pushed off the glass wall Wilson was still backed up against, turned, and left the room without a word. And, as usual, House's silence said more than any words ever could. Chase was right.
Gregory House was in love with him.