James Wilson, at the clinic

[dontkeepkosher]

James arrived at the clinic a little after 10AM after his night with Sophie, finding it locked and dark. He let himself in, turned on the lights and went straight through to the kitchenette to warm up a fresh pot of coffee

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[gotcanewillpoke]

So. James didn't come home. Didn't call. Nothing. Not a word. So he'd spent another restless night on the couch, unable to face climbing into the bed alone, knoqwing he'd pushed James out. Just like he pushed everyone away, eventually. he'd never thought James would walk away, but he supposed everyone had their limits, and House had...pushed too far, and too hard.

He eyed the stash of Morphine, sitting on the kitchen table as a testament to what had happened there. How he'd pushed James. How royally he'd fucked up. Literally.

He didn't feel inclined to go to the clinic, at all. He wanted to stay in his little apartment feeling sorry for himself. He didn't want to face Rayanne if she asked him about James. He wanted to inject the Morphine, mainline it, get the biggest rush he could.

Maybe even an OD. That, he thought, would be sweet. Especially if he never woke up. He was selfish, but he wasn't stupid. He sighed and, dressed in the same clothes he'd worn the day before because he couldn't be bothered to shower and change, he limped into the clinic.

No Morphine, no Vicodin. Just raw.

[dontkeepkosher]

James took a sip of his coffee just as he heard the door of the clinic open, along with the buzz of traffic outside filtering into the waiting area. That was either a patient, Rayanne, or Greg. Merely because it might've been a patient, he reluctantly set his mug down and pushed himself up from his chair, running a hand through his hair as he headed for the door.

Pulling it open, he peered out and saw Greg standing there. His stomach clenched and tightened, with anger, guilt, nervousness, though he remained expressionless. He only had to take one look at Greg and he knew Greg was in pain. Suffering. He could tell by the tight, tired look on his face. He looked like a mess.

James looked away from him and turned around with the intention of heading back into his office. He could work in his own office, and Greg could work in his. They didn't need to talk. Even though they really did need to.

[gotcanewillpoke]

His steps were uneven, and heavily dependant on the cane. The shape he was in, he had no biusiness working the clinic. He knew it. But he was stubborn. And, there were plenty of drugs at hisdispoosal, if he decided he needed to partake.

It was kid of a test, for himself. He wanted to see how long he could resist. How long he could force himself to go without medication. How long he could endure the pain.

His clouded gaze driftewd wordlessly over James. He grunted, a soft, non commital grunt. James didn't look any better than he felt, really, considering the fact he didn't have the physical pain Greg had.

"Thought I was going to have to replace you."

[dontkeepkosher]

James briefly faltered in his step as Greg spoke, those words like a twist of a knife in his gut. He was perhaps reading into what Greg said more than he should have.

He quickly composed himself, tonelessly replying over his shoulder as he headed back to his desk, "Good morning to you, too."

[gotcanewillpoke]

"Be better if you get me some coffee." House slithered, less than graceful into his office, leaving the door open because it was such a hassle to close it.

Maybe James would bring him coffee, maybe he wouldn't. Either way, at least greg knew he was all right. A little rough around the edges, but who wasn't? He obviously hadn't gone off and gotten himself in trouble.

Probably spent the night with Sophie. Greg fisted his hands in his own hair at that thought and grunted through a spasm of pain that gripped his thigh.

[dontkeepkosher]

James stopped by his desk and propped his hands on his hips, heaving a sigh. He just wanted to... be far away from the clinic right now. Not getting Greg coffee. He reached down for his mug and lifted it to his lips for a large sip, placed it back onto the desk and reluctantly made his way back out into the waiting area, to go to the kitchenette. He was only getting the coffee because he saw Greg was in pain. Not that that was an excuse. Greg had apparently beein in pain and fucking raped him, so it wasn't like he couldn't get his own damn coffee.

Still. James poured Greg a cup and then headed back out, towards Greg's office. Without knocking, he walked in, up to the desk, and thumped it down in front of Greg.

"Here," was all he said.

[gotcanewillpoke]

He looked up, his eyes bright and innocent for that split second. He blinked, and looked down, swept his finger across the bit of coffee that splattered and spilled on his desk. He shook it off, and looked up again, wondering why James was still standing there.

They'd fought a million times before. Most of their fights were verbal, and ended with Greg slamming his cane down on a shelf or a desk or something. Been a long time since their fighting was internal, effectively twisting Greg up in knots he couldn't untie on his own.

"Thank you." Not much, not even close to I'm sorry I hurt you but maybe it was a start. or maybe it was the complete wrong thing to say, because he didn;t, as a rule, say it.

[dontkeepkosher]

Wilson set his jaw and deliberately looked away from Greg, that foreign 'thank you' stirring the mixing pot of jumbled emotions around in his gut. Greg never said thank you. Not unless he was distracted by something and wasn't aware he was saying it, or... in situations like this where he clearly didn't know what else to say. Or was trying to make amends. Or something.

James' hands were back on his hips again and he glanced down to the floor, shifting on the spot, before he looked back up to Greg. "Have you had taken your pills today?" he asked curtly.

[gotcanewillpoke]

He sipped the coffee, and studied James over the top of the mug. He pulled off the mug and sat it down with a soft thump on the desk surface.

Something flickered in his eyes. He felt it, though he couldn't give it words. He looked down, traced the circle of the mug with a single finger. "You gave up the right to ask that question when you didn't come home last night."

[dontkeepkosher]

He felt an instant flare of guilt ignite in his stomach -- guilt about Neil, about trying to manipulate Sophie into sleeping with him, but more so, about Neil -- and he had to clench his jaw again to steel himself from revealing anything on his face. He was good at lying. Very good, in fact. Even when his conscience was eating into him.

An image of being bent over the table flashed into his mind. That sparked a coil of anger in him.

"Right," he replied, sarcastically. "Of course I don't have that right. You have every right, however, to expect me to come home after you... did what you did."

[gotcanewillpoke]

"No the first time I lost control," Greg muttered. "No different than throwing a bed pan at you." Even though it was a world of difference and he knew it. But brining up the infarction might shift perspective. Maybe James ould surrender, walk away. Let it go. "Look. I'm sorry. Okay. Let's just...forget it happened."

[dontkeepkosher]

James suddenly felt a well of vindication for the fact that he'd slept with Neil. No different than throwing a bed pan at him? That's all it was to Greg? A simple, childish act? A tantrum? That's what it had been to him?

James had this desire to hit him. Strike him across the face, punch him, hurt Greg like Greg had hurt him.

"You might as well have just pissed on me like a dog," he replied crisply. "Seeing I seem to mean so little to you."

He faced away and began towards the door. He was going to lose it any moment if he stayed in the room with Greg.

[gotcanewillpoke]

Greg sighed. He sipped at the coffee James had brought him. He lowered the mug, just as James breeched the door.

"I said I was sorry."

[dontkeepkosher]

James stopped at the door. He let out a bitter laugh as he half-faced back to Greg, looking at him with vitriol written on his face.

"Seeing you seem to think that raping me is the same as throwing a bed pan at me, I'm going to say you have the same attitude with tossing that sorry at me like it's supposed to be make everything miraculously better."

[gotcanewillpoke]

"I didn't," he paused, looked at James. "It wasn't..." His eyes flickered. He wanted to drop his gaze. He held it steady. Because he knew that it was. Rape.

Not like an unknown assailiant attaking an innocent victim. Not a psychopath breaking in to someone's house. But a forced sexual encounter just the same. Because he'd been too out of his head with drugs and whisky and lonliness and jealousy over sometihng he knew in all likelihood never actually happened.

"It was." He said, then, and reached up to rub his bristled chin. "I raped you." The drop in tone could only be called realisation of something so terrifying it shocked him in to numbness.

[dontkeepkosher]

James merely uttered a sound of disgust at him and faced away, heading out of the office. Before he lost control. Because he could feel it simmering in his gut. In his veins. The want to hurt and humiliate Greg the way Greg had done to him.

He had to get out of the clinic. He walked into his office, snatched up his jacket and then briskly exited. He'd go back to the apartment, perhaps. Try and chill. Try and calm down. And if that didn't work... he'd go to Neil.