A/N: This is based on two prompts from the LJ community sickWilson_fest:
#1 Wilson borrows House's motorcycle and crashes or falls off it.
#2 Wilson is attacked in the clinic.
I don't think the characters are very IC in this, but it worked with the prompts and my friend J.J.'s need for fluffiness. The hard core graphic violence was cut out because he's a wuss and can't take it. Er, I mean because he's squeamish. Er, I mean because it was artistically irrelevant. Let me know if you think it's too IC. Ta!
Wilson was afraid House was rubbing off on him (instead of just rubbing on him). He had dreaded doing his Clinic hours all week. Usually he would get it out of the way early, but he'd switched with everybody, including House, to procrastinate. He should have looked forward to it compared to his regular patients who were dropping like pennies off a tall building lately. He knew they were going down, but he couldn't see exactly where they were going to fall.
Wilson didn't usually let a bad run bother him. Maybe it was the stress of every one staring at him now they knew he was House's boyfriend. Maybe it was the worry of when House would burst into a room and make sure everybody knew Wilson was his boyfriend. It might have been the way he said 'boyfriend'. It came way too easily out of House's mouth.
It could have been how House acted around him. If they were alone House would keep touching him even if they were in the hospital. Wilson knew House was tactile, but he hadn't realized how House's need for attention would mix with his starving for affection to create a constant need to make a physical connection. It was suffocating. Well, that was unfair, he thought. It wasn't House's fault he wasn't held enough as a child. It wasn't like House was always looking for sex. If anything House wasn't nearly as sexual as Wilson had expected.
At first House would come up behind Wilson when he was cooking dinner and hug him or play with his hair or rub his neck. It was distracting. Wilson would chase him out and say they had time for that later. While eating House would make sure there legs were touching. If they ate at the table, Wilson never knew where House's foot would suddenly appear. Wilson would decide to put off doing the dishes in deference to doing House, but he'd try to take off clothes, his or House's, and House would put the kibosh on him. Wilson would back off and wonder if he had misread House.
Then they'd sit on the couch watching television and House would want to hold his hand or put his hand on his knee. Wilson would take that as a green light and House would pull the emergency brake. He would call Wilson "an insatiable cock monkey" and five minutes later would be petting his hair or trying to use Wilson as a pillow. It was maddening. Finally Wilson realized House wanted to touch him any way he could and didn't mean it as an invitation. He didn't even seem to be aware he was doing it. Maddening!
That was on top of the stress of taking care of House. He didn't mind making sure House ate at least one non-deep fried vegetable a day or not letting him leave in the morning wearing dirty clothes. Wilson did mind the arguments. House would say he didn't need Wilson to mother him. Wilson would say he clearly did or he wouldn't wear the same shirt three days in a row. Squabble, squabble.
Or Wilson would come home to some insane experiment House had created like filling balloon with chocolate syrup. House would make some ridiculous explanation and Wilson would just lose it. Then House would get really quiet and apologize and tell Wilson he didn't want to be so much trouble. Then Wilson would have to ask if he didn't want to be trouble why couldn't he stop himself from being trouble? Sometimes House would continue the argument, but more often than not he would ask Wilson if he was leaving. Wilson didn't know if it was from a generalized fear of abandonment or if it was because of Stacy leaving him or if it was because Wilson had left him after Amber died or if it was because Wilson was yelling…he didn't know. He only knew it was annoying.
And then Wilson would feel bad. The balloon/chocolate syrup incident had been particularly bad. House told him, as if it was perfectly obvious, that the top broke on the bottle. Then he tried to push Wilson out of the kitchen. Oh no, he was not leaving his kitchen. House could make the rest of the place his personal playpen (or pigpen), but the kitchen was Wilson's. The shoving match wasn't effective in getting Wilson out, but it was very effective at breaking said balloon. After the balloon exploded, Wilson did. He couldn't even remember the things he was saying. House said something about Wilson leaving and Wilson told him he was staying, but House was leaving. He could get out and Wilson would call him when he could come back. House hesitated, but left.
Wilson started cleaning up and found a cake House had bought. It looked liked he scraped off the message and tried to write his own. In chocolate syrup. Because he's an idiot. "Thanks for being" was all it said. Wilson wasn't sure if that was the whole message or if House hadn't finished it.
Of course House wouldn't answer his phone. He did wander home around 2:30, drunk. He only managed to get home because the cab driver knew him as a frequent flyer and brought him home instead of to "I don't care where" or "a hotel or something".
In the morning, he thanked House for his sweet, but misguided gesture. He only answered by staring at the TV and saying 'whatever'. Wilson spent the entire day trying to snap House out of his gloom, but he wasn't having it. He was about to lose it again when he had an idea.
He went to the kitchen and came back wearing a chocolate syrup monocle, mustache and goatee. He casually asked House what he wanted for dinner. House couldn't pout and smile at the same time. He certainly couldn't lick and pout at the same time. It turned into another example of him placating House because he felt guilty.
House was unexpectedly sentimental over nonsensical things. He acted like a 6-year-old coming off a pixy stix Ritalin bender. His boundary issues went deeper than even Wilson expected. None of that mattered on a good day. Wilson was stressed out because they seemed to be having fewer good days.
Then there was the stress of too many meetings, too much paperwork, and too little time. Obsessing over why he was stressed instead of going to the Clinic was another example of Wilson's procrastination which only led to having less time. As soon as he got the last of his Clinic hours in he was going to schedule a vacation. A few days away from House, the hospital, and responsibilities would do him a world of good. Explaining that to House would be tough, but if he could convince House he'd be back Wilson thought he'd understand the motivation. He might be a little hurt by it, but he'd understand.
All these things continued to churn in Wilson's mind when he picked up his first charts in the Clinic. Sinus infection, headache with drug seeking behavior, 'personal problem' that sounded like genital warts, sprained ankle, excuse to get out of school for the day – and five patients were done. He tried to concentrate on them and listen to their complaints, but now that he'd admitted he was burnt out he felt like he had given himself permission to not care. It felt bad in a good way.
Patients Six and Seven wanted STD panels and pretended they didn't know each other. Wilson realized why when he saw they were married, but not to each other. Been there, he thought, but didn't divulge. He wasn't going to so much as narrow his eyes at House the next time he pulled out a condom. Monogamy wasn't what it used to be and for Wilson that was a good thing. House had said he knew they had another six months before Wilson's roving one-eye geared up. And that led to an argument over whether Wilson could be faithful to anyone and if House could give it a rest for once. That vacation was going to be good.
Patient Eight was exhausted. He felt tired, but had bursts of energy. Wilson wished he had a burst of energy. He was interrupted by Patient Seven's wife bursting in and calling him names even his ex-wives hadn't called him. She shoved all the canisters on the counter onto the floor and yelled some more. Security arrived and she calmed down. She further calmed down when she realized her husband wasn't in that exam room. She gave an embarrassed apology, laughed at her faux pas, and was led out of the hospital.
Wilson was going to call her husband as soon as he finished this patient and warn him. He had some experience with psychotic women and unfaithful husbands needed to stick together, except he was an alumnus from that club, not an active member.
He turned back to Patient Eight who was having a hard time breathing after all the excitement. Wilson tried to talk him into relaxing, but that seemed to be making things worse. He tried to distract him from the ruckus by going over his symptoms. He hadn't slept in three days. He was feeling anxious and that was before Mrs. Patient Seven introduced herself. He described himself as 'fidgety' and 'restless'. His other doctor told him when he felt like that he needed to get help. This, he assured Wilson, was not helping.
Wilson was having a hard time understanding him between labored breaths and increasingly anxious behavior. He told Patient Eight he was going to get some water and Diazepam - maybe something for the patient, too, Wilson joked. He put a hand on Patient Eight's shoulder and that was the last thing he fully remembered.
What he didn't remember was Patient Eight, also known as Al Mencer, apparently didn't like to be touched and he, medically speaking, freaked. He propelled him head first into the overhead cabinet then slammed Wilson against the wall. Patient Eight tossed him down hard on the corner of the exam table. A security guard came in to have them sign a witness statement and grabbed Patient Eight. It had been less than 30 seconds, but the initial impact had stunned Wilson and caused a nasty gash at his hairline. Blood spattered in concordance with the rag doll movements of Wilson's body. It had been fast and violent, but it looked far worse.
Nurses raced in while security took out a screaming, flailing Patient Eight. Wilson was dazed, almost unconscious. He couldn't process what had just happened. The nurses were fretting over him and that didn't seem right. And he was on the floor being helped up. That wasn't right. And there was blood and … and it was his. That was completely wrong. Wilson passed out.
***
"I won't tell your adoring fan club you passed out from seeing your own blood." House smiled down at Wilson. He pulled out a pen light and checked Wilson's pupils. "It's weird not being on that side of the hospital bed." Wilson tried to sit up, but House gently kept him from moving.
"I didn't pass out from seeing a little blood." He couldn't remember exactly what happened, but he was sure he didn't pass out. Wilson's head was killing him.
"No, you passed out from seeing your own blood. You cut yourself shaving and I get the smelling salts ready." House ran his fingers down Wilson's cheek and traced his jaw. "Your head's probably killing you. Taub gave you eight stitches, but I think you only needed six. I wonder what he's over compensating for," House said picking up a plastic dosage cup. "I told him not to scar your pretty face. Take these. It's only Naproxen. After a CT I'll get you the good stuff." House was either speaking softer than usual or Wilson had damaged his eardrums. He helped Wilson sit up enough to swallow the pills before delicately helping him lie back. Wilson was suddenly suspicious of House. How badly hurt was he?
"I had a patient. He pushed me or something. Maybe I slipped." House sat down on the bed.
"You had a whack-o who turned you into his personal pinball game. Follow my finger with your eyes." House moved his finger from side to side, up and down, and then to Wilson's nose. He laughed. "How am I supposed to tell anything from your Muppet-esque googly-eyes?"
"And I hit my head." Wilson wasn't up to waggling his eyebrows for House's amusement. House put a hand on Wilson's chest over his heart.
"You are an over achiever. The patient made you hit your head twice. The idiot nurses who tried to help you stand up, but only managed to help you quickly to the floor when you passed out, from seeing your own blood, are responsible for the third blow. I think that's the one that gave you the concussion. You also took a body shot that's going to cause a wicked bruise." House wanted to hug him, but he knew that wouldn't go over well. As it was Wilson looked like he wanted him to step away from the bed and get his clammy mitts off him.
"But I'm okay?" Wilson didn't feel okay. He felt nauseas and dizzy. His head hurt. His neck hurt. The left side of his chest hurt.
"You're okay. I had a pretty bad scare. Apparently simply saying 'Dr. House, Dr. Wilson is fine, but needs some stitches. Here's what happened…' wasn't any fun. Instead I got 'Dr. House, there's been an incident' from a security guard with blood on his shirt followed by a hysterical nurse with blood on her scrubs screaming 'House! A patient attacked Wilson! He's not responding!' I almost threw up." House didn't care if Wilson had made his views on PDA very clear. He placed a lopsided kiss partially on Wilson's lips. He still looked concerned.
"Now you know how I feel when you attract danger." Wilson smiled weakly. "I guess it's my chance for a little payback." Wilson was glad House was there, but he didn't like how subdued he seemed.
"If you hadn't begged me to switch Clinic hours with you, it would have been me. My ability to attract danger is intact, but expanding to take out bystanders. I'm sorry you got hurt," House said with complete sincerity. Wilson laughed. "What's funny?"
"You! You don't believe in God or Fate, but you believe you have some kind of mystical power to bring out the crazies. I admit, you drive people crazy, but you can't believe this happened because you were some kind of cosmic target." House smiled at Wilson, but didn't tell him how right he thought that was.
"If it had been me I would have taken care of this guy pretty easy. You can't let your guard down like that."
"What happened to him?" House looked questioningly at Wilson. "I know you don't care what happens to your assailants, but I'm a little curious."
"Oh, him! I had him killed." Wilson's eyes bulged making his forehead crease and hurt more. "Joking! Am I this gullible when I have a concussion? Security detained him and the police arrested him. You were the second person he assaulted today. He was off his meds and out for blood."
"That's good, that they caught him, not that he hurt somebody else." Wilson was feeling drowsy and his words were coming out slowly.
"Sure! Dr. Wilson gets a little bump on the head and they throw up a dragnet. Dr. House gets shot and it's business as usual." Foreman came in and House said something to him Wilson couldn't hear. "Foreman's going to take you for your CT. I told him to keep an eye out for any anomalies that might explain why you fixate on your hair and don't always find me clever and amusing when we all know your hair and my shining personality are perfect."
***
Wilson spent the night at the hospital to be on the safe side. He didn't argue. He remembered all the times he'd insisted to no avail on House staying overnight. He didn't think he needed to stay, but the next time House was banged up, and he was sure there would be a next time, he'd use this as some emotional blackmail to keep him for observation. House spent the night in a chair and Wilson didn't complain when he woke up and found House's head using the foot of the bed as a pillow with a hand on one of Wilson's ankles. For once he found House's need for physical affirmation of his presence comforting.
After getting his clean bill of health and orders for bed rest, Wilson was feeling better. When he got home with House he was feeling really good. House kept asking him how he was doing. He kept saying great.
"Just because you feel fine now doesn't mean you'll feel fine later. You'll be feeling it tomorrow or the next day. I want you to remember I'm here for you. Anything you need, I'm …" House wasn't good at verbalizing. He was worried Wilson was taking all of this too well. He didn't want Wilson to be upset, but he expected it. The longer it took to come out, the worse it was going to be.
"Again, I'm fine, House. I'm sitting on our couch and there's no place I'd rather be. Look, you've had, what, three concussions in the last 15 months? I don't recall you needing any special treatment." Wilson raked his nails over the short hairs along House's neckline. House had it razor cut Wednesday and it had grown back to the perfect length to feel under his nails.
"You're not me. It's great that you aren't. I don't want you having nightmares and hallucinations. I'm used to horrible things happening to me. I'm glad you aren't used to them happening to you." House hoped that came across better than it sounded. Wilson leaned over and kissed his cheek.
"I don't court disaster the way you do. And if it means anything, I've never gotten used to horrible things happening to you." Wilson took House's hand. He really was doing fine. He hadn't realized how fragile House apparently thought he was. A few bumps and bruises was nothing to fall apart over. House brought Wilson hand to his lips and kissed it.
"Okay, I'll stop hounding you, but you need to let me know what you need when you need it. You're looking at me like that doesn't make any sense. I need you to let me know when you need. Neither one of us is good at communicating with each other." House wasn't good at expressing his emotional needs. He didn't like to admit he had any, but he knew Wilson was wise to that. House hoped Wilson understood without needing him to rephrase it.
"Okay, I will." Wilson thought House looked almost cute when he tried to say he cared - maybe not cute, but unsure in a sexy kind of way. "Right now I think I need to lie down. Up for a nap?"
"Napping's good. If you're good, I'll spoon ya." House followed Wilson to the bedroom. He was being over protective. Wilson would be fine. He looked fine. He looked better than fine. House liked it when Wilson wore his t-shirts. It almost never happened, but when they got home from the hospital Wilson put on House's Dead Kennedys shirt and a pair of pajamas bottoms.
House climbed into bed behind Wilson and rubbed his hands over the cotton t-shirt. His hands roamed over Wilson's chest and stomach. He loved how the shirt clung tightly to his body, how his body heated the fabric. House could touch it all day.
"House, get up." House didn't stop touching him. "House, stop molesting me and get up." House stopped. Wilson sounded serious.
"Fine, I won't touch you." House reluctantly unwrapped his arms from around Wilson and edged a few inches away from him. Wilson rolled over to face him.
"And the getting up part?" He smiled at House. House looked so concerned, verging on pouting, Wilson wanted to eat him up with a spoon. He didn't have a spoon.
"I thought you said we could nap. I do that lying down." House thought of all the times Wilson accused him of sending mixed signals. Maybe Wilson was getting a little revenge. "I won't 'molest' you. I won't even touch you. I'll stay way over here." House tried to make it sound jovial.
"No, I said I thought I needed to lie down. I'm not tired." Wilson hooked a finger in a belt loop on House's jeans. "You can nap if you want, but not wearing these."
Wilson's eyes were burrowing into House. And people think my eyes are intense, he thought standing up and undoing his jeans. He sat down on the bed to take them off. His leg hadn't enjoyed being at Wilson's bedside any more than the rest of him had. It was going to kick Wilson if he ever got hurt again.
"Can I lie down now or should I take a shower first?"
"Of course you can. It's your bed. You'd be more comfortable without the socks though." Wilson couldn't contain his smile. This was too much fun. House took off his socks and lay down before Wilson could make other suggestions.
"You really were worried about me, weren't you?" Wilson put his hand on House's stomach. Even through the shirt he could feel him tremble. Talking about anything remotely emotional or personal was difficult for House. Normally he accepted or ignored it. This time his nervousness was exciting.
"Yes," House said placing his hand over Wilson's, "very worried." Wilson leaned over and kissed House's neck below his ear.
"Were you scared?" Wilson slid his hand to House right nipple. He rubbed little circles around it. House tried to roll onto his side to face Wilson. Wilson pushed him in place. House didn't fight him.
"Yes, I was scared. I don't know what I'd do without you." Wilson kissed House's Adam's apple and sucked the skin lightly.
"That's how I felt every time I found you unconscious or got the 'House is down' call. I wanted to grab you and hold you and kiss you when I saw you were going to make it. Now that we're lovers I can do that." Wilson raked his teeth over the skin then bit him sharply. House hissed. He rolled onto his side and Wilson didn't try to stop him. He kept his hand on House's chest.
"I love you," House said before kissing Wilson. It was too brief and teasing for Wilson's liking.
"I know." He pinched House's nipple. He couldn't tell if House liked that or not. Wilson knew Wilson enjoyed it. House kissed his forehead next to his most visible injury.
"Even though you look like Frankenstein's monster." House smiled affectionately. Now that he knew Wilson was okay he would have time to find an outlet for his anger at Patient Eight. Taub had better hope the stitches didn't leave a scar or he'd be that outlet.
"Me want Greg," Wilson grabbed House's face and kissed him roughly. He used House's surprise to shove his tongue into his mouth. House moaned and gasped for air. Wilson took further advantage to bite House's tongue. He jerked away from him.
"Wilson," House managed to get out before being interrupted.
"Call me James." He pulled at the elastic band of House's boxers.
"Wilson, stop." House grabbed Wilson's roving hand.
"I said call me James. Or Jimmy. None of my wives called me Wilson especially while having sex." Wilson pulled up the hem of House's shirt. House stopped him.
"Fine, James, we aren't having sex." Wilson sighed and banged his head against House's shoulder. He had forgot about his bruised forehead and immediately winced. "Are you okay?" House let go of Wilson's arm to cup his cheek. Wilson was getting tired of House asking that.
"Yes, I'm okay. I'll be even better when you're naked."
"Wilson," House began, but retracted. "James, it isn't happening. Maybe later."
"You always say 'maybe later' and later doesn't happen. Don't you want me?" Wilson gave House his guaranteed guilt inducing big eyes. It didn't fail him.
"Of course I want you. I love you. I just don't want our relationship to be all about sex." House hated it when Wilson looked at him like that. He had no idea what he was supposed to say. "You're pretty beat up and my leg is killing me." Wilson had decided early in their relationship that when House said his leg was killing him he meant he was afraid the pain or the pills would keep him from performing. Usually Wilson would let it go. He didn't want to make House feel bad. This time he wasn't going to.
"I'm feeling better than I have in a long time. I might be sore later and I'd rather be sore from something other than a concussion and a few bruises." He snaked a hand under House's shirt to his back. He whispered in House's ear. "I need you. Don't you want to be inside me?" He could feel House's resolve collapsing.
"I want you inside me. Show me how much you love me." Wilson nipped House's ear lobe. Wilson ground his pelvis against House. "Don't make me beg, Greg. Unless me begging is what gets you hard." Wilson thrust his hips against House.
House kissed Wilson's lips gently. He wanted to give Wilson what he wanted, God did he want to, but he knew he'd disappoint him just like he screwed up outside the bedroom. He was semi-hard which he took as a miracle, but he wouldn't bet on working it up to anything useful. He didn't want to say it out loud. It would make it worse if he said the words.
"James," House couldn't get used to calling him that, "I don't want to let you down. I want you desperately. If we keep going we'll both end up disappointed and frustrated." This was so hard to say. Ever since he and Wilson finally got together he had been paralyzed with fear. Wilson might leave him. He couldn't keep him happy. He'd screw this up and be left with nothing. He worked hard at not upsetting the apple cart. It wasn't his usual M.O. The fear of disappointing Wilson outside the bedroom manifested itself in a different kind on inaction.
"I know it's not fair to you." House reached down and palmed Wilson's erection. "Maybe I can stroke you off. I know it isn't what you want, but it's something." He couldn't look at Wilson's face. He wondered if Wilson suspected it wasn't from the pain. He couldn't say it wasn't from the leg. His deformity made him more self conscious and that didn't help. Wilson stilled House's hand.
"You could, but I can jerk myself off." Wilson was glad House had finally admitted he had a problem. That was a huge step. Next step would be to address the problem. He had more immediate needs at the moment. "Why don't you use your mouth?" Wilson kissed the corner of House's mouth. "I'd really like that." House looked at him quizzically. Wilson was hoping, really hoping, House would do it. He'd never done it sober. Oh God, Wilson wanted it.
House was surprised at Wilson's request. He'd done it before, but only when they'd been drinking. Honestly, when he'd been drinking. And Wilson never asked. House could tell from his eye movement and a gentle nudge to his head what Wilson wanted. This time he'd made it clear.
"I could try." House sat up. He was feeling even more self conscious, but if he could make Wilson happy he'd do it.
Wilson pulled off his pajama bottoms. This was going to be good. He quickly grabbed a pillow and propped his torso up. He wanted a good perch to watch.
"Oh God, Greg, you have no idea how horny I am!" Wilson laughed.
"I can tell." House couldn't decide where he should be.
"Is this how you felt after your near deaths?"
"You didn't come close to dying, but no. After my close calls I feel even more numb than usual. I don't want to be around anybody." House was thinking of this as a geometry problem. If he moved here he could…
"You always over think the little things. You can make a snap life and death decision without a moment's hesitation. This isn't that difficult." Wilson secretly loved House's uncertainty.
"Yes, but this is more important than some stupid patient. I don't want to screw this up." Wilson chuckled.
"Don't worry so much, Greg. Why don't I talk you through it?" Wilson wet his lips. Too much fun – they never talked about, well, anything, but they certainly never talked about sex.
House looked at the floor for a moment then nodded. He didn't know if this was better or worse. At least it was better for Wilson.
That nod was the hottest thing Wilson had ever seen. He understood now why people tried to take control of something, anything after being helpless. It was intoxicating.
"Take your clothes off." Wilson marveled at his own voice. If House did it…
House hated being naked. Before the infarction he would take his clothes off at the drop of a hat. At the drop of any piece of clothing, really. Back then he thought he had a nice body, not great, but better than average. It wasn't just the scar. He didn't like being exposed, vulnerable. He took his clothes off for Wilson.
Wilson moved to the right side of the bed. He put his hands behind his head. House started to climb between Wilson's legs.
"No, I want you from the side. I want to watch your profile bob up and down my dick." House went to the left side of the bed and tried to position himself with some modesty. Wilson found it endearing, but it wasn't what he wanted.
"I only want to feel your mouth, your lips, your tongue, your teeth – no hands. Got it?" Wilson was a little worried House was going to panic on him. Was he shaking?
"Whatever you want, James." House hadn't expected to be so turned on by listening to Wilson's commands. He had to concentrate to get the first name thing right. That helped keep him grounded.
"Lick my tip. That's it. Lap at it, work your tongue. Yeah…mmmmm…now suck it – just the head. Mmmmm…ahhh…not so hard! Yeah yeah yeah move just like that, like that, yeah…mmmmmmm…God Greg! I love how your beard scrapes against my thigh. Haha, you tease!" Wilson dropped his arms to clench the covers in his hands. He bucked up into House's mouth.
"Sorry. Feels too good. I think you like it, too. Do you like sucking my cock? Do you?" House released Wilson's dick.
"Yes, I love sucking your cock." House liked it when someone told him that. He hoped Wilson did. House bent his head and sucked up and down the underside of Wilson's dick. He looked up at Wilson. He looked so good only wearing House's t-shirt. House reached up and rubbed Wilson's stomach. He didn't look away from Wilson's face. He remembered something Wilson said.
House stopped sucking and held the side of Wilson's cock with his teeth. He didn't bite hard. Wilson bit his lip. House moved his jaw slowly from side to side lightly grinding his teeth against Wilson's flesh as he moved up and down Wilson's shaft. He added beating his tongue quickly from side to side.
"Fuck! Oh God, House! Greg. Greg, Greg, Greg! You're so good at that. Ahhhhhmmmmm…okay, yeah, now suck me down your throat. I want to watch you swallow my cock."
House raked his teeth up to Wilson's tip. He swirled his tongue around the tip, then held the tip in his teeth. He licked at the slit and the pre-come. House was really enjoying the moans Wilson made. He hoped Wilson would let him do this again so he could catalog all his reactions. He sucked half of Wilson into his mouth. He hummed then moved up and down almost letting Wilson out of his mouth before sucking him in a little deeper than before.
"Ohmm," Wilson breathed heavily through his nose. "You look so good doing that. Yeah ahhhhh…Do you think you can take it all? Hmm? Think you can deep throat me? I bet I taste better than your Vicodin. Haha yeah…you like it. Suck me. Suck my dick. Ooooo! Yeah! All the way, yeah! Fuck! Faster! Oh God, now hold it there, yeah…up and down just a little… not so much, keep me deep." Wilson was trying to hold back. He fought the urge to plunge into House's mouth. He was also fighting to not come. He was losing that fight.
"I'm going to …Oh Greg, Greg, I want to come down your throat! Aaaaa...Oooo…Swallow …Fuck! Here it…now…Aaaaarrr!!!" Wilson exploded in House's mouth. He'd never come that hard with him, not that it wasn't good before, no, but this was that amazing. Wilson felt House swallow his semen. He choked a little and it felt incredible. "Oh man…wow…keep me in your mouth. I want to feel that wet heat…mmmmm…okay, baby, okay…" He pulled out of House's mouth. He immediately missed it, but House kissed his dick before moving down to lick his balls. He exaggerated lapping at Wilson's scrotum for Wilson's viewing pleasure. Wilson loved it. He could watch House all day.
"You are much better at that sober. Fuck, House!" House ran his chin around Wilson's thigh letting his stubble scratch the skin the way Wilson seemed to like it a moment earlier. Wilson moaned. "You are such a good cock sucker I think we should do this all the time." House chuckled and kissed Wilson's thigh.
"Of course you'd say that! You just have to lie there and take it." House sat up and stretched. He wanted to take Wilson in his arms, but he wasn't sure how that would go over. Even post-coitus Wilson had asked him to cut out the touching.
"Well in that case, next time I'll be more active. I have no problem fucking your throat." Wilson sat up and moved in closer to House. He ran his fingertips around House's shoulder. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? You can stay still and I'll fuck your face." Wilson kissed House's shoulder. "We're going to do this every chance we get." Wilson moved in closer and wrapped his arms around House's middle. "It's a good thing you like my come because you're going to be eating it every day. Sound good?" He bit House's shoulder. House groaned.
"Anything for you," House said looking lovingly at Wilson. If he could keep Wilson from leaving him or cheating on him by sucking his cock it certainly wasn't a hardship. He closed his eyes remembering all the sounds Wilson made.
"What will you do, Greg? I want to hear you say the words." Wilson felt so good he thought it would only take House's voice to get him hard again.
"I'm going to suck your dick every day. I'm going to kiss you and lick you and stroke you with my mouth until I taste your come." Wilson slammed his mouth against House's. They kissed passionately and Wilson imagined he could taste himself in House's mouth. Wilson slipped his left hand between House's legs.
"And you were worried you'd disappoint me." Wilson stroked House's erection with his left hand. "Do you know what I'm going to do with this?" Wilson pumped House hard. "I'm going to make you my personal amusement park. I'm going to ride you like a carousel horse. Get on your back." House was too high on endorphins and lust to argue. He got on his back and closed his eyes.
Wilson jumped up and fished a bottle of lube out of the night stand. Sadly, it was almost full. He was going to make up for that. He pumped a generous amount into his hand then reached back and slammed a finger into his ass. Wilson wasn't going to take his time. He wanted it now. He added a second finger pushing the lube in and around. He pulled them out. That was good enough. He didn't care if it hurt or even if there was a little tearing. He wanted House inside him and couldn't wait another minute. Remembering House's 'cooties' policy and the Clinic patients, Wilson threw a condom at him. House opened his eyes when he felt something hit his chest.
"Put it on." Wilson climbed onto the bed. "Now, House. Sorry, Greg." It was his rule. He'd have to follow it. Wilson stroked House while House opened the wrapper. House put the condom on and a second later felt Wilson straddle him. Wilson reached for House's hard dick and positioned it against his opening. House was already breathing heavy.
Wilson smiled down at House before impaling himself on House's penis. He screamed. He was filled with House. It hurt better than anything he'd ever felt. He bent over House. House reached up to steady him. Wilson gritted his teeth and pulled almost completely off House before slamming back down on his dick. They both yelled. Wilson lifted up a little then bounced up and down at what he thought of as a cantering pace. It was delicious. He pulled off the t-shirt he forgot he was wearing.
"Oh God, Wilson!" House massaged Wilson's hips.
"Call me James when you fuck me," Wilson said pinching House's nipples. Wilson rode up and slammed down hard several times to make his point.
"Fuck! James! Jame… so fucking tight…hmmmmhhhmmm…" House's fingers gripped hard into Wilson's hips on his next upward stroke. He held him still and thrusted up several times harder than he normally would. Wilson started matching his thrusts.
This, Wilson thought, was more like a gallop. He was getting hard again. Without breaking the pace he pried one of House's hands off his hip and wrapped it around his cock. House stroked him in time with his thrusts.
"Damn Greg! YOooO…YOooO…YOooO!" Wilson slowed them down. "Is your…Christ!...your leg doing okay? Aaaaahhh!"
"Yeah." House snorted between pants. He couldn't catch his breath. Wilson slammed down hard causing House stop thrusting and stroking. Wilson pulled himself off House slowly. He got on all fours.
"Fuck me hard. Get up, Greg. Do it now. Fuck my brains out."
House moved as quickly as he could. His leg was in agony. At least it was a useful delay tactic to keep from coming. He wasn't sure if he had 'fucking his brains out' strength left, but he was going to give it the ol' college try. He lined up behind Wilson.
"You've developed a real potty mouth." He manhandled Wilson's buttocks. He entered Wilson slowly. When he was in as deep as he could get, House bent down awkwardly and kissed Wilson's back. "Maybe I can shut you up by screwing your sweet ass." He pounded into Wilson. He alternated from hard and deep to short and fast.
Wilson was falling apart. This was what he'd wanted. House was going to wreck him. It was passionate and dirty and he couldn't get enough.
"Fuck…fuck my ass…so good, so good…" House couldn't respond with anything but groans. He reached an arm back almost losing his balance and slapped his own ass.
House got the message and slapped the other side. He kept up as long as he could, but House was only human. He came with a raspy breath. He grunted as he gave Wilson a few final thrusts. He bent forward and kissed Wilson's back again before falling backwards onto the bed.
Wilson took several deep breaths before moving. He didn't understand how House could worry about not being a good lover. He was amazing. He knew things and could do things he'd never even heard of. He was just too timid with Wilson. He'd put an end to that. He crawled next to House and curled around his left side. He used House's chest as a pillow.
"You have no idea how good that was." Wilson was still panting, but he wanted to make his point clear to House. "Do you have any idea how hot you are?" Wilson kissed House's chest. "How sexy?" He placed kisses across House's chest. "I can't believe how lucky I am." House wriggled down so he at face level with Wilson.
"I love you, James Wilson." House kissed Wilson's lips. He put his hand around Wilson's reborn erection as his tongue entered Wilson's mouth. Wilson moaned and dove his tongue in after House's. House stroked him rhythmically. He added a twist then pulled up on Wilson's glans.
"Didn't I say I didn't want a hand job?" Wilson thrust into House's hand.
"I don't think you mind." House reached his other hand down and pushed Wilson's balls inward. He jerked Wilson's cock roughly. He moved his groin closer to Wilson's. He pulled Wilson's dick and ground the tip into his lower abdomen. House didn't like talking to Wilson like one of his hookers, but since Wilson seemed to enjoy it he'd give it a shot.
"There's probably not much you don't mind, hot, horny slut like you. You really liked me fucking your ass." House let go off Wilson's balls and slipped his hand between Wilson legs parting them just enough to let him in. He slid his hand between his butt cheeks and fingered Wilson anus before wriggling a finger inside. He rubbed Wilson's prostate from the inside while stroking his thumb against the outside flesh over it.
Wilson thought he had just developed asthma. He couldn't catch his breath to breathe out. Why hadn't House done this months ago?!
"You look so good when you're about to come. Next time I'm going to screw you with your legs bent over my shoulders so I can watch your face. Yeah, watch your face while I pound inside you, deep inside you. Look at me. I said look at me, bitch! You want me to make you come, hmm? Maybe this still isn't enough for you. Maybe next time I'll share you with our poker buddies. High card gets to go first. I'll get you all the dick you want, more than you want. We'll fuck you real good. I'll fuck your…"
Wilson shot come onto House's stomach. For a moment he thought he was going to pass out. He dropped his liquefied body on its back. He opened his eyes in time to see House using tissues to wipe Wilson's come off his stomach. He lifted his hand up to his mouth and licked off a stray bit.
"That is so nasty and dirty and hot, you lusty cocksucker," Wilson said laughing. House smiled. It was the smile Wilson suspected he was the only one to ever see. House lay down and held an arm around Wilson's chest. His fingers danced along Wilson's side.
"I try to keep you satisfied, you insatiable cock monkey." They both chuckled.
Wilson thought about showering, but he was close to dozing off and he felt too good to move. House's finger hit the spot where his body hit the exam table. He hissed. House jumped.
"I forgot. Are you okay?" House had let Wilson's injuries slip his mind. He could have hurt him. What was he thinking?
"I'm fine. And, again, stop asking. How's your leg?" Wilson felt a little guilty. If House's leg was killing him before it must be unbearable now.
"It's fine. I'm still riding my Wilson high." House reluctantly got up and limped to the door. "I'm going to grab some pills. I think you're due, too."
Wilson watched House until he couldn't see him from the bed. Even with his leg and his limp he had a kind of grace Wilson envied. Wilson thought of him as regal. He wouldn't tell House that for fear he'd tell him to call him King.
House popped two pills and grabbed Wilson's pills and his cane. His leg was tingling in that way he knew a violent spasm would be along shortly.
"Here you go. Your sweet ass is going to be your sore ass." He handed the bottle to Wilson who hadn't moved. He sat up on an elbow and opened the bottle. "I forgot to get you some water." House turned to leave.
"That's alright. If you can dry swallow your horse pills, I can force down these Chiclets." He tossed two pills in his mouth and swallowed. It felt like they were stuck in his throat, but he wasn't going to let House know that. "Come back to bed." Wilson guessed he was feeling what House did when he needed to touch him.
House needed to soak in some hot water before his leg reminded him who was boss, but looking at Wilson lying there all mussed up and sleepy he had to curl up next to him for at least a few minutes. He couldn't pass up a cuddly Wilson.
***
The rest of the weekend flew by and it was Monday before Wilson knew it. Cuddy insisted he take a week off to recuperate. Time off without using his vacation days was almost worth a beating. Almost. As House predicted he really started to feel the pain Sunday night. House spent an hour massaging his neck. That was also almost worth a beating. He wondered why he had ever been bothered by House's constant touching. He found himself reaching out for House's hand while they watched television. House actually looked happy! That was worth a beating. Such a simple thing and it meant the world to House. Wilson was going to make sure he didn't forget that. He didn't think he would now that he liked it, too.
House had planned on taking a few days off to take care of Wilson. Wilson said he didn't need a baby sitter and he didn't, but an excuse like this to hang out with him too good to pass up. It was a bonus that he wouldn't be at the hospital. The universe had other plans and a woman came in with stigmata and a mysteriously missing kidney. House couldn't pass on that one. Wilson had told him about the vacation he'd been thinking about moments before the attack. House didn't like the idea of Wilson going off without him, but maybe if he had a few days at home alone he wouldn't need to go away by himself. He kissed Wilson senseless, reminded him to call if he wanted anything no matter how trivial, and left. Even with stigmata kidney lady he thought it was going to be a long day.
***
"House! Wilson's been hurt," Cameron said from the ER. House looked at the speaker phone with exasperation.
"Yes, very funny. Are people standing around waiting to see me rush in worried about my boyfriend? I'm glad Friday's incident amuses you."
"No, House, they brought him in two minutes ago. Traffic accident. He's conscious, but he's pretty banged up. I'm sending him for x-rays. He told me not to call you. He said you were going to be really pissed."
House blanched. He was going to be really pissed once he knew Wilson was fine. Where was Wilson going? He could have called for anything he wanted. House got to the ER faster than most people would think he could travel.
***
Wilson was bored by 10. Reading was giving him a headache. He wasn't used to spending this much time alone in their home which still felt distinctly like House's place.
Maybe he could make something for lunch and take it to House. No. House would get mad at him doing too much.
He could go see a movie. He hadn't done that on a weekday in ages. No. He'd want to tell House about the movie and then House would lecture him about watching movies instead of resting.
He could go for a drive. He didn't have to go any place in particular, but getting out would be nice. He was feeling restless. No. House wouldn't want him to drive with a concussion…but he felt fine…House was being over protective…and House wouldn't know…
Wilson looked for 20 minutes before he gave up finding his car keys. House had hidden them too well. He probably took them with him. That wasn't playing fair.
He was trying to think of something else to do when he spied House's helmet. He hadn't been on a motorcycle since college. It hadn't been a motorcycle like House's, but it was still a bike. It was his roommate's bike and he almost crashed it. He swore he'd never get on one again. He wouldn't even ride on the back of House's. Although know that he discovered the joy of simply touching it would be pretty awesome to hold on to House while he drove through the streets. He wouldn't drive like a madman with Wilson riding on the back, but Wilson was sure it would be exciting enough without House trying to scare him.
He picked up the helmet and on a whim put it on. It was a lot tighter than he remembered his roommate's being. He had to see what he looked like. In the mirror he thought he didn't look nearly as silly as he thought he would. If anything, he looked damn good.
He remembered when House had jumped on the bike and drove away after he was held hostage. It was stupid. House should have let somebody drive him home. But that wasn't House's style. He scoffed at death and then chased after it. It was a romantic image in its way.
Wilson didn't make a conscious decision, but he was standing next to House's motorcycle before he knew it. There was no way he could hide riding the bike from House. Then again, House had no reason to believe Wilson would take it for a joy ride. And what if he did find out? House might be proud of Wilson for conquering his fear and doing the macho/Steve McQueen move. Maybe. Probably not, but it was enough of a possibility he held on to the idea while he straddled the bike.
It was wider than he thought. House looked so natural on it; Wilson had assumed it was comfy. It was a good thing it didn't fit Wilson. He wouldn't want to go more than around the block. He wouldn't get carried away and end up on the other side of town. He adjusted the mirrors then turned the key. This was exciting! He was alive!
There wasn't any traffic in the quiet neighborhood. He'd be able to go around the block without too much worry about other drivers. The first two blocks were bumpy. He had to relearn the clutch, brake, and gears. Again, House made it look so simple. The next block was easier. By the time he was back where he started he had remembered all the tricks. It would be a shame to stop now.
He could drive over to Benji's deli and have some lunch. That was only a few blocks. He would be back in no time. He was a block away before he finished rationalizing it.
It was much easier after another few blocks. Maybe he'd borrow the bike for his vacation. House would hate that, but if Wilson asked the right way at the right moment he knew House couldn't refuse him.
Wilson was looking for a parking space when he heard the ice cream truck. Out of childhood conditioning he turned to see it. That was a bad idea. He lost control. The bike hopped on the sidewalk and he fought to get back on the street. He lost his footing. He was only going 5 M.P.H. when he hit the trash can. He fell off. The bike continued without him a few feet before being stopped by a street lamp.
As things started to go black Wilson could only think that he couldn't keep House from finding out about his joy ride now.
***
House didn't understand how Wilson could be in a car accident. He'd told him to call if he needed anything. House had his car keys and both spares. Did Wilson have a fourth key hidden away? He'd taken them because he could picture Wilson thinking he didn't want to be a bother and could get that carton of milk for himself. Had Wilson passed out while driving? Had he made his concussion worse? Then House stopped thinking. His imagination tended to the morbid and he couldn't deal with that right now.
He saw the helmet before he saw Wilson. What had Cameron said? 'Traffic accident'.
"Are you okay?" House dared Wilson to tell him to stop asking that.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I think my leg is broken. I told them not to bother you." Wilson felt unbearably guilty. "I'm really sorry about your bike." More than the broken bone was making Wilson nauseas.
"What about your head? Your neck? You didn't acerbate your previous injuries?" House knew there was time to yell at Wilson later when he wasn't hepped up on painkillers.
"No, I had the, uh," Wilson pointed at the helmet, "that. House, I'm really sorry. Really, really sorry." Wilson was unnerved by House's lack of yelling. House pulled back the sheet and looked at Wilson's left leg.
"Yep, that's broken. How fast were you going?" Wilson braced himself for the shouting.
"Not fast. I was parking. Well, I was about to park. I was practically standing still. Think you can spare a Vicodin or two?" House looked at his new motorcycle jacket. He'd only worn it once. He examined it closely.
"These scrape marks say you were in motion." He didn't want to get angry. He was going to keep his cool and concentrate on his concern.
"I wasn't going far."
"Why were you going anywhere? You were supposed to be resting. You have a concussion! And now I have to wonder if it was worse than I thought. Stealing a motorcycle is out of character for you." Wilson had been waiting for that.
"I'm not as predictable as everybody seems to think."
"Clearly."
"I wanted to get out and do something. It sounded like fun. It sounded exciting." Wilson lowered his voice and added, "You didn't mind me wanting to have fun this weekend."
"What next? Pick up a hooker? Try some street drugs?" House knew he sounded angry. He couldn't help it.
"Why not? It's nothing you haven't done." House looked at Wilson for a clue. He didn't see confirmation, but he didn't see anything to disprove his theory.
"Why would you want to do something just because I did it? You realize I'm not a good role model, right?"
"Maybe I want to loosen up some. Maybe I have a better understanding of where you're coming from now." Wilson sat up as much as he could before wincing. "House, I understand why you do so many stupid things!" House glared. "I don't mean stupid, but reckless, you know, crazy. It's exciting! I can't believe I've led such a boring life!"
"And you came to this conclusion because you were assaulted. Here's what's going to happen. Cameron's going to wrap your leg. Foreman's going to run some more tests. Hopefully he finds something we can fix. I'll get you a psych consult."
"I don't need a psych consult! You of all people should understand! I could have been killed, but I'm alive!"
"And that isn't a good reason to take more risks!" Wilson shook his head.
"You take risks all the time. I've watched you take insane chances for years. Now I get it! I see why you like living on the edge."
"I hate living on 'the edge'! I take chances because my life isn't worth anything. Your life is. I know I make it look like fun and all, but near death is really close to final death. You couldn't have stopped that crazy patient from knocking your noggin, but there was a real easy way to avoid your latest brush with danger."
"I hate it when you say crap like that, House. Your life is worth something to me."
"And you are everything to me." House saw Wilson's mouth twitch. He thought he was getting through to him. "Do you love me?" Wilson looked around. Even with the curtain drawn he could see three people who could easily be listening to them. He didn't doubt Cameron was hovering within earshot and God knows who else. He didn't want it to bother him, but it did.
"I don't think this is the time or place to talk about this. We can talk about it when I get home." Wilson hoped House would listen to him for once.
"Fine, don't answer that question. Answer this: How did you feel when I was shot?" Wilson didn't want to think about it. That was one of the worst days of his life.
"I was upset. I thought you were going to die." Wilson hoped House had a point to this.
"And how did you feel when I put that knife in the electrical socket?"
"I was upset." House shook his head.
"No, you were angry. I had planned it so I wouldn't die, but I couldn't be sure. I wasn't even slipping you the sausage back then and you were still angry. It was a conscious decision on my part. Like you getting on my motorcycle was a conscious decision. You knew you shouldn't be moving around and you knew you hadn't ridden a bike in 20 years. I've tried to get you on it since I bought it. You thought it was too dangerous. Now you want to risk life and limb for kicks. Do you care how that makes me feel? I love you. I'd be lost without you. I wouldn't be without you."
"House…"
"I've been trying to be less impulsive, safer. Why? Because I thought now that we are finally together you cared. Because I didn't want to put you through the worry again and I don't want to make you angry. You don't care enough about me to not make me worry. I accept that you don't love me, but do you have any feelings for me? Even as your best friend? If you don't, I'll race you to the finish line. You want to see dangerous? People will talk for years about how I flamed out."
Wilson didn't know what to say. House turned and pulled back the curtain. A small crowd had gathered as Wilson had feared.
"House, stop making a scene. We can talk about this later. Don't do anything stupid."
"Stupid? I thought you said the stupid things I do are exciting." House limped away without looking back. Wilson couldn't follow after him.
***
House hadn't given a dramatic death much thought previously. He thought about killing himself, who didn't, but he had thought of it in terms of making it easy on himself. Dramatic hadn't been a consideration. Drama naturally followed him. Looking for something with shock value was a different animal. Not that he was going to actually do it. If Wilson gave it more than two minutes thought he'd know that. Probably. Maybe. Possibly. Considering Wilson knew him better than anyone it dawned on House that Wilson didn't know him at all.
"I'm supposed to make sure you don't do something you can't undo," Chase said dropping into House's guest chair. House had been staring at the wall, lost in thought and hadn't noticed him entering.
"And who sent you on this noble mission?" House already knew the answer.
"Cameron." And House wasn't always right.
"What are your thoughts on self-immolation? That could be pretty showy."
"Apparently she had to have Wilson restrained to keep him in his bed even with the broken leg. He's convinced you're going to kill yourself to prove a point to him."
"And you don't think I'll do it?" House smiled. He'd worried Wilson. Good.
"I know you're not going to, but I'm guessing you are trying to teach him a lesson. I don't know or care what it is. Do you want me to run down in a panic and say you jumped off the roof?" House shook his head.
"Jumping doesn't have the Wow factor I want. What about harakiri? Would you be up to chopping off my head to be on the safe side? You can even shout 'There can be only one!'. People would talk about that for decades." Chase crossed his arms.
"We both know you aren't going to really do it." House hated being transparent.
"Yeah, you're supposed to write a poem before you stab. I only write limericks." Chase didn't react. He waited for House to get it out of system. "No, I'm not going to really do it. I might fake it to put the fear of Senseless Action into him." House knew it sounded stupid, but that didn't mean it wouldn't work.
"He's already worried about you. Everybody is always worried about you."
"There worried about what I'll do, not about me."
"Fine, if that's the way you want to twist it, fine, but Wilson is worried about what you will do to you."
"Good. I want to shake him up. He needs to get back to acting like Wilson."
"So he should go back to worrying about you instead of you worrying about him. Is he stepping on your copyright?"
"I want us to stop worrying about each other. No, I want us to stop having reasons to worry about each other." Chase nodded.
"There putting a hard cast on Wilson's leg. It might slow him down, but he's going to be looking for you. You could save him the trip. He'll snap out of it. You should try talking to him. Just because you breeze through assaults and brushes with death doesn't mean everybody can."
House nodded. Staging a suicide was way easier than talking.
***
Wilson thought he was wasting time. Cameron had insisted on a hard cast. Then she wasted more time trying to debate him on what color tape to use. He told her brown. She finally decided on light blue. It seemed to take forever to dry enough he could move.
Before he could roll out of the ER to find House, Foreman showed up and demanded a CT to see if he'd caused any additional damage. Wilson told him it could wait, but Foreman wasn't the type to take no for an answer. Foreman haggled he would wheel Wilson around the hospital to search for House after the test. Wilson agreed to avoid other delays.
Wilson tried not to squirm, but he was going out of his mind. He didn't think House would kill himself, but he knew he wasn't above hurting himself. His imagination went quickly to worst case scenarios. House was great at planning, but things tended to go wrong for him. At the moment things weren't going right for Wilson as Foreman yelled at him to be still. After another concentrated effort to not move Wilson was sure they had it.
"You can move, but stay there."
"Like I could go anywhere!"
"I need to check something." Foreman sounded all business. Wilson was suddenly hit with a terrible idea. Foreman did sound like he was in full doctor mode. Was there bleeding in his brain? Even with the helmet he could have caused some serious damage to his already concussed head. If he had House was going to kill him.
"Is that something, something wrong? If it isn't an emergency we can deal with it later." Foreman didn't answer. "I need to find House."
"Found. I suck at Hide and Seek." House! Wilson tried to scramble out of the machine. "Don't move. I'm fine. I need you to stay there for a minute, okay?" Wilson settled back into place. He hadn't made any real progress getting out, but the flailing had winded him and his leg was starting to hurt. "By the way, baby blue looks good on you."
"It's called light blue. It reminds me of how your eyes look in sunlight." Wilson knew that was corny, but he didn't care. He was just glad to hear House's voice. Then he remembered Foreman. "Um, is Foreman still with you?" House had to smile. Wilson's predictability returning was a good sign.
"I told him to get lost. I don't want anybody but you hearing what I've got to say." It wasn't his intention, but House thought that sounded dire.
Wilson thought that sounded dire. Was House going to break up with him? House was always worried Wilson would leave him. Maybe he worried because he was thinking about getting out of the relationship and assumed Wilson felt likewise. He knew he was stuck thinking in terms of the worst. He'd rather hear he needed brain surgery than hearing House wouldn't be there to mock his shaved head when he woke up from brain surgery.
"If it's my health, tell me. If it's about us, please give us a chance to work through this before you do anything I'll regret."
"I wanted to tell you I'm sorry." Wilson didn't know what House had to be sorry about, but he hoped it wasn't 'sorry, I'm leaving'.
"House, please…"
"Don't interrupt. You know I hate to talk about personal things so don't make this harder than it already is." Wilson was confused, but complied. "I was talking to Chase and he said something about how I breeze through my close calls. It occurred to me you might think that, too. If that's the case, it makes sense that you would try to deal with your assault the way you think I would."
House's hands were shaking. It was too warm in the room. He could feel his fight or flight instinct trying to break out of his subconscious. He took several deep breaths before continuing.
"There are two major flaws in that plan. First, you aren't me and I'm very glad for that. Second, the assumption that I handle it well isn't true. I've tried to explain it to you, but now I see I didn't really do that. I…When…Ok, for example, when I was shot I know everybody thinks I cruised through and started tap dancing. The third day I was home, nobody came over to see me, nobody called. I was finally alone. Without somebody to be a brave soldier in front of I fell apart. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stop crying. The walls were closing in, but at the same time I felt like my position was exposed and I needed to go for cover. I freaked. As soon as I could I took advantage of being pain free. I wasn't running because I could, but because I had to get away. I felt trapped.
"And this is going to sound stupid so take it as a sign of how badly I was taking it. I flipped out about my leg not hurting. I've lived with the pain so long and it's been such a big part of my life it was like I'd lost a part of myself. I needed something to fill that space. I told you it was stupid. I was so alone. You didn't have time for me and even my pain deserted me.
"Anyway, you and Cuddy thought, well, I'm not going to speculate what you really thought, but you both acted like I needed to change who I am. I think I was coming to terms with being mobile when I found out you lied to me. I did some really horrible, self destructive crap to myself then. I didn't deal with it well. I didn't breeze through it.
"You know the rest. When the pain came back I went to you and you didn't believe me. I was so…pissed off, hurt, mad that you lied to me and there I was baring my biggest fear that the pain was returning and you accused me of lying." House was getting upset. He didn't want to cry in front of Wilson.
"That's why I took your prescription pad. It was so clear that I didn't matter to you. I thought if you didn't want to be my friend you could at least be my supplier. And the answer to the question you never asked is no, I didn't scarf down the pills for fun. I stock piled them for when I'd need them. Where do you think all those pills Tritter found came from? Do you think if I had a boatload of pills I would have gone to you for help? It was humiliating admitting I was failing at being normal. Again.
"But I'm off topic. My point is I didn't handle any of it well. You know those nightmares I have? I tell you I don't remember them and I'm pretty sure you assume they're about my leg. Some are. Others are about the shooter or just hearing the gun going off over and over or feeling the panic of ice water covering me or all the bad stuff that's happened to me happening to you…" House cleared his throat. Part of him regretted telling Wilson any of this.
"So if you think acting like me is going to keep you from being scared you're wrong because I'm scared all the time." House needed to do something so at least part of his brain wasn't thinking about what a fool he'd made of himself by telling all this to Wilson. At least with the cast on he couldn't quickly run away. He walked into the CT room. He hesitated freeing Wilson from the machine. He touched Wilson's exposed toes. Wilson jerked away and banged a hand. House grimaced and set about getting Wilson out of the machine and the head cradle.
"Foreman says it doesn't look like you caused any further injury to your pretty little head. Let's get you up. Let me get a wheelchair." Wilson grabbed House's arm. House turned and saw Wilson was crying. "I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry." House ran a hand through Wilson's hair before rubbing his thumb along his cheekbone. Wilson pulled House's hand away.
"I'm not doing okay." Wilson grabbed House and pulled him close. The cast wasn't helping. House moved in closer and Wilson hugged him. Hard. Wilson was sobbing uncontrollably. Part of him worried about leaving tears and snot on House's shirt, but not a big enough part to stop.
House kissed Wilson forehead by his stitches. He couldn't believe Wilson was hugging him in public. Sure they were alone now, but anybody could come in at any moment. Maybe it was acceptable because people assumed he'd hug him after a motorcycle crash.
"I feel really stupid." Wilson didn't let go. He understood why House hadn't wanted to talk face to face. He couldn't look up at him. "I was knocked out by a patient. It wasn't anything life threatening. Security was right there. I keep thinking what would have happened if that security guard hadn't walked in when he did. If the patient before him hadn't had a spurned wife. I know it's nothing like the things you've gone through, but..." Wilson burst into a new series of sobs. Did he want to be like House? At the moment he wanted to be able to distance himself from emotions like him.
"I've thought about those things. The big one for me is what if I hadn't switched shifts with you. None of this would have happened to you. I switched with you because I thought you were stressed out. I thought I was doing a good thing. Like all the other times I've tried to do good, bad things happen. At least when I'm only trying to do the right thing I don't feel as bad about the outcome not being good." House laughed a little to soften his words. He had to stop talking about himself. This was about Wilson. "There's nothing stupid in you being upset. To begin with you don't have a frame of reference for violence. I bet, not counting your brothers, you can count how many times you've been punched."
"Once. Ten years ago that guy at that dive bar you were fighting with hit me when I tried to stop it." He nestled his head into House's chest. He wasn't comfortable in this position and he knew House wasn't, but he didn't want to let go.
"I'm sorry about that. At least I beat the hell out of him for you." House remembered the rage he felt when that ham-fisted drunk hit Wilson. Now it was an amusing anecdote. "I bet you were the great mediator as a kid, too." House worried Wilson was going to fall off the small platform.
"Yeah. But this was different."
"Sure, I didn't directly indirectly cause it. This time I indirectly directly indirectly caused it. Now my head hurts. I'm going to let go of you for a moment. Just a moment. I can't carry you to that chair. I'll bring the mountain to you, Mohammed." Wilson didn't let go.
"You said you're scared, but it isn't like this." Wilson was clutching at House's shirt. "I don't want to think about this. I want to be the brave, little soldier you say you pretend to be, but I know you are. Say whatever you will, but this wouldn't faze you. You're unflappable. You'd..."
"Crash my motorcycle? Maybe. I've done dumber things. But, again, that's me. You should do what you think will help you. I'm guessing mulling over all the possible outcomes, realizing that you got lucky, followed by telling the story with plenty of hyperbole to the barista at Coco's and the deli girl at Benji's."
"I was on my way to Benji's when I crashed." House wriggled out of Wilson's grasp hoping he'd balance himself for five seconds. Wilson wobbled, but he didn't fall down. House hooked the wheelchair with his cane and dragged it over.
"Now you can tell them about your Evel Knievel escapade. They will swoon." House jumped back to Wilson and caught him as he started to fall backwards. "No fair you swooning. That's for the chicks." House cradled Wilson backwards a little more and used the position to kiss him. "It's all going to be okay, Wilson. It really will be." House pulled Wilson back up to a sitting position. "It might take longer than you expect. I promise you're going to get through this. You're going to be alright." House knew he said it too much, but he didn't care. "I love you, Wilson."
"I love you, too, House." Even with a cracked skull, broken leg, and jangled nerves, Wilson felt more right than he had in a very long time.