A/N We're halfway folks! Thank you so much for being with me. This should be a comforting chapter, but there's still quite some angst ahead.
"I think I love you."
"House! Are you crazy?"
The moment the words left his mouth, Wilson wished he hadn't said them. House jumped out of the bed and disappeared as fast as his legs could carry him; soon he could hear the sound of the shower.
Slowly he managed to get out of bed himself, then he waddled towards his own bathroom. He wished for a moment that he were a pregnant woman, with extra blood and a larger heart to manage months of moving with extra weight. With a sigh he let himself into the bath and started the water, until he was soaked until his throat.
House had said he thought he loved him. What did this mean? Was it even true, and if so, what should he do about it? His first reaction had been his standard one towards gay proposals since the end of college: a you-can't-mean-this refusal.
But House... House was a different matter altogether. He had never even allowed himself to seriously consider the possibility, and just enjoyed the undercurrent of sexual thrill their friendship offered, knowing that on his side it was so much more than friendship, but trying hard to remember it as rarely as possible, lest House should notice. Of course there was one occasion in the recent past in which he had admitted to others, hence by necessity to himself, his real feelings for his best friend, but he never for a minute imagined House could return his affection.
Could it be that House was just pitying him? Unlikely; judging from their past choices, Wilson was the one attracted to people in need. Plus, House wasn't the kind of man to throw around the world love lightly. No, hard as it was to believe, the more likely options was that House's declaration was nothing but the complete truth.
Which meant he would have a possibility he had never even dreamt about. The problem was that there was probably no way back, no return to friendship if the relationship didn't work. But this was already true, after what House had just said. The many reasons to avoid a same-sex relationship seemed, for the first time in his life, irrelevant.
It was time to go and talk to House. With an effort he extricated himself from the bath; he quickly toweled himself but didn't bother to dress, and slowly walked to House's room, leaning some of his weight on House's spare cane (which he had taken the habit of using since his weight gain had passed the thirty pounds mark).
He was surprised to find the door closed, and no sound coming. He knocked. No answer. He tried the handle, thinking House had fallen asleep, but found it locked. "House? I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it and we need to talk. Can you let me in?"
"Go away, Wilson. I'll see you later, but now I need to be alone."
There was no point insisting, so Wilson turned back and started moving towards his room. The pain was now starting to throb again in his lower back and he leaned a bit more heavily on the cane, stopped briefly to breathe in and out, then moved again. He felt the blood in his ears rushing, wondered whether there was a problem with his pressure.
Finally he was at his door, feeling very weak: he had eaten next to nothing for two weeks now, since whenever he tried a hefty nausea overwhelmed him, and he had been too long without his nourishing, pain-reducing infusion.
"House will come soon," he thought as he collapsed on the floor.
"Wilson! Wake up!"
He came to slowly, the pain seeping through before the messages from the senses. He was back in his hospital bed, an infusion in the vein of his right arm.
"I'm sorry, but your blood pressure was through the roof. Now I have it under control, but I have to check there's no damage. How's the pain? Give me a number."
"A six. Did you already try the new painkiller cocktail?"
"No, just the usual OTC stuff. I'll start it now."
Wilson smiled as he checked his watch: he had been right. Sex endorphins had a long duration, they had now been working for more than three hours. Then his face clouded again; it was time for the truth.
"House, sit near me, please."
His friend looked like he had aged noticeably in those three hours. The wrinkles were etched deep in his face, his cheeks were sunken in, and his eyes were red and swollen. He did as he was told, but as if every movement gave him new pain.
Wilson took hold of both his hands. "Have you ever discovered how I convinced them to let me take your place?"
House shook his head.
"I told them I loved you. That making you pain-free was as much of a reward for me as it was for you."
There was bitterness in the voice immediately quipping "They must be easy to fool."
"Maybe. Maybe not as much as you think."
"So why would you never have told me? Why did you keep marrying one soulless bitch after the other?"
Wilson felt dizzy. He couldn't really believe they were having this conversation, and yet he must. Including revealing truths he wasn't proud of.
"I didn't want to be in a relationship with a man. I thought it would harm my career, and it certainly would have finished ruining my relationship with my parents. They're angry enough I don't have children. And anyway, I never felt you were interested."
"You must be more stupid than I thought."
"Seriously, House? I've felt you caring about my physical well-being only since the implant, and I thought it was your guilt kicking in. Did I miss something earlier?"
This time it was House that lowered his eyes. Wilson had to strain to catch his words, spoken in a very low tone.
"You might be right. I never thought of you that way before. But this," he pointed to the round belly, "this made it difficult to ignore your body. And massaging you, making you horny, was much more pleasant than it had any logical reason to be. I've had plenty of time to think, here, and nothing and no one else to think about."
House sipped his ginger ale. He had given up alcohol completely, ostensibly because 'he was bored of it', since he had started caring for Wilson full time.
"I didn't ask myself too many questions. I just enjoyed our time together, knowing we would eventually go back to our normal life in Princeton, minus my pain. What happens in Texas stays in Texas, as they say."
The voice was a whisper now.
"Then you asked me to have sex with you, and you did it in such a cold way. As if it would be just another form of medication. As if you couldn't even imagine that there could be love involved. I... I'll do it again, if you deem it necessary, but it hurt like hell."
"I lied because I didn't want to scare you. Believe me, House, please. I care for you."
"So you... you would want to have a relationship with me?" House sounded wary, almost uninterested. Exhausted. "A relationship that wouldn't crumble the moment you're back in the real world and resume your women-hunting life?"
"Maybe facts will be clearer than words." The pain didn't diminish, but it faded into the back of his mind as his lips touched House's who first remained passive, than slowly started to reciprocate, becoming more and more passionate.
As the kiss finally broke up House's eyes were no longer sad, but full of fear. "Wilson... please don't lie to me about this. You're too important. Don't lie to me, even for a few weeks. I... I don't know I could survive it. I would go mad."
Wilson smiled, letting his fingers glide through the thinning and greying curls, sprinkling delicate kisses all over the scruff, so much softer than he would have imagined it.
"It's true, House. Trust me. It's true."
