Disclaimer: I do not own House or any of the characters.
Warnings: Slash, character death
.-.oOo.-..
"Look, are you sure you're okay?" Even Wilson couldn't help but visibly cringe at the way his own words simply dripped with concern, much like a nose afflicted with influenza dripped mucus. In simpler words, his rather pathetic attempt at dragging a comprehensible, satisfying answer out of House was sickening.
An aggravated glower was House's relatively predictable response, petulantly coupled with the words, "Save it for the patients; they actually care about your overly-zealous solicitude." He idly thumbed through a medical chart as he spoke, cornflower blue eyes skimming over the printed words, ostensibly callous in their widespread quest for information.
"Ah, AIDS patient. Now here's a guy that's definitely not 'okay.' You should be paying him a visit." He cast Wilson a withering glance as he swung his sneaker-clad feet from their comfortable position atop his desk to the floor with a soft thud. Leaning forward, he added, "He gets a friend, you get some pitiful sick person to fawn over ,and I stop getting hassled. Everyone's happy. Now if you'll kindly excuse me, I have work."
House's faithful Nintendo DS sat conspicuously upon his desk and Wilson couldn't help but imagine that the aforementioned work consisted of devouring psychedelic fungi while attempting to rescue a princess from the clutches of a ridiculous looking giant turtle.
"Right, whatever." A crestfallen sigh steadily escaped Wilson's lips as he turned to depart from the office. He had patients to tend to anyway – in reality there was precious little time to fritter away on his curmudgeonly friend.
A mere six months later, House lay dying of cancer.
.-.oOo.-..
"Jell-o again? Oh goody." The deadpan words belonged to none other than House, although it was a gaunter, thinner and weaker House than his coworkers were so accustomed to. Watching the once vibrantly offensive man's health decline had been nothing short of depressing for those involved.
"Sorry, baby," the dark-skinned nurse responded as she set the plastic tray before the man with a clatter, causing the brilliant emerald gelatin to wiggle and quake as though terrified at the thought of being devoured. "Doctor's orders!"
She paused for a moment, a sympathetic look crossing her round face as she beheld the diminishing man before her. As quickly as it had appeared, however, the look was gone and the nurse turned and exited the room. The door emitted a soft click as she shut it behind her, leaving the patient to his unwanted dinner.
Before House could so much as grumble, the door was opening again. Instead of a portly nurse, however, the figure in the doorway was none other than a one James Wilson. Although Wilson was not overseeing House's case, he was - as expected - known to make frequent stops by his friend's room whether House liked it or not.
Making his way across the room, Wilson promptly took a seat at House's bedside and greeted the other man with a simple, "Hey." House made no reply and there was a very pregnant pause before Wilson spoke again. "I...I have something to tell you."
"You're interrupting my dinner." Picking up a spoon, House motioned towards the jiggling green mass before him.
Momentarily ignoring his sarcastic comrade, Wilson drew in a deep breath before continuing, "This is really hard for me to say - especially to you. I'm...in love with you."
Yet another silence hung heavily in the air. He felt a tinge of regret as he sat in the stifling, embarrassing quiet. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to admit his true feelings to House! The very thought made a light blush flood into Wilson's cheeks and ears, coloring them a distinct pinkish hue. He noticed for the first time that House's blue eyes were fixed on him, boring through him like twin cornflower-colored drills.
"I'm one of your sick people now," House observed flatly, returning the spoon to its place on the tray in front of him. "You think I'm in need because I'm dying and you want to help me feel better about myself. I didn't realize that your little obsession transcended society's idea that homos are icky. How noble."
"No! That''s not true," Wilson protested, his voice soft and weary. He had not expected House to welcome him with open arms but at the same time, the biting sarcasm was too much. He turned his eyes away, fixing his gaze upon the immaculate tile floor.
Before the conversation could go any further, the nurse had reentered the room. Realizing that the doctor-turned-patient hadn't so much as prodded his Jell-o, she shook her head with all the gusto of a mother reprimanding her child for not eating his vegetables.
"Wilson, sugar, you better get out of here so this boy can get some food in that belly of his!" she chastised gently with a small smile, apparently oblivious to the tension in the room. She seemed satisfied when Wilson gave a halfhearted chuckle in reply and thus exited the room once more, promising that she would be back in a moment's time.
This small interruption seemed to be all Wilson needed to gather his courage and collect his thoughts. He looked back at House, his eyes neither nervous nor meek, and said, "I needed to tell you this, Greg. I needed it. All my problems with women? Yeah, I was never in love with any of them because I wanted you."
House was not going to be moved by his friend's heartfelt speech so easily. Retaining the flatness in his voice, he insisted, "You are not in love with me."
"I am - "
Cutting his friend's words short, House continued, "You just want to feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You think that you have to convince me that I'm worth loving before I die so you can get your jollies out of helping someone."
Shaking his head, Wilson felt a surge of emotions. It was anger mixed with passion mixed with frustration - quite a powerful concoction. If only there was some way he could make House see...
"Goddammit, won't you listen?" There was a pause, then, "Yeah, you're right; I am doing this for me. I had to get this out before it was too late or else it would just..." He stopped, struggling to find a proper phrase to describe how he had felt for so long. "It's been eating me up inside for years."
Before either of the men realized what was happening, Wilson was pressing his lips against House's in an unexpected kiss. The emotion that had been building inside him for all that time was finally released, like soda from a freshly shaken bottle. House did not protest; he simply succumbed to Wilson's passion.
.-.oOo.-..
Gregory House's death came as a relief to his friends. Not because they were pleased to see him go but because they were glad that his suffering was finally ended. In his final month, the cancer had spread from the prostate throughout most of his body. He had become a fragile shell of what he once was, although he kept his snark up until the end.
For Wilson, this meant that he was alone. He had lost his very best friend and a man whom he had often longed to kiss, to hold, to simply love. There were times when he thought he heard the soft clicks of a handheld video game only to see a Gameboy clutched in the sweaty hands of a bored child in the waiting room. Other times he half expected to hear the familiar knock of a wooden cane against his door but it was a sound he would never hear again.
Why House kept his ailment a secret for so long, Wilson would never know. One thing was certain: the world had lost an amazing doctor and the medical field would never again be the same. Sometimes the thought was unbearable but Wilson knew he had to carry on so that others would not have to suffer the same fate. If not for House, for everyone else.
Fin