Disclaimer, etc., in chapter 1
Still dedicated to the folks at the housewilson LJ who helped me work through the end of this fic. The next chapter should be the last one.
Repentance
Wilson snorted awake, his mouth tasting like the inside of an old keg, around 2 a.m. Sensuous moans spread from the television, filling the room.
He turned toward the couch. House was…yeah…predictable.
Wilson sniffed at him, rolled his eyes, yawned, and pushed himself out of the chair which had modeled itself to his sleeping body.
House's eyes lit on Wilson's briefs, skipped once at the sight there, and traveled upward to affix themselves to Wilson's eyes.
"I see you're finally ready to join me," House said lazily.
Wilson sniffed again and turned toward the hallway. "I need to pee," he called. "Same thing happens to you every morning."
"No," House called back to Wilson's vanishing form, "it's the porn. Got you all hot and bothered."
The sound of the bathroom door swinging shut answered House. His gaze lingered momentarily on the space Wilson had just occupied, then he turned his attention back to the television.
Vaguely, House recalled Wilson being upset earlier. He also recalled losing several online video game matches to a bunch of boys whose voices hadn't broken yet. The taste of amber vomit that had woken him up an hour ago answered any questions he had—a grand total of none—and after a few minutes of watching Wilson snore and counting the beer bottles on the table, he'd searched for decent porn on TV.
Now he relaxed, left hand behind his head, right hand lazily stroking, and watched Wilson walk toward him, face neutral with just a hint of disgust, and turn into the kitchen. House glanced at the television. He hadn't upgraded to a pay-per-view movie yet; the soft core actors were trying to put together a plot. Boring.
Wilson returned with a full glass of water and stood next to the TV.
House enjoyed watching him drink. Then he enjoyed watching Wilson stare at him. Then he remembered that Wilson had been upset. He pieced his blurry memory with the expression of disapproval Wilson had trained on him and sighed a little.
"What did I do this time?" he asked in a bored voice. Wilson was always mad at him about something.
If he'd had the capacity to be as objective about this relationship as he was about everything else, he'd know that Wilson was rarely mad at him, and never without a good reason. But he lacked that capacity almost entirely.
Wilson's stare answered: You know what you did.
House sighed a little again. "Whatever it was, I didn't mean to upset you."
He chose his words carefully, as he always did. Wilson had learned to listen as carefully as House chose his words.
"I'm sorry you're upset," House finished, adding a gesture that indicated he was only sorry Wilson was upset because it was killing the mood.
House watched as Wilson's face revealed an inner struggle so complex House could barely fathom the range of mood, emotion, and rationalization Wilson was experiencing. Wilson's jaw worked back and forth as if weighing two options; his eyes moved from House to the floor to a clean table he remembered crowding with empty beer bottles to a variety of other objects in the room; his right hand twitched ever so slightly.
Finally, Wilson looked at House again, having made his decision.
"Okay," he said.
He drained the remaining water from the glass and sat down in the chair again.
"This any good?" he asked, glancing at House and nodding toward the TV.
House studied him. Apology accepted. Wilson had made peace with whatever was bothering him. House began to smile.
"No," he answered. "It's crap." He sat up and advanced toward Wilson, leering. "I know something that's much better."
Wilson debated, decided, and leaned back in the chair with an assumed air of casualty.
"Really?" he said, the corner of his mouth curling upward. "What's that?"
House licked his lips. "Better if I show you," he said, standing up, and nodding toward the bedroom. "It's this way."
Wilson, smiling faintly, eyes full of meaning and intent, followed House down the hall.
