I own nothing! Enjoy!
Wilson chased after House, catching up with him easily. House had reached the elevator and he pressed the close button before Wilson could get in. Wilson ran for the stairs. He hated taking advantage of Houses' disability, but he knew House would do it, if he were in Wilson's position. He reached the third floor just as the elevator doors dinged open.
House didn't seem surprised to see him there. House strode out of the lift with a grace Wilson was sure no other handicapped person had. He had a wide stride, a confident left leg in front. Momentary distracted, he was unable to defend himself when House whacked his kneecap with his cane. It hurt. House was a doctor-he knew how to inflict pain without destruction.
He was left, clutching his kneecap, wincing in pain as House got to his office, and unsuccessfully tried to lock his door. Wilson knew how to handle this—he had much experience with being locked out. Getting in, he shut the door behind him. House was on his chair, popping a pill. He sat on the sofa, after a moment of consideration. He weighed the disadvantage of the distance from House against having to look up at him, while sitting on the ridiculously small chairs infront of his desk.
"Are you fucking happy? Did you get what you wanted, Jimmy?" Wilson was stunned. To people on the outside, House was the kind of person expected to use profanities. Even when Wilson had first met him, he had expected that every second word be punctuated with a vulgarity. But it wasn't the case.
House never used profanities. Insults, yes. But never profanities. He was a somewhat refined person, deep, deep, deep down below. This was actually the first time he'd heard House say that word. And he'd called him Jimmy. That was never a good sign. Wilson pulled back to the current situation.
He sighed. "I don't see how this has anything to do with me being happy," he said, after realizing the question was rigged. If he said no, anyone would assume that Wilson had ulterior motives. If he said yes, well… The best option was self-defense.
House ignored him, typing something with quick precision, hitting the keyboard with something that looked a lot like anger.
"It has a whole shit load to do with you being happy. If it didn't make a fucking difference to you, why the hell did you have to poke your damn nose into it?" There it was again, some distant corner of his mind observed. He wanted to protest. It wasn't him only! It was Stacey and Cuddy!
Apparently House had the talent of reading minds.
"Stacey and Cuddy are women! Expendible! I don't care about what they know! There's a reason why I haven't told you all this stuff!" House is speaking loudly, but not yelling. Yelling will come later.
Unknowingly, he has given Wilson a line of defense. "Why haven't you told me, House? Why? What makes me so horrible that you can't tell me. Why don't you care if other people know, and care if I know?" Wilson demands, taking the upper hand, the chance accidentally given.
House is stunned.
He seems furious, then his creased brow softens, and Wilson can barely believe he has won House over by defeating him. It was just the kind of unexpected noble thing House would pull, when you least expected it. He rubs his brows and Wilson can see lines etched into his features. Age. Tiredness. Pain.
He waits. House thinks. Wilson allows this. He knows it's not easy for House to translate ideas into words, especially not nice ideas. But this he needs to know. He needs to know why he is still here, why House doesn't trust him.
Suddenly, the door swings open. Both men look up, annoyed and relieved in equal measure. Wilson is secretly relieved too. Despite wanting it, he doesn't know if he can take it. If he can bear to have his faith in the world shaken. If he can somehow accept that Gregory House is not all-mighty. Unendingly strong.
Well? How is it? I like this chappie more than I like the others. Let me know.
Love,
Lady Merlin.