The Pull

Author's Note: Well, okay. I'm obsessed, so I had to write something. Consider yourself forewarned that this work is going to be slightly darker than what I normally write. It is, by no stretch of the imagination, dark. It's just going to be a little bit more dramatic than what I'm used to. Normally my "House" stories get the 'romance,' 'humor' section, but not The Pull.

Author's Note 2: I did a once-over with the editing, but it's after five in the morning here, and there was no way I wasn't posting this tonight, after how long I worked on it. So if I missed anything just let me know and I'll be happy to fix it. If you read, please review.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not House, not Hercule Poirot, not even potatoes.

The thing about love, I've always known, is the soft spot I have for it. That's how I consistently justified leaving my wives. I told myself (and my best friend each time he started in with the abuse) that you can't help who you fall in love with. House, the aforementioned friend, always chose to answer with something just hilarious like, "No, but you can help who you fall naked beside." Oh yeah. He's a riot. In my defense I didn't cheat on Julie, though is an emotional affair cheating? Somehow I suspect that Dr. Phil would say yes. But, then, is it even an emotional affair if the other party remains blissfully unaware?

Okay, maybe I'm getting ahead of myself here. Let me start over.

I love House; I guess I always have. It's hard not love someone that bails you out of jail just for the hell of it. There are days that I find myself wondering if, save for Amber, I've ever even loved anyone else and the answers are a little disconcerting. I never considered myself a romantic until I met Greg.

I hid it well, I think. My friend, the eternal Hercule Poirot, seemed to somehow miss the fact that the person he saw every day spent every night fantasizing about waking up with him.

Nevertheless, there were times that I thought my own looks and actions were impossible to misinterpret. How many people buy their friends expensive organs just because they feel like it? And I knew, even then, that at that moment my carefully placed mask had slipped completely away and that if he had been paying attention there would have been no denying it. But, presumably he hadn't been. He never brought it up, never accused me of the one thing of which I was guilty.

So after that, I determinedly put it behind me. Or, rather, I tried. I dated nurses, and exes, and still, thoughts of the man I couldn't have continued to torture me.

And then, the one thing I feared nearly more than anything else came to pass. House started dating Cuddy.

It was my worst nightmare. I'd grown accustomed to being the person he loved most in the world and didn't particularly enjoy knowing that my ownership of the title was now in danger. But I did what I always did. I accepted the fact that you can't help who you love, and put all my energy into backing this Epic Romance.

Well, for a while, anyway.

"Wilson," yelled a very familiar voice from outside my office door. A banging noise swiftly followed, and in my mind's eye I watched a long brown cane being slammed against my door. "Wilson!"

Rolling my eyes at House's deep contempt for long waits –or waits of any kind, really- I turned the doorknob, and then raised my eyebrows at the man standing in front of me. Unabashed eyes gazed back at me serenely, as if he hadn't been the one causing the noise.

"What," I demanded in mock annoyance. Truthfully, once you've spent 15 years in someone's company they really lose the ability to shock you. But, as House himself had mentioned to me before, I knew that nice bored him, so I reverted to the part I knew so well. "I'm busy," I said, though I wasn't.

He ignored my comment. "We're hanging out tonight," he said. This wasn't a request.

"We are," I asked him in surprise. Last I'd heard he'd had dinner plans with Cuddy (my stomach rolled over in revulsion at the thought but I patiently reminded it that we couldn't, fairly, blame her).

He nodded shortly, and it was only then that I really took in his expression. The eyes that had been so carefully blank now seemed guarded, and I couldn't help noticing that his thin lips were pressed together in a hard line.

"House," I prompted.

He shook his head, a warning for me to drop it, so I shrugged. "Eight o' clock okay?"

"Eight's fine. I'll meet you at the loft."


I'd planned to stay late at work that day, but Guy Time had been rather scarce as of late, and I found myself distracted during each of my patient consults. When April Landon had to ask me three times about her meds I knew it was time to pack it in.

I spent the next couple of hours theorizing about the reason for the impromptu get-together. I knew that I could ask Cuddy and she would tell me, but considering my feelings for her boyfriend, I decided that it was a little inappropriate. I had a feeling that if she knew about my said feelings she wouldn't be too keen on sharing information with me.

In yet another display of culinary genius I marinated then grilled up a couple of steaks and boiled a few potatoes. Strictly speaking, it was a little late for dinner, but I knew my friend well enough to know that he would expect a full meal when he joined me.

And when he walked in the door at 7:58 (he was early? What the hell?) it was as though I had scripted his first words.

"Evening, Jimmy. What's for dinner?"

I pointed to the oven. "But you're early, so it's going to be a few minutes."

He glanced at the time and then cocked an eyebrow. "I'm one minute early."

"Well, we said 8:00, so naturally I wasn't expecting you until a quarter to nine."

"That'll teach you to assume. Sometimes I like to mix it up."

I chose not to point out that this was not usually the case.

He took a seat on one of the barstools and, though my back was turned, I could feel the riveting blue eyes watching me cook.

A shiver shot up my spine.

"So, you feel like telling me what happened today," I asked, mostly to fill the silence. I really didn't want to hear about this but I was supposed to be his best friend.

I expected a deflection, so it was with a little shock that I listened to his genuine response:

"Oh, that? I think Cuddy and I broke up."