Not just friends - 3/10
Title: Not just friends - part three
Pairing: House / Wilson established relationship (m/m)
Rating: PG through to Adult
Summary: Wilson has amnesia
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing
Notes: I wrote part one a while ago, originally written as a standalone piece. Then a couple more scenes were begging to be written and this was the result....
Tugging on her bathrobe, she opens the door. “Where’s House?” are the first words that slip out of her mouth.
Apparently oblivious to her tactlessness, Wilson gestures back at a pair of rear car lights that are heading into the darkness. “Took a cab.”
His voice hitches on the last word, kicking her brain into gear. She guides him indoors, gently nudging him towards the couch when he stops in the middle of the room. He sits, his hands curled in his lap.
“You’re shaking.”
He looks down, cupping his hands one over the other before drawing them closer. “I’m fine. It’s just…” His chin dips and he brings up one hand to scrub his face.
Sitting down beside him, she covers his nearest hand with hers. It’s cold and she shivers. His head is down, hiding his expression. But she’s rubbing his hand gently and he hasn’t told her to stop. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
He takes a deep, heaving breath. When he looks up his eyes aren’t red-rimmed, as she expected. They’re dark with anger instead. “We had an argument.”
You’re always having arguments, is her first thought. Love hadn’t turned either man into a hopeless romantic. But her memories are different to Wilson’s. “What about?”
“I kissed him.” He jerks his hands skywards, his lips pursed into a thin, straight line. He’s not angry with House she suddenly realizes: he’s furious with himself.
“Um…” she starts, feeling like she’s tiptoeing on thin ice, “isn’t kissing a good thing?”
With a shrug, Wilson exhales slowly. “I thought so.”
“But?”
“Apparently House disagrees.”
The words are dry, brutal and very reminiscent of House. Years of sparring with the older man have taught her to jab back. But Wilson’s leaning back into the couch, angrily scraping his fingers through his hair. “I thought that’s what he wanted.”
So did I, she thinks. He falls silent, his head slumping back as his eyes close. This is between House and Wilson she reminds herself, trying to ignore her overwhelming need to reach out. Maybe, though, if she were to call House…
The high-pitched ring of her cell phone jolts her out of her thoughts. Grabbing it out of her briefcase she checks the caller ID and flashes Wilson an apologetic smile as she heads for the kitchen. He blinks in acknowledgment before his eyes slide shut again.
Closing the kitchen door she picks up the call. “What the hell did you say to him?”
There’s a tired, shuddering sigh at the other end. “He’s there then.”
“Of course he’s -” Her brain catches up; really listens to House’s voice. “Yes, he’s here,” she starts again, taking the sting out of her tone. “Are you coming over? You two need to talk to - ”
“No.”
“House.” It’s gone quiet at the other end of the line and she repeats his name. “He said he kissed you.” No interfering, she’s reminds herself, but her frustration has already got the better of her. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“No wonder you’ve resorted to internet dating.”
The words sting. She jabs. “Okay, Dr Phil. Explain it to me.”
There’s another long sigh. She can hear a tapping noise in the background; he’s pacing. “He didn’t mean it.”
“What?”
“I know the difference. I’m not some cheap date he’s picked up in a bar.”
Waving her free hand in frustration she begins pacing as well. House can be so incredibly useless at communicating. “You’re upset about the quality of the kissing? What, do you have a scoring system or something?”
“You’ll need at least an 8.5 to get into the top ten.”
“House.” She grits her teeth and takes another deep breath. He’s upset which means he’s deflecting. “Again. Explain it to me.”
There’s silence. When he speaks his voice is softer. “They don’t think he’ll regain all his memories.”
The appointment with Wilson’s doctor. She clutches the phone closer, checking the door is still closed. “But Wilson said…the flutters…”
House snorts at her choice of words; she can imagine the way he’s rolling his eyes. “He’s regaining some memories. But it’s random. And it’s not happening as fast as they’d like.”
She closes her eyes against the defeat in his voice. “So, what? This is it?”
“Therapy.” The word is spat out. “They’ll set him up with some ‘coping mechanisms’.”
That still won’t solve the problem she thinks, instantly understanding what he’s reluctant to say. Resting her head against the cool surface of one of the cabinets, she begins to rock back and forth. “So what happened?”
There’s another snort but it’s not a humorous one. “I didn’t take the news very well. I may have been…upset.”
Upset. She doubts that word even begin to covers it. “He was worried about you.”
“Yeah. And Wilson being Wilson…”
“…tried to fix it.” She cares for both of these men in a weird, twisted way but they drive her to distraction. “You’re idiots, both of you,” she breathes softly into the phone.
“Can he stay with you for a few days?”
She stands up straight. “That might not be a good idea -”
“It is.”
His voice is low, determined. “Okay.” But she’s entitled to know why. There’s silence as he digests her question; it seems to drag on forever.
“There’s…people he needs to talk to.” His voice is so low she’s straining to hear him. “And he’s not going to do it while he’s living here.”
Part four