024. Colleagues

I Know What I Mean

House limped into his office to find Wilson slumped in the chair in front of his desk, tossing the lacrosse ball from hand to hand. He raised an eyebrow at the other man's dejected pose and limped around to sit down in his own chair.

"So what brings you to my office this fine day?" House said, gesturing idly to the rainy sky outside.

"Is that all I am to you?" Wilson muttered as he put the ball back on the desk.

House stared blankly at Wilson. "Er, what? Sorry, I left my Wilson decoder ring at home today."

"I was walking past when you were talking to Martinson today," Wilson said, his face blank. "I didn't hear his comment but I heard yours. Is that all I am to you? A colleague?"

House scowled. "He was making insinuating remarks since he doesn't like me very much. How did you expect me to respond?"

"The truth," Wilson said simply. "Unless that is the truth."

House went very still and his face closed down. Wilson eyed this with growing surprise.

"The truth wouldn't have been a good idea," he muttered and Wilson frowned.

"Why not?" he demanded. "What is the truth? At the very least I thought I was your friend."

House wrapped one hand around the handle of his cane and stared at it as though it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

"You are," he said quietly.

"Then why not just say that to Martinson?" Wilson asked with some exasperation.

"Because it wouldn't be the truth," House replied.

"Then what is the truth?" Wilson asked with confusion. "What am I to you if not a friend? An associate? A comrade, an ally, a cohort, a collaborator? What?"

Wilson got a flicker of blue eyes in response then House pushed himself to his feet and started a limping, slightly agitated pace of his office.

"You don't want to know what you are to me," House muttered.

"I think maybe I do," Wilson replied stubbornly.

He got to his feet and moved into House's path, stopping him with a single hand on his chest.

House's eyes stuttered over to that hand then they slowly tracked up until he was looking straight at Wilson. The oncologist gasped as he saw what was in those eyes; pain, longing, desire. House dropped his eyes to the floor at that gasp and stiffened, aware that he had let too much show.

Wilson stared at the tense man in front of him and felt all of his frustration and anger and disappointment fade. He reached out with one hand and gently brushed House's cheek, smiling at the feel of the stubble under his fingers. House's head whipped up and he stared at Wilson with surprise and burgeoning hope.

"I think I do want to know what I mean to you," Wilson said, his smile lingering.

Disbelief washed over House's face then faded when Wilson kept smiling. His eyes darkened as his cane clattered to the floor and he reached out with both hands, grabbing Wilson by the arms and pulling him against his body. One hand shifted to bury itself in Wilson's hair while the other wrapped itself around the oncologist's waist and he kissed Wilson desperately, with relief, with desire, with everything he was no longer capable of putting into words. Wilson clung to him and returned the kiss with enthusiasm. House finally broke away fractionally and ran soft, nipping kisses along Wilson's jaw to his ear.

"This is what you mean to me," he murmured in Wilson's ear before biting down gently on the lobe.