Word Count: 300
Spoilers: Third season up to "Informed Consent"
Warnings: Nasty implications.
A/N: Takes place after "Informed Consent"
Thanks to my beloved rivers_bend for insta-Beta after the bunny refused to let me get any sleep until it was done. This is the first H/W I've been able to write since the season started. It ain't pretty!
James Wilson was drowning in guilt as surely as Dr. Ezra Powell was drowning in his own plasma. Icarus, my ass, he thought morosely, knowing he was the one guilty of hubris as well as betrayal. I’ve actually become Stacy.
There was only one way to fix this. Colleagues joked that he must be a masochist to be friends with House. Some joke. Wilson shuddered with both fear and longing, remembering what House had done to him after he found out about Grace, but also the bliss of lying bruised, but forgiven in Greg’s arms afterwards.
He went to House’s office to offer himself up for whatever abuse House needed to inflict. Anything would be preferable to feeling like he was less important to House than his underlings.
How many times had he stood in that doorway, watching House suffer, smugly knowing that only he could provide comfort? Wilson assumed his familiar pose and waited.
House took his time looking up, eventually allowing his tortured friend to see a hint of warmth in those dangerously bright eyes, teasing him the hope of a smile. The fluent reader of body language clearly knew how much Wilson wanted to get what was coming to him. Wilson felt himself start to break, waiting for House to say or do something. He let out a muffled gasp of relief when he saw the smile complete with dimples showing through the whiskers. It’s going to be all right. But House wasn’t smiling at him at all. He was looking at something on his desk. Wilson thought it might be a calendar.
“Tempting offer, but no thanks.” He picked up his cane to leave the office, every painful step cutting into Wilson’s heart as much as the words. “I can do better.”