Coming to Terms with a Facade

Rating: PG- PG13 for language

Pairings and Characters: Amber/Wilson, House

Warnings: Spoilers for 4x12 Don't Ever Change, pre-slash/House/Wilson friendship

Disclaimer: House and all other related characters are owned by Fox. This story borrows them simply for amusement and for a chance to write. No profits, no commercials. I promise.

Summary: Although House seems to have let go of Wilson and accepted the woman he's dating, Houses' insecurities about himself and his friendship with Wilson continue to drive him to push Wilson till he breaks. The ultimate question remains: will he break because of Amber or because of House?

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Chapter 3

House stopped walking at the driveway of a cottage-like home. As he began to catch his breath, he gave himself one deep look at the house. It was a little too flowery for comfort, as the entire front was covered in ivy which climbed the brick front of the house. The awnings were covered in snow, protecting the frosted windows from the harsh weather. The recent snowstorm had also devoured the planted flowers along the path leading up to the front porch, giving the house a trapped feeling.

Yup, House thought, this is definitely the house of a bitch. He quickly glanced at the driveway and then into the interior of the home, double-checking that no one was home yet. Since there was no car in the driveway and every light was off, House continued onwards, hobbling in his traditional manner down the path, up the steps of the porch, stopping at Amber's front door. He wasted no time in pulling out a key from his pocket; he had found it in Wilson's wallet after lunch.

As he placed the key in the keyhole, House allowed himself a moment's reflection. Wilson's office had been as messy as always when House had stolen his key. Wilson had left his wallet on the desk, as he did almost everyday; House never quite understood why Wilson hadn't learned long ago to keep his wallet in a safe or some sort of location which House couldn't invade. But these petty details and quirks of Wilson's were irrelevant in comparison to what House was struggling to remember; had there always been a picture of Amber on his desk? Or rather, how long had the photo gone unnoticed? And that smell in his office... had Wilson's office always smelled so comfortingly?

House shook his head, snapping himself out of these uncharacteristically emotional thoughts. He had only gone several hours since that unsettling realization and already he was allowing himself to bask in this new level of comfort and acceptance. Yet House could not deny that he enjoyed this new feeling. He felt almost peaceful, in an odd state of what felt like bliss that he had not possessed before lunch. Usually his vicodin gave him a similar sensation as it kicked in for his leg pain, but now it came with not only a feeling of relief, but sheer happiness. It was certainly uncanny, almost frightening to House, but his animal desire for pleasure held him back from his temptations to push the feelings away.

The door opened, causing an alarm to sound throughout the house. House swore under his breath, and wracked his brains to remember the code he had punched in last time. Thinking quickly, House pressed in Amber's birth date, and the alarm fell silent. The whooping of the alarm echoed for a few seconds, then died away, leaving Amber's home at the mercy of House's will. He glanced around in the darkness for a few moments, then groped for the light. His hand made contact with a switch on the wall next to the front door, and then light flooded the living room. House observed the slightly familiar atmosphere of Amber's room, from the hardwood floor, to the mirror next to the coat rack. He then transitioned his gaze to the carpeted room covered in bookshelves stacked high with various novels and textbooks where a desk stood invitingly with a large swivel chair.

Like last time, House walked over to the large chair and placed himself in it. As he gave a sigh of relaxation, he then sat up and immediately began to dig through every drawer, scrambling, attempting to find a fault in Amber which would cause Wilson to finally snap out of his strange pull of attraction. He found old bills, random letters, emails and at last, a small black, leather book. In the midst of the scattered papers showered like confetti over the desk, House opened the book – which he knew had to be her diary – and began to pour over it.

"Enjoying a bit of light reading?" a voice carried from the doorway. It was not a feminine voice... House's heart jumped as he looked up and saw Wilson, briefcase on the floor at his side and currently in the process of removing his snow jacket, revealing his McGill sweater and jeans. Struggling to maintain his normal, casual air, House slowly closed the diary and reclined in the chair.

"As a matter of fact," he said, drawing out his voice in an attempt to convey an innocent, sarcastic tone, "I was. Very fascinating personal problems. See here..." he began to flip through the pages of the diary, "ah, 'February 15th, 2008: James gave me the most beautiful earrings I have ever seen. I have never been happier with anyone else. Who else has the ability to show someone so fluidly and beautifully how much they care? Leo certainly never did that...'" House looked up at Wilson.

"Awww, 'James'. Did she make that up? And earrings..." House attempted to continue teasing, but Wilson cut across him.

"To what level do you plan to stoop to, House? Get out of Amber's house."

"I might just tell you to do the same thing," House said before he could stop himself.

Wilson only laughed in disbelief, flashing the same smile from lunch, with the matching eyes squinting in the emotional state of being humored. House felt his body involuntarily wince.

"House, I must admit, you've got me completely baffled," Wilson began, still holding back bursts of laughter, "one minute you're announcing that you're going to make my life hell in order to prove your security, and the next minute you're digging through my girlfriend's drawers to find her diary. What are you trying to accomplish? Seriously. You're obviously extremely jealous, but what I'd like to know," he said, still maintaining a cruel air of mockery which caused House's piercing gaze to falter at times, "is who you're jealous of."

House actually gaped at Wilson for a moment, mouthing soundlessly. For the second time in several hours, he found that he had nothing he could say to Wilson. Everything Wilson did continued to amaze him, and simultaneously made his whole body shake with confusion and discomfort.

Wilson scrutinized House as he continued to gape and periodically look away. He realized that he had somehow struck a nerve. Something had changed in House – Wilson knew that without a single doubt – but this change was beyond anything that had ever happened before. He had never rendered House speechless before and suddenly, House had become the gaping wonder. Something was seriously wrong...

"House...?" Wilson asked, cocking his head to one side in concerned curiosity. "Are you... okay?" He began to slowly approach Amber's desk, where House still sat with his head drooping slightly on his chest. As Wilson finally reached the desk, he gently placed both of his hands at the edges of the desk and waited for any reaction... anything at all...

House only continued to look between his legs at the floor from his seat, struggling against every fiber he had to look Wilson in the eye. After a while, he allowed his eyes to quickly glance at the desk, and as he did, he noticed Wilson's fingers resting there. House hadn't noticed Wilson walk towards the desk, and House took his close presence by surprise. In his slight alarm, House looked up at Wilson at last, and their eyes met.

At first, Wilson had to hold back his surprise at the intensity of House's gaze, but as that split-second of surprise passed, Wilson was able to understand all of the emotion conveyed there. His eyes were not shining their typical deep blue, instead shining something lighter or paler, and his pupils seemed to have recoiled, nearly disappearing into the sea of pale blue.

The gaze pierced Wilson's memory, stirring images of most all of his cancer patients. That was not a look of fear, but of longing, hope and love. He had seen that look in his patients. Those people had all clung to that same hope that they would not be betrayed by life; that they could continue to fulfill their lives. In their hopeful stares at their doctor, they all pleaded for news of happiness and hope; they pleaded for the chance to love again.

Therefore, there could only be two possible reasons why House beheld that look – he was either dying, or in love. Something told Wilson that the first option was not likely... perhaps it was the fact that as their eyes broke the gaze, House placed his head in his hands and let out a long sigh. But it was not just that; Wilson should've seen this coming. The second option answered all of the questions Wilson had gathered about House over the past two days. It perfectly explained his behavior; no explanation was needed. It had always been jealousy, Wilson now realized, and he felt a guilty pang at his heart as he thought it. He had been taunting House the entire time, pulling him by the heartstrings... if House had any.

Guilt spread like poison through Wilson, causing his hands to shake slightly. He withdrew them from the desktop, placing them in his jean pockets. He let out a sigh, removing one of his hands to run it through his hair, along the back of his neck. He back away from the desk, pacing slightly from the weight of his thoughts. He paused to gaze at the wall, and then turned to begin pacing in the opposite direction. As he spun, he saw the figure of his girlfriend fill the front doorway. It was now Wilson's turn to embrace shock, as he jumped and gasped, "Amber."

"Hello, James." Amber said, sporting a cheery tone, "Is Greg here, too? How nice of him to drop by..." She maintained a frighteningly soft, menacing tone. She closed the door behind her and went over to her mirror, where she stared at House's reflection. She removed her jacket, hung it up on the coat rack and walked her typical, sassy-mannered stride over to Wilson. Planting a kiss on his cheek, she pretended not to notice House, who was still sitting at her desk only now dumbfounded at the combination of Wilson and Amber's presence.

"Hi," Wilson said, matching Amber's quiet voice. But his lack of volume came as a result of his continuous shock and dawning comprehension - not from a menace which Amber seemed to hold. He seemed to gaze half-consciously at Amber, who put on a frown and asked, "Is everything okay?" as she ran her hand down his cheek.

Wilson seemed to come to his senses as he took a deep intake of breath and responded, "Yes, yes, everything's just... fine." He began to bounce on the balls of his feet uncomfortably. Amber seemed to wait for more details, but as Wilson continued to stand awkwardly rooted to the spot, she began to look from Wilson to House, attempting to gather up any information she could.

"Am I... interrupting anything?" She asked, now turning her eagle-gaze onto House. Her eyes flashed dangerously.

At last, House seemed to regain his usual mannerism. "No," he said, beginning to rise from his chair, "in fact, we were just talking about you."

From behind Amber, Wilson threw back his head as his eyes began to take a tour of the ceiling.

"Oh, really?" Amber said, feigning surprise as she glanced behind her at Wilson.

"Yes. You really make for a fascinating read.." he said, picking up the little black diary as he stood.

Amber seemed to flinch for split second, but then broke into a smile. "You'll enjoy what I wrote about James, then. I'm guessing you've already read February 15th's entry. It was definitely the most... intriguing."

House seemed to mull over her word choice for a moment, and then spoke, "Mmm, 'intriguing' isn't the word I would use. More like, 'revealing.' As you know, I go straight to the gossip." He began to walk toward Amber, hatred and envy reverberating in every step he took.

"Well, now that you've found my deepest, darkest secrets, I want you out of my house." Her face was no longer wearing that facade of a smile. Instead, her face bore a deep sense of seriousness which gave her appearance a sense of intimidation even more powerful than her normal, bitchy act.

"If you need to talk with James about something, go do it on your own time."

"Gladly," House said, throwing a furious look at Amber as he stormed by her. He passed Amber on her left, causing her to retreat slightly into Wilson, who stood nearest the wall, still wearing his look of shock. House turned in the doorway, looking painfully at Amber and Wilson. Amber continued to glare at House, telling him with her eyes to begin his retreat. Wilson's eyes simply said, "I'm sorry." As House's eyes passed over Wilson, he felt one last jerk at his heart. He then grabbed the doorknob, and slammed it behind him. his receding footsteps were padded by the crunching of snow.

Amber sighed, "I though he'd never leave." She then headed to the kitchen. As Wilson heard the refrigerator door open, Amber's voice rang out, "how long was he here?"

"I – I don't know," Wilson said, still standing rooted to the spot, now apparently torn between bolting out the door after House and letting everything go. "He was going through your diary when I came in, so it couldn't have been for too long...

Amber returned to the living room, holding a beer in each hand. She then strolled over to the television and sat on the couch. When Wilson didn't move, she stood up and walked over to him.

"What's wrong with you today?" She asked, moving within kissing distance to him. She ran her hand down his cheek again, and looked into his deep, brown eyes. Wilson could only close his eyes and sigh. Amber sympathetically closed her eyes, leaning her body into Wilson's large torso, her pressing her lips gently against his, expecting a response. He lightly embraced her, accepting her kiss, but continued to stare fixedly at the door. As Amber broke the kiss, Wilson seized his opportunity. He gave Amber one last look, then quickly ran to the coat rack, grabbing his coat as he then fled to the door. As the door swung open, Amber's confused voice called out to him.

"Where are you going?!"

"To set things right," he said, slamming the door, leaving Amber to ponder the meaning of this vague idea in his wake.