Title: The Study of Feet or the Devil and Daniel Wilson (2/2)

By: lbc

Rating: slash, there is some adult language

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these guys, but I don't.

Summary: House and Wilson return from the conference

Note: I am not an expert on schizophrenia so bear with me. I keep those references to a minimum.

HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW

Although the trip home from the conference was a disaster, it certainly didn't rank with the Titanic going down or anything like that, but it definitely was above foot fungus.

Thankfully, Cuddy had decided to return with Lucas Douglas so it wasn't necessary to be "civilized", and quite frankly Wilson didn't think that House could attain such a legendary demeanor. Conversation was kept to a minimum until they neared Princeton when Gregory House began a new offensive or maybe he just became more offensive.

"You been fuckin' Jeff Driscoll AGAIN?"

Wilson screwed up his mouth ready to retaliate then realized that he was beginning to enter very heavy traffic and needed to concentrate on his driving, although quite truthfully, he would like to wrap the passenger's side of the car around the nearest traffic sign.

"House, will you let it rest. Jeff and I have known each other longer than I've known you. Daniel needs the best so I went to Jeff to ask his advice. That's all there was to it. I was completely surprised when he suggested that I stay at his house in Connecticut after I left Princeton."

"Yeah, that's why he asked you to marry him; is he making an honest man of you? Oh, I forgot that's NOT possible anymore."

"House, will you stop it. It's not easy to drive in this traffic and listen to your whining too."

"I DO NOT WHINE!"

"Could have fooled me."

Finally, however, the two men arrived at Wilson's apartment. After dragging in their luggage, they separated: to clean up in Wilson's case and to slob up in House's. Nevertheless, the discussion was not over.

Wilson stood in the kitchen, preparing sandwiches before making an early night of it. House leaned against the door jamb, looking particularly interested in his friend.

"Do you love him?"

"No."

"Well that was blunt. Do you hate him?"

"No."

"Well, what do you feel for him?"

"None of your business, but," here Wilson turned to face the most irritating man in the world, "if you have to know, I feel gratitude that HE'S willing to help Daniel, and I'm fond of him."

"Fond? That almost makes me puke."

"So glad that I can make you feel better." House could almost see the sarcasm, dripping from his friend's lips.

"So, I guess, that means you're saying yes to my 'proposal'?"

Wilson scrunched up his face as if trying to recall what House was talking about. "Now you're being the idiot. There is nothing physically wrong with my brother, but he does need psychiatric help . . . GOOD psychiatric help, and you, above all, should know what that means."

House felt faintly stunned but managed to retort, "Oooh that was a good one. I want to see Daniel. There're a million chances they missed something. It might help him and it might not, but can YOU afford to take the chance?"

Looking into the handsome face, House knew he had Wilson on the line. Guilt made people do all kinds of strange things.

"I . . . I told you that Daniel hates you. He'll never see you, and he certainly won't let you examine him."

"Don't have to. Put him into a room with a one-way mirror, and I can watch him. You can talk to him while I observe. That ought to be enough."

"No, I will not make Daniel one of your puzzles."

"Aahhhh, but you will make him one of my patients, IF I can find something medically wrong with him. After all, you'd marry that jerk Driscoll and all he's going to do is work on his brain, maybe I can help him with his health."

Wilson closed his eyes and sighed. "All right, you get one chance. I'll go see Daniel this weekend and you better not crap out like you did the last time."

"What are you talking about?"

Wilson looked at the man he had known for twenty years and hesitated, then took the plunge. "Remember when you volunteered to go with me to see Daniel soon after he walked into that New York hospital?"

House nodded; his eyes narrowed as the memory grew more vivid.

"I really appreciated you coming until I turned to lead you in and there you were on the phone talking to the team about your patient. You were totally oblivious to me. That's always the trouble with you: puzzles come before every relationship, every feeling, and every other need. No wonder Cuddy can't count on commitment from you."

"Whoa, those are harsh words, dude."

Wilson nodded, but now was not the time to fight the fight. "You value truth above all else so maybe it's time you heard some of your own. I'm tired; there're sandwiches if you want them."

HWHWHWHWHW

House stood behind the window. He watched his friend, talking to his brother. Daniel Wilson was a sick man; that was obvious. He seemed to be listening to James, but he kept repeating something over and over again which House couldn't understand.

Watching him carefully, he realized that the man was holding something tightly in his fist. The erratic conversation went on for some time, but suddenly a figure came to the door. It was Jeff Driscoll. If House had been a cat, he would have said that he had arched his back when he had seen the man. After a brief discussion, the two men left.

House waited a moment then entered the room where Daniel Wilson sat unmoving while he seemed to be looking at nothing. House's entry was barely noted by the other man. House had already looked at his medical records, but he wanted to look more closely at the man, especially what he held so tight-fisted.

Studying the man quietly, House decided to risk speaking quietly to Daniel, who failed to re-act, until House announced, "I'm Greg House, your brother's friend."

Not sure what to expect, the scruffy man was not quite prepared for the aggressive reaction. Daniel Wilson stood up, trying to lunge at the obviously non-threatening visitor. He muttered repeatedly, "Don't love House. Don't love House." It seemed to go on forever even after House left the room.

Standing behind the one-way mirror once again, he stared at the man who was now in obvious emotional distress. Wilson was certainly correct. Daniel Wilson hated Greg House and treated him as if he were the devil himself. House sighed as he made his way to the waiting room.

A few minutes later, House was called to Jeff Driscoll's office. Expecting to see Wilson, House felt a slight apprehension when he noticed the absence of his friend. Driscoll seemed to read his mind.

"Don't worry; I haven't kidnapped Jimmy (House practically bristled at this familiarity); he's with his brother. I wanted to talk to you."

"Talk to the competition, is that it?"

"Are YOU really my competition? You've known Jimmy for twenty years and done nothing about it."

"Neither have you."

"Not from want of trying. I have to be frank with you. Daniel Wilson provides the perfect opportunity to get Wilson to live with me. He will have a happy life and feel better about his brother. What can you offer him?"

"This isn't a contest."

"Then you are a fool. Of course, it is. For twenty years, I've tried to be closer to Wilson, but you've always been in the way. You'll notice I don't include his wives or the late, lamented Amber. They never were real competitors because they weren't the fruits of danger. Wilson has a dark side, and I think he realizes all that I can do for Daniel. He's given up a lot to be with you. I think he'll be grateful for someone to put him first for once."

House felt an internal shiver. He had always taken Wilson for granted and just promising to help Daniel might not be enough; especially when Daniel hated House so much. He needed Wilson, but was it too late?

"James Wilson makes up his own mind. I think there's something medically wrong with his brother. I'm willing to try and find out, AND I'm not trying to blackmail him into my bed." House stopped there, knowing that his last words as he stormed out of the hotel room could certainly be construed as extortion. Oh well, Driscoll couldn't know that.

A smug smile crossed Driscoll's face just as James Wilson burst into the room, certainly not surprised to see House with the other doctor. "What did you do?"

House didn't try to prevaricate, "I talked to him and told him who I was."

"YOU IDIOT! I told you that he hates you; now he's all upset. He keeps repeating . . .things over and over and won't settle down. They've had to give him something."

"What's with the penny?"

For a moment Wilson's angry face scrunched up into a frown, then his shoulders slumped as he wiped his face. "He . . . he . . . he's always done that, but it's gotten worse over the years. He says that he's making sure he isn't broke; you know a penniless pauper?"

Wilson's brown eyes looked into House's blue eyes with despair, but then his face lightened. "You think that means something?"

"Could be; let's do some tests."

"Now just a minute, DOCTOR HOUSE, this is my hospital, and I am on record as Mr. Wilson's attending physician."

House whirled around and looked at Driscoll with glacial blue eyes. "You wouldn't know an illness if it crawled up your butt. Did your quacks bother to x-ray the man?"

"We gave him a physical, but I . . . uh, don't know about that."

Wilson whispered, his voice filled with concern, "What is it, House?"

House turned to his friend, "If your brother doesn't want to be penniless, maybe he's storing his pennies in 'strange' places."

A deep breath filled the younger man and as he released it, he burst out, "Copper poisoning?"

House nodded, "It could be part of his problem. We know that copper does cause some symptoms of schizophrenia. Let's do the tests and find out."

Wilson looked at his friend with admiration then turned to Jeff Driscoll. With bad grace, the psychiatrist replied, "Oh all right; we'll do the tests."

HWHWHWHWHWHW

Both men were exhausted by the time they reached Princeton. They had stayed to see the results of some of the tests. It seemed that at least part of Daniel's mental problems could be attributed to various copper pennies stashed all over his body, even in his sinus cavities. The total amount of copper might be responsible for some of his symptoms, but clearly, more study was needed.

Neither man had talked much. Wilson was totally worn out from driving and seeing his brother had put a strain on his already overworked emotional state. House's leg was hurting a bit, but it was the obvious despair in Wilson's eyes that was causing the bearded man the most concern. Wilson had said virtually nothing except to mumble his thanks.

When they got to Wilson's apartment, the emotional tension threatened to overflow so House faced it first, as usual. "You gonna keep your part of the bargain?"

Wilson rubbed his almost-grey face and queried, "What bargain would that be?"

House dropped onto the couch, an all-knowing smile on his face. "So that's the way it's going to be - - you ignore the situation and it will go away?"

"House, you know damn well you never meant it when you threw out the idea of marriage. For one thing, New Jersey doesn't have same-sex marriage, and for another thing . . . well, that would mean you might have to make a commitment and that scares you worse than anything."

House's eyes darkened to midnight blue as he contemplated his friend; then he nodded and said in his most unctuous voice, "That's right, I didn't mean it. Driscoll is an idiot and you are a moron, and you deserve each other, but you're my key to staying out of the loony bin so I want you around. The sex has been good, but I definitely didn't mean the part about marriage; you're not worth it."

House's breath was almost taken away with the despair that was momentarily in the brown eyes then Wilson turned and was gone. The apartment seemed more like a tomb. House had lost the ability to feel comfortable in the single-person silence of his own apartment. The months with Wilson had filled a void that he had known existed since that day in New Orleans so many years ago. Now that silence seemed to be engulfing him.

The pain in his leg was minor compared with the pain throughout his body. He had felt raging jealousy at the closeness between Driscoll and Wilson, but his feelings had become so sterile . . . so atrophied that he chose to hurt his best friend rather than admit those feelings. House had hoped that Cuddy would be more receptive to his moves so that he wouldn't have to think about his relationship with Wilson, but Daniel Wilson had torn a gaping whole into the fabric of their friendship when he had screamed out, "Don't love Wilson." Sighing, the bearded man limped into his own bedroom.

After removing his outer clothing, House flopped on the bed in a supine position, folding his arms underneath his head and preparing to endure the longest night of his life. Images from twenty years of friendship sped through his mind as he recalled the many times he had hurt his friend, and yet James Wilson always came back swinging. Why did Wilson put up with him? Why had Wilson told Dr. Nolan that he would be responsible for House and then decided to go baby-sit his brother? What would he do if Wilson told him to get out?

Looking at the clock, the red LED flickered 3:00am. It seemed like this was bewitching hour for him and Wilson. Last time, Wilson had confessed his intention to move to New York and leave House behind. Now it was time for House to voice his intentions. After a moment, he left his bed and headed to Wilson's door.

Quietly he entered the room, leaving the door slightly open so that the hall light gave him enough illumination to navigate with. Wilson was lying on his left side but something told House that his friend was not asleep. Without an invitation, House laid down on the bed next to Wilson.

Expecting to be asked to leave, House waited in silence for a few minutes then whispered, "Why does Daniel hate me so much?"

With a slightly bitter gruffness, Wilson replied, "Could be your sparkling personality."

House waited but nothing else was said. Taking a big breath, House began again. "Okay, I meant, what have you told him about me that has caused him to hate me?"

"I told him that you were a jerk."

"And . . . I mean that goes without saying, but why doesn't he love me?"

Wilson sighed, turning to lie flat on the bed. "Why should he love you; why should anyone love you; you are wrapped up in yourself and can't give commitments so what do you expect?"

"Are we still talking about Daniel?"

Wilson sat up suddenly, turning to face away from House. "Leave it alone, House. I'm grateful for you helping Daniel, but we all know why you asked me to marry you."

"And that would be?"

As Wilson's voice rose in anger, "I told you to drop it, but if you really want to know, it's this: YOU don't want to be alone so I have to be tortured into always being there. When you had your infarction; when you tried to kill yourself with that knife in the socket . . . even when you went out drinking and needed a ride." Here Wilson stopped as his head dropped to his chest; his body showing his obvious exhaustion. Finally, he raised his head and turned slightly to look at House, "Why can't you just leave it alone?"

"Tell me the truth, and I will."

Wilson sighed so deeply that his breath almost shuddered. "What difference does it make since I'm not worth it?"

Strangely House smiled, knowing now that he had Wilson on the hook. So he was upset by that line after all. That thought gave House the impetus to go on.

Putting a depth of whining into his voice that would overcome the most disinterested person, House repeated, "Tell me the truth."

Figuring that their relationship was over anyhow, Wilson went for broke, "All right, all

right. Here it is in a short declarative sentence. Daniel was not saying, 'I don't love you; he was telling me not to love you."

Silence reigned for several seconds as blue eyes peered at the crestfallen man on the bed; then House whispered, "Now see that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Wilson's head shot up sharply, "You knew?"

"No, but I figured it had to be something like that. Go on."

"After the convention in New Orleans, I talked about you a lot. Daniel became convinced that you were the cause of my break up with Margaret; then came Bonnie and you had the infarction. To Daniel, I guess, it seemed to be happening all over again. I got a call from him and rushed to find him at the place where I told you about his plunge into homeless oblivion. I didn't see him again until he walked into that New York hospital more than nine years later."

"What about me?"

"The last thing he shouted at me was, 'Don't love House,' because that's what he thought was destroying me."

"And now?"

"Weelllll, you'll be happy to know that I've gotten over you. I've conquered those feelings, and if I can just convince Daniel of that, everything will be all right."

"Let me see your feet."

Wilson whirled around to stare at the nitwit who kept insisting on reading feet. "No, you can't read people's feet, and I'm . . . I'm telling the truth."

"Let's see the feet."

Wilson sighed while throwing his legs up on the bed. House stared at them for a few minutes then smiled. "You're lying, but that's okay 'cause I'm going to let you study my feet."

Wilson's forehead scrunched up in bewilderment as he asked, "Now why would I want to do that?"

Lying back with his arms behind his head, House displayed his feet and replied, "You might learn something."

"I can't see anything, you moron; the light isn't on." Within seconds Wilson heard the lamp click and a shower of light lit up the room. Momentarily blinded the younger man could see nothing, but then the naked feet of Gregory House appeared from the illumination. Wilson started to say that this was ridiculous, but stopped as he noticed some writing on House's toes:

I – W-A-S--L-Y-I-N-G!

Wilson turned to look into House's bearded face, "What were you lying about?"

"YOU know what I was lying about. You are worth everything to me. You have been for twenty years."

Wilson sat stunned, "I . . . I don't understand."

"Of course, you do; you've always understood. It's why you broke up with all three wives and why you chose Amber. It's why you weren't shocked when I told you that it was really me you were sleeping with. I'm who you would have chosen, if you hadn't tried to be normal and 'marry' the right person. Well, now you have the chance. We can have a civil union here or go to Connecticut . . . no, no not Connecticut but one of the other enlightened states and get married. Now what do you say?"

For some strange reason, Wilson was feeling happiness flood his entire body, but he wasn't ready to throw in the towel yet. "Why not Connecticut?"

House looked like he was talking to an idiot, but replied calmly enough, "Because Driscoll lives there, and it's too small a state; we might run into him."

Wilson smiled, "Jeff's not so bad; he's wanted to marry me for twenty years."

House's blue eyes softened as he remarked, "He's not the only one."

Wilson's brown eyes opened wide, "Are you saying that you've wanted to marry me for twenty years . . . or did you mean you've wanted sex for that long?"

House could hear the insecurity in that question and decided it was time to do something about it. Leaning forward, he gave his best friend a soft but definitely firm kiss that lasted until both men needed a breath of air.

Pulling apart the two men looked at each other: House with contentment; Wilson with confusion. Almost stuttering, Wilson asked, WWhhy s' long?"

"Because someone was always getting married, what'ja think? Now it's my turn."

"Wait a minute, I told you that I didn't love you anymore; isn't that going to be an obstacle?"

"Nah, you fell in love with me so I can convince you to love me as well."

"I didn't say I was in love with you."

"You didn't have to."

"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"

House put his arms around the younger man and drew him into a bone-crunching embrace. Starting to remove Wilson's T-shirt, House was stopped by a hand grabbing his wrist and a look that brooked no nonsense.

"Wait a minute, House. I'm not that easy. If this is just sex when we feel like it, then forget it."

"Why, what else have you got planned?"

Seeing the anger in his friend's face, House realized he had pushed Wilson too far so he reached under the T-shirt which was half on and half off and began to caress one nipple, getting it to peak. Then he leaned over and began to suck on the other nipple. When Wilson began to moan, House knew that he was making progress. Finally he pulled back and removed the T-shirt entirely.

"What do you prefer to do: stay here and live in sin; stay here and live in a civil union, or move to another state and get married?"

Looking faintly apprehensive, Wilson asked, "You'd really do that? I mean the marriage part, not just live in sin?"

House's eyes twinkled, "Sure, why not?"

"That's an awful lot of commitment from you. I don't want this relationship to crash like the other ones have." Realizing that the word crash had not been the best choice as he thought of Amber, Wilson dropped his head to his chest.

For a moment, both men sat still and then House kissed his friend's forehead. He understood about Wilson's feelings about the death of Amber. In a way, it must have felt like losing House himself and that had traumatized Wilson, just as House's weeks in the psychiatric hospital had done. Finally House whispered, "This is not just a one night stand, we've had twenty years together; now all's we have to do is move out of here and start life somewhere else. You decide what we are going to do."

Wilson looked up, "What about you?"

"Jamie, I already made the biggest commitment of my life twenty years ago when I bailed you out of jail. Read my feet, if you don't believe me."

"Not again, House. You can't read a person just by looking at his feet." Wilson's mouth dropped open, however, as he looked at the aforementioned feet and read,

I-LOVE-YOU!

With that message, the two men laid down in the bed and began sending other messages to each other.

The End