Poison and Wine
Chapter 6
House woke to the uncomfortable sound of retching.
Forcing himself up off the floor and following his ears, he opened the bathroom door to find a shivering Wilson huddled over the toilet.
"Shit," he muttered, turning around and limping over to the kitchen. "Don't move."
"Don't think I'll be going anywhere," Wilson managed shakily, before heaving again.
House returned with a glass of water, his cane foregone somewhere against the kitchen counter. He knelt painfully beside Wilson, setting the glass on the floor as he found a more comfortable position to stretch out his leg.
"Could just be a side effect of the Vicodin," he tried.
"I doubt it." Wilson closed his eyes, resting his forehead in his hands with his elbows propped up on the toilet seat. "Sorry if I woke you."
"Saved us an awkward morning, anyway."
Wilson snorted softly. "Right. That."
"Don't tell me that's the reason you're puking."
"It would certainly beat the alternative." Wilson groaned, leaning his head more heavily in his palms. "I think I'm gonna be here for a while."
"I got time," House shrugged. He immediately leaned forward as Wilson heaved again, his hand landing gently on Wilson's back. A few rounds of vomiting later, Wilson rinsed the vile taste out of his mouth and scooted over to lean against the wall with House.
"Thanks," he said hoarsely, his eyes still closed as he fought off the last of the lingering nausea.
"You've done the same for me."
"Could we…be awkward again? Just for a minute?"
House didn't respond, and Wilson's head drifted back onto his shoulder.
"Thanks," Wilson murmured again.
"Quit thanking me." House sighed, letting his own head fall back against the wall. "We need a plan."
"For?"
"For world domination. For you, genius. There's going to come a point when – "
"I know, I know. Just…not right now. Later, House. Okay?"
House glanced down at Wilson, watching him curl into a tighter ball on the floor as his head burrowed more deeply into House's shoulder.
"Okay," he replied quietly, and let Wilson sleep.
House woke to unusual sound of pots clanging.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he let his foggy mind remind itself why it was he'd been sitting on the bathroom floor before getting to his feet and heading to the kitchen.
"Hey," Wilson called over his shoulder with a smile. He was wearing House's apron by the stove, stirring something or other in a pot with one hand as he tossed House's cane to him with the other. "You're up."
"You're cooking."
"I'm feeling better," Wilson shrugged. "Figured I'd make us something to eat."
"Uh huh." House glanced disbelievingly around the kitchen. "You found edible food in here?"
"Not really. But you work with what you can." Two pieces of toast popped up in the toaster, and Wilson turned the stove down. "Soup and toast okay with you?"
"Fine."
A few minutes later, they were settled on the couch with their meal. Wilson set his food on the coffee table and cleared his throat.
"So I've been thinking about what you said," he began. "About having a plan."
House took a steaming spoonful of chicken noodle, cautiously blowing on the liquid before bringing it to his lips. "And?"
"And…I think I should leave."
The hot soup burned House's tongue. "What do you mean?"
"I can find a hospice facility, you know, and check in there when the time comes. Maybe stay with my parents for a bit until then."
"You hate your parents."
"No, you hate your parents," Wilson corrected him. "I haven't seen them in years, and…it might be nice."
"Or it might suck." House frowned, setting his bowl down. "Why do you want to leave?"
"Don't say it like that. I don't want to leave. But this was never my intention; I never meant for you to have to drop your whole life for me. You left work, you – "
"I didn't quit. It's called a leave of absence. I'm living the dream, hanging around here and sleeping all day." House held Wilson's gaze, his frown deepening as the gears in his brain churned. "You don't think I can handle it," he said.
"You said yourself that you can't," Wilson reminded him gently.
"I meant I can't handle it physically. Maybe I'd need a nurse to help me get your ass to the toilet, but that's not what you care about. You don't think I can handle it emotionally."
"I didn't say that."
"But you're thinking it."
"Well…" Wilson sighed, admitting defeat. "Can you really blame me?"
"What haven't I already done that you want me to do?" House asked angrily, pushing himself off the couch and turning on Wilson.
"House," Wilson said, slowly standing with him, "you couldn't even be there for Cuddy without losing it. How can anyone expect you to – "
"I told you," House reminded him bitterly. "I didn't love her."
"You said you didn't think you loved her."
"And now I'm telling you I know I didn't."
Wilson pinched his temple, exasperated, his other hand gripping his hip. "This isn't about Cuddy, House. All I'm saying is…you shouldn't have to deal with me when things get worse. I don't want you to have to deal with me. Coming back has been great, but let's just leave it at that. Okay? I'll give my parents a call and leave tomorrow."
"I want to deal with you," House retorted.
"Yeah, I'm sure watching me puke my guts out and sleeping on the bathroom floor has been your idea of a good time."
"And did you ever see me take a Vicodin for it?"
"Right – I didn't see you take one, so it must be that you didn't." Wilson sighed, his eyes pleading. "Stop bringing up Cuddy, okay? I'm sorry I did."
"You know what? You're right," House said hotly. "I did love Cuddy. I loved her the same way you loved Amber."
"Oh, Jesus – "
"Love 'em and leave 'em as soon as the next needy chick comes along. No surprises there."
"House!" Wilson fumed. "This has nothing to do with Cuddy and Amber. This is about you and me, and no one else."
"Really? So you're not noticing a pattern here?"
"What pattern?"
"You left your wives, you left me, you left Amber – oh, and you left the post-Amber chick – and now you're leaving me again. Just another typical day in the life of James E. Wilson," House finished sarcastically.
"Oh, like you even gave a shit when I left. You stopped picking up your phone! You're the one who gave up, just like you gave up on Cuddy!"
"And if I give up on you now again, are you going to hold it against me, again?"
"Stop it, just stop," Wilson said, his voice shaking. "I'm leaving tomorrow and that's all there is to it. End of discussion."
"What haven't I done for you that you've needed?" House demanded.
"Nothing. House – "
"So what is it that you want?" House was shouting now, moving closer, piercing blue eyes matching Wilson's burning brown. "You call me after five fucking years and tell me that you're dying, and then you turn around and – "
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, I'm – "
" – and you tell me that you're leaving, again. So do me a favor, Wilson, and tell me what the hell it is you want that I'm not giving you."
"House – "
"Wilson. What. do. you. want?"
And Wilson told him.
The coffee table screeches across the hardwood and the cane clatters to the floor. The wall is hard against House's back and Wilson is hard against him, and he can't tell whose tongue is whose and neither of them can breathe.
House tries to talk but Wilson cuts him off with another kiss, another moan, an unexpected hand on his crotch and House gasps. His mind is a blur and it's ohmygod and then they're fumbling to the bedroom, fingers sliding across skin as they undo buttons and zippers, and it's no longer a question of want but a question of need. And suddenly they're naked and Wilson is above him, breathing hard, and House barely realizes how quickly he moves in to kiss him again, their eyes closing against the last remaining doubts of the moment.
His last coherent thought is that it's the first time he won't have to wake up from this dream.
House woke to the steady sound of Wilson's breathing.
His arm was wrapped tightly around Wilson's shoulders, Wilson's head resting gently on his chest, and he smiled to himself. Wilson would make them talk about it later, he knew, but for now – this was perfect.
Except for the fact that it wasn't.
TBC