FIC: Ides of March, pt 1 ; House/Wilson ; R
Title: Ides of March
Author:
finding_jay
Pairing: House/Wilson ; strong House/Cuddy friendship ; slight House/Chase friendship
Rating: R
Warnings: Early starts ; Monday-itis ; carrots ; Vicodin shortage ; solitaire ; emphysema ; Julie ; med journals ; realistic dreams ; Chase reading the Bible ; Wilson? ; 12,770 words
Summary: (So… reality was wrong.
Reality is almost always wrong.)
It makes sense because it had to.
Disclaimer: I don’t own House. Song lyrics are © Jewel (Adrian - Pieces of You) and Joseph Arthur (Honey and the Moon - Redemption’s Son)
Notes: This has taken me since February to write, and I probably could have gone on, but it was driving me nuts. So many thanks to
nakeno to listening to me rant,
soralin to putting up with my ‘it’s a surpriiise’ and
twisterzzz for letting me use her prod her with questions. My heart goes out to y’all. I’m sorry if I upset anyone with this… but… that was kinda my intention. Done in three parts.
Doctor said, ‘I’m sorry not much I can do’
The air was so still
His eyes did not blink
Oh, Adrian, come out and play
Bang.
House woke with a start. His eyes locked onto the ceiling, spots flickering in front of his vision as his head spun and chest heaved with shock of his sudden awakening. Licking his lips, tasting the salty flavour of sweat, Greg slowly propped himself up on one elbow, pushing his body up and squinting through the darkness to the door. A sliver of yellow light shone under the crack. Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, he reached to the ground, groping until he found the cool wood that was his cane. Pushing back the blankets, he eased his right leg over, then his left, and stood, hand still on the hook of his cane. Walking towards the door, he twisted the knob and prepared himself for the bright light that was sure to be on the other side. Squinting as he crossed the threshold, he near-blindly made his way to the corner, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light. Pausing at the corner, hand on the wall he called out.
‘Jimmy?’
‘Hey, House.’
Greg opened an eye, only mildly surprised that Wilson was standing a foot away from him. Blinking rapidly, he rubbed his eyes and pushed past the man. ‘What time is it?’ he asked as he glanced at the clock.
‘Five-thirty.’
‘Huh.’ To the kitchen, wincing as his feet touched the cold tiles, toes curling in. Hand on the fridge, taking out the leftovers from last night’s dinner, and it’s all very methodical by this point. Bowl in the microwave; push a few buttons, and when he turned his head, Jimmy’s sitting by the counter, a sleepy smile on his face, hand holding his head up. Silent and watching, and Greg’s got a picture of him like that tattooed in his brain, because Jimmy’s been sitting like that every morning for the past six months.
‘Julie called last night.’
‘Huh.’ Grabbing a tea towel, Greg opened the microwave door and took out the hot bowl of spaghetti bolognaise. Setting it down on the sink, he peeled back the cling wrap and grabbed a fork.
‘She wants us to come by and grab a few of my belongings. She left a message on the machine.’
Jabbing the fork into the meal, he found a chunk of ice. Putting the wrap back in place, he placed it back in the microwave and reset it. Glancing into the living room, Greg looked towards the answering machine. Vaguely remembering the phone ringing the night before, he shrugged. A step towards the kettle, and Greg muttered ‘okay’ under his breath. The kettle soon whistled, and he poured the water into two mugs, hardly paying attention to the way he barely remembered dumping the coffee and sugar into both. Head still foggy with sleep, he decided as the microwave beeped. Setting one of the mugs down in front of Wilson, Greg took a sip from his. The coffee hit came hard, the hot liquid burning his throat.
‘I’m going to have a shower,’ Wilson announced, moving fluidly off his seat. Greg nodded, setting his mug down. Wilson headed towards the bathroom, and Greg closed his eyes as the sound of running water came. Wiping his hands on his flannel pants, he took the spaghetti from the microwave, pulled back the wrap and dug his fork in. The first bite took him surprise because it was still cold.
*
‘I hate Mondays.’
‘It’s Tuesday,’ Chase replied somewhere behind House. House shrugged, stretched out his back, and leaned against the counter in the conference room.
‘Just stating the obvious. But it’s funny because so many people claim to suffer ‘Monday-itis’, even our favorite new patient. Her left lung collapsed last night. That’s gotta mean something, healthy lungs don’t just collapse.’
Foreman took a glance at the file in his hand. ‘X-ray came back fine.’ he commented, flipping a sheet. ‘Though her CT scan isn’t looking too good.’
‘Good, go with that.’ House pushed off the counter and crossed to the whiteboard. ‘Though that does nothing to explain her sudden coughing up more than phlegm. Go chuck her on a nebulizer if she isn’t already on one, and see if she’s anemic at all.’ Starting towards the door, House paused in the doorway. ‘See if she has a fireplace, that might explain the initial stomach pain.’
‘How- ’
Cameron’s question was cut off as House let the door swing shut behind him. He’d made it towards the first corner when his name echoed down the corridor.
‘House!’
Ignoring Cuddy, House turned his head in the opposite direction. Cuddy called out to him again, before stepping in front of him.
‘House!’
‘Sorry, changed my name. It’s now “El Coolio Big Cheese.” Rolls off the tongue much easier.’ Stepping around Cuddy, House kept his eyes forward. He heard the sound of Cuddy chasing after him, her heels echoing down the hallway.
‘There’s a conference on Saturday, you need to go. It’s for the heads of departments. It would have been scheduled for another day, but Dr. Jacobs doesn’t come back until Friday night, and- ’
‘Sorry, no can do,’ House interrupted, stopping in front of the elevator. ‘Gotta help Wilson grab the rest of his crap from his house.’
Cuddy narrowed her brow, lips twisting slightly. ‘House… how long are you going to keep this up for?’
The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open. Entering, he turned, hand hovering over he button pad. Cuddy tilted her head, placing a hand on her hip.
‘As long as I get to avoid budget meetings.’
Before the doors could close, she slipped through, standing beside House. Turning her head to him, she raised an eyebrow. ‘You have clinic duty.’
‘Really?’ Gawking at her, he pretended to be shocked. ‘Wow. And all this time I thought Cameron was going to do it for me. Pretty surprising, huh?’
Reaching over, Cuddy pushed the ground level button and the doors slid shut.
‘You need to stop avoiding everything. Take control of your life.’
‘I have damn good control over my life.’
Sighing, Cuddy tucked her hair behind her ear as the doors slid back open. Heading out of the elevator, she paused, waiting for House. ‘Just do your job. It won’t hurt.’
Rolling his eyes, House begrudgingly headed to the clinic. ‘You’re not going in my will, now,’ he called over his shoulder to a sighing Cuddy. ‘I hope your breasts smother you when you run your car into a wall.’
*
Greg poked at the carrots in his salad, moving them around, pretending he was even interested in them. Looking up from the plastic dish, he stretched his back and yawned. His early awakening was finally getting to him, and he knew he’d be going to bed early that night. Massaging a cramp in his shoulder after he set his fork down, Greg cast his eyes around the cafeteria, ignoring everything and everyone until he saw the mop of hair he knew only as Wilson’s. Waving his arm over his head, House jerked his chin when Wilson finally looked over to him.
‘You look exhausted,’ he commented as he sat down. House grunted.
‘I feel it.’ Stabbing a carrot with his fork, Greg made a show of raising it to his mouth and biting through it. Wilson just raised an eyebrow and snatched a tomato off House’s plate and popped it in his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, House studied his plate and looked off to the side. ‘When do you want to go pick up your stuff on Saturday?’
Wilson rested his head on the heel of his hand. ‘I dunno. Whenever.’ He drifted his hand over the tabletop and opened his mouth to speak, when Cameron called out.
‘House.’ Walking briskly to where House sat, Cameron held a file out. ‘We did CT scan. We also did a bronchoscopy and a spiromtry.’
Taking the file from her hand, House rolled his eyes at Wilson. ‘She’s so desperate to talk to me sometimes she has to interrupt my lunch.’
Wilson just snorted, sipping his coffee from the Styrofoam cup. Cameron eyed House and crossed her arms over her chest.
‘Her blood tests are currently being done in the lab, but there’s really nothing to indicate she’s- ’
House cut her off by standing, shoving the file under one arm. ‘Right, right, you want me to pay attention to the patient. I get it.’
Moving past her, he nodded his goodbye to Wilson. Cameron just shook her head, taking hold of House’s tray and dumping it in the bin when she left the cafeteria. Moving briskly behind him, she quickly stepped in time, moving towards the elevator.
‘Her lungs are deteriorating and there’s no indication why. She only fourteen, she doesn’t smoke, doesn’t frequent bars- she’s a ki- House, what’re you doing?’
House had stopped at the front of the clinic, rattling his Vicodin bottle. ‘I need a top up.’ Turning around, he squinted in the direction they had just come from. Cameron headed back towards him, hands on her hips.
‘Her mother smoked when she was in her first trimester. She didn’t know she was pregnant.’
‘That’s great, I’m going to see if I can still catch Wilson and get him to write me a prescription.’
‘House!’
He turned to Cameron, raising an eyebrow. ‘You know, that can get really annoying after a while. The whole… screeching cat sound.’
Cameron cast her eyes to the ceiling before holding her hands out. ‘Wilson… he can wait. Can we just go to the patient now?’
House eyed her, frowning, before pushing past her and heading to the doors.
‘Where’re you going?’ she called after him.
‘I need to go… think,’ he replied, mumbling mostly to himself. He felt Cameron’s intent stare on his back, even after he passed through the doors.
*
‘House.’
Lifting his head from the computer screen, House raised an eye to Foreman, then back to his game of solitaire. It was late Friday afternoon and he was planning Saturday and how he could avoid speaking to Julie as much as possible.
‘What?’ Clicking on the ace of spades, he dragged it next to the ace of hearts as Foreman entered the office.
‘Just a word.’
‘Mm.’ A chair dragged across the ground, and there was a soft thump as the younger doctor sat himself down. House barely paid him another glance as he continued on with his game.
‘You need to talk,’ Foreman finally said. House narrowed his brow and clicked on the jack of clubs and dragged it towards the queen of diamonds.
‘You’re the one who wanted a word,’ House mumbled. He heard Foreman sigh and House dragged the two of hearts to the ace.
‘Everyone’s concerned,’ Foreman finally stated.
‘About who? Chase and that atrocious shirt he’s been prancing around in?’ House finally broke his gaze from the computer. ‘I didn’t tell him to wear it.’ Reaching for his bottle of Vicodin from his pocket, he popped the cap. Taking one, he swallowed it down with surprising difficulty and set the container down, hearing the last of the pills rattle about.
Foreman cast his eyes to the ceiling. ‘House, I’m being serious. It’s not… healthy.’
‘Maybe not.’ House replied, running his tongue over his teeth. ‘But it stops me from firing shots from the clock tower, doesn’t it?’
It only occurred to him after the words left his lips that those were the words Wilson had spoken months ago. Without thinking much of it, he returned to his game.
‘How’s the patient?’ he said after a momentary pause.
‘Can we stick to the topic at hand?’
‘Sure. The topic being the patient.’ House squinted at the screen- he had nowhere else to go. The game was a losing one. Foreman moved out of the chair and headed towards the door.
‘There’s no improvement,’ he mumbled as he left.
House looked up. ‘Huh.’ Casting his eyes to the Vicodin, he shoved it in his pocket and moved to get up.
Wilson popped his head into the room. ‘Wanna get lunch?’
Pushing back from his desk, House eased himself up, holding onto his cane. ‘Sure.’ Moving around his desk, he headed towards James, pushing past him. Wilson soon fell into step with him, their shoulders brushing, Wilson’s white coat floating around his knees.
*
‘Somebody’s going to need to tell the mother,’ Cameron murmured as House walked in through the door after having lunch with Wilson. Quiet fell across the room but House ignored it and crossed to the sink, picking lettuce from between his teeth.
‘Tell the mother what? That her daughter needs a new set of lungs?’
Foreman watched him as House poured water into a mug and stirred. ‘Sarah’s going to need a lung transplant… but she wouldn’t survive the operation. And donors are next to impossible to find.’
Crossing to the table, House sipped the coffee and sat down. Grabbing the file on the table, he flipped it open. Reading a few lines, his head jerked up and stared over at Cameron.
‘Emphysema? I thought I was the one making the diagnosis here.’
‘You… haven’t been…’ Chase drifted off and stood from where he sat, moving to the sink. House eyed him suspiciously, turning in his seat.
‘I haven’t been what? Kissing you goodnight? Tucking you into bed?’
‘You haven’t been very interested in the case,’ Cameron explained delicately, taking the file from House and tucking it under her arm. ‘It was easier if we just went on without you.’
‘And who gave you authority to do that?’ House growled, rising to his feet.
‘Cuddy,’ Foreman shot back, standing from the opposite end of the table. House directed his stare to him, lips twisted into a grimace. ‘She said if you weren’t interested then to let you go.’
‘Now why would she go and say something like that?’
Foreman hesitated but before he could speak, Chase interrupted. ‘Cameron was saying you needed Vicodin. I’ll get it for you.’
Cameron and Foreman eyed Chase as House rounded the table. ‘See, if you try just a little bit harder, you could wind up like Chase here. Of course, that means bad floral prints and girlish hair, but the good comes with the bad.’
Heading to the door, he motioned for Chase to follow. Moving into the hall, he walked to the elevator, listening as Chase scampered after him. Pushing the button for the elevator, he turned his head as Chase stood beside him, hands shoved in his pockets. Deciding not to ponder too hard on the reasons behind Chase saying he’d get him his Vicodin, he stepped into the elevator with Chase and pushed the ground level. Waiting in silence, he marched through when the doors slid open and turned to the clinic. Even more specifically, the pharmacy.
‘Could you slow down? People with canes aren’t meant to go this fast!’ Chase called out from behind him.
‘Keep up and I’ll let you play in pediatrics after your lunch break,’ House called over his shoulder. Barking his prescription to the pharmacist, he pointed to Chase as his prescribing doctor. The pharmacist just sighed and rolled his eyes before filling out the prescription.
‘This would be easier if Wilson were here.’ Chase cast his eyes to the ceiling and shoved his hands in his pockets. Snatching the pill bottle from the pharmacist, House shoved it in his pocket and slipped past Chase.
‘It would be, but you’re the one who offered to come with me. Now excuse me, I’ve got to find Wilson and demand he make up for not meeting me at lunch.’
‘House…’
‘Don’t start pulling a Cameron,’ House warned before leaving the clinic, his fresh bottle of Vicodin in his pocket, rattling.
*
Greg pulled up in the drive, letting the engine purr before cutting it and turning to James with his brows raised. James uncertainly licked his lips as he looked up at his old house, hands folded in his lap, twisting and untwisting almost fanatically. Tapping his fingers on the wheel, Greg licked his lips.
‘You gonna go up there?’ Greg finally asked. James hummed nervously, tapped his feet and swallowed loudly. Brow furrowing, James undid his seatbelt. Greg watched him for a moment, before posing his question again. James whined softly, stared woefully at the door, and shook his head. Greg nodded, undid his own belt and opened the door. Heading towards the front door, Greg rung the bell and glanced at his car. James was watching him, chewing on his lower lip. The front door opened and Greg turned around. Julie stood in front of him, red-eyed, her short, stringy blonde hair tied back. Pulling at the sleeves of her jogging suit, Julie sniffed and nodded towards the corridor.
‘I’ll… get the box.’ Julie croaked, before disappearing into the darkness of the house. Greg clucked his tongue, tapping his cane on the concrete. She had smelt vaguely of bourbon- something Wilson used to drink before the separation. Knocking his cane on the wall, he lifted his head as Julie returned, carrying a large, cardboard banana box. Greg eyed it, before raising his cane a foot off the ground.
Julie sighed, muttered ‘okay’ and pushed past Greg and down the path to the car. Completely ignoring James, Julie rounded to the trunk and set the box down.
‘It’s locked,’ James called from where he sat. Julie tucked her hair that fell from the elastic and tried lifting the trunk. Grunting, she crossed her arms over her chest and quirked a brow.
‘It’s locked,’ she announced stiffly. Greg rolled his eyes as he walked to the car and pulled the keys out of the ignition.
‘That’s what Jimmy just said,’ he muttered as he stood beside Julie. The woman sniffed, and when Greg turned his head after lifting the trunk open, found her lips twisted into a grimace. Her eyes were still red, but were welling up with tears, teeth clamped onto her lower lip. Grabbing the box, she heaved it into the car. Records rattled, various trophies falling out. Slamming down the lid, she pushed past Greg and without paying attention to James, who had stepped out of the car, stormed inside.
*
‘You made an awful lot,’ Wilson murmured as he lifted the lid of the pot. The water bubbled, the spaghetti smell inside wafting around the room. Greg just shrugged and turned a page in the journal he was perusing. Wilson let the lid back down, setting it askew. Sunday. One of Jimmy’s old records was playing, old jazz tunes that Greg had forced him to buy several years ago.
‘Cuddy’s been screeching down my back for missing the budget meeting on Saturday,’ Greg mumbled, scanning the page before closing it and setting it on his lap. James just raised his brows and leant against the cupboard.
‘How come she’s not getting onto you about it?’ House asked. Wilson just shrugged and turned away.
‘I fuck her, and she lets me skiv off otherwise necessary meetings.’
‘Cheat.’
Jimmy just gave a sheepish smile, winked, and rounded the bench. Stepping over a discarded jacket, he moved towards the couch and sat down on the armrest. Greg barely blinked and flipped a page as James stretched an arm behind him, leaning over. Resting a hand on Greg’s chest, he set his head atop the others.
‘What’re you reading?’ James asked softly, whispering into his hair.
‘Medical journal,’ Greg replied shortly. James hummed softly, reading the pages over Greg’s head.
‘“Separation Anxiety and the Mind”… interesting choice.’
Greg moved his hand atop Wilson’s as he started to undo his buttons. Glancing up, he gently kissed him, sinking down into the couch.
‘Spaghetti’ll be done in five minutes,’ he mumbled as the journal slipped from his fingers. James pushed back the lapels of Greg’s shirt, kissing his way down.
‘We have time.’
Running his fingers through his hair, Greg cupped the side of James’ face, lifting his head up. James smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. His hands splayed on Greg’s chest, James rested his chin on his stomach, hair falling in front of his face. Pushing it away from his eyes, Greg drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose. James licked his lips, kissing the skin under Greg’s ribcage.
‘Greg, I- ’
‘Don’t say “I love you”.’ Greg interrupted. James raised a brow.
‘I- ’
‘Now you’ve ruined the moment for great fast, non-committal sex. Thanks very much.’
James smirked. ‘I was going to say I think the spaghetti’s about done.’
‘Huh.’
Jimmy rolled off and pulled at his shirtsleeves, leaving Greg to re-button his shirt. Starting towards the kitchen, James paused by the fridge.
‘Oh, and Greg?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I love you.’
Greg stared at James, who grinned, hands behind his back. Rolling his eyes, Greg sat up and set his eyes in the opposite direction.
‘Okay, I do, too.’
Jimmy snorted, but turned around with a smile, leaving Greg to rest his head on the back of the couch, a grin on his lips and an odd fluttering in his stomach.
*
‘Greg.’
Greg closed his eyes tighter, and rolled onto his stomach.
‘Greg!’
‘Whaaat?’ he groaned.
‘It’s time to get up.’
Opening an eye, House glanced over at Wilson, who was leaning over him, knees on the bed. Shaking his shoulder, James patted his back. ‘C’mon, you’re gonna be late for work.’
‘It’s early.’
‘It’s eight.’
Lifting his head, he rubbed his eyes and glanced at the glowing red digits on the clock. Groaning, he pushed back the sheets and shuffled to the edge of the bed. Letting a leg drop over, he grabbed his cane and gingerly stood. Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his free hand, Greg made a move to his wardrobe. Throwing the door open, he grabbed the first shirt he could find, dragging his pants out with them. When he turned, James was sitting on the corner of the bed, full dressed, hair damp from a shower. Moving next to him, he sat down, tugging his flannel pajama pants off.
‘Had a funny dream last night,’ he yawned as he groped for his pants.
‘Mm?’ James passed him his T-shirt, playing with the sleeves of the collared shirt. Greg zipped up his pants, running his hand through his hair and pulling his shirt over his head. Yawning, he nodded and stretched his back out.
‘Yeah.’ Taking his collared shirt, he shoved it on, plucking at the cuffs before grabbing his cane and making his way to his dresser. Tugging it open and picking out a pair of socks, he made his way back, slumping back down on the mattress. The bedsprings creaked as he shuffled down, pulling his socks on. ‘Cuddy rang and told me you’d been in a car accident. It was kind of…’
‘Horrible?’
‘Realistic would be the right word.’
Sitting up, he snatched his cane and eyed James. James was staring him, eyebrow raised, almost expectant.
‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
Wilson shook his head and reached under the bed, sliding Greg’s shoes over to him. Greg eased his feet into them, tugging at the tongue so his toes could get through. Curling his toes, he stood, another hand through his hair.
‘D’you wanna pick something up on the way?’
Rolling his eyes, James stood, heading to the door. ‘What do you suppose your dream meant?’ he asked, looking over his shoulder as Greg followed him.
‘I don’t believe in that dream bullshit. It’s probably just my head sorting through all the bad shit so everything else can be fluffy bunnies and wet dreams.’
James snorted, tossing Greg his keys. ‘You drive.’
*
‘House.’
Blatantly ignoring Foreman, House continued down the hall. Picking up his pace, Foreman called out again.
‘I’m ignoring you!’ House called over his shoulder. If he started walking any faster, his leg would collapse and he’d rather not have that.
‘Chase is telling Sarah’s mother right now.’
Halting, he studied Foreman’s face. ‘About what?’
Foreman raised an eyebrow and shoved his hands on his hips. ‘About Sarah’s lungs… the girl probably won’t make it through her freshmen year.’
‘Oh.’ Blinking, House shrugged and started walking again. ‘Pity.’
‘Where’re you going?’ Foreman called.
‘Wilson’s office,’ House called back. ‘If you hear a lot of moaning, don’t come crying to me.’
Ignoring the looks of patients and medical staff alike, he turned a corner into the oncology ward. Keeping his eyes focused, he wondered why Wilson wasn’t answering his pages. He’d disappeared earlier on in the day, and despite trying to avoid Cuddy for most of it, House was getting rather aggravated.
Seeing the wooden door with the gold name plaque, House reached out to knock, rapping on the door loudly. His pager beeped loudly, once then twice, and…
Sighing, he snatched it. It was from Cameron. Mother had been told, didn’t really matter. Clinic duty, the next one said. Cuddy.
Rolling his eyes, he turned his back on the door. As he rounded the corner, the door opened leaving a very confused doctor peeking out.
*
‘House, can I talk to you?’
House turned his head, the file in his hand raised. Eyeing Cuddy, he set the file down slowly.
‘If this is about last night, I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘House.’
Turning to the nurse behind the desk, he jerked his head. ‘Her dad walked in.’
Brenda rolled her eyes and took the file from him as House stepped towards Cuddy.
‘This won’t take long,’ she murmured, although it seemed mostly to herself than to House. Leading him through the clinic, she smoothed down her skirt, her fingers clenching to the hem of her shirt. Opening the door to her office, she let House enter first. The lights were low, the curtains drawn, and a woman sat in a chair moved beside Cuddy’s desk. Frowning, House let himself be led to the other empty chair and sat down, sensing that this ‘meeting’, despite Cuddy’s words, was going to be quite long.
‘House, this is Dr Melissa Gordon,’ Cuddy explained as she moved around her desk and sat in the chair behind it. ‘She started here six months ago.’
Dr Gordon smiled pleasantly at House. ‘I transferred from Princeton,’ she explained. House grunted, turning back to Cuddy without a second glance.
‘I have better things to do with my time. Like hang out with Wilson and bitch about you behind your back.’
‘That’s what we want to talk to you about.’ Dr Gordon said gently, hands folded in her lap. House rolled his eyes, making a move to his feet. Cuddy raised a hand off the polished wood of her desk, standing up.
‘House. Please. We need to talk.’
Dr Gordon stood as well, head tilted slightly. ‘I’d really like to talk to you,’ she said gently. House squinted at her, then turned his attention to Cuddy. Cuddy motioned for him to sit back down, before returning to her own seat. House slowly sat, the chair squeaking underneath his weight, eyeing Cuddy suspiciously.
‘Greg,’ Cuddy slowly said. House’s suspicious raised even more so. ‘Dr Gordon has been… monitoring your behaviour for the past few months.’
House narrowed his brows and opened his mouth, intending to speak, but Dr Gordon cut him off.
‘Do you remember what happened six months ago?’ she asked, much too lightly for House’s liking. Remaining silent for a moment, House slid his eyes up to Cuddy. Outside it started to rain, the droplets filling the otherwise silent room with noise.
‘House,’ Cuddy whispered. She shifted forward in her seat. Before she could speak, Dr Gordon raised a hand. House was really beginning to get pissed with the way she kept doing that.
‘Dr House, what is your relationship with Dr Wilson like?’
‘Fine.’ House replied automatically. Cuddy lowered her gaze, but the psychologist kept looking at him, eyebrows raised. House rolled his eyes, sighing. ‘He lives with me. We… eat together, watch TV together. We sleep together, is that what you wanted to hear? We’re friends, can I leave now?’
Dr Gordon glanced down at her hands, before turning back to House. ‘Where’s Dr Wilson today?’
House hesitated. Wilson was with him on the drive to work… he’d seen him before he had to go see a patient. He had meant to go to his office, but… he’d gotten tied up with his case and he’d started down to the oncology ward, and then Cameron had paged him, but he’d ignored it, hadn’t he?
‘House?’ He snapped back to reality and saw Cuddy staring at him.
‘He’s… probably with a patient, I haven’t seen him since ten o’clock.’
Cuddy drew in a deep breath and shifted her elbows onto the desk. House finally noticed how tightly her hair was pulled back, how red her eyes were, how discretely she was dressed. She licked he lips, fingers clasped tightly together. Almost like she was trying to stop her hands from shaking, he thought.