Title: What Is Real

Author: pgrabia

Disclaimer: House M.D., its character's, locations, and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and Fox Television. All Rights Reserved.

Characters/Pairing: J. Wilson, G. House, L. Cuddy, E. Foreman; House/Wilson Friendship-UST or Pre-slash/slash. Mention of House/Cuddy once established but recently over.

A/N: This is a response to the "While You Were Sleeping" Challenge at Sick_Wilson at LJ. As will become apparent there are three different stories going on at the same time and I have tried to clarify by changing fonts and italics. I also borrowed some lines from the show, mostly from episode 6x22 "Help me". Where I have they are in bold type. Hopefully this won't be too difficult to follow. It's unbeta-ed because I'm too impatient to post it, so please forgive me. I will post this once but at the end of each chapter will be a link to the next. I've also taken liberty on interpreting what I saw of the American promo for episode 7x16 "Out of the Chute" so by this coming Monday when "Out of the Chute" is broadcast this will probably be quite AU.

Warning: Spoilers for all seasons and episodes up to and including 7x16; coarse language, violence, sexuality. Involves subjects like drug abuse, addiction, suicide ideation and suicide although there is no actual major character death. Reader Discretion advised.

Genre: Drama/help-comfort with friendship heavy with the UST.

Word Count: 4519 (this chapter); total: ~15000 including introduction.

Rating: M(NC-17) for Adult subject matter, coarse language, drug use

Chapter Three

With great effort Wilson forced his eyes open again.

House was still sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at him with an unreadable look in his eyes. Those eyes. Wilson could never resist them. They made his knees go weak…he forced himself to stop thinking about that and press forward with the matter hand. What was that now? Oh, oh yes. His questions: House sitting alive and well and pressing lightly against the oncologist's hip. What the hell was going on.

Upon seeing the younger man open his eyes again House smirked in amusement. "Too stubborn to sleep before you get answers, huh? You're worse than I am."

"Impossible," Wilson told him weakly, smiling slightly. This turned House's smirk into a brief but genuine smile.

"How?" the oncologist asked in awe and confusion. "How can you be here right now? I saw it with my own eyes. I was the one who felt for your pulses and couldn't find even one…How is it that you're here?"

House stiffened slightly and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. His brows moved closer together over his eyes in a classic Housian expression of curious concern.

"Say that again and make sense this time," he responded. "Why wouldn't I be here? And what do you mean when you said you couldn't find my pulse? When did you check my pulse?"

"Because you couldn't be," Wilson tried to explain, "but you are, which makes no sense, unless I was wrong. How could I have been wrong? It's not like I'm fresh out of med school. Besides, I saw it with my own eyes—there's no way someone could survive that, not the way you did it. Don't get me wrong House. I'm thrilled that you're here with me, but it just doesn't make sense."

Now House's frown deepened and he went from curious to worried. "You're not making sense Wilson. What the hell is taking Foreman so long to get here?"

Wilson shook his head slightly. It appeared like House didn't have a clue as to what had happened and perhaps he couldn't. Perhaps he had been wrong and House had survived after all, but had ended up with brain damage and memory loss. That could explain him, but seeing how healthy and whole he appeared to be, Wilson realized that he had to have been in a coma of some sort for quite some time…weeks—no, no months. That itself begged the question of what had happened to him to wind him up in the hospital with a head injury of his own. Nothing was making any sense and his head hurt so badly now that he could barely stand it without screaming. His hands went to his head, cradling it on both sides.

House didn't need the heart monitor to know that Wilson's heart rate was getting out of control. He placed a gentle hand flat against the younger man's sternum.

"Wilson, calm down. It's alright. Confusion is a common side-effect of a brain injury," the older man assured him with uncharacteristic patience. "It will probably clear as the swelling continues to go down. In the mean time you need to keep your heart rate and blood pressure from rocketing out of here. I don't know what you think happened to me, but you can relax. I'm fine. I really am."

Well, that much was obvious but it didn't answer his questions. He tried to breathe deeply and slowly, to calm down and slow his heart rate. It took a bit but eventually he was able to calm down enough that he was in no danger—and in the process his headache eased some as well.

"What happened to me?" Wilson asked, trying a different angle. "I don't remember getting hurt but obviously I did. Tell me how I wound up here and what damage I've received."

House sighed and looked away, his eyes filled with guilt.

"It happened when you were trying to save me."

H/W

When Wilson went to House's apartment he knocked several times on the door, but House didn't respond in anyway. He continued to pound while calling out House's name but still there was nothing, not so much as a creak of a floorboard or mumble from within. The racket he caused brought House's next door neighbor, a middle aged woman, to her door. She stuck her head out of her place to see what all the noise was about.

"Hey!" she snapped waspishly. "What's with the banging and shouting?"

Wilson hoped she could help him and ignored the fact that she was pissed off at him. "The man who lives here," he said to her, gesturing to House's door, "have you seen or heard from him this evening?"

She turned her nose up in disgust. "Who's asking?"

"I'm his best friend," Wilson explained. "I'm a little worried about him. Was he here at all tonight?"

"Him?" she repeated and then nodded. "Yeah. He was breaking glass right and left and shouting but what he was saying, I don't know. He sounded like he'd been drinking or something and was slurring his speech. I could only make out a couple of words. About an hour later I was outside saying goodbye to a friend when he staggered out of the building and nearly felt down the front steps. He got on his bike without a helmet. I told him that he shouldn't be driving in his condition. He just looked at me like he was stoned out of his mind and then took off like a bat out of hell. If he didn't wrap himself around some power pole somewhere I'd be surprised."

Wilson felt like he was going to vomit. Not only was House stoned on Vicodin and probably alcohol on top of that but he was riding that death trap of his on slippery roads without head protection. Images of House lying dead on the pavement, both him and his bike twisted out of shape the man bloodied and bruised, his skull cracked open began to appear in his head. He was desperate to find him now but had no idea where he would have gone.

"Did he say anything that would indicate where he might have been going?" the oncologist asked, highly doubting that House would have said anything to her. At this point, however, he was willing to try anything.

"Nope," was her answer. "Look, when he left here I don't think he would have known his own name if you asked him. Have you even tried the door? He might have forgotten to lock it. Just keep it down out here." She retreated back into her apartment and shut the door.

Wilson wondered if it would have actually been that easy. He put his hand on the door knob and twisted it. The door opened. He felt like a goddamned fool and was so glad that the neighbor had disappeared before he'd discovered that he was an idiot. Wilson entered the apartment and looked around. It was completely silent and the air was still. Shutting the door behind him, Wilson walked into the living room.

"House?" he called out just in case the diagnostician had returned unbeknownst to the neighbor. "Are you here?"

He took another step forward and heard a crunching sound under his feet. He'd just stepped on what looked like half of a coffee mug. He wasn't certain where the other half was but it probably wasn't too far away. That's when Wilson noticed that every surface that was breakable in the living room and kitchen had been broken, cracked, or smashed. It looked like House had become destructively angry and took it out on his environment.

"Shit," Wilson muttered when he noticed that even the windows had been cracked or broken. He couldn't find anything that may have been a clue as to where the older doctor may have gone. He proceeded to the bathroom. The mirror that had been replaced from the previous spring had been smashed with what looked like a highball glass. There was a trail of bloody toe prints leading to the bedroom. House must have been barefoot and cut himself on the shards of glass that were everywhere.

In the bedroom there didn't seem to be anything broken. The mirror on his dresser was still in one piece as was a half-full glass of what looked and smelled like bourbon. The bed was messed up but that wasn't all that unusual for House. However, tangled up in the bedding there was a book. When Wilson uncovered it he found it to be a photo album. Wilson knew that House had one or two of them, mostly empty but there were a few photographs in this one. He sat on the edge of the bed and began to leaf through it, stopping briefly to look at the pictures. To his amazement they were all pictures of House and him at various times in their twenty-year friendship. One photo was loose. He picked it up and studied it closely.

In the photo he and House were standing on the balcony of a multistory building that looked a little like an apartment building but upon closer examination turned out to be a hotel. The two of them stood behind the white railing. Wilson was waving at the photographer taking the shot up from the ground. House was giving the person with the camera the middle finger. Typical, Wilson thought, smiling fondly. He wondered if it was significant that this picture was loose but the others were securely placed into the pockets. For some reason he couldn't seem to remember where they were when that photograph was taken. What did strike him was how young they both looked…or rather, not so much young as relaxed and at ease. House was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, Wilson was wearing a polo shirt and shorts. He was smiling, and House had a devious smirk on his face, the one Wilson loved, that made him look so fun-loving and adorable. Adorable? he thought to himself. Well, yeah, actually he did look adorable. It was the perfect word to describe him. Wilson had frequently taken note of House's rugged kind of good-looks and knew that if his personality was anything like it had been back then the women would still be flocking around him. A year ago Wilson would have never admitted even to himself that he found his best friend attractive…but then again, a lot had changed in both of their lives since then.

He went to put the photograph back into a sleeve when it struck him where that picture had been taken. They had been attending a medical conference in Newark but they had registered late and hadn't been able to find a hotel anywhere in the city. They ended up staying at the one in the picture in Perth Amboy. House had often remarked afterward that that had been the best hotel he'd been to, a place where he could relax and ponder life…

Wilson tossed the album aside and launched himself off of the bed. As he hurried through and out of House's apartment he had his cellphone out and was dialing someone who would remember the name of the hotel.

He took the stairs down to the main level two at a time. "Hello, Bonnie? Hi, yeah…I'm good. Uh, Bonnie I need the name of the hotel we stayed at for the medical conference in Newark…yes, that's the one, the one we attended with House and Stacy…The Atlantis Shores. You're sure? Great, thank you, Bonnie!" He hung up and jumped into his car. Revving the engine perhaps a little too much Wilson peeled away from the curb and into traffic. His destination: Perth Amboy. He hoped he didn't come across the scene of a motorcycle accident along the way.

H/W

He parked in front of the apartment building behind House's motorcycle. At least he knew that House was home, unless he'd taken his car somewhere, but that seemed unlikely; as soon as the weather was good enough in the spring he had his bike out of storage and went just about everywhere on it. Wilson hurriedly got out of his vehicle and jogged to the door. He found his key for the building entrance and once inside took the stairs up a floor two at a time. Wilson had his key for House's apartment ready in his hand but didn't need it; the door was unlocked.

He stepped inside. It was dark in the main living space of the diagnostician's apartment but a light shone from the end of the corridor that led to the bathroom and House's bedroom. He headed in that direction. He considered announcing himself, but he had no idea what state of mind he'd find his best friend in and he didn't want to startle him. When he reached the corridor he could see that the door to the bathroom at the very end was partially ajar and a pair of long legs and expensive Nikes were visible. House was sitting on the floor but since his legs and feet weren't moving Wilson had no way of knowing if he was conscious or not.

Wilson walked quietly down the passageway. When he reached the bathroom he gently pushed the door open and stepped cautiously inside…and saw a very dirty, worn out, scraped, bruised and cut up House sitting with his back against the bathtub, an amber pill bottle in one hand and Vicodin tablets in the palm of the other. He was trembling, breathing hard, a look of defeat and devastation permeating his entire body. He didn't look up when Wilson entered and stood in the doorway staring down at him. The diagnostician was hurting both physically and emotionally, but mostly emotionally, Wilson believed. For a few seconds they just stayed there like that, not moving.

House lifted his eyes to look at Wilson. The younger man couldn't get over how beautiful and vulnerable and hurt they were.

"Are you going to leap across the room and grab them out of my hand?"

One corner of Wilson's mouth turned upward slightly, sadly. "No. I can't rescue you…you have to do that yourself. It's up to you. It's your choice."

Looking down and then back up House admitted, "Okay…Just so you know, I'm finding it hard to see the downside."

Nodding at that, Wilson knelt down in front of his friend, reaching a slow hand to lift the blood soaked dressing on the cut on House's neck. "You need to rebandage your shoulder. First aid kit still in the kitchen?"

House nodded. Wilson stood up and quickly went to get the kit. When he returned House was still staring at the tablets in his hand. At least he hadn't taken them yet. Wilson found a clean face cloth and wet it with warm water. He returned to his position in front of the injured man and gently removed the saturated bandage. He carefully cleaned the wound and the area around the wound with the cloth. House winced slightly every so often but otherwise didn't complain. He simply watched Wilson's hands, glancing up at him occasionally with his big blues. Wilson caught his eye a couple of times and smiled softly.

The oncologist felt overwhelmed with an emotion for his best friend. It was love that went beyond the platonic and for the first time in years he didn't deny it to himself or try to force it away.

"Is that why you're here?" House asked, a hint of cynicism in his voice. "Foreman sent you?"

"He told me you returned to the hospital without your cane and upset. I chose to come."

House took a moment to absorb that answer and then asked, "Are you here to lecture me about the Vicodin?"

Wilson reached into the first aid kit and took out a sterile saline soaked towelette to finish cleaning the wound. "No."

"Well," House shifted slightly on his bottom, "I'm running out of ideas."

Done cleaning the wound Wilson looked at it closely. "You may need a couple of stitches. We'll see how it looks later to be certain." He retrieved a bandage and some adhesive tape, fixing it in place neatly. With that done he set the first aid kit aside and threw the bloodied face cloth into the sink, then sat down next to House closely enough that their shoulders touched.

"I'm here because I care about you. I heard that you might be in trouble and all I could think about was making certain that you were going to be alright. I needed to come."

"Why?" House was looking at him now with genuine curiosity.

"Because," Wilson began slowly, choosing his words carefully. "You mean more to me than anyone else in the world. I was afraid…that I might lose you."

It didn't really surprise the oncologist when House weakly scoffed at that. "What about Sam?"

Sighing, Willson tilted his head back and staired up at the ceiling. "You were right about her; dating her again was a big mistake. I don't know why I never listen to you when it comes to the women in my life."

"Me, neither," the diagnostician agreed with a hint of a smile. "Did you two break up?"

Wilson shook his head but quickly said, "Not yet. I want to do it in person and I haven't been home yet."

An eyebrow on House's forehead arched. "You came here without going home to her first? Did you at least ask for permission?"

"I don't need permission," he answered, deciding not to tell House about her phone call to him. "I really screwed up, House. I was an idiot for kicking you out of the loft and pushing you away. I—I'm…sorry."

House rolled his eyes. "You think I'm going to take Vicodin because of that?"

"No." Wilson knew that it was a combination of pressures that had brought House to this point, and that his rejection of House was only one of them. He hoped, secretly, however, that it was one of the largest ones because that would mean that House cared as much about him as he did for House. "Think you've been struggling with a lot of things and it all just came to head today.

It was quiet between them for a moment before House inquired, "You think I can fix myself? 'Cause I'm the most screwed-up person in the world." His voice was whisper soft and his eyes as open and emotive as Wilson had ever seen them. He knew he had to be careful, tread softly so as not to push House too far.

"You're not the most screwed-up person in the world, House. Only one of us can hold that title and that's certainly not you. And yes, I think you can 'fix' yourself, whatever that means. You'll need support and help, but you can do it. That's what I'm here for. No more running away from you."

House shook his head. "But why?"

It was the moment Wilson had both been dreading and anticipating; he'd fought with himself consciously from the moment he'd gone to House's apartment and found House's former roommate at Mayfield, Alvie, staying with him; subconsciously he'd been living in denial for years already. Jealousy had hit him, and his immediate thoughts had been that he'd wanted to punch the hyperactive Puerto Rican right between his beady little eyes. He hadn't even known why until he left without getting to say everything he'd wanted to say and sat in his car out front House's apartment building thinking about it. The truth ultimately had one out over denial. So, afraid that he was going to wimp out now, he simply blurted it out and then waited for the chips to fall where they may.

"Because I'm in love with you, House."

Half-expecting House to recoil in disgust and yell at him to get out and never come back, Wilson was surprised when a small, nervous half smile broke the mask of misery. Even his eyes lit up ever so slightly.

"Seriously?" he asked suspiciously, scanning the younger man's face for any sign of deception.

"Seriously."

"So…you're gay?"

Wilson sighed. He shrugged and shook his head. "I think I'm bi. I mean, I'm sexually attracted to women, that much is obvious…but I'm also attracted to you. I guess my shrink and I are going to have to figure it all out. All I know is that I love you. And I have for a long time but I tried to ignore it, deny it…I'm supposed to be heterosexual, after all. Except that I'm not. Not completely anyway. Look, I realize that you're straight and that your feelings for me are platonic and that's okay. I have no intention of throwing myself at you; our relationship doesn't have to change…but you asked me why."

House stared thoughtfully at the oncologist for a few moments and Wilson forced himself to meet and hold onto the older man's gaze. It was hard not to look away because every second he stared at House he wanted him more. He knew that wouldn't be possible and Wilson questioned his own ability to keep his word about throwing himself at the diagnostician.

"Wilson, just answer this question with a yes or a no. Do you want me—all of me?"

The younger man's face flushed and he found his body wanting to answer that question for him. He knew he had to rein himself in while being honest. "Yes, I do. Body, mind and spirit, good and bad."

"You're not just saying these things to distract me from the Vicodin?"

"No."

Wilson felt his back cramping up from sitting on the floor too long. He used the edge of the bathtub to get to his feet. He extended a hand to House. He grabbed his hand and Wilson helped House to his feet. They stood only a few inches apart, still studying each other's faces.

House reached out a shaking hand and touched Wilson's rich brown hair, caressing it. The oncologist stood perfectly still, his heart racing, the nerve endings along his scalp and skin sizzling with heightened sensitivity. He wasn't exactly certain what was happening, but until he did he wasn't going to make any sudden moves and by doing so scaring his best friend away. When House's long-fingered hand moved from Wilson's hair to his temple and then traced his jaw line with a feather-light touch that gave the younger man goosebumps, the younger man closed his eyes, savoring the sensations rippling across his skin, the heightening of his arousal which he knew he wouldn't be able to hide much longer. A moment later he felt House's finger trace his lips; he had to fight the urge to kiss those finger tips.

"Wilson?" his best friend whispered. Brown eyes fluttered open.

"Yes?"

Without another word House leaned in at an achingly slow rate, his face inching closer to Wilson's. The latter could feel the moist heat of the former's breath on his face. Wilson's tongue ran across his bottom lip. The distance between their mouths was crossed and their lips met, brushed, withdrew then brushed again, less tentatively. House stared into Wilson's eyes and Wilson found himself getting lost in them. He couldn't believe this was happening but oh, how he was thrilled that it was! He allowed the other man to control the pace and depth of their kisses. The third time their lips touched House pressed them a little more firmly and Wilson responded accordingly. The kiss deepened naturally from there. Wilson's arms slid up and around the diagnostician's neck and his finger laced together. House's hands came to rest on his hips and then slid along Wilson's dress shirt along the waist where he proceeded to pull said shirt out from where it had been tucked into his pants. Once the hem was free, musician's hands slipped under the shirt and made contact with the soft, warm skin of Wilson's flanks and then back, rubbing circular caresses of it.

Wilson felt his desire building rapidly. He touched House's bottom lip briefly with his tongue; the older man responded by opening his mouth enough to give it access and Wilson took the opportunity to plunge it in deeply, hungrily mapping out every bit of his friends mouth. A small moan left House, and the sound of it increased the intensity of Wilson's passion, causing him to harden quickly. House took his turn exploring Wilson's mouth with his tongue and when they parted for breath Wilson felt like he was floating. House rested his forehead against his, panting. His arms completely encircled the younger man now and tightened to embrace him close.

"Am I hallucinating?" the diagnostician asked in a whisper.

"Did you take the Vicodin?" Wilson asked him, placing a soft kiss on the end of his friend's nose.

"No."

Wilson's hands came to rest on House's cheeks. "Then I think this is real."

"Yeah." House smiled shyly, "Wilson?…I love you too."

Wilson kissed him and he reciprocated happily. After another passionate, sensuous kiss the oncologist murmured, "Do you think texting Sam to break up with her would suffice? I really don't think it's a good time for me to leave you alone."

"Sounds okay to me," was the answer. House began to move them both towards the bedroom. "I really shouldn't be left alone."