Title: A House Distracted - additional part: Gary
Author: hwshipper
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Heel and Toe Films, Shore Z Productions and Bad Hat Harry Productions in association with Universal Media Studios.
Beta: the always great starlingthefool

A House Distracted - additional part: Gary

As soon as Gary opened the door of apartment B and saw the man with the brilliant blue eyes, he knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted to have that tall lanky frame pressed underneath him, have that stubble prickling breathlessly inches away from his face, see those blue eyes swim and fracture in climax...

It might not have gone anywhere, of course. House might have been married, or had a girlfriend, or been insulted, or offended, or just not interested. But none of those things proved to be the case. Instead House was grouchy and argumentative, and that wasn't an obstacle, merely a challenge.

And although there turned out to be a significant other hanging around, that the significant other was married and unavailable most of the time.


The bar Gary took House to on their first date was picked for various reasons. It was some ways away, it was frequented by men who wouldn't blink an eyelid if he put a hand on House's knee (or more), and it was at basement level, down a fairly long flight of steps. This last fact meant there was absolutely no chance of bumping into Alan, his ex, who used a wheelchair.

Gary had overlooked the fact that House also had a reason to be averse to steps. House didn't hesitate to complain loudly about it as they made their way down.

"This place doesn't have an elevator? I could sue them for disability discrimination. Boy, you really know how to pick a place."

Gary cast a skeptical eye over House as he tapped his way down with the cane.

"Bullshit, you can manage a set of steps like this."

The blue eyes flared in surprise. "Charming. I'm a cripple, remember?"

"And I bet you play that card all the time," Gary responded swiftly, and the blue eyes flared in amusement this time.

"And I don't often get that reaction," House admitted, as they arrived at the bottom of the stairs. He looked around the room and headed for a booth with large padded seats. "Now we're down here, I bag the comfy chair."

Several beers, four cigarettes, and some animated conversation later, Gary had his knee rammed up against House's good thigh, and House wasn't giving any hint of aversion. House had accepted a cigarette, although had only had the one in the same time Gary had managed four.

"Didn't think doctors smoked," Gary remarked, as House lit up.

"It's frowned on at work for some reason," House said solemnly and took a long drag. "It's mainly frowned on by my friend who's an oncologist... can't think why."

They ordered burgers and fries. House ate most of Gary's fries as well as his own, and demanded while dunking the last fry in ketchup, "Not hungry? Or do you get a kick out of sharing your food? If the latter, then you're doomed, in evolutionary terms."

Gary shrugged; he really didn't mind. "I don't eat much."

House cast a critical blue eye up and down Gary's tall, lean frame. "I can see that. You're too thin."

"And you're too crippled. Am I complaining?" Gary responded, and House snorted in amused surprise.

"Apparently not," said House, and pressed his knee back against Gary's leg.

Gary drank beer, and knew he was getting laid tonight.


Gary had expected a lot of things to be difficult after Alan had his accident.

He thought Alan would find it hard to adapt to being in a wheelchair. (Right, multiplied by a thousand). He'd worried that he wouldn't find Alan attractive now he was in a wheelchair. (Wrong). He thought they might have to move house. (Wrong). He'd been concerned they couldn't afford all the adaptations the house would require for a wheelchair user. (Wrong, Alan was awarded a large amount of compensation from the grossly negligent construction company that had caused the accident).

There was one thing Gary hadn't banked on; Alan falling in love with someone else in the middle of it all.

When Alan had told him, Gary hadn't shouted or sworn, he'd simply refused to believe it. Alan couldn't possibly have fallen for someone else. Certainly not a sociology student called Stuart, with doe eyes behind large horn rimmed spectacles. Earnest and shy and twittering. They'd met him in a bathroom showroom, of all places; they'd been buying a handicapped accessible bath with a door in the side, and Stu was the minimum wage assistant trying to advise them.

Gary just couldn't take it seriously. He chose instead to ignore the jealous twang in his chest, and indulge Alan in his fling. For Chrissake, the man was in a wheelchair, would be for the rest of his life. He deserved whatever fun he could get.

"Fine, fuck Stu the Stupid Student, see if I care. Just don't catch anything from him."

Alan had pursed his lips and said, it's not just sex, but Gary had refused to listen. Or rather, he had listened, but ignored what he heard. Mentally stuck his fingers in his ears and his head in the sand, la la la I can't hear you. Alan was surely just flattered by the attention, that was all. Taking heart from the fact that he could still be attractive now he was in the wheelchair.

The day Alan had told him flatly that it was over between them, Gary had then shouted and sworn, and refused to leave ("This is MY FUCKING PLACE TOO") and eventually moved into the guest room, upset and angry but still telling himself that it would only be for a short time. He could not, after all, force Alan to move into the guest room. The bedroom was all set up with room for the chair to maneuver around, and cripple bars...

The day Gary got home tired from work to find unfamiliar underpants in the wash basket, he realized that Stu hadn't just all but moved in. He had moved in.

The scales dropped from his eyes. He told Alan flatly that night that he'd sell Alan his half of the house (and tried to ignore the relief in Alan's eyes), and that he'd move out that weekend.

It hadn't been easy to find a place that weekend. 221 Baker Street was not where Gary wanted to live, it was too far from work, but apartment D was available to move into right away. Gary signed as short a lease as he could get away with, and hired a van to move his stuff.

And then something else happened he hadn't banked on; the guy in the apartment downstairs had absolutely irresistible blue eyes.


Gary was naturally intrigued to find out what had happened to House's leg, but House was very close-mouthed about it. He gave out only the bare facts: blood clot, infarction, muscle death, a few years ago.

Gary equally naturally turned to other ways he might find out. He wasn't a skilled hacker or anything, but he was an IT engineer. And he had the advantage of having worked on the Princeton university computer system in the past, in his previous incarnation as a consultant. He still knew how to get into their system, and rather suspected that the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital system might be connected. And lo and behold, sitting in front of his computer one evening, he found it was.

There were areas with additional levels of security--patient stuff--but Gary wasn't interested in those kind of files. He knew he wouldn't be able to make head or tail of House's medical records anyway.

Instead he went looking for management information. Bingo. Management Board minutes. Gary went back a few years, and aha. Dean of Medicine Dr. Cuddy's proposal to set up a Department of Diagnostic Medicine. Complete with background paper, which talked brightly of how fortunate the hospital was to have a doctor so skilled in diagnostics; what a draw this would be to patients; the money that would be brought in; and so on.

The minutes of the discussion were dry in the way minutes always were, but Gary could read between the lines. Cuddy had forced it through against much skepticism.

He flicked back a few meetings, and there was House discussed again. A short factual report from Cuddy to the Board on the state of health of one of their senior doctors, following an infarction in his leg. A line jumped out at Gary:

"...clinically dead for over a minute..."

Shit. Gary gulped a little, and tried to imagine House unconscious, dead, being revived... like on TV perhaps, with electric shocks? Gary had no idea. It was a nasty image...

He read on, and frowned at the description of a second operation. "...against Dr. House's will, but while he was in a coma, and with the consent of his medical proxy..."

Gary's first thought was that this must be Wilson, but a couple of lines down saw it was someone else altogether, a woman called Stacy.

Gary sat back in his chair and considered what this meant.

Must be a girlfriend. Must be the girlfriend. The one who'd broken House's heart; House had the most obvious broken heart Gary had ever seen. You could see it a mile off; in the way he walked and stood and sat (and no, not just because he was crippled); in the way he talked, the world-weary cynicism of one who had been betrayed. It was an old, crusted wound that sat there on the surface for the most part, and occasionally leaked a bitter substance.

This was how she'd broken his heart, she'd made a medical decision he'd opposed, and that was how House had ended up crippled. Gary closed his eyes and thought of House's blackened thigh. He understood completely.

Suddenly he was very glad indeed that no difficult medical decisions had ever had to be made over Alan's legs. That they'd been crushed beyond repair had been only too obvious.


It was obvious from the start that there was a guy called Wilson around, who played a major role in House's life. House kept mentioning him in conversation without realizing it. To Gary, it was equally obvious that there was something beyond friendship, but he couldn't quite figure out what. He didn't think House was sleeping with anyone but himself. At least, not at the moment.

He tried asking one evening. "Tell me about Wilson."

"Nope. Tell me about Wheelchair Boy."

"Nope. You've mentioned Wilson, ooh, I think four times this evening?"

"I have not!" House was indignant.

"Only by name once," Gary acknowledged. "But I think you've also referred to 'a friend of mine' or 'someone said...' at least another three times."

House glared. "All different people."

This was so obviously a lie that Gary didn't even bother to contradict House. House wouldn't talk about Wilson, fine. He'd find out some other way.

The following evening Gary sat down at his computer again, but ran up against a problem at the beginning. There was more than one Dr. Wilson at Princeton Plainsboro. An opthamologist and an oncologist. He knew it was the latter, but how to differentiate? He didn't know Wilson's first name...

He tried a different tack. There was a Princeton Plainsboro glossy magazine on the hospital intranet, clearly aimed at donors and potential donors, full of heartwarming stories about the hospital and its achievements. Gary searched for mentions of House, and found quite a few features, on each occasion having solved some medical mystery that had apparently flummoxed the medical profession. Even mentally discounting 90 of the blurb as hype, Gary was still impressed.

Then he stopped by a different kind of piece; photographs from a donor event. Donors and doctors dressed in black tie, mingling with plates of food and glasses of wine in hand.

House was in one of the photographs, although he obviously hadn't posed for it, he was turned slightly away from the camera, talking to someone else. And Gary instinctively knew this must be Wilson. They were standing close, talking animatedly; Gary already knew House well enough to know House wouldn't socialize with many people like this.

The caption read: Two department heads in conversation. Dr. Greg House, Head of Diagnostic Medicine, and Dr. James Wilson, Head of Oncology, share some life-saving tips.

Gary snorted at the caption, but clicked to copy the words 'Dr. James Wilson', and went to search again.

In an earlier edition of the glossy mag, he found a feature on Wilson as the newly appointed Head of Oncology. Gary read it through, and started to appreciate what a major achievement this had been. Oncology was a huge department--in a completely different league to Diagnostics. And Wilson was a few years younger than House, and had been very young indeed to be made its head. He was obviously intelligent and a high flyer.

Stood to reason, Gary thought, that House wouldn't choose to hang out with anyone stupid.

He couldn't help but observe that Wilson was not unattractive... not Gary's type (no, not crippled: House teased him about having a cripple kink, but that wasn't it; it was blue eyes, Alan had them too)--but definitely cute. The picture with the feature article showed him looking a little self-conscious but smiling, with large brown eyes and with a strand of hair curling out of place sideways across his forehead.

Gary lit a cigarette, and pondered the photograph.

Unexpectedly, House and Wilson featured together in one other magazine article, this one more recent--about a year ago. There was a slightly blurred photo of Wilson, looking a little dazed, standing next to a smiling brunette woman in a white headdress. Another woman stood behind, throwing confetti. The caption read, Our Head of Oncology, Dr. James Wilson, with his lovely new wife Julie at their surprise wedding in Las Vegas last week. Photograph taken by our Head of Diagnostics, Dr. Gregory House, who was best man.

House, best man! Gary chortled aloud at the thought.

But that cast a whole new light on Wilson... he was married. That hadn't been how Gary had seen Wilson at all. And Gary started to understand a little more.


When they finally met, Wilson in the flesh turned out to be as cute as Wilson in the photographs, although rather more startled. Gary derived immense satisfaction from being able to emerge from House's bedroom to say hello, although he was surprised to find that House had clearly not told Wilson anything about Gary at all. House could be a real bastard sometimes. Most of the time, actually.

One thing Gary hadn't quite anticipated was that House was quite as curious about Alan as Gary was about Wilson.

Gary had been ensconced in apartment 221D and seeing House for a few weeks when he got a call from Alan; there was more stuff of his to collect. Stuart had opened a top cupboard (the kind that Alan would never reach again...) and found a box of books that belonged to Gary.

Gary wasn't bothered about the books, in fact he was tempted to tell Alan to stick them up Stupid Stu's ass, but decided instead it might be nice to see Alan again. Briefly. Show Alan he was getting on fine without him, thank-you very much.

He picked a time when Stu would be chatting up customers in the bathroom showroom, and arrived to find the box of books sitting waiting for him in the living room on the coffee table. Alan invited him to stay for coffee, and Gary agreed with a magnanimous air. They sat and talked for a while about mutual friends and acquaintances.

"You look good," Alan said sincerely, as Gary drained the last of his coffee. "Are you... seeing someone?"

"Well, as a matter of fact I am." Why not talk about it? "He's a doctor. Greg House, works at Princeton Plainsboro."

Alan froze. "House? House? Is... is he a cripple? Walks with a cane?"

"That's him." Gary couldn't think what was coming next.

Alan slammed a fist down on the arm of his chair. "That's what he was doing there!" He glared at Gary. "Your new boyfriend's been spying on me! He turned up at Princeton General last week posing as a doctor there. I was there for my check-up, went in the room and he was there, poring through my file."

Gary supposed he should have been outraged, but he was more intrigued than anything.

"I just thought my usual doctor was on vacation, and he was filling in. I was answering all his questions..." Suddenly Alan flushed bright red. "I thought it was odd he was asking so much about...that fucker!"

About... sex?, Gary mentally filled the gap. Suddenly he was agog to find out what House had asked, but could see Alan wasn't about to tell him. "Um... so what happened?"

"My real doctor walked in half way through, said, God, it's Greg House! What the fuck are you doing here? and he made some bullshit excuse and left as fast as his cane would carry him. I just thought it was some tomfool doctor practical joke thing." Alan shook his head, then looked at Gary accusingly. "Did you put him up to this?"

"No," Gary denied indignantly.

"But you're obviously finding it hilarious." Alan was cold now. "Get out of my house."


Gary was in two minds about whether to confront House about the impersonation of Alan's doctor. After all, he had himself been busily investigating House in his own way, via the Princeton Plainsboro mainframe. Eventually he decided he would, if only because he was really quite keen to learn what the hell had happened.

He waited until House was at his most pliable one evening to catch him off-guard; they'd been watching a movie and House was obviously anticipating getting laid thereafter. They'd each shed some clothes and House was on his back on the couch; Gary climbed on top of him, kissed him, placed a hand strategically on House's crotch, and then squeezed just a little too hard.

"Ow, watch it," House muttered, his eyes closed.

"You've been spying on me, you bastard," Gary said evenly. "Tell me why I shouldn't break your dick off right now."

House's eyes shot open. "What the fuck!"

Gary shifted his weight sideways a little, propping himself up on a elbow. "You went off to Princeton General and impersonated Alan's doctor."

"Oh, that," House said, and although he sounded contemptuous he wouldn't meet Gary's eye. Gary thought House had a slight guilty conscience about this, although there was no way House would ever admit such a thing. "No harm done. Just wanted to see what Wheelchair Boy was like."

"Tell me what you asked him," Gary said, his fingers playing lightly across House's groin. House wriggled a little.

"Not much. Mainly I wanted to see his file. See what happened to his legs. What the doctors had done. There wasn't much time to actually talk to him."

Gary waited.

House sighed a little. "I said to him I could see he'd changed his medical proxy only a month ago, and he said yes, he'd recently split up with his long term partner. I said oh, did he have a problem with the wheelchair thing?... he said no, not at all, but I did; I couldn't believe he still wanted to be with me, didn't hate the burden I'd become to him every minute of the day... And the more understanding he was about it all, the more I hated him...And then I just met someone else who never knew what I was like before, who simply took me just as I am now..."

Gary moved his hand upwards to rest on House's chest while House was speaking. When House had finished, Gary just stayed very still.

He'd known Alan had felt something like this, but what could he have done about it? And to have it spelled out like this, to know Alan had said this, to a doctor--

Eventually Gary asked, "What did you make of his medical file? About his treatment?"

House shook his head. "It was a fucking bad accident. Doctors did all they could, as far as I could see. There was no way he was ever going to walk again, whatever they did." He paused, and added, "I noticed they considered amputation when he was first brought in."

"I told them to fuck right off with that," Gary said immediately. "Alan was delirious with the pain and shock, they had to knock him out... I wasn't going to let them cut his legs off while he was under."

House was silent. His face didn't give anything away, but Gary could see something resonating under the surface.

After a minute House said, rather unexpectedly, "I saw the photographs in the file, the ones taken right after the accident. He was pretty screwed up. I'm sorry."

"I took those photos as evidence." Gary laughed shortly. "Alan didn't want me to, screamed what the hell are you doing with that camera?... Good thing I did. The only silver lining at the end of it all was that he was so fucked up, and the construction company were so clearly to blame, they settled out of court with hardly a whimper."

House didn't say anything, but nodded approval.

Gary went on, "Alan got enough cash to put a ramp on every step in the house, put handlebars on every wall, widen every door, replace the bath with one of those walk-in ones, get a car that the chair could drive into... " He paused, then added, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice, "And buy out my share of the house."

House reached out and wrapped an arm around Gary's shoulder. Gary flopped down to rest his head on House's chest; House stayed still, running his fingers gently through Gary's hair.

They never actually got round to having sex that evening, but Gary felt he'd gotten closer to House in a whole different way.


Gary was banned from visiting Princeton Plainsboro except under strict supervision by House, which he tried to respect. He understood doctors had to be careful. It did grate with him though, that their relationship was hidden from pretty much everybody in House's life except Wilson. Gary wasn't used to it; he and Alan had lived together openly for so many years...

It therefore came as a very interesting surprise when Gary got to meet not only a former boyfriend of Wilson's but also a former boyfriend of House himself.

It happened one evening after he'd seen House and Wilson in a coffee shop near the hospital; Gary had been driving past and seen them go in.

He hadn't been hiding from them, but equally he hadn't been able to resist holding back and watching them together for a while. They weren't sitting that close, but Gary spotted some foot-touching going on under the table. Subtle, but definitely there. They talked, laughing quite a lot; there was a moment when they each lowered their voices and leaned in to hear the other, and Gary thought they definitely touched foreheads; just very briefly. No casual observer would have thought anything of it all, but Gary was no casual observer.

After Wilson had gone, Gary sat down with House and found to his surprise that House had a suggestion for the evening.

"How about a drive down to the coast?" House suggested. "There's a club down there we could go. I haven't been there for years, but I know the owner. I could get us in the private bar. Far from the madding crowds."

"Sounds good." Gary was most intrigued.

On the drive down, Gary asked, "So who's this owner that you know?"

"Guy called Chris." House shifted slightly in the passenger seat and yawned a little ostentatiously. "Wake me up when we get there."

Gary did a mental eye-roll; so House wasn't going to open up about this. Never mind, he'd meet this Chris himself and find out who the hell he was.

Chris turned out to be tall, fair and gray-eyed; he had powerful forearms and wore black leather trousers over muscular legs. He was cool towards House, but obviously inquisitive about Gary. Gary chatted to him for a few minutes before managing to ask the important question. "And how do you know House?"

Chris hesitated, then said, "I'm a friend of Wilson's."

"No shit!" Gary was very interested to hear this. Someone who might be able to shed light on House and Wilson.

Later on Chris came and sat on a stool at the end of the bar--clearly his preferred spot--with a glass of whiskey at his elbow, reading a newspaper. He wasn't smoking, but he held a hand out to one side as if holding a cigarette, and his fingers occasionally twitched; Gary (who had given up smoking enough times himself to see the signs) decided he had recently quit. Wilson's influence, perhaps?

Periodically, without being asked, the bartender glided up the counter to refill Chris's glass: Chris nodded his thanks each time. Gary noticed the refills came from a bottle under the counter, rather than one on view behind the bar. At one point a burly man in a suit and with a name tag saying 'Bob - General Manager' came up for to speak to Chris. He and Chris had a conversation that looked serious, presumably work related, for a few minutes.

Watching Chris interact with his staff, and with other people who came up to say hello, Gary saw a man completely comfortable in his own skin, as proprietor of the premises, towards customers, friends and work colleagues. How, he wondered, would a man like this, the owner of a gay club, have become friends with someone like Wilson? Wilson, who on all the evidence Gary was aware of (three marriages being only symptomatic), was repressed and in denial...

Gary got the chance to have a few words with Chris later on, while House was absorbed in poker. Gary sidled up just in time to hear someone leaving the room turn back to call to Chris, "How's Linus doing, Chris?"

"Radiotherapy's giving him hell," Chris replied. "But he's doing well, Wilson says."

So there was a doctor connection here. Maybe that was all. Gary sat on the stool next to Chris and prepared to ask. It turned out to be a short conversation because Chris wasn't about to hear or give out any criticism of Wilson at all.

Clearly Chris had once had feelings for Wilson, maybe still did. The question was, had it been returned?...


Gary and House also met another man at the club who turned out to be even more interesting to Gary than Chris. He was tall, with longish dark hair and expressive hands, and greeted House like a long-lost buddy.

His name was Dan, and to Gary's enormous interest, it became quickly clear that he was an ex of House's. From a long time ago, but an ex nonetheless. Dan, clearly a regular at the club, was the one who brought them up to the private bar. Gary noticed that House didn't whine about the stairs.

"So what are you up to these days?" House asked, settling down in a chair. "Dumped your loser boyfriend yet?"

Dan laughed and said, "Nope, he's still around," and he and House entered into a half-conversation, half-argument, about someone Gary didn't know. Gary didn't care, either; once he ascertained that Dan had a long-term boyfriend and was therefore unlikely to try and jump House when he wasn't looking, he was happy to sit back and let them talk.

Later that evening, Gary managed a brief conversation with Dan while House was in the bathroom. He found Dan sitting on the side, carefully smoking a long cigarette right to the very end.

Gary offered him another, and Dan accepted.

"So tell me about you and House," Gary said, as nonchalantly as possible.

Dan looked at him with some amusement. "Shouldn't you be asking him that?"

"He's not one to talk about himself," Gary said. Understatement of a lifetime.

"No indeed," Dan agreed, and blew out a lungful of smoke. "There's not much to tell, though."

"How long have you known him?" Gary tried a direct question.

"I met House a long time ago, here in this club. Maybe fifteen years ago? Only to say hello to at the time, he was with Wilson, if you know what I mean--" Gary jerked in his seat in surprise. "Well, kind of. Wilson was married at the time, I gather he is again now." Dan shook his head. "House moved to Jersey soon after and we bumped into each other by accident. He was alone in a new town, I was fucking lonely, and ill... he diagnosed me. Gout, as it turned out."

"Gout?" Gary had no idea anyone suffered from such a disease today. It sounded positively medieval.

"Indeed. I was very young to have developed it, but House was quite right... anyway, we started going out." Dan looked a little self-conscious. "Did so for a year or so perhaps, but kind of on and off. We were both very, um, relaxed about it all. We just drifted apart in the end, and that was cool. We've met a few times since, but not for years."

Gary pondered this. "You know Wilson?"

"Yes, not at the time I was with House, but I saw him quite a lot around here--about a year and a half ago, when he was going out with Chris." Aha, Gary thought, confirmation. "Wilson and Chris, eh?"

"For about six months. Oh, they were just adorable together," Dan said, unexpectedly direct, and sighed. "Just adorable. It was never going to last, I fear, not with House around, but while it lasted, they were just so happy together."

Gary was starting to piece together his picture of Wilson a little better. This thrice married best friend of House's had also had a real, apparently fulfilling relationship with a man; a man who ran a gay club.

Dan went on, "Wilson never knew about me and House, by the way--I'd be grateful if you didn't mention it. House was always very sensitive about it. Probably still is."

Gary nodded slowly, getting his head round it all. He saw House emerge from the bathroom, over the other side of the room.

Dan saw him too, and went on quickly, "If Wilson being around bothers you, you need to get over it."

Gary stared, surprised. Chris had said something very similar; Gary thought the advice sucked.

"Wilson is always going to be the most important person in House's life. And vice versa. There's room for you like there was room for me, but don't get any ideas you'll ever displace Wilson." Dan tapped the cigarette against the ashtray. "And don't make House choose, because you won't like the result."

Gary didn't reply, not only because House was bearing down on them, but also because he didn't like what he was hearing. Gary thought Dan was unbelievably laid back about it all.


Gary genuinely admired House's expedition to Princeton General to investigate Alan, and decided it would be interesting to try something similar to investigate Wilson. Not disguise himself as a doctor, of course, and anyway Wilson knew what he looked like... but there was something he could pull off.

He still had some business cards from his previous existence as an IT consultant. He skipped work one afternoon when he knew all good doctors would be hard at work at Princeton Plainsboro, drove to a suburban street and started going from door to door, flashing his cards and asking if people had any computer problems that needed fixing, very reasonable fee for a half hour consult.

He started a few doors down from where he wanted to get to, and had advised two people to defragment their hard disks, when he got to the door he'd been waiting for.

It was answered by a small brunette woman wearing a frilly blouse and knee length skirt. Her expression was slightly vacant and Gary's first thought was that she was high on something. Valium, perhaps.

"Hi," he said, handing her a card, and gave her his spiel. "So any computer problems, just say and I'll take a look. Perhaps it's very slow starting up, or something..."

"Well actually, yes, my computer is rather slow starting up," she said.

Bingo. Gary had been fairly sure this would work. Everybody not that IT-literate had a computer that was slow starting up.

"Then perhaps I could come in, Mrs...?"

"Wilson. Call me Julie," she said, and stepped aside to let him in.

He was in the Wilson family home! Gary tried not to crane his neck too much peering around. Heavy floral drapes and dark wooden furniture dominated.

He was shown the PC in question, and surprise surprise, the hard disk was fragmented to high heaven. Gary ran disk cleanup and showed Julie how to defragment the disk. She paid him his fee up front, fetched him a soda while the cleanup was running, asked questions and generally seemed very nice. His first impression that she was on Valium, however, was definitely reinforced; she seemed a little bit other-worldly the whole time.

He also thought perhaps she was leaning in rather too closely towards him, and discovered this was right when he stood up to leave, and she had turned away for a minute.

"Well, I guess I'll be going," he said, and she turned to face him, and his jaw dropped before he could stop it. She was looking up at him with eyes that were suddenly animated, lips that were pouting. And she had undone her blouse to expose her breasts.

Gary had two immediate thoughts. First, this woman clearly had no gaydar whatsoever. (Which kinda explained a lot). Second, the Wilson marriage was clearly in an even more pathetic state than he'd guessed. No wonder House was hanging on in there.

As someone who had been secure in his sexuality before he'd known what sexuality was, Gary couldn't have responded to her even if he'd wanted to, he just wasn't wired that way. He felt he should let her down gently, but had no idea how.

"Um," he said awkwardly. "Thanks, I'm flattered, but um..." Lie! Lie! "I'm..." (Married? No, so was she...) "With someone at the moment." (Hey, that was even true).

For a few seconds Gary contemplated what on earth Julie would say if she knew just who he was with. His name's House, he's your husband's best friend. It was both too delicious and frankly horrible to contemplate, so he parked that thought and concentrated on looking apologetic.

She shrugged, said, "That's cool," and turned away to button her blouse.

Gary escaped the house as quickly as he could, wondering how often she offered herself up to tradesmen and passing visitors, pondering whether Wilson had any idea this happened (he thought not), and thinking just how fucking lonely she must be in her marriage to do this.


In the end, Gary just couldn't handle it any more. He couldn't cope with the idea of sharing House with anyone, least of all Wilson. The memory of Stu sneaking into Alan's life, home, bed, was strong; Gary couldn't, wouldn't let that happen again. He could envisage it exactly: Wilson's marriage finally smashing up on the rocks, Wilson on House's doorstep, House there for him. And Gary left on the scrapheap. Again.

He wasn't going to wait for that to happen; better to jump ship first.

The night he split up with House, Gary stayed out until late, drowning his sorrows in a remote bar. When he ventured back to Baker Street in the early hours, it was to find Wilson's Volvo parked outside no. 221. Gary stared at it for a long moment.

Naturally, House had called Wilson for a ride home... but having got home, Wilson was still there. And it was very late indeed.

Gary concluded that House and Wilson were probably having comfort sex right now, and fuck it, that meant he'd actually served to bring them together. The irony was just too painful.

He went up to his own apartment and booted up his computer. He logged on to his work email and found the one he'd been thinking about. His company was branching out to Europe, and a message had gone out a few days ago asking for volunteers to move to help set up the new London office. Generous relocation allowances available. Gary liked the idea of living in London and hey, there sure wasn't much to keep him in Princeton any more. He knew they'd snap him up too; his boss was one of the people moving and she would jump at the chance to keep him working for her.

He dashed off an email offering his services, and then dashed off a second email to his landlord giving a week's notice on the apartment. There was no way he was going to live above House any longer than he had too, and especially if House was going to be fucking Wilson down there. He could find somewhere temporary while the London transfer was arranged, put his stuff in store.


The last time he saw House was the day he moved out of 221D; heading down the hallway, carrying a box, he met House just coming out of apartment B.

"Hey," Gary said awkwardly.

"Hey," House muttered, and nodded at the van outside. "Moving far?"

"Three thousand miles or so," Gary said casually, and enjoyed House's surprise. "The company's transferring me to London. For a year initially, could be longer. I leave in three weeks; I'm staying in a hotel until then."

"Really," House said slowly. "London. Best watch out, you'll come back with a stupid accent and bad teeth." He fixed Gary with a penetrating blue gaze. "Had this planned for long?"

Gary took a deep breath, locked eyeballs and lied through his teeth. "Ever since I left Alan, pretty much."

Gary watched as House turned this over in his head, trying to decide how much truth there was in this. Whether it was any better to be the rebound fuck just filling in time before a new life abroad, or whether this had been a real relationship that had sadly ended after a few months because that bastard Wilson was just, well, there.

"You're lying," House said, with an air of confidence, and Gary was pleased, because he knew House himself was lying. House was telling himself right now that Gary had always had this London move in mind, so their relationship would never have lasted anyway. And although that might be painful to live with, it did at least mean Wilson hadn't been the sole cause it had ended.

"You think what you want," Gary said gently. He picked up the box, and headed out of the door without a backwards glance.

END