In this version, the loft has three bedrooms. Sorry for the gap in updates.
House watched Jacob pick at the bagel for a minute more before he finally spoke up. "You can tell Wilson," he reassured him quietly, feeling the need to make sure the kid had someone to talk to that was actually able to express emotion like a normal human being. "He's a good guy."
Jacob caught House's gaze. "Have you told him?"
House twisted his mouth. "That's not the point. I'm old and past it. You're young an in it."
Jacob gave him an appraising look. "Hypocrisy at its finest."
House sighed, but inwardly he was a bit amazed. This kid was too much like him.
He still hadn't taken a real bite of his food. "Eat, kid."
"I can't," he answered somewhat apologetically. "I'm nervous."
House had been there. "I feel yah, kid. But, you may not know this, eating is essential to life."
Jacob rolled his eyes, and House caught a trace of what might have been a smile if the situation hadn't been so stressful for the kid.
House's cell phone went off, and he checked the text quickly. "They're here, Jacob," he told the kid as gently as he knew how.
Jacob swallowed, his fingers involuntarily squishing the bagel. "Lets go then, I suppose."
House nodded, and together they walked to the clinic and into the patient room where the CPS worker was waiting.
She was medium height, and young. Her chestnut brown hair was pulled into a no-nonsense braid, her dark eyes hidden behind square glasses. She looked like she got shit done, for lack of a better description.
She nodded kindly enough at Jacob. "Hello, Jacob. I'm Jackie Pattenson, and I'm here for CPS."
She broke off from her conversation to address House. "And who are you?"
House stifled the urge to roll his eyes. He knew it was his fault for not wearing a lab coat, but he still got annoyed at the question. "I'm the doctor that reported this. It's House."
She opened up immediately once she knew he was a doctor, and therefore bound by patient confidentiality. "Okay then, Dr. House. Could you give us his medical report and your professional opinion regarding the case? It will help us greatly with the eventual court case."
House nodded, watching Jacob pale considerably out of the corner of his eye. He handed Pattenson the kid's file and launched into an explanation.
"Jacob came in originally with a head ache. Because of the way he was acting, I asked him if he had been abused. He confirmed-"
"Whoa whoa, Dr. House," Pattenson demanded, holding up her hand "The way he was acting? What specifically tipped you off?"
House pushed down his impatience. He knew the woman was just doing her job, and the kid didn't need any more stress at the moment.
"Jacob displayed injuries common with abuse cases. He was jumpy at loud noises and touch, as are most physical abuse victims. He was uncomfortable talking about any pain he was in, and when I approached the subject, he tried to leave. I convinced him to stay, and he did and allowed me to treat him. He has markers that indicate taking abuse without fighting back; bruises on his forearms from shielding himself."
House pushed back his disgust. Who just continued to attack someone who wasn't fighting back, especially someone so young? Jack ass fathers, that's who.
"Jacob confided in me that he attempted to strike back at his father, and was afraid to go home. He has a slight concussion and couldn't attend school because of the headache."
"Thank you, Dr. House. We can take it from here," Jackie said professionally, though inside she was slightly awed by his ability to pick up on the less obvious signs of abuse. She'd worked at CPS for a long time, and had only just gotten into tune with some of the quieter cases. As far as she knew, only those that had experienced abuse themselves had the natural talent at picking up on it."
House nodded, making eye contact with Jacob as he left. "Just tell the truth, kid. There's nothing he can do to you here, alright? I'll see you soon."
Jacob ducked his head gratefully, and House shut the door behind him.
House spent the rest of the day preoccupied. He was glad he didn't have a case, because he wouldn't have been focusing on it at all.
He hadn't missed the stares that had been following him throughout the day. Cuddy had walked by his office far more times than necessary. She never came in, but she craned her neck to watch him as he sat idly at his computer.
Chase and Foreman watched him too. Kutner was happily oblivious, and Taub was gone for the week on a vacation. Chase had obviously picked up on what had happened, and had told Foreman.
House chose to ignore the looks. He didn't have to explain himself to anyone.
He left early, speeding out of the parking lot on his bike like a madman. He was ready to be away from the hospital, and back in the loft. Wilson would be along shortly, and then they could just relax.
He walked into his home tiredly, leaning on his cane. The day had taken a lot out of him, emotionally at least. He didn't want to admit it, but emotional stress as well as physical took a toll on his leg. At the moment, it was screaming for a heating pad and a cold beer.
However, he had stuff to do. He ambled his way to the extra room in the loft, glad that they'd chosen the loft despite the extra room. It wasn't too bad. A few boxes of crap neither of them had been enthusiastic enough to put into their proper places lay scattered around, but there was a bed and a dresser. It would do.
House turned around and sat heavily at his piano. They'd finally paid to have it moved from his old apartment on Baker Street, setting it up in the living room adjacent to the organ James had chosen out.
House eyed the room. It wasn't bad, really. He was happy here with Wilson, and Wilson was happy with him. They'd both mutually and silently decided that this was the right thing to do, and that the arrangement would be permanent.
The diagnostician looked at his guitars on the wall as he thought. He and Wilson had a strange relationship, that was for sure. He was faintly aware that what they had went above friendship, but that was as far as he was willing to pursue it at the time. Though he was positive that James shared the feelings of attraction, House was currently unwilling to take that step. He wanted to keep Wilson as a friend, where it was safe.
He sighed as he picked out a slow tune on the piano idly, his hands moving on their own accord. He wasn't really sure he'd ever be ready. To say he had trust issues was an understatement. It was lucky for him that Wilson wasn't pushing it.
As if beckoned by his thoughts, Wilson walked in the door. He smiled a half smile of greeting at House as he took off his jacket and tossed his briefcase on the coffee table, then went straight to the kitchen.
"What's for dinner?" Wilson said aloud to no one in particular, not really meaning it as a question.
"Just order pizza!" House called from his seat at the piano. His hands had automatically moved to a happier tune as Wilson walked in the door. House felt lighter all of a sudden, more at ease. That was the effect that James had on him.
Yes, it was certainly more than friendship.
Wilson silently rolled his eyes. "We've got food, House. I'm not ordering out again. Why don't you make something for once?"
Wilson knew House could cook, and cook well. Like so many other things in his life, he exceeded to genius standards.
House grunted noncommittally from his piano bench, and Wilson resigned himself to cooking again. Privately, he knew that House's non answer meant that his leg was hurting him worse than usual. But he couldn't say that to House, so instead he kept the situation light.
"Lazy ass," he mocked lightly as he started spaghetti noodles boiling.
House smiled softly, yet sadly, at Wilson's teasing. He knew that Wilson was well aware of why he didn't want to get up and limp around the kitchen. He'd never said anything aloud, but Wilson knew.
He got up, somewhat unsteadily, and limped heavily to the kitchen, practically falling into a chair. Wilson chose not to look up as House kneaded his leg rhythmically with both hands.
"So what was with that kid?" Wilson asked, eyes on the pot he was stirring. Once he'd thought about it, he didn't by the kid's juvenile delinquent story. "You and Stacy didn't have some love child that I'm not aware of, right?"
House gave him a look that clearly said the joke wasn't funny. Then, he sighed. He'd have to tell Wilson eventually. Why not now?
"How do you feel about having another roommate?"
Wilson blinked, then turned around abruptly. "What?"
"Must I always repeat myself around you, Jimmy?"
"House, who are you talking about here?"
House rolled his eyes. "Wilson, for the love of God, I know you have a brain! Use it! The kid!"
Wilson's jaw dropped to the floor. "You… you want too… You?"
House glared at him. "Did you take an extra stupid pill this morning? Those aren't candy, Wilson, what did I tell you."
Wilson was still in shock. "Where are the kid's parents?"
House shrugged. "Mom's gone, didn't ask for details. Dad's probably in the county jail at the moment."
Wilson blinked, then he put two and two together. "He was an abuse case? You called it in? You?"
House frowned. Everyone else had had the same reaction, so why not Wilson too? "I'll tell you what I told Cuddy. I'm an ass and I don't deny that. But I'm not going to let child abuse go unchecked."
Wilson's head was spinning. "And you want to bring him here? Why?"
"Kid's got no where else to go. I emp- sympathize," House said, catching himself just in time.
Wilson shook his head. "House, you don't sympathize."
House rolled his eyes. "Well, looky here, there's a first time for everything. Here I am, taking a big step and doing something nice for someone. So are you cool with it?"
Wilson stared at him. "It's not like you can just pick him up like a pound dog, House. You do have to go through the system."
House shrugged. "I've got friends- well, tools anyway- in the right places. It would only take a few twisted arms."
Wilson gave him a long, measured look. "This isn't a game, House. You can't change your mind and give him back if you don't want him anymore. You can't play with a kid's life like that."
House pressed his lips together. "Wasn't planning on it."
Wilson shook his head. "Look, I don't really have a problem with it. The kid looked like he needed a hand."
House grinned. "You're a sucker for the needy, Jimmy."
"Of course, why do you think I've stuck around you all this time?" he joked.
House cocked his head to the side. "Maybe it's my charming good looks."
Wilson felt a faint blush creeping up onto his cheeks, and he quickly turned around back to the pasta before House could see that he'd gotten to him.
"Anyway. I just want to give the kid a place to stay. It's not like we're going to be his dads or anything."
Wilson quirked a corner of his mouth. "He's just a kid, House. He needs someone."
House snorted. "Trust me; by his age… by his age, with what he's been dealing with, he's grown up more than most adults will ever have to. He'll be okay."
Wilson tossed a look at House. His head was down, looking at the table, his hands on his leg.
House looked… vulnerable. Hurt. It was hard for Wilson to see. He'd seen House like that before, and it scared him to see him like that again. Very few things got to House like this.
Stacy had been one. His leg pain, when it was at its worst, another. When he lost a patient due to a mistake he made.
Wilson swallowed. When he'd left after Amber, House had looked like that. His emotions stabbed once again by the people he loved, his heart torn open and tossed on the ground like trash.
"House, are you alright?" Wilson asked as gently as possible. House didn't answer. He just continued to stare down at the table with a troubled look on his face.
"…Greg?"
House shook his head as if snapping himself out of a trance. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm going to go get something."
He got up and limped out of the kitchen. Wilson winced at the amount of weight he was placing on his cane. Today was a bad day for his leg, for sure.
House sighed, frustrated, as he snagged the heating pad off of the bedside table in his room. There was no way he was going to get through this without telling Wilson at least a bit of what had gone on throughout his childhood, that was for sure. Wilson wasn't as smart as him, granted, but he wasn't blind. He'd pick up on it all too soon, and then there would be emotional hell to pay.
He limped back into the kitchen, plugging in the heating pad with a practiced movement and sitting down quickly. Wilson didn't even see the pad; he was too busy adding sauce to the noodles.
House said nothing until the food was done and Wilson was sitting across from him at the table. Finally, he spoke up.
"That kid got the crap beaten out of him by his dad," he said in monotone, twirling the noodles on his fork with disinterest. "Bruises everywhere, and a concussion."
Wilson looked at House closely. "O…kay…" he said slowly, not sure what to make of the sudden conversation. He knew something was bothering House, but it was hard to see past his walls. Apparently it had something to do with Jacob.
"Thing was, he wouldn't have mentioned it if I'd just given him some pain killers and orders to take it easy. He told me he got into a fight at school."
Wilson blinked. "Why'd you push him on it, then? What made you think he was lying?"
House's eyes didn't meet his, but their usual vibrant blue had dulled to a haunted gray. "I acted just like he did at that age. I saw myself sitting there in his place."
Silence rang in the room like the ringing one develops in their ears after a bomb blast.
Wilson felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "House… you…?"
House looked away, his countenance… strangely… ashamed. Wilson looked at him with confusion.
"Your dad, House. He… he hit you?"
House swallowed. "Did a damn lot more than that, but yeah."
Wilson wasn't sure what to do with himself. Did he give House space, or try to talk through it? If he walked away now, House would interpret that as Wilson abandoning him once again. But if he attempted to bring down his walls, House would shoot him down like a lame horse.
So he picked a medium, and sat there silently. House continued to move his food around the bowl, as if afraid to look up.
"Jacob…" House took a deep breath. "Damn. Jacob was jumpy, didn't like loud noises or unexpected contact. He was… Jesus Christ."
House felt himself choking on his own words, the emotions of the day finally catching up to him. "I don't think I can do this, Wilson," he whispered, hands clenched into fists.
Wilson placed a light hand on House's arm, half expecting the man to throw him off. To his surprise and gratitude, House let it sit. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, Greg," he assured him softly. "I'm here, but you don't have to."
House huffed, as if laughing bitterly at himself. "God. It's been years. The man's dead, he hasn't touched me in years. But suddenly I feel like he's breathing down my neck again."
Wilson felt sick to his stomach. "Whatever the reason, it was lucky for Jacob that you could see what you saw. Otherwise he'd be in a lot more trouble than he is now."
House shook his head. "Takes one to see one, sometimes."
Wilson pulled his eyebrows together. "There's just one thing I don't get, House. Why now? Why tell me after all these years we've known each other? I've met your dad, spoken face to face with him. I basically took part in kidnapping you to go to his funeral. Why didn't you say anything before?"
House looked him dead in the eye, his gaze rock hard. "I've tried. You didn't really make it easy for me, Wilson. I did bring it up on the way to the funeral, but you basically crammed the words back down my throat because you didn't want to hear them."
Wilson was stunned. Had he really? The beginnings of the car trip were faint memories now, just a haze of determined silence and refusal to play House's little games. Had he abused House's trust that badly?
"I'm sorry," Wilson said quietly, removing his hand like he wasn't quite worthy enough to touch his friend. "I didn't know. I'm sorry."
House blinked, his gaze softening. "I know. I'm not mad at you, Jimmy," he replied, words efficiently communicating the message that Wilson should have known that already.
He looked up and changed the subject. "I think something's wrong with the spaghetti," House deflected, his eyes closing off once again.
Wilson stifled a sigh. That was probably all he was going to get from House tonight. He got up and hurriedly turned off the burner to keep the pasta from burning.
I choose to put the author's notes in bold because I think most people skip over italicized text subconsciously. Review!