This one isn't one of the one word prompt ficlets, it is a prize fic for one of my readers on LiveJournal. The prompt was the Leonard Cohen quote at the start of the fic. It is also my first attempt at writing first person.

Real Life

"I don't consider myself a pessimist. I think of a pessimist as someone who is waiting for it to rain. And I feel soaked to the skin." – Leonard Cohen

I try not to focus on them too much, my feelings for Wilson. Or at least my feelings other than friendship. There's enough pain in my life as it is, I really don't see the need to introduce even more. And yet on nights like this, when I've had the day from hell at the hospital, my leg hurts both because of that and the damnable weather, I've had perhaps one Vicodin too many and one drink too many and Wilson is…otherwise engaged that I find it hard to keep those thoughts away.

I want him. When he stands in my office with that pristine white lab coat and those excruciating ties, his hands on his hips and that small exasperated smile on his face, I want to limp over and shove him against the wall and kiss him until he moans. I know what he looks like under that lab coat, under the suits and neatly pressed shirts. I've seen him in the change rooms before surgery. And in the early days of my recovery, after Stacy left and before I could manage on my own, he used to get in the shower with me to help. I hated it and loved it. Hated that I needed the help, hated that he saw the wreckage of my thigh, hated that I couldn't take a fucking shower on my own. But god, I loved it. Loved looking at his body, loved that I could have that moment of contact with his bare skin when I braced myself with a hand on his shoulder, loved it when he'd steady me with his hands resting on my naked skin. Only the pain and the drugs kept him from knowing how I felt.

I need him. God, I hate admitting that, even in the silence of my own mind, but it's true. I need him to come into my office and banter with me, argue with me, chastise and berate me, remind me that I'm human. I need him to worry about me, about my leg, about my addiction, because I can't. I need him to be there, to be someone I can lean on. I need his smile, the rare touch of his hand, his caring and god forbid, those wretched ties of his. I think he wears them deliberately, to give me something to snark at. He always gets this look in his eyes when I start in on them, like he's secretly delighted that I noticed.

I love him. Fuck, that was hard to even think. I don't know if I could ever say it out loud, not even to him. But I feel it. I wish I didn't. I wish I could love Cameron. Hell, I sometimes wish I could love Cuddy. I loved Stacy, still do in some ways. She's still beautiful, still so fucking sexy, still standing up to me and not letting me get away with anything. That's what drew me to her at first. First time I asked her out, she blew me off, told me I was an ass and she got better offers at the local bus stop. I couldn't stop laughing; she got me with that one. First time I realised I loved her was in the middle of an argument. First time I realised I hated her was when I woke up after the surgery and found out what had been done and what that meant for me. I can't remember the first time I realised I loved Wilson. Is that strange? Maybe I've always loved him. I wish I didn't.

I want him to want me, to need me, to love me. Might as well wish for my leg back, for the pain to stop. He's gone out with his latest in a long line of women. What was her name? Susan? Sarah? Stephanie? Something beginning with an 'S' anyway. Which is why I'm sitting here at the piano picking out random notes, drinking scotch and thinking maudlin thoughts. I could almost be a fourteen year old girl, the way I'm acting…except for the scotch part. I shouldn't do this. I know I shouldn't. I'm going to end up falling asleep on the sofa. I'll wake up tomorrow with everything hurting more than normal and end up being an even bigger son of a bitch than I normally am. I guess I'm just a glutton for punishment. But I already knew that. If I wasn't I'd have let them cut my damn leg off.

"Hey."

I turn around and he's here. Fuck, I didn't even hear him come in, must have been really wallowing in my own misery. God, he looks…fuckable. Yeah, crude but that's just me. He's taken off his tie and suit jacket and tossed them over the back of the sofa. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone and he's rolled his sleeves up. His expression is amused and just slightly curious. He's standing beside the couch with his hands in his pockets and damn if that isn't going to fuel some fantasies.

"Thought you were out with Sarah," I say, trying for a sneer but I think I only manage to sound weary.

"Susan," he corrects with a small smile. "It didn't exactly work out."

I snort at that. "She's female with tits out to here and she likes you. How can it not work out?"

He walks over to stand next to me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body and smell his aftershave.

"She's not what I'm looking for."

"When has that ever stopped you?"

He flinches a little at that and I almost want to apologise. Yep, definitely on the maudlin side tonight.

"Since I decided to stop lying to myself."

He looks nervous and determined which is surprisingly…adorable on him. And I can't believe I even thought the word adorable.

"That'll be a first," I say, feeling better.

That's more like it, sarcastic and snarky. There's no way I'm thinking about what he said. It's way too close to a couple of fantasies of mine and I know he doesn't mean it the way I want him to.

Surprisingly he doesn't react to what I said, doesn't even give me that hurt look of his. Instead he looks…tolerantly amused, like I said exactly what he thought I was going to say.

"I knew you were going to make this difficult."

I give him a small grin. "Difficult is my middle name."

He smiles back. "I thought it was John."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "There's a difference?"

He's met my father, even been present for the occasional argument between us. He knows what I mean and he laughs softly. He looks at me indulgently then leans forward and presses his lips to mine.

I can't move. I'm stunned. His lips are warm and soft and feel so good but I can't move. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. He pulls back and I can see the embarrassment, the disappointment and even a little fear on his face. It happened and he thinks I didn't want it.

I reach up and slide a hand behind his neck, pulling his face back down to mine. This time I kiss him and he responds to me greedily. It's better than my fantasies. Probably because it's real but I'm not going to analyse that right now. His mouth is warm and wet and he tastes of coffee and chocolate and Wilson.

When it ends, we part only far enough to breath, our foreheads resting together. My hand is still wrapped around the back of his neck and his are resting on my shoulders.

"Why?"

My voice is barely audible but he hears it. I'm not sure what I'm asking. I'm not sure what answer I want to hear.

"Because I want you. Because I need you. Because I love you."

My eyes close at his answer. If I was a better man, I'd be crying right now. Of all the ways to answer my question, he picked that one. But then again, he's always known how to read me better than anyone else. Maybe he's always known how I felt. Maybe I haven't hidden it as well as I thought I had. Maybe he just needed time to realise what he wanted. Maybe I don't care.

One hand comes up and caresses my face and I can't help but lean into it. I crave his touch. I think he realises this but I know he won't say anything.

Am I really going to get what I want? It hasn't happened very often in my life. And so often when I have gotten what I wanted, it's been ripped away from me or I've driven it…her…away. I'm afraid. Afraid I'll lose this, lose Wilson. I'm afraid to take the risk.

But it seems Wilson isn't. He tilts my head up and kisses me again. Only the third time and I could do this forever. He kisses a path along my jaw and I tilt my head back almost helplessly. When he gets to my ear, he licks the skin just below it and I feel the shiver run through me. He nips me there, just a small one, a bare hint of teeth, and I hear a whimper. I think it's me. He soothes my skin with a lick and a kiss and I hear another whimper. This time I know it's me.

"I'm yours," he whispers in my ear and I shudder. "I'm yours and I'm not letting go. You can't push me away and I won't leave."

My breath catches as he answers the questions I haven't spoken. I grab his head and pull him into another kiss. Hard, searing, possessive. Full of want and need and love. He moans into my mouth and I feel triumphant. Fuck, it sounds just like I thought it would.

I wrench my mouth away from his and this time we both whimper.

"Bed."

How I manage to say that, I don't know. My brain has disappeared and it looks like his has as well. He licks his lips and I nearly decide that the sofa is good enough. Then he turns and heads towards my bedroom. I grab my cane and push myself to my feet so that I can follow him.

I'm going to get what I want, what I need, what I love. Is this real? Am I dreaming? I don't know. I don't care. I don't think I am. I think this is real.