Picture by JnnLuvsU
Summary: Wilson hires his own PI.
Disclaimer: They aren't mine. Never will be.
A/N: It struck me as odd that House didn't react when Lucas was going through his apartment. But it shocked the hell out of me when he actually let Lucas play his piano. This was born when I thought of what Wilson's reaction to that would be.
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Wilson looked at the pictures littering his dining room table, "This is the guy House hired to follow me around?" he asked in disbelief. He looked at Richard Michaels, "Lucas?" He'd known Michaels for years. Since med school. He figured it was only fair to hire a private investigator since House had.
Michaels nodded, "But he's not following you anymore. He actually spends most of his time with House. He spends about two or three hours a day working on other jobs. For House, he does research mostly. On Drs. Cuddy, Kutner, Hadley, and Taub."
Wilson nodded, flipping through the pictures. Some were of House, some of Lucas. But the vast majority of them were of them both. House and Lucas eating lunch at the hospital, walking down the street, sitting in House's apartment. He turned to Michaels, "What else did you find out?"
Michaels pointed to a picture, "House found Lucas in the phone book. They met here, at Lucas' apartment. House hired him, as far as I can tell, to spy on his employees and his patient. He'd been working for House almost a week before he started following you."
"Lucas is very good at what he does, but he's a horrible liar. He joined the support group before he began following you. His mother really did die three months ago."
"Wilson was intrigued, "That's...interesting."
Michaels continued, "They spend a lot of time at House's apartment. It's much nicer."
Wilson sighed, "Are they together?" he asked softly.
Michaels plucked a picture out of the pile, "Look, James. I've known you a long time. You've been in love with him for almost as long. I don't know what point you're tyring to make, but I don't think he's getting it."
Wilson rubbed his eyes, "Are they together?" he repeated.
Michaels handed him the picture, "If they are, I haven't seen it. But if they aren't, they will be." He clasped Wilson on the shoulder and put his coat on, "I'll see you later."
Wilson was vaguely aware of Michaels leaving his apartment, his eyes riveted on the picture in his hands. It was a simple picture taken through House's apartment window. House's profile was clearly seen. He was sitting on the back of the couch, playing his guitar. He looked happy, at peace.
As shocking and as nice as it was to see House enjoying himself, that wasn't what had Wilson's eyes glued to the scene.
Lucas was playing the piano.
Lucas was playing the piano.
Wilson couldn't believe it. House never let people play his piano. Wilson had almost lost a hand the one time he'd even dared to touch it. He'd rarely even seen House play it; he preferred to play in solitude. That House let someone he'd just met play it told Wilson a hell of a lot.
Michaels was right. His point wasn't being made at all.
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