Title: In His Footsteps
Author: SrslyNo
Summary: After years apart, Wilson has changed, becoming more like House. House wants to know why. Part 9: Previously, House vowed to forget about Wilson, but fate steps in offering a differing opinion.
Characters: House/Wilson, Wilson/OC, LLB (he's aliiiive!!)
Rating: R for Language
Warning: Future AU, slash. Eventually, there might just be a happy ending among all this angst. ;)
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be.
A/N: Thanks to my ever fantastic betas, bookfan85 and bishojo_kitsune. Concrit welcome.
West opened the door to his condo. It was ten floors above Wilson's and faced the better view. High enough not to require covering the windows, the breathtaking IMAX display of Chicago blinked and glowed before him, but the spectacle could not distract him from his sorrow.
Black leather furniture played a supporting role to the galaxy outside. Better than his widescreen television, he would spend an evening looking out the window imagining he was traveling through space to where no man had gone before.
Well, tonight he went where he never dreamed he'd ever go, and now he was stranded in the right field of the universe without any possibility of a tow.
He flung himself onto the sofa and stared at the ceiling, hoping to hear an apologetic knock at the door, but time passed and all he heard was the ticking of a clock, and plus sized hailstones clattering into his freezer's ice dispenser.
He pulled the napkin out of his pocket and smoothed out the wrinkles. Who was he kidding? He heard regret in Wilson's voice when he apologized, but the brown eyes said they were over.
"Phil's," paraded across the pebbled surface, and in smaller print directly below, the address and phone number. The paper nagged at his analytical mind. He never knew Wilson had a brother. He never mentioned family. What did Phil know about House? Did House ask Phil to broker a get together? The napkin was in reasonably pristine condition before he showed it to him. Had it really been years since Wilson laid eyes on it, or had he lied?
The questions replayed on a never-ending loop. He could forget about getting any sleep. He wanted answers. Glancing at the clock on the wall, the time was 10:30.
Not too late to call a bar.
Flipping his phone open, he jabbed at the numbers and waited for someone to pick up. West scrubbed at his cheek. He was having second thoughts when he heard the muffled background noise of people and a clear alto voice answering, "Phil's."
He was distracted by the voice on the phone. It sounded exactly like…"Wilson?"
"That's a no if I owe you money."
Damn, West wanted to end the call right then and there. It was disconcerting to hear Wilson's voice when he knew it couldn't possibly be him, and yet it was comforting. "This is Phil, isn't it?"
A chuckle at the end of the line responded to his query. "'Phil's' is the name on the sign. How did you know my last name is Wilson?"
"I'm Dr. Nathan West. You're James Wilson's brother?"
He could hear a sharp intake of breath, "Shit. Is everything alright?"
"Y-yes. Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. James is fine. I'm a friend." West mind was whirling. Yeah, some friend. He was making a mess of this. Why did he ever bother making the call in the first place? It was over between him and Wilson. It was clear he wasn't wanted, but curiosity ran through his veins, and now he seemed to be channeling Wilson's deceptive side. "Uh, James asked me to call for Dr. House's phone number. Seems he misplaced it after you gave it to him."
"After all these years he decided to look up House, but little brother was too much of a coward to call me himself? Hasn't changed much, has he? Yeah. I'll get it. Hold on."
From the little that was said, it was clear to West that Phil knew nothing about House and Wilson speaking to each other or ever getting together. West wiped the nervous sweat off his forehead while he waited. The call was a dead end. He heard the rattle of the phone as the voice returned to the line and called off the numbers, concluding, "Is there anything else?"
"No. No thanks." He was about to hang up when he heard the familiar voice coming through the phone and quickly held it back up to his ear.
"Tell that brother of mine that unlike him, I have a first name, and aside from calling his parents once a year and leaving a message, he should visit them. They're not getting any younger."
The line went dead.
Fuck. West stretched back out on the couch, waiting for his heart rate to slow down. Wilson hadn't lied. All he proved was that he was a jealous fool. Bottom billing on a phone list wasn't looking so bad after all. Except he'd now pushed the threadbare relationship until it broke.
He ripped the worn out napkin to shreds and threw the pieces on the floor. It was over. What he had with Wilson was over.
He turned his head to look at the beautiful view out his window but droplets of water obscured it.
It wasn't from rain.
After dropping the phone back into it's cradle Jonathan couldn't get the call out of his head. Something smelled. He went back to his customers, but couldn't let the brief conversation go.
While calling a cab for one of his regulars fifteen minutes to closing time, the thought struck him that his bright younger brother had a photographic memory. Especially when it came to phone numbers. At family gatherings after everyone ate and conversation was winding down, Jimmy would be called into the living room to entertain everyone. Aunts, uncles and cousins would shout out for him to recite their phone numbers along with local theaters and shops. It was like some cool parlor trick. Even he and David was never bored with the performance.
Unreasonable panic was beginning to gnaw at him. His long buried protective big brother instincts began stirring. What if this Dr. East or West was lying? Jimmy didn't look well the last time he saw him. Come to think of it, he never visited their parents. What if there was really something the matter with him?
He squirreled around in the drawer for his address book again, and thumbed down the alphabet until he reached "H."
The last late night television host signed off for the evening, and House was limping to his bedroom ready to hit the sack when he heard the phone ring. It couldn't be his latest patient taking a turn for the worse. He was sure his team nailed the disease earlier today.
Preferring the IQ of his telephones to be lower than his own, House regretted that he never signed up for caller ID. He debated if he wanted to play Russian roulette, and decided to take a chance. If he didn't like who was on the line he would have the perfect opportunity to be sarcastic and hang up on them. Picking up the handset, he belted, "Whose dying? Make it fast."
When Wilson's voice greeted him, he thought he would flatline, but then recovered as the caller identified himself.
"House, it's me, Jonathan. Sorry to ring you so late, but I'm worried about Jimmy. I got a call this evening—"
His heart bounced in his chest. It was something to do with Wilson. "He called you?"
"No, but I got this strange call from uh… uhm, a Dr. West? Have you ever heard of him?"
"Yeah, you didn't know you have another brother? They're inseparable. You need a hose to see daylight between them."
"House! He may be a jerk, but he's my brother!"
"Agreed. Can I go to bed now?"
"This West asked me for your phone number, and I can't figure out why. Do you know the reason he'd be asking for it?"
House brushed his hand through his hair. What would lead West to phone Jonathan's bar? It suddenly hit him like an electronic billboard in the middle of Times Square, "Jealousy. He saw the napkin with my phone number on it, and wanted to know if we're speaking to each other."
Curiosity about Wilson that he thought he completely trashed and burned began rising from the ashes, "When did you give Wilson my number?"
There was silence as Jonathan pieced everything together. He answered under his breath, "Jesus, so that's what he was doing. No wonder he only had half his information straight and sounded nervous."
"Think, Jonathan, what happened between you and Wilson? How long ago was it?"
"Let me see…Jimmy came in one night, and we instantly rubbed each other the wrong way. Did you know he was had a drinking problem? He wanted to erase all the lies he told about me by making amends. As if saying he was a recovering alcoholic and changing mom and pop's opinion about me could make up for all the lost years. We sniped at each other, and he said he couldn't get out of my place fast enough." There was a pause. "You know, there was something odd about that."
House remained quiet as Jonathan collected his thoughts.
"For someone with long legs and the hots to leave, he minced out of my place like a little old lady," Jonathan mused. "Guess he didn't want to make an embarrassing exit and slip on the floor getting his fancy suit all covered in peanut shells and booze. Actually, a lot of customers complained about the mess. I stopped serving them…oh, about three years ago."
House was nodding into the phone. "How did he look?"
"Not well. You know, when someone's been seriously ill? He's seven years younger, but we looked the same age. House, what are you saying? All the Wilsons' can be lying schmucks sometimes, but he's still my kid brother…"
House wasn't ready to remove Jonathan's feet from the fire, "Why didn't you ever tell me Wilson came in?"
"What was the point? He'd either call you or not. If I told you and he never spoke to you, would you have felt better?"
Knowing what he knew now…"No, but I would have known what to do about it."
"What's that?"
"Not sit back and wait all these years to go see him."
"You're going to Chicago?"
"I'll be on a flight tomorrow."
The voice on the other end of the line was getting lower and huskier. Emotions were going to crack through any minute, "House, would you do me a favor?"
"What? Express mail a deep dish pizza from O'Hare to your saloon?" There was an edge to his voice. House hated favors.
Jon's voice was almost a duplicate's of Wilson's except in the way it cracked. It wasn't over a word or two. It spread across the whole sentence like blackberry jam over toast, "Tell that jackass brother of mine…" House could make out a strangling sound, and wondered if he needed to hang up and dial 9-1-1 when he heard the voice continue, "that I miss him."
House rolled his eyes, and bit back his impatience. For old time's sake, he let Jonathan ramble a few more sentiments before he reminded him how late it was and hung up.
Massaging his thigh before easing off the bed and heading to the computer in the other room, he thought about the significance of the napkin that was spurring him on to a damned flight to Chicago.
Wilson never threw it away.
All along House thought Wilson wanted nothing to do with him, but that wasn't so.
It was Wilson's way of hiding from him.
tbc…
A/N: Thank you for reading. All comments always welcome.