Wilson nodded politely to the new face peering over the computer screen, and was given the go ahead to enter Cuddy's office. Normally he would have introduced himself, but today his mind was preoccupied with a particular diagnostician. He still knocked on the office door out of habit before sticking his head inside. Cuddy waved him in the rest of the way, and Wilson waited while she finished her phone call and replaced the receiver.
"Reservations are set," she began, setting a manila envelope off to the side. "Would you mind delivering them, when you head back upstairs?" her voice trailed off, and she leaned back in her chair. "He's already gone," she stated flatly, studying the expression on Wilson's face. Wilson nodded and Cuddy reached for the phone again. "In that case, I'll have them delivered."
Wilson reached for the envelope. "I'll save you the delivery charge. Besides, someone needs to make sure he packs a suit."
"You don't have to do that," Cuddy replied, but made to move to stop him as she gently set the receiver back down.
"Deliver the tickets or pack the suit?" he answered lamely and shuffled uneasily as he stared at the golden brown envelope in his hands. House's plane ticket and itinerary for the conference were sealed inside, and Wilson could almost hear House whining about his prison sentence now.
"Either one." Cuddy fixed Wilson with a calculated look she'd perfected over the years. "He's a grown man, and as long as you let him take advantage of you, he will continue to do so." When Wilson didn't respond, she picked up the stack of folders that needed signatures and deliberately dropped them in front of her. Wilson's head snapped up and Cuddy continued. "We all care about what's going to happen to House, but for now, it's out of our hands," she reminded him in a gentler tone.
"For once, I think he's getting the short end of the stick, and his staff is going to have more questions," Wilson sighed heavily, dropping his gaze again. He wasn't sure if he should fell a bit of relief from getting the statement off his chest or resigned panic, knowing what he would be dealing with shortly.
"I'll deal with them," she paused with her pen poised above the papers on her desk, caught his eye and reassured him. "It's only three weeks, everything will turn out fine." she said, her tone of voice once more that of hospital administrator. Wilson nodded and turned to leave, stopping when Cuddy called to him. "Was there something else, Doctor Wilson?"
He stared at the door in front of him, his reflection staring back and wearing a worried frown. He could think of a dozen questions to ask, yet each of them would have sounded lame spoken aloud. "No," he heard himself say as he pushed open the door and waving the envelope he took his leave. Some things were better left unspoken he thought, as he backtracked to his office.
He hurried his pace, noticing the clock above the nurse's station claimed he was already late for his consult, but the excuses running through his head weren't how to explain his tardiness to his patient, but rather, how to explain to Julie he wouldn't be home this evening.
+house md+house md+
Stamping his feet at the top of the step, he rapped loudly and pressed his ear close to the door, listening for any signs of life over the sounds of passing vehicles behind him.
"House, it's me. Open up." He heard the unmistakable sound of the television raise in volume. "I know you're in there, and I'm not going anywhere until you open up," he shouted at the solid barrier in front of him. He switched the large, steaming cardboard box to his other hand and placed the six pack of beer on top of it, then kicked the door solidly with his foot, grimacing with the effort. One way or the other he'd force the occupant to acknowledge him.
He fell forward, barely catching himself as the door swung open unexpectedly and gave an exasperated look at the owner who stood above him silently watching. "Brought food and beer," he offered. House's expression didn't change at the sight of the meal; instead he turned and limped back to the sofa completely ignoring Wilson and plopped himself down, pointing the remote at the television once more.
Wilson was forced to squint upon entering the apartment as the only light in the room came from whatever program was currently airing. Luckily it appeared to be WWF and therefore lots of flashing strobe lights, making the shadows dance wildly about the room, but it gave him enough light to maneuver in.
He set the pizza on the small wooden island in the kitchen before opening the refrigerator and putting the remaining beer inside. The wire racks held a half gallon of outdated milk, a block of cheese that had long ago turned into a science experiment and the requisite jar of peanut butter. Wilson shook his head, wondering how one man lived on such bare sustenance, then recalled all the filching of his lunches as he let the door close, bathing the kitchen in darkness again. He reopened the door, reached above the sink for plates and shutting the door again, picked up the pizza and two beers.
No words were spoken as Wilson handed House a plate with two thick slices of pizza and an already open beer. House accepted them without a glance toward Wilson, his eyes glued to the match. Two long-haired men, their sweat soaked bodies locked in a struggle of force, muscles bulging under the strain, faces determined as they expended large amounts of energy to best their opponent. Wilson took a seat on the opposite side of the sofa, biting into his own pizza and stretching his legs out onto the coffee table. The two men ate their fill, an occasional belch breaking the silence as the grunts and yelling onscreen continued.
The match ended with the louder of the two assailant's victorious and yelling more childish insults at his rivals and the audience, driving the crowd into a wild frenzy. Wilson watched House limp towards the kitchen and grabbed the remote, turning the volume down to a more manageable level.
"I was watching that," House whined as he handed Wilson a beer.
"You can still watch," began Wilson.
House rolled his eyes and resumed his position on the sofa. "I was listening to that," he replied petulantly, reaching for the remote as Wilson's arm swung away from House.
"Give me," its owner growled, leaning over and planting an elbow into Wilson's thigh while stretching an arm over his body to snag the grey box.
"House," Wilson squeaked in surprise as the bottle House held tipped into his lap. He jumped up knocking House onto the floor and stood straddle-legged, staring open-mouthed at the dark stain growing larger on his slacks. "I can't believe you just did that." He swiped lamely at the wet spot as House looked up at him, a triumphant grin on his face as he waved the remote in his free hand and turned back towards the TV.
Wilson toed his shoes off and unbuckled his belt, House waved him off. "Not a strip club and not interested," he stated loudly, turning the volume up once more as the next set of fighters entered the ring.
Shaking his head in frustration Wilson made his way to House's bedroom, he wasn't about to sit in beer-soaked trousers the rest of the night. He grabbed a pair of grey sweats out of the drawer, which he quickly swapped for his wet clothing and noted the empty suitcase sitting on the bed. Now he understood House's plan, the manipulative bastard couldn't ask for help and wasn't about to pack for himself.
Dropping the suitcase next to the sofa, House glanced over. "Going somewhere?"
"You are," Wilson stated, walking past House to the small desk where he'd left the envelope with House's itinerary. He tossed it casually into the other man's lap and took his seat at the end of the sofa once more.
"Not interested." House tossed the envelope back to Wilson who almost spilled his own beer as he tried to catch the packet. He slid it onto the cushion between them.
"No choice in the matter."
"Exactly why I don't want to go." House took a long swig of his beer, his eyes never wavering from the screen.
"So, you'd go if it was your choice to go?" Wilson mused aloud, keeping his eyes on the back of House's head. "I figured of all folks, just the free buffet lines and open bar would be tempting enough."
"And listen to idiots spout ridiculous theories, while being bombarded by pharmaceutical companies wooing the unsuspecting." He winced at the last and Wilson knew that Vogler had surfaced in his thoughts.
"Don't forget meeting old acquaintances," Wilson began reminiscing about the various conferences he had attended. "And it's a great time to catch up on the newest gossip, check out the up and coming, and the Sunday morning gol—"
Wilson realized his mistake too late as House scrambled to his feet awkwardly, leaning heavily on the coffee table and reaching for his cane. Hobbling as quickly as he could towards the bedroom he snarled. "Yeah, I'll be sure to pack my irons." He slammed the bedroom door effectively ending any further discussions.
Wilson rubbed a hand over his tired face, turned the television off and cleaned up the remains of dinner, before finding a blanket and extra pillow and throwing them on the couch. He picked up the envelope and opened it to find out when House's flight left. One of them had to be responsible he told himself, then placed the envelope on top of the suitcase.
He stared upwards at the ceiling, watching the passing headlights sweep across the ceiling in elongated lines and thought about how things might have been different if House hadn't pushed Stacy away this time.
For a short time, Wilson had believed he had his old friend back, the one that could see beyond his disability and enjoy life, and then suddenly he'd gone into a deep funk and seemed to be trying to push away everyone that cared about him. Well, House wasn't the only one that could be stubborn he thought, rolling over and closing his eyes.
The alarm came all too early.
Authors Note : All mistakes are mine, and constructive criticism is always welcome. I'm eager to learn and improve, so don't be shy. Thank you.