A/N-this chapter feels a bit scattered and all over, but meh. I expect that six months from now it's going to get looked at again and a rewrite will be started and promptly dropped for something better, unless there's something glaringly obvious that's easy to fix because my brain has frozen from the cold.
"Are you going back?" House asked as he walked up the step to his apartment.
"To the hotel?" Wilson asked, and House merely nodded. Wilson didn't answer, and House held the door open for him to follow.
"Well?"
"Later." House quirked an eyebrow, but collapsed on the couch anyway, with Wilson taking the other far cushion, both of them sprawled out towards the middle, their feet almost, but not quite, touching on the coffee table in front of them.
"Which means you're sleeping here tonight." Wilson shrugged.
"I was planning on going back-"
"Bullshit, you hate it there and you know it. And I know it. Besides, what's wrong with admitting you're spending the night at your fiancé's place?"
"Because you're not actually my fiancé. That implies a whole range of emotions that I don't think you're actually capable of." House didn't respond, but merely limped in the kitchen and grabbed two beers out of the fridge, setting one in front of Wilson and opening the other.
"Like what?"
"Love, for one."
"How do you know I'm incapable of loving someone?"
"Because I've known you for twenty years, and the closest you've come to unconditional love is for that damned rat of yours." There was a gesture towards Steve's cage, and House pouted.
"What's wrong with loving a pet unconditionally? I feed him, and give him water, and in return, he gives me company."
"It's a rat, not a dog, you can't scritch it behind it's ears, or have it lay it's head in your lap, or anything fun." House rolled his eyes, but relaxed back into the couch.
"You're just getting cold feet, and we haven't even set a date yet. Which we probably should, seeing as gramps ain't going to last more than another month or two, and you need to apply for the license at least seventy two hours in advance."
"I'm not-"
"You're afraid of something. You never complain about something about me, unless it's something you're afraid of. Take, for example, my Vicodin. You complain about it because you're afraid I'm going to crawl into one of these nice orange bottles," He held one up for demonstration, popping two with ease, "And not crawling back out of it."
"That's generally what someone does for a friend. They care enough to make sure that they don't completely petrify their livers."
"So what are you afraid of by marrying me?"
"I'm not afraid of anything." Wilson was a horrible liar, and both of them knew it, no matter how well Wilson tried to hide it. Especially when Wilson was lying to House-he could get away with it to patients who were taught to trust him, but House had learned long ago all of his friend's tells.
"You're afraid of something with this, what?" Wilson paused, wondering what exactly that feeling of impending doom was. He knew it was something, and that as the day had grown on and the idea became firmer and firmer in his mind that he had actually agreed to this and that sometime within the next week he'd be standing in front of a justice of the peace reciting crappily written store-bought vows all because he couldn't say "no", well, the idea was growing scarier and scarier by the second.
"I'm afraid-" He took a deep breath as he tried to rationalize his fears. "I'm afraid of this changing things, and not for the better. Of my coworkers looking at me differently because I crossed another line just cause you asked. Of having less respect because I played into one of your ruses without even thinking of myself. Of us changing just because you had to see where the line in the sand was drawn. This was never about the money, this was all about you seeing where I would finally say no. And realizing that you're free to use me, because I don't say no." He hadn't meant to go on, but he had.
And House sat there, letting it all sink in. There wasn't an angry tone in Wilson's voice, but rather a defeated one. As his friend had pieced together the last bits of the puzzle, and had come to the same conclusion that House had long ago. There was no line in the sand. A few little demarcations of things that Wilson wouldn't do on basis of principals and morals, but even House could twist his principals and morals for him. They both knew that House could kill someone, and Wilson would be along to help hide the body and only say 'don't do that again'
He watched Wilson's shoulders slump as the man realized just how well played he had been, and tried to think up a witty retort, something, anything. It was something that had been understood, but House had never known that Wilson himself hadn't realized it. Instead he sat there, beer stuck somewhere between table and mouth, unsure of what to say. Which in and of itself was a feat. "If you don't want this, just say so." That was all he could come up with. The best he could do.
"I don't know what I want. It's a year's worth of alimony for the first wife if I go through with this, and it's a signature on a piece of paper and nothing more. But that's just it-no one else sees it as that. And everyone else will know, there's absolutely no way to avoid it. It's the hospital, word gets out fast. You can't sneeze without everyone else finding out about it within five minutes."
"You know, there's a reason why there's anti-discrimination laws. You can get people who give you a hard time fired." He saw Wilson's lips start to quirk upwards, but only for a second. "You know what your problem is? You're too damn self-conscious. What the hell does it matter what the hospital gossip line says about you? They've already said worse about me, or about Elswick down in the ER, or Petrillo the rad tech who's slept with every single man in this hospital, yourself and yours truly included." He saw the faint blush at the idea of sleeping with the town bike of the hospital, but it was nearly part of initiation to work at the hospital to have a hurried encounter somewhere with the girl.
"I actually have a good reputation-"
"You planning on changing jobs any time soon?" Wilson shook his head.
"Probably going to be here til I retire."
"So what the hell does the reputation matter? If Cuddy hasn't fired you for following along with one of my ideas yet, she's never going to." Wilson sighed, not realizing that this was just House manipulating him yet again.
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
"Course I'm right, I'm always right." He held up his beer towards Wilson. "Here's to actually having a bit of self-confidence." The clink of beer bottles hitting one another echoed through the apartment.
"You really think I have no self confidence?"
"If you're the poster boy for anything, it's middle child syndrome. Trying to be the best, while doubting yourself all along the way, able to compromise between people, while doubting yourself-" He hadn't expected it to get a laugh, but it had. A not very humorous one, but a laugh nonetheless.
"Yeah. I know this means nothing. You know this means nothing. Who cares what other people will think it means?" House twisted his lips into something resembling a smile, and leaned back as they lapsed into a comfortable silence that was only broken to comment on whatever it was that was playing on TV.