Naval Criminal Investigative Service
Title: Naval Criminal Investigative Service
Pairing: House/Wilson by the end.
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Crossover. No knowledge of NCIS needed, although there's a few jokes you won't get.
Summary: Wilson's missing brother wasn't crazy, he was in the Navy. And now he's been murdered.
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Beta: phate_phoenix. Thank you so, so, so, so, so much! This story would never be seeing the light of day without you. Thank you so much!
Notes: This story is cannon in the House universe as of Dying Changes Everything (s5e1) and in the NCIS 'verse as of About Face (s5e18). Then it's not all that cannon for either show, as there's a 2.5 year gap before the events of 5x19&5x20 in the NCIS 'verse, and House and Wilson made up right before the beginning of the story, without House's dad dying. Oh, and House used to work with the NCIS Medical Examiner, Ducky.
T
Wilson looked up as the door to his apartment opened…without a knock.
It was House, of course, looking rather annoyed, and carrying his motorcycle helmet.
“I talked to your assistant, was planning on bugging you when you had a patient,” House said, limping in and thumping down on Wilson’s couch, “but she said you’re having Brown take all your appointments for the next week. Asked Cuddy, she said you took a week off, didn’t tell her why. And… your eyes are red. So either you suddenly started skimming some of your patients’ weed, or you’ve been crying.”
Wilson closed his eyes briefly, closing the top of his suitcase, then turned around, and looked at his friend. “Yes, I’m taking a week off. Yes, I’ve been crying. The fact that I didn’t tell you anything about it was supposed to be a hint that I didn’t want you to know about it.”
House snorted, rather derisively. “And you actually expected me not to find out?”
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” said Wilson, sighing.
The door opened, and two people, a woman with dark, wild hair and dark eyes, and a man with a medium height and build and short brown hair and green eyes, came in. House immediately noticed their black hats with ‘NCIS’ printed in white across the top. He frowned, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes slightly.
“Dr. Wilson, I’m Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, we spoke on the phone about your brother. This is Officer Ziva David. Can we talk with you in private?”
Wilson had his face in his hands as he sighed again. “He can stay…”
“What was Wilson’s brother doing with the Navy?” asked House, frowning at the two Agent’s hats.
“That’s not any of your business,” said the one who had spoken-DiNozzo.
“We should not complain. He actually knew who we are,” interjected the woman, David.
“We’re wearing hats that say NCIS on them and he figures out the guy we’re here about was in the Navy. Not a big leap of logic there-”
Ziva stomped on his foot.
Tony made a strange squeaking sound, and turned back to Wilson. “Please come with us.”
Wilson nodded, picking up his suitcase.
House got to his feet. “We going to DC or Rhode Island?”
The two special agents looked at him, and the female one spoke, “You are not required.”
“I’m coming.”
Wilson looked at the other two. “It’s okay… he’d just follow anyway, and I’d rather he came with me than drive his motorcycle on the turnpike.”
They looked at each other, and then nodded.
Wilson put the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder, and sighed. “Okay. House, you need to call Cuddy, tell her you’re taking time off.”
House shook his head. “Told her that yesterday. My bag’s out front.”
Wilson rolled his eyes, and picked up his suitcase.
----
As the group took lunch in a small barbecue bistro, Wilson wondered, softly and aloud, “Why didn’t my brother tell me he was in the Navy? I’ve thought he was on the streets, all these years…”
House looked up from picking at his pulled pork. “Depends. He might not have been allowed to. Or he might not have known how to contact you. Or he might just not have wanted to face you. No reason, I think, had anything to do with him hating you.”
Wilson dropped his eyes, and started picking at his barbecued chicken.
“Yeah…”
The NCIS team showed up with their own food, and sat down at the table with House and Wilson. “So, were you in the Navy?” DiNozzo asked House.
House snorted. “Not a chance.”
“Then a family member?” asked David, frowning as she looked at her food. “Why do they call them Buffalo wings if they come from a chicken?”
“His Dad,” said Wilson, picking listlessly at his baked beans.
“Meaning when I got arrested when I was a kid it was an NCIS case, usually.”
“Usually?” asked DiNozzo, practically cackling.
“I had a bit of a fascination with things that went boom. And they’re called Buffalo wings because they were created in a town called Buffalo.”
----
They rode down to DC, drove into the Naval Yard, walked into NCIS headquarters, and entered the morgue.
Three people were waiting there for them: one appeared to be an ex-Marine, what with the haircut, the shoes, and the hard-ass expression; the next was a fairly unremarkable young man in green autopsy scrubs and glasses; the last of the group was the medical examiner who wore a yellow polka dot bowtie.
House immediately made a sort of choked squawking sound, turned around, and tried to leave, but Wilson was standing there, looking at him curiously. House sighed, and turned around
The medical examiner was there, eyebrows raised. “Gregory! It’s been such a long time, aren’t you going to stay for a visit?”
“Shut up, Ducky.”
Wilson looked at House. “You know the medical examiner?”
House sneered. “Don’t you have a dead brother to identify?”
Wilson glared at him, hurt. “You didn’t have to come.”
House turned away, and walked out. “Yeah. I guess I shouldn’t have bothered. I’ll meet you back at the car, Wilson.”
Gibbs looked at Ducky, eyebrows raised.
“I had him as a fellow quite a few years ago,” said Ducky in explanation.
They turned to look at Wilson.
Wilson closed his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck, and sighed..
----
House sat on the stairs of the NCIS headquarters, overlooking the frost-covered front lawn. A shadow fell over him, and he sighed.
Ducky, predictably.
“Your friend is being questioned by a Marine about the death of a brother who has been missing for years, and you run away because your old teacher happened to be the medical examiner on the case?”
“Are we having a state-the-obvious contest?”
“That is not the Gregory House I knew.”
“The Gregory House you knew didn’t limp.”
“You know, in Victorian times, a physical handicap would have been regarded as a mental one.”
“Thanks. That helps a lot.”
Ducky sighed. “Gregory…is avoiding me really so important that you would rather sit on a flight of steps outside in December than support your friend with me present?”
“Obviously. Stupid question, as I’m already sitting out here.”
“May I ask… why?”
“The Gregory House you knew is MIA. I didn’t want you to go on a search and rescue mission for him.”
“A person cannot simply *lose* a part of themselves, Gregory. Not permanently. You’ll eventually find it again.”
House made a slightly disgusted face.
Ducky raised an eyebrow. “Do I dare to ask?”
“Well, you see, a big chunk of my leg went missing a few years ago… I was just imagining what it’d look like if I found it now…”
“Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Of course I know what you mean. I was making a point. People change, Ducky. And they don’t change back.”
“Yes, well, that’s only because they don’t want to.”
“There being a reason people don’t change back doesn’t make the fact they don’t change back any less valid.”
“Yes, but if people understand the reason that they changed in the first place-”
“Dr. Mallard?” It was the glasses-wearing man from Autopsy, looking a bit nervous and awkward.
Ducky stopped, looking up. “Yes, Mr. Palmer?”
“Um, agent Gibbs was looking at the body… I think he may have found something showing cause of death…”
House scrunched up his face as he looked at Palmer, and then looked at Ducky. “You replaced me with him?”
Ducky rolled his eyes. “And quite a few more in between. What, did you think you were going to be the only fellow I ever had just because you were the first?”
“No, but….him?”
Palmer’s smile was starting to fade.
“Well, Mr. Palmer?”
“Oh, right Doctor. Agent Gibbs found something in the victim’s throat.”
“Why was agent Gibbs *looking* in the victim’s throat?”
“I…uh… well, he…” stammered Palmer.
“Ah, well… Gibbs will be Gibbs; I suppose I can’t fault you for that. Come, Gregory. I think you’ll find special agent Gibbs an interesting enigma,” said Ducky, getting to his feet.
“That the Marine that was in the morgue earlier?”
“Yes… but I would recommend waiting until you’ve actually *met* him before deciding to be disgusted by him,” said Ducky with a sigh.
“Yes, because Marines who are useful for things other than killing and bartering for sex in six languages totally exist,” grouched House.
“I’d like to think that they do,” said a voice from behind him.
House smirked, not turning around. “Now *you’re* the one making assumptions. You’re assuming I would have stopped talking if I knew you were there.” He then stood and faced the speaker.
“Jethro,” Ducky said, “I’d like you to meet my first fellow, Dr. Gregory Christopher Zacharia House. Gregory, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.”
“You know, you don’t *always* have to introduce me with my full name. I’m regretting ever telling you it…”
“And I thought you’d worked with Ducky before.”
House looked at Gibbs, raising an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d been named after your father’s first three pets.”
“What’s so bad about that?”
“They were a snail, a slug, and a cockroach, respectively.”
“Maybe that’s appropriate.”
“He certainly seemed to think so.”
Ducky shook his head, gesturing for Palmer to come with him. “Let’s leave these two to each other…otherwise we’re liable to get our throats torn out in the dogfight I can see brewing.”
“So why are you talking to me instead of following Ducky?” asked House.
“Because your friend is asking for you,” said Gibbs.
“And you came yourself rather than sending one of your lackeys? You seemed to have plenty of them.”
“Just wanted to talk.”
“Why? Unless you’re looking for a recommendation for a decent barber, I can’t say I can help you much,” said House, with a snort.
“I need to know why your friend isn’t talking.”
“So… you did find something indicating a murder.”
“Yeah. Your friend’s brother was murdered. And your friend won’t talk to anyone.”
“I’m not the kind of person who you get to comfort a friend.”
“I don’t care.”
House sighed, looking around briefly, and then faced the other man again. “If you want me to work with Ducky, I can do that. I can consult, I can help. But I’m not the kind of person who gives you a hug when you’re down. Wilson knows that. He’s not expecting me to come and tell him everything’s alright.”
“Well he can tell you that himself. Come on.”
House tried to pull his arm away as the other man grabbed it, but Gibbs twisted it up behind his back.
House gritted his teeth. “Let go.”
“Are you coming?”
“Let go of my arm.”
“I’m not letting go until you’re in a room with your friend.”
House closed his eyes, suddenly breathing very fast.
“I see it’s common for all Marines to roughhouse defenseless non-combatants, huh?”
He opened his eyes, trying to keep calm.
The hand released its grip, and he sat down on the top step, hyperventilating.
----
“What’ve you got, Duck?” asked Gibbs, coming into Autopsy through the sliding doors.
“Well, you were correct in supposing that this was the cause of death. A coin shoved down the trachea… However, I’m curious as to how you came by the idea to *look* down the victim’s throat?”
“A convicted serial killer with this MO was put on death row awaiting execution… a week ago.”
“But… Jethro, this man has only been dead three days at the most.”
“I know, Duck,” said Gibbs, walking out.
“Ah, Jethro. Wait a moment.”
He stopped. “Yeah, Ducky? You got more?”
“Just… take it a bit easy on my old student. I know you think he’s being insensitive and a nuisance, but the fact that he came to the Naval Yard to be with his friend means more than you think it does.”
“All it means is that he’s getting in my way.”
Ducky sighed, as Gibbs walked out.
He turned to the table with one Danny Wilson lying upon it, leaning close to whisper into the corpse’s ear, “I’m worried that they dislike each other, but I will admit that watching the two most stubborn men I have ever met fight with each other is quite an amusing prospect.”
----
Wilson sat, expression despondent, barely flinching when someone plopped down next to him against the wall of the interrogation room.
“Wilson. Calm down.”
Wilson looked at his friend, and then leaned against him, pulling House’s arm over his own shoulders.
House sighed, allowing the younger doctor to curl up against him.
He awkwardly rubbed his hand a bit, over Wilson’s back, and then stopped, feeling he was doing something wrong.
Wilson’s hand curled in his shirt, as though the younger doctor were expecting him to try and leave.
House hesitated, then, cautiously, covered Wilson’s hand with his own.
----
Ducky turned to Gibbs, as they stood in the observation room. “Well?”
“Why are you so hung up on me liking this guy, Duck?”
“Because if you two get into a fight over something, blood will metaphorically-or possibly even literally-fly. Two terriers fighting over the same bone… will nearly always end in at least one dog getting hurt.”
“And you don’t want him to get hurt.”
“I don’t want *you* to get hurt, Jethro. He has an uncanny knack for seeing parts of people they would rather keep hidden… and a rather unfortunate habit of poking at those parts with metaphorical sharp sticks.”
“Hey,” came a voice, through the speakers, “whoever’s in there, he’s okay now…”
They turned, and saw House’s face pressed to the glass.
Ducky chuckled, and walked to the intercom. “Thank you, Gregory.”
Though the glass, they could see Wilson roll his eyes and pull House away from the two-way mirror.
Pairing: House/Wilson by the end.
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Crossover. No knowledge of NCIS needed, although there's a few jokes you won't get.
Summary: Wilson's missing brother wasn't crazy, he was in the Navy. And now he's been murdered.
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Beta: phate_phoenix. Thank you so, so, so, so, so much! This story would never be seeing the light of day without you. Thank you so much!
Notes: This story is cannon in the House universe as of Dying Changes Everything (s5e1) and in the NCIS 'verse as of About Face (s5e18). Then it's not all that cannon for either show, as there's a 2.5 year gap before the events of 5x19&5x20 in the NCIS 'verse, and House and Wilson made up right before the beginning of the story, without House's dad dying. Oh, and House used to work with the NCIS Medical Examiner, Ducky.
T
Wilson looked up as the door to his apartment opened…without a knock.
It was House, of course, looking rather annoyed, and carrying his motorcycle helmet.
“I talked to your assistant, was planning on bugging you when you had a patient,” House said, limping in and thumping down on Wilson’s couch, “but she said you’re having Brown take all your appointments for the next week. Asked Cuddy, she said you took a week off, didn’t tell her why. And… your eyes are red. So either you suddenly started skimming some of your patients’ weed, or you’ve been crying.”
Wilson closed his eyes briefly, closing the top of his suitcase, then turned around, and looked at his friend. “Yes, I’m taking a week off. Yes, I’ve been crying. The fact that I didn’t tell you anything about it was supposed to be a hint that I didn’t want you to know about it.”
House snorted, rather derisively. “And you actually expected me not to find out?”
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” said Wilson, sighing.
The door opened, and two people, a woman with dark, wild hair and dark eyes, and a man with a medium height and build and short brown hair and green eyes, came in. House immediately noticed their black hats with ‘NCIS’ printed in white across the top. He frowned, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes slightly.
“Dr. Wilson, I’m Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, we spoke on the phone about your brother. This is Officer Ziva David. Can we talk with you in private?”
Wilson had his face in his hands as he sighed again. “He can stay…”
“What was Wilson’s brother doing with the Navy?” asked House, frowning at the two Agent’s hats.
“That’s not any of your business,” said the one who had spoken-DiNozzo.
“We should not complain. He actually knew who we are,” interjected the woman, David.
“We’re wearing hats that say NCIS on them and he figures out the guy we’re here about was in the Navy. Not a big leap of logic there-”
Ziva stomped on his foot.
Tony made a strange squeaking sound, and turned back to Wilson. “Please come with us.”
Wilson nodded, picking up his suitcase.
House got to his feet. “We going to DC or Rhode Island?”
The two special agents looked at him, and the female one spoke, “You are not required.”
“I’m coming.”
Wilson looked at the other two. “It’s okay… he’d just follow anyway, and I’d rather he came with me than drive his motorcycle on the turnpike.”
They looked at each other, and then nodded.
Wilson put the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder, and sighed. “Okay. House, you need to call Cuddy, tell her you’re taking time off.”
House shook his head. “Told her that yesterday. My bag’s out front.”
Wilson rolled his eyes, and picked up his suitcase.
----
As the group took lunch in a small barbecue bistro, Wilson wondered, softly and aloud, “Why didn’t my brother tell me he was in the Navy? I’ve thought he was on the streets, all these years…”
House looked up from picking at his pulled pork. “Depends. He might not have been allowed to. Or he might not have known how to contact you. Or he might just not have wanted to face you. No reason, I think, had anything to do with him hating you.”
Wilson dropped his eyes, and started picking at his barbecued chicken.
“Yeah…”
The NCIS team showed up with their own food, and sat down at the table with House and Wilson. “So, were you in the Navy?” DiNozzo asked House.
House snorted. “Not a chance.”
“Then a family member?” asked David, frowning as she looked at her food. “Why do they call them Buffalo wings if they come from a chicken?”
“His Dad,” said Wilson, picking listlessly at his baked beans.
“Meaning when I got arrested when I was a kid it was an NCIS case, usually.”
“Usually?” asked DiNozzo, practically cackling.
“I had a bit of a fascination with things that went boom. And they’re called Buffalo wings because they were created in a town called Buffalo.”
----
They rode down to DC, drove into the Naval Yard, walked into NCIS headquarters, and entered the morgue.
Three people were waiting there for them: one appeared to be an ex-Marine, what with the haircut, the shoes, and the hard-ass expression; the next was a fairly unremarkable young man in green autopsy scrubs and glasses; the last of the group was the medical examiner who wore a yellow polka dot bowtie.
House immediately made a sort of choked squawking sound, turned around, and tried to leave, but Wilson was standing there, looking at him curiously. House sighed, and turned around
The medical examiner was there, eyebrows raised. “Gregory! It’s been such a long time, aren’t you going to stay for a visit?”
“Shut up, Ducky.”
Wilson looked at House. “You know the medical examiner?”
House sneered. “Don’t you have a dead brother to identify?”
Wilson glared at him, hurt. “You didn’t have to come.”
House turned away, and walked out. “Yeah. I guess I shouldn’t have bothered. I’ll meet you back at the car, Wilson.”
Gibbs looked at Ducky, eyebrows raised.
“I had him as a fellow quite a few years ago,” said Ducky in explanation.
They turned to look at Wilson.
Wilson closed his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck, and sighed..
----
House sat on the stairs of the NCIS headquarters, overlooking the frost-covered front lawn. A shadow fell over him, and he sighed.
Ducky, predictably.
“Your friend is being questioned by a Marine about the death of a brother who has been missing for years, and you run away because your old teacher happened to be the medical examiner on the case?”
“Are we having a state-the-obvious contest?”
“That is not the Gregory House I knew.”
“The Gregory House you knew didn’t limp.”
“You know, in Victorian times, a physical handicap would have been regarded as a mental one.”
“Thanks. That helps a lot.”
Ducky sighed. “Gregory…is avoiding me really so important that you would rather sit on a flight of steps outside in December than support your friend with me present?”
“Obviously. Stupid question, as I’m already sitting out here.”
“May I ask… why?”
“The Gregory House you knew is MIA. I didn’t want you to go on a search and rescue mission for him.”
“A person cannot simply *lose* a part of themselves, Gregory. Not permanently. You’ll eventually find it again.”
House made a slightly disgusted face.
Ducky raised an eyebrow. “Do I dare to ask?”
“Well, you see, a big chunk of my leg went missing a few years ago… I was just imagining what it’d look like if I found it now…”
“Oh, you know what I mean.”
“Of course I know what you mean. I was making a point. People change, Ducky. And they don’t change back.”
“Yes, well, that’s only because they don’t want to.”
“There being a reason people don’t change back doesn’t make the fact they don’t change back any less valid.”
“Yes, but if people understand the reason that they changed in the first place-”
“Dr. Mallard?” It was the glasses-wearing man from Autopsy, looking a bit nervous and awkward.
Ducky stopped, looking up. “Yes, Mr. Palmer?”
“Um, agent Gibbs was looking at the body… I think he may have found something showing cause of death…”
House scrunched up his face as he looked at Palmer, and then looked at Ducky. “You replaced me with him?”
Ducky rolled his eyes. “And quite a few more in between. What, did you think you were going to be the only fellow I ever had just because you were the first?”
“No, but….him?”
Palmer’s smile was starting to fade.
“Well, Mr. Palmer?”
“Oh, right Doctor. Agent Gibbs found something in the victim’s throat.”
“Why was agent Gibbs *looking* in the victim’s throat?”
“I…uh… well, he…” stammered Palmer.
“Ah, well… Gibbs will be Gibbs; I suppose I can’t fault you for that. Come, Gregory. I think you’ll find special agent Gibbs an interesting enigma,” said Ducky, getting to his feet.
“That the Marine that was in the morgue earlier?”
“Yes… but I would recommend waiting until you’ve actually *met* him before deciding to be disgusted by him,” said Ducky with a sigh.
“Yes, because Marines who are useful for things other than killing and bartering for sex in six languages totally exist,” grouched House.
“I’d like to think that they do,” said a voice from behind him.
House smirked, not turning around. “Now *you’re* the one making assumptions. You’re assuming I would have stopped talking if I knew you were there.” He then stood and faced the speaker.
“Jethro,” Ducky said, “I’d like you to meet my first fellow, Dr. Gregory Christopher Zacharia House. Gregory, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs.”
“You know, you don’t *always* have to introduce me with my full name. I’m regretting ever telling you it…”
“And I thought you’d worked with Ducky before.”
House looked at Gibbs, raising an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you’d been named after your father’s first three pets.”
“What’s so bad about that?”
“They were a snail, a slug, and a cockroach, respectively.”
“Maybe that’s appropriate.”
“He certainly seemed to think so.”
Ducky shook his head, gesturing for Palmer to come with him. “Let’s leave these two to each other…otherwise we’re liable to get our throats torn out in the dogfight I can see brewing.”
“So why are you talking to me instead of following Ducky?” asked House.
“Because your friend is asking for you,” said Gibbs.
“And you came yourself rather than sending one of your lackeys? You seemed to have plenty of them.”
“Just wanted to talk.”
“Why? Unless you’re looking for a recommendation for a decent barber, I can’t say I can help you much,” said House, with a snort.
“I need to know why your friend isn’t talking.”
“So… you did find something indicating a murder.”
“Yeah. Your friend’s brother was murdered. And your friend won’t talk to anyone.”
“I’m not the kind of person who you get to comfort a friend.”
“I don’t care.”
House sighed, looking around briefly, and then faced the other man again. “If you want me to work with Ducky, I can do that. I can consult, I can help. But I’m not the kind of person who gives you a hug when you’re down. Wilson knows that. He’s not expecting me to come and tell him everything’s alright.”
“Well he can tell you that himself. Come on.”
House tried to pull his arm away as the other man grabbed it, but Gibbs twisted it up behind his back.
House gritted his teeth. “Let go.”
“Are you coming?”
“Let go of my arm.”
“I’m not letting go until you’re in a room with your friend.”
House closed his eyes, suddenly breathing very fast.
“I see it’s common for all Marines to roughhouse defenseless non-combatants, huh?”
He opened his eyes, trying to keep calm.
The hand released its grip, and he sat down on the top step, hyperventilating.
----
“What’ve you got, Duck?” asked Gibbs, coming into Autopsy through the sliding doors.
“Well, you were correct in supposing that this was the cause of death. A coin shoved down the trachea… However, I’m curious as to how you came by the idea to *look* down the victim’s throat?”
“A convicted serial killer with this MO was put on death row awaiting execution… a week ago.”
“But… Jethro, this man has only been dead three days at the most.”
“I know, Duck,” said Gibbs, walking out.
“Ah, Jethro. Wait a moment.”
He stopped. “Yeah, Ducky? You got more?”
“Just… take it a bit easy on my old student. I know you think he’s being insensitive and a nuisance, but the fact that he came to the Naval Yard to be with his friend means more than you think it does.”
“All it means is that he’s getting in my way.”
Ducky sighed, as Gibbs walked out.
He turned to the table with one Danny Wilson lying upon it, leaning close to whisper into the corpse’s ear, “I’m worried that they dislike each other, but I will admit that watching the two most stubborn men I have ever met fight with each other is quite an amusing prospect.”
----
Wilson sat, expression despondent, barely flinching when someone plopped down next to him against the wall of the interrogation room.
“Wilson. Calm down.”
Wilson looked at his friend, and then leaned against him, pulling House’s arm over his own shoulders.
House sighed, allowing the younger doctor to curl up against him.
He awkwardly rubbed his hand a bit, over Wilson’s back, and then stopped, feeling he was doing something wrong.
Wilson’s hand curled in his shirt, as though the younger doctor were expecting him to try and leave.
House hesitated, then, cautiously, covered Wilson’s hand with his own.
----
Ducky turned to Gibbs, as they stood in the observation room. “Well?”
“Why are you so hung up on me liking this guy, Duck?”
“Because if you two get into a fight over something, blood will metaphorically-or possibly even literally-fly. Two terriers fighting over the same bone… will nearly always end in at least one dog getting hurt.”
“And you don’t want him to get hurt.”
“I don’t want *you* to get hurt, Jethro. He has an uncanny knack for seeing parts of people they would rather keep hidden… and a rather unfortunate habit of poking at those parts with metaphorical sharp sticks.”
“Hey,” came a voice, through the speakers, “whoever’s in there, he’s okay now…”
They turned, and saw House’s face pressed to the glass.
Ducky chuckled, and walked to the intercom. “Thank you, Gregory.”
Though the glass, they could see Wilson roll his eyes and pull House away from the two-way mirror.