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  Broken, Part 2 
 by Neena  

 

Spoilers: "Babies and Bathwater". I took some liberty with the timeline in
this episode, squeezing this story between the lines.  


The next morning Wilson woke up confused, partly because he couldn't
actually recall falling asleep in the first place, and partly because
House was gone. The confusion kept on coming when House appeared in the
bedroom doorway fully dressed and ready to go. 

"It's seven o'clock," said House. "Rise and shine, sleepy-head, I need a
ride." 

"A ride where?" asked Wilson, propping himself up on an elbow and rubbing
his eyes. They felt like they'd been poached in their sockets, and if he
felt this bad, he had no idea how it was House managed to look so...peppy.
Especially after everything that had happened the night before. 

"We're going cane shopping," House answered. "Know of any good
early-morning cane shops?" 

"None spring to mind," said Wilson. "Why the urgency? This couldn't wait
until, oh I dunno, say eight o'clock?" 

"Don't want to be late for work," said House, and he disappeared from the
doorway before Wilson had a chance to sputter uselessly at him. 

Wilson quickly got out of bed and followed House to the kitchen, where he
was already sipping at an enormous mug of coffee. House's eyes scanned him
from over the rim of his mug. 

"Are you planning on wearing that?" he asked. "Don't get me wrong, I think
your jammies are adorable, but that fashion trend went out with those
teddy-bear backpacks. Don't you keep up with these things?" 

Refusing to be evaded, Wilson crossed his arms and frowned at him. "I
thought you said you weren't going back to work. You said you were faxing
in your resignation first thing in the morning." 

"I had a change of heart," said House casually. "I am allowed to do that,
aren't I?" 

"Yes, but after last night..." 

"Go put on some clothes," said House, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"There's a pair of your jeans in the bottom drawer of my dresser. You can
borrow one of my shirts and whatever else you want." 

Wilson decided to let it drop. If House didn't want to talk about it, that
was okay for now. But he'd be keeping a close eye on him, nonetheless. He
started back towards House's bedroom when his friend's words finally sank
in. "Wait a minute...why do you have a pair of my jeans?" 

"You don't remember?" asked House, his pale blue eyes wide. "I'm hurt-if
you honestly don't remember, then I'm not going to tell you." 

"Please-I get enough of that at home, I don't need it here, too," said
Wilson and he wandered back to the bedroom. Sure enough, there was a pair
of his jeans neatly folded in the bottom drawer of House's dresser. It
really did bug him that he had no idea how they'd got there.


Wilson drove around, stopping at every pharmacy in a twenty-mile radius
until they found one that was open and also sold canes; or, to be more
specific, a cane that House deemed worthy of him. As they drove to
Princeton-Plainsboro, Wilson would shoot the odd glance House's way, just
in case he'd changed his mind again. But House seemed resolute; his cloak
of imperviousness was fixed firmly in place. It was like nothing had
happened at all-even the bruise on his jaw had all but vanished behind an
extra day's growth of beard. 

Wilson pulled up in front of the hospital's main entrance and watched
House dry swallow a vicodin with his usual flair. 

"Do you want me to come in with you?" asked Wilson. 

House gave him a 'now why would I want you to do that' look and got out of
the car with a painful grunt. Wilson winced, imagining how uncomfortable
the car ride must have been for him, and for once he was kind of glad his
friend had the painkillers. He waited until House had made it safely
through the front doors before pulling away. 

This was the part he had been dreading all morning...it was time to head
back home. It was nearly eight-thirty, and Julie usually didn't leave for
work until nine o'clock, so if he drove slowly enough, he might time it so
they missed each other. Of course, that would only make things worse when
she got home from work. There was no sense putting it off; he figured he
might as well face the music before it became loud enough to deafen him. 

As he pulled into his driveway, he saw Julie coming out the front door.
She gave him a cold, thin-lipped glare as he got out of the car, which
told him she hadn't failed to notice he was wearing House's clothes.
Wilson shrugged back at her with an apologetic smile. 

"Don't forget to put the roast in the oven at four-thirty," she said. 

"Roast? What's the occasion?" asked Wilson, remembering too late that
tonight was the night her parents were coming for dinner. "Right. Sorry." 

Julie's lips thinned even more, if such a thing were possible. "And make
yourself useful-the dishwasher's flooding again." And with that, she was
gone. 

Wilson sighed. He wished she'd just put him out of his misery and ask for
a divorce. This daily erosion of their happiness had them both so
thin-skinned that every little thing got on their nerves. So when a big
thing came along the effect was positively acidic. 

He spent the day fixing the dishwasher and cleaning an already spotless
house, knowing all hell would break loose if Julie thought he'd been
slacking off all day. But the entire time he kept expecting the phone to
ring and to hear House on the other end, distraught and begging him to
come get him. He had to restrain himself from phoning the hospital to
check up on him. 

When the phone finally did ring it was almost six o'clock. He assumed it
would be House calling to get a ride home, so when he heard Cuddy's voice
he felt a moment's panic. 

"Is Greg alright?" he asked before she could get out more than a 'hello'. 

"House is fine," she said, sounding both annoyed and amused. "More than
fine, actually. I thought I'd call to give you the good news-you've got
your job back. Vogler's gone." 

"Why? What happened?" asked Wilson, almost afraid to find out. He had
images of a big, Vogler-shaped corpse spread out under a thin sheet in the
hospital morgue. 

"Vogler moved to have me fired. I had a chat with the board and managed to
persuade them that between House and Vogler, House was the lesser of two
evils." 

"You have no idea," Wilson mumbled. "How did House take the news? Have you
told him yet?" 

"I just came from his office," she answered. She paused a moment, then
asked; "Wilson, is there something going on that you're not telling me
about?" 

"Why do you ask?" he countered cautiously, avoiding her question. 

"You just seem unusually concerned about him," she said. "Is this about
the fight he picked with Vogler in front of the clinic today?" 

Oh God, he lost it at work, thought Wilson. "How bad was it?" he asked. 

"I don't think I've ever seen House that angry before, which is saying
something. He completely blew a gasket when Vogler pulled his patient from
that clinical trial. Anyone else would've had to change their pants
afterwards," said Cuddy. "But Vogler just laughed and shrugged him off,
and that seemed to put an end to it." 

"Mmm," said Wilson, filling the conversation gap while his mind busied
itself with images of Vogler and House duking it out at the clinic. He
knew the fight had been about a lot more than a just his cancer patient,
and it worried him that Vogler had defeated him so easily. "Is he still in
his office?" he asked. 

"As far as I know," she answered. 

"Can you do me a favour and tell him I'm coming to pick him up?" 

"Alright," she said, but he could tell she was fishing for an explanation.


He wasn't about to give her one. "Great. Thanks," he said, and hung up.
When he turned around, he nearly ran into Julie, who had somehow managed
to sneak up behind him. 

"Did I just hear you say you were picking someone up?" she asked, the
furrow between her raised eyebrows providing more than enough punctuation.
She knew exactly who the 'someone' was. 

"I drove House to work this morning. How else is he supposed to get home?"


"He's a big boy. I bet he could figure it out," said Julie, her voice
taking on an edge he'd become all too familiar with of late. "My parents
will be here in half an hour." 

"I know, and I'll be back in time, I swear," he said as he headed for the
door. Only then did he realize he was still wearing his friend's
t-shirt-hardly appropriate attire in the eyes of his in-laws. He quickly
weighed his options. He could stay home, change into a jacket and tie and
make Julie happy, or he could go and pick up Greg from the hospital. In
his mind he kept remembering the way his friend had looked at him, lying
in bed in the dark. House needed him; he trusted him. And hell, Julie was
already pissed at him, so what difference did it make if he gave her one
more reason?


It had been one hell of a day. House was in a lot more pain than usual,
but he'd be damned if he'd let it show. An extra pill or two...well, who's
counting, really...had made everyday things like leaning and sitting down
bearable, but for the most part he'd tried to stay on his feet. By noon
his right leg was bitching at him incessantly. And to make things worse,
Foreman kept throwing accusatory looks his way over the 'Cameron quitting'
issue. Without Wilson, he had no allies to turn to at the hospital. 

The only thing that had been getting him through the day was the fact
that, because of him, his patient might live long enough to see one or two
of her son's birthdays. But then Vogler had happened. With one little
phone call he'd effectively sentenced his patient to death, and stripped
House of his usefulness as a doctor. 

That was when he'd lost it. He'd hunted Vogler down and chewed him out in
front of patients and staff alike. It felt good. It felt cathartic...until
Vogler laughed in his face and dismissed him. It was then that House had
realised he would never have the upper hand against Vogler. 

The rest of the day had been pretty much a disaster. His patient did die,
leaving behind a terrified husband to take care of their premature baby.
The board would be meeting again to have him fired, and he had no way of
defending himself. But until they'd physically booted his ass out of the
hospital, he'd intended to do his job. 

He'd caught Cuddy as she was heading into the boardroom and handed her the
file on baby Olive, 'The Incredible Shrinking Vegan'. It would be his last
act as a doctor at PPTH. 

Or so he'd thought at the time. 

It was now less than an hour later and he was back in his office, job
secure, with Vogler nothing more than a page in the history books. And as
an added bonus, his newly reinstated best friend and ally was coming to
pick him up. For the first time since Vogler had reared his humungous bald
head at the hospital he felt like things were looking up. 

When the phone rang, he answered it with an almost cheery "Yup?" 

The crackling static on the other end nearly whited out the sound of the
man's voice, but House heard it clearly enough to instantly recognize it.
"This isn't over. He said to tell you it's personal now. He meant it when
he said he'd destroy you." 

The line went dead, but it was several seconds before that fact registered
in House's shocked brain. He slowly set the phone down, as if he was
afraid it might turn on him. When a knock sounded on his glass door he
nearly jumped out of his skin. 

Wilson peered at him curiously from the hallway for a moment before
letting himself in. "House-are you okay?" 

"I'm fine-I didn't see you there," House answered dismissively. 

"You don't look fine." 

"Since when have I ever looked fine?" he countered. "I just want to get
out of here. Hospitals give me the creeps," he said, throwing in an
exaggerated shudder for effect. 

House remained silent the entire drive home, and Wilson knew it would be a
mistake to try and draw him out of his shell. As he pulled up in front of
his condo, House got out of the car. But when he noticed Wilson wasn't
undoing his seatbelt to join him, he leaned back in through the window. 

"Aren't you coming?" he asked. 

Wilson's brown eyes frowned up at him in apology. "I would, but Julie's
parents are coming over for dinner. I'm already late as it is." 

House looked over his shoulder at his dark condo. It looked the same, as
always, but tonight it seemed more malevolent somehow. 

"I can call her; say I'll be late..." Wilson suggested, sensing his
friend's nervousness. 

House was tempted, but he knew that missing dinner with the in-laws would
be a 'straw/camel's back' thing in Julie's books. "No. You go on. Have a
nice slice of roast beef for me." 

"How did you...? Never mind," said Wilson. "Are you sure you'll be okay?" 

"'Course I'm sure," said House. "Now move it, before Julie decides to
roast your weenie and serve that to her folks instead." 

"Now that's a disturbing image," said Wilson. "All right, I'm off, then.
But call me if you need anything." 

House grunted in reply and backed away from the car. He watched his friend
drive away, feeling a cold lump of dread forming in the pit of his
stomach. His condo seemed to loom up above him, imposing and large. 

Opening the door, House reached his hand inside and flicked on the lights
before daring to set foot inside. Once in, he quickly locked the door and
went room to room, turning on every single light along the way. He felt
like a bit of an idiot, but at this point he didn't care. When he was
finally satisfied that there were no murderers lurking in the shadows, he
got comfortable on the couch and reached for the remote. 

But just as he was about to turn on the T.V., his phone rang. The lump of
ice in House's stomach churned over, sending out cold tendrils of nausea.
He stared at the phone, willing it to shut up. Finally the answering
machine fielded the call, and the tinny little speaker burst forth with
the same crackling static he'd heard earlier in his office. No voice this
time, but the message was clear...he was being watched. 

House turned his eyes to the front window and saw that the drapes were
still open. He cursed under his breath and got painfully to his feet. He
limped over as quickly as possible and drew them closed, and as he did, he
could swear he heard a dry, humourless chuckle coming from the static on
the answering machine. Three limping steps later, he reached a shaking
hand out and silenced the offending machine. 

His heart was pumping so hard it hurt his chest. He picked up the phone,
hitting 'speed dial 1', and heard the familiar tune of Wilson's home phone
number beeping out through the receiver. 

Julie picked up, and for a moment House was afraid he wouldn't be able to
speak-his mouth had completely dried up. He heard her annoyance as she
asked who was there, and knew she was about to hang up. 

"Julie, it's me, Greg," he said, finding his voice at last. "I need to
talk to James. It's important." 

"He's not home yet," came the curt response. The sound of clinking dishes
and muffled voices in the background told him that they'd started eating
without him. 

"Can you have him call me when he gets in?" asked House. 

"We have company tonight, House," she said, her voice brittle. 

"And I have a crazed rapist stalking me," House answered bluntly. 

"He's busy tonight," she said, ignoring what she'd assumed was his
flippant remark. "He'll call you tomorrow." And she hung up. 

House blinked at the phone like it had personally insulted him and hit the
redial button. Not surprisingly, Julie didn't answer. He parked the phone
back in its cradle and stood, lost, in the middle of his own living room. 

He stood there watching the minutes tick by on his watch, waiting until he
knew Wilson would be at home. Then he hit redial again, knowing that Julie
couldn't just let it ring with Wilson there. Sure enough, he soon heard
Julie's crisp voice on the other end.


Wilson had just finished changing into something a little less comfortable
when he heard the phone ring. He trotted down the stairs and entered the
dining room in time to hear his wife say, "we're busy," into the phone and
hang up. 

"Who was that?" he asked, and received identical reproachful looks from
Julie and her parents. So that's where she gets it from, he thought to
himself. 

"Telemarketer," said Julie with a forced, polite little laugh. "They
always seem to know when you're sitting down to dinner." Her breezy answer
rubbed him the wrong way-she was either putting on a show for the sake of
her parents, or she was hiding something from him. 

Wilson sat down at the table and started loading his plate with the scraps
left over in the serving dishes. One bite of roast was all he managed to
eat before his beeper went off. All eyes turned to him in unison and it
was like facing a firing squad. 

"Sorry, I've got get this," he said. The little display showed two simple
words: 'come back'. Wilson excused himself from the table and picked up
the phone, dialling Cuddy's number, in case Julie thought to hit redial.
Her voice mail picked up. 

"Uh-huh? ... Yes, I understand... No, of course I don't mind, Dr. Cuddy.
I'll be right there." He hung up the phone and turned to face Julie and
his in-laws. Julie had a murderous glint in her eyes, and if her parents
hadn't been there she would have torn a strip off him. 

"I really am sorry," said Wilson. "But this is an emergency." Technically
speaking he was only half lying-this was an emergency... just not a
medical one. He left quickly for fear of being hit by flying daggers.


House saw the headlights of a car slow and stop in front of his condo and
risked a peek through his drawn curtains. The relief he felt seeing Wilson
step out of his car was palpable and it gave him pause for thought. Even
as a child he'd never felt this needy, this...vulnerable...and there
wasn't another soul on Earth he'd rather have with him than Wilson. He
didn't know what that meant, but for the moment he was willing to forgo
analysis and simply be thankful his friend had come. House unlocked the
door, ushered Wilson inside, and hastily locked the door behind him. 

"That wife of yours is a real peach...or something that nearly rhymes with
it," said House. "It's a good thing you never let her touch your beeper." 

Wilson narrowed his eyes. "I'm gonna pretend you meant that in the
strictly literal sense." When House didn't even attempt a comeback, Wilson
started to worry. "What happened?" he asked. 

House took a couple of long, limping strides across the room and hit
playback on the answering machine. Wilson listened to the crackling sounds
coming from the little speaker. When it ended he looked at House, who was
watching him expectantly. 

"Is that supposed to mean something?" asked Wilson. 

"Of course it means something. It means I'm being watched," said House.
But the look in Wilson's eyes said that wasn't enough of an explanation,
so he decided to start from the beginning. He filled Wilson in on the
phone call he'd received at the hospital, and the threat Vogler had made a
few days earlier. 

"He said he would destroy you?" asked Wilson. "And you never thought to
tell anyone?" 

"If I went crying to the authorities every time someone threatened me I'd
have to set up a cot at the local precinct." 

"Okay; granted that's true," Wilson agreed. "But you have to get the
police involved now." 

"Why? So they can come over and listen to my scary static?" said House,
his eyes going wide with mock horror. 

"It might not mean much on its own, but if you tell them the whole
story..." 

House's eyes darkened as if someone had dimmed the lights behind them. The
conversation was over. Anything Wilson had to say would just bounce off
House's shield of imperviousness. Wilson sighed and changed tactics. 

"Have you had dinner yet?" he asked. 

"Not hungry," said House, sitting down gingerly on the couch. The pills
came out automatically, and two of them found their way down his throat. 

Wilson shook his head. "You have to eat something-and I'm starved. Do you
want to order in?" 

"It would be a waste, what with only one of us eating," said House,
although the real reason he didn't want delivery was that he couldn't bear
the thought of some stranger knocking on his door tonight. "If you're
hungry, there's food in the kitchen. Knock yourself out. And get me a beer
while you're in there," he added as Wilson took his advice and headed for
the kitchen. 

Wilson returned, a short ten minutes later, with two bowls of steaming
chicken noodle soup and no beer. 

"I can see how you'd confuse 'get me a beer' with 'get me a bowl of soup'.
They sound so much alike," House quipped. 

"Just shut up and eat it," said Wilson, imbuing the words with more
kindness than they had any right to. 

House grudgingly accepted the bowl, allowing the salty steam of the broth
to waft up to his face. To him, soup was comfort food, and chicken
noodle...well, that was the stuff Mom pulled out on those really bad
occasions. Kind of like a culinary 'kiss it better'. A smile flickered
across his face as he looked at Wilson. His choice in soups had been no
accident. Wilson looked back at him with just the tiniest raise of an
eyebrow-acknowledgement of his role as surrogate Mom for the evening. 

They were both yawning at the T.V. by the time their bowls were emptied.
The meaningless drone of football and commercials had worked its magic,
lulling them into a state of numb complacency. Wilson was dozing off, his
feet stretched out on the coffee table, his head doing one of those slow
tip/sudden jerk things that never let him fully fall asleep, when House
shook him by the shoulder. 

"Fine company you are," said House. Wilson looked up at him
apologetically, but House stopped him before he could say anything. "Don't
worry. You can make it up to me by staying over tonight. As bodyguards go,
you're no Lou Ferrigno, but you'll do in a pinch." 

Wilson thought about it for a second. His options were to stay here and
sleep on the couch, or to go home...and, well, sleep on the couch. It
wasn't a tough choice-at least here he was welcome. 

"All right. But I'll have to borrow something to sleep in." 

"I'll do you one better," said House. "Second drawer down in my dresser,"
he added, nodding towards his bedroom. 

Curious, Wilson went to check it out. Pulling open the second drawer of
House's dresser, Wilson shook his head in disbelief-a pair of his pyjamas
was neatly folded next to a small stack of underwear and a few pairs of
socks that he also recognized as his. He turned to find House standing in
the doorway looking smug. 

"What do you do, break into my house at night and steal my clothes?" asked
Wilson. 

"You still don't remember?" asked House. "Too bad. It must be driving you
nuts. By the way, I call dibs on the bathroom." 

Wilson used the time alone to change into his P.J.s, and he was just
digging through House's linen closet to find a couple of warm blankets and
a pillow for the couch when House reappeared. 

"What're you doing?" asked House, like he was chastising a five year old. 

"Uh-I'm getting my bed ready," said Wilson matter-of-factly. 

House rolled his eyes. "What good are you as a bodyguard if you're not
even in the same room? C'mon," he said, and he pulled a pillow down from
the top shelf, carrying it under his arm down the hall to his bedroom. 

Wilson followed him back to the bedroom and watched House fluff up the
pillow and place it next to his on the bed. No clarification needed-House
wanted him to sleep with him. Not just in the same room, but in the same
bed. Again. 

Something deep in his gut told Wilson the wise thing to do would be to
refuse and go sleep on the couch, but he couldn't. House was scared. He
would never go so far as to admit it out loud, but his actions spoke for
him. And if House needed him close to feel safe, then Wilson intended to
be there for him. 

Wilson made quick work of turning off all the lights House had left on,
and got ready for bed. He was only mildly surprised to find a brand new
toothbrush and a fresh tube of Colgate waiting for him in the
bathroom-they were his brands, not House's, judging by the half flattened
tube of Crest sitting next to the sink. By the time he returned to the
bedroom, House was already in bed, lying on his side just as he had the
night before. 

Wilson hesitated briefly before turning off the bedroom light; with the
curtains drawn, it was pitch black. He had to feel his way around to the
other side of the bed, and when he finally found his way under the
blankets he heard House's sigh of relief, like he'd been holding his
breath waiting for him to get in. The next thing he knew he was being
pulled into a tight hug, his back pressed up against House's chest like he
was a giant teddy bear. 

It was a little more closeness than Wilson had anticipated, but he went
along with it, telling himself it was only because House needed it. But in
a strange way he thought it was kind of nice. It had been a long time
since anyone had cuddled with him like this. Julie had never been the
cuddly type, which bothered him more than he cared to admit. In fact, the
more he thought about it, the more he realized just how much he missed
simply being hugged. It felt good-even if it was House doing the hugging. 

Then he found himself wondering if House was always this cuddly in bed, or
if his recent trauma had brought it out in him. The thought then crossed
his mind that he'd really like to find out, and suddenly sleep was the
farthest thing from his mind. And so, for the second night in a row,
Wilson lay blinking sleeplessly into the darkness as House slept soundly
next to him.  
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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.