Those Things We Don't Say (Part Two)
Title: Those Things We Don’t Say (2/6)
Author: LadyKatie
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers, slash, language
Summary: Wilson visits House every week after the events of the season 5 finale. As he struggles to help House fix his life he must also confront the problems in their friendship and his own feelings.
Disclaimer: House M.D. and characters are the property of David Shore, Fox, ect. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
Part One
Part 2
Week Six
It took Wilson a couple days to figure out what he was going to do. He stayed at House’s apartment all weekend, sulking like a child who has been told he cannot have candy before dinner. Five weeks of watching House miserable, depressed and withdrawn ended in being completely turned away.
Wilson had fallen into a depression himself. He thought he knew how he felt about House, but it wasn’t until House wasn’t around all the time that he truly realized how much he missed him. For the first few weeks he half expected House to barge into his office, complaining about his team or Cuddy or a patient. He looked forward to House bringing over patient files or scans to check for cancer. The thing was that House could read scans for cancer almost as well as Wilson. There were times when he might need a second opinion or help with details that only an oncologist could provide. But most of the time he only asked for a consult as an excuse to visit in the middle of the work day. And Wilson pretended he didn’t notice.
House always needed a reason for visiting. It might be a flimsy one, but it was always there. Maybe it was problem with his team, maybe it was some obscure observation he’d made about Wilson’s behavior. Sometimes he completely invented things. Half the time Wilson was sure that he just left his office with no idea what he was going to say and made it up on the short walk over. The truth was that House couldn’t admit that he just wanted someone to talk to. He was lonely and came over as often as he did for company. Until House was gone Wilson didn’t realize that he was lonely too.
Wilson’s connection to House wasn’t something that he could easily explain, even to himself. Almost from the moment they met they were best friends. They just instinctively got each other. When Wilson discovered deeper feelings for House it was frightening and different, but not all that surprising. It almost made sense. And there were times that Wilson thought maybe House felt something more for him too. Wishful thinking probably. House had always made jokes about their relationship and there had been rumors about them among the hospital staff, but they were just jokes, able to be laughed off as meaningless.
Even so, there were a few times Wilson was sure that House was using the jokes to try to figure something out. Like there was some sort of question hidden in the joke. He would watch Wilson’s reaction carefully and Wilson had to work not to give away his panic in those moments. Had he done something to let his secret out? Had House somehow guessed what Wilson’s true feelings were? But then the moment passed and Wilson berated himself for being paranoid.
He knew that his feelings were unlikely to ever be returned. The only way to proceed was to behave as if nothing was any different. If House found out it could ruin everything. He had tried so hard to preserve their friendship by not revealing his true feelings. Now, Wilson reminded himself morosely, House had pushed him away for something entirely different.
Sunday was for moping around House’s apartment and watching his TiVo. He still had the final season of The L Word saved, and the machine was still programmed to record Prescription Passion. Wilson watched both of them. On Monday, he didn’t have any actual appointments, so he went into work long enough to check in on patients and leave messages for his staff and Cuddy. For the past five weeks he had faithfully fulfilled all of his work obligations just as he always had. Despite the stress of worrying over House’s situation he tried to ensure that it didn’t affect his job at all. But now, for the first time in years, he blew off a work day.
He went back to House’s apartment, determined to watch more mindless TV and do absolutely nothing. The pull of depression was strong. It would be all too easy to give in. Instead, his neurotic nature kicked in. He took a deep breath and rolled up his sleeves; he just couldn’t stand looking at those dishes any longer. It was the first productive thing he’d done in days and it helped clear his mind and look at the situation objectively.
He could sulk and give up hope, just as House had. And then it occurred to him. House wouldn’t listen to him if their roles were reversed. In fact, Wilson had told him to go away before and House’s response was to have a private investigator spy on him. So why should he honor House’s request? House would push and harass and do what he wanted no matter how much Wilson told him to go away. He smiled, thinking of the irritating chant at the funeral home. Admit it, admit it, admit it… House would be annoyingly persistent. Wilson laughed at the thought that he was actually considering modeling his own behavior on House’s example. “What would House do?” He shook his head. It didn’t matter now. House needed him, even if he didn’t think so, and he owed House this.
Wilson was still his medical proxy and even though House was currently still capable of giving his own consent he couldn’t just walk away from everything the way House seemed to expect. Unless House got that changed then he would have an excuse to stay somewhat involved. The only real length of time that they had ever gone without speaking was after Amber died and it hadn’t been hard on both of them. Wilson had promised to visit once a week and at the least he could keep his word. Whether House liked it or not.
When Wilson arrived at Mayfield the following Saturday, House scowled at him. He’d asked that they not tell House exactly who his visitor was and the man didn’t look happy about it. Wilson saw him look toward the door, judging if he could make the escape. Since being off his vicodin his leg had been in a lot more pain, which had made walking more of an effort than it used to be. Given the distance between him and the door and the rate at which Wilson was approaching, he must have decided that it was more trouble than it was worth and settled for giving dirty looks.
“I told you to stay home, you moron.”
Wilson shrugged, knowing that House was feeling both irritated that he was here and embarrassed about what he had said the previous week. “I know, but I didn’t feel like it.”
“Always a sucker for a lost cause.”
“Yes, I am. But if you were a lost cause I would stay home crying about it and feeling sorry for myself. Hell, you know me; I might even pick up a cute brunette with size D’s to tell my pathetic story to. I could get some really great sympathy sex.” If looks could kill Wilson knew he would be a goner. “You are not a lost cause and I will not allow you to become one. If you’re going to get better you’ll need a friend.”
“I told you I don’t want to see you.”
“I think you do.” Wilson paused under House’s glare before continuing carefully. “I think you don’t want me to see you.”
House couldn’t suffer the indignity of losing his mind in front of his best friend.
“Oh aren’t you clever,” he replied acidly. “If you’re so intent on hanging around mentally ill people go spend the day with your little brother. Don’t you owe it to him after letting him wander the streets for fifteen or so years?”
Wilson took a deep breath. He knew House could play dirty if he really wanted to. This wasn’t even scratching the surface of the terrible things he could say.
“Quit deflecting.”
“No really. You don’t really owe me anything. Your brother on the other hand… Well, you did hang up on him when he needed you. What kind of douche bag does that?”
“Only the kind of douche bag who puts up with assholes like you apparently.”
“Ouch, that hurt. So tell me, if I stay in here for say the next five years, what does that translate to in Wilson wives? God you’ll have at least a couple more failed marriages behind you by then, right? You better go get a start on it. I hear there’s a bar not far from here that has lots of easy women.”
Wilson tried not to show how much that did actually hurt. He knew House was actively trying to hurt him and he knew why.
“A few months ago you accused me of pushing away the person who mattered most so that I couldn’t get hurt. Aren’t you doing the same thing?” House only continued to glare stubbornly. “I’m going to come here every week. And when this is over and you’re home, if you still want me to go away, then I can do that, but I won’t leave you when you need me.” He paused again and offered a small smile. “Feel free to comment on my pathological need to be needed.”
House didn’t comment though. “Feel free to waste your time if you want.”
He sat back with his arms crossed, stubbornly refusing to comment further at all. Wilson was just thankful he didn’t get angry and throw him out. Perhaps deep down House knew he needed a friend. When it came right down to it, they would always need each other.
Week Seven
House behaved as if the previous two weeks hadn’t happened at all. Wilson could tell that on some level he was appreciative for his presence, but it just wasn’t the kind of thing that they talked about. He wasn’t expecting any thanks from House and for possibly the first time, he didn’t really want it. Instead Wilson kept him mildly entertained with stories of the hospital, mostly of absurd clinic patients and the most recent gossip involving Wilson’s new secretary and a radiology technician. The rumor was that an orderly caught them having sex in the MRI room, but it wasn’t officially reported or confirmed. House grinned as he described to Wilson how to go about catching them in the act.
“Why would I want to do that?”
House shrugged. “Didn’t you tell me that your secretary is hot?”
He had, in fact, though Wilson didn’t know that House was even paying attention then. She came to work for him two weeks into House’s stay at Mayfield and Wilson had only mentioned it as one of his many attempts to engage House in conversation. She was actually quite lovely, but for once Wilson honestly hadn’t paid much attention. There were too many other things on his mind.
They kept the conversations light and amusing for a while, catching up on monster truck news and whatever else seemed mundane and meaningless. When everything but the weather had been covered Wilson let House amuse him by making fun of the other patients and it occurred to him how normal it felt, how normal House was acting. If there hadn’t been security doors and guards maybe this would be like any other afternoon with a friend.
It was nearly the end of visiting hours when Wilson mentioned the latest case in the Diagnostics Department. Their conversations about the hospital had carefully avoided anything having to do with House’s team or Cuddy. Wilson wasn’t sure how he would feel about Foreman being in charge, so it was really by accident that mention of the case had slipped out. House went into full diagnostic mode, asking a wide array of questions about the patient’s status and the results of the tests that Foreman and the team had run.
“Lyme disease,” House announced finally.
“You can’t diagnose a patient from here.”
“But I just did.”
“You haven’t seen her scans or any of the blood work.”
“You just told me.”
“Did you hear me say there was a rash?”
“Twenty or so percent of patients never get the rash.”
“You’ve ruled out Lyme disease as a diagnosis before because of the rash. Now suddenly it’s not an important symptom?”
House shrugged, unconcerned. “It didn’t fit before. It does now.”
“Yes, but-”
“When you leave here, tell Foreman to run the damn test as a favor to humor his sick boss. When it turns out I’m right then you can tell me how brilliant I am even when I’m completely insane.”
House was grinning madly and Wilson found himself laughing. Sometimes it felt like things were all better. But they weren’t. House was still seeing hallucinations, although Dr. Beck told Wilson that they were getting less frequent and not nearly as disturbing. Still, Wilson could see the effects. There were abrupt pauses in conversation and House looked at things that weren’t there. It was maddening to not know what was going on inside House’s head. How many times had Wilson wished he could go inside there for answers? He wanted to solve the mystery that was House, but every time he felt he was getting close there were new clues that contradicted earlier ones. Why were the hallucinations there? What did they torture him with? Though Wilson understood that seeing hallucinations had to feel something like being haunted, there was something more to House’s reaction. They weren’t just startling or annoying. When they spoke to him the hopelessness in his eyes scared Wilson more than anything that had happened in the past two months.
Week Eight
It had been an extremely quiet visit this week. When Wilson first arrived he announced that House had been correct about the Lyme disease, but even that hadn’t made him feel much like speaking. They were back to making awkward small talk in between the even more awkward silences. Wilson noticed scowling glances cast to the side and more strange pauses in conversation than usual and knew that the hallucinations were still at work. They must have been worse today. House was doing his best to make it seem that everything was normal, but it was obvious to Wilson what was going on. Finally House cringed at something that his subconscious had said and Wilson couldn’t stand it anymore.
“What do they say?”
House was startled, apparently believing that his hallucination was one subject that Wilson considered off limits. And it didn’t appear as if he was going to actually answer. Wilson scrambled for something to change the subject to, but came up empty. Thankfully House decided to speak.
“How do you know what’s real?”
Wilson wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be rhetorical or not, but he didn’t have a good answer anyway.
“How can I tell anything is real? What if I’m making up all of this? What if you’re not really sitting there? What if I’m creating this whole conversation?”
“Is that what they’re…?” He frowned, thinking up an answer to House’s question, but came up with the most obvious and unconvincing. “This is real. I’m real, House. I’m here.”
House shrugged. “I thought Cuddy was real too.”
“Well… That was before you got help.”
“I thought I was getting help. That was the whole point.”
Wilson thought for a minute searching for the right words to help his friend. It was a good question though. House’s sense of reality was completely destroyed before he came to Mayfield. How could he know for sure that it wasn’t more delusions? Then he had it. “It was too easy. You got clean, you got rid of the hallucination, you were nearly pain free and you got the girl. It was simple. That’s how you know this is real. Has anything been easy since you got here?”
House looked down at his hands. “You’re here though.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s what they say. They say why would you be here?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
He glanced over at the hallucination again and then shook his head.
“I’m here. Don’t worry about why. Being here in this hospital is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Even the most masochistic part of your subconscious wouldn’t make that up.”
House nodded and looked away. It may not have been the best answer in the world, but it was the best one that Wilson could give him for now. Unfortunately, although it may have comforted House, it opened up a world of guilt and shame for Wilson. Was House really questioning that Wilson would be there for him? Did he think so little of himself and their friendship that he might have to imagine a friend staying by his side? Wilson knew that it was his own fault. He had once put Amber’s life above House’s and then walked away as if it meant nothing. And both of them still lived with that knowledge every day.
Week Nine
“I need to tell you something.”
House looked up at him questioningly. Their visit had been going so good and now Wilson was getting serious.
Wilson waited, gathering his nerve. Every week he told himself that he was going to say it, but nothing ever came out. He wasn’t sure how House would react to it and he didn’t want to ruin all the progress he was making by upsetting him. Not that House was so fragile; it was just that Wilson was scared. He even went to House’s psychiatrist for advice about how to handle it. Beck encouraged him to do it.
“Forgiveness is an important part of the healing process,” he had said. “For you and him.”
Forgiveness was another thing they didn’t talk about. They both expected it without asking for it. He took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry.” House frowned at him and he rushed to clarify. “I’m sorry about asking you to risk your life to save Amber. I was so scared and frustrated and I had no right to ask you that. Your life is not less important to me than hers. I was really happy with her and I was trying…” he let out a humorless laugh, “so desperately… to hang on to that. I just… thought you should know.”
The thing about being in this place was that there were different rules here. In Princeton there were many things that always were left unsaid. Their relationship was built, at least partly, on things unsaid. The I’m sorry’s, just like the I love you’s, were only implied. Here the words poured out of him easily, though leaving him feeling somewhat exposed.
House was silent for a long time after that and Wilson didn’t know what to say that could possibly help. Just as he was considering just ending their visit, House turned to him. His eyes looked suspiciously misty, but no tear was shed.
“It’s okay, Wilson. I’m… I’m sorry too. It was my fault.”
“But it wasn’t. I told you I didn’t blame you.”
“And about a minute later you told me we were never friends.”
Wilson could feel the burning shame. He could apologize for the rest of their lives and never remove it. And he would never erase from his mind the image of House’s face when he tried to end their friendship. That broken, devastated look would haunt him forever. Just because nothing else he could possibly say was adequate, he offered the only answer that House would actually appreciate.
“Everybody lies, right?” He shrugged. “I was an ass.”
House nodded in reply, but didn’t seem particularly reassured. Wilson felt better, having gotten it off his chest and hoped that House would too. Maybe it had just come too late. But then he thought of something else.
“Is that why you see Amber? You still feel guilty?”
He shook his head, but then seemed to change his mind and shrugged. “Maybe.”