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Crazy
by Rimau
That morning, Wilson opened his eyes and hated himself.
It was a weird feeling. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling with the long crack stretching from the wall to the lamp and for just a second he couldn't believe it had come to this.
Divorces were almost a routine by now. First the long silences, the long work days. Forcing himself to remember to touch her, but the forced touch was always cold, so it wasn't much better than the freezing emptiness between them. Sometimes the silence turned into yelling and accusations.
Sometimes it didn't.
The follow up had been the same both the first and the second time; him working late, not bothering to go the flat that wasn't a home anymore. Then a shared bottle of scotch at his friend's apartment, listening to the piano and finally passing out on the couch.
House never made jokes about it when he was trying not to cry or not to scream or not to puke his guts out on the floor. The jokes came later, when he could almost laugh at his failed marriage again.
Wilson knew it. Knew that he could go to House when staying with Julie got too hard. He'd already spent endless evenings at House's apartment, painfully aware that Julie wasn't going to stay up and wait for him.
But this hadn't been an evening when he couldn't go home to face his ending marriage. This was the end.
The sheets were itchy, but it didn't really register. He'd fallen asleep in his clothes and that was definitely disgusting enough on its own.
A cliche he'd never lived before; a doctor realizing his marriage is over goes to a cheap motel and spends the night alone, wondering what went wrong. Even though he hadn't really stayed up that late thinking. He already knew.
Sort of.
Third time was the charm, and nearing forty was definitely too late for such revelations. So late he had been honestly shocked to even think about the reasons behind the old rationalizations.
James Wilson was a hard working, career oriented doctor who cared about his work, cared about his people. Such dedication had a price, and he wasn't surprised it was his life. His marriages. Somehow there had always been more work, night after night spent in the office, too busy to go home.
The crack in the ceiling seemed to shake, as if it was laughing at him.
James Wilson was a big fat liar.
He liked his work, he did, but it wasn't like he was still working around the clock to establish a reputation and pay off his student loans and his first mortgage. There were always patients, but he still had the time to go to House's for hours.
Lies and excuses, and damn he hated people who lied. So did House, who always said people lied.
Wilson was tired of lying.
The snooze button went off, and this time he simply turned the alarm completely off. He wasn't in any hurry to get to work, but wasn't going to sleep anymore.
He'd slept enough, the hour or so he'd actually managed to sleep feeling like an eternity. It was so much easier to close your eyes and crawl under the comforter than it was to face the new day and try to survive through all the crap life threw at him.
Some truths were just too hard to face.
Keeping his eyes off the crack on the ceiling and the wallpaper peeling off the walls, Wilson scrambled up and went to take a shower, cringing under the lukewarm spray. He grabbed a fresh set of clothes from the suitcase and wondered just when had he realized his married life was so over that he'd actually need a suitcase packed for a couple of nights.
He didn't like not having the answer, but he honestly couldn't tell when he'd folded the clothes in the suitcase. Just as he couldn't remember the last time he'd had dinner with Julie, or bought her flowers or talked about the future with her.
He did however remember when they'd last had sex, but chose not to think about it.
The towels looked clean enough, but Wilson still decided he'd have to scrub once or twice before going to meet any patients. Finishing with his chocolate brown suit and the depressingly mud coloured tie, he packed his possessions and walked out to see if his car was still at the lot.
Would have been just his luck if someone had stolen it during the night.
The drive to the hospital was too short to be wasted completely on brooding, so Wilson chose to grab coffee from the nearest Starbucks, burning his tongue on the hot beverage as he sat back behind the wheel and barely managing not to spill any on his trousers.
He leaned his arms against the wheel and rested his head on his hands, smelling the coffee, tasting nothing but the searing pain on his tongue and wondered if this was how it felt to be insane.
Wilson didn't look up as the nurses passing by greeted him, not even growling back a half hearted hello. He knew that would make the buzz go around the hospital faster than anything, but simply didn't care.
It was kind of hard to hide behind glass walls, but slamming the door shut behind him felt really good.
He was definitely not going to leave his office soon.
Too bad the world wasn't going to let him hide here for long.
There would be concerned people coming over to see if he was okay. Worried looks and soft enquiries and then finally if nothing worked, the tap of a cane approaching would herald House's appearance. The man would lean against the doorframe and make sarcastic but accurate comments about his frame of mind.
Wilson wondered what he would say this time, because none of the usual words were true.
He knew House lied just like the rest of them, but he never lied about the things that counted. He had a warped sense of humor and an agenda that didn't really make sense to anyone.
House poked and prodded and tested and pushed your buttons until you wanted to either walk away or slam his head against the wall. Wilson knew that better than anyone, and yet it had taken him over a decade to understand some of the basic things the man did.
Or maybe he had known it all along, too scared to believe what he was seeing.
Not this time.
He wasn't going to do it anymore. That was about the only thing he'd decided in the crappy motel with its broken air condition and the itchy sheets. He'd ran to be alone, not following the script of going to House's and getting drunk, half hearted confessions of leaving wife number 3 and then passing out on the couch so that he could once again wake up in the morning covered by a soft blanket that he hadn't seen the night before and thinking that this time he wouldn't make it into the bathroom before he puked his guts out.
Two times weren't exactly routine, but he didn't want to do it again anyway.
So many things in his life were already set on a firm track and the train wasn't about to even slow down so he could decide at which station to get off. He spent his whole life being a good doctor and a less than perfect husband, choosing things to wear at charity events, choosing ties to wear at work. Caring about his patients and their families and this hospital.
Checking out the nurses, teasing House and then going home just so that he could come back to do it all again the next day.
He was so in denial it wasn't even funny. Or maybe he was in denial about being in denial. He wondered if he should go and ask someone from the psych ward to check his mental health.
It was undoubtedly deteriorating.
But crazy people never wondered about their insanity and Wilson wasn't really crazy. He was the very model of the modern health care professional. A normal guy with a normal job and a normal marriage. And a normal friendship with the local yahoo who could probably turn even the most normal man into a complete freak.
Blaming House for all this made Wilson feel better already. It was always House's fault.
Everything about his life was somehow connected to that miserable bastard. House pulled him into his crazy little schemes, stole his coffee, stole the batteries for his Game Boy, asked for advice on how to woo Stacy and then ignored everything he said. Flirted with him outrageously only to make a lewd comment about Cuddy's admittably low bodice the moment later. Then laughed at Wilson when he couldn't stop staring at Cuddy's cleavage.
Wilson sighed, glancing at the clock and decided it was too early for House to be hiding in a closet with his tiny TV. General Hospital wouldn't be on for hours and it was too early for Cuddy to be finished with her paperwork and ready to harass House for his clinic duty.
He really shouldn't just sit here alone and brood. That was crazy.
Ignoring the suspicious and worried looks the nurses cast on him as he walked through the hallway, Wilson tried to think of what he'd say to House.
Talking had never really been a problem. House was the one saying silly or abrasive or insane things and then Wilson
would be the voice of reason. He was the sensible one. The reliable one.
He would deal with this reasonably.
The door to the conference room was open, and Wilson could already hear House's voice from the distance. It wasn't hard to walk closer quietly and observe the familiar sight.
Waving the hand not holding the cane in the air as if emphasizing his words, House was giving one of his speeches about symptoms and idiots missing them while Chase was quite obviously trying not to laugh and Cameron was busy dividing his attention between House's mesmerizing waving and the danish Foreman was cramming into his mouth.
Wilson stood by the door and stared.
He was going to sit down with House in private and explain calmly that he'd come to the conclusion that he had been hiding from some very obvious facts and would like to ask if House had ever been serious with the flirting. Maybe he'd misunderstood and they really were just exceptionally close friends. Or maybe House used the innuendo as distraction.
Maybe he should just go and see a shrink so that House could steal the transcripts and they wouldn't have to actually talk about this.
"James! Just the man I need. Please tell me it's time for lunch already!"
House's words registered somewhere, but Wilson couldn't say anything. He simply stared at the man, all thoughts slowly disappearing from his head.
"Dr. Wilson?" Cameron said quietly from her corner, looking concerned.
It was nothing new. She was always concerned, and House was still looking at Wilson, but now he was looking a little concerned too and that usually only happened when a patient was really interesting or Wilson was having a bad day.
But Wilson never had a bad day. Unless you counted the days he was getting a divorce. So yeah, he was having a bad day, but House didn't know that and shouldn't look so alarmed.
"James?"
And how could House look at him like that? It was as if the patient didn't matter and he'd toss his cane out of the window and crawl to Wilson if he had to.
Wilson wondered if House would do things for him too. Illegal things, immoral things. Lie, cheat, steal. He wondered why it felt so good to think that he would.
"James?" Now House sounded both annoyed and terrified at the same time. "What happened?"
Nothing happened, Wilson wanted to say. Nothing but I woke up and saw a crack on the ceiling and realized I can either sleep in a crummy hotel or lie to myself and I'd rather sleep in a motel. Nothing changed, except I think I want to stop pretending and maybe want to lick your lollipop and yeah I mean it in the dirty way, doctor.
He didn't know how to say anything. Asking House to step into his office for a moment was too hard and trying to make any of the jumble in his head into coherent sentences conveying friendship and very platonic and manly love and yeah, also the very non-platonic hot and heavy curling your toes manly love was about as impossible as it would be to walk on air.
"I'm pregnant."
The room was quiet for a moment and then Foreman started to choke on his danish. Surprisingly, no one tried to even pat him on his back.
House took a firmer grip on his cane. "You're pregnant?"
"Yes." Wilson had no idea what he was saying. It made no sense, but then again neither did anything else. Things usually made no sense for those who were totally insane. "And it's your baby."
Apparently it didn't take a danish to make someone choke. Cameron was making choking sounds that were just as real as Foreman's desperate gasps for air.
Wilson wasn't surprised by the shock on House's face. It was a known thing that he didn't like the jokes about being gay or being with House. He never laughed at the jokes because they weren't funny and they weren't jokes and maybe if he allowed himself to stop being a total asshole he'd admit that they weren't lies either.
He wanted to say something else, but he already felt like he was in a soap opera, and maybe he really was a seventeen years old girl and had just spent an evening on the backseat of House's new car and they'd forgot the condom.
"You're having my baby." Not a question, simply a statement.
Wilson nodded. "Yes."
"Okay." Ignoring the gaping trio, House made a gesture towards his office. "Let's go and talk about it in private."
It was actually relieving to have someone decide what to do. Wilson padded to House's office and sat on his usual place on the other side of the desk.
After fussing with the pathetically inadequate curtains to get them some privacy, House limped to his chair. Rubbing his face, he muttered, "I guess it's another one of those immaculate conceptions then."
"That would make you god, wouldn't it?" And it was so easy to joke about it, to fall back into the old routine that smelled of take out Chinese and cheap scotch with the lingering notes of House's piano haunting somewhere in the background. "It's not a joke, Greg."
Next House would call him Jimmy and he never liked it when someone called him that, never allowed Julie to say that even when they were making love.
He never told House not to call him Jimmy.
"Then what is it, Jimmy?"
Wilson took a deep shuddering breath, and for the first time since last night he didn't feel like total crap. "An epiphany."
"That you're a woman? I could have told you that years ago." The words were smattering, but the expression on House's face was still worried.
"I'm not a..." The denial died on Wilson's lips as he realized it was useless to get angry at that when he had real issues to deal with. "I'm in denial! I'm insane!"
House frowned. "Are you drunk?"
"No!" Yelling it hard enough to make the people walking across the hallway stop and stare, Wilson glared at House. "That's about the only thing I'm not." He wished he were.
"Pregnant?"
Wilson shook his head. He said quietly, not thinking about the words, "I think I've been in the closet and didn't even see the damn thing. So maybe not pregnant but not straight either."
Fortunately there was no choking this time. House's hands were shaking when he grabbed the bottle of Vicodin and popped the cork. He didn't take one, however. "So you decided to come out of the closet by telling me and the ducklings that you're having my baby."
Hearing it said like that sounded silly, but Wilson just shrugged it off. "I couldn't think of anything else to say." He wasn't going to say he was not sure if he was gay but was head over heels for House anyway. That would be even more ridiculous, though it would be much closer to the truth.
"So you want to have my baby?" Now there was an evil glint in House's eyes, as if he was treating this as a joke just in case it was.
"No, I'm saying I'm crazy! I just realized I've been in denial!"
House rattled the bottle, trying clearly to figure out how many pills there were. "You've been flirting with me for years and now you realize you've been in denial?"
"No." The very not in denial image of grabbing House's coat and pulling him into a very non straight kiss was slowly morphing into grabbing House's coat and rattling him until he made the same sound as the Vicodin hitting against the plastic bottle. "You've been flirting. I've been in denial and considered it as manly bantering."
"I see."
Wilson could almost see the synapses fire as House connected all the dots and came up with the right diagnosis.
"So you're saying you're over with the denial and the manly banter and would like to be my very best not straight friend and maybe have my baby?"
Maybe his idea of not blurting out the very straightforward 'I think I'm gay, let's fuck' had been a mistake. "Yes, Greg. That's exactly what I'm saying."
House wasn't smirking anymore. "And then what? You want me to take you out to the prom and hold your hand and call you sweetheart." It was serious and a little mean but the look in his eyes wasn't mean at all.
It took someone who'd known him for a decade to see that there was fear in his eyes.
"You know what I'm saying. I'm tired and don't want to play the blind man anymore. If you just want to flirt, fine. If you want more, I'm all for it." Wilson thought that would be enough.
Surprisingly enough, he was wrong.
"And Stacy?"
Why the hell was House asking him that? As if it was Wilson obsessing over something he could never have and not him.
"Stacy is married." The easiest of the excuses and not the whole truth.
Followed by the even easier, "So are you."
"Not for long."
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"I left Julie." So easy to say it, to make it real by actually saying it out loud so it didn't just play inside his head like a broken record.
House's eyes widened. "You left Julie? When?" The glance at the watch was instinctive.
It wasn't even noon yet.
"Yesterday," Wilson said, and the pain he could see in House's eyes wasn't hidden, wasn't unreal. "And no I didn't come to you because that would be... wrong, and I'm doing the right thing."
That was what he did, what he at least tried to do and going to House's place last night would have led to drinking and mumbled half truths and alcohol poisoning, and not to confessions or touching or very enthusiastic sex on the living room carpet.
House spread his arms a little. "Which is?"
Going insane. "Have dinner, I guess. A date. Kick your ass in Need for Speed. Do some necking on the couch." Decide if he simply was happy to see his friend or if he wanted to drag him into the bedroom.
"You'll wear your best tie for me?" Now it was definitely flirting.
It was only proper to flirt right back. "If you want, I will. I'll even change the shoes."
"Okay." The word was out of House's mouth almost before Wilson had finished. "Tonight? You bring the pizza?"
Wilson wondered if it could really be this easy. Years and years of laughing at the mere notion, the laughter always just a little uncomfortable and then after another failed marriage and a sleepless night... This?
He didn't want to make it more complicated. "Sounds good. I may have to stay for the night."
Didn't matter if he slept on the couch or not.
"You expect to get some on the first date?" It was clear that House was aiming for the outrageous and missed it by the mile. "In that case, you get to buy me a lunch as well."
There was nothing new with that. "Sure."
Limping to the doorway connecting his office to the conference room, House opened the door and barked, "We're going to lunch. Check on our patient and do more guessing, you might even get it right this time." His team was still in the gaping phase.
"Oh and if you're wondering..." House reached out with his hand and placed it on Wilson's neck, the gesture unmistakenly intimate, fingers touching bare skin. "We're keeping the baby."
Letting the door slam shut, Wilson resisted the urge to simply kiss the insane man who was quite probably going to be
his boyfriend after tonight and rolled his eyes instead. "If I'm going to carry your baby, you'll get to buy the lunch for me and not the other way around."
"Whatever you say, dear."
The End
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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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