Title: The Essence of Friendship (1?)
By: lbc
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: For Mature Readers, mostly due to language
Genre: slash mentioned in early chapters
Number of words: 1351
Disclaimer: Unfortunately I don't own these characters.
Summary: House and Wilson have an argument with far reaching results.
James Wilson sprang up from House's sofa for what must have been (conservatively) the hundredth time. It had been a long day for Wilson and his snarky, brilliant, often less than convivial host, Gregory House.
Greg House's right thigh was killing him; the Vicodin recently ingested, not yet relaxing the pain in the damaged leg. House's blue eyes continued to follow the slender, well-dressed figure as it paced across the room. Surely, by now, Wilson had successfully completed a marathon distance of pacing, but House said nothing, knowing that his friend was not ready to tell him what was bothering him.
James Wilson had been hyperactive all day, in fact, all week or longer. House dropped his chin to his chest as he contemplated how long his friend had seemed to be hiding something. Normally, House would have nagged his friend until he had spilled his guts, but House had been too wrapped up in his recent struggles with Stacy to really seem to notice what was going on with his best friend. House knew that Wilson was over his divorce from Julie, or he had certainly given a valiant imitation of a man less-than-heart broken over the loss of wife number three. And yet, with James Wilson, one never knew because the younger man was very good at carrying the weight of the world on his slender shoulders.
"House?"
House raised his head, shaking it very briefly to rid it of the cobwebs of his thoughts. Forcing himself to focus his blue eyes to stare at his long time friend.
"Yes?"
"I've got to get going. I've got an early appointment with Cuddy."
House sighed. He was fed up with Wilson's stall tactics so a large layer of sarcasm was applied to the open wound that was James Wilson.
"A meeting? What, are you finally going to explain to her why you stopped sleeping with her? That's the gentlemanly thing to do."
Wilson scrunched up his handsome face with a puzzled look. "What the hell are you talking about? She's my boss. I don't sleep with my boss."
House's blue eyes twinkled, but he answered seriously, "You slept with me, so what's different about her, except, of course, she's got long hair, and I've got it on my face? . . .Oh, maybe I'm forgetting my biology, I guess there are other differences."
"I haven't slept with a man in a long time, and I definitely haven't slept with Cuddy."
"Well, you slept with your wives and look what that got you."
"Yeah, alimony, but will you shut up, I've got something to tell you."
"Well, excuse me for living; I'm just trying to encourage you to make an honest man out of yourself by telling Cuddy the truth, and you go all girlie on me."
Wilson's dark eyes were now intense, almost flaming. He had planned this so carefully, and suddenly he just blurted it out. "I've been offered another position . . . in Florida."
There was silence in the room as Gregory House seemed to be sifting the words through his mind as if he couldn't quite understand them or they were in a tongue he couldn't comprehend.
James Wilson stood on the other side of the room; his tie loose, the sleeves to his cambrai shirt rolled up to his elbows. His hands were on his hips as if he was defying House, but he said nothing further.
Finally, House whispered, "Running out on your alimony; that's not a good idea."
Wilson's shoulders slouched; he was tired . . . so tired. He had agonized for more than a week about how he was going to tell his best friend . . . his only friend that he had a chance to get out of House's life . . . a chance to seek refuge away from the magnetic and exhausting personality who sat across the room.
Wilson cleared his throat, trying to verbalize his thoughts, but his stomach was tied in knots. He could read every nuance of House's body, and he knew the man had been shaken by the announcement. "Do you remember Chuck Taylor? He was a year or so behind you in Med School?"
For the moment, House held back his curiosity and his growing fury and responded as if the two men were having a normal conversation and not one that was going to rip the heart out of an 18 year friendship.
"Chuck Taylor? You mean Charles Ducksworth Taylor, the holier than thou zealot who knew everything about medicine when he was barely more than a snotty-nosed kid?"
Wilson didn't smile but his eyes did as if he recognized the description immediately, but was too loyal to voice it. "Yeah, that's the one. We got to be pretty good . . . friends after you . . . well, after you graduated. He started a clinic which treats lots of senior citizens, and he . . . well, he needs an oncologist, and . . . he offered me the job."
House could barely hear the last words as they faded out into the stifling air of the room. House's eyes turned a deeper shade of blue as if they were freezing over. Even the superheated air seemed to cool as House's body heat sank to subzero temperatures.
The older man dropped his head to his chest and rested his two hands on the top of his cane for a moment then he looked up at his friend, "That will really be fun, treating the gray haired horde for threats from various diseases. Bet you'll make a mint." House dropped his head and sighed heavily then continued, "And just when were you going to tell me all this?"
Wilson looked shamed faced and guilty, "I . . . wanted to tell you last week, but I didn't have the chance. You were gone to that conference and then lots of things came up. I'm sorry."
Now, House's voice was hard, granite would have shattered on the uttered words, "We've spent almost every night together when I've been around, you couldn't find 30 seconds to utter the immortal words, 'Hey, House, you idiot, I'm thinking of hauling my ass out of here, so tough shit, to you, buddy."
Wilson bristled at the words used, but had to admit he deserved the scorn. "Yeah, I forgot that you're good at hauling your own ass out of a situation you're tired of, aren't you?"
Wilson was breathing heavily as he waited for House to retaliate. Wilson, you're an idiot to match sarcasm with the master. 17 years before Greg House had walked out on their year long affair, leaving behind the battered soul of a 19 year old, James Wilson.
Silence once again deluged the room. The tension was so painful, it couldn't last long. Wilson knew that when he told House of the offer, it would not be pleasant, but House's next words were beyond Wilson's imagination.
"Now, I see Dr. Wilson. So magnanimous of you to let me know. Now I have just one question for you?"
Wilson said nothing, just waited.
"Are you sleeping with Chuckie-poo? Is that why he offered you the job?"
James Wilson's heart shattered. His body seemed frozen; his thoughts whirled in a thousand different directions. How could his friend ask him that? Finding his jacket which had been thrown over one of the chairs, he headed towards the door. Almost wrenching it off its hinges, Wilson turned momentarily, his face flushed from heat and anger, "Damn you, House." With that cry of agony, James Wilson walked out of House's apartment, slamming the door in reaction to the pain that enveloped him.
House managed to walk wearily to the sofa where he collapsed in despair. His worst nightmare had come true. He now had no one he could count on. His Jamie had always been there for him, and now . . . Gregory House was truly alone.
End of part 1