A/N: Okay, so I was PO'd about how 4x12 turned out. I decided to do something about it. Most of they dialogue here comes directly from the episode, but it will start to veer away pretty quick.
Love to my wonderful new beta, Sistry, who never ceases to amuse me and improve my writing at the same time. Ella tiene mucho talento!
Disclaimer: If I owned House, I'd be writing the real thing, not a fanfic. So don't sue. It's not like I have any money anyway.
It was currently his ambition in life to bring Wilson's relationship with Cutthroat Bitch to an explosively spectacular end.
House couldn't say why he wanted to end it so badly, but if asked, he would have spun some story about how he had watched Wilson's three marriages end in catastrophic failure. Anyone who knew him would never dare to disagree his sentiments based on this. It was common knowledge that while he may not have been supportive of Wilson during his literal times of trial, he did put Wilson up while he searched for a new place and had refrained from saying 'I told you so' until after the divorces were finalized. All he had to say was that after Hector chewed the handle off his favorite cane, there was no way it was happening again.
That was why he tailed Wilson to Fusion, the restaurant where he was having lunch with Amber.
"Oh my god! What are you guys doing here?" House exclaimed in a falsely cheerful voice. He received two looks of disbelief and annoyance from the couple in question. House grinned inwardly, Wilson was sending him a look of embarrassment and prissiness and he was clearly wishing him a slow, painful death. Score one to zip.
"I had a sudden yen for Fusion," House said, walking over to where the couple waited for a table.
"I put a different restaurant in my date book and I'm firing my assistant." Wilson muttered to Amber, by way of apology.
"It's okay." Amber smiled at him. "Hi Greg! And I call you Greg because we're now social equals." She flipped her hair a bit.
House quickly hid his annoyance at being referred to by Amber by his first name. The only person that had ever been allowed to that was Stacy. He decided to return the insult.
"And I call you Cutthroat Bitch… well, quod erat demonstrandum. And I speak in Latin because I don't try to hide what an ass I am." He gave one of his annoying little smirks at the end of the sentence. She smirked right back.
"I assume you'd like to join us? It'll be easier to observe our interaction if you're at the same table." She was onto him.
"If we ever get seated," Wilson put forth, hoping to end the bitching contest.
Amber nodded in agreement and turned to leave. "Excuse me."
"No, no! I uh…" Wilson half-heartedly tried to stop her from walking towards the waiter. He knew it was a useless attempt.
"Any minute now, she's going to hit him in the face with your testicles," House observed, watching Amber's progress with the maître.
Wilson shook his head as he joined House in watching his girlfriend. "She tends to treat ev…" He stuttered for a moment, annoyed as House took a sip from Amber's Blue Hawaii. "She tends to treat every event like it's the last contour of Saigon."
"She's the anti-Wilson," House declared. "She's a force for evil."
"She has an annoying quality," Wilson admitted. "Perhaps even tu. If I were perfect, I'd date perfect."
He glanced up to see Amber waving them over. A table had been found. He smiled and picked up his drink, heading in that direction.
House saw the smile and grabbed Amber's drink to follow him. "You like that," he commented, referring to Amber's ability to scare people.
"It's annoying, but she's good at it," Wilson offered, shrugging.
"Wait a second," House said, bringing them both to a halt. His mind had seized the puzzle that was Wilson and Amber and was putting it together at an astonishing speed.
"This isn't just about the sex. You like her personality. You like that she's conniving. That she has no regards for consequences. That she can humiliate someone if it serves—
"Oh my god," House's shockingly blue eyes went wide as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks dropped off the roof. The puzzle was solved. "You're sleeping with me."
Wilson mirrored the confused frown on his face. House glanced down at the Blue Hawaii in his hand and then over at Amber, waiting at she and Wilson's table. Blinking, mouth slightly open, he pawned the drink off on Wilson and turned on his good leg, leaving the younger man in a surprised silence as he limped for the door.
Deep in thought, House hurried down the sidewalk in the direction of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, oblivious to the chilly winter wind swirling around him. He was surprised that this development didn't surprise him. More importantly, House was shocked that he hadn't noticed it before. He also found it odd that he apparently failed to notice that his best friend wanted into his pants, particularly when he considered the vast amount of time they had spent together over the years.
No, when he actually considered it, it didn't seem surprising at all. After the days they had spent lounging on his couch, watching bad porn, drinking warm beer, and discussing Cuddy's breasts, the thought seemed almost natural. Wilson was the only person on the planet that could stand to be around him for a long period of time, especially since Stacy had left all those years ago. Furthermore, House could actually stand to be around Wilson, despite all the feelings and caring that were inevitably shared.
Sure, he spent a decent chunk of his time each day trying to annoy the hell out of the younger man, but somewhere deeper, beyond his incessant need to annoy, there was something else. House had spent years carefully testing and pushing the limits of their friendship, but had never been able to bring himself to end it, the way he had brought so many other relationships crashing to a fiery close. There were times when he could have, should have, if anything for the sole purpose of protecting Wilson. Nevertheless, he couldn't do it. He remembered his words to the oncologist on that fateful trip to Atlantic City with vegetative state guy.
"You've lied to the cops enough for me. Maybe I don't want to push this 'til it breaks."
The only diagnosis House could think of was he that he needed Wilson. Literally needed him, to make life worth living. He was okay with that.
Amber was surprised to see a somewhat stunned and pale Wilson join her at their table a moment after House left. His arm was shaking a bit as he handed her the Blue Hawaii she had abandoned on the bar and that House taste tested when she left to demand the table in the first place.
"Are you alright?" she asked. She had spent enough time working at PPTH to know that what House had said couldn't be good if it left Wilson looking like that.
"I'm fine," Wilson stated airily, not really all there.
Amber looked at him disbelievingly. He could be such a horrible liar.
Wilson noticed the way she was looking at him and sighed.
"I…it's nothing." he finally said. He shook his head to clear his mind. "I think House has finally lost it though. But then, that's been a long time coming."
He seemed to cheer up considerably after he said this, so Amber let it go.
Foreman was waiting for House in the hospital lobby, and was surprised to see him actually returning on time from his lunch break. Ignoring how unusual this was, he hailed the diagnostician and joined him in a differential as they crossed the room.
"Heart's strong enough to prove you wrong about the change in mental status," He informed House of the results of Roz's stress test.
The older man barely glanced at him, his mind switching from his personal problems to diagnostics mode with practiced ease. His musings on the subject of Wilson could wait.
"Only proves this isn't Lupus, just as the leg pain proves it isn't Wegener's," he said, slightly annoyed that he had to state this for the former fellow.
"Leg pain could be from nerve entrapment," Foreman speculated. "I'm thinking blood clot."
House heaved a sigh as they slowed to a stop at a cross hall. "Do an MRI to look for the Blood clot. And then do an FMRI."
Foreman shook his head, slightly confused by House's orders. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last. "An MRI alone will detect a—"
"If the clot hasn't dissolved," House reminded him. "An FMRI could show signs of Near Ischemic Stroke in Post Ischemic parts of the brain."
Foreman frowned as House stared over at the vending machines for a second, and then turned back to him, left hand held out.
"Give me ten bucks."
'What?' Was Foreman's immediate thought. It came out as "No."
"I missed lunch." House explained.
"I thought you went out—"
"I missed lunch!" The older man reiterated, clearly annoyed. He continued to eye the vending area.
Foreman sighed and pulled some bills out of pocket, handing one to House. The diagnostician half rolled his eyes in an 'about time!' manner and took off on a beeline for the machines down the hall. Foreman sighed and headed in the opposite direction, shaking his head at House's antics.
The man got weirder every day.
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