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Not Another Date
by gena
Title: Not Another Date
Author: gena
Email: sentinelgirl@yahoo.com
Not Another Date........
Her mother had accused her of being a masochist when she'd told her she was going to marry her late husband, David. Cameron hated it when her mother was right.
"What, exactly, am I doing here?" Dr. Allison Cameron demanded, coming to a complete halt in the middle of the busy sawdust covered midway. Her two companions both got a couple of steps before noting her refusal to move. They shared what she just knew was an exasperated look even though the garish neon lights made it hard to see their expressions clearly.
"Camouflage," House said with a sigh.
"Camouflage?"
"Yeah," he gave her one of his patented "duh" eyebrow moves, one she particularly hated. "You know, like those big net's you see strung over Howitzers and tanks in John Wayne war movies."
"I always wanted one of those," Wilson said casually. "My mother got angry when I took the blankets and used -"
"Houseplants?" House guessed.
"Yeah, I got dirt all over the floor and -"
"Stop!"
House and Wilson turned, twin expressions of lime green and blinking teal shock spread across their faces. "Do you two ever listen to yourselves? I mean you both just -", she threw up her hands, "men! Why did I ever agree to this?"
House limped back to her side, free hand catching her elbow. "Because you're a hopeless Romantic."
"Masochist," she murmured. Louder she said, "I like you, I want to date you, I shouldn't have to go out with you and your boyfriend."
"I'm not his boyfriend,' Wilson denied, "we're - just - close."
House made a rude sound. "Yeah, we're just good friends." Wilson might have blushed but the hot pink lights made it difficult to tell.
"So, that whole groping each other thing in the elevator yesterday was completely innocent?" Cameron demanded.
"We weren't groping each other," House maintained. "I thought I saw a bee and Dr. Wilson is very allergic."
"I am? I am!" Wilson exclaimed and rubbed his shin where House's cane had whacked him. "Very. Swell up like a basketball."
"Uh, huh." Cameron didn't even try to look convinced; instead she tapped her foot and stared at the two men. She didn't know why she'd agreed to this - this charade. Maybe she'd done it because she was tired of Chase and Foreman teasing her all the time. They were such children. When House had suggested going with him to a local carnival she'd jumped at the chance. Visions of her and him, riding the Ferris Wheel, strolling the midway, him winning her some ridiculously huge stuffed animal, had filled her head until she felt dizzy. And then she'd gotten to his apartment and found Wilson lounging on the couch, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and apparently coming along with them. She would've liked to have been angry, incensed at House's disregard for her feelings, but in reality she'd expected it. She might be infatuated with House but she wasn't blind or stupid. She knew he and Wilson had a complicated and close relationship.
"Don't tell me you aren't having fun?" House challenged.
"Well," Cameron couldn't stop the smile spreading across her face. In truth she was having a blast. It had been everything she'd wanted and more. They'd ridden the Ferris Wheel, all three of them squashed together on the small seat, singing Up, Up, and Away at the top of their lungs as they moved skyward. Wilson had a beautiful singing voice and both she and House had fallen silent after a couple of minutes just to listen. They'd wandered the midway, gawping at sights and eating junk food and then in typical House style he'd demonstrated an uncanny skill at darts, and won her a stuffed vulture wearing a fez. There had been moments when House seemed to forget she wasn't really his girl, he would flash her a dazzling smile or, eyes dancing, laugh like they were the only two people in on the joke. But as much as she tried to fool herself, Cameron knew what she felt wasn't hers alone to feel. James Wilson ambled along beside them; quiet, constant, devoted, and there. He generally wore a pleasant smile whenever she chanced to glance his way but it was the fact that his chocolate brown eyes seemingly held all House's secrets and revealed none of them that annoyed her the most. Cameron envied his closeness to House, they way House accepted Wilson like he accepted and relied on no one else and because she envied it, the thought of them denying what they shared frustrated her.
"Are you having fun, or not? House asked again and Cameron realized she'd been staring at him with a thoughtful frown for nearly a full minute.
"Yeah," she said, and laughed.
"See?" House said as if that explained it. "I couldn't very well just take Wilson. People would talk, but since they already think he and I are a couple where's the fun in that? This way they make up complicated explanations, tossing in the fact you like me and I like Wilson and he likes," House turned to Wilson with a frown, "what is it you like again?"
"French maid uniforms," he said with a straight face.
"Forgive my little friend's sense of humor," House said, sticking his tongue out at Wilson. "This way the gossip machine thunders on at an alarming pace and we all are miraculously spared being crushed under it's weight." He grinned like a maniac, obviously proud of himself.
Cameron tilted her head, "because no one believes a word of something so farfetched as you inviting me along when you're going out with your boyfriend."
"I wish you'd stop using that term," Wilson muttered, stepping out of cane whacking distance.
Cameron shook her head. She had to applaud House's logic. Thanks to Foreman and Chase half of PPTH knew she had a crush on her boss. After their "non-date" to the monster truck rally, and the real date she had wangled in exchange for coming back to work, the rumors had flown fast and furious, having her and House practically married. Those few days had been - nice. Some people gave her obvious looks of pity, as if she were some sad mental patient wandering the halls, not dangerous to anyone but herself. Others had met her gaze with a grudging nod, as if she'd accomplished something no other human had ever done before. Then Vogler disrupted their world and with him came the unexpected disaster of Wilson being fired. It might have only been for a day, but the story spread like wildfire, no one able to ignore the fact that Wilson, popular and charming, had sacrificed his own career because he thought more of a man no one else cared for than he did of a job he had dedicated his adult life to. Wilson's shattered expression and House's fury had caused older rumors, ones Cameron hadn't heard in her ten months at PPTH, to whirl. It had rattled her, she'd never even considered that House's reluctance to admit feelings for her might be because of - Wilson. She'd been amazed by the sheer number of people who speculated on the nature of House and Wilson's friendship. Their habit of spending an inordinate amount of time together in exam rooms sans patients and Wilson's unswerving devotion had been noted, labeled and cataloged all under the heading HOUSE/WILSON. Leave it to House to stir the pot just when everyone thought they knew what was going on. Now, when word got around that House had spent a night on the town with both of his most loyal supporters, two people who cared deeply for him, it would confuse and confound en mass. "Everyone assumes this is just an innocent little adventure because I'm with you."
"And because I'm happily married," Wilson tossed in.
"Puleez," Cameron and House chorused. Exchanging grins, they linked arms and set off towards the Bumper Cars. Wilson hurried to catch up. They rode most of the rides, avoiding only the ones which would have been difficult for House, and trying their luck at everything from shooting metal ducks to tossing rings over pop bottles. Two hours later, his share of their cheap trinkets tucked under one arm and the rest carried by Wilson, House announced he wanted to go home.
"You want me to bring the car around?" Wilson asked. Cameron watched House, she could see irritation flash across his face but he'd also been limping worse than usual for the last half hour.
"Yeah, why don't you," House said. Wilson nodded and headed off across the parking lot.
"You okay?" Cameron could see a fine sheen of sweat on House's face. They'd been walking for three hours, most of that had been on thick sawdust, and when they'd sat it had been cramped together on the rides. She's seen him pop a couple of Vicodin since their arrival and knew the strain on his weak leg had to be taking a toll on him. He looked exhausted but under the garish lights it was hard to gauge how he was really doing.
"I'm fine," House said with an airy wave of his Kewpie doll. But he did find a short wall and prop himself against it, his knuckles white where his fingers gripped his cane. She didn't like seeing him hurt, and could feel the bitterness radiating from him like heat waves. His words from their fateful "date" rattled around inside her brain, bumping into her thoughts at odd times. It rankled her.
"You think pity is what any woman feels when they see you, or just me?" She asked. House raised both eyebrows and gave his head a little shake as if she'd just blurted out I had Elvis' love child or something.
"Did I just pass out and miss a whole turn in this conversation?"
"No. I was - nothing," Cameron said. House looked like he had something to say but she turned away without giving him a chance to mock her. Sure she had fantasies like any other woman of cooling her hero's fevered brow but Cameron was too much of a realist to think she could repair the damage inflicted on House by life, Stacy and the bloodclot which had crippled him. His pain had certainly drawn her, just as her need to help had drawn her to medicine, but once near him it was something nearly indefinable that mesmerized her. She knew most of PPTH's staff hated him; nurses, doctors, lab techs, even the janitors, but everyone was fascinated by him. Gazes followed him as he limped along the corridors, tongues wagged with gossip about his antics; he seemed to pull the strings of everyone he came in contact with. Allison Cameron found herself to be no different, exposed to his intelligence, and quicksilver wit, the amazing capacity for laughter she could sense within him, she was held rapt. She saw glimpses of another person inside him when he was with Wilson and it hurt her to think she might never share in it. House's pain was too new and raw for him to see anything beyond the hazy veil it had pulled around him. It occupied all his attention, making him believe that it was all anyone else noticed and yet, he made sure it was what people saw when they looked at him.
He contradicted himself all the time; repelled by sympathy yet calling himself a cripple, pushing himself to the point of collapse but admitting he had limitations, breaking the rules and still adhering to his own code, avoiding cases then refusing to quit until he solved the mystery. It should have been frustrating working for such a man but Cameron found it exhilarating. She spent hours studying him, mapping out the pathways his mind took, the twists and turns of his moods, the barrage of information he conveyed with each move he made. Cameron liked to think she could see through his disguise, tell the difference between what he said and what he meant, between his smokescreen pill popping and real pain. Particularly the last item, his physical discomfort dictated a majority of his reactions. If House was hurting he never failed to take it out on others, using his razor sharp tongue to flay anyone foolish enough to cross his path before the Vicodin took effect. It was a difficult skill to master but she'd learned little by little. House loathed for others to see signs of his pain but she'd noticed he generally contrived to sit as often as possible, sprawled comfortably, giving off an air that any interruption was a huge inconvenience. At first Cameron had taken his laidback posture as an showy attempt to convey his disregard for everything and everyone, since then she'd realized that too was his version of sleight of hand. It had been carefully designed to conceal the fact House couldn't stand for extended stretches of time. Cameron had learned to distinguish between House being ornery and House in pain by watching Wilson and mimicking his subtle reactions to her boss, no one knew House better than Wilson.
The honking of a car horn disrupted her thoughts and a moment later Wilson had pulled up in his Lexus. She rode in the front seat with Wilson while House, uncharacteristically quiet, stretched out on the back seat. She couldn't help but notice Wilson kept on eye on House as he drove the ten miles back into town. "Pull over, Wilson," House said after a few minutes, the note of command in his voice hard to ignore. Wilson didn't ask questions, just found a spot and pulled off onto the shoulder of the road. House swung his legs off the seat, scooted to the door, opened it and leaned out. Wilson caught Cameron's wrist as she started to open her own door, shaking his head. She heard a low cough and the unmistakable sound of House vomiting.
"Okay?" Wilson asked when the sound stopped.
"Yeah." House took a moment, then shut the door and lay back against the seat, eyes closed. "I think three coney dogs is one too many."
"Told you so," Wilson said putting the car back into gear and setting off again.
"Did not."
"I distinctly remember telling you you were biting off more than you could chew," Wilson said. The teasing words belied the concern in eyes that darted up to look in the rearview mirror time after time.
"Is that what you meant?" House asked, not opening his eyes. "I thought you meant asking my boyfriend and my wannabe girlfriend on the same date. My bad."
"House!" Wilson and Cameron chorused. House gave a faint chuckle but fell silent again. Soon they could hear the even sound of his breathing as he slipped into an exhausted doze. Cameron turned slightly in her seat, just enough to keep her own watch over House. She couldn't help it. Maybe she did want to fix him, or maybe she was suffering from some kind of exotic disease certain people who worked around House were prone to. House Disease had entered into her bloodstream like poison, making her cheeks burn and her heart ache every time she looked at him. She'd thought their one date would be "kill or cure" but after his diagnosis, listing her symptoms as if they were at the whiteboard in his office, she realized the treatment would never be that simple. Prolonged exposure to House didn't result in immunity or overdose, it merely made the person determined to find a way to prove him wrong, to make him see that not everyone lied, not everyone would betray you, and pain didn't have to be all you had. She wasn't sure she was up to the challenge but knew one person who was - Wilson.
He'd been the only person worried about House. Foreman, Chase, and even Cuddy had each come up to her before the date and given her advise on how to handle House's lack of social skills. But Wilson has warned her in a halting and sincere voice that House could be hurt, that he had been hurt and he it wouldn't take much to close him off more than he already was. It had been a shock, House seemed impervious to the effects of others around him.
"Nice earrings."
The compliment jarred her out of her own head, Cameron glanced over at Wilson. "Thanks, they're my favorite........." She trailed off, the memory of House saying exactly the same thing popping into her brain and suddenly making sense. "You told him what to say," she accused. Wilson, lips pressed into a thin line, wisely kept his eyes on the road. "I should have known."
"You really should have," Wilson said quietly.
The tires hummed for a mile or so before Cameron could gather her scattered thoughts. "I suppose he told you about that night."
"Not in so many words, but I can imagine."
"Yeah?"
Wilson glanced into the mirror again, a shadow forming in his eyes. "He probably accused you of being charitable to an old man," Wilson said in a voice that softly matched the hypnotic drone of the tires. "He's afraid you pity him, or that you see him as a Cause. I don't want to be rude, Allison, but House has the impression you think you can heal his damage and somehow that'll heal your own. And when that doesn't happen what is there for you here? "
"I wouldn't just walk away," Cameron said equally quietly.
"It wouldn't be the first time."
"I'm not Stacy," Cameron hissed.
"Of course not," Wilson agreed, adding slowly, "It's just - hard for House to distinguish between people sometimes. He thinks like a scientist; gathering data, testing his hypothesis to see if the theory is sound. Unfortunately he hasn't had a lot of experience being social and most of it hasn't been positive."
"What do you mean?"
"He's an outsider," Wilson said with a sigh. "Can you even imagine what his life's been like? His dad's military, they moved all the time and House was always the new kid, the one without friends. He's always the smartest person in the room, always five steps ahead of the pack. You think that made him popular?" Warming to his subject, Wilson darted a glance in Cameron's direction, "Since I've known him he's had just one serious relationship and managed to piss off what few friends he ever made. After the infarction," Wilson shrugged, "well, there's only me."
"So what's the difference between us?" Cameron demanded. "He thinks I'm doing charity work, what about you?" She kept her voice down but anger glittered hot and loud in her eyes.
Wilson turned his head to look at her, nearly running off the road. He pulled the car back and took a moment to answer. "You think I stick around because I pity him?" Cameron didn't answer. She knew it wasn't true, no one could accuse Wilson of pitying his friend. Wilson needled House about everything, he bullied him, babied him, counseled him, coddled him and tolerated an enormous amount of abuse. Wilson never shied away from the unpleasant things House did, he confronted him, and demanded House be accountable. And yet, he protected House, he catered to him, he kept angry doctors from hunting House down and beating the crap out of him, he went along with most of House's outrageous plans and he honestly wanted to be around House.
"Why do you do it?" Cameron asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it anyway.
Wilson deftly steered the car through the streets of House's neighborhood. "Because I'm his friend," he said and the haunted look she had seen earlier in his eyes returned, fragile but there for an instant. Cameron saw his gaze drift back to the mirror and his shoulders stiffen. Wilson schooled his features before continuing, "and he pays me $500 a week, takes me fun places and introduces me as his boyfriend."
"Very touching." House sounded groggy but amused. Cameron jumped but Wilson laughed.
"What? You didn't expect a Hallmark moment, did you?"
"Nah," House scrubbed a hand over his face then up into his hair, making it stand up in spikes, "I know wife number two got your Romantic streak in the divorce - not to meant my microwave."
Wilson rolled his eyes, and a moment later pulled the car into House's driveway. Cameron's car was parked beside House's Corevette and she could hear the faint jingling sound her keys made whenever she moved her purse. It would be so easy to just reach in and grab the keys, say goodnight and get in her car, but she didn't want to. She wanted to figure this out once and for all. House had asked her out, it didn't matter that Wilson had come with them, in fact, his presence had made it a more comfortable night. She'd grown use to thinking of them together, seen them sharing lunch most days, watched them trade barbs and smiles, somehow Wilson's being with them now seemed very natural. Her imagination turned to what might happen if she didn't get into her car and drive away and somehow the thought that Wilson might be a part of that as well made her blood quicken. Wilson got out of the car and went around to open Cameron's door. She smiled her thanks and watched as he waited for House to lever himself out, actually placing a hand under House's elbow when he faltered. "You want some company?" Wilson asked.
"Maybe I should go," Cameron said and let her keys jingle loud enough to be heard by the other two. Half of her wanted to run but the other half was already thinking up reasons to stay.
"Come on in," House said, "I've got bourbon, and vicodin." His leer wavered a bit around the edges but still conveyed enough lechery to scandalize virgins and traumatize children, thankfully enough, neither of which were present. House stood there, Wilson on one arm, the cane on his other like a pair of fashion accessories for the trendy gimp, staring at her with challenge in his eye. She had a sudden image of snatching his cane and fleeing, knowing Wilson would hold him up as usual. She didn't. Instead she nodded and preceded them from the parking garage and along the walkway. House lived in a very nice townhouse in a quiet upscale neighborhood. She'd been there once, the night she'd resigned from PPTH but couldn't remember anything about the place except that he had a beautiful piano and the whole living room had been littered with newspapers, books and magazines. It was up a flight of stairs and Cameron climbed them, the faint tapping of House's cane counterpoint to the rapid thudding of her heart.
"House," Wilson said, "why the hell did you buy a condo with stairs?" It took Cameron a moment to place the tone in Wilson's voice, but then it dawned on her - aggression. She'd rarely heard him sound anything but pleasant but she'd always suspected there had to be something hard inside him to make him House's friend. Sure, he could snark just as well as House, and his sense of humor leaned in the same skewed direction but even when he said something harsh he managed to do it in such a way as to make people shrug it off. She turned at the landing and saw that Wilson had moved to House's right side, ready to act as support for the older man if he started to fall. House had his cane firmly in his right hand and his left gripped the hand rail beside the steps. House glared at Wilson, his mouth a hard line, and his blue eyes cold as stone but Wilson only stared back at him. As quickly as it had come, House's anger faded.
It wasn't the first time she'd seen that look pass between them. Many times she'd come across them in the hospital cafeteria or even just loitering in the hallways near one of their offices and more often than not their eyes were locked in some kind of silent communion. House's intensely bright blue eyes burned, flashing with light while Wilson's deep brown eyes drew in that light, trapping it down inside like a karmic depository. "I bought this place on the advice of a self proclaimed "friend" who swore they had my best interests at heart," House said, "but I'm beginning to suspect he merely wanted me to perish in a fall to get his hands on my porn collection." They must have sensed her gaze because they both chose that moment to look up at her. House looked worn out but he smirked at her.
"You going to put me to bed?" He asked. Cameron rolled her eyes and it was Wilson who answered.
"I'll do it but I might need some help. You can be a handful when you're cranky." Wilson smiled and met Cameron's gaze steadily. House laughed. Cameron felt her cheeks redden but waited for them at the top of the stairs. It was Wilson who fished out a key ring and unlocked the door. House had disentangled himself from his friend and made his way passed them, flicking on the lights as he went. It was much as she had glimpsed that first night; his piano occupying the center of the room, and stacks of reading material piled on every surface. It was chaotic but not like someone didn't care about their place, more like House couldn't be bothered with mundane chores. Cameron made a circuit of the room, very aware that Wilson had flopped down on the couch and House disappeared down a hallway she suspected led to the bathroom. Newspapers seemed to be the chief source of clutter. She counted a dozen local papers, five or six nationals and a couple that appeared to be in Spanish, maybe, and French. Medical journals and texts were heaped on the piano with at least two dog-eared biographies of great composers, a graphic novel and a month's worth of celebrity tabloids. To her it felt like a cocoon of sorts, protective and sheltering from the outside world. Maybe House felt safe here, he had created his own little world where he controlled every aspect, where nothing could harm him.
"Does he really read all this?" She asked Wilson.
"Oh yeah, believe me it's better he read than max out his plastic on home shopping at 3 AM," Wilson told her. "He, uh, doesn't sleep very well. He's a bit of an insomniac." Cameron looked at him over her shoulder, hearing some of that aggression creeping back in. The way he had staked out the couch, his casual sprawl, letting her know he was very much at ease in House's apartment and therefore in his life, wasn't subtle, but it was effective.
"You don't want me here?" Wilson was a puzzle. He came across as genial, calm, patient as death, but let someone encroach on his territory and he would fight. Cameron knew his co-workers and staff liked him but Wilson had always seemed closed off to her, very much a loner. Much was made over the fact Wilson was House's only friend but Cameron had always suspected House was Wilson's only real friend as well. Of course it seemed to be that way by choice for Wilson, not so for House.
Wilson sighed and sat up, one hand rubbing along his jaw and over his neck. "It's not that. House likes you," he waved a hand to forestall anything she might have said, "He doesn't like very many things - people. I can't be - I have other - people in my life - I'm married. I figure," he shrugged, "what's good for the goose is good - for the other goose."
"If you two have a barnyard fetish," House's voice cracked between them, "this is not the place for you. I'll have to supply you with directions to Chase's apartment."
"And how would you know that about our little Aussie?" Wilson said, grinning at him. "You and him spend that first six months playing Old MacDonald together."
"Tie me Kangaroo down, mate," House sang.
"Is this suppose to be sexy repartee?" Both men turned to where Cameron stood by the bookshelves. "You sound like Bevis and Butthead or - or some other cartoon characters."
"Obviously doesn't watch Hi Hi Puffy AmyYumi," House stage whispered to Wilson. "Come to think of it, neither do I. So, Dr. Cameron, would you like a drink or maybe a snack of some sort - it would have to be one out of a plastic bag of course."
"A beer would be nice," she said.
House quirked a look towards Wilson, who nodded, then disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later carrying three long necks. He handed them around before picking his way among the stacks of papers and sinking onto his piano bench with a faint sigh of relief. Wilson made a small, reflexive movement but didn't get up. House's hands were on the keys almost as soon as he sat, and a gentle melody Cameron couldn't quite place drifted lazily on the still air. She sat in House's leather chair, head titled back, eyes closed and sipping her drink as he played. When the last note had died she smiled and said, "I didn't know you played."
"I don't," House said, "There's a tiny squirrel inside who jumps on the keys. I just move my fingers."
"It's an old party trick," Wilson said from the couch and House lobbed a magazine over his shoulder, his aim precise, but Wilson batted it out of the way, laughing.
House took another long pull from his beer, the shadowed line of his throat bobbing slowly as he swallowed, then set the half empty bottle on Jessica Simpson's smiling face and went back to playing. His long delicate fingers danced over the keys like two nimble spiders spinning a web of pure sensation. He cast something fragile, gossamer, out across the darkened room, entangling the three of them together in a moment Cameron didn't think she would ever forget. She could feel herself begin to sway, the music reaching down inside her, each note a feather light touch that made her ache for the pianist's slender fingers to play over her flesh with that same soulful grace. She shot a glance in Wilson's direction, not surprised to find him watching her with cat-like patience. In the dim light his brown eyes were black, unreadable, but she could sense a mounting tide of emotion behind his inscrutable exterior. Because of his shy demeanor and boyish looks it was easy to forget just how masculine Wilson was, so when he rose, and moved in front of her she was startled by the fact he stood nearly as tall as House. "Dance?"
Out of the corner of her eye, Cameron saw House glance over his shoulder at them. His smirk made it hard to breathe, hard to speak, so she just nodded and took Wilson's hand, letting him pull her smoothly to her feet. House had invited her along and he never did anything he hadn't thought out. She didn't enjoy feeling like an awkward schoolgirl, she knew what she wanted and what she was getting herself into, they needed to know that, too. Cameron squared her shoulders, and stepped closer, fitting herself into Wilson's embrace. He smelled of spicy aftershave, something trendy but subtle, the scent making her want to lay her head on his shoulder just to inhale it. His arms were strong, the corded muscles usually hidden by his sleeves caught her eye and he held her with a firm grip. It was funny in a way, here was Wilson; sweet, handsome, successful, attentive, everything a woman could want and she didn't feel anything but a superficial attraction to him. And then there was House; childish, arrogant, demanding, self-centered, bitter and she couldn't take her eyes off him. She'd endured humiliation and disappointment at his hand and still couldn't bring herself to admit that he didn't share the depth of feelings she had for him. Her mother had really pegged her when she'd called her a masochist.
Putting it all aside, Cameron let herself get lost in the haunting melody House played. She and Wilson moved in time to the music, puppets held captive by the notes which seemed to come from someplace in House's soul. Painfully beautiful, the music swelled, finding the secret places in her heart where she had locked away feelings she could not face. She and Wilson swayed to the stunning melodies House conjured and sent soaring aloft, flying effortlessly over sultry and jagged patches of rhythm. A dozen emotions filled her, making her giddy one moment, joyful the next and filled with pangs of despair the one following that. Wilson held onto her, keeping her steady, never letting her fall no matter how dizzy she became, how wild the dance grew until she understood what House must feel everyday.
Cameron looked up in to Wilson's face when the music slowed, ebbing to something melancholy and wistful, meeting his dark gaze with a speculative set to her jaw. People expected a lot out of him; if someone had to deal with House, they more often than not went through Wilson. His cheerful and sunny disposition took the sting out of an encounter with House's arrogant and self-serving attitude. Wilson - the House antidote. The idea resonated with her; Wilson who always understood House, who translated and explained him, the one person who had the secret decoder ring no one else seemed to possess, made the situation if not pleasant, then bearable at least. It occurred to her at that moment, held tightly in Wilson's arms, that this was an initiation of sorts. She had passed some test by agreeing to come in, knowing that House and Wilson shared something she could barely begin to understand, and her marks were steadily improving with each second she stayed to witness it. For a long moment the music continued unheard, while Wilson held her gaze and then he chuckled, the charming, boyish grin that could make grown women sigh spread across his face and Cameron laughed with him. The music rose with a crescendo and ended with a flourish that was pure House. His hands lay still on the keys. When he moved, turning to look at his audience, she heard a stifled groan. Wilson heard it too. With a gentle squeeze, he released her, moving to House's side.
"Sore?" Wilson sounded unconcerned, his tone almost casual, but his dark eyes missed nothing. Cameron knew he could read House's discomfort as if it were written on a prescription pad. She swallowed, gulping actually, when Wilson placed one hand on House's shoulder. Cameron tried to swallow again but found that her throat had closed with the hammering of her heart. It was such a casual touch, something she could see every day at the hospital but there in a shadow filled room with the echo of music dying around them like a beating heart, it became so much more. She could only stare at Wilson's hands, watching his long fingers slowly knead the knotted muscle beneath them, and feel his desire to erase House's pain, hear it in the murmured litany of comfort which he whispered over and over. "Relax. Easy, House, easy," Wilson breathed. She could feel intimacy linking them, radiating in powerful waves, a raw sizzle of closeness that always flowed between the two men even when they were doing nothing more than walking down the hospital corridor together. It was palpable, so thick and drawn so close around them Cameron felt pushed aside by it. House let his head drop forward, giving Wilson better access and another, low sensual sound escaped from between his lips.
"Feels so good," House said quietly. Wilson slipped his hand to the back of House's neck, his thumb tracing along House's stubbled jaw before mapping the knobby vertebra and down between his shoulder blades. The moment stretched, Wilson's palm gliding across warm flesh sounded loud to Cameron's ears, she couldn't stop the flutter in the pit of her stomach it caused. She could only stand mute, watching, as the finger's of Wilson's free hand teased open House's dress shirt, peeling it back and down, leaving House sitting in jeans and a faded Voodoo Lounge t-shirt. House looked up at her then, his luminous blue eyes asking the question she had been asking herself all night. Stay or go? What was it he was trying to teach her? This was one of his lessons, she knew it, he'd taught her to think for herself, to go with her gut instincts, and follow where it led her. His gaze bore into her, she could feel it there amongst the confusion, fear and desire. Cameron had no clue what to do, which direction to turn and could only stand paralyzed by the churning emotions inside her mind until House's eyes released her.
House tilted his head, meeting Wilson's gaze, and Cameron watched that look pass between the two doctors again, the one she knew well, the one that excluded her and the rest of the world. House's gaze softened and Wilson knelt beside him, both hands now on his belly, pushing the t-shirt up. Cameron's breath caught, confusion forgotten in the rush of heat that surged up her body, leaving her wet and wanting. She knew House was in his mid-forties, but he was lean, and surprisingly fit looking for a man with limited mobility. She could see the ripple of abdominal muscles contracting under Wilson's touch, the light dusting of graying hairs arrowing down to his waistband. "House," Wilson said in a harsh whisper, the accompanying feral expression twisting his features into something hungry and demanding. "God, House," he panted.
"Easy, there slugger," House said with his usual smirk, but the hand he lifted to Wilson's cheek trembled ever so slightly, and his voice held a breathless quality she'd never heard before, "won't do to scare the kiddies." Cameron could see new lines of pain etched in House's face, underscoring his normally haggard appearance. "And I think you might be moving a little too fast for me tonight."
"You too tired?"
"What the fuck kinda question is that?" House asked indignantly. "I'm not some geriatric and if you say I am I'll bash you with my cane."
"I wasn't implying that," Wilson said but his dark eyes sparkled with humor, "but you have been on your feet all day and then spent hours walking on sawdust just to impress Cameron here."
"I don't need to try and impress people," House maintained, "just being me is pretty impressive."
"You're a mental case," Wilson said, exasperated.
House glared at him. "Yeah, I have multiple personalities and none of them like you!"
"You're borderline ambivalent."
"And you're a gross ignoramus," House tossed back, "that's 144 times worse than an ordinary ignoramus."
"Boys!"
Both men turned to where Cameron stood with her arms crossed, frowning at them. "Gosh, mom," House drawled, "you gonna send us to our room without supper? Or maybe a spanking?"
"House!" Wilson admonished. House smirked and reached out for the cane Wilson put into his hand. He started to push himself to his feet but fell back with a chocked off yelp, his cane clattering to the wooden floor as he pressed both hands to his thigh. "Damn! Cameron - bedside table," Wilson ordered, "syringe, top drawer." He fit his hands over House's wedging his shoulder against House's chest. "Deep breath, House. Breathe through it, come on."
"Wha-" Cameron half stumbled towards them, heart hammering in her chest with a rush of adrenaline familiar from her days working the ER. Wilson's head jerked up, urgency flushing his cheeks and making him snarl.
"Norflex! Hurry!" She raced down the hallway, boots skidding on the polished hardwood floor as she flung herself into House's room. Five running steps and she crashed into the nightstand, hands scrabbling across the surface, books and papers flying. Nothing! The drawer - Wilson had said in the drawer. There was no drawer. She saw another nightstand on the far side of the bed and launched herself onto the mattress, rolling across it like a twelve year old gymnast determined to stick the landing. She yanked the drawer open so hard its contents scattered on the floor. She hadn't bothered to turn on a light and it was just luck that something glinted, a sly wink of light from the hallway catching her eye; she snatched up the syringe, sprinting back along the hall and into the living room within seconds. House was cursing, rocking back and forth while Wilson rode the storm with him. Cameron fell to her knees beside them ignoring a dagger sharp thrush of pain stabbing all the way up to her hip, the cane rolling out from under her bruised knee. "Do it!" Wilson commanded and pried House's hands out of the way. She spared him one quick glance, noting the pale and sweating features, then plunged the hypodermic into his remaining thigh muscle and pushed the contents home.
House hissed through clenched teeth, leaning hard into Wilson's shoulder for a long moment. It seemed to take ages, making Cameron wonder if they'd be frozen in this grotesque tableau for eternity but slowly his fingers relaxed, releasing the denim he'd been grasping and the hiss became a heavy sigh. "Th-that sucked," he said, panting. Cameron sat back on her butt, her heart giving her ribs a rest as it settled back into its normal rhythm.
"That was - bad," Wilson agreed softly. Cameron had walked in on House during a muscle spasm before, at the hospital, but it had been a minor incident, a momentary flicker of pain through his blue eyes, a hand pressed tight to his leg and a moment later he was striding away, his limp no worse than normal. This had been much, much worse and left all three of them shaken. "No more carnivals," Wilson said. House gave a jerky nod and fumbled behind him for his discarded shirt, hand bumping into Wilson's and the Vicodin bottle he held.
"Always have a big finish," House said. He gave another weary nod in answer to Wilson's unspoken question, a very faint smile lifting the corner of his mouth for just an instant before he popped one of the small white pills and swallowed it.
"Bed?" Wilson asked.
House looked shocked, "what about the girl?"
"Her, too," Wilson said, and she could see the plea in his expression. Cameron got her feet under her, standing on rubbery legs. Now that the adrenaline rush had abated, leaving behind a residue of exhaustion, she wasn't sure she should stay but Wilson would need help with House until he was settled for the night. It suddenly seemed as if the erotic overtones of the evening had evaporated and she'd somehow become a third wheel. Wilson rose and between them they got House standing. He swayed but quickly got his balance and shrugged off Wilson's hand in favor of the retrieved cane.
"Good, I saw this one Girls Gone Wild," House explained, "but I don't have a swing over the bed so we'll have to make do." He limped slowly towards his bedroom, his body lacking its usual grace, his uneven stride even more so. Wilson stayed on his heels, his body language screaming nervousness, and Cameron trailed them with a rising sense of confusion. House flicked on the overhead light and paused in the doorway. "Funny, I don't remember having an orgy in here," he said scratching his chin. Cameron peered over his shoulder at the mess. She'd nearly forgotten her destructive search for the Norflex but the evidence lay strewn around House's bedroom.
"Uh, I better-" Wilson stepped around House, picking up the books and magazines, shoving the drawer back into place and tossing House's collection of remotes, crossword puzzles, and various prescriptions inside before closing it. Cameron stood just behind House, watching Wilson tidy the room, knowing he'd come unglued if House tripped on something after his rough evening. "There," Wilson said sounding pleased with himself.
"You did a good job," House said, "Julie stupid enough to hire a hot new maid and you've been taking private cleaning lessons?"
"No," Wilson glared at him, "however she did hire a wizen old gardener and I've been picking up tips on pruning useless limbs."
"Ouch!" House nodded in approval. He limped to the bed and sank onto it with a grateful sigh. "Heaven must be sponsored by Sealy Posturpedic."
"You'll never know," Wilson quipped. His hands ghosted up House's arm, not quiet touching but urging him to lie back. House did so, managing an ineffective scowl when Wilson dared to help him lift his right leg onto the bed and proceed to untie and remove his Nikes for him. "How `bout I give you a back rub?"
"Why, Dr. Wilson," House purred, "I thought you'd never ask." Wilson shook his head in mock exasperation but quickly went to work getting House out of his t-shirt and easing him over onto his stomach. Cameron watched them, the gentle way Wilson supported House's back as he rolled him over, his hands sure and practiced making her think this wasn't the first time he'd eased House's pain with a massage. She'd felt like an outsider all night, and this moment was just another blow to her already fragile ego. Was this the lesson House was trying to teach; that he really didn't like her her? Or was it something deeper, more complicated; that she could never be what he needed? Wilson could be everything to him; friend, confidant, guardian, and had never looked at him with anything other than acceptance. She knew her own face had betrayed pity, not for his crippled leg but for the anger and hurt to his soul, for his inability to let go of the past and accept the way things were. House had loved Stacy, that was obvious, but he could never forgive her. He loved Wilson, maybe not like he'd loved Stacy but in the only way left to him now. Did she really have a right to intervene?
"Uh, bathroom?" Cameron asked, needing to get away from them and figure out what she should do.
"H-all - right," House groaned, somewhat distracted by Wilson's hands pummeling the knotted muscles of his lower back. She lingered a moment in the doorway to watch. Wilson had one leg drawn up under him, his hip against House's as he leaned over him, those strong capable fingers spread across House's back. The stark contrast of Wilson's tanned hands gliding over House's pale flesh sent a sweet ache spearing through her middle. She could see the effects using his cane for so many years had wrought on House's body. His shoulder blades were uneven, the right slightly higher and more defined, and his right arm looked a bit more heavily muscled, too. It made her think of a cubist painting; sharp edged pieces forming the image of his pain and she had to fight the urge to help Wilson sooth away those jagged boundaries, knowing now was not the time. There would be time for that - soon. Right now, she'd give them a few minutes alone.
Forcing her feet to move, Cameron left the room and walked back towards the living room. House's walls displayed tasteful art prints and some black and white landscape photos, making the place feel cozy and inviting. She absently opened a door on the left and reached out to flip on the light. Expecting the bright tile of a bathroom, a moment of confusion washed over her as she eyed the haphazard collection of golf clubs, tennis racquets, and lacrosse equipment. She realized immediately that she had stumbled upon House's spare room, one he obviously used for storing unused items. She'd never really thought of House and sports, she knew he liked watching baseball but because of his leg she'd never considered that he might have been an athlete. She knew as soon as she thought it that, that was wrong, he carried himself too well, moved with natural grace despite his disability, to be anything other than an athlete. Cameron swept her gaze around the room taking in the sheer mass and variety of equipment. She could even see a mountain bike's tire sticking out from under an old blanket and a pair of roller blades lulling against old baseball cleats. Everything looked as if it had been abandoned suddenly one day and never thought of again. Or maybe thought of but never again touched. A thick layer of dust coated most of the equipment and the whole room would have looked like a used sporting goods store if not for the crutches propped against the back of a black wheelchair.
"He's never let me get rid of that." Wilson's voice made her jump.
"The equipment or the chair," Cameron finally asked.
"Both." Wilson stood beside her, she could smell the scent of his aftershave and see the shadow of his lashes on his cheek, the sudden sting of tears in his eyes. Without the professional faade of lab coat and flashy tie, wearing a faded t-shirt she would have sworn she'd seen House wear before and jeans he looked more vulnerable than she had ever imagined he could. She knew the gossip around the hospital, maybe not as well as House did, but enough to know Wilson's reputation as a flirt. Standing there beside him she knew it would be an easy thing to put her arms around him, offering comfort, and not be surprised if it turned into something more. Wilson seemed to dwell in a kind of perpetual sadness she'd only seen lifted when teasing or being teased by House. A person only had to look into his soft brown eyes to see how much he suffered when others hurt and she couldn't deny that it was an attractive quality, not just for a doctor but in a man. Probably aware of this, Wilson did not turn his head, just said quietly, "I don't think I've ever been more afraid in my life than after Stacy left." Cameron couldn't stop herself, the hoarse catch in his voice made her move closer, her hand going to his arm, her fingers burning with the heat from his skin. "Sorry," he said, rubbing at his eyes. "House tells me never to waste my tears on a bastard like him. Save `em for those dying people," he mimicked in a fair imitation of House's voice."
"Why were you afraid," Cameron whispered. Her stomach lurched as if she were still on a carnival ride, the kind where the bottom dropped out in a terrifying rush.
"I thought he m-might," Wilson swallowed hard, "he might do something stupid."
She'd never even considered the possibility, but felt dizzy and sick because Wilson, his only friend, thought it possible. House seemed so in control, so curious, so invulnerable. "He wouldn't. House? No, he -"
Wilson shook his head. "Cuddy thought he might never walk again. I - I was the one who told him."
Cameron gaped at him, "But it's just a leg. He would have died-"
Wilson shook his head, cutting across her words with his own. "No, to House it was more! To be crippled, to be less than whole - you don't understand what it means to him. I told you his dad is military, a Marine? John House is a formidable man, not easily impressed by anything. Facing him afterwards was - horrible for House. He spend so many years trying to be perfect and never measuring up to his father's standards," Wilson insisted with a disgusted shake of his head. "God, House is a genius. He's got a near photographic memory, his Mensa score is the stuff of legends, he's an accomplished pianist," Wilson ticked off House's array of abilities like an adoring fan, "he's - he was a wonderful athlete, and the best diagnostician in the nation, but seeing pity in his father's eyes when he and Mrs. House visited him for the first time after it happened - ." Wilson closed his own eyes in pain, "It hurt him - so badly."
"I didn't know," Cameron said quietly.
Wilson blew out a sigh, eyes now open and widening in something akin to horror. "Allison, please d-don't say anything."
"I won't," she soothed. Glancing back at the bedroom door which Wilson had pulled partially closed behind him, she asked, "Is he-"
"Resting, the spasm left him a little shaky and his back hurts from more strain than usual on his leg," Wilson said, "all that walking took it out of him. I was going to get him another beer. You want one?" She nodded and followed him down the hallway and back into the living room.
Cameron leaned against the piano, her heart numb from Wilson's words. She let her mind retreat to safer ground, idly noting the duality of House's place. She'd pretty much expected the telltale signs of fastfood, and the ashtray filled with cigar butts, she'd even suspected there'd be nearly empty bottles of booze but what she hadn't expected was buttery yellow walls. Somehow she'd never considered House the type of person to go into a paint store and ask for something like Sunshower or Buttercream or Golden Morning Dew. Given a choice he might have taken Screaming Yellow Zonker, but only because it might induce nausea and dizziness in visitors. But here it was, a tasteful, colorful apartment.
"You've got that look," Wilson said. He carried three cold bottles, letting Cameron take one then sipping from another.
"I was just thinking about the wall color. It's very un-House."
"But it's very much Wilson," Wilson said. "After Stacy left I helped him move into this place. I thought Summer Day sounded like something he needed." Again, the modest, shy smile. But Cameron was beginning to see through it to the tenacious core Wilson possessed. She could almost hear the sarcastic and scathing remarks House would have flung at his friend when Wilson insisted on bright yellow walls. Obviously Wilson had weathered the storm and prevailed - as usual. For a tyrant House always seemed powerless to go against Wilson's wishes.
"You've known him a long time." Not so much a question but a statement designed to draw a bit more out of the mist House and Wilson seemed to shroud their strange relationship in.
"Not quite ten years," Wilson agreed. He took a swig of beer, then rolled the bottle between his palms as he stared at the floor. "I was dating - Tina...I think her name was Tina, might have been Lena. She worked for Stacy." He barked a short, harsh laugh. "Not one of my soundest decisions. She turned out to be a flake but I got to know Stacy really well. God, Stacy was smart, classy, didn't take any crap off anyone, and a hell of a lawyer. I'd never met anyone like her," he laughed again but this time the sound was rich and full of affection, "until I met her boyfriend."
"House."
"Yeah, House. I'd heard of him, everyone had, but I'd never met him until Stacy introduced us." His dark eyes sparkled and she could practically see the memories flashing behind them. "It wasn't long until the three of us were inseparable. Any time I needed something, House - and Stacy - were there for me. And then, then - after - when he needed help...." Wilson ran a hand through his flop of dark hair, a strained expression overcoming his face for a moment as his eyes lost focus. "Our lives are so tangled up," he whispered, "I - I believe they were irreparably fused at the moment we met." Wilson didn't say anymore for a long time. Cameron could see the memory of those days weighed heavily on him but curiosity finally overcame her reluctance to intrude.
"How long have you -" She blushed, not sure how to phrase the question and was surprised when she looked over at Wilson to see him red faced as well.
"Uh," he shifted, taking a gulp of beer before saying, "On and off since the first night we met. House and I, we -" Wilson's blush deepening to scarlet, "we didn't set out for this," he waved his hand in a way Cameron knew encompassed more than just the date, "to happen. He and Stacy were so in love and I was engaged to my second wife but we just had something between us. It was always there and then Stacy - left - House - He was lonely and I - loved him. We - it just - happened."
"Wilson!" House's muffled bellow reached the living room. "Are you brewing the beer yourself?"
"Yeah," Wilson yelled an instant later. "Cameron and I decided a distillery in the living room would add a nice homey touch."
"A brewery, you idiot!"
"Fuck you, House!"
"I thought that was the idea."
Cameron met Wilson's startled expression and they both shared an uncomfortable laugh. "Such a Romantic," Wilson murmured.
"I think I better go," Cameron said once they'd gotten themselves under control.
"Why?" Wilson's expression was a mixture of confusion and relief, she wanted to place her hand to his cheek and kiss his soft lips, instead she shook her dark fall of hair forward over her face.
"It's late," she said shrugging. "I have to go visit my parents tomorrow and I don't want them asking me why I'm tired." She lifted her head and gave him a small smile, " you know how moms fuss."
"I'm Jewish," Wilson said with his own smile. "I have to take House back home with me as protection. My mom feeds him and leaves me alone."
"Smart move," Cameron agreed. She looked back towards House's bedroom.
"If it's any consolation," Wilson said, "I think you've made a difference." Cameron's startled gaze locked with his. "You've chipped away some of the shell. I think you've gotten through to him, at least he can see that there are still people who believe in others, who trust and love."
"I wanted him to love me," Cameron admitted. Tears stung her eyes, making the buttery walls appear to melt. "But I'm glad he's got you."
"One of these days," Wilson said quietly, "I'm afraid he'll get bored with me and walk away. He might love me a little, but even a self centered bastard like House will have to get tired of a pathetically needy person like me some day. I'll go that one step too far or find that one thing that'll finally push him away."
"And then?" Cameron asked, watching emotions slide across Wilson's smooth features like ice melting in the first days of spring.
"Then -," Wilson closed his eyes and turned away. Cameron barely heard the words he whispered, "maybe he'll let someone like you save him."
Cameron glanced at the darkened hallway again, knowing she was doing the right thing. "I'll see you Monday." She crossed the room, boots clicking on the floor, and stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "Take care of him, Wilson."
"I always do." She nodded and left without looking back, taking comfort in Wilson's words despite the fact they didn't ring true. It had taken her months to decipher the expression in House's eyes every time he gently mocked Wilson, or looked to him for exposition when no one else would venture a guess, but tonight House had slipped her the key, he had made sure she understood why he couldn't be to her what she wanted. Cameron lifted her chin, her eyes stinging only from the chill night air. No one else had power over House, but Wilson could get whatever he wanted, sure there were tantrums and bickering involved but everyone knew it was for show. Whatever Wilson asked, House would do and Cameron didn't think there was a chance in Hell of House getting tired of Wilson any time soon.
House heard the front door close and eased back to lie on his pillow. Who had left? His heart hammered in his ears masking any clue as to the identity of the person still in his apartment. He forced his lungs to take deep, cleansing breaths as he wagered with himself. Wilson. Surely Wilson had stayed with him. Wilson loved him, after all. He wore his emotional devotion hanging around him like Jacob Marley's chains, growing longer and longer with each setback House suffered, each blow to his health, each knock to his mental wellbeing. Sometimes House thought those chains would smother them both, tangle around them like clanking serpents and drag them down into darkness where they would both slowly suffocate. House knew he was to blame for all of Wilson's sadness. The man had two failed marriages behind him, the latest one in critical condition, and his only long term relationship with a crippled drug addict. If Wilson wasn't a sucker for his charms no one was.
Of course, Cameron had the hots for him too. She'd proved her mettle by accepting his invitation tonight and then not fleeing the moment she laid eyes on Wilson. She might have guilted Wilson into leaving. House didn't have to love her, and the thought of that made him feel free. Being with Wilson, knowing he had ruined the other man's chances at happiness because of his own weaknesses, physical and emotional, weighed on House in a way no one would have thought possible. Callow, crass, and cranky, the adjectives most often used in his description and a faade he embraced for all he was worth. Still, down deep, in the remaining bits of the man he had once been, shame and guilt were never dulled by the Vicodin he consumed. With Cameron he didn't have to suffer pangs of conscious, she would take his pain as her due, and when she couldn't mend him she would try harder, loving him even more. She would have her wounded hero, a man whose love evaded her and tell herself it was because of his pain. He would have his freedom, not forced to look into liquid brown eyes and wonder if the loneliness he saw there was of his making. A win-win situation for them both.
A sound reached House's ears over the thundering of his own heart. Someone had stepped on the slightly creaky board at the mouth of the hallway. He could hear footsteps, but not clearly enough to distinguish which they were - Cameron's heeled boots or Wilson's Gucci loafers. He closed his eyes, praying but unable to say to God or himself which person he wanted to enter his room. A shadow crossed his closed eyelids, the air moved around him like restless spirits and the bed dipped beside him. House smiled a sad smile when a hand, strong and warm and so terribly familiar, stroked along his chest. "Do you want me to go?" Wilson asked.
House pressed his lips together, then sighed and opened his eyes. "Nah, you're here, might as well put you to good use." The corner of Wilson's mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. With a fleeting kiss to House's forehead he kicked off his shoes and tugged his shirt over his head before easing House forward and settling behind him. "This is the life," House said, "lying in bed with a handsome man - the only thing missing is the grapes."
"I brought you beer," Wilson said, absently running his fingers along House's collarbone.
"Forgiven, then." House sighed again, relaxing against Wilson's chest, lulled by the steady heartbeat beneath his ear and Wilson's nails scratching through the wiry hair over his sternum. His thoughts drifted, let loose from their mooring of disciplined logic until he floated in a dreamy state of introspection. "Do you ever regret this?" He whispered long moments later. "Do you ever wonder what your life might have been if I'd never come along." Wilson's hand stilled. "Or if we'd both been free when we met, and able to screw like minxes. We might have burned ourselves out in a few months," he went on, "you might have gotten over this and found a woman you could love once you'd scratched this itch." House let his hand settle on Wilson's, entwining their fingers. "Instead I got sick and you got stuck with a cripple." House snorted a laugh. "You need to be needed so I guess I'm probably the answer to your prayers."
"Oh yes, it's a dream come true," Wilson snapped. "I get to be at your beck and call all while fucking the best piece of ass at PPTH."
"You're doing Cuddy, too?" House asked.
"You are an asshole," Wilson said. He leaned down, nipping at the smooth skin behind House's ear before chewing on the lobe. "But I do love you - and need you." He took several minutes kissing and nuzzling House's jaw before speaking again. "I don't think we could have ever burned ourselves out," he said quietly, `if we made love every hour of every day for the rest of our lives. This isn't some itch I need to scratch, House" he insisted and punctuated his conviction by raking his nails over House's nipple and making him hiss. "This is who I am, who I want to be. You're the only one who ever mattered." Wilson swallowed his fear, he knew Stacy had said almost the same thing to House only weeks earlier but he did so without malice, without the tiny thrill of power he knew Stacy would have gotten from seeing House tied up in knots. Wilson wanted only that his friend understand how deeply he cared. "Meeting you, my marriages, your leg - it's all led up to this." He lifted their joined hands, turning House's palm up and pressing it to his cheek. "I need you," he murmured, "guess you're my addiction." AS Wilson spoke the words rang with the clear pure tones of truth and he could see that House recognized it too.
"I'm sure there's a program for it," House said but inside something that he'd carried for the last ten years loosened its grip on his heart. Wilson urged his head back, exposing the long line of his throat then went to work on proving his well founded reputation as PPTH's resident panty peeler. House was sweating and writhing in his embrace moments later. For a fleeting instant Cameron's face, shining, nave and beautiful, flashed before his eyes only to vanish in the solid reality of Wilson's boyish features. House was neatly and carefully pressed flat onto the mattress, pinned there by Wilson's body. Wilson wore a look of fiery desire, his eyes no longer sad and any innocence he possessed burning away in the sweep of his lashes. House grinned. Wilson surprised him every day, not just with his unexpected emotional depth and sense of humor, but with his capacity for compassion and forgiveness. House knew he didn't deserve the man who had stood beside him even when he did his best to push him away, but he was grateful.
"So have you had enough of carnival rides for one night," Wilson growled, "or you wanna take a ride on the Tilt-o-wheel?"
House stared up at Wilson in silent incredulity. "Carnival innuendo? You used carnival innuendo? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. You might as well mime a cigar and waggle your eyebrows at me, Groucho." House rolled his eyes, "they didn't even have a Tilt-o-wheel."
Wilson shut him up with a kiss that took House's breath away and made his head spin like a ride on the carousel.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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