My first House fanfic. Been watching the show since the begining, so hope I got the characters right. This is not based in any episode, just a little idea on the side. A kind of what if sort of slightly alternate reality. I don't own any of it 'cept the plot. Rated T for mention of drug dependancy (later chap.). Not exactly slash. Still debating where it will go. Give me some ideas. Please RR.
Wilson's Secret
"Don't get your pretty panties in a bunch, Cuddy. I-." House broke off, distracted by something over Cuddy's head. Now there was a face he had not seen in a long time. House automatically looked around for Wilson. The young oncologist was conspicuously absent. House handed Cuddy the file he held and moved to cut off the man striding down the hall. Knowing he would not be able to keep up to him with his cane, House planted himself in his path.
"Clinic's over there," he pointed.
"Get out of my way, House. I'm not here for the clinic." House did not move and the man made the mistake of trying to walk around him. House's cane cracked him on the shins. "Ow!"
House pointed again. "There. Clinic's over there."
"What do you want?"
"Someone else to do my clinic hours, but for you, I will make an exception." House's blue eyes bore into the man, who merely tossed his blond head and glared. "Alright, I want to know why you are here."
"Nothing to do with you."
"James is working. Very busy man."
"What are you his guard dog?"
"Very sharp fangs."
"I don't have time for this." He stepped around House and stalked off down the corridor. Cuddy joined House in the middle of the hall.
"Who was that?"
"Satan's right hand."
"Hmm." Cuddy tried to hand him the file. "Pretty for a demon, isn't he?"
"Just like babies. That's how they suck you in," House said ominously. He walked away, leaving Cuddy holing the folder and staring after him. He went to his office to page Wilson, thinking to warn him, but found he had turned off his pager. He never turned off his pager. House stilted out to the elevator as quickly as he could.
When he got to Wilson's floor, there was considerable milling but no sign of the devil. House made strait for Wilson's office and let himself in. At first, it looked like there was no one there, then he noticed Wilson's foot sticking out from behind the desk.
"James?" He hobbled over and looked down. James was sitting on the floor with his back against the desk and his knees pulled up. He stared about three feet in front of him, and did not look up. "I tried to page you, but-." James pulled his pager from his pocket and tossed it on the floor in front of him. House sighed. "Lover's quarrel?" he asked. James's jaw tightened. "Come on. It can't be that bad. You're too pretty to stay mad at for long. And besides, by the time he gets home, he'll have forgotten all about it."
"Glad you're enjoying this so much."
"I tried to warn you. Years ago, I tried to warn you. You never listen to me." House lowered himself into Wilson's chair and leaned forward. "Tell me what happened."
"Why? So you can say I told you so?" Wilson was miserable. House could see it in his eyes, behind the wall of glassy anger. Everything was in those eyes, always. House teased and pushed because of those eyes, to protect himself from them, and the man behind them. Once, years ago, before the cane, before vicodin, he might have been brave enough to let himself get a little lost there, but now, James knew too much, and their friendship had grown beyond any hope of getting lost.
"If I promise to be a good boy, will you tell me?"
Wilson sighed. "What's to tell? He's moving to Los Angeles."
"Leaving you behind."
A shrug. "It was bound to happen." He leaned his head back against the desk. "I don't know why it matters."
"You were with him longer than any of your wives."
"True."
"Are you really, really heartbroken?"
"Greg,"
House lowered himself carefully to the floor beside his friend. "I never liked the guy, you know."
"I know." Wilson smirked at the floor. "You were jealous." House said nothing. A long minute slipped by. Wilson tipped his head to look at him. "You were jealous?"
"Surprised?"
"Frankly, yes!"
"Well," House shrugged. His hand twitched, as though he might reach up and touch James' face, and in his mind, maybe he did. "It's your killer eyes."
"Killer eyes?" James laughed a short little laugh
And that little laugh. House shuddered and painfully pulled himself to his feet. "Scare the bejesus out of me." He held his hand out and James pulled himself to his feet too. "Drink after work?"
"Yeah." James peered at him speculatively. "Yeah. That would be good." He bent to pick up his pager.
"Not a bad ass, either," Greg comment as he walked out the door.
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James rolled his eyes and shook his head, turned his pager back on, and for a moment, a picture of himself and Greg at a concert caught his eye. He touched it with one finger and smiled. Maybe he was less broken up about this than he thought.