Posion and Wine

Chapter 10

For a late summer afternoon, the lake wasn't terribly busy. From the bench where he'd parked himself, House could easily make out Wilson and his parents among the usual duck-feeders and nature-joggers, watching them walk slowly around the edge of the water. Wilson had taken his place in the middle, his mother's hand nestled in his arm while his father's hands remained in his pockets, his head down.

It had been Wilson's idea to meet his parents here, claiming the benefits of sunshine and fresh air. House had simply nodded, not up for an argument about Wilson probably not wanting his parents to remember House's apartment – to realize that this was where their son would spend his dying days. They'd whisk him away, back to their perfect Leave it to Beaver house in the suburbs; they'd explain that for all that House had done, it wasn't enough.

No one had protested when House had insisted on letting them walk ahead – Wilson assuming his usual anti-social tendencies, and Wilson's parents assuming his leg. Maybe it had been a little of both, but he also hadn't mentioned the phone call he'd received that morning while Wilson had still been asleep.

When his afternoon appointment arrived, she sat daintily down on the bench beside him, accepting his brief nod of acknowledgement.

"I don't have a lot of time," she began, not unkindly.

"You're the one who called."

Cuddy gazed out across the rounded path, her eyes eventually resting where House's rested. "He looks good. The paracentesis went well."

"Finally got him to take some pills this morning," House shrugged.

She glanced back at him worriedly. "It got that bad?"

"It's already been that bad. But I told him it would make it easier on me if he took the meds."

She nodded, her expression sad. "Everyone's talking about him, you know. Word gets around fast in that place."

"If there's something you want to say," House deflected coolly, "just say it."

Cuddy shifted in her seat and cleared her throat, ignoring House's seeming indifference at her discomfort. Finally prepared, she met his gaze and said, "I wanted to talk about you and Wilson."

"That's why you came? For the lowdown on your gay doctor buds?" Before she could protest, House held up his hand and continued, "Fine – pay attention. Sex: unbelievably good. Ex-Mrs. Wilsons were clearly morons. Little Jimmy: can't beat little Greg, but is by no means little. Am I going too fast?"

"God, House, you're impossible." Cuddy shuddered and shook her head, flustered. "I didn't want details."

"Oops," House said innocently. "If I've scarred you enough, feel free to go."

"Nice try. Look, I just wanted to know if…while we were together…"

"No." House looked away at the lake, stoic. "Unless you count mere thoughts as cheating, in which case…all faithful relationships are just fantasies."

"I wouldn't be mad if – "

"Of course you'd be mad," House countered, forcefully meeting her gaze again. "Not that I care."

"House, I forgave you for driving your car through my wall," Cuddy reminded him, equally firm. "How could I be mad at you for this, after all this time?"

"This is different," House replied quietly. "Besides, Wilson wasn't even here when I was with you."

"I thought maybe you two would've lied about that, but…" Cuddy sighed, defeated. "I guess it doesn't matter."

House eyed her carefully. "No," he agreed. "It doesn't matter. But congratulations – you've still solved the case."

Cuddy opened her mouth as if to argue, but at length she simply nodded in a grim acceptance. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "You know I'm happy for you both. You just…caught me a little off guard yesterday, cancer aside." She shifted again in her seat, this time allowing herself to relax. "I'm a woman. A woman's allowed to go a little crazy when her ex-boyfriend tells her he's gay."

"Gay for Wilson, specifically," he corrected her. "Doesn't mean your ass is any less heart-shaped or your boobs are any less glorious."

Cuddy smirked, despite rolling her eyes. "Anyway," she said, "I also wanted to see how he was doing. And he looks okay."

"He looks like there are tumors ravaging his insides and he hasn't eaten anything in years, but I guess all things considered..." He let his voice trail away, his sarcasm leaving with it, and he glanced sideways at her again. "He wanted me to thank you."

"I wish I could do more," Cuddy murmured.

"I wish Wilson wasn't dying," House shrugged.

"You're doing everything you can."

"So are you."

She glanced at him sympathetically. "I'm so sorry, House."

He didn't answer, nor did he so much as flinch at the peck of her lips against his cheek as she stood and walked away.

Wilson opted to travel back in his parents' car, House taking the lead alone as they returned to his apartment. He waited in the Volvo that he'd driven instead of his bike, running his fingers over the steering wheel and still-shiny interior as he imagined Wilson sitting where he sat, the wives and various women beside him changing as quickly as the images in a flipbook. He tried to imagine the rest of his life in the car, the lingering scent of Wilson filling his nostrils as the empty passenger's seat seemed to burn into his lungs, and it wasn't until half a bottle of Vicodin later that he calmed his breathing down.

At length he saw Wilson walking up the apartment steps, while his parents' car drove quietly away.

He followed him inside, watching silently as Wilson shrugged off his jacket and shoes, changed into his pajamas, and crawled into bed. It was early yet, but there was no need to ask if the day had worn Wilson out.

Easing himself onto the bed beside him, House gently turned Wilson onto his back and lifted his shirt, examining the tender area where the fluid had been drained. "Dressing looks good," he commented lightly.

Wilson grunted, either in agreement or in pain, and House let his shirt fall back into place. "Meds?" he suggested.

Wilson ignored him, and House decided on a different approach.

"When are they coming back?"

Wilson shrugged. "They're not."

"I know my apartment is the equivalent of a garbage dump, but – "

"Dad can't look at me and mom can't handle it. And frankly, I don't want her to have to."

House hid a grimace and laid down beside him, his arm reaching up to wrap around Wilson's torso. A compliant Wilson let his hand drift out from under the covers, taking House's in his own.

"I've been told," House tried at last, "that when it comes to family, you gotta do what you gotta do." He met Wilson's curious glance with a slight smile. "Words of wisdom from Tiny Taub," he explained.

"You know, I totally forgot about him," Wilson mused. "He left for family reasons?"

"There were tinier Taubs involved, as I recall."

Wilson smirked in response. "Any other news you failed to tell me? Such as…why Cuddy dropped by at the lake today?"

House shrugged. "Didn't think you saw her."

"I'm not blind, House. My parents wanted to know if you two were together."

"You didn't tell them?" House asked, eyebrows raised.

Wilson didn't need to ask what he meant. "I think seeing me…like this…was enough for one day." House nodded in understanding, and Wilson prodded him further. "Well? Everything okay with Cuddy?"

"Everything's puppies and rainbows," House shrugged. "Her ex-boyfriend going gay for her ex-platonic friend just seemed to make the puppies less cute and the rainbows less sparkly."

"Oh. What did you tell her?"

"That I only cheated in my head."

Wilson sighed. "You're supposed to reassure her, not confirm her worst fear."

"We've already confirmed it," House pointed out. "What is it with women who think that ex-boyfriends going gay makes them less womanly?"

"Well…how would you feel if Cuddy suddenly became a lesbian?"

"Totally turned on," House smirked.

"Okay…bad example," Wilson chuckled. "But women want their men to be…manly…and you going for another man…"

"Doesn't change the fact that she's still a hot piece of ass. I told her that." House glanced towards Wilson. "No offense."

"None taken, though I think that was more offensive to her." Wilson sighed a little, looking apologetic. "You know, you should probably hire a hooker, or something. I don't think I'll be much good in that department anymore."

"For God's sake, Wilson," House objected, and Wilson managed a small smile.

"I know, I know. But you can't blame me for feeling bad about it."

"But I can blame you for being an idiot," House retorted. "Even if you were up for sex right now, I wouldn't put out for you. I do have my pride."

"A relationship is supposed to be give and take," Wilson murmured, closing his eyes tiredly. "All I seem to be doing lately is take."

"Funny, I don't think that even begins to make up for the past twenty-five years."

Wilson opened his eyes again to look at him. "You've given a lot more than you think you have, House."

"Maybe." House paused, his lips curling into a slight grin. "I can give a little more."

Wilson furrowed his brow as House removed his arm and began to disappear under the covers. "Hey…what…"

"Relax," came the muffled voice, and Wilson felt his pajama bottoms being pulled gently down.

"House, you can't be serious."

"I'm always serious. You should be flattered – how many guys with terminal cancer can still say they're getting any?"

"That's because their partners understand that they're tired and dying," Wilson muttered, frowning as his boxers were removed.

"Quibbles. Doesn't seem to be much you can do about it, anyway."

"Sure, take advantage of the sick guy."

"No means yes, doesn't it?" House said innocently.

Moments later, the uncontrollable gasp that escaped Wilson's lips wasn't quite so innocent.

Later that night, House waited until Wilson's eyelids fluttered closed before carefully easing himself off the bed, grabbing his cell phone, and scrolling through his address book as he left the bedroom.

"Stacy," he said softly. "It's me. Yeah…I know. I need a favor. Seriously, if you hang up…no, it's for Wilson. No…no, he's not okay."

At the end of the call, he limp-shuffled into the kitchen, frowning as his search for food yielded nothing but old cans and half-eaten boxes of God knows what. Instinctively he glanced towards the bedroom, trying to remember if Wilson had actually eaten the toast he'd tried to force-feed him that morning, and his hand went to his cell phone again.

This time, the call went to Foreman.

TBC