Title: In His Footsteps
Author: SrslyNo
Summary: After years apart, Wilson has changed, becoming more like House. House wants to know why. Part 7: West has a consult with Bruce. House comes to a cold conclusion.
Characters: House/Wilson, Wilson/OC, LLB (he's aliiiive!!)
Rating: R for Language
Warning: Future AU, Angst. Slash.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be.
A/N: This fic also encompasses, "A Glassful of Shattered Hope" (slight allusions to DCE) which ** should be read before part 8.**
In addition, I want to extend a big thank you to my betas, bishojo_kitsune and bookfan85 for all their wonderful assistance.
Concrit welcome.
Walking out of the office, West congratulated himself on not dashing against the rocks of Wilson's wrath. Nevertheless, he was troubled. Sometimes he felt like Wilson and House were battle cruisers and he was a small leaky vessel floating in-between, about to be crushed while the two signaled each other in some undecipherable code.
He pulled himself together and stopped by Bruce's desk to compliment her. It was prudent to stay on her good side.
Casually leaning against the raised counter-side of her desk he spoke conspiratorially, "Thanks for the tip. You missed your calling. Should have been a PI."
"I gave it up after knitting my 100th afghan while on surveillance. Detective work is not what it's cracked up to be, and carrying concealed creates an ugly bulge under skirts."
The image of Bruce as a femme fatale with a derringer secured by a garter choked laughter out of him, "S-Seriously?"
The reading glasses came off, and the brown eyes looked straight into his. His laughing stopped abruptly as he back-pedaled, "Fo-Forget get that I ever doubted you."
Bruce placed the glasses back on her nose, and uncharacteristically patted his hand, "Can I speak frankly, Dr. West?"
"Don't you always?"
Hesitating, Bruce studied her fingernails for a moment, "You're a nice young man, Nate, but Dr. Wilson isn't the right guy for you."
Knowing how much Wilson wanted his private life kept private, West became serious, "I'm the designated Wilson wrangler around here, don't make it out to be anything more than that." He hoped he sounded convincing enough for her. She was like a shark who could smell blood from a quarter of a mile away.
"Riiiight. Sure. It's none of my business, but I see what I see, and you're not made for each other. First of all, he's too old for you. And, second, as much as I love my boss, I can see this relationship isn't doing either of you any good. You're 'The Other Guy' honey. Haven't you seen 'Desk Set?' or more to the point, 'An Affair to Remember'?"
"Uh, no. Are those black-and-white movies?"
One eyebrow arched, giving him the slightest look of disapproval, "No. Not everything as old as me was filmed in black and white, but you don't know what you're missing if you haven't seen a Busby Berkeley musical." She looked at him expectantly, but he only shook his head. "You need to talk to my youngest son. He can fill you in on the joys of Hollywood musicals during the 'Golden Years.'"
A couple of nurses walked by, and Bruce squeezed his hand, "Now's not the time for us to talk. Come by and take me out to lunch, and I can bore you with all the pictures of my children and grandchildren." She started scrambling through her purse, "As a matter of fact, I have a new picture of my baby boy in here somewhere. He's a lawyer with a prestigious entertainment agency in Los Angeles. You would find him fascinating. Sails in the summer. Skis in the winter. Attends all the film festivals." A picture was produced from the dark recesses of her handbag. West was staring at a tanned Norse God with an expensive well-cut suit that barely hid a buff physique. To Bruce this towering hunk of love was her baby, but to every gay man across America, he was no less than a 'babe.'
"He's flying out for Thanksgiving. If you aren't doing anything, why don't you join us?"
West was speechless.
"Well, think it over. Thanksgiving is almost here." With that, she got on the phone to check her messages, and he realized he was dismissed.
He walked back to his office, hoping his face didn't betray his surprise at having a pistol packing mama matchmaking for him.
Forget about Wilson? Replace him with some legal eagle athletic Adonis? What a ridiculous notion. What was she thinking?
"Goddamnit!" House's frustration came pouring out of his mouth. He was in his office, but his team was in the conference room arguing over treatments. He wouldn't interrupt them right now, let the kiddies play a little longer before he sent them scurrying in a new medical direction.
The patient was stable for the moment, but not improving.
He arrived early before his team so that he could do research on his computer and make calls without being disturbed.
Not, of course, to find new medical information on his patient. He was confident that the symptoms would eventually sort everything out.
No. He was sweeping the internet for facts about Wilson. Trying to get all the skinny, low-down, down-low, 411, that he could, but the Mid-west time zone slowed his research.
As the morning progressed, he determinedly worked through his list of contacts.
"Good Morning! How's the weather in Chicago?! I know you're busy, so I'll make this fast. My supervisor noticed the second page is missing from, um let me see, one moment please...from Dr. James Wilson's medical history..."
"...No? Not over the phone? Can't make one tiny exception this once....? "- Crap.
"Good day, madam. Excuse me, but our records indicate Dr. James E. Wilson's medical information is incomplete..." - Bollocks!
"This is Century Medical Corportation. We are on a pressing deadline..." - Shit!
"It is of the utmost urgency that..." - Sonofabitch!
"Alo? Is zis zee 'uman resources departamon?..." - Merde!
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Bureaucracy was alive and well, and apparently wasn't going to give up any secrets on Wilson. House's notepad was covered with doodles and very little else. All he was able to obtain was a sketchy timeline of Wilson's whereabouts for the last five years. Children's Hospital for the first six months. A black hole for nearly a year, and then he reappeared at Trinity as the head of oncology.
All he did was discover what he already knew. He was sure the missing year coincided with what he guessed had happened, but still there was no solid confirmation.
Before he began, he was positive it would be a snap to dig up the medical files. But, all the medical and rehab centers in the area around and between Wilson's last employment yielded no information. He was coming up empty, and it left him equally wary, disappointed, and impressed.
House threw down his pen in disgust and massaged his aching leg. He was so intent on digging up information, he forgot to get up and stretch. He thought about taking a Vicodin, but decided against the idea, adhering to his low dose regimen.
Keenly aware how time changed them both, he believed they were owed a second chance, but wanted to be fully prepared before going into battle.
Too bad he tipped his hand to Wilson years before about how he'd hidden his own records, and that he wasn't above checking on everybody else's he knew. He might as well have handed over a blueprint on how to secret files. Now, Wilson with probably the help of his toady, West, were taking full advantage of the information and ensuring that it was locked tighter than a Victorian virgin's thighs.
Most likely everything was hidden under an alias, but none that he could think of. Medical databases gave up no secrets on Jimmy Stewart, Scottie Ferguson or other Hitchcock heroes.
He was more than disappointed. Not that he would admit it to anyone - he was hurt.
After all they had shared. After all these years, finally seeing each other, Wilson was sending him a message to stay away and out of his life. He didn't want anything to do with him.
He closed down the internet and ripped the paper off the pad crumpling it into a tight three dimensional puzzle and flung it into the nearest receptacle.
Damnit, he was angry.
No...No he wasn't.
He couldn't give a rat's ass.
If Wilson wanted to rot in his own private hell, so be it.
House got up and limped toward the conference room. By the time he finished intimidating and driving Kutner and the new team to the four corners of the hospital to run new tests on his patient, he packed away all traces of Wilson from his conscience.
tbc…
A/N: Thank you for reading. Comments are always welcome.