James Wilson was smack-dab in the middle of having a very busy, very harrowing day, when Gregory House entered his office and changed his life forever. Even so, it did not make that particular day any less busy. If anything, it added to the stress.
His office door opened as he was penning a letter to the Chairman of the Board at Cuddy's request. He didn't bother to glance up - he was really damn busy this time. The tell-tale cane thump, muffled against the carpet, alerted him to his best friend's presence. House limped over to the chair he usually had a seat in, and had a seat. Vaguely, Wilson noticed him place the cane between his legs, bounce it twice, and then rest his chin upon the handle. Neither said anything. His pen scratched as he accidentally wrote the word "estranged" in place of the word "syringe", and he crossed it out, blowing out a breath. Steadily he wrote, until he had filled up almost the entire page. Then, with an exhausted flourish, he scrawled his name at the bottom, folded it up, and reached for one of the envelopes enblazoned with the hospital's crest. Sealing it, he placed it to the side to be mailed off before he went home that day, and, before grabbing one of his patient files, ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply, his eyes fixed upon the desktop as he thought about all he still had to do.
He remembered House was sitting there. He lifted his gaze to the unusually quiet doctor, raising his eyebrows questioningly. House had obviously been watching him, for he quickly looked away instead of meeting his gaze, once more thumping the cane against the floor. That was okay, if House didn't feel like actually saying anything...as long as he wasn't distracting Wilson from his work, it didn't bother him that he was there. However, as soon as he snatched up that patient file, House inhaled and opened his mouth to speak.
"Seeing as how..." he began, trailing off, still not looking at him. "Seeing as how you're important to me, I thought I'd let you know that I'm quitting."
Wilson's hand stilled over the file, and he glanced up at his friend. What?
"Uh...quitting? Like quitting drugs? Life?"
House shook his head, licking his bottom lip anxiously. "Nope. Quitting, as in, I'm quitting my job. Here at this hospital. Princeton Plainsboro, in case you forgot."
That was...well, Wilson hadn't really thought about the liklihood of House wanting to quit after his breakup with Cuddy. But he supposed it made sense; the situation was just too uncomfortable for the three of them. They had been behaving as adults should, of course, but there was only so much one could take.
"Yeah," he eventually said. "Yeah, okay - sure. Did you...already put in your notice?"
House shook his head, and, for some reason, still wouldn't look at him.
Wilson scrutinized his features for a moment, forgetting about his load of unfinished work.
"You...wanted to make sure it was okay with me?" he asked tentatively, incredulously. He knew how House could be about matters such as this.
This time, House nodded, clearing his throat. "One of the many perks of this job...I'm almost guaranteed to see you everyday." He was staring hard at the front of Wilson's desk. "I don't want to just - throw it away because of - it's like I said before. Bros before hoes."
Wilson swallowed, unnerved by this unfamiliar display of House's feelings. Yes, House was his best friend, and, yes, he knew that they cared about each other deeply, but...they almost never communicated this way. Their feelings were expressed using eye contact...small smiles...barely-there nudges...just the fact that they spent time around each other outside of work told them all they needed to know, really. It touched him that House cared enough to work up the courage to come into his office and tell him this. Of course he would be upset if House decided to leave...but he couldn't very well stop him with a childish excuse like that.
"So..." he began, unsure of how to proceed. House studied his nameplate. "You want me to tell you...not to go through with it?"
House glanced at him briefly, then resumed his study of the nameplate. "I want you to tell me - well, yeah," he admitted gruffly. "I want you to tell me that seeing me everyday is important to you too."
"House, if you feel like you can't handle - "
"I can," House interrupted. "I can handle working with Cuddy if - "
"I can't stop you from making a crucial decision in your life," Wilson told him firmly. "If you think that this whole thing is going to compromise your ability to diagnose patients, or - i-if being around Cuddy is painful for you - you need to do what you think is best for yourself. I don't want to hold you back."
"You know what's substantially more painful than being around Cuddy?" House asked rhetorically, looking him dead in the eye. "Not being around you."
Now it was Wilson who looked away. Those words struck him forcefully; he felt as if he had been smacked by an angry wife who just caught her husband cheating - and he knew what that felt like - accompanied by a brutal kick to the stomach. His gut told him that House was bringing up the truth from the oldest, deepest portion of his soul, and that it would never be brought up again after this day. He was witnessing something rare, and he had enough sense to fully appreciate it. He smiled a little at his pencil jar, his cheeks slightly warm. Not warm enough to become visibly pink, but warm enough for him to squirm nonchalantly in his chair, in an attempt to find a new position.
"That's - " he stuttered, unable to help himself. "That's - " He couldn't get it out. He sighed, rolling his eyes. "That's...very sweet, House."
"Yeah, yeah," House said in a low voice. "Tell me what you want me to do."
Wilson sat back in his chair, having not yet stopped the squirming, and palmed his face. "Well, if it's going to be that hard to be away from me - "
"Oh, shut up."
" - then I...suppose...the only logical thing to do here would be to stay," he finished with a smile in his voice.
"Thought you might say that," House said after a pause, sounding like he was trying to conceal his pleasure. "Well - that's all, folks. You can get back to your - whatever you were doing to avoid talking." He stood, giving Wilson a genuine sort of smile that he hadn't seen in months.
"I wasn't - "
House limped to the door, his hand on the silver handle. "It's almost lunch time by the way - "
"House, wait a minute," he said, standing as well. His friend paused, scanning him quickly. Wilson was silent, contemplating, the air between them charged with something quite familiar - something that hadn't been there lately. But it was different now. Or maybe there was just...more. He felt oddly giddy - he wanted to laugh. Or cry? Either way he knew he wanted to stride right over to the door and tightly embrace his best and only true friend. However, he suspected that that would not go over too well, so, instead, settled for words.
"I don't think you really wanted to leave."
House let go of the door handle. "Wow, you're a genius! Obviously, I don't want to leave."
"No, I mean, you never intended to put in your notice. You planned this because we've been...not right."
House leaned heavily on his cane, scanning him again. His expression grew curiously blank as he debated on the correct way to respond. Eventually, his grip on his cane tightened, and he said quietly, "You're right. I...missed you." His tone dared Wilson to mock him.
Wilson had absolutely no intention of doing so. He nodded, his eyes soft, telling him that he felt the same way. Never had he felt such affection for House as he did right then. They stared at each other, and he wondered what was going to happen. This was kind of uncharted territory...
"God, you're such a woman," House suddenly said, definitely hiding a grin. To an outsider, he would appear to be very much annoyed, but Wilson was certainly not an outsider. So, even though House had just insulted him - or attempted to - he chuckled, not buying it for a second.
He opened his mouth to ask what exactly he meant, and the next thing he knew, House had limped around to his side of the desk, saying, "We never speak of today again," and gesturing toward himself. Without bothering to hesitate, Wilson stepped forward, wrapping one arm around his neck, and the other around his middle, tightly, pulling House to him, and rested his chin on his shoulder. House reciprocated, leaning into him, hanging his cane on the back of Wilson's chair. Wilson felt his stubble scratching at the side of his neck, but it didn't bother him. They were close...they were very close...that didn't bother him either.
"I missed you too," he couldn't restrain himself from murmuring. House tightened his grip.
"Just - don't start crying all over me. Okay?"
"I'm not - " he stopped. "Okay," he promised, burying his face into House's shoulder. He heard House's quiet laugh right next to his ear, and felt one warm hand travel up his back, into his hair. He focused on keeping his breathing steady while the fingertips scratched gently, soothingly, at his scalp. Piano-playing fingers. Guitar as well, which aided in turning them a little rough and callous. He slowly shook his head back and forth, and House's hand moved back down to his back. Wilson removed the arm from House's middle, and, instead, put it around his neck as well, his face still buried in it. Now they were pressed undeniably against each other; Wilson could feel the steady beating of House's heart against his own chest.
"I love you," he said, his voice muffled. But, of course, House heard him. Felt him.
"You loathe me?" House asked in a strained voice.
"Mm-hm."
House turned his head so that his mouth was right on Wilson's ear. "I loathe you more," he breathed.
Wilson chuckled. "I doubt it." The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up. "I've loathed you for...a good while now...you bastard."
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He wasn't quite sure what had happened.
One minute, House and he were standing. The next, they had ended up in Wilson's chair, sweaty and spent.
House was underneath him, slumped, most of his legs hanging off the padded seat, his pants around his ankles. Wilson sat in his lap, careful not to put much pressure on House's bad leg. His hands rested on the back of the chair, on either side of House's head. They both breathed as though they would never have the chance to do so again. Leaning down, Wilson barely brushed House's lips with his own.
"What the hell did we do?" he asked, whispering, utterly bewildered now that his senses were catching up with him.
House stared up at him, his blue eyes hooded, a big grin on his face. "I'm pretty sure we just did it...at work."
Wilson laughed quietly, shaking his head. "We are so fired. How the hell did that even...happen? Do you remember - ?"
"You started it," House reminded him, gently running his hands up and down his sides.
"No," Wilson disagreed, a corner of his mouth lifting. "You're the one who came in here all 'I can't breathe without you' - "
"Hey - do not start portraying me as the woman in our relationship."
"Then don't give me reason to," Wilson shot back, smirking. He leaned down for another small kiss, which House happily granted. When they parted, Wilson rested his forehead against his friend's, his smirk having transformed into a soft smile. "All joking aside, that was...incredible."
"Now who's the woman?" House teased, his eyes portraying that he couldn't have agreed more.
"Why does one of us have to be a woman?" Wilson asked, glancing downward. "I don't think a woman can do that." He was referencing the mess he'd made on House's lower abdomen. "That's pretty manly."
House grinned, shaking his head. "Get off of me."
Glancing at his locked office door - Wilson carefully climbed off of House's lap and, locating his pants thrown over his desktop computer monitor, grabbed them and pulled them back on. House did the same after reaching into a desk drawer and yanking out a tissue to clean himself off, and yanked his wrinkled, light-blue shirt straight as well. Wilson faced him, his hands on his hips, his hair mussed, and his button-down hanging loosely over his undone belt buckle. He watched House rake an appreciative eye over him and smiled, looking downward almost modestly. He began to button up his shirt and tuck it back in. House then took the liberty of doing up the buckle himself, gently pulling him forward. Wilson kissed him, and it was like some bizarre time warp was taking place; it was like they were rewinding their actions. Not that he would particularly mind if they happened to press the "replay" button. But...God, he was now even more behind in his work. Once House had finished, he reached up and combed a few fingers through Wilson's untidy hair. Their eyes locked. House gave him a look that clearly said, "Surprised? Well, get used to it. This is the way I tend to treat people who are more than just a friend..."
And Wilson knew that. He'd seen the way House had been with Stacy and Cuddy. It had always astounded him how affectionate House could be when in the presence of a woman he loved. Something inside him changed...softened. House really was, as he'd mentioned not an hour ago, sweet whenever he so desired.
In return, Wilson gave him a once-over that jokingly stated, "I'd reciprocate, but - this is your natural look after all."
House scowled at him good-naturedly, and kissed his cheek before limping around him, heading for the door. On instinct, Wilson's hand flew to his face - he still wasn't used to the scratchy sensation of stubble against his skin. He whirled around.
"House."
His best friend did the same. "Yes, dear?"
Wilson turned back around, scanned the ground, and bent over to pluck a long object located behind his chair. Standing upright, he went over to House, holding the object out to him. "You might need this."
House took the cane from him, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I've been thinking - "
"Yes," Wilson said at once. He had rather hoped they would get around to this.
House paused, looking surprised, then laughed. "You haven't even heard - "
"I never withdrew my offer. I would love for you to move back in with me," he said firmly.
House scanned his determined face, and nodded, concealing a thin smile. "Just you wait, Jimmy. It'll be like a sleepover."
And then, his friend was gone, and, when he returned to his desk, his thoughts were far, far away from work.
Note: Alright, I admit it! My fever's gone, but I'm now stuck in a rut with True Rock. Don't get me wrong, I know what I want it to do - exactly what I want it to do - I just don't know how to bring it about. But I'm not giving up, and it'll be up as soon as I get over this stupid writer's block. Grrr...