Chapter 11
A/N: All right, I confess it wasn't just because the chapter was too long, I wanted a cliffie, okay? We writers have our little indulgences. It's all part of the dramatic tension of the story. Honestly!
Disclaimer: I adore House and Wilson, but they don't belong to me. Otherwise, they would have a threesome in their future. With me. Heh, heh, heh!
HWHWHWHWHW
Wilson stayed at the hotel the remainder of the week. He hadn't packed a lot and he knew he would have to return soon. He talked to his therapist, who, like any decent therapist, said his feelings were valid (they had a tendency to say all feelings were valid), and asked if he had any perspective on why House would do what he did.
A weary Wilson explained how Stacy had betrayed House with the original surgery that mutilated his leg. He also mentioned some of the things Cuddy had done, as well. And the therapist already knew that Wilson had tried to end their friendship by leaving House after Amber died.
The therapist remarked that it was hardly surprising that House would have some serious trust issues. Add all the emotion House felt about giving up his leg, and it seemed that it was possible to predict House would do something that was dysfunctional.
The therapist also steered Wilson to the realization that his response was perhaps not the wisest, since, from what Wilson said, House was genuinely afraid that Wilson would leave him. Wilson could feel his insides clench with guilt when he thought about that. The therapist seemed to know that was how Wilson would react and told him that feeling guilty, while valid (Wilson groaned inwardly), was not the most productive thing Wilson could do.
But Wilson maintained that if he'd stayed and they'd fought and said things to each other they could never take back, it would be much worse. The therapist wasn't convinced. He gently reminded Wilson that refusing to deal with things in relationships by running away from them was an old problem Wilson needed to work on. Wilson reluctantly agreed.
Wilson was worried that House would cancel the surgery, and, if he didn't, he certainly didn't want House to go through it alone. He knew he had to go back and deal with things. Good thing he loved the bastard so much.
In the meantime, House had talked to Nolan, who had, it seemed to House, thoroughly enjoyed the opportunity House had given him to say "I told you so." Of course, Nolan was much smarter and more subtle than to use those words, but that was basically what he said.
House knew he'd kept Wilson pretty much in the dark, and that he hadn't given him a chance to plan for anything. But, wasn't this about House's leg and not about Wilson's OCD tendencies? Even as he thought that, he realized Wilson was right. If the relationship had any chance of working at all, he simply couldn't exclude Wilson from these major decisions.
He also realized he wanted Wilson to be there for him. So, even though he hated the whole idea of it, he was going to have to apologize. He didn't want to need Wilson, but he had always needed him. He consoled himself with the thought that maybe he'd get some decent make-up sex out of it, if he groveled enough.
House called Wilson's office Friday afternoon to see if they could at least meet on neutral territory. He was told that Wilson had left for the weekend, and that he would not be in for the next week. House believed that meant that Wilson would be with him for the surgery, but he'd have to find out.
He didn't want to call Wilson's cell only to have him see the number and ignore the call, so he decided to go home and see if Wilson were there.
House arrived at the duplex a couple of hours earlier than his usual workday, having set everything up for his absence from the lab. The front door was unlocked, so he assumed (fervently hoped) Wilson was home.
He left his backpack on the floor in the corner of the foyer and looked around. He heard activity in the bedroom and headed there.
He stood in the doorway. Wilson was standing next to the bed in front of his suitcase.
"Packing more clothes and getting the hell out of here?" House growled.
"I'm unpacking." Wilson replied as calmly as he could. He was feeling terrible about what he had done, but piling his guilt on top of House would probably just overwhelm him, which would make House lash out defensively, and that wouldn't do anything to help them resolve this.
He took the dirty clothes out of the suitcase and put them in the hamper in the corner of the bedroom. He took the toiletry bag and brought it to bathroom. He returned after a couple of minutes. He put the bag in the suitcase and put it on the shelf in the closet.
"So, you're staying?" House questioned. He tried to sound neutral, but his voice quavered slightly. Damn.
"Yes," Wilson.
"You're here to help the useless soon-to-be more crippled cripple in his darkest hour, in order to satisfy your pathological attraction to need?" House sneered.
"No doubt," Wilson quietly agreed.
"That's all you have to say?" House was jeering now. "No protest that you're just being a good guy by helping a friend?"
"First of all, I guess this has escaped your notice, but I haven't contended I was a good guy since Amber died, which is what, five years now? Second, I'm not your friend."
"You're not?'
"No, I'm your fiancé, you idiot. Do you think I can just walk out and leave you now?"
But, you just did."
"I needed a break to deal with my anger, that's all."
Are you still angry?"
"No. And I'm not hurt anymore, either."
"Hurt? You just had to lay that on top of me, didn't you?"
"I know you're facing surgery. And not just an ingrown toe nail. Some serious physical and emotional stuff. I get that. But, I can't help the way I feel. It hurt to be excluded, House."
"What do you want me to say here?"
"I just don't understand. We'd already talked about the possibility of amputation. Between that and my being an actual doctor, it would hardly have shocked me. Why didn't you just tell me?"
"Because . . . because . . . fuck, this is hard . . ."
"Just say it."
"Because I don't want to need you as much as I do. Because you'll get tired of taking care of me and leave. You won't want to enable my neediness anymore. And then I'll be alone."
"I was wrong to leave. It must have reminded you of the way I left my wives . . . " Wilson hesitated. "And you after . . . I'm sorry."
"Okay," House conceded. Honestly, he was surprised that Wilson apologized. As usual, he assumed he was the one who was wrong. "You mean, you didn't leave because I'd screwed up?"
"Well, I'd have preferred to know about what you were doing a little in advance to prepare. I mean, I was lucky to be able to get next week off on such short notice."
"That's all you were upset about?" House asked, incredulous. "Logistics?"
"I already told you, it hurt me to be excluded."
"That's it?"
"What else would it be?"
"That you think I'm a coward."
"What the fuck? You're finally doing something to actually fix your problems and you think I'll leave you because of it? What the hell kind of ass-backward thinking is that?"
"But, how I'm fixing it isn't a real fix."
"What do you mean? What's not real about it?"
"I'm giving up. I just can't take the pain anymore and I'm letting them take my leg. I'm willing to become only part of a human being because I'm so weak. "
"What?!" Wilson was yelling, although he was unaware of it. "What the hell kind of stupidity is that? Is that the John-House-the-Crazy-Assed-Marine Code of Conduct? I thought you knew better!"
"And I thought you were smarter than to not know how scary it is when you leave me. It's like after the DBS all over again."
Silence fell between them. They were both drawing deep breaths.
"Listen, House, I'll be here. You know that. You know I can't stay away. And not because I have no choice. It's because I love you and I need you."
"My body . . . it'll be mutilated."
"Your leg will be gone, but your liver will be better. You can live without a leg. You can't live without a liver."
"You can't see a liver, either. You can see a stump."
"Maybe I can't see it, but I hear it."
"What?!"
" 'I'm House's liver. I'm slowly being killed. Please get him to stop it. I can't take much more.' You try living with that voice in your head every day."
"Wilson, you're hallucinating, possibly even delusional. And I know that from personal experience."
"Speaking of your experience, don't you think it bothers me that your pain means you can't stop taking the Vicodin? Don't you think I worry about your use of Vicodin increasing and your mind going again? What if, this time, you can't come back? I really don't want to visit you at Mayfield for the next thirty years to have a four-way conversation with you, your dead employee and my dead girlfriend."
House looked away.
"And, don't you get that I'm pleased that you're doing something? That I understand this is at least in part because you love me?"
"No, it isn't in part because I love you."
"Oh, I guess I shouldn't have assumed -"
"Don't be an idiot. It's completely because I love you. If you could go through surgery and all that truly shitty chemo to stay alive for me, I owe you to fix this. And there's no other way to fix this." House's voice caught in his throat and his eyes filled.
Wilson crossed the room, pulled House's body against his. The left side of his face rested against the right side of House's face. "Greg," he whispered, "I love you so much."
House didn't respond immediately. Wilson heard his hitching breaths. One arm slipped down to encircle House's waist while his hand traced light circles on House's back. It seemed to soothe him somewhat. The erratic breathing stopped.
Finally, House pulled back. "I need you to promise me something."
Wilson looked at House's puppy dog eyes and knew he was being played, at least a little bit. But, when he looked at that face, he simply didn't care. He leaned over and gave House a soft peck on the lips and then proceeded to kiss his nose, forehead, temples, cheeks and chin, winding up again at House's lips and giving House a longer, slightly more intense kiss.
They rested their foreheads together. "What was it you wanted me to promise?"
"That we'll fuck until we're unconscious?"
"I'm not saying no to that, but I think it was something else."
"That when you're mad or hurt or whatever, that you'll stay."
"So we can have a huge fight and then you'll want to throw me out?"
"Never happen."
"You don't think we have the ability to have a major brouhaha?"
"You really shouldn't walk around with a thesaurus stuck up your ass. It'll give you hemorrhoids."
"And that's your job?"
House snorted. "And don't you forget it. So, you're not leaving me again?"
"As I said, not until you throw me out."
House shook his head, and then pulled Wilson back towards him, giving him an intense kiss. "So, can we do the make-up banging-each-other's-brains-out now?"
"As romantic as you make that sound," Wilson replied dryly, "I need to eat dinner first. I'm starving. I don't suppose you have anything in the refrigerator."
"There's a lot of leftover Moussaka, Pasticcio and Greek salad."
"Where'd you get that?"
"Mykonos. It's about five blocks from here."
"They do take out?"
"And even delivery."
"A Greek restaurant that delivers?"
"We're not in Princeton anymore, Wilson."
"As long as they don't have evil flying monkeys for their delivery staff. Let's go heat up the food."
They ate dinner at the table on the back deck. Holding hands when they could and leaning in to give each other soft kisses at random intervals.
House got up when they were finished and went back inside.
"That's okay, I'll get the dishes," Wilson grumbled under his breath as he picked up the table and brought everything in.
House went back outside as Wilson filled the dishwasher. Wilson followed when he was finished in the kitchen.
House had carried his docking station to the deck. He had plugged it in and put in his i-pod.
House stood with his arms stretched out in front of him, palms up. "It may be a while before we can dance again."
In about three quick strides, Wilson was in his arms.
Wilson wasn't familiar with the first song. But he liked dancing with House, so he didn't care. The second song came on and the tune was like an old friend, although the vocal surprised him. It was a live version.
It was dark now, and Wilson remembered every summer concert he ever been to in high school or college, holding up his lighter and swaying to the music. He was swaying now, too, and he felt the love of his life pressing against him. He pulled House even closer.
Lying in my bed I hear the clock tick,
And think of you
Caught up in circles confusion
Is nothing new
Flashback warm nights
Almost left behind
Suitcases of memories,
Time after
Sometimes you picture me
I'm walking too far ahead
You're calling to me, I can't hear
What you've said
Then you say go slow
I fall behind
The second hand unwinds
If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time
If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time
After my picture fades and darkness has
Turned to gray
Watching through windows you're wondering
If I'm OK
Secrets stolen from deep inside
The drum beats out of time
If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time
You said go slow
I fall behind
The second hand unwinds
If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time
If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you, I will be waiting
Time after time
Time after time
Time after time
Time after time*
The music stopped and they held each other. They were both breathing heavily, and not because they had been dancing. Luckily, tears weren't visible in the darkness.
"Come inside with me," Wilson hadn't intended to sound so needy. He buried his face in the join of House's neck and shoulder. House said nothing; he simply turned them both toward the door into the kitchen.
Clothes were shed when they reached the bedroom. And then there was nothing else but mouths and tongues and hands and beautiful bodies. Not perfect bodies by any means. Age, choices and illness had taken their toll. But bodies that fit perfectly together. And there was no holding back. Each gave himself to the other, his other, without reservation. Physically and emotionally.
"So," House asked after they'd held each other and drifted in bliss for quite a while, "Will you still want a guy called 'Stumpy' this much?"
Wilson knew it was a test. "Unless you're getting this cut off," Wilson reached for House's now flaccid penis and gave it a couple of strokes, "I wouldn't worry in the slightest."
"So, you're a dick man."
"I've been known to enjoy a nice butt, too," Wilson admitted, "And you have a very nice butt."
"Really?"
"In the morning I walk into the bathroom when you're getting ready for work and wearing nothing but your briefs hugging this bit of perfection," Wilson reached around and gave a firm squeeze, "Do you have any idea how tough it is for me not to pull them down and fuck you up the ass, right then and there?"
"Lube's in the top right vanity drawer."
"I thought it was in the nightstand."
"Yeah, like I wouldn't have it stashed all over the place 'just in case.' "
Wilson chuckled. "So, there are even some advantages to being with an addict?"
"Soon to be in recovery," House reminded him.
"Now," Wilson said, "if I could only overcome my neuroses, we'd be perfect."
"I don't want to be perfect. Too much pressure."
"What do you want to be?"
"Both of us healthy and not in pain. Married."
"Nothing else?"
"What else is there? I mean, other than kids . . . "
Wilson smiled. He couldn't help it. "Let's just get through the surgery, the rehab, the wedding and moving into the new house, okay?"
"Sounds like it could keep us busy," House acknowledged.
HWHWHWHWHW
Between the hospital stay and being in the rehabilitation center, House wouldn't be eating any decent food for a while. It would be possible to sneak him some take-out once he was over the surgery, but there would be none of Wilson's cooking anytime soon. So, Wilson decided to cook for him – macadamia nut pancakes, lasagna, even a roast turkey with all the trimmings - in July.
He'd used a few short cuts – a turkey breast rather than a full turkey, frozen vegetables, and he'd had the bakery cut up the bread for him for the stuffing. (He'd used The Wilson Charm - and it didn't hurt that he was a frequent customer.) The dinner came out rather well, if he did say so himself.
And saving time was important – as much as House liked Wilson's cooking, he liked Wilson's body even better. He simply would not have tolerated Wilson spending the entire day in the kitchen.
Most of their time was spent in the bedroom. In the bed, to be more specific. House was like a man possessed – trying every position he and Wilson could manage, with every part of their bodies.
Finally, Sunday night arrived. House and Wilson were holding each other, naked except for the sheet that covered them.
"It's tomorrow morning," House noted.
Wilson could feel the tension in House's body, not that he could blame him. He pulled House closer and softly kissed his temple.
"How did you manage not to be a wreck?" House questioned after a few moments of silence had passed.
"I tried as well as I could to focus on the idea that the surgery was about getting rid of the cancer."
"But, this isn't cancer - it's a part of my body I'm getting rid of."
"It's a part of your body that hasn't worked very well for a long time. It's a part of your body that gives you terrible pain."
"Do you hate my leg, Wilson?"
"I don't hate any part of you, House. I love all of you."
"Yeah, right. Prove it."
Wilson sighed. "Okay."
He rolled out and went to the foot of the bed and leaned over. He pulled out a corner of the sheet and moved it to expose House's right leg. He got down on his knees and took House's ankle gently yet quite firmly in his grasp. House felt something soft and slightly wet on the bottom of his heel. What the hell? Was Wilson actually kissing his foot?
While House attempted to process what was going on, Wilson continued to kiss the rest of House's sole, across the arch to the ball to his toes. After he'd kissed each one (and in-between) he moved on the top of House's foot, covering that in kisses as well. He then kissed House's ankle, calf, shin, knee and the spot behind, and the back of his thigh.
Wilson finally reached his scar. He lavished the same loving treatment on it that he had the rest of House's leg and foot. He was finished there and he was heading toward House's groin when House spoke up.
"Hey. What the hell was that about?"
Wilson paused and looked up. "I was kissing you. And I'd like to continue, if you don't mind."
"After you tell me why you did that."
"I love you."
"I know that. And I also know there was more to it than that. Come on, fess up."
"Can't you just accept what I did and enjoy it?"
"After almost twenty years, do you know me at all?"
"Okay. You wanted me to prove that I love all of you, even a part that gives you pain."
"That was what you were doing?"
"Yes."
"There's something else."
"No, there isn't."
"Just because you remain clueless about me after all this time doesn't mean I haven't figured you out, Wilson. Give it up."
"It's, um . . . "
"What?"
"Emotional."
"Ugh. Maybe you shouldn't tell me."
"Really?"
"Again, do you know me at all? When have I ever been able to let go of a mystery?"
"Okay. I was . . . saying 'Goodbye.' "
House, who had just spent the last five minutes proclaiming his vast knowledge of Wilsonalia, was utterly surprised. And stunned. He retreated into silence.
Wilson had no idea what House was thinking or feeling at this point, but he knew from past experience that it never went well when he tried to guess. He moved so that he lay next to House in bed, simply waiting.
House pondered what Wilson had said to him. He was saying goodbye. To his pain, no doubt. But, also to his leg. To a part of him. House realized for the first time that Wilson understood how hard this was for him and why. It filled House with a feeling of warmth and acceptance he hadn't felt in a long time, possibly ever.
House turned on his side to face Wilson. "You really do love me," he said.
Wilson was about to make a snarky comment in reply, calling him Sally Field with stubble, when he looked into House's eyes. There was no anger or sarcasm. In fact House's eyes looked open, soft, and, yes, actually vulnerable. It was something Wilson had rarely seen. He decided saying anything would ruin the moment, so he took House's hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed the open palm.
House rested his head in the join of Wilson's neck and shoulder as his arms pulled Wilson to him.
He returned the embrace and rested his cheek against the top of House's head
"It's okay, babe, I've got you," Wilson whispered. "Always have, always will."
House pulled Wilson even closer, and yes, what he was doing would be best described as, well, clinging to him.
"I know," House's voice was husky. What was left unsaid was that House had Wilson, too, and he always would. They fell into a light sleep.
HWHWHWHWHW
House was relieved they'd finally given him something to take the edge off. He was on a stretcher outside the OR with Wilson standing next to him, holding his hand.
"You're going to . . . watch them . . . okay?" House's speech was a little slow.
"Of course," Wilson confirmed. "I'll make sure they take the left leg. No, wait, it's the right leg, isn't it?"
"Funny. Not."
They started to move the stretcher toward the OR. Wilson attempted to follow but was stopped just outside the room.
"I love you, Jimmy." House murmured as he the doors closed.
"I love you, too," Wilson said into the empty hallway. He gathered himself for a few seconds, and then he headed upstairs.
Wilson's current job didn't involve a lot of surgery. There were invasive tests sometimes, but if anything really serious turned up, like the single case of lung cancer they'd seen, it was referred to a pediatric oncologist, and Wilson wasn't involved after that.
Still, in his former job, he'd witnessed and participated in a lot of surgeries. The point was, he was a doctor and had been one for twenty years, and the sight of a human body being operated on hardly made him squeamish.
With all the draping, most surgeries on the interior of the body focused on the affected organs themselves, so it was easier to forget the body of the patient. Now, amputations were a little different. Even if you weren't focused on the patient, it was on the exterior of the body, hence more recognizable as something you saw every day.
And Wilson, unfortunately, had been present at many amputations. Bone cancer was not as uncommon as people thought (or hoped), and amputation was still the most effective treatment.
So, Wilson had no idea why he started to shake when he looked down and saw House's leg being exposed.
He sat down. He wasn't as close to the glass, but he could still see what was going on, and he thought that was better than his either collapsing or leaving. Still, it bothered him that he couldn't control his reactions better.
"Hi, James," Wilson's boss, Amanda, eased herself on to the bench next to him. "How's it going?"
"They haven't done anything - " he heard rather than saw the initial cutting of the skin. He flinched slightly.
"Do you really need to be here?" she questioned.
Wilson paused. "He was there when they cut my chest open . . . " Wilson paused. "I promised him . . . "
"And he was completely detached?"
"I don't know. I think so. I mean, he always was with his patients . . . "
"But, you're not one of his patients."
"I guess not."
"Did I tell you that when Brad and I were first married, he had a car accident?"
"No."
"I was doing my residency in St. Louis. It was the middle of January. And, as hot as the place gets in the summer, it gets plenty cold in the winter. Cold enough that you have a lot of ice storms. Well, there was a storm and I was at the hospital. He knew how much I hated to drive in bad weather and he decided, without telling me, to come and pick me up at the hospital. It would have been a sweet gesture, if he hadn't been part of a ten-car pile-up on I-44. When the ambulance rushed him in, I saw his leg had a compound fracture. Well, I was a basket case in the ER, let alone when they brought him into surgery. He's fine now, as you know, but I imagined every bad outcome as it was happening, and it wasn't pretty. This is your fiancé, James. You can't be objective or detached or not feel something."
"I know, I just –" Wilson was interrupted by the whine of the bone saw. "Son of a bitch!"
Wilson was completely embarrassed as his eyes filled.
"Would you like me to leave?" Amanda questioned.
"Yes, please," Wilson replied. He appreciated her attempts to support him, despite their futility. "Thanks for, um, checking in."
"Take care," Amanda advised as she left the room.
Wilson sat there, hurting more than he had since his chemo, maybe even more than when Amber died. He really had to pull himself together. House would need him after the surgery was over and he just couldn't afford to be a basket case.
"He's going to be fine," a bass voice, calm and reassuring, asserted with authority. "You know that."
"Yes, Darryl, I do," Wilson was both annoyed and relieved to see House's therapist. He supposed House would need Nolan to deal with the amputation, but seeing as how House was unconscious at the moment, now wasn't the time. Still, his presence was helpful, Wilson reluctantly admitted to himself.
"How are you holding up?" Nolan inquired.
"I should be in the damn operating room supervising what they're doing, and I can barely even watch from a distance. I've participated in dozens of surgeries and watched hundreds more. What the hell is the matter with me?"
"It's called the loss of objectivity." Nolan answered, even though he knew it was really a rhetorical question. "You can't expect to watch your fiancé's leg being amputated and expect it to be another day at the office."
"I know that," Wilson admitted. "Why doesn't that make it any easier?"
"Because there is no 'easy' when it comes to this. Seeing the body of the person you love being cut, or, in this case, a part of him sawed off is something that's nearly impossible to watch."
"I can see why House likes you as his therapist. No sugar-coating – just brutal directness."
"I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, James."
They sat in silence for a while. The saw had stopped and the surgeon was working to tie off blood vessels and deal with the ends of the nerves. Wilson prayed silently that this surgeon did a better job with this than the other one had fifteen years ago.
"He's not going to be easy to deal with, James," Nolan noted. "I hope you and your therapist will be working on that aspect of things."
"He told you I ran away, didn't he?"
"James, I know you are aware that I can't discuss with you what he told me."
"Okay, let's try this a different way. When House sprang on me last week that his surgery was today, I got really angry and hurt and I left and went to a hotel."
"And you feel guilty about that?"
"I know he's been abandoned more than once by people he cares about, including me. I can't believe I didn't realize that when I left."
"You're here now, at great difficulty to yourself, I observe. I would also observe that it probably won't help to keep dwelling on past actions – "
"This wasn't ten years ago, this was last week! " Wilson interrupted, his voice raised.
"Unless you are willing to learn from them." Nolan finished his thought.
"What can I possibly learn from running away?"
"Why did you do it?"
"Because it's what I've always done when the situation is difficult? Because I'm a coward?"
"Anyone willing to take on an honest relationship with Gregory House is no coward, James."
"Then why do I run away?"
"Why do you think?"
"Dammit, Darryl, stop playing shrink for once! I'm not even your patient!"
"Perhaps it would be better if you did discuss this with your own therapist."
"You know perfectly well I'm not going to have much time in the next few weeks for long therapy sessions."
"Then maybe you should try to figure it out on your own," Nolan suggested.
"With no help?"
"From what I know, you've had this issue a long time," Nolan noted. "This is well-established behavior for you."
"Are you saying it goes back to my childhood?" Wilson almost sneered.
"Many behavior patterns that we have engaged in over the course of a lifetime do."
"Great," Wilson noted sarcastically. "I'll just have a séance and have the ghost of Freud help me."
"You could do that," Nolan conceded with amusement. "Or, you could just think about it."
"Why does this matter, anyway?'
"How do you think Greg is going to react to this?"
"Not well."
"And what do you think that will look like?"
"I already know what it will look like. Just like every other health crisis he's ever had. He'll try to push everyone away to wallow in misery alone."
"And how do you think you'll react to being pushed?"
"You think I'll run away?"
"If you don't know why you do that, it's definitely a possibility."
"I hurt him last week, didn't I?"
"I can't tell you that, James."
"So, that's a yes?"
Nolan looked down, avoiding Wilson's gaze. "How are you going to deal with his behavior after the surgery? Will it be overwhelming for you?"
"I dealt with it after the infarction."
"But you weren't his fiancé then."
"No, I just wanted to be. Listen, I'm committed to this relationship, and I think House is, too. "
"So was Stacy."
"And I'm not the one having surgery done against his expressed wishes. I'm not mutilating his leg while he's in a coma and can't defend himself. He knows he's getting his leg amputated. He decided to do that."
"All very rational arguments . . . "
"You're warning me that he may not be rational."
Nolan gave Wilson a knowing grin. "James, you still haven't told me that you, on your own, or with your therapist, will at least try to figure out your need to escape."
"I think I may have some idea now."
"Really?"
"My father - he was gay or bisexual. He married my mother. I have no doubt he loved, um, loves her. I just don't think he's ever been in love with her. I think she's knows that, at least on a subconscious level. Our household was so tense, so full of lies. All I wanted to do was escape. I was happy in college, at least until Danny wandered off. That just made things worse when I did get home, which happened less and less as I got older. I just avoided it. The place of deception. The place of failure. I couldn't get away fast enough."
"But, your own life would be different, you vowed."
"Except it wasn't. Each marriage was a failure that I ran away from in one way or another. And who knows, that might have happened with Amber, too. She died before I had the chance to find out."
"Do you think the home you build with Greg will be a place of deception?"
"Hell, no. House's unvarnished honesty wouldn't allow it."
"Not to mention everything you've learned. And what a about a place of failure?"
"I think both House and I have demonstrated that we are willing to fight to keep each other alive and healthy. And that we love each other. So we are willing to fight for our relationship, too."
"Then why run away?"
"I guess there is no reason. For the first time in my life, I don't even have an emotional reason to."
"Before you paint too rosy a picture here, just remember how, well, challenging Greg can be."
"You mean his need to prove to himself that what I'm saying about loyalty and love aren't just words by trying to push the relationship until it breaks? And how he's going to be pushing even harder now since it's his leg, and it's associated with all the anger, loss, and betrayal he's felt from everyone around him, and even his own body, for years?"
Nolan chuckled. "Sorry for forgetting how well you know him, James."
"Just because I can predict how he will behave doesn't make it any easier to take. It's going to make me angry and frustrated and it's going to hurt."
"And how will you deal with that?"
"Honestly, I don't know. I just know I can't leave him."
"You helped him after the infarction surgery, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Did you leave him at any time?"
"I went to work."
"But you stayed with him and helped him."
"He was hurting so much, and I don't just mean physical pain. He drove Stacy away and was so wounded and lonely and terrified. How could I not take care of him?"
"You may need to tap into those memories and feelings to find that strength again."
"I also have my own gratitude to tap into."
"What do you mean?"
"He was with me for all my chemo, no matter how bad it got or how nasty I was. He just took it and helped me."
"I have a hard time imagining your being that nasty, James."
"I told him I wished I had a wife and family to take care of me."
"That's not negative."
"It was terrible! He was giving me my chemo and risking his medical license, feeding me when I could still eat, giving me his pain meds, cleaning up after me – and I don't mean picking up some stray magazines. For God's sake, Darryl, he changed my diapers! And he was in love with me and I said that to him."
"You didn't know he was in love with you."
"I should have known. And even if I didn't intend to hurt him, I still did!"
"I'm not sure the guilt is particularly helpful now, but keeping in mind your gratitude, or, rather, your debt of gratitude, might be a good idea as you deal with this situation."
"And stay with him no matter what?"
"Well, I wouldn't recommend it if you get to the emotional level of starting to eye the kitchen knives, but, short of that, yes."
Wilson smiled ruefully at Nolan's comment, mainly because House was quite capable of getting a saint to that level. Wilson would just have to deal with things as best he could. In sickness and in health, he thought.
"Dr. Wilson," a surgical nurse's voice came over the intercom, "We're done and we'll be moving him to recovery soon."
"Thanks, Tara." Of course Wilson had bothered to learn the names of House's surgical team. The fact that his memory wasn't as good since the chemo only made him work at it that much harder.
"I have to go," Wilson told Nolan. "Oh, and I won't tell Greg that I know he asked you to 'happen to stop by' while I was watching the operation so I'd have a distraction."
Nolan smiled. "Remember not to neglect your own therapy, James. You know that you're going to need it."
"No argument there," Wilson agreed. "Just keep House as sane as possible for me, okay?"
"I'd better make some room in my calendar," Nolan noted, continuing to smile.
HWHWHWHWHW
*Cyndi Lauper and Rob Hyman. The cover here is Matchbox 20's live version. It seemed to work with two men slow dancing together and forgiving each other on a warm summer night. Check it out on YouTube and tell me what you think.
A/N: I'll be traveling the next few days and I will try to answer reviews if I'm near a WiFi connection, but I can't promise, so please bear with me. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. -anon