The Birth of a Friendship
by Z.E. Grockle
Notes: Thanks for all the alert adds. I do prefer reviews, but it's nice to know people are waiting for this, anyway.
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House wasn't sure what exactly made him do it. Part of it was because the guy's actions had been wholly unexpected. He looked so innocent. He'd been surprised enough to hear him shout across the bar, though given the song, he could understand what made the younger man do it. Picking up a bottle and chucking it at the mirror made no sense. It posed more danger to the bartender than the Billy Joel lover, and yet it managed all the same to stop the incessant repetition of the song. Okay, so it did that by inadvertently starting a bar fight in which the jukebox was smashed as completely as the mirror, but still. It made him wonder what else the kid would do if he got drunk enough.
Part of it was the envelope. Sending someone divorce papers while they were on a semi-vacation was the cold action of a bitter woman, and yet he couldn't bring himself to open them. Something about that appealed to House. And if he was honest with himself, the last part was simply because he felt sorry for the kid. Boring lectures, divorce papers, and getting arrested in one weekend had to suck.
For whatever reason, House found himself shelling out five hundred dollars, cash, plus an extra two-fifty for the lawyer, and following a cop down the hallway of a precinct to the holding cells.
"Hey, Billy Joel," the cop said, motioning to the young doctor, who was sitting on the floor inside the cell with his back against the wall. "You made bail."
His forehead crinkled as he got slowly to his feet. "What about the charges?" he asked.
"I took care of it," House said. The other man just looked more confused.
"Who're you?"
"Greg House." He stuck his hand through the bars, and the younger man hesitantly shook it.
"James Wilson. Do I know you?"
"Nope. Why throw it at the mirror? Seems like an idiotic thing to do."
"I... wasn't really thinking. If I don't know you, why'd you pay my bail?" he asked as the cop opened the cell and let him walk out.
"You looked like someone I could drink with. Here's a card for your lawyer," he said.
Wilson looked at it and then slowly put it in his pocket. "You paid for a lawyer so you could have someone to drink with?"
House sighed. It seemed the kid wasn't going to drop that, and he really didn't want to give the other man the false impression that he, House, was a nice guy. Luckily, he was saved from further explaining his actions by the cop, who interrupted.
"You better not be doing any more drinking tonight, gentlemen. A patrol car will take you back to your hotel. The bar's closed, and if we have to haul you in here again, those lawyer's fees are going to skyrocket."
House rolled his eyes at the empty threat, but Wilson didn't look like he would last much longer, anyway. He was leaning against the cell bars with the lethargic air of someone about to pass out. Sure enough, by the time they got back to the hotel and up to his floor, the younger man was dead on his feet.
"Where's your room card?" House asked him. Wilson rummaged through the bag of possessions the cops had given back to him and came up with the plastic card, which he passed over. House guided him inside by his arm, and in the general direction of the bed, then watched as the young doctor collapsed on it face-down. He pocketed the card and shut the lights off on his way out.
There's always tomorrow.
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Notes: This is where we depart from the "official" story, as given in Birthmarks. Stay tuned for the next day, through the eyes of Wilson.