Fic: Far From Perfect - House/Wilson
Title: Far From Perfect
Fandom: House, MD
Pairing: House/Wilson preslash
Words: 1,063
Rating:: PG-13
Prompt: Written for delgaserasca's ficathon. The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself. ~ Anna Quindlen
Disclaimer: House, M.D. is not mine. That much is certain. Just borrowing the characters for my, ah, own perverse purposes.
Note: First attempt at House/Wilson of any kind, so critique away!
-----
It wasn’t too late for a man nearing forty to have an epiphany, was it? Because here he was, eating lunch at his best friend’s desk and he had realized something.
Failing once again at staving off the other doctor’s attempts at his “weird salad,” Wilson opened his mouth to speak. The only sound that came out was a muffled, “I’m…”
House, ever perceptive, managed to catch the one word and tossed him a glance followed by jibing words. “You’re…having a midlife crisis? An affair, with Debbie from Accounting? Or one of the new nurses?”
An odd look flashed across Wilson’s face and he stiffened. House took this momentary weakness and snatched another forkful of Wilson’s lunch. “Uh… It’s, actually, it’s the last one.” He blinked once as he met House’s gaze.
“Oh, really?” House asked through a mouthful. “What’s her name?”
“Don’t chew with your mouth open, makes you seem like a kid.” Wilson averted his attention to the salad sitting between them.
“I’m a little boy in the shell of a genius. And you’re avoiding the question: what’s her name?” When Wilson failed to meet his accusation with one of his own, House picked up the salad and dumped it on the other side of his computer.
Wilson tossed his fork onto the desk and sank back in the chair, a hand rubbing over his face. “It’s just another fling. Why does it matter so much now?”
“Aw, come on, Jimmy. You can’t bring up a secret then not let me in on it.”
Wilson hesitated before staring up at the ceiling and responding, “Her name…isn’t her name at all.”
House pasted on a look of mock-surprise. He glanced about his office walls wildly as he commented, “Wow! Is this hospital a magnet for closet-cases or what?”
That comment brought Wilson’s gaze sharply back to House, a startled look in his eyes. He was getting the feeling that maybe he shouldn’t have brought this up now. Or ever. He sputtered as he tried to find words to express himself with. “W-wait. What? What are you talking about?”
“No one would expect you were the next one. You’ve worked your way through three wives, and at least half of the hospital’s female population.”
A choked, “You can’t possibly think that - ” from Wilson slowed House’s inspection in that direction. Instead, he turned in another. “Of course, there’s the impeccable hair and clothing. You do realize you have a certain tie to wear for each day of the week?”
“I do not! And I am not.”
“Are not what?”
“I’m not… I’m not…you know what I mean!”
“Why not? You’re far from having a perfect family as it is. You have the skin color down, but you’re Jewish, not Christian. You’ve been divorced - three times, no less - and you’ve been less than faithful in most of your marriages. You also don’t have 2.5 kids.”
As House ticked off points in his little speech, Wilson stood and began pacing the office.
“Since when did my race, religion, marital status, and fertility have anything to do with my sexuality?”
“Jimmy, I thought always practiced safe sex! I didn’t know you were trying to spawn a legion of little Wilsons.” House then faked a double take and said, “You actually apply the term ‘fertility’ to yourself?”
Wilson’s sputtering returned once again with a vengeance.
With a smirk House rose from his desk and began limping towards where Wilson had paused in his pacing. “Oh, come now. Can it really be that horrible?”
“No. But I’m going to leave now…” Wilson surreptitiously tried to make a break for the door, but somehow, House managed to beat him to it. Just because the man had three legs didn’t give him the right to move so quickly.
There were some things you picked up about Gregory House when you spent too much time around him, and one of those things was his unpredictability. One moment, Wilson was headed for the safety of a public hallway - not that making a scene would rest heavily on House’s conscience - and the next, his entire left side was hitting the glass wall with enough force to make it shudder.
As the initial shock passed, Wilson opened an eye to find House’s face awkwardly close to his own. The cane was pressed tightly enough against his chest that it made squirming uncomfortable, not that he could stand motionless under House’s glare. Still, he couldn’t help but give a quiet sigh of relief when the cane’s pressure lifted slightly.
“Will you tell me now?”
One half of his mind screamed at him to concede. The other half had the guts to say, “No.”
“What if we exchange secrets? It’ll be like a slumber party!” House continued, “Besides, you know you can’t hide anything from me. I’ll find out eventually. It’ll be less painful this way.”
And then the sane half of his mind slaughtered the stubborn one.
The faint murmuring of voices out in the hall behind him barely registered in his brain. What he focused his attention on was the wall over House’s left shoulder. With clenched hands and teeth, Wilson muttered, “I’m gay.”
“What a coincidence; so am I!”
House took the time that statement bought to plant a chaste kiss on Wilson’s lips. Then he strolled out of the office, whistling some nameless tune. The congregation in the hallway parted like the red sea before him.
Wilson leaned back against the glass wall with his fingers on his mouth, very much dumbfounded by the way his friend had just kissed him. Well, at least he thought they were still friends. Did the kiss make them into something more or less?
He shook his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep them away from his curiously tingling lips, intent now on acting more like the man in his late-thirties than a junior high girl. As he made his way back to his own office, the crowd split into groups and rushed out, most likely to gossip somewhere else. Plans to hide from the hospital staff for the remainder of the week - or a lifetime - were already forming in his head.
Well, Wilson thought to himself, that didn't go quite according to the script. But then again, a grin curved his lips, who needs perfection when you have House?
Fandom: House, MD
Pairing: House/Wilson preslash
Words: 1,063
Rating:: PG-13
Prompt: Written for delgaserasca's ficathon. The thing that is really hard, and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself. ~ Anna Quindlen
Disclaimer: House, M.D. is not mine. That much is certain. Just borrowing the characters for my, ah, own perverse purposes.
Note: First attempt at House/Wilson of any kind, so critique away!
-----
It wasn’t too late for a man nearing forty to have an epiphany, was it? Because here he was, eating lunch at his best friend’s desk and he had realized something.
Failing once again at staving off the other doctor’s attempts at his “weird salad,” Wilson opened his mouth to speak. The only sound that came out was a muffled, “I’m…”
House, ever perceptive, managed to catch the one word and tossed him a glance followed by jibing words. “You’re…having a midlife crisis? An affair, with Debbie from Accounting? Or one of the new nurses?”
An odd look flashed across Wilson’s face and he stiffened. House took this momentary weakness and snatched another forkful of Wilson’s lunch. “Uh… It’s, actually, it’s the last one.” He blinked once as he met House’s gaze.
“Oh, really?” House asked through a mouthful. “What’s her name?”
“Don’t chew with your mouth open, makes you seem like a kid.” Wilson averted his attention to the salad sitting between them.
“I’m a little boy in the shell of a genius. And you’re avoiding the question: what’s her name?” When Wilson failed to meet his accusation with one of his own, House picked up the salad and dumped it on the other side of his computer.
Wilson tossed his fork onto the desk and sank back in the chair, a hand rubbing over his face. “It’s just another fling. Why does it matter so much now?”
“Aw, come on, Jimmy. You can’t bring up a secret then not let me in on it.”
Wilson hesitated before staring up at the ceiling and responding, “Her name…isn’t her name at all.”
House pasted on a look of mock-surprise. He glanced about his office walls wildly as he commented, “Wow! Is this hospital a magnet for closet-cases or what?”
That comment brought Wilson’s gaze sharply back to House, a startled look in his eyes. He was getting the feeling that maybe he shouldn’t have brought this up now. Or ever. He sputtered as he tried to find words to express himself with. “W-wait. What? What are you talking about?”
“No one would expect you were the next one. You’ve worked your way through three wives, and at least half of the hospital’s female population.”
A choked, “You can’t possibly think that - ” from Wilson slowed House’s inspection in that direction. Instead, he turned in another. “Of course, there’s the impeccable hair and clothing. You do realize you have a certain tie to wear for each day of the week?”
“I do not! And I am not.”
“Are not what?”
“I’m not… I’m not…you know what I mean!”
“Why not? You’re far from having a perfect family as it is. You have the skin color down, but you’re Jewish, not Christian. You’ve been divorced - three times, no less - and you’ve been less than faithful in most of your marriages. You also don’t have 2.5 kids.”
As House ticked off points in his little speech, Wilson stood and began pacing the office.
“Since when did my race, religion, marital status, and fertility have anything to do with my sexuality?”
“Jimmy, I thought always practiced safe sex! I didn’t know you were trying to spawn a legion of little Wilsons.” House then faked a double take and said, “You actually apply the term ‘fertility’ to yourself?”
Wilson’s sputtering returned once again with a vengeance.
With a smirk House rose from his desk and began limping towards where Wilson had paused in his pacing. “Oh, come now. Can it really be that horrible?”
“No. But I’m going to leave now…” Wilson surreptitiously tried to make a break for the door, but somehow, House managed to beat him to it. Just because the man had three legs didn’t give him the right to move so quickly.
There were some things you picked up about Gregory House when you spent too much time around him, and one of those things was his unpredictability. One moment, Wilson was headed for the safety of a public hallway - not that making a scene would rest heavily on House’s conscience - and the next, his entire left side was hitting the glass wall with enough force to make it shudder.
As the initial shock passed, Wilson opened an eye to find House’s face awkwardly close to his own. The cane was pressed tightly enough against his chest that it made squirming uncomfortable, not that he could stand motionless under House’s glare. Still, he couldn’t help but give a quiet sigh of relief when the cane’s pressure lifted slightly.
“Will you tell me now?”
One half of his mind screamed at him to concede. The other half had the guts to say, “No.”
“What if we exchange secrets? It’ll be like a slumber party!” House continued, “Besides, you know you can’t hide anything from me. I’ll find out eventually. It’ll be less painful this way.”
And then the sane half of his mind slaughtered the stubborn one.
The faint murmuring of voices out in the hall behind him barely registered in his brain. What he focused his attention on was the wall over House’s left shoulder. With clenched hands and teeth, Wilson muttered, “I’m gay.”
“What a coincidence; so am I!”
House took the time that statement bought to plant a chaste kiss on Wilson’s lips. Then he strolled out of the office, whistling some nameless tune. The congregation in the hallway parted like the red sea before him.
Wilson leaned back against the glass wall with his fingers on his mouth, very much dumbfounded by the way his friend had just kissed him. Well, at least he thought they were still friends. Did the kiss make them into something more or less?
He shook his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep them away from his curiously tingling lips, intent now on acting more like the man in his late-thirties than a junior high girl. As he made his way back to his own office, the crowd split into groups and rushed out, most likely to gossip somewhere else. Plans to hide from the hospital staff for the remainder of the week - or a lifetime - were already forming in his head.
Well, Wilson thought to himself, that didn't go quite according to the script. But then again, a grin curved his lips, who needs perfection when you have House?