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Chapter 14: Reconciliation

Meeting over, patients, staff, and floor tucked in for the weekend, Wilson paused again outside his office. He was done for the day here. Any work he had now could be taken home. But whose home was he going to tonight?

He'd been unable to keep his thoughts far from House despite his best efforts. He knew what he wanted (to end this fight and go back to yesterday's happiness), he knew the terms he would and wouldn't accept to end this fight (House had to acknowledge that he'd been too…anything; if House acknowledged any wrongdoing at all…yes, that would be enough), and he knew what he would say (or thought he knew), but House was always a rogue. Always unpredictable. And though House had said he wanted this, though he'd committed to getting tested yesterday and to a tentative living agreement, though he'd brought up keeping their new relationship quiet at work, though he'd given Wilson all of these indications that he meant this to be a long-term relationship…Wilson wasn't so sure House wouldn't wake up one day and take it all back. He wasn't so sure House wouldn't wake up now, if he wasn't already awake, and take it all back. The prospect frightened Wilson. It angered him. It saddened him. He realized that it would take him a long time to get back to normal if House dropped him now. There was no way around it: House had him by the marrow of his bones. He was in so much trouble.

He sighed and shook his head. This had been a bad idea from the beginning. Whatever happened…would be whatever happened. No one could change House's mind but House and if House had changed his mind…Wilson didn't know what he would do. He didn't want to think about it. But he couldn't stand putting this off any longer and House should be awake or almost awake by now.

He placed his hand on the door handle and slowly turned it. He hated fighting with House. He absolutely hated it.

"Dr. Wilson?"

He started.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Feldman said. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"It's okay, Nancy," Wilson responded, turning to her and hoping the strain didn't show on his face.

"The proofs for your article on osteocarcoma came in this afternoon," she said, offering him an envelope from the American Journal for Clinical Oncology. "They were misrouted by the mail room. I thought you might want them for the weekend."

"Yes," Wilson said, taking the envelope, "thanks very much."

"Staying late today?" she asked.

"I was just on my way out, actually," Wilson said.

Mrs. Feldman smiled. "Say hello to Dr. House for me," she said, and knowing she'd just shocked her employer, turned gracefully back toward her desk.

Wilson's mouth fell open as he watched her retreat. She knew? How did she know?

He knew the answer to that right away. If anyone was going to overhear him having an office liaison, it was her. But that smile and the just barely playful tone in which she'd said it… He grinned to himself. She approved. Well. If anyone around him was going to know, he was glad it was her—and really glad she approved. She was an important ally to have.

Though whether this relationship would still be around to have friends and enemies once Monday morning came…

Dammit, House. Always making things more difficult than they were.

His stomach started to tighten again like it had been doing off and on all afternoon. He turned the door handle before it could mutate into indigestion. It was his office after all. He could do this.

Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him. The office was still dim. House was still stretched out on the couch. Some horrible talk show was on the portable television.

Quietly, he went round to see if House was awake or not.

Eyes closed. Relaxed. Hand still on his stomach, his head still turned to the left just so. He hadn't moved. And the James Dean white t-shirt and jeans still looked so good on him… He put the thought out of his mind.

Wilson had just turned to sneak quietly to his desk to sit and let House wake up naturally when House blinked slowly and looked up at him.

Wilson looked back, keeping his face neutral. He'd agreed with himself that he wouldn't make the first move. He needed to know where House stood.

House blinked heavily again and brought his hand up to rub his face.

"You sure that was only ten milligrams?" he said in a sleepy voice.

Wilson frowned a little, one eyebrow sinking. He wouldn't say the words. No 'are you okay' this time.

House shook his head, trying to clear it, and pushed himself up. He moved his leg to the ground, the other joining it, and sat still for a moment, yawning.

"Whatever it was," he said, eyes on the floor…slowly he looked up at Wilson, "thanks. I feel better."

Wilson inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement. House was going to have to do this. He'd made it into a fight and if he cared about making this relationship work, he would fix it.

Laughter broke out on the television and House glanced at it. His eyes bugged. "It's past four?" he said.

Wilson nodded. "Nearly five."

House shook his head with an exaggerated expression. "How much did you give me?" he asked.

Wilson said nothing, face still neutral. He tossed the envelope on his desk and crossed his arms.

House's eyes searched his and after a long moment, he sighed, posture slackening. "Okay," he said. "We need to talk. I know."

Wilson nodded slightly, lips pursed. He wasn't going to give any of this away. House had to want it. He had to earn it.

House looked around for his cane and found it on the floor next to the couch. "I need to pee first," he said. "Then we'll talk."

Wilson inclined his head again. Usually 'I need to pee' was House-speak for 'I'm up to something,' but he'd been in here since noon. It would be strange if he didn't need to pee. And if it really was an excuse…well, Wilson told himself, he'd have to accept that.

House got up and tried his leg out. Wilson sensed him pausing, thinking, deciding.

"It's good," House said, not meeting Wilson's eyes but with his head tilted toward Wilson: House's normal 'thank you' posture.

Wilson was silent still and House let himself out.

Wilson stood in the same place, four feet from the door, until House came back. He found it telling that House didn't knock first. Not that House normally knocked, but if he'd knocked now… Wilson wasn't sure what that would've meant, but he knew that House still considered this office a space they shared when he didn't stop to knock and he found that comforting.

House reacted with surprise at seeing Wilson in the same spot.

"Whoa."

Yes, Wilson conveyed with his posture and expression, whoa. I'm that serious.

House closed the door and leaned on his cane, two feet from Wilson. Good, Wilson thought. House didn't expect to get the privileges he'd had back immediately. Like access to Wilson's personal space.

House studied Wilson's expression for a moment, then took a deep breath.

"Look…" he began, "I'm a jerk."

He searched Wilson's face, hoping he could get off with just that.

Wilson was as stony as he had been before House went to the bathroom.

Unable to maintain eye contact while he apologized, House looked down. "I'm sorry I was a jerk to you," he said. "I shouldn't have been." Now he looked up at Wilson again: he'd apologized and he could regain the control he'd just lost. "But I can't promise this won't happen again. You know me. You know it will."

Wilson nodded, pleased that House had come right out and said it without any verbal provocation, but not willing to let House off the hook yet.

"I know," Wilson said. "But what I don't know is how hard you're willing to try to keep it from happening again."

House sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know," he said. He was silent, still shaking his head, eyes on the floor, for a moment. He glanced up again when he was ready to speak. "I want you to come home with me tonight," he said. "I don't want you to be upset. I want to do what I have to do to make that happen…but I don't know what that is."

Wilson studied him. He was sincere. He might even be hurting a little, doubting a little, worrying a little. Good. He needed to understand that a relationship was a two way street.

After making him sweat for a while, Wilson spoke: "Okay."

He could see House trying to keep emotion off of his face.

"We're okay?" House asked, his voice just tentative enough that Wilson knew he really did have something at stake now. Something more than just sex. Or so Wilson hoped. House could manipulate anyone. But he had to trust House if this was going to work, so he took a deep breath and plunged into the deep end.

"Yes. We're okay."

House smiled a little. Wilson fought hard not to smile back. He couldn't give up the ground he'd gained just yet.

On not receiving a return smile, House became more uneasy. He thrust a thumb behind him. "I'm going to go check out for the weekend," he said. "Are you…" He stopped, unsure of himself. "Um…that is…" He scratched the back of his head. "When…do you want to go home?"

Immediately, Wilson felt strong senses of triumph and regret. He knew what House was really asking. Not 'when do you want to go home?' but 'do you want to go home?' He'd forced House's underlying fear of rejection to the surface—damn, he hadn't meant to. He wasn't rejecting House, not at all, he'd just wanted House to squirm a little. He didn't want to see the slight wince on House's face as if he were expecting a blow.

"I'm done here," he said, not sure how to reassure House without giving back all the power he'd just gained, "so whenever you're done…" Now it was his turn to squirm and trip over words. "Do you, ah, want to…ride together?"

"Yes," House said, "if that's okay." He looked down. "I shouldn't be driving…"

Wilson was confused for a moment before he realized what House was looking down at. His leg. Dammit. Of course he couldn't drive right now. Not with his leg hurting, not after four hours of chemically-induced sleep. He cursed again to himself. House's insensitivity shouldn't be contagious.

"Okay," he said, cracking a tentative smile now. "I'll go downstairs and get you some Flexeril and we'll go when you're ready."

House gave him a semi-questioning look and Wilson did his best to leer.

"I want you limber this weekend," he said. It wasn't seductive—it was totally unconvincing and bad—but House gave him a small, meaningful smile in return.

"I'd better go check on the kids before you pin me against the desk again," he said. He too sounded unconvincing, but Wilson was happier with that response than he would've been if House had tried to turn the sex up to eleven again.

"Wouldn't want that," Wilson said awkwardly with an equally awkward nod and smile.

House also nodded awkwardly—why had they suddenly become thirteen?—and gave Wilson another little smile before he left.

Wilson leaned against the desk and let out a small laugh with a real smile. He was in love again.