TITLE: Nurse Brad
AUTHOR: hwshipper
PAIRING: House/Wilson, Wilson/OMC (Male Nurse from Alone).
DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.
A/N: For LJ wilsonfest prompt 184. Something written from the point of view of the doctors/nurses in Oncology.
SUMMARY: House/Wilson established relationship. Set during 3.20 House Training through to 4.01 Alone. Featuring Male Nurse Brad, who had two scenes with Wilson during Alone. Brad was named by the guys on the Wilson/New Male Nurse shipper thread on House's House of Whining.
BETA: Huge thanks to the masterly triedenture.
Nurse Brad
"And these are the oncology wards," Nurse Brenda said, leading the troupe of new nurses through a door. "One of you is an oncology nurse, right?"
"Me," Brad piped up and waved his hand.
"Then you'll be seeing a lot more of this department." Brenda looked around the ward. "And there's your glorious leader." She pointed to where a man in a white coat was standing at a station halfway down the room. He was facing away from them, writing on a clipboard.
Brenda headed towards him, and the nurses followed. "Dr. Wilson?" she called as they approached.
The doctor turned, his hair flopping slightly over his forehead, and he smiled at them. At the sight of the smile and large brown eyes, Brad felt his heart race and blood pump in his groin.
"Hi Brenda, what's up?" the doctor said, and Brad relished hearing his voice, smooth, mellifluous, not too deep, not too high.
"New nurses. First day. Grand tour." Brenda waved a hand to encompass the group. "Including one for you." She nodded at Brad.
Brad stepped forward, suddenly desperate to make a good first impression on his handsome new boss. "Hi, I'm Brad. It's great to meet you, Dr. Wilson." He held out a hand.
Dr. Wilson shook his hand solemnly. Brad adored his handshake—firm and cool. He hung onto Dr. Wilson's hand a second longer than necessary and immediately regretted it, hoping he hadn't embarrassed himself.
"Good to meet you too, Brad," Dr. Wilson said, and Brad glowed a little. "I'm sure I'll see you around."
"Moving swiftly on," said Brenda, and she ushered them all onwards. Brad hung back slightly, giving Dr. Wilson his most beaming smile. Dr. Wilson smiled back politely, then turned away back to the clipboard.
Brenda dropped into step next to Brad as they walked down the ward and muttered in his ear, "That way madness lies."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Brad said primly.
"The hell you don't," said Brenda, smiling evilly. She lengthened her stride and walked on.
Over the next few weeks, Brad was too busy getting to grips with his new job to think much about Dr. Wilson. But he sometimes saw him walking down the corridor, sitting in the cafeteria, or working his way through the wards on his rounds, and the sight never failed to make Brad's heart skip a beat.
Often, Dr. Wilson was with someone—in fact, the first time Brad saw him, walking down the hallway with Dr. Wilson, Brad assumed he was a patient. After all, he walked with a limp and a cane, and wore casual clothes and sneakers. Brad sighed happily at the thought of how caring Dr. Wilson must be, taking the time to walk around with this frankly rather grumpy-looking patient, who presumably needed a bit of exercise with the bum leg.
Brad was quite shocked to find out that the other man was none other than the legendary Dr. House, who was apparently so legendary that he didn't even need to wear a white coat. The next time Brad saw them together, they were in the cafeteria and Dr. House was systematically eating all Dr. Wilson's fries as well as his own. Dr. Wilson didn't seem to mind, barely even seemed to notice, but Brad felt indignant on Dr. Wilson's behalf, and decided he wasn't disposed to like Dr. House very much.
Naturally friendly and gregarious, Brad soon got to know everyone in oncology, and many other staff in other departments. Knowing he was terribly bad at concealing his feelings, he chose instead to ask people, wide-eyed, about Dr. Wilson at every chance he got. He found people were amused by him, and generally indulged him.
One day not long after he had started work, he found the oncology department buzzing with gossip. Dr. Wilson's ex-wife had shown up. Or one of them, anyway.
"Why, how many are there?" Brad asked.
"Three. That we know of," he was told.
The visitor turned out to be wife number two, Bonnie. Brad wasn't the slightest bit surprised to hear Dr. Wilson had been married and divorced three times; it fit in rather well with Brad's perceptions. Brad had had a boyfriend in the past, an older man, a successful businessman, who'd never gone anywhere in public without a woman on his arm. That had ended a while ago. The double life had gotten too much; Brad had been the one sacrificed. Brad still felt a little sad and hollow when he thought about this. He consoled himself now by thinking about Dr. Wilson instead.
A few days later Brad was delighted to come across Dr. Wilson walking down the corridor outside his office with a small white dog on a leash.
"Who are you? Aren't you the cutest!" Brad squealed on sight and dropped to his knees to pet the adorable little dog. The dog panted happily and offered him a paw; Brad took it gravely and shook it.
"This is Hector," Dr. Wilson said from the other end of the leash.
"He's your dog?" Brad asked, cooing and petting. He was still clasping Hector's paw in his hand. It felt like he was holding a hotline to Dr. Wilson himself.
"He lives with Bonnie; I have visiting rights," Wilson said, his tone droll. "He's been staying with House for a bit."
Brad glanced up and saw House standing up the corridor, outside his own office. House was lounging against the corridor wall and crunching on something. He looked at Brad with piercing blue eyes.
Suddenly Brad noticed Hector's paw was bruised and swollen. No wonder the little dog didn't want to put it on the floor. Brad frowned and said, "Hey, little fella, you're hurt."
"Just House screwing around," Wilson said, with a sigh. "He's been trying to kill Hector for the last week." Wilson nudged Hector with his foot. Brad's gaze tracked Wilson's leg up towards his body. "Come on, boy," Wilson coaxed the dog.
Wilson and Hector headed off down the corridor. Brad watched them go, his eyes following Wilson's ass beneath his white coat. Brad frowned. Was Dr. Wilson serious? Had House been trying to kill Hector? Surely not. And yet... Brad had heard a lot about House. You couldn't work at Princeton-Plainsboro and not. It could be true. Dr. Wilson hadn't sounded as if he was joking. Looking at the cute little dog with the limp, Brad felt himself burn with a righteous anger that anyone would deliberately hurt an animal like that. He turned to glare at House, but House had gone.
A couple of days after the Hector incident, Brad was walking along the corridor when the door of a patient exam room opened, Dr. Wilson rushed out and crashed straight into Brad.
"Dr. Wilson!" Brad said, alarmed, though not without a small thrill of pleasure at having Dr. Wilson bump against his chest.
"Sorry. Sorry. B-B-Brad? Is that right?" Wilson stepped backwards, rubbing his head. Then, speaking faster than Brad could recall hearing anyone speak before, "I'm not myself I-I-I'm going to kiss - to kill him I'm absolutely going to kill him."
"Kill who?" Brad asked, thinking this really wasn't a good thing for a doctor to be saying in a hospital corridor. He looked more closely at Wilson, who was agitated, stepping from one foot to the other.
"House," Wilson said, and strode off down the corridor towards his office.
Brad hesitated for a few seconds, then followed, asking, "Dr. Wilson, are you OK?"
Wilson, apparently becoming aware that people were watching him curiously, didn't reply until he was back in his office. Brad hovered uncomfortably at the door.
"No, no I'm not OK." Wilson moved around the room jerkily, grabbing his coat and his keys. "House dosed me w-w-with-with fucking amphetamines! I should have known better, I should have known, he never buys me coffee, he never buys me coffee! The fucking bastard knew I wouldn't take the first cup so he dosed the second!"
Wilson stuck an arm into his coat and found it was the wrong arm. He stood there looking confused. Unable to bear watching, Brad stepped forward nervously and pulled the coat off, then helped Wilson put it on. He couldn't help but linger a little as he touched Wilson's arm and felt muscles moving under fabric. He hoped Wilson would interpret it just as sliding the sleeve up his arm.
"Thanks. Thanks Brad."
"Where are you going?" Brad dared to enquire.
"To kill House. He could have killed me, I'm going to kill him." Wilson picked up his car keys.
"You're not driving while you're in this state." Brad automatically adopted his scolding manner for dealing with patients who seemed bent on taking unnecessary risks.
Wilson chewed on his lip, then said, "You drive me then." He thrust his car keys into Brad's hand.
Brad didn't know what to do. However, it seemed that disobeying a direct order from his department head would not be the right thing to do, especially if it meant avoiding a possible accident. The thought of Dr. Wilson in a car accident sent a cold chill down Brad's spine. He pictured Dr. Wilson injured, maybe critically ill, in a hospital bed, or worse, on a table in the morgue...
Brad's hand closed on the keys; he let his fingertips brush Wilson's palm. He followed Wilson out to the car park. The idea of sitting in Wilson's car, let alone driving it, was very exciting and Brad had to fight to concentrate on following Wilson's directions, which were not very lucid. He was very aware of Wilson sitting next to him in the passenger seat, shifting restlessly. He hadn't been so close to Wilson for more than a minute before. Now here he was, enclosed in the same small metal box. Brad looked at Wilson's knee, bouncing furiously up and down, in his peripheral vision.
The drive was all too short; House didn't live far away. Brad parked outside. Wilson said, "Thanks," got out of the car, and strode into the house.
Brad waited for the front door to close, then sprang out of the car and rushed over to the window. He could see House and Wilson talking, arguing, Wilson full of expressive hand gestures, House trying to make some sort of point, Wilson exasperated. Soon Wilson sat down. The conversation seemed to calm down.
Suddenly Brad tensed; he saw Wilson gesture towards the window, without looking at it. Brad dashed back to the car and just got back behind the driver's seat before the door of the house opened and House came out. He limped down the steps. Brad rolled the car window down as House stepped up to the driver's side.
"You can leave now, chauffeur boy," House said. "You can walk back. It's not far, 'cept for cripples."
Brad looked at House, a little defiantly. "Is Dr. Wilson alright?"
"He'll be fine. He's just high. I'll make sure he doesn't drive until he's better. Honest, dad." House held out a hand for the car keys. "Gimme."
Brad's concern for Wilson overcame his fear of House. "How can I trust you? You dosed him in the first place!"
House looked incredulous, then angry. He leaned hard on his cane and pushed himself up to his full height. Brad hadn't noticed how tall House was before; the limp tended to disguise it, but standing there glowering down at Brad, he looked ten feet tall. His blue eyes were fairly dazzling with indignation.
"Well, the lap dog has teeth after all," House said coldly.
Brad tried not to tremble. "I was just—"
"You shut the fuck up and get out of here," House's voice was chilling. "And stop interfering with what you don't understand. You don't know the first thing about Wilson. You just want to get into his pants."
Brad's cheeks burned. "I don't—"
"Oh please." House rolled his eyes. "I've seen you drooling over him like a lovesick puppy. Get a life. There're plenty of hot young men in that hospital for you to hit on. You shouldn't be lusting after your middle-aged boss who barely even knows your name. He's got enough to worry about without having some randy nurse mooning after him everywhere he goes."
Brad got out of the car, dropping the keys on the seat, and walked away in the direction of the hospital. He didn't look back, but he could feel House's eyes burning a hole in the back of his head.
The next day the whole hospital had heard that Dr. Wilson had been on speed, as the patient he had abandoned had been discovered by a blabbermouth doctor who wasted no time telling the tale. Fortunately the patient didn't want to complain, and the hospital collectively accepted it as just one of those things House did. Brad adored gossip and would have normally been the first to brag about his driving role in the story, but the dressing down by House had left him embarrassed and humiliated, and he kept his mouth shut.
There was an unexpected silver lining, though. Brad was alone, getting some supplies from a stockroom later that day when, to his surprise, Dr. Wilson came in behind him. Dr. Wilson had never come and sought him out for anything before.
"Brad," said Wilson. "I just came by to say thanks for driving me yesterday. It was very thoughtful of you. I would have crashed that car for sure."
Suddenly Brad was happy and all was right with the world. It was worth every second of that encounter with House to have Dr. Wilson standing here a few inches away, right now, having come looking for him, to say thank you.
"No problem," Brad said sincerely. He dropped his eyelashes and pouted a little. "I was worried about you. Dr. House—Dr. House was very rude to me."
"House is an ass," Wilson said easily. "Ignore him."
Brad thought maybe he shouldn't press the point, but somehow he had to. "But he's just so outrageous! What sort of person doses someone's coffee without them knowing it? Especially their supposed best friend's coffee?'
Brad wasn't sure what sort of reaction to expect from Wilson, but not this; Wilson looked abashed, then embarrassed, then guilty.
"We all do stupid things, Brad. Including me," Wilson said. He patted Brad lightly on the arm and walked away.
Brad watched him go, the delight at the tingling in his arm tempered by the memory of House's words; stop interfering with what you don't understand.
After that episode, Brad sought out information about House and Wilson, and found Nurse Brenda Previn an unexpected source of information. Brenda didn't have a lot of time for anyone, but seemed to find Brad amusing, teased him about his crush, and humored him to an extent in his questioning.
It was from Brenda that Brad learned the story of how Wilson had been the subject of a police investigation earlier that year because of House. He'd heard bits and pieces about this before, but not the whole thing. How Dr. Wilson had had his bank accounts frozen, his DEA license suspended, his car towed, and how he had eventually referred his patients elsewhere.
Brad listened with increasing horror, and said, "Basically he lost everything. Except his job."
"Yeah," Brenda agreed. "And he'd lost that once before, a couple of years back." And she told him the story of how Wilson had resigned rather than vote to keep House in the face of a chairman who'd wanted to fire him.
After that Brad had only one more question. "Why are they still friends already?"
"That's the multi-million dollar question," said Brenda. "Personally I'd bet that they're fucking each other." She laughed at the outrage on Brad's face. "Oh come on Brad, don't tell me you haven't thought of that before."
Brad had indeed thought of that as a possibility, but had always dismissed it from his mind with a shudder. "It's just that... Dr. Wilson is so nice, and Dr. House is so horrible!"
"I'm with you all the way on House." Brenda paused to consider. "As for Wilson... he's no saint. You need to stop idolizing him, Brad. It's not healthy."
Brad hadn't intended to go to Dr. Foreman's goodbye party; he didn't know Foreman very well, but he was coming off shift with two other nurses who were going when it happened, so he ended up going along. Most of the oncology staff knew House's three fellows well; in addition to helping with occasional cancer cases, they were always visiting the oncology wards looking for their boss.
Dr. House was conspicuous in his absence.
"Well, you know it didn't end very well," one of the other nurses told him. "Foreman didn't even ask House for a reference in the end."
Brad couldn't help but compare House unfavorably to Wilson. Dr. Wilson ran a huge department, was excellent at remembering names and faces (he had remembered Brad's name, whatever House said), always put in an appearance at people's goodbye and birthday parties and the like, signed cards, put money in for collections, and his staff were loyal and supportive of him. House only had three staff members and couldn't even be bothered to come to the send-off of one of them.
Later, he saw Dr. Wilson arrive and was surprised when, instead of joining the party he went to the other side of the room to sit with a man in a baseball cap. It was House; Brad hadn't spotted him before. Skulking around watching Foreman's party from a distance? How weird was that? It all only made Brad despise House all the more.
A couple of days later, Brad had finished work and was heading towards the staff lounge when he passed Dr. Foreman; Foreman was wearing a suit and carrying two bags, clearly on his way out for the last time. As Brad approached the lounge, House came out, stomping with his cane and looking angry. Brad wondered if he had just had an argument with Foreman.
In the staff room, Brad found Dr. Wilson sitting on a table. He looked sad and dejected.
"Hi Dr. Wilson," Brad ventured.
"Hi Brad," Wilson answered, looking at him without seeing him. Wilson got up and left the room.
Brad went through to the locker room, got his stuff, and headed home. He had some dinner, then went out. He had intended to go to a club, but found his feet taking him in another direction. Brad had found out where Dr. Wilson lived a while back, and had been only mildly surprised to find it was a hotel. He supposed there were advantages, like having room service and laundry done all the time. He had taken to wandering past it when in the area.
He was walking past it now when he saw Dr. Wilson come out of the front entrance and head towards the bar on the corner. Brad lingered for a few moments, then went into the bar himself.
He found Dr. Wilson sitting on a bar stool with a glass of whisky in front of him. He looked glum. His eyebrows were furrowed and his hands loosely clenched into fists. Brad liked the moody look; it reminded him of his ex, who had had a brusque manner and a permanent scowl.
Brad sidled up and took the stool next to Wilson. Wilson looked at him in surprise.
"Brad, hi. What are you doing here?"
Fortunately Wilson didn't seem to expect an answer.
"Are you OK, Dr. Wilson?" Brad asked tentatively.
"No. No I'm not OK, Brad." Wilson took a gulp of whisky. Unexpectedly, he seemed to be in a mood to share. "I'm depressed. My meds have been changed and the new ones haven't kicked in yet. I feel like shit."
"Is there anything I can do?" Brad knew it sounded lame.
Wilson turned his head and looked at Brad speculatively. "I see you around a lot, Brad. What is it you want from me?"
Brad stared into Wilson's deep brown eyes. There was a blank sadness he hadn't seen before, a void, a loneliness. Brad supposed it was usually masked by the antidepressants. Or perhaps simply by force of will, but if so, Wilson wasn't hiding it at the moment.
There were a lot of things Brad could have said in response to Wilson's question, but he chose to respond to a raw need that wasn't hard to perceive. Brad was sorry Wilson felt like this, but at the same time he knew this was the chance he'd longed for. "I want to fuck you."
Wilson didn't look as if this surprised him in the slightest. "And that's all you want? There's nothing else?"
"That's it," Brad said, sensing he had a better chance if he kept it simple.
"OK then." Wilson drained his glass.
"Really?" Brad was dumbfounded.
"Brad, before you came in here I was seriously considering trying to pick up a complete stranger to fuck instead. As fate seems to have sent along someone who actually wants to do it with me, who am I to resist?" Wilson stood up. "Shall we go? I live just around the corner. I guess you probably know that, as you're here. House calls you my little stalker, you know."
Brad's cheeks burned at Wilson's last remark. Fortunately Wilson seemed amused rather than angry. Brad felt he'd suddenly been introduced to a whole new side of Dr. Wilson he hadn't seen before, except maybe in very brief glimpses. House's words resonated uncomfortably in his head: stop interfering with what you don't understand. Brad pushed these thoughts aside. He'd been fantasizing about this moment practically since he'd first seen Dr. Wilson in the ward. He wasn't going to screw this up now.
Back in Wilson's hotel room, Brad looked around, trying to take it all in, trying to see how Dr. Wilson lived. It was less like a hotel and more like an apartment than he'd expected. It had some items such as a TiVo box which looked like they belonged to Wilson, although the place as a whole was still deeply impersonal.
Wilson moved easily through the living area, turning on lights, discarding his jacket and keys, then turned towards the bed. Brad took a deep breath and followed.
The sex was better than Brad had ever dared hope. He had played out this encounter again and again in his mind, and never without some level of anguish, doubt, hesitation, or denial on Wilson's part. Brad had seen himself as having to convince, urge, persuade. But the real Dr. Wilson turned out to be much surer of himself and what he wanted than Brad expected.
They kissed first, and Brad thought he must have died and gone to heaven; not only was Dr. Wilson kissing him properly on the mouth, pushing in with his tongue; but also feeling him, touching him, running his hands across Brad's chest, his biceps, his shoulders. Brad sought to reciprocate, kissing back with a passion, undoing Wilson's shirt buttons, pulling the shirt off his shoulders. Then Wilson slid his hand deftly over Brad's groin and Brad nearly exploded on the spot.
Quickly, desperate for this to happen before he woke up and found it was all a dream, Brad stripped, and Wilson followed him. Wilson wrapped a hand around Brad's cock and tugged expertly; Brad felt his jaw go slack and his eyes close, and had to pull himself back—this couldn't end this quickly. He reached for Wilson's cock and was immediately gratified to see Wilson's face contort and some life return to those blank brown eyes.
"You wanted to fuck me, right?" Wilson gasped, and Brad nodded breathlessly. He really hadn't imagined it like this. Wilson so ready, willing, and able; with a condom to hand, and lube too; Brad was rapidly understanding that Dr. Wilson's three wives must have had more to live with than he'd thought. Brad slicked up, and after an initial hesitant exploration with his fingers, arranged Wilson on all fours on the bed, himself thrusting inside and Wilson taking him easily.
Oh God he was fucking Dr. Wilson. He was actually fucking Dr. Wilson.
Brad was so full of emotion he was almost choking, as he thrust again and again, and felt Wilson gasping and groaning beneath him. Brad came rapidly, the world bursting into brilliant colors and shapes around him. Even as he collapsed panting on the bed, he reached out for Wilson's cock; he knew what he wanted to do and he might never get another chance. He took Wilson's cock in his mouth, stroking his balls with his hand; Wilson let out a cry and started to pump. Brad nibbled and sucked; he knew he gave good head, and Wilson came, jerking off in Brad's fist within a minute.
They both slumped back on the bed, exhausted, not touching.
"D'you want me to go?" Brad whispered after a few minutes.
"Stay a bit if you want," Wilson mumbled, and fell asleep.
Brad had been on both sides of uncomfortable morning-afters enough times to know how he was going to play this one so as to maximize the chance of this happening again. He wasn't going to creep off in the middle of the night, leaving a note which was bound to look embarrassing and insincere. Still less was he going to hang around long after Wilson woke up, because however much he liked the idea of breakfasting & showering together (it seemed deliciously domesticated), he knew in practice it would be just be highly awkward.
So he got up early, dressed, put on some coffee, and when Wilson stirred, Brad was there by the bedside putting a steaming cup of coffee on the bedside table.
"Morning, Dr. Wilson," he said softly.
"Brad?" Wilson sat up, rubbing his eyes. His chest was bare. His hair was disheveled and sticking up in tufts. Brad thought he had never seen anything so sexy in his life.
"I'm going now, just made you some coffee first. No speed in this one." Brad couldn't resist a dig at House. "I'll see you around at the hospital, OK?"
"Sure. Thanks." Wilson blinked. Brad could see Wilson's eyes were clearer and brighter than they had looked the night before.
Pleased, Brad beamed an enormous smile at Wilson and left.
Brenda was at the nurse's station in the clinic when Brad walked through that morning, and Brad had to exercise all his self-control to stop himself going up to her and shouting "I DID IT! I FUCKED HIM!" at the top of his voice. He knew if there was even the remotest chance of seeing Dr. Wilson again, he had to play it cool, not be clingy (difficult, this one) and keep his mouth shut (also difficult).
Three days went by—three long days—and nothing happened. House, having lost his staff (Brad wasn't surprised; he had no idea how they all put up with House so long in the first place), had retreated into a little cocoon in his office, spending all his time playing the guitar and doing virtually no work. Brad didn't dare to walk past House and Wilson's offices too often, but he kept a close ear to the hospital grapevine, and as far as he could make out from that, House was blocking Wilson out as much as anyone else.
If this was the impetus that drove Wilson back to him, Brad didn't care. Because on the third day, he was making a bed in a ward, when Wilson appeared next to him. Wilson was carrying a patient chart and glanced at it as if about to ask Brad a question, but instead asked something completely different.
"I was wondering if you wanted to come over tonight." Wilson's voice was completely neutral.
"I'd love to." Brad tried not to sound too delighted. Or desperate.
"Ten OK? See you then." Wilson tapped the chart with his pen, then walked away.
The sex that evening was even better; neither of them were quite so frantic. Wilson topped this time, and the feeling of Dr. Wilson's cock easing deep in and out of his ass sent Brad into an ecstatic trance.
Of course it couldn't go on. It was going to end, and somewhere deep down Brad knew it was going to end soon, and messily. Brad had managed to steer well clear of Wilson and House together at work, but that day he had to go to Wilson's office with a pile of forms to sign. He came into Wilson's office, to find not only Wilson working at his desk but also House sitting lounging on the couch in the corner, reading a magazine.
"For you to sign, Dr. Wilson," Brad said.
Thinking about it later, Brad had to admit, Wilson played it perfectly. "Thanks. Just leave them on my desk," Wilson said, hardly looking up.
If only he'd just turned and walked out, Brad rued later, it would have been fine. As it was, he just couldn't resist a tiny glance at House on his way out—only to find House looking directly at him. And Brad really couldn't resist the tiniest of triumphant grins...
It was a mistake. As Brad walked down the corridor he suddenly became aware that House was right behind him—House must have directly followed him out. Before he had time to react, Brad found himself levered sideways through a door and into House's office.
House shut the door behind them, stood, and glowered at Brad.
"You fucked him, didn't you?"
"Why don't you ask him?" Brad said, crossing his arms.
"Because he's a lying liar and he'd lie to me through his lying teeth. You, on the other hand, hate me enough to want to crow about it."
House was absolutely right. Brad said, defiant, "Yes, I have. So what?"
House hissed through his teeth and didn't immediately answer. Brad didn't know House well enough to read his expression, though he thought he could see rage and disappointment.
"You don't deserve him anyway," Brad added. "You treat him like shit."
"You don't know anything about me and you know even less about Wilson, if that's possible," House said witheringly. He turned on his heel and stalked out of his office and back towards Wilson's office.
Brad didn't hesitate, but raced over to the window of House's office, and out of the balcony door. He edged along the balcony, hopping over the dividing wall, towards Wilson's window. He was in luck; it was a warm day and Wilson had left his own balcony door open a crack. Brad didn't dare peek in for fear of being seen, but he could hear perfectly.
"—don't fucking believe it." House, furious.
"House." Wilson, exasperated. "Why do you even care? You've barely even spoken to me for the last week. Locked in your office with that fucking guitar all day."
"This is not about me! This is about you!" House shouted. There was a slamming sound, like a cane being brought down hard on a wooden surface.
"All right!" Wilson shouted back. "I was depressed! I was lonely, and he was there!"
"You were depressed? That's your excuse?" House demanded. "What the hell are those antidepressants for, anyway?"
"Doctor changed my meds." Wilson was speaking quietly now. "New ones are taking some time to kick in."
House snorted. "Your meds stop working, so you have to cheer yourself up by having sex with the first pathetic schoolboy with a crush who offered himself to you on a plate. Who is not even particularly attractive, by the way."
"It's not a question of cheering up." Wilson sounded frustrated now. "It's feeling... empty, utterly empty, worthless, useless, pointless. I just needed—"
"You just needed someone to fill that sad empty void with his dick."
"I'm not talking about this anymore, House."
"Fine." A door slammed. Brad waited for a minute, and then to his dismay, he heard the sound of Van Halen chords starting up from House's office.
House was in his office. Wilson was in his office. And Brad was stuck out on the balcony. Shit!
Somehow he'd ended up stuck in the middle of House and Wilson. And not just in the sense he was trapped on their balcony.
It was not a good place to be in any sense.
Brad peered over the edge of the balcony. Too high to jump or climb down.
He considered staying out on the balcony, perhaps forever, drinking rainwater and catching stray pigeons to eat. Unfortunately either House or Wilson might find him there any minute, and the longer he was out there, the worse that would be. Also, he felt rather conspicuous on the balcony in his scrubs; he didn't want anyone outside to spot him. He really couldn't think of an excuse for being out there.
So, who would it be best to face, House or Wilson? Brad walked towards Wilson's door and went inside.
Wilson was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. He looked up as Brad came in with a sharp look on his face, obviously expecting to see House, only to goggle at the sight of Brad. "Brad, what the hell—"
"I'm sorry," Brad said immediately, and carried on speaking before Wilson could ask where he'd come from. "I'm really sorry, Dr. Wilson. I didn't mean to give the game away to Dr. House."
"Oh, don't worry about it." Wilson rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "House'll sulk for a few days and he'll get over it."
Brad was unsure what to make of this.
"Brad," Wilson said—and suddenly Brad knew from the tone exactly what Wilson was going to say and felt his heart break—"I think it would be best if we don't see each other any more, okay?"
"What?" Brad's lips had gone dry. He licked them nervously. "Don't say that. Please."
"Brad—" Wilson's eyes closed.
"I'm in love with you," Brad blurted out.
Wilson opened his eyes and glared at Brad. "That's not funny. Don't joke about it."
Now he'd started, Brad couldn't stop. "I'm not joking. I am in love with you."
"No. Oh Christ. You're serious." Wilson passed a hand over his face. "This was supposed to just be about sex! I asked you!"
The conversation had become almost comically farcical.
"Whatever you want from me, Brad, I can't give it to you," Wilson said firmly. "Please go away. I can't cope with this right now."
"You were using me." Brad was wounded.
"You knew that," Wilson retorted.
"You're as bad as House!" Brad knew he was hysterical now. He fled from Wilson's office, and went and cried in the bathroom. Eventually he emerged, red-eyed, and went back to work. Fortunately he had a reputation as something of a drama queen, and his colleagues didn't ask questions, just took his demeanor in their stride.
That evening Brad went out clubbing, picked up a skinny teen with floppy hair and brown eyes, and went back to his place. The sex was quite possibly the least satisfying he had ever had.
The next day he went into work and passed House while walking out of the staff lounge. House gave him the most smug, self-satisfied, and triumphal look that Brad had ever seen. Brad instantly understood that House and Wilson had had sorry-and-make-up sex and that it had been good.
The following week Brad signed up for the night shift, so as to avoid seeing Dr. Wilson as far as possible. The new hours suited him, and after the first couple of nights he started to feel better.
And then he was standing at the nurse's station one night, when who should he see but Dr. Wilson, yawning, walking towards the station in a crumpled old grey hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants. His hair was tousled and he looked for all the world as if he'd just stumbled out of bed. In fact, he looked exactly the same as the morning after the first night Brad had spent with him. Brad felt his heart rip right in two, just as Wilson reached the station.
Wilson looked at him but didn't react. "I got a page."
"No you didn't." Brad spoke unnecessarily sharply.
"Yes I did." Wilson dug out his pager and held it up. Brad was indignant that Wilson should think he, Brad, would be obstructing in this way.
"Yes you did, but not from us," Brad said snippily, and walked away to the other end of the nurse's station.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Wilson breathe out in annoyance, visibly think, then grab the phone on the counter. Of course it would be a prank, House being a bastard again. Brad stood as far away as he could, but couldn't help but overhear Wilson's end of a bizarre conversation about terrorists and TiVos which made no sense whatsoever. He was starting to understand that House and Wilson had a relationship that was far more complex and dysfunctional than he'd previously realized.
Despite this, Brad still couldn't help but yearn to be near Dr. Wilson. The following night, he arrived at work to find his fellow nurses shaking their heads at House's latest way of screwing with Wilson; he'd stolen a patient. Wilson was due to check on the patient soon and they weren't sure what was going to happen.
Brad couldn't resist a situation where he knew he would be close to Wilson, could provoke some sort of reaction—something, anything, being better than nothing—and he sneaked into the patient's room and got into the empty bed. He pulled the covers over his head and waited. Wilson came in shortly, talking to what he thought was the patient. Brad didn't dare reply. There was a short pause, then Wilson reached out and pulled the covers down an inch or two; then whisked them down.
"What are you doing here?" Wilson was a splendid mix of anger, outrage, and disbelief, partly directed at the situation, partly at finding Brad.
"I was taking a nap," Brad said rudely.
"Where's my patient?" Wilson demanded, and then his face changed as he realized who was responsible for this. He turned and walked out without another word.
Brad knew he shouldn't have been so impertinent to his boss. If he carried on with this sort of thing he'd be in trouble.
Brad arrived home the following morning, and who was sitting on his couch, but House. Brad could think of nobody he wanted to see less.
"What are you doing here?" Brad asked, incensed at the intrusion.
"I've come to tell you to start looking for another job," House said bluntly. "Shouldn't be hard; oncology nurses are in demand. Especially with the sterling reference you'll get from your head of department."
Brad had been thinking about this himself, but resented having House turn up to tell him what to do. "What if I don't want to?"
House shrugged. "You'll condemn yourself to a life of misery working near someone who won't return your feelings. Who's your boss to boot. Big mistake; never sleep with your boss. Unless they're Cuddy." House spread out his hands. "Wilson could get rid of you right now if he wanted to, and if you keep hanging around he'll get fed up with you and do just that. Why wait? Jump before you get pushed. End up somewhere you might actually want to be."
"Why do you care?" Brad demanded.
"I don't care about you," House said contemptuously. "Suffer and get fired in the end, fine by me. I'm here because I'm a selfish bastard and I want you as far away from Wilson as possible."
Brad was silent, miserable. He sat down on a chair.
House looked at him, and said unexpectedly, "It sucks being in love with James Wilson."
Brad was frozen.
"The man is pathologically incapable of keeping it in his pants," House carried on. "He's the best liar I've ever met, except myself. He could manipulate for his country. He thinks he knows what's best for people and lectures the hell out them. And he will never get over his conviction that the right woman is out there, if he can just marry her already. No number of divorces seem able to convince him otherwise."
"So why d'you put up with him then?" Brad said sullenly.
"Interesting you ask, as up until a few days ago I think you'd have asked, why does he put up with me," House said shrewdly. "And surely that is the more interesting question. You said I treat him like shit, right? Well." House put a finger to his chin and mused.
"Over the last twenty years I've junked his car a couple of times, and borrowed several really quite large sums of money which somehow I've never got around to paying back. Not to mention taking the roof over his head, the clothes off his back, and the food off his plate, frequently. I've cost him his job, his patients, and his professional career, though he's bounced back OK from those. I didn't wreck his marriages, though he likes to think I did. I have wrecked some other relationships of his. I've endangered his health, I've pushed his ethics to their limit, and I've stolen his identity. And worst of all, I make him keep prescribing for me." House reached into his pocket for his Vicodin bottle, opened it, and dry-swallowed a pill. "I make him keep on and on prescribing these little sweeties, and he does it even though they're destroying my liver and will eventually kill me. It must kill him to have to do it."
House paused, then concluded, "Basically, it sucks being in love with James Wilson. But it must be hell on earth being in love with me."
"You deserve each other." Brad reached the logical conclusion.
"I'm glad you see my point." House picked up his cane and stood up to leave.
That night Brad dreamed he was stuck on a balcony with House blocking one exit and Wilson the other.
In the end he jumped off to safety. House was right; Brad found it easy to get another job, indeed a better job. Wilson gave him an excellent reference without saying a word, and Brad persuaded Brenda to give him a peer review, exploiting the soft spot he knew she had for him (though she concealed it well). In return, he told her a little of what had happened between himself and Dr. Wilson, having first sworn her to secrecy. He didn't go into much detail, or mention House. He didn't need to; Brenda was thrilled.
On his last day, Brad had a goodbye party at the hospital, in the cafeteria, just as Foreman had had. Wilson was there, being the good boss, making a little speech, presenting the goodbye card and gift, his voice and words and body language never giving away anything untoward in the slightest. Brad accepted it all happily and did his best to ignore Brenda standing in the corner smirking knowingly.
Later Brad noticed Wilson slipping away from the party. Brad peered to see where he'd gone, and saw him sitting with a man in a baseball cap. Wilson had brought his glass of wine out with him. Brad watched as House reached out, grabbed the glass, and took a gulp.
Brad smiled and went back to the party.
END