[Fic] R.I.C.E. in Reverse [3/4]; PG-13; House/Wilson
Title: R.I.C.E. in Reverse [3/4]
Author:
phate_phoenix
Prompt : 9. House/Wilson - “When everything is wrong, I'll come talk to you” (My Best Friend - Weezer)
Pairing: Canon House/Cuddy, House/Wilson
Word Count: Chapter- 7,168; Total- 21,217
Rating/Warning: PG-13; Swearing, Spoilers for ‘THE GREATER GOOD’, Vengeful!House, Hurt!Wilson
Summary: An AU of ‘The Greater Good’ caused by a simple… twist. What if Wilson had discovered that Dana Miller was House’s patient just an hour earlier? Cuddy won’t know what hit her.
Beta:
cielo_claro
Disclaimer: DO NOT OWN.
Notes: Written for the house_of_fanfic Annual Contest.
Previous Part: Part Two
----
I: Inundation
To overwhelm as if with a flood
Wilson stared at the scene before him, frozen with one hand on his office door and the other clutching the handle of his crutch. House lay on Wilson’s office couch, mouth agape, feet crossed. Fast food wrappers, a half-eaten bag of chips, and a soft drink container littered the surface of the coffee table beside him. Wilson sighed, easing himself into his office and gently closing the door behind him. He limped to the table and stood there for a moment. He placed one hand on his hip and shook his head.
“I know work is important to you,” Wilson began loudly, and House’s eyes snapped open, darting around before spotting Wilson, “but the bad back and aching leg you’ll get from sleeping on my couch isn’t worth the time you’ll save from driving.”
House leaned his head back on the couch, wincing, and ran a hand over his face. “But then I wouldn’t get to wake up to your lovely face every morning.”
Wilson rolled his eyes and leaned his crutch against his desk. “It’s not that special,” he said as he bent down to pick up the remnants of House’s late-night meal. “Ask my ex-wives.” He threw the trash away and turned back just as House was moving his leg to sit up.
Wilson tossed his jacket across his desk and grabbed his crutch before limping to his couch. He set the crutch against its side and took a seat. House raised an eyebrow at him and Wilson scoffed. “It’s my couch,” he argued. Then he nudged House’s shoulder, grinning. “So, what happened? Cuddy have your locks changed? Stole your car?”
House stretched his arms and yawned before saying, “Someone called to have my heat and electricity cut off last night. Apparently, I’m moving.”
“What?” Wilson asked, eyes wide. He frowned, brows furrowing. “Who besides you can turn off your utilities?”
House smiled, leaning back against the black cushions. “Turns out I’m also married.”
Wilson blinked dumbly at him for a moment. “And you didn’t invite me to the wedding?” he asked, fighting a grin.
House smiled placatingly at him and patted Wilson’s knee. “If I know me, and I like to think I do, I wouldn’t have let you near my wife. You have a problem collecting them, so I didn’t want to tempt you with mine.”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “You’re a real pal, House,” he droned.
“We’ve got to look out for one another,” House said, nodding.
Wilson reached over and stroked the metal of his crutch, smirking. “Want me to break Cuddy’s kneecaps then?”
House stared, mouth agape. Then he sat up straighter. “That’s my wife you’re talking about!”
“That’s true,” Wilson said. He grinned at House and leaned against the other man so just their shoulders touched. “Then I know a great divorce lawyer for you.”
House smirked back. “That’s the most thoughtful gift anyone’s ever given to me.”
House turned his head towards the door and yawned again, but made no attempt to move away. Wilson studied House’s face, seeing the dark circles under his eyes caused by a restless night tossing and turning on a couch made more for neutrality and creating an air of comfort than actually being comfortable. Wilson gritted his teeth and mentally went through his schedule-Cuddy was due for another intervention, one with a bit more kick than the last one.
House turned his head, looking Wilson in the eye. Wilson’s mind froze, as though House had pressed ‘pause’ on his mental faculties. The steely blue eyes scanned over Wilson’s face, as if searching for something, and Wilson could only endure it. The only lingering thought that rang through his mind was, ‘What is he looking for?’
“Mmm bop, ba duba dop ba du bop, ba duba dop ba du bop, ba duba dop ba du…”
House blinked and Wilson’s mind resurfaced and he gasped, as if he had been submerged underwater. They both looked to where House’s coat had fallen to the floor, from which the tones of Hanson were drifting. House bent forward, his joints cracking, and grunted as he lifted the jacket off the ground. He dug the still-singing cell phone out and shook it in Wilson’s direction before rolling his eyes.
“It’s the kids,” he grumbled. “They never let me do anything.”
With that, he flipped open the phone and pressed it to his ear. “You couldn’t wait for me to get to the office?”
“House,” Kutner’s voice on the other side of the line sounded utterly relieved. Then it became indignant. “We’ve been paging you all night!”
House ran a hand over his face, trying to ignore both the pain from his encroaching headache from his lack of sleep and the throbbing in his leg from, as Wilson had said, sleeping on the Couch of Mourning. “What can I say? She was a really good hooker.”
He shot Wilson a glance, and the other man looked worriedly at his couch for a moment before rolling his eyes and pushing himself to his feet. Kutner merely snorted in disbelief.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he grumbled. “Anyway, are you almost here?”
House rose to his feet, grimacing, and threw his jacket over his shoulder. “I want you to close your eyes for sixty seconds. Tell your fellow Knights of the Round to do it, too.”
“…What?”
“Just do it,” House snapped into his phone before clicking it shut. He then grabbed his own crutch from where he had leaned it against the other side of the couch and settled it under his arm. Wilson, who had taken a seat at his desk, peered up at him.
“What sort of return fire are you planning?” Wilson asked, amusement coloring his words. “Should I avoid a certain hallway, or not take any rides from Cuddy?”
House shrugged, popping a Vicodin into his mouth. “I’ll have to think on it,” he said as he limped towards the office door. “But you’ll probably be a part of it somehow.”
Wilson smirked, turning back to his files. “Was there any doubt?” he asked.
House grinned and pushed open the door. He limped down the hall and, through the glass walls and between the blinds, spied Taub leaning against the bookcase. Taub, in return, spotted him and rolled his eyes before calling to Kutner, who was sitting at the table. House pushed open the door to the conference room just as Kutner’s eyes jolted open. Taub planted his hands on his hips-a very Wilson-esque move, and briefly House wondered if all Jewish doctors did that to express disappointment-before glowering at House.
“Where were you?!” he snapped.
House scowled at him as he limped by. “You’re not my mother,” he snapped back, heading to the already-made coffee. He turned back around, pouring coffee into his red cup. He then scanned the room again, frowning. “Where is the other half to our politically correct rainbow?”
Taub frowned. “Not here,” he grumbled. “Neither of them showed up for work yet, and no one’s notified us of either of them calling in sick.”
House waved him off. “If they had, no one would,” he replied grumpily.
Kutner blinked several times before he squinted at House. He tilted his head to the side, fighting off a smile. “Are you…” he began, “are you wearing the same clothes you were yesterday?”
House stared at Kutner. He rolled his eyes and quickly swallowed a mouthful of coffee to spurn on his awareness level. Kutner’s smile broke through and he brightened immediately.
“You are!” he chirped, leaning forward. “Now I know you were lying about that hooker!”
Taub looked between House and Kutner before turning his gaze to the ceiling. House merely glowered in response to Kutner’s discovery. “Did you honestly think I was telling you the truth?”
“No,” Kutner replied, “but I was wondering why you wouldn’t hear your pager or your cell phone.” He smiled smugly and seemed to bounce in his seat. “Did you spend the night at someone’s house?”
Taub smacked a hand to his forehead. “Oh for the love of God, are you a thirteen year old girl?!” he cried before turning to face House. “The patient experienced spinal shocks before we even turned on the machine.”
Kutner huffed before slipping further into his seat and glaring. After slamming down his coffee cup, House turned to Taub and raised his eyebrows. “So we have a new symptom!” he said, and limped around the bookshelves where the white dry-erase board was stashed. He grabbed one corner and wheeled it to face the table. Taub took a seat closest to the board and waited. Across its white surface were black words, cataloging the various symptoms Dana Miller had exhibited while in their care. House paused in front of it for a moment before reaching down to grab a marker.
His fingers scraped against only metal.
He froze, staring at the whiteboard a mere inch from his face, and exhaled. He turned around, glaring at the two remaining fellows. Kutner quickly jumped to his feet and grabbed Taub’s shirt across the table. “MRI!” he yelped. “We’ll MRI her for… a… spinal tumor!”
Taub took one look at House’s face before turning back to Kutner. “A spinal hemangioma, actually,” he muttered as he walked around the table.
“Right!” Kutner said, walking backwards towards the exit.
House pointed at him before he could pass through the threshold. “You will meet me here before noon. Got it?”
Kutner nodded, swallowing, before he and Taub fled through the doors and towards the elevators. House turned back to his whiteboard and stared at where his markers used to lie. His eyes narrowed before he turned around and left the conference room, too. On his way, he pounded on Wilson’s office door and yelled through the wood.
“Twelve-fifteen! The clinic! Meet me there or I will find you.”
House didn’t wait for a response before moving to the elevators. He had two fellows to find, and he had an idea where he’d find at least one of them.
----
When no one answered the door-or, rather, came to see who was opening the door with a set of keys that weren’t supposed to exist-House assumed it was because there was no one home and was going to wait inside until either Thirteen and/or Foreman showed up. Thus, he was intrigued to spot Thirteen sitting in a chair at the back of her living room. Her eyes were glued to the floor in what House could only assume was guilt. Which was odd.
“Nice place you have,” House said as he circled the back of the room, looking around. He paused by a row of picture frames lining a windowsill and knocked one of them onto their face, not even pausing to look at the picture. He turned back to where Thirteen sat and saw her glaring into space, jaw set.
Very odd.
“What picture did I just knock over?” House asked, limping towards Thirteen. She closed her eyes and turned away, swallowing.
“Get out,” she said, voice quivering. “And leave your key.”
Diagnosis.
“You can’t see, can you?” House asked, pausing a few paces from her. When she said nothing more, House looked around, knowing that Foreman would have been there. That meant… “Where’s Foreman?”
“He went to the drug company,” Thirteen said, her eyes flicking towards House. “He thought… maybe…”
“He thought they had a cure for cancer?” House said, snatching up the phone from its base. He limped back to Thirteen. “I’ll call Wilson after you call and bring your idiotic boyfriend back here.”
Thirteen glared at him, eyes narrow and too left of his face. House rolled his eyes and dropped the crutch to the floor. “He actually came to me for advice before he plugged you into the good stuff,” he said as he carefully lowered himself onto a footstool. Thirteen’s eyes darted to his new position, wide. House smirked at her. “I told him he would have to be an idiot if he switched you.”
Thirteen smiled bitterly, rolling her eyes to the side. “No wonder he switched me,” she grumbled, “if you said not to.”
House snorted. “I also told him that he should do it… if he loved you.”
Thirteen froze, her mouth dropping open. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “We-we’ve only been dating for two weeks,” she stuttered, opening her eyes to stare in House’s direction. “You don’t… can’t fall in love with someone in two weeks.”
“Sure you can,” House said swiftly, leaning back. “You can fall out of love just as fast. Foreman, however, decided to risk that he’d love you forever, and that you’d love him forever.” House refrained from adding on, ‘however long your forever is going to actually last.’ Barely. He shook the phone in the air. “And if you are willing to bet on the same forever as him, then I’d call him back before he does something incredibly stupid for nothing.”
Thirteen closed her eyes again, tilting her head towards the floor. She then held her hand out to him. House smirked and quickly dialed Foreman’s cell phone before placing it in her hand. She held the phone to her ear, taking in a swift and shaky breath. “Eric?” she said softly. “Eric, turn around. Come back.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “No, no it won’t. I need radiation, not good will and… and sacrifice.” She held still for a moment, listening. She then frowned. “Who cares if House is here? So, what? You’re the only one who can listen to his advice? Just… come back.” She paused, and then let out a sigh, a small smile twitching across her lips. “Thank you, Eric. Just… thank you.”
She held the phone back out to House who quickly turned it off and tossed it onto the couch. He reached down to grab his crutch when Thirteen’s hand darted out, snatching the fabric of his arm. He blinked down at it and then up at Thirteen. Her eyes gazed at him, dead but somehow firm. They were focused so closely on House’s face that, for a moment, he wondered if she really was blind.
She held tight to his sleeve, eyes narrowing. “You can’t…” she began, slowly, cautiously, as if wandering over a minefield. “Not everyone… leaves.”
House stilled, closing his eyes. It passed a moment later and he tugged his arm out of her grasp. “Thank you for such an inspiring statement,” he grumped, grabbing the crutch and using it to climb to his feet. “The next time we have group therapy, we should open with that.”
Thirteen’s smile lingered on her face, however, and House made sure to knock over another picture frame on the way out.
----
Wilson lingered nervously in the clinic, only steps from the front desk. He sighed, glaring at his watch, which stubbornly told him it was twelve-ten. House wouldn’t show up until the last minute, even if House was the one to set the time and date. That was life.
Wilson was startled out of his thoughts when Cuddy trotted by him and to the clinic desk. Without a second thought, Wilson limped beside her and leaned against the counter. Cuddy turned slightly to stare at him over her shoulder, but otherwise did nothing more. Wilson picked up a file and flipped it open before peering at her over the top of it.
“I didn’t know House bought you a ring,” he said, eyes narrowed. Cuddy’s eyes widened a fraction before she turned completely to face him.
“So he spent the night at your place?” Cuddy asked, planting a hand on her hip and holding a patient file in the other.
Wilson stilled before clearing his throat. “No, actually,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “He slept in my office.” He paused, setting the file down. “On my couch.”
Cuddy stared at him, brows furrowed. “That stiff ugly thing?”
“It’s not ugly,” Wilson said, frowning. Then he shook his head and leaned forward, shifting his crutch. “That’s not the point.” He ran a hand over his face. “Why are you doing this to him?”
Cuddy rolled her eyes and turned from him, striding towards one of the clinic rooms. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Oh?” Wilson said, quickly limping after her. “But you have time to set tripwires, steal canes, and commit fraud?” Cuddy stopped in the hallways and glowered at him over her shoulder. Wilson smiled pleasantly. “I wonder how you have any time for your job.”
Cuddy’s face flushed and her eyes narrowed into a swift glare. “House needs to know that he can’t just be an asshole to anyone he wants to without repercussions.”
Wilson gaped at her for several moments. “‘Without repercussions’?” he said, amused disbelief coloring his words. He smiled and laughed a little, holding up his free hand. “House is an asshole because, no matter how he behaves, something bad always happens to him. That’s the House you hired.”
Cuddy rolled her eyes. “That’s still no excuse-”
“He offers no excuse!” Wilson exclaimed, drawing eyes from those around him. Wilson ignored them and shuffled closer to Cuddy. “When you hired him, you knew that he was an ass. That he wasn’t politically correct, or humble, or kind. He was just as he is now-a nightmare to anyone close enough to get in his way.” He gestured swiftly to the side, almost knocking a stack of files over. Wilson glanced at it before turning back to Cuddy. “Just because you realize it, or just because it’s suddenly an inconvenience to you, doesn’t give you the right to punish him like this!” Wilson dropped his hand to his side. He glared at her and he whispered, “You’re hurting him.”
She stared back at him, eyes widened. Then she clutched the file to her chest and nodded jerkily. “Nice having this talk with you, Doctor Wilson,” she said stiffly, and turned on her heel before disappearing behind one of the many clinic doors.
“Oh, how you defend my virtue.”
Wilson jumped and nearly dropped his crutch. He craned his neck around to spy House walking towards him from the elevators, smirking. He still leaned heavily against the crutch Wilson had given him yesterday. An eager-looking Kutner trailed behind him. Wilson turned around and met them halfway. Wilson rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging.
“I need my couch back,” Wilson said. “You got crumbs all over it last night. And what will your hookers think if you don’t call them?”
Kutner’s face took on a disappointed look, which confused Wilson. However, House spoke, drawing Wilson’s attention back to him.
“Wilson,” House began, “you and I are going to be distractions.”
Wilson stared at House. “We are the distractions?” he said, startled. He had thought House would rather be front-and-center in his revenge schemes.
House waved his free hand through the air. “It’s a long and complicated plot,” he grumbled. He turned to Kutner and frowned at him. “Is there a reason you’re standing here? Shoo!”
As House waved his hands at him, Kutner smiled at Wilson. “I’m going to be discrete,” he said. “No one will ever know it was me.” Before Wilson could say anything, Kutner jammed his hands into his lab coat and ambled away from them. It took Wilson a moment to realize that Kutner was heading towards Cuddy’s office.
“House,” Wilson began, turning to face him, “you do remember that Kutner lit a patient on fire, electrocuted himself, and almost blew up a house, right?”
House shrugged. “He’s dedicated,” he explained, waving his hand. “Not important.” House then limped towards the clinic exit and the front lobby. Wilson sighed, and took up stride beside him.
“What’s your plan then?” Wilson asked softly, glancing at House.
House’s smile took on a sinister gleam, and he stopped in the middle of the lobby, between the exit and the front desk. Wilson paused, glancing around nervously. He turned back around and took a half-step back, shocked; House’s eyes were narrow, cold, enraged.
“I don’t need you to defend me from her!” House snarled, slamming the end of his crutch to the floor. He limped forward, stopping only inches from Wilson’s face. “This is my fight! I don’t need a damn knight in shining armor to save me!” he shouted.
Wilson’s mind blanked for a single instant before he caught on. His lips twitched upwards before he forced them into a frown. His free hand immediately planted on his hip and he leaned forward, almost nose-to-nose with House. “Forgive me for caring!” he snapped back. “I forgot that your massive ego is easily punctured by concern.”
Wilson could tell the two of them were drawing quite a crowd, as the entire room had gone quiet except for House’s rapid breathing and his own breaths between clenched teeth. House’s free hand swung outward, gesturing violently beside them, not that Wilson could see much besides House’s too-blue eyes.
“What’s motivating you to get in my business is not concern,” House scoffed. “It’s guilt.”
“Guilt?!” Wilson shouted, his own arm flying outwards. Suddenly, the entire situation felt less like an act and more like an actual fight. “What do I have to be guilty about?!”
House sneered at him. “Is Cuddy the only one who knew I was an ass going in?” House drawled, “Or did you only realize this yourself a few months ago?”
Wilson’s mind shut down, and his body reeled back as if he had been struck. It felt like it, as though House had punched through his chest, tore out his heart, and was crushing it with his hands. Wilson’s mouth sagged open and his guts felt like they were trying to crawl up his throat to escape. House leaned back, coolly watching him, observing him. After a moment, Wilson managed to choke out, “House…”
“What is going on over here?!”
Wilson flinched and turned towards the sound. He watched as Cuddy marched over towards them, pulling off a set of gloves as she came closer. House turned towards her, scowling.
“We’re kind of in the middle of something,” House grumbled. Wilson wondered if House had forgotten this was supposed to be a ploy, or if the man was just that good at acting.
Cuddy’s arms crossed and she raised an eyebrow. “We all noticed,” she said, leaning backwards. “Care to explain why you’re disturbing the whole hospital?”
House rolled his eyes. “Let me and Jimmy duke it out a few rounds. It’ll be fine. Now that you’ve evened the handicap, it’ll be a fair fight.”
Wilson looked at House, frowning. “You wouldn’t dream of fighting fair.”
“True,” House said, smirking, “but if no one catches you, it’s not cheating.”
It was Cuddy’s turn to roll her eyes. “I meant,” she began in a louder tone, “why aren’t you arguing in your own offices instead of down here?”
House looked around before leaning forward. He brought up a hand to whisper behind. “We don’t like to fight in front of the kids,” he admitted. “Taub starts to cry and Thirteen goes to her room and just doesn’t come out for hours.” He dropped his hand and looked pointedly at Cuddy. “Do you want to be responsible for that kind of emotional hurt?”
Cuddy rolled her eyes, throwing her hands into the air. “Fine, my fault for asking,” she sighed. She then planted her hands on her hips. “So what is going on?”
Wilson shrugged, glancing at House. “Does it really surprise you that House and I fight?” he asked.
Cuddy frowned. “Out here? In the hospital? Yes,” she said.
House smiled. “My dirty laundry must be aired.”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “You don’t even do your own laundry,” he mumbled before turning his attention once more on Cuddy. “We’re sorry for disrupting the peace, but it isn’t anything… major.”
House grinned, eyebrows shooting upwards. “If it was, we would have begun to duel with the crutches.” Wilson and Cuddy stared blankly at him, and House hefted his up. “I can demonstrate if you don’t believe me…”
Cuddy turned back to Wilson, and he smiled gently. “It’s fine. Really,” he said.
Cuddy grumbled something under her breath before she strode away and towards her office, bypassing the clinic desk completely. House shot a glance to the wall-mounted clock and smirked. “I love it when a plan comes together,” he said under his breath before limping towards the elevators. Wilson, having nothing better to do, followed after.
“House,” he said as the two of them boarded a vacant elevator, “what was that all about?”
House looked at him as he pressed the button for their floor. “It was a distraction,” he said. He grinned quickly. “Kutner went into Cuddy’s office and stole her car keys. As we speak, he is moving her car into a handicapped parking zone.”
Wilson gaped at him. “You had your fellow commit grand theft?” he asked. “That’s supposed to be complicated? … Kutner went along with it?!”
House smirked as the elevator doors slid open. “And you wondered why I chose Kutner.” He limped out, Wilson still at his side.
“That… wasn’t what I was talking about,” Wilson finally said, pausing beside his office door. House groaned loudly, his head lolling back.
“Wilson, it was a distraction,” House said, eyeing him. “It was the perfect set up after your little outburst with Cuddy in the clinic.” At Wilson’s furrowed brows, House waved him off. “I know you aren’t actually guilty about it, and I actually don’t care. So don’t worry your pretty little head over it, honey, or you’ll get those awful wrinkles.”
Wilson’s mouth dropped open, shocked. Before he could say anything, however, House’s pager went off. They both glanced at House’s waistline, although House tilted the pager so that only he could read the message. He stood up straight and began to limp back down the hallway, leaving Wilson gaping behind him.
“Wh-where are you going?” Wilson called, standing still. House glanced over his shoulder and sneered.
“Got stuff to do!” House called back.
Wilson scowled. “This conversation isn’t over!”
House merely grinned at him as he entered the elevator and allowed the doors to close.
----
Hours passed after House disappeared before he burst into Wilson’s office, holding a folder of MRI scans in his hand. Wilson looked up from his paperwork and watched as House, without preamble, limped over to the white screen at the other end of the room and jammed a few scans in there, flicking on the light. Wilson, sighing, rose to his feet, grabbing his crutch, and gimped to join him. As Wilson came alongside House to look at the black and white images, House reached out and tapped the large, white blobs that were scattered throughout the person’s body.
“This just goes to show,” House said, drawing his hand back and keeping his eyes upon the slides, “that you can never quit cancer.”
Wilson glanced at him before looking back at the screen, squinting. “Are these Dana Miller’s?” He didn’t wait for House to answer. Instead, Wilson leaned forward and ran a finger over the image. “Are you thinking mesothelioma?”
House shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “We took scans two days ago, and none of these were there.”
Wilson frowned. “Mesothelioma doesn’t grow that fast,” he muttered. He raised an eyebrow at House. “Do you want me to do a biopsy?”
House nodded. He pulled one of the scans down and shoved another into place. “This one, above her right breast, is close to the surface.”
“Looks good,” Wilson said, pulling the scans from the white screen. He flicked off the light and turned to House. “Do you want me to go and do that now…?”
“Now would be good,” House said, thrusting the rest of MRI scans into Wilson’s arms, nearly knocking him off balance. He looked at the clock in Wilson’s room before he moved towards the door. “Sorry to drop and run, but-”
“We have a conversation to finish, House.”
House frowned and paused, glancing over his shoulder. Wilson smirked at him, holding the large folder in front of him. House sighed and leaned heavily on his crutch. “While we waste time,” House began, looking earnest, “Miss Miller could be dying. Don’t you even care?”
Wilson shrugged at him and limped to his desk. “If she does have mesothelioma, she’s dead anyway,” he said, placing the folder on top of his other files, “and if she doesn’t, the lab results won’t come in until after you get to work tomorrow.” Wilson raised an eyebrow at House. “Ten minutes isn’t going to make much difference.”
House frowned, brows furrowing, and then exhaled. “Fine,” he grumbled. “What can’t wait until after the biopsy?”
Wilson dropped his gaze to the floor for a moment before he brought himself to look at House again. “Why did you sleep in my office last night?” he asked. “Why didn’t you call me to stay at my apartment?”
House rolled his eyes and sighed in disgust. He glowered at Wilson. “Are you honestly asking me that?” At Wilson’s firm stare, House sighed and gestured lamely with is free hand. “Yesterday, after your little visit with my patient, you spent the rest of the day avoiding me,” he said. “And the last time I tried to stay at your place, you weren’t exactly fond of the idea.” House shrugged. “I figured I’d go with the best bet the first time around.”
Wilson winced, gritting his teeth. “Oh,” he mumbled, slouching. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at House through his meager bangs. “I kicked you out because you were rationalizing your infatuation with Cuddy,” he offered, lifting his head some. “And I’ve been avoiding you… because…”
He paused, brows furrowed again. House tapped his crutch as he stood by, glancing at the clock again. “Wilson, if you’re going to have a huge emotional reveal, could you do it quick? I’m on a schedule.”
“Oh, right,” Wilson said, throwing House a look with disbelief written all over it. “The only schedule you ‘keep’ is my schedule.” Then Wilson exhaled and nodded to himself. He turned to face House completely, drawing himself up. “I’ve been avoiding you because my talks with your patient have made me realize what a selfish asshole I was to you.”
House stilled for several moments, mouth slowly dropping open. “Excuse me?” he said at last.
Wilson smiled ruefully at him. “Is it so surprising to hear me admit that?” he asked. House opened his mouth and Wilson waved him off. “Don’t say anything, I know the answer.” Wilson ran a hand over his face and through his hair. “Miller… said some things that made me think about the choices I made in my life,” Wilson continued. “Choices I made to… further my own happiness, even if it hurts other people. If it hurt you.”
House dropped his gaze to the ground and shifted in obvious discomfort. Wilson barreled ahead, however. “I never even thanked you after you did the deep brain stimulation,” he said. He swallowed. “I never said how sorry I am that I even asked you to do it.”
House shrugged, still not meeting Wilson’s gaze. “Love makes people overlook the important things in their life,” he said. “It makes people do stupid or insane things. Things they wouldn’t do under any other circumstance.” House’s eyes rose to meet Wilson’s. “I don’t blame you for it. I don’t need you to apologize.”
“Well,” Wilson said, smiling a little. “I do.” He shuffled forward a few paces, close enough that he reached out and clutched House’s shoulder. “I am so sorry for asking you to risk yourself for my happiness, that I chose myself over you,” he said gently, earnestly. He squeezed House’s shoulder tighter. “And thank you for trying everything to save Amber.” Wilson paused, inhaling a shaky breath and forcing himself to smile. His chest ached, just like before, just like when House had shouted in the lobby. He fought past it. “Thank you,” he said, voice shaking, “for not dying.”
House went utterly still, his eyes falling shut. Wilson watched as House’s entire body stiffened under his touch before relaxing moments later. House’s eyes then opened again, meeting Wilson’s gaze firmly, unwavering. Wilson smiled at him, gently massaging House’s shoulder under his hand. His chest felt better, normal, like he could breathe again-how badly had he needed to say that? Wilson paused, and wondered, guiltily, just how badly House had needed to hear it. He wondered why he had waited so damn long to say it.
Finally, House shrugged Wilson’s hand off. He stepped backwards and Wilson let him retreat, both physically and emotionally. House cleared his throat and scowled at Wilson, rolling his shoulders. “Are you done?” House asked, an eyebrow arching. “Because I’m going to need a Dramamine if this continues.”
Wilson smiled at House, shaking his head. “I’m done,” he said. He nudged House’s crutch with his own, raising his eyebrows. “You know that Monster Truck special airing tomorrow?”
House frowned at Wilson, confusion darting across his face. “Uh, yeah?”
Wilson grinned. “My couch is free, the beer is free, and the Chinese is free if you want to come over and watch it with me.”
House smiled in an instant. “Well, with an offer like that,” he began, raising his eyebrows, “how can I refuse?”
Wilson grinned. “Great,” he said. He then brushed past House. “I’m off to do your biopsy,” he called over his shoulder, watching as House limped out of his office and paused by his door. Wilson raised a hand to him. “Hope you aren’t too late for your important appointment!”
He could see House’s eyes roll and the other man turned and limped down the opposite way, towards his own office. Wilson then turned to face the elevators, smiling fondly. As he rode the elevators down to the second floor, it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. A weight he had barely been aware he’d been carrying. It felt… good.
He limped out of the elevator the moment it opened, starting towards the nurse’s station. There was equipment to set up and a patient to inform. More than that, Wilson had an apology to deliver.
Again.
----
As a serial flirt, it was easy for Wilson to get the nurses to quickly organize all he needed to perform a biopsy on Dana Miller. Flash a smile, chuckle nervously, shrug just a little, and drop House’s name as quickly and efficiently as he could into every conversation-that was the key to his skills. Of course, his injured leg was another great prop to use. Twenty minutes after Wilson had left House, the room was all set for Wilson to go to work.
People were easy. Apologies were not.
Wilson lingered just before the doors, clenching and unclenching his hand over the handle before he finally pushed his way inside. He limped, carefully and without his crutch, to where Dana Miller was lying under a bright light. Two side tables and a small stool were next to the operating table. He sat down on the stool, glad to take his weight off his throbbing ankle. He gave Dana a weak smile as he turned to his side tables and picked up a pair of gloves and pulled them on.
“Isn’t it a bit odd,” Dana said, drawing Wilson’s eyes to her, “for a department head to be doing a biopsy?”
Wilson smiled, leaning his head to the side a bit. “House and I have… a partnership, if you’d call it that,” he offered. He turned back to the tray and automatically began to go through the steps. He picked up the povidone-iodine solution and began to swab the site of injection to disinfect the area just above Dana’s right breast. “I bring House cases that are interesting, and even if they aren’t up to his usual standard, he’ll take them.” Wilson set the used swab onto the side table and took up the bottle of local anesthetic and the small syringe. “And when he needs something done about cancer, I’m the one he goes to.”
As he filled the needle with the transparent liquid, Dana lifted her eyes and smiled softly at him. “Just a partnership?”
Wilson laughed, checking the level of medication within the syringe. “House would call it a partnership, just to make it look like he doesn’t care,” he said, tapping the side of the syringe and pushing on the plunger. Two droplets of liquid squeezed out the end. He smiled at Dana. “But… we’re friends. Best friends,” he affirmed.
Dana smile softened and she nodded. Wilson held the needle to her chest. “There’ll be a slight pinch,” he said, and pressed the needle into her skin. After pushing in the anesthetic, Wilson removed the needle and set it onto the tray beside him. He then froze, looking down at his hands before he turned on his chair to face Dana again. He had time to kill while waiting for the medication to take effect. He had time to talk.
“I’m sorry,” Wilson said, looking at her. “I’m sorry for… saying those things to you.”
“No you’re not.”
Wilson blinked, startled. Dana shook her head gently. “You’re a good person, Doctor Wilson,” she explained. “You just want me to die, knowing that there are no hard feelings between us. Honestly, I appreciate it but-”
“What?!” Wilson said, startled. Dana frowned at him, and Wilson shook his head. “No, I’m apologizing because… you were right.” He smiled helplessly, settling back on his stool. “Everything I said to you… I should have asked myself. I should have told myself.” He blinked quickly. “My girlfriend died a half a year ago-an accident, nothing anyone could do-but before, I asked House, my best friend, to risk his life to figure out what was wrong with her.” Wilson shook his head. “He did it, and… I almost lost him.” He smiled, but there was no happiness in his eyes. There was only raw hurt. “I never thanked him for it. Never apologized for making him risk everything for my happiness, and he never asked me to.”
Dana watched him for several moments, looking over his face. It was very much like House, Wilson realized, but softer, gentler. Then she folded her mitted hands on her stomach. “If he wanted to do it,” Dana began, “then there would be no reason to apologize. A police man demands no gratitude for saving a person’s life. Neither does a doctor.”
Wilson shook his head at her. “But I chose her over him. My own happiness, my own joy, myself over him. How could someone like House be alright with that?” he pleaded.
Dana didn’t even hesitate before answering, “Because he was glad if you were happy. He was willing to die for your joy. He was happier putting you before himself.”
“That doesn’t sound like House,” Wilson whispered, hoarsely. “He’d never put his mind on the line… it’s too important to him.”
Dana shrugged again. “People are willing to put aside the things most important to them for people they care greatly for. People can do… insane or stupid things.”
Wilson sighed, shaking his head. “Is the area numb?” he asked, stepping away from the conversation. He gently poked the area with his hand.
Dana Miller nodded. “It is,” she said. As Wilson turned to grab his biopsy needle, she spoke once again, “The last time you were in here, I asked if you had someone to live for.”
Wilson swallowed, nodding. “You did,” he said, turning towards her, needle in hand.
Dana smiled brightly at him. “I think you do,” she offered. “I think that you’ve been doing it for so long, you’ve just forgotten that fact.” Wilson stared, bug-eyed, at her. Dana’s smile widened, eyes brightening. “You can’t run from me now, Doctor Wilson,” she said.
Wilson’s hands shook slightly, so he set the needle down on the tray and stared at the woman before him, mouth opened slightly. “You think…?” he said breathlessly. He shook his head quickly, eyes snapping shut. “I… It doesn’t… I’m not…” He winced heavily. “Oh God.”
Dana laughed softly. “This isn’t really a new revelation, is it?”
Wilson stared at her, eyes wide. “It… was a joke.”
“A joke?”
Wilson nodded, hesitantly. “My… Amber was a lot like House. Personality-wise. When he found out… he said something to the effect that I was sleeping with him. So I told him that he and I were a couple by definition, and that dating him wouldn’t be a poor choice.”
One of Dana’s eyebrows rose. “And you found nothing off about dating a woman who acted like your male best friend?”
Wilson shrugged. “She… was what I needed,” he said after a moment.
Dana met his gaze evenly. “But she wasn’t what you wanted.”
Wilson closed his eyes, cutting himself off from her penetrating gaze. If she didn’t see it, it wasn’t real. If he didn’t acknowledge it, it wasn’t there. If no one said it, then there was nothing to say. His mouth, however, betrayed him.
“You don’t always get what you want.”
He opened his eyes to look at her, finally, feeling completely and utterly numb. Dana nodded at him, smiling. “If you don’t try to get it, you don’t,” she said. “If you only settle for what you have, for what’s easy or what others think is right, then you’ll never be happy.”
Wilson watched her for a moment, eyes darting across her face. “What… do I do?”
Dana reached over and set a mitted hand onto Wilson’s knee. Wilson looked down at it before returning to her face. She squeezed his knee and said, “The only wrong thing is to do nothing.”
Wilson kept her gaze for several moments before nodding, looking away. “I think… I understand.”
Dana nodded at him. “Good.”
Wilson smiled at her, a small, sad smile, and Dana moved her hand back to her stomach. Wilson took a deep breath and picked up the biopsy needle once again, hands still and calm. He pressed the needle to the spot on her chest and looked up at Dana again. “Here we go,” he muttered, and began to press down.
Wilson could immediately tell something was off. The pressure, texture, the feel of it was completely wrong. And then the blood began to ooze up, in a greater amount than there should have been. He stopped, staring at it.
“That’s… not right,” Dana said, sounding resigned, but calm. Wilson envied her for that.
Wilson quickly pulled the needle out and grabbed some sterile gauze. He pressed it, firmly, against her chest. “At least,” he said, pressing down on the bleed, “we know you don’t have mesothelioma.”
Wilson didn’t feel so relieved.
Part Four
Author:
phate_phoenix
Prompt : 9. House/Wilson - “When everything is wrong, I'll come talk to you” (My Best Friend - Weezer)
Pairing: Canon House/Cuddy, House/Wilson
Word Count: Chapter- 7,168; Total- 21,217
Rating/Warning: PG-13; Swearing, Spoilers for ‘THE GREATER GOOD’, Vengeful!House, Hurt!Wilson
Summary: An AU of ‘The Greater Good’ caused by a simple… twist. What if Wilson had discovered that Dana Miller was House’s patient just an hour earlier? Cuddy won’t know what hit her.
Beta:
cielo_claro
Disclaimer: DO NOT OWN.
Notes: Written for the house_of_fanfic Annual Contest.
Previous Part: Part Two
----
I: Inundation
To overwhelm as if with a flood
Wilson stared at the scene before him, frozen with one hand on his office door and the other clutching the handle of his crutch. House lay on Wilson’s office couch, mouth agape, feet crossed. Fast food wrappers, a half-eaten bag of chips, and a soft drink container littered the surface of the coffee table beside him. Wilson sighed, easing himself into his office and gently closing the door behind him. He limped to the table and stood there for a moment. He placed one hand on his hip and shook his head.
“I know work is important to you,” Wilson began loudly, and House’s eyes snapped open, darting around before spotting Wilson, “but the bad back and aching leg you’ll get from sleeping on my couch isn’t worth the time you’ll save from driving.”
House leaned his head back on the couch, wincing, and ran a hand over his face. “But then I wouldn’t get to wake up to your lovely face every morning.”
Wilson rolled his eyes and leaned his crutch against his desk. “It’s not that special,” he said as he bent down to pick up the remnants of House’s late-night meal. “Ask my ex-wives.” He threw the trash away and turned back just as House was moving his leg to sit up.
Wilson tossed his jacket across his desk and grabbed his crutch before limping to his couch. He set the crutch against its side and took a seat. House raised an eyebrow at him and Wilson scoffed. “It’s my couch,” he argued. Then he nudged House’s shoulder, grinning. “So, what happened? Cuddy have your locks changed? Stole your car?”
House stretched his arms and yawned before saying, “Someone called to have my heat and electricity cut off last night. Apparently, I’m moving.”
“What?” Wilson asked, eyes wide. He frowned, brows furrowing. “Who besides you can turn off your utilities?”
House smiled, leaning back against the black cushions. “Turns out I’m also married.”
Wilson blinked dumbly at him for a moment. “And you didn’t invite me to the wedding?” he asked, fighting a grin.
House smiled placatingly at him and patted Wilson’s knee. “If I know me, and I like to think I do, I wouldn’t have let you near my wife. You have a problem collecting them, so I didn’t want to tempt you with mine.”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “You’re a real pal, House,” he droned.
“We’ve got to look out for one another,” House said, nodding.
Wilson reached over and stroked the metal of his crutch, smirking. “Want me to break Cuddy’s kneecaps then?”
House stared, mouth agape. Then he sat up straighter. “That’s my wife you’re talking about!”
“That’s true,” Wilson said. He grinned at House and leaned against the other man so just their shoulders touched. “Then I know a great divorce lawyer for you.”
House smirked back. “That’s the most thoughtful gift anyone’s ever given to me.”
House turned his head towards the door and yawned again, but made no attempt to move away. Wilson studied House’s face, seeing the dark circles under his eyes caused by a restless night tossing and turning on a couch made more for neutrality and creating an air of comfort than actually being comfortable. Wilson gritted his teeth and mentally went through his schedule-Cuddy was due for another intervention, one with a bit more kick than the last one.
House turned his head, looking Wilson in the eye. Wilson’s mind froze, as though House had pressed ‘pause’ on his mental faculties. The steely blue eyes scanned over Wilson’s face, as if searching for something, and Wilson could only endure it. The only lingering thought that rang through his mind was, ‘What is he looking for?’
“Mmm bop, ba duba dop ba du bop, ba duba dop ba du bop, ba duba dop ba du…”
House blinked and Wilson’s mind resurfaced and he gasped, as if he had been submerged underwater. They both looked to where House’s coat had fallen to the floor, from which the tones of Hanson were drifting. House bent forward, his joints cracking, and grunted as he lifted the jacket off the ground. He dug the still-singing cell phone out and shook it in Wilson’s direction before rolling his eyes.
“It’s the kids,” he grumbled. “They never let me do anything.”
With that, he flipped open the phone and pressed it to his ear. “You couldn’t wait for me to get to the office?”
“House,” Kutner’s voice on the other side of the line sounded utterly relieved. Then it became indignant. “We’ve been paging you all night!”
House ran a hand over his face, trying to ignore both the pain from his encroaching headache from his lack of sleep and the throbbing in his leg from, as Wilson had said, sleeping on the Couch of Mourning. “What can I say? She was a really good hooker.”
He shot Wilson a glance, and the other man looked worriedly at his couch for a moment before rolling his eyes and pushing himself to his feet. Kutner merely snorted in disbelief.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he grumbled. “Anyway, are you almost here?”
House rose to his feet, grimacing, and threw his jacket over his shoulder. “I want you to close your eyes for sixty seconds. Tell your fellow Knights of the Round to do it, too.”
“…What?”
“Just do it,” House snapped into his phone before clicking it shut. He then grabbed his own crutch from where he had leaned it against the other side of the couch and settled it under his arm. Wilson, who had taken a seat at his desk, peered up at him.
“What sort of return fire are you planning?” Wilson asked, amusement coloring his words. “Should I avoid a certain hallway, or not take any rides from Cuddy?”
House shrugged, popping a Vicodin into his mouth. “I’ll have to think on it,” he said as he limped towards the office door. “But you’ll probably be a part of it somehow.”
Wilson smirked, turning back to his files. “Was there any doubt?” he asked.
House grinned and pushed open the door. He limped down the hall and, through the glass walls and between the blinds, spied Taub leaning against the bookcase. Taub, in return, spotted him and rolled his eyes before calling to Kutner, who was sitting at the table. House pushed open the door to the conference room just as Kutner’s eyes jolted open. Taub planted his hands on his hips-a very Wilson-esque move, and briefly House wondered if all Jewish doctors did that to express disappointment-before glowering at House.
“Where were you?!” he snapped.
House scowled at him as he limped by. “You’re not my mother,” he snapped back, heading to the already-made coffee. He turned back around, pouring coffee into his red cup. He then scanned the room again, frowning. “Where is the other half to our politically correct rainbow?”
Taub frowned. “Not here,” he grumbled. “Neither of them showed up for work yet, and no one’s notified us of either of them calling in sick.”
House waved him off. “If they had, no one would,” he replied grumpily.
Kutner blinked several times before he squinted at House. He tilted his head to the side, fighting off a smile. “Are you…” he began, “are you wearing the same clothes you were yesterday?”
House stared at Kutner. He rolled his eyes and quickly swallowed a mouthful of coffee to spurn on his awareness level. Kutner’s smile broke through and he brightened immediately.
“You are!” he chirped, leaning forward. “Now I know you were lying about that hooker!”
Taub looked between House and Kutner before turning his gaze to the ceiling. House merely glowered in response to Kutner’s discovery. “Did you honestly think I was telling you the truth?”
“No,” Kutner replied, “but I was wondering why you wouldn’t hear your pager or your cell phone.” He smiled smugly and seemed to bounce in his seat. “Did you spend the night at someone’s house?”
Taub smacked a hand to his forehead. “Oh for the love of God, are you a thirteen year old girl?!” he cried before turning to face House. “The patient experienced spinal shocks before we even turned on the machine.”
Kutner huffed before slipping further into his seat and glaring. After slamming down his coffee cup, House turned to Taub and raised his eyebrows. “So we have a new symptom!” he said, and limped around the bookshelves where the white dry-erase board was stashed. He grabbed one corner and wheeled it to face the table. Taub took a seat closest to the board and waited. Across its white surface were black words, cataloging the various symptoms Dana Miller had exhibited while in their care. House paused in front of it for a moment before reaching down to grab a marker.
His fingers scraped against only metal.
He froze, staring at the whiteboard a mere inch from his face, and exhaled. He turned around, glaring at the two remaining fellows. Kutner quickly jumped to his feet and grabbed Taub’s shirt across the table. “MRI!” he yelped. “We’ll MRI her for… a… spinal tumor!”
Taub took one look at House’s face before turning back to Kutner. “A spinal hemangioma, actually,” he muttered as he walked around the table.
“Right!” Kutner said, walking backwards towards the exit.
House pointed at him before he could pass through the threshold. “You will meet me here before noon. Got it?”
Kutner nodded, swallowing, before he and Taub fled through the doors and towards the elevators. House turned back to his whiteboard and stared at where his markers used to lie. His eyes narrowed before he turned around and left the conference room, too. On his way, he pounded on Wilson’s office door and yelled through the wood.
“Twelve-fifteen! The clinic! Meet me there or I will find you.”
House didn’t wait for a response before moving to the elevators. He had two fellows to find, and he had an idea where he’d find at least one of them.
----
When no one answered the door-or, rather, came to see who was opening the door with a set of keys that weren’t supposed to exist-House assumed it was because there was no one home and was going to wait inside until either Thirteen and/or Foreman showed up. Thus, he was intrigued to spot Thirteen sitting in a chair at the back of her living room. Her eyes were glued to the floor in what House could only assume was guilt. Which was odd.
“Nice place you have,” House said as he circled the back of the room, looking around. He paused by a row of picture frames lining a windowsill and knocked one of them onto their face, not even pausing to look at the picture. He turned back to where Thirteen sat and saw her glaring into space, jaw set.
Very odd.
“What picture did I just knock over?” House asked, limping towards Thirteen. She closed her eyes and turned away, swallowing.
“Get out,” she said, voice quivering. “And leave your key.”
Diagnosis.
“You can’t see, can you?” House asked, pausing a few paces from her. When she said nothing more, House looked around, knowing that Foreman would have been there. That meant… “Where’s Foreman?”
“He went to the drug company,” Thirteen said, her eyes flicking towards House. “He thought… maybe…”
“He thought they had a cure for cancer?” House said, snatching up the phone from its base. He limped back to Thirteen. “I’ll call Wilson after you call and bring your idiotic boyfriend back here.”
Thirteen glared at him, eyes narrow and too left of his face. House rolled his eyes and dropped the crutch to the floor. “He actually came to me for advice before he plugged you into the good stuff,” he said as he carefully lowered himself onto a footstool. Thirteen’s eyes darted to his new position, wide. House smirked at her. “I told him he would have to be an idiot if he switched you.”
Thirteen smiled bitterly, rolling her eyes to the side. “No wonder he switched me,” she grumbled, “if you said not to.”
House snorted. “I also told him that he should do it… if he loved you.”
Thirteen froze, her mouth dropping open. She closed her eyes and shook her head. “We-we’ve only been dating for two weeks,” she stuttered, opening her eyes to stare in House’s direction. “You don’t… can’t fall in love with someone in two weeks.”
“Sure you can,” House said swiftly, leaning back. “You can fall out of love just as fast. Foreman, however, decided to risk that he’d love you forever, and that you’d love him forever.” House refrained from adding on, ‘however long your forever is going to actually last.’ Barely. He shook the phone in the air. “And if you are willing to bet on the same forever as him, then I’d call him back before he does something incredibly stupid for nothing.”
Thirteen closed her eyes again, tilting her head towards the floor. She then held her hand out to him. House smirked and quickly dialed Foreman’s cell phone before placing it in her hand. She held the phone to her ear, taking in a swift and shaky breath. “Eric?” she said softly. “Eric, turn around. Come back.” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “No, no it won’t. I need radiation, not good will and… and sacrifice.” She held still for a moment, listening. She then frowned. “Who cares if House is here? So, what? You’re the only one who can listen to his advice? Just… come back.” She paused, and then let out a sigh, a small smile twitching across her lips. “Thank you, Eric. Just… thank you.”
She held the phone back out to House who quickly turned it off and tossed it onto the couch. He reached down to grab his crutch when Thirteen’s hand darted out, snatching the fabric of his arm. He blinked down at it and then up at Thirteen. Her eyes gazed at him, dead but somehow firm. They were focused so closely on House’s face that, for a moment, he wondered if she really was blind.
She held tight to his sleeve, eyes narrowing. “You can’t…” she began, slowly, cautiously, as if wandering over a minefield. “Not everyone… leaves.”
House stilled, closing his eyes. It passed a moment later and he tugged his arm out of her grasp. “Thank you for such an inspiring statement,” he grumped, grabbing the crutch and using it to climb to his feet. “The next time we have group therapy, we should open with that.”
Thirteen’s smile lingered on her face, however, and House made sure to knock over another picture frame on the way out.
----
Wilson lingered nervously in the clinic, only steps from the front desk. He sighed, glaring at his watch, which stubbornly told him it was twelve-ten. House wouldn’t show up until the last minute, even if House was the one to set the time and date. That was life.
Wilson was startled out of his thoughts when Cuddy trotted by him and to the clinic desk. Without a second thought, Wilson limped beside her and leaned against the counter. Cuddy turned slightly to stare at him over her shoulder, but otherwise did nothing more. Wilson picked up a file and flipped it open before peering at her over the top of it.
“I didn’t know House bought you a ring,” he said, eyes narrowed. Cuddy’s eyes widened a fraction before she turned completely to face him.
“So he spent the night at your place?” Cuddy asked, planting a hand on her hip and holding a patient file in the other.
Wilson stilled before clearing his throat. “No, actually,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “He slept in my office.” He paused, setting the file down. “On my couch.”
Cuddy stared at him, brows furrowed. “That stiff ugly thing?”
“It’s not ugly,” Wilson said, frowning. Then he shook his head and leaned forward, shifting his crutch. “That’s not the point.” He ran a hand over his face. “Why are you doing this to him?”
Cuddy rolled her eyes and turned from him, striding towards one of the clinic rooms. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Oh?” Wilson said, quickly limping after her. “But you have time to set tripwires, steal canes, and commit fraud?” Cuddy stopped in the hallways and glowered at him over her shoulder. Wilson smiled pleasantly. “I wonder how you have any time for your job.”
Cuddy’s face flushed and her eyes narrowed into a swift glare. “House needs to know that he can’t just be an asshole to anyone he wants to without repercussions.”
Wilson gaped at her for several moments. “‘Without repercussions’?” he said, amused disbelief coloring his words. He smiled and laughed a little, holding up his free hand. “House is an asshole because, no matter how he behaves, something bad always happens to him. That’s the House you hired.”
Cuddy rolled her eyes. “That’s still no excuse-”
“He offers no excuse!” Wilson exclaimed, drawing eyes from those around him. Wilson ignored them and shuffled closer to Cuddy. “When you hired him, you knew that he was an ass. That he wasn’t politically correct, or humble, or kind. He was just as he is now-a nightmare to anyone close enough to get in his way.” He gestured swiftly to the side, almost knocking a stack of files over. Wilson glanced at it before turning back to Cuddy. “Just because you realize it, or just because it’s suddenly an inconvenience to you, doesn’t give you the right to punish him like this!” Wilson dropped his hand to his side. He glared at her and he whispered, “You’re hurting him.”
She stared back at him, eyes widened. Then she clutched the file to her chest and nodded jerkily. “Nice having this talk with you, Doctor Wilson,” she said stiffly, and turned on her heel before disappearing behind one of the many clinic doors.
“Oh, how you defend my virtue.”
Wilson jumped and nearly dropped his crutch. He craned his neck around to spy House walking towards him from the elevators, smirking. He still leaned heavily against the crutch Wilson had given him yesterday. An eager-looking Kutner trailed behind him. Wilson turned around and met them halfway. Wilson rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging.
“I need my couch back,” Wilson said. “You got crumbs all over it last night. And what will your hookers think if you don’t call them?”
Kutner’s face took on a disappointed look, which confused Wilson. However, House spoke, drawing Wilson’s attention back to him.
“Wilson,” House began, “you and I are going to be distractions.”
Wilson stared at House. “We are the distractions?” he said, startled. He had thought House would rather be front-and-center in his revenge schemes.
House waved his free hand through the air. “It’s a long and complicated plot,” he grumbled. He turned to Kutner and frowned at him. “Is there a reason you’re standing here? Shoo!”
As House waved his hands at him, Kutner smiled at Wilson. “I’m going to be discrete,” he said. “No one will ever know it was me.” Before Wilson could say anything, Kutner jammed his hands into his lab coat and ambled away from them. It took Wilson a moment to realize that Kutner was heading towards Cuddy’s office.
“House,” Wilson began, turning to face him, “you do remember that Kutner lit a patient on fire, electrocuted himself, and almost blew up a house, right?”
House shrugged. “He’s dedicated,” he explained, waving his hand. “Not important.” House then limped towards the clinic exit and the front lobby. Wilson sighed, and took up stride beside him.
“What’s your plan then?” Wilson asked softly, glancing at House.
House’s smile took on a sinister gleam, and he stopped in the middle of the lobby, between the exit and the front desk. Wilson paused, glancing around nervously. He turned back around and took a half-step back, shocked; House’s eyes were narrow, cold, enraged.
“I don’t need you to defend me from her!” House snarled, slamming the end of his crutch to the floor. He limped forward, stopping only inches from Wilson’s face. “This is my fight! I don’t need a damn knight in shining armor to save me!” he shouted.
Wilson’s mind blanked for a single instant before he caught on. His lips twitched upwards before he forced them into a frown. His free hand immediately planted on his hip and he leaned forward, almost nose-to-nose with House. “Forgive me for caring!” he snapped back. “I forgot that your massive ego is easily punctured by concern.”
Wilson could tell the two of them were drawing quite a crowd, as the entire room had gone quiet except for House’s rapid breathing and his own breaths between clenched teeth. House’s free hand swung outward, gesturing violently beside them, not that Wilson could see much besides House’s too-blue eyes.
“What’s motivating you to get in my business is not concern,” House scoffed. “It’s guilt.”
“Guilt?!” Wilson shouted, his own arm flying outwards. Suddenly, the entire situation felt less like an act and more like an actual fight. “What do I have to be guilty about?!”
House sneered at him. “Is Cuddy the only one who knew I was an ass going in?” House drawled, “Or did you only realize this yourself a few months ago?”
Wilson’s mind shut down, and his body reeled back as if he had been struck. It felt like it, as though House had punched through his chest, tore out his heart, and was crushing it with his hands. Wilson’s mouth sagged open and his guts felt like they were trying to crawl up his throat to escape. House leaned back, coolly watching him, observing him. After a moment, Wilson managed to choke out, “House…”
“What is going on over here?!”
Wilson flinched and turned towards the sound. He watched as Cuddy marched over towards them, pulling off a set of gloves as she came closer. House turned towards her, scowling.
“We’re kind of in the middle of something,” House grumbled. Wilson wondered if House had forgotten this was supposed to be a ploy, or if the man was just that good at acting.
Cuddy’s arms crossed and she raised an eyebrow. “We all noticed,” she said, leaning backwards. “Care to explain why you’re disturbing the whole hospital?”
House rolled his eyes. “Let me and Jimmy duke it out a few rounds. It’ll be fine. Now that you’ve evened the handicap, it’ll be a fair fight.”
Wilson looked at House, frowning. “You wouldn’t dream of fighting fair.”
“True,” House said, smirking, “but if no one catches you, it’s not cheating.”
It was Cuddy’s turn to roll her eyes. “I meant,” she began in a louder tone, “why aren’t you arguing in your own offices instead of down here?”
House looked around before leaning forward. He brought up a hand to whisper behind. “We don’t like to fight in front of the kids,” he admitted. “Taub starts to cry and Thirteen goes to her room and just doesn’t come out for hours.” He dropped his hand and looked pointedly at Cuddy. “Do you want to be responsible for that kind of emotional hurt?”
Cuddy rolled her eyes, throwing her hands into the air. “Fine, my fault for asking,” she sighed. She then planted her hands on her hips. “So what is going on?”
Wilson shrugged, glancing at House. “Does it really surprise you that House and I fight?” he asked.
Cuddy frowned. “Out here? In the hospital? Yes,” she said.
House smiled. “My dirty laundry must be aired.”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “You don’t even do your own laundry,” he mumbled before turning his attention once more on Cuddy. “We’re sorry for disrupting the peace, but it isn’t anything… major.”
House grinned, eyebrows shooting upwards. “If it was, we would have begun to duel with the crutches.” Wilson and Cuddy stared blankly at him, and House hefted his up. “I can demonstrate if you don’t believe me…”
Cuddy turned back to Wilson, and he smiled gently. “It’s fine. Really,” he said.
Cuddy grumbled something under her breath before she strode away and towards her office, bypassing the clinic desk completely. House shot a glance to the wall-mounted clock and smirked. “I love it when a plan comes together,” he said under his breath before limping towards the elevators. Wilson, having nothing better to do, followed after.
“House,” he said as the two of them boarded a vacant elevator, “what was that all about?”
House looked at him as he pressed the button for their floor. “It was a distraction,” he said. He grinned quickly. “Kutner went into Cuddy’s office and stole her car keys. As we speak, he is moving her car into a handicapped parking zone.”
Wilson gaped at him. “You had your fellow commit grand theft?” he asked. “That’s supposed to be complicated? … Kutner went along with it?!”
House smirked as the elevator doors slid open. “And you wondered why I chose Kutner.” He limped out, Wilson still at his side.
“That… wasn’t what I was talking about,” Wilson finally said, pausing beside his office door. House groaned loudly, his head lolling back.
“Wilson, it was a distraction,” House said, eyeing him. “It was the perfect set up after your little outburst with Cuddy in the clinic.” At Wilson’s furrowed brows, House waved him off. “I know you aren’t actually guilty about it, and I actually don’t care. So don’t worry your pretty little head over it, honey, or you’ll get those awful wrinkles.”
Wilson’s mouth dropped open, shocked. Before he could say anything, however, House’s pager went off. They both glanced at House’s waistline, although House tilted the pager so that only he could read the message. He stood up straight and began to limp back down the hallway, leaving Wilson gaping behind him.
“Wh-where are you going?” Wilson called, standing still. House glanced over his shoulder and sneered.
“Got stuff to do!” House called back.
Wilson scowled. “This conversation isn’t over!”
House merely grinned at him as he entered the elevator and allowed the doors to close.
----
Hours passed after House disappeared before he burst into Wilson’s office, holding a folder of MRI scans in his hand. Wilson looked up from his paperwork and watched as House, without preamble, limped over to the white screen at the other end of the room and jammed a few scans in there, flicking on the light. Wilson, sighing, rose to his feet, grabbing his crutch, and gimped to join him. As Wilson came alongside House to look at the black and white images, House reached out and tapped the large, white blobs that were scattered throughout the person’s body.
“This just goes to show,” House said, drawing his hand back and keeping his eyes upon the slides, “that you can never quit cancer.”
Wilson glanced at him before looking back at the screen, squinting. “Are these Dana Miller’s?” He didn’t wait for House to answer. Instead, Wilson leaned forward and ran a finger over the image. “Are you thinking mesothelioma?”
House shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “We took scans two days ago, and none of these were there.”
Wilson frowned. “Mesothelioma doesn’t grow that fast,” he muttered. He raised an eyebrow at House. “Do you want me to do a biopsy?”
House nodded. He pulled one of the scans down and shoved another into place. “This one, above her right breast, is close to the surface.”
“Looks good,” Wilson said, pulling the scans from the white screen. He flicked off the light and turned to House. “Do you want me to go and do that now…?”
“Now would be good,” House said, thrusting the rest of MRI scans into Wilson’s arms, nearly knocking him off balance. He looked at the clock in Wilson’s room before he moved towards the door. “Sorry to drop and run, but-”
“We have a conversation to finish, House.”
House frowned and paused, glancing over his shoulder. Wilson smirked at him, holding the large folder in front of him. House sighed and leaned heavily on his crutch. “While we waste time,” House began, looking earnest, “Miss Miller could be dying. Don’t you even care?”
Wilson shrugged at him and limped to his desk. “If she does have mesothelioma, she’s dead anyway,” he said, placing the folder on top of his other files, “and if she doesn’t, the lab results won’t come in until after you get to work tomorrow.” Wilson raised an eyebrow at House. “Ten minutes isn’t going to make much difference.”
House frowned, brows furrowing, and then exhaled. “Fine,” he grumbled. “What can’t wait until after the biopsy?”
Wilson dropped his gaze to the floor for a moment before he brought himself to look at House again. “Why did you sleep in my office last night?” he asked. “Why didn’t you call me to stay at my apartment?”
House rolled his eyes and sighed in disgust. He glowered at Wilson. “Are you honestly asking me that?” At Wilson’s firm stare, House sighed and gestured lamely with is free hand. “Yesterday, after your little visit with my patient, you spent the rest of the day avoiding me,” he said. “And the last time I tried to stay at your place, you weren’t exactly fond of the idea.” House shrugged. “I figured I’d go with the best bet the first time around.”
Wilson winced, gritting his teeth. “Oh,” he mumbled, slouching. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at House through his meager bangs. “I kicked you out because you were rationalizing your infatuation with Cuddy,” he offered, lifting his head some. “And I’ve been avoiding you… because…”
He paused, brows furrowed again. House tapped his crutch as he stood by, glancing at the clock again. “Wilson, if you’re going to have a huge emotional reveal, could you do it quick? I’m on a schedule.”
“Oh, right,” Wilson said, throwing House a look with disbelief written all over it. “The only schedule you ‘keep’ is my schedule.” Then Wilson exhaled and nodded to himself. He turned to face House completely, drawing himself up. “I’ve been avoiding you because my talks with your patient have made me realize what a selfish asshole I was to you.”
House stilled for several moments, mouth slowly dropping open. “Excuse me?” he said at last.
Wilson smiled ruefully at him. “Is it so surprising to hear me admit that?” he asked. House opened his mouth and Wilson waved him off. “Don’t say anything, I know the answer.” Wilson ran a hand over his face and through his hair. “Miller… said some things that made me think about the choices I made in my life,” Wilson continued. “Choices I made to… further my own happiness, even if it hurts other people. If it hurt you.”
House dropped his gaze to the ground and shifted in obvious discomfort. Wilson barreled ahead, however. “I never even thanked you after you did the deep brain stimulation,” he said. He swallowed. “I never said how sorry I am that I even asked you to do it.”
House shrugged, still not meeting Wilson’s gaze. “Love makes people overlook the important things in their life,” he said. “It makes people do stupid or insane things. Things they wouldn’t do under any other circumstance.” House’s eyes rose to meet Wilson’s. “I don’t blame you for it. I don’t need you to apologize.”
“Well,” Wilson said, smiling a little. “I do.” He shuffled forward a few paces, close enough that he reached out and clutched House’s shoulder. “I am so sorry for asking you to risk yourself for my happiness, that I chose myself over you,” he said gently, earnestly. He squeezed House’s shoulder tighter. “And thank you for trying everything to save Amber.” Wilson paused, inhaling a shaky breath and forcing himself to smile. His chest ached, just like before, just like when House had shouted in the lobby. He fought past it. “Thank you,” he said, voice shaking, “for not dying.”
House went utterly still, his eyes falling shut. Wilson watched as House’s entire body stiffened under his touch before relaxing moments later. House’s eyes then opened again, meeting Wilson’s gaze firmly, unwavering. Wilson smiled at him, gently massaging House’s shoulder under his hand. His chest felt better, normal, like he could breathe again-how badly had he needed to say that? Wilson paused, and wondered, guiltily, just how badly House had needed to hear it. He wondered why he had waited so damn long to say it.
Finally, House shrugged Wilson’s hand off. He stepped backwards and Wilson let him retreat, both physically and emotionally. House cleared his throat and scowled at Wilson, rolling his shoulders. “Are you done?” House asked, an eyebrow arching. “Because I’m going to need a Dramamine if this continues.”
Wilson smiled at House, shaking his head. “I’m done,” he said. He nudged House’s crutch with his own, raising his eyebrows. “You know that Monster Truck special airing tomorrow?”
House frowned at Wilson, confusion darting across his face. “Uh, yeah?”
Wilson grinned. “My couch is free, the beer is free, and the Chinese is free if you want to come over and watch it with me.”
House smiled in an instant. “Well, with an offer like that,” he began, raising his eyebrows, “how can I refuse?”
Wilson grinned. “Great,” he said. He then brushed past House. “I’m off to do your biopsy,” he called over his shoulder, watching as House limped out of his office and paused by his door. Wilson raised a hand to him. “Hope you aren’t too late for your important appointment!”
He could see House’s eyes roll and the other man turned and limped down the opposite way, towards his own office. Wilson then turned to face the elevators, smiling fondly. As he rode the elevators down to the second floor, it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. A weight he had barely been aware he’d been carrying. It felt… good.
He limped out of the elevator the moment it opened, starting towards the nurse’s station. There was equipment to set up and a patient to inform. More than that, Wilson had an apology to deliver.
Again.
----
As a serial flirt, it was easy for Wilson to get the nurses to quickly organize all he needed to perform a biopsy on Dana Miller. Flash a smile, chuckle nervously, shrug just a little, and drop House’s name as quickly and efficiently as he could into every conversation-that was the key to his skills. Of course, his injured leg was another great prop to use. Twenty minutes after Wilson had left House, the room was all set for Wilson to go to work.
People were easy. Apologies were not.
Wilson lingered just before the doors, clenching and unclenching his hand over the handle before he finally pushed his way inside. He limped, carefully and without his crutch, to where Dana Miller was lying under a bright light. Two side tables and a small stool were next to the operating table. He sat down on the stool, glad to take his weight off his throbbing ankle. He gave Dana a weak smile as he turned to his side tables and picked up a pair of gloves and pulled them on.
“Isn’t it a bit odd,” Dana said, drawing Wilson’s eyes to her, “for a department head to be doing a biopsy?”
Wilson smiled, leaning his head to the side a bit. “House and I have… a partnership, if you’d call it that,” he offered. He turned back to the tray and automatically began to go through the steps. He picked up the povidone-iodine solution and began to swab the site of injection to disinfect the area just above Dana’s right breast. “I bring House cases that are interesting, and even if they aren’t up to his usual standard, he’ll take them.” Wilson set the used swab onto the side table and took up the bottle of local anesthetic and the small syringe. “And when he needs something done about cancer, I’m the one he goes to.”
As he filled the needle with the transparent liquid, Dana lifted her eyes and smiled softly at him. “Just a partnership?”
Wilson laughed, checking the level of medication within the syringe. “House would call it a partnership, just to make it look like he doesn’t care,” he said, tapping the side of the syringe and pushing on the plunger. Two droplets of liquid squeezed out the end. He smiled at Dana. “But… we’re friends. Best friends,” he affirmed.
Dana smile softened and she nodded. Wilson held the needle to her chest. “There’ll be a slight pinch,” he said, and pressed the needle into her skin. After pushing in the anesthetic, Wilson removed the needle and set it onto the tray beside him. He then froze, looking down at his hands before he turned on his chair to face Dana again. He had time to kill while waiting for the medication to take effect. He had time to talk.
“I’m sorry,” Wilson said, looking at her. “I’m sorry for… saying those things to you.”
“No you’re not.”
Wilson blinked, startled. Dana shook her head gently. “You’re a good person, Doctor Wilson,” she explained. “You just want me to die, knowing that there are no hard feelings between us. Honestly, I appreciate it but-”
“What?!” Wilson said, startled. Dana frowned at him, and Wilson shook his head. “No, I’m apologizing because… you were right.” He smiled helplessly, settling back on his stool. “Everything I said to you… I should have asked myself. I should have told myself.” He blinked quickly. “My girlfriend died a half a year ago-an accident, nothing anyone could do-but before, I asked House, my best friend, to risk his life to figure out what was wrong with her.” Wilson shook his head. “He did it, and… I almost lost him.” He smiled, but there was no happiness in his eyes. There was only raw hurt. “I never thanked him for it. Never apologized for making him risk everything for my happiness, and he never asked me to.”
Dana watched him for several moments, looking over his face. It was very much like House, Wilson realized, but softer, gentler. Then she folded her mitted hands on her stomach. “If he wanted to do it,” Dana began, “then there would be no reason to apologize. A police man demands no gratitude for saving a person’s life. Neither does a doctor.”
Wilson shook his head at her. “But I chose her over him. My own happiness, my own joy, myself over him. How could someone like House be alright with that?” he pleaded.
Dana didn’t even hesitate before answering, “Because he was glad if you were happy. He was willing to die for your joy. He was happier putting you before himself.”
“That doesn’t sound like House,” Wilson whispered, hoarsely. “He’d never put his mind on the line… it’s too important to him.”
Dana shrugged again. “People are willing to put aside the things most important to them for people they care greatly for. People can do… insane or stupid things.”
Wilson sighed, shaking his head. “Is the area numb?” he asked, stepping away from the conversation. He gently poked the area with his hand.
Dana Miller nodded. “It is,” she said. As Wilson turned to grab his biopsy needle, she spoke once again, “The last time you were in here, I asked if you had someone to live for.”
Wilson swallowed, nodding. “You did,” he said, turning towards her, needle in hand.
Dana smiled brightly at him. “I think you do,” she offered. “I think that you’ve been doing it for so long, you’ve just forgotten that fact.” Wilson stared, bug-eyed, at her. Dana’s smile widened, eyes brightening. “You can’t run from me now, Doctor Wilson,” she said.
Wilson’s hands shook slightly, so he set the needle down on the tray and stared at the woman before him, mouth opened slightly. “You think…?” he said breathlessly. He shook his head quickly, eyes snapping shut. “I… It doesn’t… I’m not…” He winced heavily. “Oh God.”
Dana laughed softly. “This isn’t really a new revelation, is it?”
Wilson stared at her, eyes wide. “It… was a joke.”
“A joke?”
Wilson nodded, hesitantly. “My… Amber was a lot like House. Personality-wise. When he found out… he said something to the effect that I was sleeping with him. So I told him that he and I were a couple by definition, and that dating him wouldn’t be a poor choice.”
One of Dana’s eyebrows rose. “And you found nothing off about dating a woman who acted like your male best friend?”
Wilson shrugged. “She… was what I needed,” he said after a moment.
Dana met his gaze evenly. “But she wasn’t what you wanted.”
Wilson closed his eyes, cutting himself off from her penetrating gaze. If she didn’t see it, it wasn’t real. If he didn’t acknowledge it, it wasn’t there. If no one said it, then there was nothing to say. His mouth, however, betrayed him.
“You don’t always get what you want.”
He opened his eyes to look at her, finally, feeling completely and utterly numb. Dana nodded at him, smiling. “If you don’t try to get it, you don’t,” she said. “If you only settle for what you have, for what’s easy or what others think is right, then you’ll never be happy.”
Wilson watched her for a moment, eyes darting across her face. “What… do I do?”
Dana reached over and set a mitted hand onto Wilson’s knee. Wilson looked down at it before returning to her face. She squeezed his knee and said, “The only wrong thing is to do nothing.”
Wilson kept her gaze for several moments before nodding, looking away. “I think… I understand.”
Dana nodded at him. “Good.”
Wilson smiled at her, a small, sad smile, and Dana moved her hand back to her stomach. Wilson took a deep breath and picked up the biopsy needle once again, hands still and calm. He pressed the needle to the spot on her chest and looked up at Dana again. “Here we go,” he muttered, and began to press down.
Wilson could immediately tell something was off. The pressure, texture, the feel of it was completely wrong. And then the blood began to ooze up, in a greater amount than there should have been. He stopped, staring at it.
“That’s… not right,” Dana said, sounding resigned, but calm. Wilson envied her for that.
Wilson quickly pulled the needle out and grabbed some sterile gauze. He pressed it, firmly, against her chest. “At least,” he said, pressing down on the bleed, “we know you don’t have mesothelioma.”
Wilson didn’t feel so relieved.
Part Four