Five days, seven hours, four minutes, and nineteen seconds after she moved in, Blythe House laid awake in her bedroom. Although it was late, she couldn't sleep. She was still unsure as to how she was supposed to feel about all of this. She had been raised in a fairly strong Christian setting, and even though her parents were good and kind people, this sort of thing simply was not tolerated. Blythe herself had not carried on the overly religious ways of her parents, and she had never had any real problems with homosexuality. But now that it was affecting her directly, it was her son that was seeing another man, she was becoming nervous. Watching Greg and James together these past few days had eased many of her fears and reservations. They belonged with each other, there was no denying that. But she knew there would be hard times ahead for her boys. Although we'd come along way, American society as a whole was not particularly tolerant, and life was already tough enough.
It was at this moment that Blythe made a silent oath. No matter what happened or what others thought or said, she would do everything in her power to protect her boys from the cruelty of the world. She was Greg's mother after all, and over the years James had become a surrogate son of sorts. It was her responsibility to shelter her children. She had already failed at this once, and she did not intend to allow herself to do so again. A wave of exhaustion swept over her as her body remembered its age, and she slowly allowed sleep to claim her.
The peaceful silence of the night was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the front door breaking open. House awoke instantly, sitting up straight as he attempted to slow his rapidly beating heart.
"Wilson, wake up," he whispered sharply, shaking the other man's shoulder.
"House? What's going on?" Wilson asked sleepily, wiping at his eyes in an attempt to wake himself.
"Did you hear that?" he turned on the lamp.
"Hear what? Huh?"
"I think someone's in the house."
"It's probably just your mother. Go back to sleep," Wilson groaned, sleep beginning to pull him back under.
"No. No, it's not –" House had no time to finish as the bedroom door swung open. House's heart dropped into his stomach as he instantly recognized the smug face of the mousy intruder. Wilson sat straight up next to him, his hand immediately gripping House's forearm.
"What do you want?" Wilson spoke when House couldn't.
"Dr. Wilson?" the intruder questioned neutrally.
"I – yes," James answered tentatively. House inwardly cringed. Why hadn't he said no? The intruder smirked menacingly and turned his gaze to Greg.
"Say goodnight, Dr. House," his smirk grew, revealing his yellowish teeth, and before anything could be said or done, the madman raised his revolver and fired.
House nearly jumped out of bed at the shock, but this time he felt no pain. Terror seized every inch of his being as he realized that he had not been the target of the crazed gunman this time around. Quickly turning to his left, he saw Wilson lying beside him, deep crimson spreading in an ever-growing stain on his white nightshirt. Panicking, House threw the blankets to the side and leaned over him, pulling James' shirt up above his stomach. His heart was beating at a painfully rapid pace as he grabbed the bed sheet and pressed it firmly into Wilson's abdomen, desperately trying to stem the rapid blood loss. James looked up at House with fear in his eyes as he gasped for breath, but his grip on the other man's arm never loosened.
"Oh, God," Greg whispered softly. "Hang in there, James! You just stay with me!" He spoke loud and clear now, keeping his eyes locked with Wilson's.
"House –" Wilson choked out as his body began to shake.
"Shh. I'm here. I've got you," House reassured him, trying not to sound frantic.
"Hurts –" the younger man sobbed, hand spasmodically clenching around House's arm.
"I know. Just breathe. Breathe through it," House tried to keep him calm.
"I lo –" James began, cut off by a harsh fit of coughing. Greg cringed at the liquid sound of it then cursed as blood came up, pouring out of Wilson's mouth, choking him.
"Damn it!" What do you want from me?" House demanded as he pulled Wilson into his lap, doing everything in his power to ease the young man's breathing.
"I want you to suffer," the madman replied, emotionless aside from the familiar pride in his eyes. House's eyes widened in total disbelief of the man's insanity. "I want you to watch him die, knowing you killed him."
Any response from House was cut off as Wilson's body stiffened in his arms. His chest was heaving, but no air seemed to be entering. The grip on House's arm tightened painfully as Wilson panicked. House wanted nothing more than to reach up and touch James' face, run a hand through his hair, do something to ease the man's suffering. But he couldn't. His hands were already soaked in the oncologist's blood, coating them in a gruesome living metaphor. All he could do was whisper softly, reassuringly in his dying lover's ear, knowing there was nothing more he could do as Wilson's body grew colder. Slowly, the gasping breaths grew weaker, the grip on his arm began to slack, and brown eyes closed for the last time.
House made no attempt to stop the tears from pouring down his cheeks as he pulled Wilson closer. He clutched his lover's body to him as if by doing so he could shield him from the hands of death; maybe death would take him instead. This wasn't right. This couldn't be happening.
"You son of a bitch!" House screamed at the gunman as he began to rock back and forth slightly. "You killed him! He hasn't done anything wrong! Why would you do this?"
"No, you killed him, House. We both know the only reason you were with him was that he was everything you're not; everything you wish you could be. You wanted that, so you took it. And you would have sucked every last bit of it out of him just so you could get that high feeling it gives you. You knew he needed to be needed, and you took advantage. You told him you needed him, and he opened up his arms. Yet, in return, all you gave was pain. He gave you love, and you absorbed it all selfishly without a second thought to giving even a little back," the intruder taunted.
"I love him," House whispered, helpless under the knife of the words.
"You held the gun. You pulled the trigger," the madman continued.
"No," House protested, burying his face in Wilson's hair. A bone-chilling click resonated throughout the room as the killer cocked his gun. House lifted his head slowly, watching the balding man through red, swollen, bleary eyes.
"Don't worry, Dr. House. I want you to live," the gunman grinned insanely as he pointed his weapon directly at Greg's right thigh and fired.
Thunder crashed in a deafening roar as House sat straight up in bed, letting out a muffled yelp as both hands automatically clutched at his thigh. Disoriented, he tried to shake the sleep out of his head and calm his excessively accelerated heart rate. Lightning flashed through the windows as he slowly removed his hands from his leg, realizing that there was nothing wrong. He could feel a small, dull twinge, but it faded as quickly as it had come. Shifting quickly, he turned to Wilson, the bloody images of his nightmare still fresh in his mind. Lightning flashed again, and the younger man's figure was momentarily illuminated. House let out a relieved sigh as he saw no red marring the crisp white of Wilson's favorite nightshirt. He laid his hand on the oncologist's chest and felt the slow, even, unhindered breaths that only sleep could bring; felt the steady, constant beating of his blissfully functioning heart. Looking up at James' face, thunder rolled close enough to shake the building, and for half a second, House could see blood staining those lips.
Shaking his head to clear the morbid image, House threw the blankets off himself and quickly headed to the bathroom. The artificial light was blinding as he switched it on, but he didn't care. He made his way to the sink, ran the cold tap, and splashed his face several times. Grabbing the hand towel to dry his face, Greg realized he was still breathing hard as his heart continued to pump excitably and his whole body trembled slightly. Leaning with both hands on either side of the sink, he took in his own reflection in the mirror and flinched. When had he gotten so old? In the sleep deprived hours of the early morning he looked ten…make that fifteen years older and felt even worse. His hair was rapidly thinning, his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was haggard and wrinkling. So what could Wilson possibly see in him? Perhaps his subconscious was right. He made Wilson feel needed, but that was all. He took all of his friend's care and love, and, by nature, gave nothing back. How could it end any other way than badly? Closing his eyes, he bowed his head and sighed deeply.
Then there were arms around his waist, holding him loosely, waiting for a response. House recognized Wilson's arms immediately, released the sink, and leaned back into the younger man's chest. James tightened his arms and rested his chin on House's right shoulder, both of them watching the other's face in the mirror.
"Bad dream?" Wilson questioned in a soft tone. Had the dream not shaken him so badly, House may have been annoyed by it.
"To put it lightly," he responded in his usual tone.
"Wanna tell me about it?" James continued.
"Maybe I'll go sleep in mommy's bed tonight," House joked, but no humor found its way into his voice. Wilson grinned weakly. House was pale, as if he'd seen a ghost, and frankly it was kind of freaking James out. He said nothing, however, knowing this was the best course of action. House took a deep shuddering breath, and Wilson could feel the man's body shaking ever so slightly.
"You died," Greg finally said, his voice cracking on the second word. "The bastard that shot me broke in and did the same to you, lying in bed. You bled to death in my arms, and he made me live." Wilson's arms tightened again, the words and distant, almost frightened tone of voice in which they were spoken disturbing him.
"That's not going to happen," James said confidently. "You're not gonna lose me." House shifted in his arms, turning to face the younger man.
"You don't know that," he responded seriously, locking his eyes with Wilson's and relishing in the life he saw there. This was it. Now or never. He had to show Wilson what he really meant to him, had to give back instead of taking. He had to show James that he was capable of giving the same high that he received.
House ignored the question in Wilson's eyes as he slipped his left arm around the young man's waist and raised his right hand to the back of his head, tangling his fingers in the thick, dark hair. Without hesitating, he pulled Wilson to him, lips meeting lips for the first time with a roll of thunder and flickering lights. Their breath hitched in unison at the shock of the intense feeling the small contact sent surging through their bodies. Instantly the kiss grew into something more. Mouths opened simultaneously, tongue tangling with tongue, as the contact became more passionate. There was nothing rough or needy about it; it simply was. House unconsciously pressed himself closer, and Wilson responded in kind, lifting his own hand to the back of House's neck. Call him cliché or sentimental, but not even in his dreams had kissing James felt so good. Not even Stacy had ignited such a feeling in him. Had House been in possession of any form of composure, he would have smacked himself in an attempt to pull himself back together. Since when was he a romantic?
The lights flickered once more as they pulled apart, just enough to breathe; eyes still closed as their breath mingled between them. House opened his eyes first, watching Wilson breathing heavily in front of him. The younger man's lips were swollen and wet, and his body was now shaking in time with House's. Greg couldn't contain a small grin as James slowly opened his eyes, locking them with the other man's for a moment before returning the smile and resting his forehead against House's. Wilson let out a small laugh.
"You know, I'm starting to notice a pattern with you and near death experiences," he said softly between heavy breaths. House let out a small laugh of his own.
"Fun, huh?"
"The near death thing or the saliva exchange?" Wilson questioned jokingly. House laughed again.
"Depends on how kinky you are," he responded.
"In that case, from now on let's skip my gruesome death and get straight to the part that ends with your tongue in my mouth," James replied without missing a beat. House pulled his head back slightly and gave a look of feigned shock.
"Why, Jimmy!" he barely had enough time to reply before Wilson's mouth was back on his. The kiss was hungrier this time, needier. But it was just as meaningful as the first. Only this time, House managed to draw a few indistinct noises from the younger man's throat. He may have even let out one or two of his own as James' hands explored his body, and he allowed his hands to do the same to the other man. House was getting nervous, however, as the extent of his arousal became increasingly obvious in the exceedingly close proximity of their bodies. But he grinned into the kiss as he felt Wilson's own vivacity pressing into his left thigh.
"As happy as I am that the two of you are getting so close, mommy's bladder isn't what it use to be," Blythe commented from her position in the doorway, a hint of amusement in her voice.
The two men broke apart instantly, startled by the unexpected intrusion. House had to suppress a laugh as he watched Wilson's face flush then turn a deep crimson color.
"Way to kill the moment," Greg told his mother with controlled sarcasm, making no effort to remove his hand from Wilson's backside.
"I learned from the best," Blythe smiled, noticing the position of her son's hand but deciding it best not to comment. She knew that was what Greg wanted. "Now are you two going to take this elsewhere, or should I go find a bush?"
"We're going," Wilson responded before House could, turning around to face the beautifully aged woman. "Sorry, Mrs. House."
Blythe stepped aside in order to allow them to pass. Wilson inwardly noted his discovery of where House had gotten his smirk as well, and couldn't help but wonder if the two were more alike than he knew.
Seven hours, forty-two minutes, and fifty-seven seconds after he first kissed Wilson, House strolled into his conference room singing "Love is in the Air" at the top of his lungs and doing a little spin as he hung up his jacket.
"What are you doing here?" Foreman asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Singing. I thought that was obvious," House replied.
"You're early," he continued. "And you shaved."
"Even earlier than you know. I just came from the clinic. Got my hours out of the way," House said as he walked over to the whiteboard and placed an elbow on top.
"Wait, so you came in hours early so that you could voluntarily work the clinic, and you shaved?" Chase questioned, sounding a little more astounded than House believed was necessary.
"Sexy, right?" House affirmed.
"Creepy, actually," Chase corrected.
"And you're walking!" Cameron exclaimed, staring down at House's right leg, amazed that no one had said anything before her.
"I am?" House mocked loudly. "Why didn't someone tell me sooner? We've got to call Mr. Ripley! I've only been walking since I was a toddler!"
"I meant you're not limping," Cameron gave him a look.
"Okay, either you've been replaced by a pod person, or we've somehow discovered an actual portal to the Twilight Zone," Foreman commented as he finished pouring himself a cup of coffee.
"Don't be silly. There's a reason they call it science fiction," House rolled his eyes dramatically.
"Which leaves only one possible explanation," Chase began.
"You got a brace for your leg?" Cameron interrupted, thinking she had finished Chase's thought.
"Well that much is obvious," Chase answered for House. "But I was going to say somebody got lucky!"
"Chase! I can't believe you would suggest such a thing! I live with my mother for God's sake!" House pretended to be appalled.
"So you didn't?" Cameron questioned carefully, to the surprise of her peers.
"No. Or at least I don't think I did," House looked thoughtful for a moment then shrugged. "I'm not sure. I lost track after Wilson shoved his tongue down my throat."
Chase's eyes widened in horror then squeezed shut as he cringed and shook his head as if attempting to erase the mental image like an etch-a-sketch. Foreman, annoyed, looked down and shook his head slowly, not at all shocked by the answer. And Cameron simply stared blankly, trying desperately to keep any and all emotion from her face so as to avoid any more of the relentless taunting from her fellows. She was over House. Really, she was.
"Thanks for playing," House smirked at their reactions. "Call me if we get a case. I'll be in my office writing poetry and drawing I heart J.W. on all my files." No one responded as he opened the door to his office and his pager went off.
Five minutes and thirteen seconds later, House was running into Cuddy's office, coming to a jump stop in front of her desk.
"You wanted to see me, boss?" he questioned with a smirk.
"I see the brace is working out nicely. I'm glad you're enjoying it," she responded.
"Works like a charm," he confirmed.
"It must be very charming," she continued with a half-smirk of her own. House gave her a questioning look. "You shaved," Cuddy elaborated. House brought a self-conscious hand up to his face and ran it over the skin where his stubble use to be.
"Yeah, well I needed a change. It makes Wilson's face turn all red after we make out. It just isn't a good look for him. I had to do something," he replied with a shrug.
"Uh huh," Cuddy responded skeptically, knowing this at least wasn't the whole truth. "I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that you wanted to look nice for a certain someone." House rolled his eyes.
"We've been over this, Cuddy! I will not have sex with you on your desk no matter how much you pay me! I told you, I'm a one woman man now!" he yelled as loudly as he could, turning to face the doors. Cuddy rolled her eyes this time then gave him a warning look as he turned back around.
"But that's not what you wanted to discuss, is it?" he continued, turning back to face her. Cuddy immediately stiffened slightly.
"I heard you came in early, even worked the clinic voluntarily. I wanted to see what was up," she stumbled.
"Has anyone ever told you you're a really bad liar?" House questioned.
"I don't know what you're –"
"You say you were curious and wanted the opportunity to taunt me, but your overly stiff posture and nervous vocal tones say there's a more serious subject hiding underneath all that cleavage," he interrupted. Cuddy let out an exasperated sigh. "Come on, we're already here. You might as well get it over with; make it less painful for both of us." Cuddy took a long, deep breath while giving him a calculating look. House raised both eyebrows and moved his head in a questioning manner.
"As you know, I've been considering for a long while now whom to choose to be my sperm donor," she began slowly, using her professional voice and looking down at her desk as she spoke.
"And I assume you've made a decision?" House urged her on, curious.
"I…well…I…Oh, hell. I want to ask you," she looked up at him then, preparing herself for the inevitable sarcasm. She wasn't disappointed.
"Wait a second. Wait a second. You want me to be yo baby daddy?" House asked in his best 'gangsta' voice, his smirk unwavering.
"Could you please take something seriously for once in your life?" Cuddy practically begged.
"Sorry, I just can't help but find this amusing," he explained, still smirking.
"Oh, right. I forgot just how hilarious you find my reproductive system," she said, leaning back in her chair.
"No, not that. I take your desire for a child very seriously," House began. "I just find your timing and source of sperm amusing."
"And why's that?" asked Cuddy, beginning to regret all of this.
"Well, a couple of months ago you attempted to have this conversation with me in my office, but you chickened out at the last minute. Then you find out that I'm gay…ish, and now you're all gung-ho for makin' some little Houddy babies. I find that interesting. Care to share with the class?"
"This has nothing to do with your sexual orientation, House," she defended, getting frustrated. "You said to pick someone I trust and like. Of all the men I know, as much as it pains me to say it, you fit that description the best."
"Oh, give me a break. You trust and like Wilson way more. Why me?" he asked suspiciously.
"Wilson had an uncle who died of cancer. You have no family history of cancer or any other hereditary disease," Cuddy responded.
"Then what was the whole date thing about?"
"I wanted to see how he felt about the subject. I mean, most people have a family history of some type of cancer. The odds of him passing it on are very small and –"
"You were way too chicken to ask me," House finished for her. Cuddy closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes.
"Look, if you're saying no, just say it. This has been painful enough as it is," she crossed her arms and shifted her weight.
"I'll think about it," House replied, turning on his heels and walking quickly toward the door.
"Wait, you're saying yes?" Cuddy called after him.
"Nope. I'm saying I'll think about it!" he called over his shoulder as the door closed behind him.
Two hours, seven minutes, and fifty-three seconds later, House and Wilson were eating lunch in the courtyard in relative silence. Cuddy's request had been echoing in House's mind since the moment he heard it. Luckily, at the moment Wilson seemed to be just as distracted. Curious, House pushed his own problems to the back of his mind and followed Wilson's gaze to where he was staring over House's left shoulder. Two tables back, he saw a young woman, probably in her late twenties, munching happily on cafeteria french fries and laughing softly at a small boy, no more than four years old, who was standing next to the table and generally just being goofy. Next to her, in a hospital supplied highchair, was a baby, probably about fifteen months, who was slurping contently on his blue and white bottle. Looking back at James, House could see the smallest hint of a grin plastered to the oncologist's face and hoped to God that he didn't have the same expression on his.
"You want one of those?" House broke the silence.
"What?" House's question caught Wilson off guard.
"A kid," House clarified.
"Uh, I don't know. Maybe. I did," Wilson stumbled, both embarrassed at being caught and curious about the question. "Why?" House shrugged.
"Just curious."
"That's it? You were just curious?"
"You seemed excessively interested," House explained.
"If this is your twisted way of asking me if I regret this – us, I don't. I want this. I've wanted it for a long time. I just figured you never would," Wilson tried to reassure without really knowing the problem. "Wait, this isn't your twisted way of telling me you regret it, is it?"
"No," House replied in a surprisingly Wilson-like manner. "It's just," he took a deep breath and sighed. "Cuddy and I had a very interesting conversation this morning."
"Oh?" Wilson inquired, taking a drink of water.
"Apparently she wants to have my baby," House told him casually, anticipating an entertaining reaction. He got one. Completely taken off guard by the unexpected admission, James choked, nearly spewing water all over their lunches and probably House as well. Swallowing painfully, he began to cough as his face turned red, and his eyes began to water.
"What?" he managed to sputter out. "You're joking right? This is just one of your games." House shook his head.
"Wish it was. I'm actually being serious for once."
"Okay, she told me about the baby thing, but I thought she was considering an anonymous donor," Wilson responded after taking another drink to ease the tickle in his throat.
"Turns out she was just too much of a chicken to ask me."
"And what did you say?" James questioned carefully.
"I said I'd think about it," House answered.
"You did?" Wilson asked, surprised. House nodded. "And?"
"I'm thinking about it," the older man answered then took a deep breath. "And I was wondering what you thought about it."
Wilson leaned back in his chair. He kept his eyes on House's but looked contemplative. It was a look House knew well, and it always left him wondering just what kind of deeply interesting thoughts were floating around in that brain of his.
"This is a big decision, House. You do this and it's forever," Wilson began slowly in his 'let's have a serious conversation' voice. For once, House wasn't annoyed by it.
"I know that," he replied. "It's not like I'm going to play daddy or anything. It'd be Cuddy's kid."
"And you'd be okay with that?" Wilson questioned. House shrugged.
"I guess. If that's what she wants."
"Did she say that?"
"No. It just makes the most sense."
"But either way Cuddy's your boss. You'll see her everyday. You'll probably see the baby all the time. No matter how you look at it, this child would be part of you. Half of its DNA would be yours. You don't think you should be part of its life?"
"Hey, I haven't even said yes yet. If it's so important to you, why don't you go volunteer and get me out of this?" House said indignantly.
"House," Wilson replied in a warning tone then returned to his previous voice. "It doesn't work like that. She trusts you. She's known you since the two of you were in college."
"She hated me in college," House defended.
"I think the word you're looking for is dated," Wilson countered, raising his eyebrows slightly in emphasis.
"I did not date Cuddy," House continued the defensive.
"Okay, then the word you need is mate," Wilson smirked.
"Wrong again."
"Ah, well there's only one more word. I'll give you a hint; it ends with bate."
"Witty," House said sarcastically.
"Thank you," Wilson replied, straightening his posture humorously.
"Aren't we getting a bit off topic?" asked an increasingly annoyed House.
"What do you want me to say?" Wilson became serious again. "It's your body, your life, your choice. I'll support you either way. You know that."
"I don't know what to do this time," House told him honestly.
"House, the only thing you can do is what you know to be right," Wilson told him confidently. House watched him for a long moment then nodded and snatched the other man's chips. Wilson didn't so much as blink as he reached down and pulled up another bag. House grinned in amusement and popped a chip into his mouth. They finished their meal in silence.
So ends chapter 8! Sorry it took so long to update. Life can be unpredictable. Hugs to all my reviewers! You guys are the greatest! I hope you all enjoyed it!