Waiting for...[fic]
TITLE: Waiting for...
AUTHOR:
shadowbyrd
PAIRING: Wilson/Chase (established)
RATING: R
SUMMARY: It's winter. Wilson's acting weird. Chase wants to know why.
DISCLAIMER: I own no one and nothing.
A/N: Many thanks to
delphinapterusfor the beta.
James hates the winter.
At work there's an influx of red-nosed, sneezing patients at the clinic, all convinced that it's more than a mere cold. They may as well record "bed rest and plenty of fluids" and play it on repeat in the waiting room, just to make sure it sinks in. House is particularly difficult this time of year, too; either it's the wet weather making the pain in his leg worse, or there's ice on the pavements, or it's the clinic hours which are getting harder to dodge and which, when he is coerced into doing them, are more inane than usual. And if House is to be believed James is going to have an even worse time of it this year; Robert apparently always complains about the weather this time of year, which means Wilson will probably have more bitching to pretend to listen to.
And of course, there's David. David who James hasn't seen for the past eleven years and in all likelihood will never see again. He thinks about him a lot during the winter months it was, after all, around this time that he vanished into the cool gloom. Every time he walks out into the cold morning air he wonders if David spent the night out in the middle of it, or if he managed to find some shelter; wonders if he's even alive to have slept last night. The same occurs to him at night as he comes home and shuts the door letting the warmth soak into his skin.
He doesn't lose sleep over it like he once did, lying awake in the twilight hours trying to think what last little thing he said or did, what brief gesture he made or didn't that was the final straw that broke the camel's back. It was that kind of thing, along with frequent, night-long trips to the usual meeting place, trawling haunts he'd heard David talk about, the fact he point blank refused to open up about it and then the other fact that he was hardly ever there anymore that made Bonnie suggest they call it a day. He never dropped a word to House, going on as though he only had one brother, as though he really was this torn up over the divorce (and he was torn up about it - he liked Bonnie; she'd been fun in a harmless sort of way and dependable those times he needed her, even during the separation). Whether he was scared he'd lose him too or it was his increasing need for secrets from House he's not sure, but he managed to keep David from him for eleven years, so whatever his reasons they must have been good ones. He's not sure he could be such close friends with House if he weren't able to occasionally (and spectacularly) pull the wool over his eyes.
He is lying awake tonight, but that has nothing to do David, or the fact it's winter. They just give him depressing facts to mull over in lieu of counting sheep. He's not sure why he's still awake, really. He's tired, just can't seem to switch off. He takes a moment to glare enviously at Robert, who is blissfully dead to the world, next to him. Robert could probably get a decent night’s sleep suspended from the ceiling.
He stares at the ceiling. He's lying awake on an endless winter night and it has nothing to do with David. Neither did Bonnie, who knew he had a second brother; one who wasn't at the wedding, wasn't talked about amongst the family and who she knew from the start not to ask about. He likes to pretend the disappearance broke them up - though sometimes he has an urge to tell people my older brother disappeared eleven years ago. We argued and then I never saw him again - I don't even know if he's dead or alive, like it will explain away all his screw ups and indiscretions. But that's only on particularly desperate days when he hasn't been able to say remission for a long time, having instead to use words like terminal and nothing we can do and I'm so sorry. As though the fact he couldn't save his own brother will make perfect strangers feel better about the fact he couldn't save them or their loved ones. Stupid really.
Around five o'clock, fed up with drifting in and out of a stupor, he has a shower and dresses for work, taking particular care with his clothes (especially the socks - last thing he wants is House thinking things are going south with him and Robert) and sits back on the bed, picking up a book to distract himself from the memories of those early days of school when he was so excited he'd get up far too early and sit in the half light of the morning waiting for his Mom's alarm to go off in the other room.
Robert comes around an hour or so later and, taking one look at his fully clothed state, leaps out of bed with comical urgency and dashes into the bathroom snatching up clothes as he goes. The door slams and James chuckles and turns a page. He'll tell Robert the time when he gets out and then, when he stops sulking, will find him a shirt and tie that actually match.
* *
It's a ridiculous thing to notice, but experience has taught Robert that the ridiculously small and petty things can be important. Not that he thinks James is skipping meals or sticking his fingers down his throat and then his head in the toilet bowl, but he's been acting a little...off lately. It's been driving Robert mad.
"Has House said anything to you?" he asks, buttering toast.
"About us you mean?"
"No. I mean - has he been making those Greenpeace remarks again? Comments about your "girlish figure", that kind of thing?"
James pauses as though he can't consider this and reach for the jam (jelly, whatever) at the same time. "No." he says finally, stretching out the "O" in such a way that asks "Why?"
Robert shrugs, beginning to feel a little silly for bringing it up. "You went for a walk the other morning. You don't usually."
James flashes him a quick smile, the kind he uses on patients and staff at the hospital "Couldn't sleep."
Something's not quite right here, but Robert says nothing more except "Well, don't think you have to go changing. I happen to like this," he reaches over and squeezes James' hip "just the way it is."
James swats his hand away with a smirk and they start talking about something interesting enough to be diverting, but mundane enough that by the time he's in the locker room Robert has completely forgotten about it.
* *
A week later and the walk before breakfast hasn't become a regular thing - James has only done it once or twice since, which probably means something, though Robert's damned if he can think what. For the time being he ignores it and they continue on as per usual.
Until this evening when James, while pouring out the wine casually breaks one of their relationship's bigger taboos.
"What would you have done if you were in your father's position? I mean, if you were the one who had cancer. Would you have tried to reach out to him?"
At first he's too stunned James has actually gone there to even begin thinking up an answer. They have a list of people that they do not talk about together, and Rowan is right at the top with Volger for obvious reasons.
"I …" What would he have done? He might have moved back home, seen his friends over there again. But his Dad...what would have been the point? His Dad had always been busy, that bit too busy when it came to family matters. It was one of the reasons he was such a good doctor - always there for his patients. He had always wondered what it would have taken for Rowan to actually sit up and pay attention. Then his mother died and he stopped giving a dam. So he told himself. But-
He shrugs "He was my Dad." He takes a large gulp of wine "He'd have deserved to know."
"Would you have called him? E-mail?"
"I don't know," He's starting to get annoyed now "Probably gone to see him in person, tell him what was going on. Wouldn't have given him any of that "I miss you" crap."
"Even if you did?" James doesn't seem to know when to stop pressing tonight.
"A bit late in the day for all that, don't you think?" says he a little too coldly, but James gets the message and shuts up. "What made you ask anyway?"
James shakes his head "Just a patient earlier today. She and her husband didn't tell the kids what was going on. Didn't want them worried."
Robert snorts. "That's not why he did it."
"Why else-"
"You met him," Robert points out, stabbing his fork into his chicken viciously "He was...he was proud. Didn't want me looking after him whether he needed it or not. Presumptuous, arrogant bastard."
"Would you have?"
"What?"
"Looked after him?"
Robert just stares at him. "He was my Dad."
James doesn't have anything to say to that and Robert suddenly doesn't feel like talking anymore, taking bigger bites of his chicken salad and more frequent sips from his wine glass.
"I'm sorry." James offers finally. "I just-"
"I know." says Robert. He hasn't got a clue actually but just wants him to shut up about it.
His gaze drops to his plate and Robert can almost hear him searching for a safe conversation. "How's the latest patient?"
"Almost made it out the doors for good today. Then started bleeding from his ears after half an hour at home."
James smirks "House is in a good mood, then?"
"I'm surprised you didn't hear the tantrum. He nearly had the whiteboard out the window."
* *
Pride.
Had David been a proud man?
He'd come to James cap in hand any number of times. He'd never stopped to think how much that must have taken, to not only admit to your brother, your younger brother, that you needed help but to work up the nerve to ask him for it. He doesn't have to rely on his imagination too much. There were a number of times James had considered calling up Matthew to help untangle the knots of red tape Tritter had tied him in. He'd always put the phone down, if ever he managed to pick it up, reminding himself how much Matt hated getting involved in family cases, because the other side always used that as a point against him (one of the many reasons Matt was not present for the legal proceedings of his older brother's three divorces, though he often joked that hearing about the first was what had gotten him interested in the law as a vocation). That and the fact that he'd landed himself in a hell of a mess and he was damned if Matt was going to know, never mind their parents (for a lawyer Matt had a big mouth).
It could be that last time James had refused him something had sparked inside him, those last embers of pride keeping him from crawling back to the younger brother who'd turned him away, no matter how much he needed it.
Their grandfather had been a proud man. And that pride had been the death of him their grandma used to say.
He glances at Robert, still in zombie mode, brushing his teeth. Robert catches him looking in the mirror and smiles a fraction too slow. No doubt still thinking how it would have gone if he'd known. There's a reason they don't mention Rowan. Or Volger. Or Kayla, or Grace…
He slips on his coat and steps out into the still dark morning and wonders if David's pride had taken enough of a battering to send him to Matt, and if Matt's gotten any better at keeping secrets.
* *
Robert has a problem. Something is now very clearly up with James. James, who will not even entertain the idea that there is a problem - not in front of him, anyway - let alone actually talk to him about it. Ordinarily he would discuss this with someone, ideally someone who knew the person under discussion. However, the only two people he could talk to on that front are House and Cuddy. House is definitely out. He's made it quite clear that he's suffering them only because of Wilson - it's unlikely he'll forgive Chase this side of the next millennium, let alone help him find out what the problem is. No, he's the last resort, and then some.
It would be useful to pick Cuddy's brains - she must know one or two things that have slipped by House these past few years. Of course Cuddy lives in feigned ignorance of their relationship, which would be rather difficult to maintain if Chase came to her for advice. In the "knowing Wilson" category (if one were to use the term loosely) this leaves Foreman and Cameron, each choice about as appealing as a pub toilet at closing time. Well, maybe not that bad, though Cameron has a certain bias when it comes to Wilson and Foreman would probably just ignore him.
Cuddy's his best bet. He's going to have to phase it just right and there's that thing where he's a bit scared of her, but he's not quite desperate enough to phone up one of the notorious ex-wives.
He takes the opportunity when House sends him to do his clinic hours, making sure to begin the conversation as far out of earshot of the nurses as possible.
Cuddy spots him approaching and narrows her eyes. "Were you supposed to be sneaking down here or does House think I'm not going to be able to distinguish you from him?"
"I think I was meant to sneak in. Could I have a word with you?"
This gets her suspicious. "What's House up to and why are you the one coming to see me about it?"
Chase allows himself a second to be insulted and then moves on. "It's about Dr. Wilson."
Cuddy's face freezes for a moment, but she plays dumb. "What about Dr. Wilson? Has House done something to him or-"
"I'm concerned." Chase tells her, widening his eyes.
Cuddy sighs impatiently. "In here." she orders, herding him into exam room one.
"So," Cuddy begins, leaning against the door, probably to reassure herself it is shut. "what's got you worrying?"
Chase fidgets, tries leaning against the exam table, then shifts his weight foot to foot. "It's - he seems kind of distracted and uh, he doesn't seem to be sleeping well." Wilson's still going through the divorce, right? Julie's number has to be around the apartment somewhere...
Cuddy raises her eyebrows. "And?"
"And...hypothetically, were I to be familiar with him outside work, on a day-to-day basis - living together, let's say - I might notice he was going out for walks at strange times, before breakfast, that kind of thing, or I might notice that he was...well, not quite off his food, but perhaps paying less attention to it?"
"You mean he's eating less?"
"That too."
"And you're coming to me with this because-?"
"Well, hypothetically were I living with, if indeed I was in some kind of relationship with Dr. Wilson, I would probably ask his friends if they'd noticed any...unusual behaviour. Or if they had any ideas what might have happened."
Cuddy nods slowly, lips pursed "And if you were in a relationship with Dr Wilson, you hypothetically would ask me my opinion?"
"You'd be first on the hypothetical list."
"Of course." More nodding. Then "Hypothetically were you currently in a relationship and hypothetically had you just asked me that question I would have to say that I've not noticed much of a difference. He has been looking tired these past few days - I just assumed he needed a day off."
"No ideas why then? Hypothetically, I mean?"
"Not that I could think of. I'd be sorry I couldn't help you if it weren't a completely hypothetical situation." She straightens. The meeting's over.
"So hypothetically my next option would be House?"
"I think I still have Julie's number somewhere."
"Don't tempt me."
* *
He waits until Cameron and Foreman leave for the day, pretending to wait for Wilson. Handy excuse especially the part where it was actually true. The chance Wilson could walk in on them made it risky and Chase isn't relishing the idea of discussing this with House. The things he does for what might well be love.
House is checking something in one of his textbooks against a patient’s charts when Chase comes in. Most work House does is done under cover of darkness. Chase clears his throat.
House doesn't even look up. "Coma guy has pustules."
One day, Chase promises himself, he's going to work somewhere where people actually say "hello". Then again, he's gotten used to it. It would be frightening to work something where people had to act polite and friendly.
"That's nice."
"And you're cheating on Wilson. With Cuddy." House shoots him a nasty smile "I applaud your choice, but still - kind of unsporting, don't you think? He got cheated on the last time - it's his turn to cheat with Cuddy."
Chase intends to begin by spluttering indignantly and protesting his innocence, but then something strikes him. "Hang on, if you were in the clinic why did you even bother sending me down there?"
"What, God can be omnipresent but I can't? You may want to watch what you say and do around that cute red head in the pharmacy."
"One of your agents?"
"Only while I have what she wants..."
The trail off is so suggestive. He has to ask. "Which is?"
House waves a hand. "Couple of nude photos. Of you."
"You don't have any naked pictures of me." And then he remembers that charity event where everyone had had a bit too much to drink and some moronic bastard had spiked the punch "Do you?"
"She thinks I do, which is all that really matters at the moment. Aside from just what you and Dr. Cuddy were doing in the exam room, of course."
"Talking about Wilson."
"What you were comparing scores, which orgasm face he used?"
Chase raises his eyebrows "He has more than one?"
House rolls his eyes "See, I always knew there was a "good" reason I opposed this relationship beside the fact that, y'know, it's with you-"
"I'm worried about him." Chase announces. "He's been acting weird lately and I was wondering if she knew why."
House bites his lip, entombing the sarcastic remark that is doubtlessly desperate to come out and manages to look serious. "Weird how?"
"Not eating as much, not sleeping well," House nods, probably already noticed these for himself "and he goes on a lot of walks. Doesn't go anywhere particularly, just says he wants fresh air all of a sudden. And…and in be-"
"No!" House has remained uncharacteristically averse to hearing anything about their sex life since the day he found out about them. Wilson uses it as something of a weapon these days House is annoying him, hanging around his office while he’s trying to get paperwork done, he'll start talking about this thing Chase did when they were in bed (regardless of whether he actually did it or not - it isn't like House will know) and House will hopefully be disturbed enough to forget the train of the one-way conversation. Chase however, isn't quite so bold as to try it. For one thing he isn't House's best/only friend of seventeen plus years.
Flushing a little Chase continues "Anyway, you've noticed it too, right?"
House doesn't say anything, staring off into the middle distance. Then he snatches up the calendar on his desk, flipping the pages until he gets to the current month. Lowering the calendar he reveals his epiphany face.
"House?"
House drops the calendar and slaps the book shut, the patient’s files still inside. "Wilson's going to be a little late home tonight." he declares, pulling his coat on "I'm taking him out drinking. Don't wait up."
"Wait, so you know what's up?" asks Chase trying to block the door.
"Yup." He's not very successful.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"What's wrong with him?"
House stops dead and Chase almost runs into his back. "If he hasn't told you it's hardly my place to. I keep all your secrets to myself and God knows I don't like you." He then limps off, probably to Wilson's office. Chase stays where he is for a moment, then ducks back into the office, collects his bag and turns out the lights.
* *
"You owe me." says House around a mouthful of bar peanuts.
"For the drinks?" asks Wilson "I kind of guessed as much already."
House shakes his head "You owe Chase for the drinks." he clarifies, tossing a few more nuts into his mouth. "You owe me for keeping him off your back."
"What are you talking about?"
House rolls his eyes "You're being weird. I've noticed and I don't even live with you anymore. He's been coming to Cuddy and me to pump us for information."
Wilson frowns "You didn't tell him anything?" he asks, words tinged with desperation.
"Not a word. Which is why you owe me, by the way."
Wilson manages a wry smile "And how will I be repaying you, exactly?"
"That Jimmy, is for me to know and you to wonder and quake with fear about." House downs the rest of his drink. "Another? C'mon, I'm paying. When's that going to happen again?"
"Ah, but the more I make you buy the deeper in debt you'll put me." says Wilson, looking quite triumphant at having worked this out.
"Damn!" House smacks the bar top "You figured out the nefarious scheme! And I didn't even have you suspended over a pit of sharks. That's just cheating." He sobers for a moment. "How many years has been now?"
Suspicion flashes over Wilson's face, but he hides it quickly, putting on his "I don't know what you mean, officer" face "Since when?"
"Since the brother that no one's allowed to know about went rogue."
Wilson's face darkens, and he sighs, tiredness suddenly rushing into his features. "Eleven years, now."
House nods. "Another drink."
"Wait a minute, who's driving?"
"We'll get a cab."
* *
James gets home at quarter to midnight, valiantly remembering that he has work in the morning and a boyfriend who will be very pissed if he comes back too late. However, his efforts to make a quiet entrance and slip into bed unnoticed are sadly ruined by the table he somehow trips over approximately two seconds after he shuts the door. The lights snap on, a painful and accusing white glare. They've got nothing on the evil eyes Robert's got trained on him though. From the scruffy t-shirt and pyjama pants and his general ruffled appearance it seems he’s woken him up. He should be apologetic, but he can't help grinning.
"Hello, darling," he offers from the floor in a broad English accent "hope I didn't wake you."
Robert screws his eyes shut, which means he's either really pissed or slightly amused and trying not to lose the "I feel murderous" aura he's got going on. "If you've broken that you're sleeping outside."
This stirs the guilt up inside him, though very little of it is for Robert, the table or whatever it is he might have broken. He springs up (spilling the magazines that have landed in his lap to the floor) and yanks his coat off, pulling one of the sleeves inside out. "Don't be like that," he begins, moving over to him. "'S just having a drink-"
"How many exactly?"
"Er..."
"Just get on the couch." One of Robert's hands rests firmly on his shoulder steering him that way.
"Why can't I go to bed?" James whines, offering no resistance whatsoever.
"Because you annoy me when you're drunk." says Robert shoving him down. "Stay here, I'll get you some pillows and stuff,"
But James is feeling a bit rebellious and remembers that other thing Robert mentioned but not quite to House. He snatches Robert's wrist and with a sharp tug pulls him into his lap, giving him an admittedly rather lacklustre kiss.
Robert pulls away easily and looks slightly sickened. "Don't." He pushes James back again when he moves to kiss him to see if he can't make him feel better. James feels confused, but lets Robert go, in his drunken state easily ignoring just how quickly Robert climbs off and moves away from him. A few seconds later Robert hands him a pillow and some blankets and with a terse "Goodnight" leaves him alone in the lamp lit living room.
* *
Robert sometimes over thinks things. Most of the time really and something House said is niggling at him, making him wonder.
I keep all your secrets and God knows I don't like you.
It wasn't a challenge for once, though it definitely said that House didn't consider him "worthy" of the knowledge. Had to be a pretty big secret. “Secrets” plural.
House is bound to know most, if not all of James’ secrets - friends for seventeen years and what have you.
Does Robert know any? Aside from the obvious secret (which wasn't really) of him turning out to be a bit in the closet, of course.
...what does he actually know about James? Jewish family, though not particularly religious; one younger brother (Matthew, was it?); parents alive and together; three marriages, all three relationships starting out as harmless little friendships with someone who needed a shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic ear.
Who is James' shoulder, his sympathetic ear when he needs one? It can't be House. He could be supportive but he was sporadic at best. Probably why James ended up with a few relationships on the side - simple, one time occurrences where he could have his needs fulfilled without having to talk about it. Because James doesn't really talk about himself much - he prefers to listen. Something, on the surface he has in common with Robert; Robert's curious, wants to know what's going on and to keep the questions off himself. James actually gives a crap or two and wants to know if there's any way he can help out.
Maybe helping somebody had gotten him into trouble in the past? A drug addict - might explain why he was always trying to wean House off the stuff, get him to try alternative treatments. But then so could the fact he genuinely cares about House's general well being. And if he'd gotten into trouble wouldn't that discourage him from helping people in the future? More likely he'd failed to be there when it mattered for someone - someone who mattered and had probably been trying to make up for it ever since.
This is stupid. James is in the next room - if he wants to know so badly he can just go through and ask him. He's wasted, he'll probably come right out with it, won't remember it in the morning. Robert sits up and swings his feet over the side, but doesn't make any move to get up. Because House is right; he has kept all of Robert's secrets - from his best friend no less - so that Robert can tell James when he's comfortable with him knowing. It wouldn't be fair to try and force anything out of James when he's so drunk he can't even tell what country he's in.
Robert hangs his head and for a moment, sitting on the edge of their bed, alone in the gloom he feels so old and trapped and hollow, like he's fifty serving twenty plus years in a marriage to somebody he doesn't love. And then from the next room he can hear James snoring ten times more loudly than usual (the real reason he's sleeping on the couch tonight) and Robert smiles, the dark mood that has been clinging to him suddenly defeated. For now, anyway.
* *
James wakes up the next morning to eggs and aspirin with no idea what happened last night, though it seems to have earned him a night on the couch, which all makes the warm smile Robert gives him when he sits at the table slightly suspicious.
"What are you smiling at?" he asks, downing a half glass of water much the way he was downing the whisky last night.
"Anyone told you how loud you snore?"
James pretends to think about it, tempted by sarcasm but ultimately too hung over. "Pretty much anyone I've ever shared a room with."
"Seriously, it's like someone trying to get a tractor engine to start." Robert dumps two more slices of toast on his plate and sits opposite him. "What kept you out so late last night?" he asks in the same light, casual tone.
James shrugs. "House wanted to check out a bar," he says, deliberately vague.
"I mean, how come the two of you went out in the first place? House just announced the two of you were having a night out at the end of the day. I usually get forewarned around lunchtime. I'm not nagging or anything," he adds quickly. "He comes first, I get that. It's just...y'know."
James nods, not even trying to correct him; sooner Robert gets used to it the better. "I know. And I'm sorry. It's just-" he pinches the bridge of his nose "It's hard. After everything that happened last year it's…it's hard."
Robert looks strangely...disappointed, but nods. They finish breakfast in silence and when they reach the hospital go their separate ways - Robert to Diagnostics and James to the Clinic. He's scheduled for the whole morning and spends most of it willing House to come down and drag him away for a consult, some insane scheme, or even gossip. But House doesn't come (probably because he has clinic duty of his own today) and he's left alone to examine sore throats and runny noses for the next five hours. And all the time he's thinking about David and then how close he came to losing everything last year and here he and House are going for drinks like nothing happened - just like he kept letting David back into the house for a shower or a meal, even after he stole money from James' wallet.
Last year had been a nightmare, like all those worries he'd had about him and House ending up like him and David had come true. Except that House wasn't homeless (there was a pun in there somewhere) and could make everything right by just swallowing his pride. Well, maybe not - Tritter had hardly been a rational man out for justice by the end.
Pride again. David’s had only hurt himself, and the family by extension. House’s had dragged them all down. Though for his part James may not have been completely blameless. After all, he was the one who’d insisted that the Ketamine had worked, the pain was just House’s imagination, and only a House in pain would do something so stupid as steal a prescription pad and forge his signature so badly. Maybe he’d deserved a little of it. Not all of it though - and best friend or no best friend he shouldn’t have to put up with it, whatever everyone else expected of him.
It’s a long morning and the afternoon looks to be even worse with paperwork from here to eternity. House is too busy brow-beating the patient to make him pay for their lunch, but he drops by Diagnostics briefly anyway to tell Robert hello and to go on home without him tonight.
Robert raises an eyebrow. “Found another bar?”
“There’s someone I need to see. I’m not sure whether they’ll be there or not though - it might take a while.”
Robert just nods, tells him to take care and goes off to deal with the sobbing patient who has agreed to treatment and James settles down to his files, waiting for House to throw the door open and begin ranting about humanity’s stupidity. He doesn’t have to wait long.
* *
“Do you know who Wilson’s going to meet tonight?”
House pointedly rolls his eyes “Will you stop being so paranoid? You two have been together what, five months?”
“Seven.”
“Whatever, point is you shouldn’t worry about him sleeping around until at least a year.”
“So, you don’t know who he’s going to see tonight?”
“No. Course, if you really want to find you could try what most people in healthy, long lasting relationships do.”
Chase rolls his eyes. “I’ve already tried talking to him-“
“Good thing that’s not what I’m suggesting, isn’t it?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“See where he goes.”
Chase looks disgusted. “I’m not following him.”
House smirks “Sure, you say that now.”
* *
James calls it a night around eight and takes the long way around to the meeting place. This is the last time. This is going to be the last time. He’s not going to do this to himself anymore. So he’s told himself again and again. But he always goes back, for just one last time. He should at least pretend he’s moving on.
He doesn’t even know why he’s doing it - it’s hardly as if David’s just going to appear at out the mist, looking a few years older and a little skinnier but none the worse for wear. For all he knows David could be dead, could have died in a ditch months after James last saw him. And even if he did come here for whatever reason, he’d probably turn right around the second he saw James there.
Not everybody was happy to let him look after them. Especially when he wasn’t actually there when they really needed him.
He checks his watch and wonders fleetingly when Robert’s going to come out of hiding from the paper shop on the corner.
* *
Robert spends nearly an hour loitering between the paper shop and the café. He buys two cups of coffee and spends the next ten minutes trying to decide whether or not to take it outside to James. He’s got to be freezing out there. But that wall and that sidewalk seem strangely…personal. Private. Part of a something and a somewhere Robert doesn’t belong. In the end he loses his nerve and gets a bus home, binning the second coffee outside the apartment.
Robert decides to ask James about it the minute he gets in and waits on the couch reading the copy of Essential X-men he bought from the paper shop. James finally comes home just after ten. His skin's flushed from the cold air and there's an odd wayward expression on his face, like he's not actually home at all, still holding vigil. Then Robert moves and James' eyes fix on him. It's so intense Robert actually leans back, fancying he can feel it hitting him square in the chest. James approaches him slowly, shedding his gloves, scarf, coat and tie as he goes. He kneels in front of Robert and takes the comic book and places it carefully on the coffee table. He then just as carefully leans forward and kisses Robert on the lips, his thoroughness leaving the passion to build slowly.
Suddenly Robert's on his back, James on top of him, kissing his way down his neck before he knows what's happened. He doesn't care though. This is what's been missing these last few times, when James was offering up sex like it was part of the routine like toast and the arguments over who gets to drive home or something to just pass the time. He’s actually engaged this time, like he’s enjoying it, like he actually wants it, rather than a distraction from other things.
James' shirt is half undone, his is completely off before James sits up and frowns. "Bed." he says suddenly, grabbing Robert's arms and pulling him up into another deep kiss.
Afterward they lie in companionable silence, Robert absently stroking James' arm. There's something about him that still feels...unsettled, as though the closeness didn't bring the closure he'd been hoping for.
"Who were you waiting for?"
James doesn’t ask for clarification, or even open his eyes. "Someone who is never going to come, however long I wait there."
Robert frowns and starts to sit up, half-articulated questions growing in his mind. And maybe James senses that because he sighs and says "I'm an idiot."
"Not you're not." says Robert, loyal to him by default.
James opens his eyes then, turning his signature wry smile on him. "You don't even know what I'm talking about do you?" he asks.
“I know enough to know you’re not an idiot.”
James sighs “I don’t think you do, but it’s kind of you to say.”
Robert rolls his eyes “If this is you fishing for compliments, you’re out of luck. I’m too tired to go on about how wonderful you, especially when you actually know it.”
James stares for a moment and laughs, holding his hands up. “You rumbled me. Lights off or do you want to read X-men?”
“Bugger off.”
“Good night to you too.”
AUTHOR:
shadowbyrd
PAIRING: Wilson/Chase (established)
RATING: R
SUMMARY: It's winter. Wilson's acting weird. Chase wants to know why.
DISCLAIMER: I own no one and nothing.
A/N: Many thanks to
delphinapterusfor the beta.
James hates the winter.
At work there's an influx of red-nosed, sneezing patients at the clinic, all convinced that it's more than a mere cold. They may as well record "bed rest and plenty of fluids" and play it on repeat in the waiting room, just to make sure it sinks in. House is particularly difficult this time of year, too; either it's the wet weather making the pain in his leg worse, or there's ice on the pavements, or it's the clinic hours which are getting harder to dodge and which, when he is coerced into doing them, are more inane than usual. And if House is to be believed James is going to have an even worse time of it this year; Robert apparently always complains about the weather this time of year, which means Wilson will probably have more bitching to pretend to listen to.
And of course, there's David. David who James hasn't seen for the past eleven years and in all likelihood will never see again. He thinks about him a lot during the winter months it was, after all, around this time that he vanished into the cool gloom. Every time he walks out into the cold morning air he wonders if David spent the night out in the middle of it, or if he managed to find some shelter; wonders if he's even alive to have slept last night. The same occurs to him at night as he comes home and shuts the door letting the warmth soak into his skin.
He doesn't lose sleep over it like he once did, lying awake in the twilight hours trying to think what last little thing he said or did, what brief gesture he made or didn't that was the final straw that broke the camel's back. It was that kind of thing, along with frequent, night-long trips to the usual meeting place, trawling haunts he'd heard David talk about, the fact he point blank refused to open up about it and then the other fact that he was hardly ever there anymore that made Bonnie suggest they call it a day. He never dropped a word to House, going on as though he only had one brother, as though he really was this torn up over the divorce (and he was torn up about it - he liked Bonnie; she'd been fun in a harmless sort of way and dependable those times he needed her, even during the separation). Whether he was scared he'd lose him too or it was his increasing need for secrets from House he's not sure, but he managed to keep David from him for eleven years, so whatever his reasons they must have been good ones. He's not sure he could be such close friends with House if he weren't able to occasionally (and spectacularly) pull the wool over his eyes.
He is lying awake tonight, but that has nothing to do David, or the fact it's winter. They just give him depressing facts to mull over in lieu of counting sheep. He's not sure why he's still awake, really. He's tired, just can't seem to switch off. He takes a moment to glare enviously at Robert, who is blissfully dead to the world, next to him. Robert could probably get a decent night’s sleep suspended from the ceiling.
He stares at the ceiling. He's lying awake on an endless winter night and it has nothing to do with David. Neither did Bonnie, who knew he had a second brother; one who wasn't at the wedding, wasn't talked about amongst the family and who she knew from the start not to ask about. He likes to pretend the disappearance broke them up - though sometimes he has an urge to tell people my older brother disappeared eleven years ago. We argued and then I never saw him again - I don't even know if he's dead or alive, like it will explain away all his screw ups and indiscretions. But that's only on particularly desperate days when he hasn't been able to say remission for a long time, having instead to use words like terminal and nothing we can do and I'm so sorry. As though the fact he couldn't save his own brother will make perfect strangers feel better about the fact he couldn't save them or their loved ones. Stupid really.
Around five o'clock, fed up with drifting in and out of a stupor, he has a shower and dresses for work, taking particular care with his clothes (especially the socks - last thing he wants is House thinking things are going south with him and Robert) and sits back on the bed, picking up a book to distract himself from the memories of those early days of school when he was so excited he'd get up far too early and sit in the half light of the morning waiting for his Mom's alarm to go off in the other room.
Robert comes around an hour or so later and, taking one look at his fully clothed state, leaps out of bed with comical urgency and dashes into the bathroom snatching up clothes as he goes. The door slams and James chuckles and turns a page. He'll tell Robert the time when he gets out and then, when he stops sulking, will find him a shirt and tie that actually match.
* *
It's a ridiculous thing to notice, but experience has taught Robert that the ridiculously small and petty things can be important. Not that he thinks James is skipping meals or sticking his fingers down his throat and then his head in the toilet bowl, but he's been acting a little...off lately. It's been driving Robert mad.
"Has House said anything to you?" he asks, buttering toast.
"About us you mean?"
"No. I mean - has he been making those Greenpeace remarks again? Comments about your "girlish figure", that kind of thing?"
James pauses as though he can't consider this and reach for the jam (jelly, whatever) at the same time. "No." he says finally, stretching out the "O" in such a way that asks "Why?"
Robert shrugs, beginning to feel a little silly for bringing it up. "You went for a walk the other morning. You don't usually."
James flashes him a quick smile, the kind he uses on patients and staff at the hospital "Couldn't sleep."
Something's not quite right here, but Robert says nothing more except "Well, don't think you have to go changing. I happen to like this," he reaches over and squeezes James' hip "just the way it is."
James swats his hand away with a smirk and they start talking about something interesting enough to be diverting, but mundane enough that by the time he's in the locker room Robert has completely forgotten about it.
* *
A week later and the walk before breakfast hasn't become a regular thing - James has only done it once or twice since, which probably means something, though Robert's damned if he can think what. For the time being he ignores it and they continue on as per usual.
Until this evening when James, while pouring out the wine casually breaks one of their relationship's bigger taboos.
"What would you have done if you were in your father's position? I mean, if you were the one who had cancer. Would you have tried to reach out to him?"
At first he's too stunned James has actually gone there to even begin thinking up an answer. They have a list of people that they do not talk about together, and Rowan is right at the top with Volger for obvious reasons.
"I …" What would he have done? He might have moved back home, seen his friends over there again. But his Dad...what would have been the point? His Dad had always been busy, that bit too busy when it came to family matters. It was one of the reasons he was such a good doctor - always there for his patients. He had always wondered what it would have taken for Rowan to actually sit up and pay attention. Then his mother died and he stopped giving a dam. So he told himself. But-
He shrugs "He was my Dad." He takes a large gulp of wine "He'd have deserved to know."
"Would you have called him? E-mail?"
"I don't know," He's starting to get annoyed now "Probably gone to see him in person, tell him what was going on. Wouldn't have given him any of that "I miss you" crap."
"Even if you did?" James doesn't seem to know when to stop pressing tonight.
"A bit late in the day for all that, don't you think?" says he a little too coldly, but James gets the message and shuts up. "What made you ask anyway?"
James shakes his head "Just a patient earlier today. She and her husband didn't tell the kids what was going on. Didn't want them worried."
Robert snorts. "That's not why he did it."
"Why else-"
"You met him," Robert points out, stabbing his fork into his chicken viciously "He was...he was proud. Didn't want me looking after him whether he needed it or not. Presumptuous, arrogant bastard."
"Would you have?"
"What?"
"Looked after him?"
Robert just stares at him. "He was my Dad."
James doesn't have anything to say to that and Robert suddenly doesn't feel like talking anymore, taking bigger bites of his chicken salad and more frequent sips from his wine glass.
"I'm sorry." James offers finally. "I just-"
"I know." says Robert. He hasn't got a clue actually but just wants him to shut up about it.
His gaze drops to his plate and Robert can almost hear him searching for a safe conversation. "How's the latest patient?"
"Almost made it out the doors for good today. Then started bleeding from his ears after half an hour at home."
James smirks "House is in a good mood, then?"
"I'm surprised you didn't hear the tantrum. He nearly had the whiteboard out the window."
* *
Pride.
Had David been a proud man?
He'd come to James cap in hand any number of times. He'd never stopped to think how much that must have taken, to not only admit to your brother, your younger brother, that you needed help but to work up the nerve to ask him for it. He doesn't have to rely on his imagination too much. There were a number of times James had considered calling up Matthew to help untangle the knots of red tape Tritter had tied him in. He'd always put the phone down, if ever he managed to pick it up, reminding himself how much Matt hated getting involved in family cases, because the other side always used that as a point against him (one of the many reasons Matt was not present for the legal proceedings of his older brother's three divorces, though he often joked that hearing about the first was what had gotten him interested in the law as a vocation). That and the fact that he'd landed himself in a hell of a mess and he was damned if Matt was going to know, never mind their parents (for a lawyer Matt had a big mouth).
It could be that last time James had refused him something had sparked inside him, those last embers of pride keeping him from crawling back to the younger brother who'd turned him away, no matter how much he needed it.
Their grandfather had been a proud man. And that pride had been the death of him their grandma used to say.
He glances at Robert, still in zombie mode, brushing his teeth. Robert catches him looking in the mirror and smiles a fraction too slow. No doubt still thinking how it would have gone if he'd known. There's a reason they don't mention Rowan. Or Volger. Or Kayla, or Grace…
He slips on his coat and steps out into the still dark morning and wonders if David's pride had taken enough of a battering to send him to Matt, and if Matt's gotten any better at keeping secrets.
* *
Robert has a problem. Something is now very clearly up with James. James, who will not even entertain the idea that there is a problem - not in front of him, anyway - let alone actually talk to him about it. Ordinarily he would discuss this with someone, ideally someone who knew the person under discussion. However, the only two people he could talk to on that front are House and Cuddy. House is definitely out. He's made it quite clear that he's suffering them only because of Wilson - it's unlikely he'll forgive Chase this side of the next millennium, let alone help him find out what the problem is. No, he's the last resort, and then some.
It would be useful to pick Cuddy's brains - she must know one or two things that have slipped by House these past few years. Of course Cuddy lives in feigned ignorance of their relationship, which would be rather difficult to maintain if Chase came to her for advice. In the "knowing Wilson" category (if one were to use the term loosely) this leaves Foreman and Cameron, each choice about as appealing as a pub toilet at closing time. Well, maybe not that bad, though Cameron has a certain bias when it comes to Wilson and Foreman would probably just ignore him.
Cuddy's his best bet. He's going to have to phase it just right and there's that thing where he's a bit scared of her, but he's not quite desperate enough to phone up one of the notorious ex-wives.
He takes the opportunity when House sends him to do his clinic hours, making sure to begin the conversation as far out of earshot of the nurses as possible.
Cuddy spots him approaching and narrows her eyes. "Were you supposed to be sneaking down here or does House think I'm not going to be able to distinguish you from him?"
"I think I was meant to sneak in. Could I have a word with you?"
This gets her suspicious. "What's House up to and why are you the one coming to see me about it?"
Chase allows himself a second to be insulted and then moves on. "It's about Dr. Wilson."
Cuddy's face freezes for a moment, but she plays dumb. "What about Dr. Wilson? Has House done something to him or-"
"I'm concerned." Chase tells her, widening his eyes.
Cuddy sighs impatiently. "In here." she orders, herding him into exam room one.
"So," Cuddy begins, leaning against the door, probably to reassure herself it is shut. "what's got you worrying?"
Chase fidgets, tries leaning against the exam table, then shifts his weight foot to foot. "It's - he seems kind of distracted and uh, he doesn't seem to be sleeping well." Wilson's still going through the divorce, right? Julie's number has to be around the apartment somewhere...
Cuddy raises her eyebrows. "And?"
"And...hypothetically, were I to be familiar with him outside work, on a day-to-day basis - living together, let's say - I might notice he was going out for walks at strange times, before breakfast, that kind of thing, or I might notice that he was...well, not quite off his food, but perhaps paying less attention to it?"
"You mean he's eating less?"
"That too."
"And you're coming to me with this because-?"
"Well, hypothetically were I living with, if indeed I was in some kind of relationship with Dr. Wilson, I would probably ask his friends if they'd noticed any...unusual behaviour. Or if they had any ideas what might have happened."
Cuddy nods slowly, lips pursed "And if you were in a relationship with Dr Wilson, you hypothetically would ask me my opinion?"
"You'd be first on the hypothetical list."
"Of course." More nodding. Then "Hypothetically were you currently in a relationship and hypothetically had you just asked me that question I would have to say that I've not noticed much of a difference. He has been looking tired these past few days - I just assumed he needed a day off."
"No ideas why then? Hypothetically, I mean?"
"Not that I could think of. I'd be sorry I couldn't help you if it weren't a completely hypothetical situation." She straightens. The meeting's over.
"So hypothetically my next option would be House?"
"I think I still have Julie's number somewhere."
"Don't tempt me."
* *
He waits until Cameron and Foreman leave for the day, pretending to wait for Wilson. Handy excuse especially the part where it was actually true. The chance Wilson could walk in on them made it risky and Chase isn't relishing the idea of discussing this with House. The things he does for what might well be love.
House is checking something in one of his textbooks against a patient’s charts when Chase comes in. Most work House does is done under cover of darkness. Chase clears his throat.
House doesn't even look up. "Coma guy has pustules."
One day, Chase promises himself, he's going to work somewhere where people actually say "hello". Then again, he's gotten used to it. It would be frightening to work something where people had to act polite and friendly.
"That's nice."
"And you're cheating on Wilson. With Cuddy." House shoots him a nasty smile "I applaud your choice, but still - kind of unsporting, don't you think? He got cheated on the last time - it's his turn to cheat with Cuddy."
Chase intends to begin by spluttering indignantly and protesting his innocence, but then something strikes him. "Hang on, if you were in the clinic why did you even bother sending me down there?"
"What, God can be omnipresent but I can't? You may want to watch what you say and do around that cute red head in the pharmacy."
"One of your agents?"
"Only while I have what she wants..."
The trail off is so suggestive. He has to ask. "Which is?"
House waves a hand. "Couple of nude photos. Of you."
"You don't have any naked pictures of me." And then he remembers that charity event where everyone had had a bit too much to drink and some moronic bastard had spiked the punch "Do you?"
"She thinks I do, which is all that really matters at the moment. Aside from just what you and Dr. Cuddy were doing in the exam room, of course."
"Talking about Wilson."
"What you were comparing scores, which orgasm face he used?"
Chase raises his eyebrows "He has more than one?"
House rolls his eyes "See, I always knew there was a "good" reason I opposed this relationship beside the fact that, y'know, it's with you-"
"I'm worried about him." Chase announces. "He's been acting weird lately and I was wondering if she knew why."
House bites his lip, entombing the sarcastic remark that is doubtlessly desperate to come out and manages to look serious. "Weird how?"
"Not eating as much, not sleeping well," House nods, probably already noticed these for himself "and he goes on a lot of walks. Doesn't go anywhere particularly, just says he wants fresh air all of a sudden. And…and in be-"
"No!" House has remained uncharacteristically averse to hearing anything about their sex life since the day he found out about them. Wilson uses it as something of a weapon these days House is annoying him, hanging around his office while he’s trying to get paperwork done, he'll start talking about this thing Chase did when they were in bed (regardless of whether he actually did it or not - it isn't like House will know) and House will hopefully be disturbed enough to forget the train of the one-way conversation. Chase however, isn't quite so bold as to try it. For one thing he isn't House's best/only friend of seventeen plus years.
Flushing a little Chase continues "Anyway, you've noticed it too, right?"
House doesn't say anything, staring off into the middle distance. Then he snatches up the calendar on his desk, flipping the pages until he gets to the current month. Lowering the calendar he reveals his epiphany face.
"House?"
House drops the calendar and slaps the book shut, the patient’s files still inside. "Wilson's going to be a little late home tonight." he declares, pulling his coat on "I'm taking him out drinking. Don't wait up."
"Wait, so you know what's up?" asks Chase trying to block the door.
"Yup." He's not very successful.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"What's wrong with him?"
House stops dead and Chase almost runs into his back. "If he hasn't told you it's hardly my place to. I keep all your secrets to myself and God knows I don't like you." He then limps off, probably to Wilson's office. Chase stays where he is for a moment, then ducks back into the office, collects his bag and turns out the lights.
* *
"You owe me." says House around a mouthful of bar peanuts.
"For the drinks?" asks Wilson "I kind of guessed as much already."
House shakes his head "You owe Chase for the drinks." he clarifies, tossing a few more nuts into his mouth. "You owe me for keeping him off your back."
"What are you talking about?"
House rolls his eyes "You're being weird. I've noticed and I don't even live with you anymore. He's been coming to Cuddy and me to pump us for information."
Wilson frowns "You didn't tell him anything?" he asks, words tinged with desperation.
"Not a word. Which is why you owe me, by the way."
Wilson manages a wry smile "And how will I be repaying you, exactly?"
"That Jimmy, is for me to know and you to wonder and quake with fear about." House downs the rest of his drink. "Another? C'mon, I'm paying. When's that going to happen again?"
"Ah, but the more I make you buy the deeper in debt you'll put me." says Wilson, looking quite triumphant at having worked this out.
"Damn!" House smacks the bar top "You figured out the nefarious scheme! And I didn't even have you suspended over a pit of sharks. That's just cheating." He sobers for a moment. "How many years has been now?"
Suspicion flashes over Wilson's face, but he hides it quickly, putting on his "I don't know what you mean, officer" face "Since when?"
"Since the brother that no one's allowed to know about went rogue."
Wilson's face darkens, and he sighs, tiredness suddenly rushing into his features. "Eleven years, now."
House nods. "Another drink."
"Wait a minute, who's driving?"
"We'll get a cab."
* *
James gets home at quarter to midnight, valiantly remembering that he has work in the morning and a boyfriend who will be very pissed if he comes back too late. However, his efforts to make a quiet entrance and slip into bed unnoticed are sadly ruined by the table he somehow trips over approximately two seconds after he shuts the door. The lights snap on, a painful and accusing white glare. They've got nothing on the evil eyes Robert's got trained on him though. From the scruffy t-shirt and pyjama pants and his general ruffled appearance it seems he’s woken him up. He should be apologetic, but he can't help grinning.
"Hello, darling," he offers from the floor in a broad English accent "hope I didn't wake you."
Robert screws his eyes shut, which means he's either really pissed or slightly amused and trying not to lose the "I feel murderous" aura he's got going on. "If you've broken that you're sleeping outside."
This stirs the guilt up inside him, though very little of it is for Robert, the table or whatever it is he might have broken. He springs up (spilling the magazines that have landed in his lap to the floor) and yanks his coat off, pulling one of the sleeves inside out. "Don't be like that," he begins, moving over to him. "'S just having a drink-"
"How many exactly?"
"Er..."
"Just get on the couch." One of Robert's hands rests firmly on his shoulder steering him that way.
"Why can't I go to bed?" James whines, offering no resistance whatsoever.
"Because you annoy me when you're drunk." says Robert shoving him down. "Stay here, I'll get you some pillows and stuff,"
But James is feeling a bit rebellious and remembers that other thing Robert mentioned but not quite to House. He snatches Robert's wrist and with a sharp tug pulls him into his lap, giving him an admittedly rather lacklustre kiss.
Robert pulls away easily and looks slightly sickened. "Don't." He pushes James back again when he moves to kiss him to see if he can't make him feel better. James feels confused, but lets Robert go, in his drunken state easily ignoring just how quickly Robert climbs off and moves away from him. A few seconds later Robert hands him a pillow and some blankets and with a terse "Goodnight" leaves him alone in the lamp lit living room.
* *
Robert sometimes over thinks things. Most of the time really and something House said is niggling at him, making him wonder.
I keep all your secrets and God knows I don't like you.
It wasn't a challenge for once, though it definitely said that House didn't consider him "worthy" of the knowledge. Had to be a pretty big secret. “Secrets” plural.
House is bound to know most, if not all of James’ secrets - friends for seventeen years and what have you.
Does Robert know any? Aside from the obvious secret (which wasn't really) of him turning out to be a bit in the closet, of course.
...what does he actually know about James? Jewish family, though not particularly religious; one younger brother (Matthew, was it?); parents alive and together; three marriages, all three relationships starting out as harmless little friendships with someone who needed a shoulder to cry on, a sympathetic ear.
Who is James' shoulder, his sympathetic ear when he needs one? It can't be House. He could be supportive but he was sporadic at best. Probably why James ended up with a few relationships on the side - simple, one time occurrences where he could have his needs fulfilled without having to talk about it. Because James doesn't really talk about himself much - he prefers to listen. Something, on the surface he has in common with Robert; Robert's curious, wants to know what's going on and to keep the questions off himself. James actually gives a crap or two and wants to know if there's any way he can help out.
Maybe helping somebody had gotten him into trouble in the past? A drug addict - might explain why he was always trying to wean House off the stuff, get him to try alternative treatments. But then so could the fact he genuinely cares about House's general well being. And if he'd gotten into trouble wouldn't that discourage him from helping people in the future? More likely he'd failed to be there when it mattered for someone - someone who mattered and had probably been trying to make up for it ever since.
This is stupid. James is in the next room - if he wants to know so badly he can just go through and ask him. He's wasted, he'll probably come right out with it, won't remember it in the morning. Robert sits up and swings his feet over the side, but doesn't make any move to get up. Because House is right; he has kept all of Robert's secrets - from his best friend no less - so that Robert can tell James when he's comfortable with him knowing. It wouldn't be fair to try and force anything out of James when he's so drunk he can't even tell what country he's in.
Robert hangs his head and for a moment, sitting on the edge of their bed, alone in the gloom he feels so old and trapped and hollow, like he's fifty serving twenty plus years in a marriage to somebody he doesn't love. And then from the next room he can hear James snoring ten times more loudly than usual (the real reason he's sleeping on the couch tonight) and Robert smiles, the dark mood that has been clinging to him suddenly defeated. For now, anyway.
* *
James wakes up the next morning to eggs and aspirin with no idea what happened last night, though it seems to have earned him a night on the couch, which all makes the warm smile Robert gives him when he sits at the table slightly suspicious.
"What are you smiling at?" he asks, downing a half glass of water much the way he was downing the whisky last night.
"Anyone told you how loud you snore?"
James pretends to think about it, tempted by sarcasm but ultimately too hung over. "Pretty much anyone I've ever shared a room with."
"Seriously, it's like someone trying to get a tractor engine to start." Robert dumps two more slices of toast on his plate and sits opposite him. "What kept you out so late last night?" he asks in the same light, casual tone.
James shrugs. "House wanted to check out a bar," he says, deliberately vague.
"I mean, how come the two of you went out in the first place? House just announced the two of you were having a night out at the end of the day. I usually get forewarned around lunchtime. I'm not nagging or anything," he adds quickly. "He comes first, I get that. It's just...y'know."
James nods, not even trying to correct him; sooner Robert gets used to it the better. "I know. And I'm sorry. It's just-" he pinches the bridge of his nose "It's hard. After everything that happened last year it's…it's hard."
Robert looks strangely...disappointed, but nods. They finish breakfast in silence and when they reach the hospital go their separate ways - Robert to Diagnostics and James to the Clinic. He's scheduled for the whole morning and spends most of it willing House to come down and drag him away for a consult, some insane scheme, or even gossip. But House doesn't come (probably because he has clinic duty of his own today) and he's left alone to examine sore throats and runny noses for the next five hours. And all the time he's thinking about David and then how close he came to losing everything last year and here he and House are going for drinks like nothing happened - just like he kept letting David back into the house for a shower or a meal, even after he stole money from James' wallet.
Last year had been a nightmare, like all those worries he'd had about him and House ending up like him and David had come true. Except that House wasn't homeless (there was a pun in there somewhere) and could make everything right by just swallowing his pride. Well, maybe not - Tritter had hardly been a rational man out for justice by the end.
Pride again. David’s had only hurt himself, and the family by extension. House’s had dragged them all down. Though for his part James may not have been completely blameless. After all, he was the one who’d insisted that the Ketamine had worked, the pain was just House’s imagination, and only a House in pain would do something so stupid as steal a prescription pad and forge his signature so badly. Maybe he’d deserved a little of it. Not all of it though - and best friend or no best friend he shouldn’t have to put up with it, whatever everyone else expected of him.
It’s a long morning and the afternoon looks to be even worse with paperwork from here to eternity. House is too busy brow-beating the patient to make him pay for their lunch, but he drops by Diagnostics briefly anyway to tell Robert hello and to go on home without him tonight.
Robert raises an eyebrow. “Found another bar?”
“There’s someone I need to see. I’m not sure whether they’ll be there or not though - it might take a while.”
Robert just nods, tells him to take care and goes off to deal with the sobbing patient who has agreed to treatment and James settles down to his files, waiting for House to throw the door open and begin ranting about humanity’s stupidity. He doesn’t have to wait long.
* *
“Do you know who Wilson’s going to meet tonight?”
House pointedly rolls his eyes “Will you stop being so paranoid? You two have been together what, five months?”
“Seven.”
“Whatever, point is you shouldn’t worry about him sleeping around until at least a year.”
“So, you don’t know who he’s going to see tonight?”
“No. Course, if you really want to find you could try what most people in healthy, long lasting relationships do.”
Chase rolls his eyes. “I’ve already tried talking to him-“
“Good thing that’s not what I’m suggesting, isn’t it?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“See where he goes.”
Chase looks disgusted. “I’m not following him.”
House smirks “Sure, you say that now.”
* *
James calls it a night around eight and takes the long way around to the meeting place. This is the last time. This is going to be the last time. He’s not going to do this to himself anymore. So he’s told himself again and again. But he always goes back, for just one last time. He should at least pretend he’s moving on.
He doesn’t even know why he’s doing it - it’s hardly as if David’s just going to appear at out the mist, looking a few years older and a little skinnier but none the worse for wear. For all he knows David could be dead, could have died in a ditch months after James last saw him. And even if he did come here for whatever reason, he’d probably turn right around the second he saw James there.
Not everybody was happy to let him look after them. Especially when he wasn’t actually there when they really needed him.
He checks his watch and wonders fleetingly when Robert’s going to come out of hiding from the paper shop on the corner.
* *
Robert spends nearly an hour loitering between the paper shop and the café. He buys two cups of coffee and spends the next ten minutes trying to decide whether or not to take it outside to James. He’s got to be freezing out there. But that wall and that sidewalk seem strangely…personal. Private. Part of a something and a somewhere Robert doesn’t belong. In the end he loses his nerve and gets a bus home, binning the second coffee outside the apartment.
Robert decides to ask James about it the minute he gets in and waits on the couch reading the copy of Essential X-men he bought from the paper shop. James finally comes home just after ten. His skin's flushed from the cold air and there's an odd wayward expression on his face, like he's not actually home at all, still holding vigil. Then Robert moves and James' eyes fix on him. It's so intense Robert actually leans back, fancying he can feel it hitting him square in the chest. James approaches him slowly, shedding his gloves, scarf, coat and tie as he goes. He kneels in front of Robert and takes the comic book and places it carefully on the coffee table. He then just as carefully leans forward and kisses Robert on the lips, his thoroughness leaving the passion to build slowly.
Suddenly Robert's on his back, James on top of him, kissing his way down his neck before he knows what's happened. He doesn't care though. This is what's been missing these last few times, when James was offering up sex like it was part of the routine like toast and the arguments over who gets to drive home or something to just pass the time. He’s actually engaged this time, like he’s enjoying it, like he actually wants it, rather than a distraction from other things.
James' shirt is half undone, his is completely off before James sits up and frowns. "Bed." he says suddenly, grabbing Robert's arms and pulling him up into another deep kiss.
Afterward they lie in companionable silence, Robert absently stroking James' arm. There's something about him that still feels...unsettled, as though the closeness didn't bring the closure he'd been hoping for.
"Who were you waiting for?"
James doesn’t ask for clarification, or even open his eyes. "Someone who is never going to come, however long I wait there."
Robert frowns and starts to sit up, half-articulated questions growing in his mind. And maybe James senses that because he sighs and says "I'm an idiot."
"Not you're not." says Robert, loyal to him by default.
James opens his eyes then, turning his signature wry smile on him. "You don't even know what I'm talking about do you?" he asks.
“I know enough to know you’re not an idiot.”
James sighs “I don’t think you do, but it’s kind of you to say.”
Robert rolls his eyes “If this is you fishing for compliments, you’re out of luck. I’m too tired to go on about how wonderful you, especially when you actually know it.”
James stares for a moment and laughs, holding his hands up. “You rumbled me. Lights off or do you want to read X-men?”
“Bugger off.”
“Good night to you too.”