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  Watching Wilson 
 by Gena  

 

 Watching Wilson

 House limped through the door off their balcony and into Wilson's office
only to find it empty. He checked his watch - 12:30 PM - lunch time. Where
the hell was Wilson, he didn't have any appointments this morning and it
wasn't his day for clinic duty, he should be slogging away at paperwork
like he normally did. House frowned and crossed the office to Wilson's
receptionist's desk. "Where's Wilson?" He demanded as if she were hiding
the oncologist on purpose.

 Immune to House's charm, she glanced up, "Room 421."

 "With a patient?"

 "With a migraine."

 A migraine. Damn. House considered getting his lunch and slinking back to
his office but the every present memory of waking from pain filled dreams
to find Wilson quietly sitting beside him, touched some spot in his heart
he'd thought paved over. Not allowing himself to consider his motives,
House snagged a bagel and coffee from the maternity ward lounge and made
his way to room 421.

 The blinds were closed when House eased the door open. Deep velvety
shadows blanketed the room, spread over the antiseptic hard edges they
somehow made the room feel welcoming. House chided himself for his
fanciful thoughts, hospital rooms were never welcoming, no matter the
lighting or the effort to make them comforting. He'd spent too much of his
adult life in them, both as doctor and patient to find them truly
hospitable. Still as he made his way to the bedside, House felt a weight
lift away from his heart at the sound of Wilson's soft breaths. But when
he gazed down at the figure lying there a new, vaguely unsettling and
achingly tender emotion gripped him. 

 Wilson lay on his side, facing the door and House, his dark hair tumbled
across his forehead. He looked so impossibly young that for an instant
House wondered if he'd entered the wrong room. He kidded Wilson about his
looks, the perpetual bloom of youth that lingered over his high
cheekbones, but it was only teasing. A person only had to look into
Wilson's eyes to know he was not a child, he hadn't been for a long time.
Those deep brown orbs had seen too much pain, too much death, to be
anything other than world weary. House settled himself beside the bed,
glad to be off his feet. It had been a long week and his back and right
leg had been aching more than usual, leaving him feeling shaky at odd
moments. He set his coffee on the table, pulled the bagel and cream cheese
from his pocket and took a small bite. An amber bottle caught his eye and
House squinted at the label, Imitrex, Wilson's prescription migraine meds.
He'd switched, this one was a bit stronger than the last. House sighed.

 He knew Wilson had suffered for years, the pressure of his job, the
strain of three marriages, and, he hated to admit it, House's own demands,
often took their toll on the younger doctor. House, himself, was use to
pain, it had been his companion for years now, something that defined his
days, marked the hours and reminded him of all he'd lost. But it seemed
terribly unfair that someone like Wilson had to endure the same fate.
Wilson was the one thing he'd never lost and that fact meant more to House
than he cared to admit. He leaned closer, studying Wilson's sleeping face.
How could he look so young, so innocent - so appealing. House sat back,
thinking about the fact he found Wilson's face appealing. He'd always
known James was good looking - hell, the way women mooned over the boyish
Wilson was nauseating, but to actually apply the knowledge of his friend's
being handsome to his own feeling should have come as a shock. And yet it
didn't. House thought back over the times he had spent with Wilson - all
the laughter, the support, the silent connection they'd had from the first
moment of their meeting. A clear, sharp tone seemed to ring inside his
head, one that marked the shift in his feelings from mere friendship to
something they'd been fighting against for years. He loved Wilson. And he
found him very attractive. 

 "House?" Wilson blinked at him, one hand coming up to rub at his face.
"What's going on?"

 "I thought you were in a coma," House said, "so I brought my lunch."

 "That's nice. I'm sure if I was in a coma, having you drop crumbs all
over me would make it so much better." Wilson rolled onto his back,
sighing. "I'm tired."

 House watched him, strangely tempted by the soft brown hair sticking out
at all angles to touch him but unable to bring himself to do it. "Well,
I'm sure Cuddy won't appreciate you sleeping on company time."

 "Mmmm, she knows," Wilson said still sounding groggy and looking twice as
appealing as he had asleep. "She caught me throwing up in the restroom."

 "Hanging around looking for dates again?" House guessed.

 "Someone ratted me out," Wilson told him with a resigned sigh. House's
intense stare finally penetrated the fog and he looked askance at him.
"What's wrong? Did I drool all over myself, or something?"

 "No," House said. He shifted closer, tilting his head so he could stare
straight down into Wilson's eyes. "Your eyes are the same color as that
commercial for Dove chocolate."

 Wilson blinked at him in silence for a full minute before frowning.
"O-kay."

 "And your eyebrows have these little - wings at the ends," House
murmured. 

 "Like in the panty liner commercial?" House gave him a sour look but
didn't answer. "You realize I'm going to have to call the psych
department, don't you?" Wilson asked, slowly pushing himself up into a
sitting position. "I'm the one suffering from a migraine yet you're the
one having sensory delusions."

 "It's not delusions," House maintained, "if they're true."

 Wilson returned House's stare. "Is there anything else about my face you
want to critique?"

 "I'm fairly certain there is," House peered at him with one eye closed.
"Yes, your cheekbones are impossibly high and that mole at the corner of
your mouth is very endearing." 

 "House," Wilson said and his tone had changed from amused to something
hard but fragile. "You're scaring me here. What the hell is going on?" He
swung his legs off the bed, swaying a bit as the last throb of his
headache made itself known. They sat, knees touching while both men
continued their scrutiny. 

 "I've had an epiphany," House announced with the air of a man who had
discovered the meaning of life. "Yes, scoff if you want, but sitting here,
staring at you I have decided that you are the love of my life."

 Wilson didn't respond for a moment but House could see several emotions
flicker across his face; surprise, doubt, annoyance, and finally something
that looked like a little bit of hope mixed with a lot of anger. "Yeah,
that's me. I was planning on asking you to run away to Vegas as soon as
Julie dumped me, and now you've ruined my plans. Guess I'll ask Cuddy."

 "I'm serious."

 "Uh-huh. You have a reputation for seriousness, House," Wilson muttered
and tried to edge his way off the bed without colliding with House's right
leg. "You want to move?" House shook his head. "Should I just climb over
you then?"

 "You should sit there and let me think this through."

 "Think what through," Wilson demanded. "You said I was the love of your
life, that sounds like you've given it some thought."

 House chuckled. "I have, but only about ten minutes." He pointed a
warning finger at Wilson. "Ahhh, don't give me that look, Wilson. Ten
minutes of my brain time is comparable to 10 months by anyone else."

 "Of course, I forgot," Wilson said and slumped back on the bed, idly
fidgeting with the blanket. House kept staring at him, but Wilson decided
not to engage or encourage more talk by returning the look again. So
silence crept around them as the minute hand ticked away until House
finally drew in a deep breath and clicked his tongue in satisfaction.
"What?"

 House smiled. It wasn't his smirk, or his evil I'm-smarter-than-you grin,
this was a genuine happy-with-the-world smile. It made Wilson shift
uncomfortably but he waited for House to speak before making any rash
moves. "The reason your marriages all fail is because you're in love with
me." 

 "I'm what?" Wilson crossed his arms over his chest, rolled his eyes and
then, "this was your epiphany?"

 "Yes." This time House smirked for all he was worth.

 Wilson sighed. "House. I could have told you that if you'd asked me any
time in the last - oh, ten years." It was his turn to hold House off, he
raised a hand. "Yes, I love you. Yes, I am in love with you. You, however,
might love me but you aren't in love with me." He shrugged. "End of that
road."

 House frowned, "I just said I was."

 "You aren't."

 "I am!"

 "Are not!"

 "What the hell do I have to do, you moron," House shouted, "to make you
believe that I love you?"

 "Is anything wrong?" A nurse poked her head in the room and stared at the
two doctors.

 "Yes-"

 "No-"

 Exchanging glares, they both answered, "No" and waited for her to leave
the room. 

 "So, you're suddenly gay," Wilson declared with a snarl. 

 House looked a bit uncomfortable, but said, "Maybe I've always been gay.
How do you know I haven't been playing hide the salami with Chase?"

 "Because he has better taste." Wilson's dark eyes flashed with fire.
"People don't change just like that - even you."

 House sighed, chin lowered to his chest as he gazed at the cane in his
hands. "I don't think I've changed, Wilson. I think I've loved you for a
long time. I just didn't know what it was. This isn't what it felt like
with Stacy." He lifted his eyes, seeing the hurt in Wilson's face. "She
and I are so much alike. We're combustible, gas and oil with a lit match
tossed into it. I -it's different with you, you don't fight me, you fit
me." He looked away, embarrassment clear in every line of his body. "I
better go." Cane planted firmly on the floor, he started to push himself
to his feet but a hand stopped him.

 Wilson clutched his wrist. "House," he said it with resignation, with
hope and with love. House met his dark eyed stare. "I'm sorry." House
flinched, and tried to tug his wrist free of Wilson's grip but Wilson
refused to let go. "No, listen, I'm sorry I didn't believe you. You know I
love you and you're right - every time I got married it was because I
couldn't stand the thought of living alone - without you."

 "I knew it," House said in a voice only slightly like his normal arrogant
self. 

 "This isn't going to be easy. It might not even work, but I want to try."
House nodded and turned away. "Hey, where you going?"

 House stopped and looked back at Wilson. "Not now, you've got a
headache." 

 "It's almost gone." He smiled at House; the open, sparkling look House
had, until recently, thought signaled only friendship and now knew was
love in its most pure form. With an answering smile, he moved back to the
bed, bent until his lips brushed Wilson's forehead and kissed him
tenderly.

 "In that case," House whispered, "don't ask Cuddy to run away to Vegas
with you and come home with me tonight." He left Wilson still sitting on
the bed, a huge smile spread across his face. Smiling, himself, House
stepped out into the hallway and went back to his office, happy for the
first time in years. 

  
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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.