The key felt heavy in his hand after the long day, turning with a heavy clunk in the door as he opened it. The apartment was warm, bathed in the soft glow of lamp light and banishing the frigid cold that had seeped into his bones.
He shut the door behind him, careful not to slam it and dislodge the wreath like the day before.
"You're home early."
Wilson stood at the kitchen counter, not turning round but talking over his shoulder.
House paused, brow knitted as he slowly reached up to unwind the scarf from his neck. "You moved the tree again?" he dropped the keys into the bowl and smirked at the guilty silence emanating from the kitchen.
Everything was black and white and colour, the lights on the tree both sharp and blurred. It was his apartment, their apartment, the touches of warmth softening the sharp edges, candles and holly and candy canes turning it from what used to be somewhere he used to just live into his home.
He hung his jacket on the wall, kicking off his sneakers, the floor under his feet felt nonexistent, the air that filled his lungs thick as water.
"What are you making?" the words left his mouth but he didn't move his lips, soft steps and his hands gentle on curved waist.
Apple pie. Wilson looked at him, dark eyes alive and smiling.
"How very fifties of you." Hands around his waist, his lips brushing with a gentle caress against the back of Wilson's neck. He felt the sigh he caused in the deep recesses of his heart, closing his eyes as the other man leant back into his embrace.
'I don't hear you complaining' House smiled at the voice that echoed inside his head, his body warmed by the sugar and spice in his low mirth.
He'd never complain.
He turned him slowly, hands resting lightly on hips as he brought their lips together, soft, long...slow, lashes fluttering against his cheek. Hands against his face, warm and covered in something sticky, something sweet that he breathed in.
He pushed him back against the counter top, craving the taste of him and the sweet tang of the apples he'd been sneaking. His foot slipped, skidding across the floor and Wilson smiled against his lips. Careful, the floor's wet.
House looked down, the floor dark and shining red.
He stepped back, those hands slipping from his face and he staggered to see them, blood curling and dripping from his fingers.
"What...?"
It was everywhere, soaking his t-shirt, drenched and dripping from the hem, Wilson tipped his head, his eyes tinged with sadness and hurt. You noticed the tree...but you didn't see this?
He woke with a start, eyes wide and heart racing.
He sat forward, hand clutched at his chest as he stared furiously around the room for what had woken him, but everything was silent, the same low beeps and clicks of monitors doing their jobs, he couldn't even hear anyone at the nurses' station or noise from the traffic outside.
House stood on shaking legs, eyes fixing on the bed, on the gentle rise and fall of breaths beneath the covers. He ran his head along the guard rail of the bed, soaking up the peaceful sight, so different to just a few hours ago.
He'd panicked. He'd lost control.
Stood numbly by and watched as his colleagues took over, frenzied and barked orders distorting in his ears as he tried not to see the pain on Wilson's face. He looked now to the line that ran in thick coils between the bars of the bed, the inside flecked with blood as it drained the fluid that had left him choking, images of Chase wincing with sympathy as he pushed the trocar through skin and muscle running through his mind.
His hand hovered over Wilson's, just an inch apart but widening to a gulf by his guilt and shame.
The last vestiges of his dream clung to his memory like wisps of rain drenched clouds, overlapping the waking vision of Wilson sleeping, his face lined with pain even in his own restless dreams. He hadn't even had the strength to hold his hand, to reach out and offer the smallest comfort when he had held out his hand, had left it for Cuddy to hold him, to grip his hand and tell him that everything was going to be fine.
He'd never felt more pathetic and wretched in his life.
He left the cool, dark room and its sleeping occupant, stepping out into the harshly lit corridor and heading up to his office, he looked closely at the nurses and orderlies he passed, none of them sparing him a glance, no backwards looks as he walked past them.
"I suppose some sorts of thanks are in order." He muttered drily as he stalked into the differential room, his team sat at the table in scrubs. "Either that or what passes for gossip these days has far surpassed the social norm." He slumped into the couch as Cameron rushed to pour him a coffee. He rubbed at his neck idly, soothing the ache from having slept in a chair for who knows how long.
"Not exactly our place to say anything." Chase pointed out good naturedly.
House stared him down as he took the proffered coffee, waiting until Chase looked away to inhale the steam, sighing in relief as it wormed its way into his lungs, chasing away the icy dread that had startled him from his sleep.
"Besides, whilst it might be fun to belittle you for actually bowing to mortal emotions, Wilson is our friend too." Foreman looked at him pointedly and House rolled his eyes, hiding the twitch that made him want to turn his face away in shame.
"How's he doing?" Cameron looked at him with her puppy dog eyes and he fought the snarl that threatened to curl his lips.
"Where have you been?" He snapped, cup trembling in his hands.
Cameron backed up in her chair, reeling from the steel in his voice. He sighed roughly waving his hand in a dismissive gesture, "Ask Chase." He muttered, he didn't trust his own judgement. He knew Foreman was frowning at him, assessing him coolly.
"He's doing well," Chase said slowly. "He was hypertensive for a while after the effusion, his blood pressure keeps fluctuating but it's within a safe range. He's responding well to treatment."
House bit down on his tongue to stop his retort, itching to mock his scripted remark. He hadn't expected much more from him, Chase was too much like him in terms of constraint, maybe he hadn't always been but it was something that settled over him after years of working under House.
Just one more person burdened by his self destructive, narccesistic tendencies.
"Well, that's good isn't it?" Cameron beamed at him, ever the optimist.
Chase was looking at him, an odd and heavy weight to his guarded stare.
"Cuddy been keeping you busy?" House asked, holding that gaze up until the point Chase looked away.
"It's still pretty chaotic downstairs." Foreman piped up, thankful for some even ground, "A lot of rounds work."
"Can I talk to you?" Chase had stood sharply, the chair scraping back on the floor as he fixed House with a pervasive stare and cut Foreman off in the middle of his speech.
There was a tense moment where Cameron and Foreman exchanged glances, something significant obviously taking place. They both stood, clutching their coffees and denying House the chance to fend Chase's request off with the pretence of having company. They obviously knew him too well.
Chase waited until the door swung shut and the figures of his team mates had disappeared around the corner before he took his seat again, turning to face House with his elbows braced on knees, a fierce look on his face.
"How are you coping?"
"How is that psychiatry course going?" House countered sarcastically.
"I'm asking, House." Not a request, but a statement, his face open but not with the kind of patronising sympathy he'd get from anybody else. "I saw you in there." His eyes didn't even flicker to gesture the ICU, staring dead ahead and rooting House firmly to the spot.
He felt his mouth go dry but didn't quite have the will or the energy yet to bring the mug to his lips, to replace one bitter taste with another. Chase had not only seen House fail, he'd seen why as well.
"I'm not even going to pretend to understand the situation," Chase leant back in his chair. "Hell, I don't even think I'd want to understand..." he met House's stare with cool blue eyes, "He's got you big time."
"Don't." House expected it to sound like a warning, the threat was there but the intensity failed.
"Don't what?" Chase countered. "What are you afraid of me saying?"
He didn't know, just didn't want it all said out loud, not when trapped in the web of that stare that confirmed Chase knew too much.
"I'm tired, I'm not playing games." House rubbed his hand over his face.
"Who said I'm playing?"
He narrowed his eyes. He had to be loving this, to have seen him in a weak moment, the opportunity to degrade him offered up to him on a silver platter.
House said nothing.
"I'm guessing it was his move."
He remained in silence.
"No way you'd leave yourself open like that."
"What do you want Chase?" he finally sniped.
"I don't want anything House."
"Then what are you harping on about?" He could feel irritation pricking at his skin.
"Just wondering what your deal is."
"You're very close to getting on my last nerve."
"What are you going to do? Break up with me?" he said it with a slight arch to his brow, but where House expected to see a cocky smirk he was met instead with a look of open ire, as though egging him on. House froze.
"What are you doing?" Chase asked lowly.
He wanted to make some smart alec remark about drinking coffee but Chase's sudden and upfront demeanour had rattled him. "I don't know." He admitted weakly, feeling utterly wretched.
They sat in silence for a while as the coffee cooled in the bottom of his mug and his fingers became numb to the residual heat.
"Even you're not that much of an ass." Chase said softly, bringing his face up to meet House's solemn gaze.
"You know me that well?" He retorted smartly.
"I know you well enough to know you wouldn't do that to Wilson."
House let his mouth snap shut. "Yeah, well, I don't even know me right now."
"You don't care about him?" Chase sounded self righteous.
"I didn't say that."
"He's you're best friend," Chase insisted. "The one constant in your life that has never once let you down when it meant something, the only one who puts up with you when the rest of us think you're being petty and childish, he's the only one who holds any sort of control over you and you couldn't even hold his hand...is it all just another one of your games? Just a bit of fun to shock your employees when..."
"I can't be what he wants me to be." House interrupted the tirade, every word like an iced knife in his chest that stung of betrayal, the core of his insecurity leaping out from him. He saw Chase lean back, a close look on his face. "I can't give him what he wants." He looked down at the remains of the coffee in his mug. "Best he knows that now rather than..." He couldn't even bring himself to say it, that he had already anticipated the demise of the relationship like solving a math problem and adding in all the factors only to continuously come across the wrong conclusion.
"How very selfless of you." Chase retorted in a deadened voice.
House looked up at him with steeled eyes. "You think I'd be a good choice for him?"
Chase tilted his heads, his bottom lips seized between his teeth as he contemplated House. "I think he'd be good for you." He said softly.
House felt all the fight drain from him, eyes down and not even flickering when Chase stood, his movement washed out in the peripherals of his vision. He closed his eyes, licking his dry lips as he desperately tried to ignore the wild adrenaline surge that flooded him every time he thought of the way those deft fingers ran through his hair, the warmth of those lips...the way they could sit side by side for hours in silence.
God, but he wanted him.
,',',',',',',',',',',',',',',',',',',',',',',',',',',',',','
Wilson was awake when he finally dredged up the courage to wander back to his room and he took a moment to look at him through the glass as he stared up at the ceiling. He looked terrible, which was perfectly acceptable given the circumstance, but there was a tired glaze in his eyes as he looked unseeing at the ceiling tiles that House knew was entirely down to him.
He slid open the door, the soft noise drawing Wilson's attention and House could feel the tension in his face as he tried to smile, failing miserably.
"Hey." He shut the door behind him and limped heavily towards him, stopping short of the bed and standing awkwardly. "How are you feeling?"
Wilson looked at him blankly, his gaze sweeping over his face and making House feel stripped bare before the smallest hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "Oh, I'm just peachy." He whispered. "I get the impression Chase used a hammer to get this in?" He lifted up the tube that ran from between his ribs.
House felt something akin to a laugh rising up his throat at Wilson's dry levity at the surgeon's gung ho approach to emergency medicine. "Sounds about right." He quipped. "How's the paralysis coming along?"
Wilson looked at the arm House gestured to, raising it weakly and letting it thump back down to the bed. "Better."
House picked up the chart to check his assessment and noted the absence of his reactions. He dropped the clipboard on the bed and opened the equipment drawer to root around for the tendon hammer. "I think its best I be the judge." He remarked dryly, leaning his cane on the end of the bed and rustling at the sheets, gathering them up to expose Wilson's leg.
"Sensation feels back to normal."Wilson muttered, pressing his head back into the pillow as House struck at the soft spot below his knee.
"And strength?" House reorganised the blankets, settling them gently and smoothing them down. He seized Wilson's wrist, settling himself down on the bed as he held his arm along his own, pressing his thumb into the crook of his elbow and focusing on the tapping of the hammer to quell the frightening adrenaline that made his heart race at having placed himself so close.
"What you said yesterday..."Wilson spoke softly, the words long and drawn out between them.
"Wilson." He knew it had to come.
"Did you mean it?" He could feel where he stared at him, his face flushed under his gaze.
House gently released Wilson's arm, laying it back down beside his body and remarking just how at odds it was to see the hospital printed blankets nestling beneath his skin, how much he disliked Wilson being here. His guilt and his remorse as having placed them both in this situation made his stomach feel sour, bile rising in the back of his throat and he couldn't for the life of him bring himself to turn to meet the warm gaze he'd always loved.
"Just had this conversation with Chase." House snuffed, rubbing a thumb along one eyebrow.
"Well, I'm glad someone's been talking about it." There was a humorous bite to his retort.
House nodded, he deserved his ire. "He said that..."
"I don't care what Chase said." Wilson snapped. "I don't care what Cuddy said, I care what you say."
House felt Wilson shift, pushing himself further up the bed and gasping with pain as the movement caused the chest tube to tug against the stitched holding it in place. House turned sharply to help, his hand halfway to placing itself on Wilson's chest to keep him still, but it was caught up, held at the wrist and he had no choice then but to be drawn in by those eyes. "What happened?"
House sighed, unable to extricate himself from the weak grip that encircled his wrist, a large part of him wanting to turn his hand, to let himself thread his fingers through Wilson's and just hold on.
"I've been thinking, "he said slowly. "And I've realised that maybe it would not be in your best interests...for us to...see each other." He finished lamely, despising the taste of the words in his mouth and the way Wilson's fingers trembled as they clung lightly to his arm.
"And why do you say that?" His voice was trembling too.
House felt the sharp laugh burst out of him. "You need to ask? Look at me."
"I am looking at you." Soft and sad and implying so much more than House had expected.
"I'm being serious." House countered just as quietly. "I'm an ass, I'm narcissistic, arrogant, juvenile, petty...and I will...hurt you." He dropped his eyes to avoid seeing the jolt of confusion and hurt roll across Wilson's face.
"You don't want this?" Wilson's hold on his finally slipped away.
"I just don't want to risk losing our friendship...or you." He whispered, glancing up briefly to watch the nurses at their station quickly look away.
"And you don't even want to try?" Now Wilson really sounded hurt.
"I ...don't think it will be worth the risk." House brought his hands up to rub at his face, to rub away the tense lines that he could feel creasing his face.
The bed shifted a little, blankets rustling as Wilson moved. "And what if I'm willing to risk it?"
House turned his face to look at him, a pained and desperate hope fixed upon his face. "You really think it would be happily ever after?" He wanted to inject a little snideness to make Wilson truly appreciate what he was asking for but he fell short at self deprecation.
"Of course not, and...You said yes the other day." He reminded him. "It only took you two days to stop caring?"
"I care!" House cut him off with vehemence, his rebuttal sharp and bouncing from the walls, he stood abruptly wishing desperately that he had the ability to pace. "Of course I care, I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
"You care enough that you don't want to hurt me, but not enough to try and make me happy?" Wilson tried to sound sceptical.
"Not hurting you will keep you happy." House countered.
The air in the room felt stuffy, the sun that filtered through the blinds catching on drifting motes of dust and providing House with a brief moment of focus as he watched them dance and eddy through the air.
"I'll have to leave." Wilson said quietly. "I'll need a few days to sort some things out..."
"Leave?" House was sure the surprise had registered on his face, Wilson wasn't looking at him, had instead turned away to look at the people who bustled back and forth on the other side of the glass.
"Can't exactly stay." Wilson muttered, a pained smile swiftly gracing his lips and in the resounding silence that followed.
"James?" The utterance of his name caused Wilson to press his eyes shut and in the light House caught the sight of a single tear cascade down his cheek, brief and shimmering until it fell and was captured in the folds of his hospital issue gown.
"I'm agreeing with you House." He said thickly, steadfastly keeping his gaze averted as House rounded the end of the bed, his leg strained and on fire.
House felt lost for words, had expected more of a fight, more vitriol and anger. He hadn't expected this, the turned away gaze and the embarrassed flush as Wilson fought to keep his tears in check and he really was all the names he ever been called in his life, being first and foremost a heartless bastard. He sat back on the edge of the bed, reaching out on instinct to hold his hand to Wilson's face and trying not to notice how he flinched at his touch. "Don't." He stroked his thumb across his cheek.
"Please don't." Wilson pushed his hand away, ducking his head as a nurse looked in as she walked past. "I'll agree with you," he whispered softly, "just tell me it's really what you want." He looked up at House through wet lashes.
House shook his head, neck stiff and protesting the motion. "It's not that I want it, it's that I think it's for the best." God, he hated himself so much right now, hated everything that had made him the way he was, his hand curled into the sheets, gripping them tight in his fist.
"I love you."
Said so quietly that House could almost imagine he'd heard him, some trick of his mind that elicited a heart wrenching thrill and made his breath fall short. "You shouldn't."
His hand was teased from its frantic grip, Wilson's skin cool against his own as he held him tightly in his grip, hand shaking as he brought them to his lips so he could place the lightest of kisses to House's fingers, his breath ghosting and warming over his skin and House could feel his resolve waver in the wake of such a simple act, brought to the edge of his determination by the feel of tears pressed into the palm of his hand as Wilson uncurled his fingers, placing House's hand to his face and leaning into it with a pained expression that made him want to take it all back, to swear unwavering fealty. "I'm so sorry." He choked, feeling the words thick in his throat.
He pulled his hand back, afraid that if he stayed now he would never leave, that it would lead them down a path that would hurt and destroy the both of them.
He stood on shaking legs, urging himself to control the furious desires that shook every part of him and failing. He caught Wilson's lips with a devastating passion, his fingers carding into his hair as his eyes slid close, memorising the taste and the feel of him and the way his heart exploded with euphoric joy in the brief moment they were pressed together.
And then he straightened and turned, catching his long fingers on his cane and leaning heavily on it as he stalked out of the room without looking back.