Summary: When House overdoses while out of town, the hospital calls Cameron. Wilson's jealousy causes him to do something a little unsavoury. Threats, blackmail, altering another's legal papers. What would you do for the one you loved? HW slash.
OoOoO"Why did you do it?"
Wilson knew there was no point in playing dumb. It had obviously been him. Thankfully this was something obvious only to House, who knew significantly more about him and some of his rather unsavoury acquaintances than the rest of the hospital staff. However, since it was obvious to House, the threat of blackmail loomed on the horizon, and Wilson knew that he had to at least attempt to tread carefully. He thought about it for a moment.
And came up with nothing. He'd hired someone to threaten Cameron –at knifepoint (gunpoint cost extra, and there had been some slight problems with his credit rating after the whole Tritter incident)- to stay away from House; what was there not to hide? She was lovely, Cameron was. Polite, and friendly, and ever so concerned, and more fucking attractive than half the hospital nursing staff combined. Why would anyone dislike her?
"Why?" Wilson, incredulous, repeated the question, because to him it was obvious, "Because I can't stand the way she looks at you! The way she touches you and the way you let her! It's supposed to be my job, the best friend's job and you've known her for 3 years, and what? You think she's better than me? And I can see you about to deny it but I won't believe you because you chose her over me. And it hurts. It hurts, and you can tell because I'm actually saying this to you without a thought for how you're going to react. Because I know you hate it when I get like this but sometimes I just can't help it because you're so fucking infuriating!"
He hadn't meant to explode. Honestly he hadn't. The idea of cleaning his own bodily fluids, combined with his dignity and his precious image of self-restraint, off the walls just didn't appeal to him. Still, he'd been suppressing those feelings for weeks; he'd wanted to hit something when he'd heard the news that House had almost died –again- from an overdose and Cameron had been the one they fucking called, and two weeks later, when Cameron was still being hailed as the one who had saved his damn life when all she'd done was turn up at the hospital looking about as concerned as she always fucking looked… he just couldn't help himself. He had to say something. Even if he did feel like a complete idiot, something that wasn't especially helped by House's deadpan,
"You done?"
"Yeah." Wilson sighed, trying to cling to the shred of dignity he had left. It was probably about the same size as House's self-restraint, "Yeah I'm done."
He repeated it to tell himself, more than anything, and his gaze flitted evasively to the ceiling as he tried to suppress the urge to just run before House humiliated him further for his slight overreaction.
"Good. You know, she hasn't been able to look me in the eye since. That's the thing, I just can't help pushing people away."
House's voice was wistful, and as if the tone hadn't been unsuited for him already, he'd exaggerated it further. He was mocking someone, and Wilson's eyes narrowed as he thought that it had better not be him.
"What?"
House sighed, his expression suddenly a lot more serious. He'd always been so much better at broaching a subject than actually having to talk about it. Jokes could only get him so far.
"I didn't call her. She's been… sorting out my mail, some of my legal papers. She's my emergency contact."
"What?"
House actually had to suppress a wince at the tone of Wilson's voice; he was very, very angry and the quiet volume he spoke in almost sent shivers down his spine as threats of vengeance loomed on the horizon. There was very little anger left in his friend, and House was used to hearing melancholy and resignation. This was different, though. Very different. He had to be careful or Cameron had much worse than threats coming her way.
"Apparently she didn't think you'd be objective."
"And she would?" Wilson stared at him, House's relief at the change from angry to outraged fairly obvious as he let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, "They asked me if I wanted her dead, I said no. Why didn't I do it?"
And he was talking to himself. Okay, redirecting energies was good, at least. Needed to continue doing that.
"And ruin your potential martyrdom? For a sex-deprived, far-too-skinny, less-than-talented, manipulative whore?"
He could see Wilson looking at him, curious and calculating, and knew why.
"You think that?"
"No, you do."
House smiled. It always caused Wilson so much anguish to think that he was possibly insulting another human being, even if it was painfully obvious he hated their guts. Poor guy. He just wanted to be loved.
"I've never said that."
So cautious, eyes still narrowed in that suspicious, guarded way House was oh-so used to.
"Oh, not in words," House was casual as he explained, listing with a tone that implied just how obvious it all was even though, until recently, he hadn't even realised himself, "In the way you do things. Sex-deprived's in the patronising way you treat her when you've just got laid, skinny's when you see her eating and confusion flashes in your expression for a moment. Less-than talented, I got from you always watching her in that slightly guarded, trying-to-be-fatherly-when-anyone-notices-but-failing-dismally sort of way. Manipulative's the eyebrow arch when she says something a little too far in the wrong direction, and whore. Well, you almost growled out loud when her hand grazed mine as she passed me that file last week."
He placed particular emphasis on the last one, finally allowing his amusement to show at the fact that Wilson, stunned into silence by House's revelations, had been letting his mouth slowly fall open throughout the speech. House loved being the only one who could do that to him. Loved that he'd done it so often he knew exactly what Wilson was about to say.
"I hate you."
Wilson was upset, understandably; he hated seeming like such a bitch, and he worked so hard to protect his reputation as a nice guy. And House was just tearing him apart because of that one moment of weakness that had caused him to become so jealous.
"You love me."
"In the way I lace my shoes, right?" Wilson's response was sarcastic. How could it not be, when House was just looking at him like he was so much better than him? Because he was an ass, but at least he was always an ass, and at least he was honest about it. Wilson hated that superior attitude, his friend's opinion that being polite and actually doing his best to care about the people he knew was just a façade. Because it wasn't! He cared. And his jealousy of Cameron showed that, more than anything, he cared about House. And the other man knew it. Maybe that was what was so frustrating. He just wished, for a change, that he could be the one to express his own feelings, that he could say something without feeling so completely pathetic when faced with the one person he loved more than anyone else.
"No." House recognised the pain in Wilson's voice, his tone softening as he responded with as much sincerity as he could muster, because he knew Wilson was going to hate what he was about to say, "In the way you stare at my mouth when you think I'm not looking. In the way you make sure there's a certain distance between us when we're walking just in case I make a comment and you get flustered trying to deny it. The way you smile when I do something that I shouldn't have done, but you were expecting all the same. The way you still stick around, and the way you have this insane idea we're always gonna be best friends…"
House allowed his voice to trail off, taking a moment to deal with Wilson's expression in response to the contempt that had crept into his voice with his emphasis. After a pause, though, since he knew Wilson wasn't in any state to say anything and, in fact, looked like he was about to cry, he continued, doubt seeping through him as he expressed thoughts and emotions he'd kept hidden because, until that moment, he hadn't realised just how Wilson felt about him.
"Maybe I don't want a best friend. Maybe I just don't want you to be my best friend," again, he paused, watching Wilson carefully for any sign of an unexpected reaction but still seeing nothing but complete and utter shock. "Maybe that heartbroken expression means we both want it to be more than that."
He moved a little closer, still examining, expression sincere, searching for any sign of the negative reaction he feared so much. There was a reason that he'd confessed in a way so many other people would view as harsh. It was easier for him to predict and therefore avoid rejection at the hands of the only person he truly believed he needed. And, conveniently, the only person whose relief would be acute enough to forgive him. And as the first hint of said relief began to show in Wilson's expression, House took the risk he'd done his best to improve the odds of, and kissed him.
Wilson tensed, but House was almost sure it was still just shock. Sure enough to raise an arm, his hand resting gently on Wilson's hip, reassuring him and satisfying his own urge to just touch him. He wanted desperately to keep moving upwards, to glide fingers over a solid if not overly defined chest, to take his face in both hands and keep him that bit closer, to tangle his fingers in soft, perfectly groomed hair he'd always wanted to ruffle just to see the other man's annoyed expression fighting with his enjoyment of the attention. But he didn't. Because he'd put Wilson through enough already.
Goddamnit, he wished he knew when Wilson had become so cute; when a beautiful soft, confused whimper slipping from between those lips had become more arousing than anything else he could recall. When he'd started longing for less but so much more than empty, female caresses and started wanting what would previously have been considered frankly terrifying love and depth from the man he'd so recently realised was more to him than just a best friend.
When something as simple as a response to a kiss made him feel like his heart was going to explode. Suddenly needing to be that bit closer to the other man, he hooked him arm around Wilson's waist, pulling him so their chests touched, so he could feel the warmth of his body. He smiled, inexplicably finding great delight in the way Wilson took a moment to figure out where to put his hands, as if House cared where he touched him. It had just been too long since he'd felt like that; like there was somebody he wanted who wanted him in the same way, and there was nothing stopping them. Nothing, except apparently Wilson's hands on his chest suddenly, pushing him gently away. Since it was clearly less than urgent, House took a moment to adjust to the separation, pushing back with short, soft kisses he couldn't imagine initiating in any other situation and adoring how difficult Wilson was clearly finding it himself when faced with such uncharacteristic affection.
"You scared the shit out of me," the younger man reprimanded eventually, though, with an extra soft shove to House's chest and a soft, resigned smile that just made House want to kiss him even more. "That was mean."
"You should see me in the bedroom," House smiled, enjoying the feeling of Wilson relaxing in his arms, getting used to the experience. And, to his credit, he didn't tense again at the comment that suggested further exploration of what had just happened.
"Scaring the shit out of me could get messy. I'm not into that," Wilson's expression was amused, and House loved him for it. His easy acceptance, his knowledge that he couldn't push the discussion into anything too deep and his ability to return to the familiar banter that held so much more for the both of them.
"Mm. I'll tone it down. Just for you."
House moved a little closer once more, placing an emphasis on the last three words that told Wilson it meant more than it initially seemed to. Still, he didn't push it, pretending not to notice even though he knew House knew that he had.
"I feel so special."
Wilson found it difficult, but he managed to keep his voice consistently deadpan.
"Wouldn't do it for Cameron," House reminded him, though, with a victorious smile and eyebrow quirk that showed he knew just how much that fact would please him. Wilson refused to give in, though.
"What else wouldn't you do for Cameron?" he asked, quietly, hoping House wouldn't tease him for turning such a flippant comment into a challenge.
"I wouldn't make her breakfast." House offered, and Wilson frowned, having to think for a moment to figure out what he was talking about.
"You ordered bagels. Once. After my first divorce."
Wilson's expression of complete and utter disbelief at the credit House was taking for such a small gesture was faced with indifference. To House it made very little difference, since:
"I didn't buy her bagels after her divorce."
"Her husband died!"
"Yeah, and I still didn't buy her bagels."
And Wilson couldn't help it; he laughed. It was accompanied by a guilty feeling he doubted House had experienced in recent memory, but he laughed all the same. He didn't enjoy finding amusement in other peoples' suffering, honestly he didn't, but House just… got to him. And maybe he twisted him, but sometimes… he admitted things that made Wilson feel closer to him than he had ever been to anyone else.
"I wouldn't kiss her…" House continued, leaning in to do just that. And Wilson couldn't help it; a memory intruded on what should have been such a sweet moment, and he pouted, acting to draw attention away from his very real pain.
"You let her kiss you," he pointed out, and House nipped softly at the bottom lip that was being offered to him.
"Least she tried," he reasoned, smiling as Wilson shoved half-heartedly at him, the annoyance in his words betrayed by the way his hands lingered on House's chest.
"You're an ass."
"I'm your ass."
And Wilson, poor, affection-deprived Wilson, defenceless against his charm, smiled back.
"Promise?" he asked, though, and House had to take that last opportunity to torture him.
"Unless Keira Knightly shows up."
Wilson was still smiling, but his eyes urged House to be serious, just once. And, on the unspoken agreement that it would be just the once, House submitted. He nodded once, looked Wilson in the eye and reassured him.
"I promise."
OoOoO
Well, that was weird. It doesn't make a lot of sense, but I think it's worth it just for the joke about Cameron's husband dying.
Bought Trauma Centre for the Wii. If you could really operate on people with a remote, I'd totally be as good as House.
Two updates in one night? Yes, I am apparently just that damn good.