Choux Pastry Heart Chapter 8: Between the Lines, a house, m.d. fanfic

A/N: I know, I suck for not updating for this long. This takes us through the subsequent days, up to that weekend. Also, this chapter contains lots of self-indulgent wish fulfillment, since what happens below is the one thing that I always wish that really did happen. (Dum dum duuuum!) Thanks as always to the ever-fabulous iyimgrace for helping me iron out this chapter, and of course, to those who subscribe/read. (Speak up! Even if it's to tell me, gently, that this sucks, or to clear up something, or to ask me whatever.)

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Wilson had left soon after, making excuses that sounded feeble even to him. And so, the next few days passed similarly, he discovered. The young woman he had scoped (however briefly) out, had now turned into this best-friend snatching... monster.

Wilson started to hate the sight of her. The sound of her. Even the smell of her.. the delicate scent of jasmine that would waft into his nostrils as she brushed past him at the hospital, smiling at him every time. She would stroll in at 9, visit the ER, chat with Cameron, go upstairs, do some of House's paperwork, or consult, have lunch, and leave to do what he could only presume was unpacking. He saw everything, from the nurse's station, the clinic, the cafeteria, the lobby, his office. The unfamiliar frown on his face would just deepen when House would stroll into the cafeteria at lunch, greeting her with a hand on her head and a grin. A grimace would settle on his mouth every time he saw House smile at her, or every time she looked up at him, like a puppy after a belly rub. Adoring.

Why she would want to do House's paperwork, he would never understand. She can't spend the few days she has out of the hospital... out of the hospital?

Cuddy, uncharacteristically excited, had informed him that Jane Neutron would start the following Monday.

Whoop-de-fucking-doo.

He was irrational. He knew it. So, he did what anybody in his position would do.

He went to Cuddy.

He entered her office, brandishing purple tickets at her.

"Who deserves a raise?" was his opening line. He couldn't help but smile as Cuddy's head snapped up, and the finger rose into the air. (No, not that finger.)

An elegantly manicured pointer signaled to him, along with an eye-roll, to 'wait, while I finish with this idiot'.

Five minutes later found Wilson sprawled on Cuddy's couch, waiting for Cuddy to finish trying to hang up.

"Yes, thank you very much. Yes, I know. It's almost dinnertime here too. Yes, she's well, thank you. Yes, she's at home. I will, as soon as you and I finish speaking. Right. Thank you. Good night," she said, putting the phone down and stretching with a sigh.

"Hey." She seemed to notice his presence.

"Hey yourself, boss lady. Was that McBride on the phone?"

"Gah. Yes, couldn't you tell by the eye-rolling? God, that man needs a wife. Or a shrink. Something." She sighed again, smiling at her friend as he snorted.

"You look tired, Cuddy. Which leads me back to my earlier question: Who deserves a raise?"

"Thanks. Perks of the job." Her eyes narrowed suddenly. "What did you do?"

"Arranged for an OD of Bruce Juice." He laughed at the gasp that that elicited.

"No!"

"Right here." She looked at the tickets, front-row seats to see Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, May 23rd, in New Brunswick. She emitted an unladylike squeal and rushed over to throw herself at a laughing Wilson.

"Wilson! Oh James, you really shouldn't have, but I'm so glad you did. Thank you, thank you, thank you!" It was then, when she was bouncing up and down in his arms that she grabbed his face and kissed him, hard. Pulling back, she squealed again. Clapping her hands, she ran over to her desk and called her nanny, smiling brilliantly.

Wilson was still seeing stars when Cuddy got off the phone again and smiled, embarrassed, at his dazed expression.

"Just for that, James Wilson, we're going out. This calls for cake, doesn't it? Or pie." She stopped in her tracks at the coat rack, and turned to him with a beatific smile. "Or something frozen!"

"Lisa Cuddy, wildchild. Look out!" Cuddy laughed giddily, taking his arm and leading him outside the door. "Well," he said, "I vote cake." They were completely oblivious to the tittering of the nurses and the positively salacious wink sent his way by the new nurse in Radiology.

A half-hour later found them waiting in line at what had become Wilson's favorite place to eat-- The Bent Spoon. Of course, he never went there with House, it took a disasterous trip to a Sprinkles at his first post-infarction conference to determine that crowds+cane= bad idea. But House continues to occasionally browbeat him into bringing him a pint or twelve of the heavenly hazelnut gelato, which he does gladly. After convincing Cuddy to order the gelato and a quart of the blood orange sorbet for later, and ordering some insane-looking chocolate cake for himself, they ventured outside into the cool spring air and settled in an outer table of a nearby coffee shop.

He grinned at Cuddy's guttural moan that accompanied the first bite of gelato.

"I cannot believe you've never been here!"

"Contrary to popular belief, I do work." Cuddy raised her eyebrow at him.

"This place has been open for what, six years? I need to come here at least thrice a month to satisfy House's gelato craving," he said.

"Somehow, that does not surprise me. I need to tell him to bring Dr. Khan here," Cuddy replied, and Wilson almost choked on his cake. And barely refrained from punching the air with an adolescent exclamation of YES!

He shoots, and he scores! Thank you very much, I'll be here all week!

"You know, my fabled status as best friend has gotten me absolutely no information on the new girl, Cuddy."

"Oh my God, really?" Cuddy batted her eyelashes and unleashed her long-dormant, inner valley girl, much to Wilson's amusement. "What are we, in high school?"

"No, really. All of a sudden, this woman saunters into House's office, and there's a completely un-House-like cheesy reunion episode, and... poof! gone. For six straight days, I haven't seen him at all! Who is this woman?"

"You're upset that he's not mooching food from you?"

"Yes! Contrary to popular belief, I don't hate my best friend." He placed his fork down very carefully, studiously ignoring Cuddy's muffled snort.

"Well, I know as much as you know, Wilson. She's a wonderful doctor, her record is impeccable, she's treated a few baffling cases herself over the years, and it's as if she learns by osmosis. And in half the time. Her last name is Khan, not House, so I can only speculate as to her relationship with House, but I'm not going to. What's interesting is that you...." She trailed off, narrowing her eyes. "Wilson! James, are you.. jealous?"

"What? No!" The coffee in his hands scalded his skin as his incredulous hands shook the cup.

"Then? My God... you bribed me!" Wilson froze, and slowly blinked at the laughter that escaped Lisa Cuddy's mouth. Beautiful, light, gurgling laughter. Oblivious, she continued. "You know, half the state wonders why you two are friends, myself included, but God help me, you're perfect for each other!" She continued chuckling. "The look on your face!"

He cleared his throat nervously. "Sorry, Lisa," he said, as her head snapped up at his use of her given name.

"It's quite alright." He visibly deflated when she shot him a smile full of mirth.

He continued. "No, really. Snooping is his thing, not mine," he rolled his eyes at her snort. "It's just that.. in such a short time, this complete stranger has... consumed him, you know? They're always having lunch together, she's always consulting, he's helping unpack, she's constantly in his office, or in the ER.. or wandering everywhere..." He trailed off at her amused expression.

"What?" He half-snapped.

"Nothing. It took House a whole month to crack. It's almost funny that you don't realize how things have come full-circle. Now, all you need to do is ask for joint custody, and failing that, go to a bar in the middle of the day and get drunk."

He choked this time.

"Face it, James, you need him as much as he needs you. As much as you try to convince the world and yourself otherwise, it's a symbiotic relationship. It might not be proportionate, but there is give and take." With that, Cuddy rose gracefully from her seat, and came around to kiss him on the cheek and grip his shoulder.

"Thanks again. See you tommorow."

He found himself turning into the familiar crowded street, and sliding into the space behind the bright orange death trap. Out of habit, it seemed, that he killed the engine and and stepped up to the green door. He pulled out the familiar, worn, brass key and slid it in, letting himself in.

And froze.

They were at the piano, House on the bench, fingers gently grazing the keys as the object of Wilson's ire lounged against the side, humming along. House's head snapped up at the intrusion, lips curling imperceptibly, and inclined his head in greeting.

"Hey," Wilson said, at a loss for words. What am I doing here?

"Good evening, Doctor Wilson," Sairah smiled at him, dodging the playful hand aiming a smack at her head.

He opened his mouth to reply, surprised as it closed of it's own accord. Instead, what came out was, "Um.. House, I need to speak to you."

Upon the rise of a graceful eyebrow, he added, "Outside."

Irritation prickled under his skin when she dislodged herself from the piano, and walked to the kitchen to pick up her purse. "And that's my cue. I'll see you tommorow, PG," she said, accepting the hand on her head and the half-smile House had gotten up to bestow upon her.

Then she looked Wilson in the eyes and said, "Dr. Wilson, if you could be so kind as to escort me out."

Dumbstruck, he nodded. "..... of course." Still at a loss for words, he watched as she slipped into the thin trench coat that adorned the armchair and smiled at House. He didn't know if it as because of the accent, or her impeccable manners, but something possessed him to open the door for her. He was oblivious to House's surprised smirk and Sairah's slow smile.

They had stood outside for barely a second when she turned to him.

"You don't like me. I don't pretend to understand why, nor do I presume it's my place to question it. But I want to inform you of something, Dr. Wilson. That man in there is one I had given up hope of seeing. Ever. The past fourteen years have been a special kind of hell without him. He is the closest thing I've had to a parent, to a father, to a person who actually gives a flying rat's arse. So please, I'd like to assuage whatever concerns you have. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here and I'm here to stay, come what may. Now that I've found him, I'm not planning on letting go. The way the man lives his life, the way he does his work, is all or nothing. I'm in it for the long haul. I'm picking all, no matter what anybody has to say or do about it." Her head inclined and she raised her eyebrow at him over tiny rimless glasses. "Now, you and I can get in each other's way, and I can continue to irritate you, or we can make everybody's life easier, including ours, by being civil, if not friendly. Good night, Dr. Wilson. Pleasure seeing you again."

Dumbstruck. Again. He was starting to notice a pattern. She had nodded crisply to him, and turned around and walked down the street to House's old junker and got in. The calm, pleasant voice seemed to wash over him, again and again. His eyes were still wide as a slow smile spread across his mouth, easing into a chuckle. He was still smiling as he let himself in again.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing at all." House snorted incredulously as Wilson loosened his tie and kicked off his shoes. "I came to tell you something..." he trailed off nervously.

"Out with it. Or do you want mood lighting and Marvin Gaye?"

"I came to say I'm sorry." He fixed his gaze on the floor as House cleared his throat repeatedly and coughed to get rid of the beer that seemed to get stuck there.

And.. nothing. House was staring at the floor too, picking at his worn pajamas with interest.

"I'm sorry the way I acted... between Amber's death and the funeral. I'm sorry I asked you to risk your most valuable asset, the one thing that you're proud of, the one thing that makes you you, the thing that makes you indespensable... and special. I'm grateful, though, that you did. I didn't then, but I'm flattered....humbled that you would risk it for me. And I'm even more sorry, not that it's the same, because I now know how it feels, sort of, when your best friend is consumed by some stranger."

He ignored the startled look House gave him and pushed on.

"I didn't realize that I've been an... ass. A stubborn, proud, obstinate, blind... ass. And I'm sorry for taking advantage of you, and I'm sorry for any and all pain that I've caused. You live with so much, and I... the last thing I wanted to do was to hurt you, despite appearances to the contrary... and I'm so, so, sorry, House. I'm sorry I threw a three-moth long pity party for one, and I'm sorry for making you the scapegoat. And I want to tell you, now, that I'm not going anywhere, and I mean it this time. I'm sorry for lecturing instead of fixing, for giving you the impression that I don't like you the way you are. I do. Very much. I wouldn't be friends... best friends with someone I didn't... love.

I'm also sorry for walking away, everytime it counted. I'm sorry for making you feel unworthy. A wise woman just told me that the way you live your life, the way you do your work, the way you conduct yourself... is all or nothing. From here on out, I pick all. I'm most sorry for being ambivalent about that all these years."

During the countless times he would look back on this moment, he would swear that House's brilliant blue eyes were wet when he looked at the television, and replied with a choked voice.

"Yeah."