Title: The Department Meeting, part 2
By: lbc
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: M
Genre: slash
Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters, but I don't.
Summary: James Wilson misses a department meeting with Gregory House.
James Wilson opened the door to his apartment and collapsed. It was deadly quiet now that his wife had stopped her constant nagging. Another divorce looming on the horizon, Wilson had barely noticed when Julie had walked out, going home to "mother'.
It wasn't the first time that his marriage had ended in divorce, so Wilson was certainly not devastated. No, as he collapsed onto the bluish patterned sofa which his wife chosen in happier days, it wasn't the loss of another wife that was devastating; it was the devastation that his relationship with Greg House had wreaked on his life. 18 hour days, threats of firing, doing battle to protect House and other burdens had worn him down.
As he looked around the room, too tired to even get up and get himself a beer, self-pity set in. Wilson had usually been too busy to feel sorry for himself, but after the last few department meetings, he felt he deserved someone's sympathy and pity - - even if it was only his own.
A small spurt of anger burst forth when he thought about Greg House. The man had not even said, "Thank you," for Wilson's negative vote which had saved his job. House had run to Cameron to inform her of Vogler's departure faster than he had even tried to find out what had happened in the Vogler department meeting. House was so sure of me that he didn't even worry about what happened.
The exhausted man ran his hand over his forehead. He had not spoken to House after the recent board meeting. In fact, since Cuddy had found him, House, and two of the ducklings watching television sometime after the Vogler debacle, he and House had said very little, and to Wilson's surprise, he found that it didn't bother him to any degree. Maybe it was time that James Wilson stopped playing Greg House's game - - stopped being his pawn.
Leaning back on the less than comfy sofa, Wilson closed his eyes briefly then sat up, intending on finding something to eat and then going to bed. Suddenly, he noticed a folded slip of paper near the front door. He must have walked right by it when he had entered.
James Wilson was not the neatest person in the world, but he knew that that piece of paper had not been there earlier. After picking it up, he opened the folded page and read:
Wilson
I have scheduled a department meeting for tomorrow at 7:00 am. Be there!
House
Wilson stared at the piece of paper for several minutes then shredded it into very small pieces, throwing them around the room as he headed towards the kitchen, too tired to even consider why House would be calling a department meeting, involving himself.
The next morning James Wilson entered PPTH ready to confront House for his thoughtless, self-centered behavior. No more was James Wilson going to run in the foot steps of the older man.
At 7:00 Wilson entered the conference room, but no one was there. Oh, great! He didn't bother to tell me that he had changed his mind. No one seemed to know anything about a meeting so Wilson went to his office to begin his day.
By 10:00, he had already seen five patients and counselled two more. He had read chart after chart and had done three consultancies. Strangely enough, he felt better than he had felt for a long time. He, James Wilson could be independent; he didn't have to hang around Greg House to have company. He didn't need Greg House, and Greg House certainly didn't need him.
Finally, he felt that he had accomplished enough so that he could take a break. Getting a cup of coffee, he headed to his own office, feeling another brief sense of accomplishment since he did not seek out House's company as he had for so many other breaks.
Sitting in his amazingly comfortable, leather chair, he sat back and relaxed, thinking about many things, but avoiding thoughts of a scruffy, snarky individual who had caused him so much grief.
A relaxed feeling began to sweep over him, until the man being avoided, suddenly burst into the office with a face that rivalled thunder.
"Where were you?"
That question was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. What was House blaming him for now?
Wilson's cold, brown eyes looked up at the thunder cloud, "What are you referring to, Dr. House?"
"Now, just what do you think I'm talking about?"
When Wilson refused to answer, the blue eyes turned to icicles as the scruffy mouth spelled out, "The meeting, you moron!"
James Wilson sat up quickly and stood up even faster. His glare turned even colder, but he kept control of his voice as he said, "Dr. House, I was here at 7:00 am; where were you?"
House's sarcasm had always been Olympic quality, but in that moment, he outdid himself. "Really, Dr. Wilson, one would think that a man of your medical credentials could get to a meeting on time. I was there, where were you?"
Wilson put his hands on his hips, almost afraid to leave them free, for fear of the neck they might strangle. "I was there; I checked with everyone, and no body . . . NOBODY . . . knew a damn thing about YOUR meeting."
Now a slight look of confusion entered the sapphire blue eyes. In a less belligerent and sarcastic tone, House asked again, "Where were you?" with more emphasis on the where.
Now it was Wilson's turn to look confused, but he proved that he, too, could handle sarcasm. "Well, where do you think, DOCTOR, I was in the conference room!"
Suddenly, the handsome but scruffy face collapsed as he whispered, "Oh."
For a moment, Wilson felt concern for the disappointed face, but quickly he straightened his spine. James Wilson was not going to fall for that again.
"Well, that tells me a lot. Where was I supposed to be for this department meeting?"
For once, House's sad face broadcast insecurity loud and clear. "I . . . I thought you'd understand that I meant we'd meet at Casey's for breakfast, just like usual."
Now it all was clear. Greg House had wanted to have an early morning breakfast with Wilson before they went to the hospital, and Wilson, in his anger, had misunderstood.
"Well, why didn't you say that?"
The younger man knew very well why House hadn't written that in the note: Greg House's social skills were virtually non-existent. He had managed to live his 46 years without seeing the need to be civil - - to almost anyone. You took Greg House as he was or you didn't stay around him, and very few people did stay. Even Stacy Warner, the love of his life, had abandoned him, and probably with good reason. Only James Wilson had been a constant in his life, and maybe Allison Cameron – well, at least, she wanted to be.
Wilson sighed, feeling defeated, regretful, and angry. Looking up at his friend, once again, Wilson shook his head and asked, "House, don't you ever do anything like a normal person? Couldn't you have just asked?"
Now House looked puzzled once again. "I . . . I thought I did."
The younger man wiped non-existent perspiration from his forehead. The small action gave him time . . . time to think before he responded. "Sorry, about missing the 'meeting'. I've had some bad days, and I guess I just wasn't thinking."
House stood looking at his friend. His sad, droopy blue eyes reminded Wilson of a basset hound. House stared for a minute then answered in a soft, hesitant, almost injured voice, "You want to go out for dinner when we get done?"
For a minute Wilson teetered on the edge, remembering his promises to himself about being House's doormat. "Well, I thought I'd have an early night."
"Oh, sure." Wilson felt his heart begin to melt as he saw the sadness in the scruffy face, but then Greg House helped him out by re-clothing himself in his armor of sarcasm as he continued, "You go right ahead. Wife's not home so I can imagine why you're so tired."
Wilson felt himself bristle. He knew in his heart why Gregory House was saying what he was, but that didn't make the heartsick friend feel any better. Why did everything have to be about Greg House?
Wilson's dark eyes turned frozen. Looking deliberately at the clock on the wall, Wilson's voice indicated his displeasure. "I forgot, Dr. House, as the world's greatest diagnostician, you can devote all your time to your patients, but some of us do have lives, and I have made other arrangements for this evening. Now if you will excuse me . . ." Here, Wilson stopped to add extra emphasis to his next words . . . "I am a mere mortal and have no assistants to bully and blackmail into doing my clinic duty; I have to go."
With that, Wilson walked out of his office without further notice of the stunned man with a cane.
End of part 2