Nothing (5/5)
Title: Nothing
Pairing: House/Wilson implied
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Wilson’s upset and blames it on the death of a patient, a visit from the in-laws, and the diagnosis of a three year-old boy with terminal cancer. Can House diagnose the problem?
Warnings: Nothing, really.
Disclaimer: Not mine, everything belongs to FOX and its associates…Damn.
Feedback: Yes please!
Author’s note: Last chapter. I like the ending…sorry for the fluff.
Part 5
House dropped Wilson off next to the parking garage and headed home. He knew Wilson had some things to work out and wasn’t going to bug him. James had said he’d be back at four or so but House knew that he’d only said that to convince himself that the day wouldn’t be incredibly dull.
---
Wilson pulled his car out of the garage and headed to Julie’s. He couldn’t bring himself to think of it as home, which was probably why he knocked on the door when he got there rather than using his key. Julie was expecting him but that didn’t make him feel any better when she answered the door and settled him with an irritated look.
“I won’t take too long,” he said quietly as she stepped aside to let him in.
“There are a few boxes of your stuff in the bedroom and more in the garage,” Julie informed him. “I took the liberty of getting it out of the way.
He smiled a little. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” Julie snapped. “I did it for myself.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and went into the bedroom. Julie hadn’t been lying when she’d said there were boxes. “I wasn’t aware that I owned this much junk.”
She smiled thinly. “That, along with the stuff in the garage, is everything you’re supposed to get in the prenuptial.”
“I don’t see my clothes,” he commented absently.
“Those aren’t in the agreement; you can pack them up yourself.” She pointed to a few trash bags on the bed. “Same goes for your books and journals.”
He chuckled a little and grabbed a bag. “I can’t take everything now; I have no where to put it all.”
“You should have thought of that before,” Julie said bitterly. “Get it out today or I’ll leave it for the trash guys.”
“You can’t,” Wilson pointed out, “technically a breach of the contract.”
“Get it out,” Julie repeated, “or I’ll leave it in the rain tonight.”
Wilson sighed and nodded. He knew she was good for her word. “Fine.”
Julie nodded and went to another part of the house; probably to talk shit with Debby, he thought.
When Julie left, Wilson pulled his phone out and called House.
“What?” House demanded on the fourth ring.
“Hey, House, I…” He paused, unsure of how to ask.
“Come on, spit it out,” House said impatiently.
“Could I…” Wilson trailed off again and ran a hand through his hair.
“Could you what?” House asked, obviously irritated now. “Date Cameron? Fly to the moon? What it is?”
Wilson sighed. “Could I move my stuff to your house for awhile?”
“Oh.” House sounded surprised. “Sure.”
“Thanks,” Wilson replied, incredibly relieved. He hadn’t expected House to say no but there was always the chance.
“See you later,” House said and hung up.
---
It took Wilson two hours and three trips to haul all of his stuff from Julie’s to House’s. Every time he went back to Julie’s he was greeted by silent anger and on the last trip he was happy to get out of there. It wasn’t completely over, he still had to meet with Julie at the lawyer and such, but he wouldn’t have to see her for a week and that cheered him up.
When he carried the last box in to Greg’s house he was handed a glass of water.
“You look thirsty,” House said and limped over to the boxes so that he could rummage around.
“I’ll get out of here as fast as I can,” Wilson promised. “I’ll start apartment hunting today.” The thought of doing that didn’t really cheer him up too much but he didn’t want to impose on what little hospitality House actually offered.
House shrugged and pulled some things out of the boxes. “Photos?”
Wilson quirked a smile and collapsed on the couch, setting his water down on the coffee table. “I think those are pictures of when I was a kid.”
“You saved them?” House asked, giving him a weird look.
“My mom,” Wilson answered. “She reckons I ought to have reminders of what I was like when I was little.” He shrugged to show he didn’t really care. “I don’t really understand why.”
“You?” House asked, holding up a picture of a boy in his late teens.
Wilson leaned forward and took the picture, handing it back a few seconds later. “No,” he said shortly, his mood suddenly changing. “That’s Eli,” at House’s weird look he added, “the brother you haven’t met.”
House nodded his understanding and put the pictures away. “How’s Julie?”
Wilson snorted. “Pissed.” He sighed and finished his water. “I need to go get my stuff from the hotel.”
“I said you could stay awhile,” House informed him. “I didn’t say you could move in.”
“I know; I’ll be out of here as fast as I can.” He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the couch. After a few moments he felt House settle next to him.
“You sleeping on the couch tonight?”
Wilson smiled slightly. “I’m not sleeping on your damn couch.” He opened his eyes and looked at House with a small smile on his face.
House leaned over and gently, but firmly, placed a kiss on Wilson’s mouth. He felt Wilson part his lips but House pulled away. “Go get your stuff from the hotel.”
Wilson nodded and headed for the door. He knew House was telling him he could stay as long as he wanted and he appreciated that. “Thanks,” he said and left the house.
---
House watched Wilson go and then flicked the TV on. There wasn’t much on at two-thirty-seven on a Wednesday but he managed to find a special on haunted houses and watched that while he waited for Wilson to return.
---
Wilson drove away from the hotel with a small sigh. He knew for a fact that he was starting to get sick and that didn’t appeal to him very much. It wouldn’t be more than a cold, he knew that by the scratchiness of his throat, but he hated being sick. One of the worst things about being sick was that he couldn’t work. If he’d had a normal nine-to-five job he would go in to work but since he worked around immuno compromised people he normally had to take about two or three days off just for the sniffles.
A cough bubbled in the back of his throat and he cursed himself for not sleeping better and not eating well. He sighed after a few moments and pulled off the road at a small supermarket.
---
He bought himself a bottle of Advil and a packet of Halls knowing that House didn’t have anything in his poorly stocked medicine cabinet. Last time he’d checked, the only thing House had was Vicodin, Band-Aids, and hydrogen peroxide - none of which would help a cold.
Once he arrived at House’s he unwrapped a cough drop and popped in his in mouth. A few seconds later he stuffed the rest of the couch drops and the full bottle of Advil into his pocket and left the car, grabbing his bag from the backseat before shutting the door.
“You’re back,” House stated when Wilson opened the door.
“Yep,” Wilson replied, locking the door behind him. He tossed his bag against the wall before joining House on the couch.
House watched Wilson sit down next to him and heard a rattle of pills. “You steal my Vicodin or do you have a dirty pill popping secret that I don’t know about?”
“Advil,” Wilson replied, digging the bottle out of his jean pocket.
“And Halls,” House commented, seeing Wilson pull out the cough drops too.
“I’m getting sick,” Wilson informed him with a half-smile.
House brushed a hand across Wilson’s forehead and smirked. “Barely a fever.”
“I didn’t say I was about to die,” Wilson snapped, batting House’s hand away. He sighed after a few moments. “I won’t be able to go in tomorrow if I start to feel worse.”
“Probably not,” House agreed.
Wilson sighed and chewed on the remained of the couch drop in his mouth. “I’ve got a patient I’m supposed to meet with tomorrow.”
“Call Cuddy and have her deal with it,” House said with a shrug.
“Yeah.” Wilson felt his throat start ticking again and covered his mouth as he coughed. “I hate being sick,” he muttered venomously.
“You’ll be fine in a day or two,” House said with a wave of his hand. “It doesn’t sound like an infection.”
“Thanks, Doctor,” Wilson said dryly. “How would I get by without your expert opinion?”
House snorted and looked back at the TV. “There’s a haunted lighthouse in St. Petersburg, Florida.”
“Wonderful,” Wilson said sarcastically. “That’s where I want to go on vacation.”
House grinned a little. “I thought you didn’t believe in that stuff.”
“I don’t,” Wilson confirmed, “but I know that if by some off chance I went, you’d tag along and point and try to scare me.”
House snickered and then gave Wilson a more serious look. “You really don’t feel well?” He knew Wilson wasn’t one to fake sick or jump to conclusions like the idiot clinic patients did. If James said he was getting sick then House knew he was telling the truth.
“I don’t feel awful,” Wilson answered after a few seconds, trying to figure out where the concern came from. “I’m just not healthy.”
House gave Wilson a considering look before he swept his eyes over Wilson’s body and smirked. “You look like a med student.”
Wilson cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out what prompted the comment. When he didn’t see anything he said incredulously, “What?”
House smirked and shook his head. “You could probably pass for about thirty.” He eyed Wilson’s ratty t-shirt and the old jeans he had on. “Well, maybe twenty-eight on a good day.”
“I’d be an old med student if I was thirty,” Wilson muttered, a smile tugging at his lips.
“You’re a child,” House said after a moment, his tone suddenly serious.
“What?” Wilson asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”
House shrugged and turned the TV off. He got to his feet and limped over to the liquor cabinet. “You want a drink?”
“No,” Wilson said, getting to his feet. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t say something so innocent so seriously and then offer me a drink.”
“You’re reading too far into this,” House said, trying not to sound sulky.
“I want to talk,” Wilson said, his tone one that showed he wasn’t going to take House’s crap. “I want a straight answer. You can provide them, however blunt they are.”
“Are we fighting?” House asked, raising an eyebrow. “I just made a comment and you’re starting a fight?”
Wilson sighed, his hands going to his hips. “This isn’t fighting. This is me trying to get an answer. I’m tired of ignoring the mean things you throw at me. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of being lied to, of being told I don’t matter, of being pushed away when you don’t really want me and being pulled back when you do. This is supposed to be a friendship, a relationship, but it’s so one-sided!”
House sighed and leaned against the wall a little. He hated these discussions and having one with Wilson just didn’t make him feel good. The man didn’t demand a lot of him but he didn’t really want to evaluate what they had. It wasn’t going to be fun. “If you don’t like it, why don’t you leave?”
Wilson didn’t even flinch. “This isn’t being turned on me.” He locked his eyes on House’s. “You’re not chasing me off this time.” His eyes took on the steely resolve he normally reserved for House when he was being especially hard to deal with and Wilson wanted to win. “I was hurt last time…”
“You’ll get hurt this time,” House interrupted. “I don’t care why you stay anymore. You’re here and you’re not going to leave. I understand that now, but you’ll get hurt. You may as well go play with fire.”
Wilson’s lips curled in to an ugly smile. “I know how to work matches.”
“You’re going to get burned.” House eyed Wilson, wondering if he really did need to have this conversation after all. Wilson was passive-aggressive; House knew that better than most. Most people thought Wilson was a good guy with very few problems but House knew much better than they did.
“I know how to treat a burn,” Wilson answered, his eyes no less determined. He was going to have this conversation and he was going to get his answer.
“Fine,” House snapped. “Don’t run off to lick your wounds this time.” It was a warning not to leave because House was going to open up and Wilson knew that and stood his ground.
“You can lick them for me,” Wilson said, a small smile dancing in his hard eyes.
House’s lips curled a little at that but it wasn’t a smile. “Ask your question.”
“How am I not nothing but how am I not special?” Wilson asked after a few moments, deciding that simplicity was the best way to go.
“I’m not sure what I meant by that,” House said quietly. “That’s not where you want to start from though, is it?”
“No,” Wilson admitted but after a moment he sighed. “I can’t win.”
“You’re a child,” House stated. “It’s not a bad thing, but you’re a child.”
Wilson looked into House’s eyes. “Go on, diagnose me, I know you’re itching to.”
House paused and looked at the determination in Wilson’s eyes. He could see defeat lingering behind the determination and Wilson’s shoulders were starting to slump. “I can’t.”
Wilson started a little. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t diagnose you,” House answered. “You’re a puzzle.” He shook his head and limped a little closer to Wilson. “That’s why I like you.”
Wilson smiled a little and he had no questions. There was nothing left for him to ask. “So I’m not special?”
House thought about that for a moment. “No; but that isn’t a bad thing. You’re not amazing but you are different and I will keep you.”
Wilson laughed but it turned into coughing from his itchy throat. “You aren’t allowed to own me.”
“I don’t want to,” House said, wondering if Wilson was going to have more than a cold.
Wilson nodded. He was a little more content. He understood House was telling him he wasn’t anything special to other people but he was unique and accepted by House. It made him feel good, as weird as that was. He really had gotten worked up over nothing. “How am I a child?”
House sighed. “You see things as you want them to be.”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “That is such…”
House cut him off, “No, listen.” When he was sure he had Wilson’s attention he said, “You’re a realist, I know that. You’re not an idiot and you’re not naïve but you still see things like a child. People look at you as a boy, you understand that?”
Wilson nodded reluctantly. “So that’s what prompted all of this? My childlike appearance and the way I approach things? When I play with fire and get burned I don’t go and prod at it again. What’s wrong with that?”
“I do,” House said, heavily accenting the ‘do’. “I play with fire until I’m completely burned but I have my answers. I know what I need. You just back off like a naughty boy.”
“So I’m a child because I approach things like a lesson?” Wilson asked, not sure if he understood. “I treat cancer…”
“I’m not talking about work. I could care less how you treat your cancer patients,” House snapped. “I’m talking about you and me. About how you treat other people as a whole, not just when they’re sick and dying.” He rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a great bedside manner, we know this.”
Wilson looked heavenwards before settling his gaze on House. “Okay, I understand; as weird as this all is.” He shook his head. “You’re probably one of the most complicated people I’ve ever met.”
“But I pique your interest,” House said, a smug grin on his face.
“No argument there,” Wilson confirmed, covering his mouth to cough again.
“Go to bed,” House told him, concern showing briefly in his eyes.
“We’ve still got more to talk about,” Wilson protested but his argument was weak and he knew it.
“I sorted most of your questions out,” House told him.
Wilson nodded and headed for the bedroom. “Thanks.” He hadn’t gotten all of his answers but that was the way things worked with House. You couldn’t expect miracles when he was dealing with his personal life and Wilson could accept that.
House smiled a little and followed him to the bedroom. “You’re welcome.” He saw Wilson yawn as he climbed under the covers and closed his eyes.
“’Night, Greg,” he muttered, sleep already coming over him.
House walked over and brushed his head against Wilson’s forehead to check for a fever. It was warm but he couldn’t help in any way except to recommend sleep, fluids, and the occasional Advil if he started to ache. “Sleep, James.”
Wilson smiled. It was so rare to see House this exposed, this open, and he was about to say so but he couldn’t find the words. Sleep dragged him down and he fell into a dreamless sleep.
House watched Wilson fall asleep. It only took a few minutes before the younger man was asleep and House smiled. They still had things to talk about, they always did. There was always something buried beneath their banter, always something hanging on the edges of their friendship but it was something to talk about at a different time.
He limped out to the living room, a smile still on his face as he sat down at the piano and played a mellow tune. There was nothing to say for the time being so he turned his thoughts to something else and waited for Wilson to wake.
Pairing: House/Wilson implied
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Wilson’s upset and blames it on the death of a patient, a visit from the in-laws, and the diagnosis of a three year-old boy with terminal cancer. Can House diagnose the problem?
Warnings: Nothing, really.
Disclaimer: Not mine, everything belongs to FOX and its associates…Damn.
Feedback: Yes please!
Author’s note: Last chapter. I like the ending…sorry for the fluff.
Part 5
House dropped Wilson off next to the parking garage and headed home. He knew Wilson had some things to work out and wasn’t going to bug him. James had said he’d be back at four or so but House knew that he’d only said that to convince himself that the day wouldn’t be incredibly dull.
---
Wilson pulled his car out of the garage and headed to Julie’s. He couldn’t bring himself to think of it as home, which was probably why he knocked on the door when he got there rather than using his key. Julie was expecting him but that didn’t make him feel any better when she answered the door and settled him with an irritated look.
“I won’t take too long,” he said quietly as she stepped aside to let him in.
“There are a few boxes of your stuff in the bedroom and more in the garage,” Julie informed him. “I took the liberty of getting it out of the way.
He smiled a little. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” Julie snapped. “I did it for myself.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and went into the bedroom. Julie hadn’t been lying when she’d said there were boxes. “I wasn’t aware that I owned this much junk.”
She smiled thinly. “That, along with the stuff in the garage, is everything you’re supposed to get in the prenuptial.”
“I don’t see my clothes,” he commented absently.
“Those aren’t in the agreement; you can pack them up yourself.” She pointed to a few trash bags on the bed. “Same goes for your books and journals.”
He chuckled a little and grabbed a bag. “I can’t take everything now; I have no where to put it all.”
“You should have thought of that before,” Julie said bitterly. “Get it out today or I’ll leave it for the trash guys.”
“You can’t,” Wilson pointed out, “technically a breach of the contract.”
“Get it out,” Julie repeated, “or I’ll leave it in the rain tonight.”
Wilson sighed and nodded. He knew she was good for her word. “Fine.”
Julie nodded and went to another part of the house; probably to talk shit with Debby, he thought.
When Julie left, Wilson pulled his phone out and called House.
“What?” House demanded on the fourth ring.
“Hey, House, I…” He paused, unsure of how to ask.
“Come on, spit it out,” House said impatiently.
“Could I…” Wilson trailed off again and ran a hand through his hair.
“Could you what?” House asked, obviously irritated now. “Date Cameron? Fly to the moon? What it is?”
Wilson sighed. “Could I move my stuff to your house for awhile?”
“Oh.” House sounded surprised. “Sure.”
“Thanks,” Wilson replied, incredibly relieved. He hadn’t expected House to say no but there was always the chance.
“See you later,” House said and hung up.
---
It took Wilson two hours and three trips to haul all of his stuff from Julie’s to House’s. Every time he went back to Julie’s he was greeted by silent anger and on the last trip he was happy to get out of there. It wasn’t completely over, he still had to meet with Julie at the lawyer and such, but he wouldn’t have to see her for a week and that cheered him up.
When he carried the last box in to Greg’s house he was handed a glass of water.
“You look thirsty,” House said and limped over to the boxes so that he could rummage around.
“I’ll get out of here as fast as I can,” Wilson promised. “I’ll start apartment hunting today.” The thought of doing that didn’t really cheer him up too much but he didn’t want to impose on what little hospitality House actually offered.
House shrugged and pulled some things out of the boxes. “Photos?”
Wilson quirked a smile and collapsed on the couch, setting his water down on the coffee table. “I think those are pictures of when I was a kid.”
“You saved them?” House asked, giving him a weird look.
“My mom,” Wilson answered. “She reckons I ought to have reminders of what I was like when I was little.” He shrugged to show he didn’t really care. “I don’t really understand why.”
“You?” House asked, holding up a picture of a boy in his late teens.
Wilson leaned forward and took the picture, handing it back a few seconds later. “No,” he said shortly, his mood suddenly changing. “That’s Eli,” at House’s weird look he added, “the brother you haven’t met.”
House nodded his understanding and put the pictures away. “How’s Julie?”
Wilson snorted. “Pissed.” He sighed and finished his water. “I need to go get my stuff from the hotel.”
“I said you could stay awhile,” House informed him. “I didn’t say you could move in.”
“I know; I’ll be out of here as fast as I can.” He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the couch. After a few moments he felt House settle next to him.
“You sleeping on the couch tonight?”
Wilson smiled slightly. “I’m not sleeping on your damn couch.” He opened his eyes and looked at House with a small smile on his face.
House leaned over and gently, but firmly, placed a kiss on Wilson’s mouth. He felt Wilson part his lips but House pulled away. “Go get your stuff from the hotel.”
Wilson nodded and headed for the door. He knew House was telling him he could stay as long as he wanted and he appreciated that. “Thanks,” he said and left the house.
---
House watched Wilson go and then flicked the TV on. There wasn’t much on at two-thirty-seven on a Wednesday but he managed to find a special on haunted houses and watched that while he waited for Wilson to return.
---
Wilson drove away from the hotel with a small sigh. He knew for a fact that he was starting to get sick and that didn’t appeal to him very much. It wouldn’t be more than a cold, he knew that by the scratchiness of his throat, but he hated being sick. One of the worst things about being sick was that he couldn’t work. If he’d had a normal nine-to-five job he would go in to work but since he worked around immuno compromised people he normally had to take about two or three days off just for the sniffles.
A cough bubbled in the back of his throat and he cursed himself for not sleeping better and not eating well. He sighed after a few moments and pulled off the road at a small supermarket.
---
He bought himself a bottle of Advil and a packet of Halls knowing that House didn’t have anything in his poorly stocked medicine cabinet. Last time he’d checked, the only thing House had was Vicodin, Band-Aids, and hydrogen peroxide - none of which would help a cold.
Once he arrived at House’s he unwrapped a cough drop and popped in his in mouth. A few seconds later he stuffed the rest of the couch drops and the full bottle of Advil into his pocket and left the car, grabbing his bag from the backseat before shutting the door.
“You’re back,” House stated when Wilson opened the door.
“Yep,” Wilson replied, locking the door behind him. He tossed his bag against the wall before joining House on the couch.
House watched Wilson sit down next to him and heard a rattle of pills. “You steal my Vicodin or do you have a dirty pill popping secret that I don’t know about?”
“Advil,” Wilson replied, digging the bottle out of his jean pocket.
“And Halls,” House commented, seeing Wilson pull out the cough drops too.
“I’m getting sick,” Wilson informed him with a half-smile.
House brushed a hand across Wilson’s forehead and smirked. “Barely a fever.”
“I didn’t say I was about to die,” Wilson snapped, batting House’s hand away. He sighed after a few moments. “I won’t be able to go in tomorrow if I start to feel worse.”
“Probably not,” House agreed.
Wilson sighed and chewed on the remained of the couch drop in his mouth. “I’ve got a patient I’m supposed to meet with tomorrow.”
“Call Cuddy and have her deal with it,” House said with a shrug.
“Yeah.” Wilson felt his throat start ticking again and covered his mouth as he coughed. “I hate being sick,” he muttered venomously.
“You’ll be fine in a day or two,” House said with a wave of his hand. “It doesn’t sound like an infection.”
“Thanks, Doctor,” Wilson said dryly. “How would I get by without your expert opinion?”
House snorted and looked back at the TV. “There’s a haunted lighthouse in St. Petersburg, Florida.”
“Wonderful,” Wilson said sarcastically. “That’s where I want to go on vacation.”
House grinned a little. “I thought you didn’t believe in that stuff.”
“I don’t,” Wilson confirmed, “but I know that if by some off chance I went, you’d tag along and point and try to scare me.”
House snickered and then gave Wilson a more serious look. “You really don’t feel well?” He knew Wilson wasn’t one to fake sick or jump to conclusions like the idiot clinic patients did. If James said he was getting sick then House knew he was telling the truth.
“I don’t feel awful,” Wilson answered after a few seconds, trying to figure out where the concern came from. “I’m just not healthy.”
House gave Wilson a considering look before he swept his eyes over Wilson’s body and smirked. “You look like a med student.”
Wilson cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out what prompted the comment. When he didn’t see anything he said incredulously, “What?”
House smirked and shook his head. “You could probably pass for about thirty.” He eyed Wilson’s ratty t-shirt and the old jeans he had on. “Well, maybe twenty-eight on a good day.”
“I’d be an old med student if I was thirty,” Wilson muttered, a smile tugging at his lips.
“You’re a child,” House said after a moment, his tone suddenly serious.
“What?” Wilson asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”
House shrugged and turned the TV off. He got to his feet and limped over to the liquor cabinet. “You want a drink?”
“No,” Wilson said, getting to his feet. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t say something so innocent so seriously and then offer me a drink.”
“You’re reading too far into this,” House said, trying not to sound sulky.
“I want to talk,” Wilson said, his tone one that showed he wasn’t going to take House’s crap. “I want a straight answer. You can provide them, however blunt they are.”
“Are we fighting?” House asked, raising an eyebrow. “I just made a comment and you’re starting a fight?”
Wilson sighed, his hands going to his hips. “This isn’t fighting. This is me trying to get an answer. I’m tired of ignoring the mean things you throw at me. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of being lied to, of being told I don’t matter, of being pushed away when you don’t really want me and being pulled back when you do. This is supposed to be a friendship, a relationship, but it’s so one-sided!”
House sighed and leaned against the wall a little. He hated these discussions and having one with Wilson just didn’t make him feel good. The man didn’t demand a lot of him but he didn’t really want to evaluate what they had. It wasn’t going to be fun. “If you don’t like it, why don’t you leave?”
Wilson didn’t even flinch. “This isn’t being turned on me.” He locked his eyes on House’s. “You’re not chasing me off this time.” His eyes took on the steely resolve he normally reserved for House when he was being especially hard to deal with and Wilson wanted to win. “I was hurt last time…”
“You’ll get hurt this time,” House interrupted. “I don’t care why you stay anymore. You’re here and you’re not going to leave. I understand that now, but you’ll get hurt. You may as well go play with fire.”
Wilson’s lips curled in to an ugly smile. “I know how to work matches.”
“You’re going to get burned.” House eyed Wilson, wondering if he really did need to have this conversation after all. Wilson was passive-aggressive; House knew that better than most. Most people thought Wilson was a good guy with very few problems but House knew much better than they did.
“I know how to treat a burn,” Wilson answered, his eyes no less determined. He was going to have this conversation and he was going to get his answer.
“Fine,” House snapped. “Don’t run off to lick your wounds this time.” It was a warning not to leave because House was going to open up and Wilson knew that and stood his ground.
“You can lick them for me,” Wilson said, a small smile dancing in his hard eyes.
House’s lips curled a little at that but it wasn’t a smile. “Ask your question.”
“How am I not nothing but how am I not special?” Wilson asked after a few moments, deciding that simplicity was the best way to go.
“I’m not sure what I meant by that,” House said quietly. “That’s not where you want to start from though, is it?”
“No,” Wilson admitted but after a moment he sighed. “I can’t win.”
“You’re a child,” House stated. “It’s not a bad thing, but you’re a child.”
Wilson looked into House’s eyes. “Go on, diagnose me, I know you’re itching to.”
House paused and looked at the determination in Wilson’s eyes. He could see defeat lingering behind the determination and Wilson’s shoulders were starting to slump. “I can’t.”
Wilson started a little. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t diagnose you,” House answered. “You’re a puzzle.” He shook his head and limped a little closer to Wilson. “That’s why I like you.”
Wilson smiled a little and he had no questions. There was nothing left for him to ask. “So I’m not special?”
House thought about that for a moment. “No; but that isn’t a bad thing. You’re not amazing but you are different and I will keep you.”
Wilson laughed but it turned into coughing from his itchy throat. “You aren’t allowed to own me.”
“I don’t want to,” House said, wondering if Wilson was going to have more than a cold.
Wilson nodded. He was a little more content. He understood House was telling him he wasn’t anything special to other people but he was unique and accepted by House. It made him feel good, as weird as that was. He really had gotten worked up over nothing. “How am I a child?”
House sighed. “You see things as you want them to be.”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “That is such…”
House cut him off, “No, listen.” When he was sure he had Wilson’s attention he said, “You’re a realist, I know that. You’re not an idiot and you’re not naïve but you still see things like a child. People look at you as a boy, you understand that?”
Wilson nodded reluctantly. “So that’s what prompted all of this? My childlike appearance and the way I approach things? When I play with fire and get burned I don’t go and prod at it again. What’s wrong with that?”
“I do,” House said, heavily accenting the ‘do’. “I play with fire until I’m completely burned but I have my answers. I know what I need. You just back off like a naughty boy.”
“So I’m a child because I approach things like a lesson?” Wilson asked, not sure if he understood. “I treat cancer…”
“I’m not talking about work. I could care less how you treat your cancer patients,” House snapped. “I’m talking about you and me. About how you treat other people as a whole, not just when they’re sick and dying.” He rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a great bedside manner, we know this.”
Wilson looked heavenwards before settling his gaze on House. “Okay, I understand; as weird as this all is.” He shook his head. “You’re probably one of the most complicated people I’ve ever met.”
“But I pique your interest,” House said, a smug grin on his face.
“No argument there,” Wilson confirmed, covering his mouth to cough again.
“Go to bed,” House told him, concern showing briefly in his eyes.
“We’ve still got more to talk about,” Wilson protested but his argument was weak and he knew it.
“I sorted most of your questions out,” House told him.
Wilson nodded and headed for the bedroom. “Thanks.” He hadn’t gotten all of his answers but that was the way things worked with House. You couldn’t expect miracles when he was dealing with his personal life and Wilson could accept that.
House smiled a little and followed him to the bedroom. “You’re welcome.” He saw Wilson yawn as he climbed under the covers and closed his eyes.
“’Night, Greg,” he muttered, sleep already coming over him.
House walked over and brushed his head against Wilson’s forehead to check for a fever. It was warm but he couldn’t help in any way except to recommend sleep, fluids, and the occasional Advil if he started to ache. “Sleep, James.”
Wilson smiled. It was so rare to see House this exposed, this open, and he was about to say so but he couldn’t find the words. Sleep dragged him down and he fell into a dreamless sleep.
House watched Wilson fall asleep. It only took a few minutes before the younger man was asleep and House smiled. They still had things to talk about, they always did. There was always something buried beneath their banter, always something hanging on the edges of their friendship but it was something to talk about at a different time.
He limped out to the living room, a smile still on his face as he sat down at the piano and played a mellow tune. There was nothing to say for the time being so he turned his thoughts to something else and waited for Wilson to wake.