Lucas visits Wilson and talks some solid sense. What does he know that Wilson doesn't, and how will it affect him? HxW friendship and squinted slash.
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Knock Knock
Wilson sighed. "House, go away!" he yelled sitting n his couch.
Knock Knock
"House, for the love of—"
"It's not House," came an unfamiliar voice from beyond his door. Wilson froze in his steps and his brain ran through all the possibilities. He wasn't normally this tense, but recently… he hadn't ordered anything, so, who could be visiting him at one in the morning? A more disturbing question is, his mind posed, what the heck are you doing awake at one in the morning? He decided he would deal with that later. "Could you open the door?" the voice came, interrupting his thoughts.
"Who are you?" he called, still cautious.
"I'm Lucas. Open the door, I'm not going to do anything, I swear. It's just freaking cold out here, and what I have to say is important." The voice was plaintive, and Wilson thawed. Maybe the poor man needs medical help, or something. He opened the door.
In front of him was a sincere looking young man, with interestingly styled hair and big brown eyes. He was the incarnation of innocence, and this made Wilson wary… "Hi Dr. Wilson. I'm Lucas Douglas, the PI House hired."
Wilson didn't even think, he slammed the door shut.
"Dr. Wilson," the voice said, now annoyed. "Open the damn door. I'm not here for House, I've quit. I'm doing this of my own volition and because I think that both of you are complete idiots for the way you're behaving. If you don't open this door, right now, I'm leaving, because I really don't care," the words echoed in his memory, "it just hurts that you're so blind to what you had. To what you could have."
Wilson listened.
"Five," came the muffled voice, "four, three, two, I'm gone. G'night, Dr. Wilson!" when Wilson opened the door Lucas was already halfway down the drive.
"Wait."
He turned around with a slight grin on his face, and Wilson realised he may just have been played.
"Come in," Wilson said, resigned. He knew the man wouldn't hurt him. He had a gut feeling, and he would go with it.
Lucas stamped his boots to get rid of the snow and stood in the hallway, steaming. "I said, come on in," Wilson repeated, not understanding why this man wouldn't respond.
"I know, I heard. It's just a bit too much to ask to be welcomed into your home. I don't know you, you don't know me. I know how the world works, so I'll stay in the hallway where it's warm and we can talk, so you won't be worried and be more receptive."
Wilson was stunningly reminded of House, and his strange-but-very-true logic.
Wilson stood there. "No thanks, I don't want a drink," Lucas said, breathing on his hands. Wilson was outraged that this man had the gall to assume that he would offer a complete stranger a drink, and was about to say so when he realised that, Damn, I was just going to offer him a drink. A shiver ran down his spine as he considered how well this man knew his innate behaviour. He felt a bit scared, and very violated. Lucas was watching him from below his lashes. "I know. Don't worry. I need you to know I'm the real deal. I'm serious."
"Okay, look, I'm here to talk to you about House."
Wilson rolled his eyes, he couldn't help. "I'm not House's friend, why don't you all get that? I don't care!"
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "One, there is no one who knows more than me, not even him, how not-friends you are. Two, I don't believe that you don't care, not one bit."
Wilson slumped. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked, resigned.
"Look, It's like this. I've been in the business a good while, though I may not look it. There's three types of people who hire me. One, those who want to be proven right. Two, those who want to be proven wrong. And Three, those who don't care what's proven. Those who don't want anything proven. They only want something so that they can prove something, and get something, or someone back. House is the third type."
Wilson was engrossed.
"He desperately wants some knowledge that you actually want him back, so he can come and persuade you in his very special House-only way. Now, the first person I did work on was House. I wasn't about to start working for an apparently-unbalanced doctor without knowing what I was getting into. I can tell you anything and everything about him, and he knows it. Only I don't think he knows exactly how much I know. He doesn't know that I know he has tried quitting Vicodin a hundred odd times. He doesn't know that I know he has some of the worst nightmares I've ever heard of, and that they're a sign of massive depression. He doesn't know that I know about his support groups. He doesn't know that I know about his childhood romances. He doesn't know I have evidence that can prove he didn't cheat in Hopkins, no he didn't. He doesn't know that I know he doesn't actually sleep with hookers, he just gets them to make sure he doesn't stop breathing because he has a weak heart. He doesn't know that I know about all the therapies he's on, all the hundreds of alternative remedies he's tried. He doesn't know that I know he was abused as a child."
Wilson didn't have words.
"Oh yeah, Mr. Wilson. He's your best friend. I don't think he knows that I know he loves you. I don't think he himself knows that he loves you. I don't think he realises he needs you. Which is why he, in his own rather self-destructive way, tries to keep you around. It's why he refuses to pay you back your 5,459.15 dollars. He believes that by keeping it, he'll keep you around, because he is terribly selfish. He wants you like he wants oxygen, see. It's a terrible addiction. He's tried ridding himself of it more times than you can imagine."
Wilson shivered as he realised what Lucas meant. House has tried to kill himself…
"He's sent you three checks for that amount, in the hope that you would see he doesn't want you just for money. I've ripped them up, all of them, because I believe they're a shameful waste of a beautiful friendship. He's given you everything in his will, and I think that's sweet. He's very firmly kept you from being his medical proxy because he hates them for their decisions, and really doesn't want to know what you would have done."
Wilson demanded, "What do you mean? He didn't allow me to make important decisions because he didn't want to trust my judgement?"
"No," Lucas shook his head, "it's because he didn't want to hate you. You're too important to him to risk that. Also, that time when he deleted the messages your agent left, he did it because those homes were terrible and your agent wasn't telling you. He checked it out and one of them had an impending termite infestation and another one had an asbestos growth and the last one had a rotting foundation." Lucas's voice was dark, and more mature than Wilson could have imagined from a man that age.
"The guy who shot him?" Wilson nodded in recognition, "he was raving about blonde haired brown eyed men, and House instantly thought he was after you, so he checked it out and got shot."
Wilson gasped, his lungs not taking in enough oxygen. "The only things House used to eat, were the things he stole from your plate. Now that you're not there, he doesn't see the need to eat, and survives on Vicodin and the occasional scotch. He's lost four stone in the past 5 weeks, which is a lot, considering he doesn't exercise."
Wilson wasn't able to understand what House was thinking, or what he was doing. Life went on without other people, isn't that what he always said?
Apparently he had spoken out loud. "Yeah, life goes on without other people. He never considered you to be 'another' person. You were always Wilson, always his partner in crime, always there."
Wilson thought he'd finally gotten a line of defense, and said, "Exactly! I was taken for granted!"
Lucas looked at him pityingly. "And I'd like to know what's wrong with that, if House is the friend I've found him to be. I'd die to have a friend like that. Do you want to know why I quit, Mr. Wilson?"
Wilson shook his head, but Lucas ignored it. "I worked for him because I thought he was a genuinely good guy, and he is, take my word for it. He is a very good man. But I quit because I realised that I could never be his friend—he was trying to make me into you. It's not that I didn't try. I did. But it doesn't work. You can't replace people, and I realise that. And House is only compatible with one person on the face of this Earth. One. And that's you. He was never going to be my friend. And so I quit, because of two things. One, I could never be you, Mr. Wilson, never, and Two, he doesn't need me. He's a strong man. He doesn't need this. He needs you. You don't enable him, moron," Lucas said, voice suddenly poisonous. "You complete him."
"Good night, Mr. Wilson. See ya." And before Wilson could say anything Lucas had walked out the door, and was nowhere to be seen.
Wilson sat there in his hallway, dazed. He couldn't believe that that was what he meant to House.
He didn't know how long he sat there in the dark, but the next thing he noted was the alarm ringing upstairs. He had no desire to go to work that day, so he ignored it.
He spent the day in a daze, and only sometime around mid-day did he realise that it was the kind of day House would spend at home too. He had to try, so he got in his car and drove the route which he knew better than the back of his own hand. It was like activating a homing device.
He knocked on the door and waiting the seven seconds it normally took House to respond. Seven, six, five, four, three, two—"Yeah, what?" came the voice, so heart-wrenchingly familiar.
Wilson almost couldn't speak as he realised how badly he'd missed House. "It's—it's me." The life on the other side fell silent.
He could swear he heard House whisper his name. Not 'Wilson', either. 'James'.
The door creaked open. House's stunning blue eyes were like ice wind on a humid day. A stunning, sharp relief.
The door came fully open. "Hey," Wilson whispered.
House nodded, and looked at his feet in that way of his, that suggested he was desperately trying to not look into someone's eyes. He was infinitely thinner, and tired looking. Wilson knew without a doubt he hadn't been sleeping well. He could not believe he had done this to House. To his friend. Some friend he'd been, vanishing when House needed him.
"I missed you."
House looked up, as if not daring to believe it. Not daring to believe this was the real deal. Wilson tried to look as genuine as possible. He didn't realise it was impossible to radiate more sincerity. House whispered, still hesitant. "I missed you too."
Before he could say another word, Wilson had hugged House, reveling in his familiar Old-Spice scent, and rough skin covering the soft marshmallow interior, deep, deep, deep down.
"Love you," House whispered.
"Love you too," Wilson whispered, touched beyond words.
"But that doesn't mean that if you tell anyone I will spare your life." He turned and walked inside, and Wilson took it for what it was meant to be—an admission that House couldn't stand anymore emotional revelations that evening. He let it be.
House had gazillions of issues, but they had time. This was the real deal.
Well? How was it? Pretty long, I think. Let me know!
Love,
Lady Merlin