Fandom: House MD
Word Count: 1517
Spoilers for Who's Your Daddy
A/N-Maybe the last of my "mood fics" or just something I needed to get out of my system.
Thanks to Beta Goddess Carol for never letting it be just OK, and anybody else I whinged and whined to while I was trying to get there.
Summary: Wilson faces facts after Who's Your Daddy.
Wilson didn’t do jealousy.
It was a gift, or maybe a curse.
When Julie revealed that she’d been having an affair, he was hurt, and a bit surprised by how long she said it had been going on. He’d listened to her confession, which had been followed by tears, yelling and demands for couples counseling, before packing his bag and heading for House’s apartment, feeling numb and slightly relieved, but certainly not jealous.
For a man who managed to lure women into bed on a regular basis with great shows of sympathy, there were aspects of the female psyche that remained a mystery. Whether they threw things, like Trish, or meekly thanked him for being honest, like Bonnie, he honestly couldn’t understand the need to know the who and the why.
Sex was sex. It didn’t mean he didn’t love them.
You’d be surprised what you can live with.
The look on Cameron’s face when he realized that she hadn’t cheated on her dying husband because it was morally impossible threw him for a loop. He’d actually thought she was going to confess to being just as flawed as he was and instead she’d made him feel just the tiniest bit sorry for some of the pain he’d inflicted.
The feeling lasted only as long as it took him to formulate his rejoinder and walk out of the room.
Maybe there was something wrong with him.
We were twenty and he had a car. If he were a woman I would have married him.
It was a typical House remark, and a fairly mild one at that, yet he found himself seething with an anger he couldn’t understand.
Why the hell didn’t Dylan Crandall take his sick daughter and get the hell out of New Jersey, preferably somewhere far away where he, and more importantly House, would never see him again?
Wilson had absorbed the shock of his own reaction and shaken it off, reminding himself that he didn’t think or feel that way, certainly not about House. If there were ever a “just sex” relationship, it had to be him and House. It had been going on for years, longer than anybody would have guessed (especially Stacy), with the unspoken agreement that it wasn’t allowed to mean anything. The agreement worked well enough for Wilson to stay friends with Stacy, and for House to pretend to forgive him for what happened with Grace.
The L-Word marathon “date” had been as close to a “kiss and make-up” session as he could expect from House, although there wasn’t much kissing involved -- one reason he always wound up gravitating back toward women.
So why did a single gesture of House’s hand regarding Crandall’s girlfriend make him lose his appetite for the best chicken molé in Princeton?
And why the hell was House spending so much time in Cuddy’s fucking office?
Did House really need an attractive woman among his fellows? Was Cameron actually good for anything besides getting too emotionally involved with patients and trying to get House to notice her, which was never going to happen as long as Wilson had anything to say about it?
Oh… my… god.
The realization ate at his gut, making him long to throw the toys given by dead patients against the wall until they broke into satisfyingly tiny pieces.
He wanted to kill Crandall, Cuddy or anyone else who tried to touch House, or vice versa.
Now he understood the rage that he’d felt coming off House like a bad smell when he found out about Grace. This was why House couldn’t shut up about his harmless flirting with Debbie or his sympathetic lunches with new oncology nurses. If he could apologize to all of them, he would… well, at least to Trish and Bonnie.
It was just as well he’d never actually gotten an apartment. Nothing was stopping him from moving out of his hotel room tonight. House had wanted him back in the apartment after Grace left for Italy. Maybe he could finally be forgiven for his screw-up by telling House he was ready to be exclusive because he could no longer stand the thought of sharing House with Stacy, Cameron or anybody else.
He found House in his office, enjoying what Wilson had come to call “post-puzzle glow.” It didn’t last much longer than the other kind and Wilson figured this was as good a time as any to give House the news.
Settling himself into the chair opposite House’s desk, he waited, mentally planning dinner and what would come afterwards. As always, they were completely comfortable with each other. He knew House couldn’t do that with anybody else, and if he was completely honest, neither could he. Julie had actually mentioned it once between accusing him of screwing every nurse in his department and screaming that he didn’t give a damn about humiliating her in front of her parents. “You can’t even stand to be alone with me for more than ten minutes unless we’re screwing or watching TV.”
He hadn’t bothered to deny the accusations although at the time he hadn’t been screwing any of the nurses.
House looked up at him with a sigh of what might have been contentment over his diagnosis of Leona, as well as possible anticipation of what Wilson was about to say.
“Is the couch still open?” he asked, smiling suggestively since they were alone and he didn’t have to pretend to be quite so nice. “The couch” was always a lie. House ended up there more than he did, on nights when he couldn’t sleep and said he didn’t want to wake Wilson with his tossing and turning.
Wilson saw the hint of a smile on House’s face. It might be the smug version, but he didn’t care. Any House smile made him happy. They’d been rare enough in the last few years.
“Don’t tell me your latest girlfriend is throwing you out already.”
“There is no girlfriend.”
“My mistake. I could have sworn you were James Wilson.”
“House, listen to me. I don’t want that any more. I want…to come back and be with you.”
He’d spent years avoiding just such a declaration because he didn’t trust himself to live up to it and now it flowed out as though it were the most natural thing in the world. All it took was a shot of jealousy. Maybe he actually owed Crandall a thank-you.
Wilson watched as the smile gave way to darkness and suspicion. House knew Wilson’s numbers as well as Wilson knew baseball statistics.
“Not tonight, Josephine. Hot date.”
OK, fine. House had been really pissed about Grace, and now he was lashing out.
“You don’t need… Cameron?” House was registering amusement, so obviously he’d guessed wrong, “…or Cuddy or a hooker,” he blurted. “I’m not looking for anyone else and I don’t want you to either.”
He made sure that House could hear the sincerity in his voice, the crack of emotion. The love.
“Oh, this is good.”
House was smiling, but neither the smile nor his voice had anything “good” in it. It was House’s “on the attack” voice, the one that said he’d found an opening and wouldn’t stop until everything in his path was destroyed.
“Pretty-boy looks aren’t pulling the way they used to, are they? Nurses must be going on the internet to warn each other about Dr. Sympathy and his well-meaning pity fucks. All that crap you like to feed me about how I’ll end up alone? You’re scared shitless it’s going to be you, so now you want to put a leash and collar on me. I like to get fucked, but that doesn’t mean I want to be your bitch.”
“I don’t…that’s not…”
“That’s not what you’re telling yourself, but you know what?”
“Everybody lies,” Wilson muttered weakly, wondering what the hell he was going to do next. There was no point trying to argue with House right now. Things would only get uglier, if such a thing were possible.
He needed to get out of House’s office, but his legs wouldn’t work. House saved him the trouble by getting up himself, not bothering to muffle the grunt or hide his pain. The glow had worn off. Maybe he’d hastened its departure by forcing House to deal with emotions instead of relishing his latest triumph.
The last thump of House’s cane had faded before he got up, telling himself that this wasn’t over. There had to be some way to convince House that they could both change.
Uh, your machine’s broken, there’s not even a message. House, are you there? Okay, see you Monday, I guess.
Wilson put down the cell-phone, turning his attention to another order of take-out Mexican and barely focusing on whatever inanity was emitting from the television set.
Tomorrow he’d call again.
House couldn’t avoid him indefinitely, not as long as he wanted his pills. Wilson smiled to himself. He knew all House’s weaknesses and how to exploit them to get what they both wanted.
He’d never stop trying.