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Title: That Warm Feeling
Pairing: House/Wilson
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG-13-ish
Warnings: Sick!wilson, medical stuff, depression and promiscuity.
Summary: The door opened, and he said, without looking, “come back without the urine sample. Or at least close the damned container.” “House,” said a voice, waveringly. House looked. Wilson was standing there, his labcoat for some reason tied around his waist…
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Notes: may be a little squicky and sad. but it has a happy ending by the last chapter.
T
House sighed, lifting his leg up onto his desk as he watched Marie and Rico argue.
The door opened, and he said, without looking, “come back without the urine sample. Or at least close the damned container.”
“House,” said a voice, waveringly.
House looked.
Wilson was standing there, his labcoat for some reason tied around his waist…
House deflated somewhat, “please tell me your patient peed on you and you’re just looking to borrow some pants…”
Wilson shook his head, face nearly the same color as his horrible red tie.
House sighed, and lifted his leg down off the table.
“When?”
“Um,” said Wilson, coming in and standing awkwardly with his hands pressing the labcoat closer to his crotch, “last night. And this morning. Every time I drink something.”
House grimaced.
“No control what-so-ever?”
Wilson shook his head, miserably.
“Let go of the coat. Looks like you’re playing with your balls. Go back to your office through the balcony—and don’t drink anything. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Why can’t you come now?” Wilson practically squeaked.
“Because my scrubs are in my locker, and I’m not letting you anywhere near my jeans until you can control your pee. Also, I don’t exactly happen to have adult diapers lying around my office…”
Wilson hung his head, and practically waddled over to the balcony.
House sighed, watching him, then went to get the items he had mentioned.
When Wilson was dressed again, House took him down to the clinic, locked the door of the exam room, and snapped on a pair of gloves.
Wilson looked like he was about to cry from embarrassment.
“Jesus, Wilson. We’re both doctors. It’s just a prostate exam.”
“It’s not just a prostate exam when you’re being examined by someone who’s had more than just a finger or two up there in the past.”
House sighed, resting his hand on Wilson’s back.
“Do you want me to get someone else?”
Wilson looked over his shoulder at the older doctor.
“Are you actually being sensitive?”
“No, I’m being uncomfortable having my fingers up your ass when I’m not supposed to have anything else up there anymore.”
Wilson’s face saddened.
“House...”
“You had a girlfriend. You’re not supposed to want sex with a crippled old man when you’ve had a hot young girlfriend and found out what it’s like to have sex with someone half your age. It’s just the exam is awkward, is all.”
Wilson sighed.
Despite his words, Wilson knew House was still hurt, to a certain extent.
House ended the period of reflection by shoving his fingers up Wilson’s rectum and feeling around.
Wilson tried to think of chemo and dying children and anything except Amber or House’s bodies.
It really wasn’t working.
Not that getting a prostate exam was exactly fun, it was just the physical sensations that felt good.
By the time House removed his fingers, Wilson was hard, blushing, and had peed on the exam table.
House sighed, stripping his gloves off.
“Clean yourself off, jerk off, and get dressed.”
“What did you find?”
“Your prostate is significantly enlarged, but it’s not hot or inflamed, so it’s not infected.”
Wilson went from blushing to pale in record time.
“Do you think…” his voice trailed off.
“It could be cancer. Or it could be benign prostatic hyperplasia. Those are pretty much the two options at this point. If it’s the later, I’ll write you scripts for alpha blockers and 5α-reductase inhibitors, see if that helps.”
Wilson swallowed, “and if it’s the former?”
“You’re the oncologist.”
Wilson looked down at himself.
“Could you…?”
“I’m sad. That doesn’t mean I’m easy.”
Wilson hung his head.
“Get yourself cleaned up,” said House, handing Wilson a box of tissues, “I’ll be back after I get a blood kit. The cupboard seems to be out.”
He left.
Wilson frowned.
House hadn’t opened the cupboard.
Fifteen minutes later, House came back in, holding a tray with blood draw vials.
He pulled up the stool, and sat on it while he carefully drew four vials of blood from Wilson’s arm.
Wilson looked kind of queasy.
“You afraid of needles?” asked House, but he didn’t quite manage to get enough humor into his voice to make the questions sound anything other than the excuse to break the silence that it was.
“No… it’s just getting my blood drawn. Dunno why.”
House shrugged, and put the last vial back in the tray.
“Should have these back in a few days. You should have enough pads and diapers and whatever to last that long.”
He got up, handed Wilson his pants, and left after Wilson had covered himself up.
Wilson watched the door close, sadly.
House was hurting.
And he didn’t want Wilson to know.
House sighed, tapping his fingers on the counter, as he waited for the lab technician to bring out the results of Wilson’s blood tests.
She finally appeared, and handed him the sheet.
He sighed, heavily.
Wilson was had a PSA result of thirty-eight, which meant it was probably cancer.
Wilson was sitting at his desk, filling out a form, when House came in, and dropped a sheet on his desk.
Wilson slowly picked up the sheet, and looked through it.
He closed his eyes.
House’s pager went off, and he looked apologetically at Wilson.
Wilson shook his head, gesturing for House to go.
Hours later, after he had finished for the day, he walked past House’s office… but it was empty.
He sighed, and shook his head, walking towards the elevators.
House sighed, sitting on his couch and watching the coppery-gold liquid in his glass as he swirled it a little.
Wilson. Had. Cancer.
He took a large gulp of the alcohol, and tried to lose himself in the burn of the liquid sliding down his throat, rather than the ache in his chest.
When a knock sounded on his door a while later, he was quite honestly drunk.
He stumbled over to the door, and looked out through the peephole.
Wilson.
He almost didn’t open the door.
But he did, and Wilson caught him as he tumbled out through the doorway.
“House! Are you okay?!”
“’m good,” slurred House, “jus’ drunk.”
Wilson sighed, and helped House walk back to the couch.
“I wanted to tell you something. But I’m going to wait until you’re sober.”
House blinked blearily at the younger doctor.
“Kay,” he mumbled, then curled sleepily up on the couch, his head somehow ending up in Wilson’s lap.
Wilson smiled a bit, and sighed.
House was upset.
So was he.
House sighed, as Wilson came into the exam room.
“You okay?”
Wilson nodded, miserably.
“You ready?”
Wilson nodded again, climbing up onto the table.
“Curl… yeah, like that. Almost like you’ve done this before!”
Wilson looked at House over his shoulder, expression pained.
“I’m the head of oncology, House.”
“Not today, you’re not! Today, you’re just a patient.”
Wilson closed his eyes.
Of course. Why would he expect House to be sensitive—ever, much less when he was about to stick a long circular object up Wilson’s rectum.
He was surprised, then, by House’s hand gently resting on his side.
“You’re trembling, Wilson,” he said, quietly.
Wilson nodded, “I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I’m just…”
“It’s cold in here,” said House, in the same quiet tone, “it’s okay.”
Wilson couldn’t help it.
He felt tears leaking out of his eyes. And urine leaking out of his bladder.
“Shit…” muttered House, “Wilson?”
Wilson rolled over, opening his eyes, and gripped House’s gloved hands, holding on as the older doctor sat on a stool, looking uncomfortable.
House sighed, and waited, not pulling his hands out of the distressed doctor’s grip.
“It’s okay, Wilson. It’s okay.”
“I peed all over the table…”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Wilson sniffed, closed his eyes again, and cried.
Eventually the tears tapered off, and his breathing calmed.
He fell asleep on the table, and House didn’t want to wake him too soon.
So he just took a towel, and gently balled it up under Wilson’s penis, so it would soak up the urine that was dripping out.
He waited, until Wilson finally woke of his own accord, looking much more stable than he had before, though his face still had tearstains on it.
He rolled onto his left side, and curled, and House put on a fresh pair of gloves, and did the biopsy.
Wilson sighed, when House finally removed the probe.
House smirked a bit, “you wanted me to leave it in?”
Wilson turned over, looking up at his friend.
He smiled a little, and shook his head.
House handed him a towel, and Wilson started cleaning himself off.
Later that day, House paged Wilson to the pathology lab.
He was sitting at a microscope, his cane hung on a rack of urine samples.
“Well?” asked Wilson, his voice sounding somewhat squeaky.
House looked up, and got off the stool.
He looked grim.
Wilson sat down in his place, and looked.
Suddenly, the room was spinning, and there was an awkward arm around his back.
His head was resting against a shoulder.
He felt like he was going to throw up.
“We’ll get a CT to check the spread of the cancer,” said House, voice gravely, low and quiet.
Wilson nodded into his friend’s shoulder, now hiding his face in House’s shirt.
They stayed there like that for a long time, until House finally pulled away, looking uncomfortable and pained.
Wilson vacated the stool so House could sit down.
“Thank you,” he said, quietly, brown eyes downcast, unable to look at his friend.
“Hey,” said House, “stop it.”
Wislon looked at him.
“You’re annoying when you’re sad.”
Wilslon laughed, quietly.
“Sorry,” he said, managing a small smile.
House nodded, “that’s better.”
Wilson nodded, then looked down as his pager went off.
He nodded to House, “I’ll talk to you later to schedule the CT?”
House nodded, starting to clean up the stuff from analyzing Wilson’s biopsy.
“Wilson,” said House, sitting in the control booth of the CT.
“Yeah?”
“What were you going to tell me? When you came over and I was drunk?”
“It… I don’t remember.”
“Oh,” said House, not buying it, “right.”
Wilson sighed.
“It’s nothing.”
“You don’t agonize over telling someone “nothing”,” snapped House, irritated.
Wilson sighed again, “do you think there might be a better time?”
“No. you can’t run away. It’s the best time possible.”
A long silence.
“She didn’t hate you.”
House frowned.
“Amber?”
“She liked you, House. Maybe… it might not have turned out like with Bonnie and Julie. I thought for once, I might get to have both love and friendship.”
House closed his eyes.
“Oh,” he said, quietly.
The machine beeped, and the scan shut off, done.
House hit the button to slide Wilson out of the scanner, got up, and left.
Wilson watched him go, sadly.
“Wilson,” said House, limping into the office, “it’s stage two. Limited to the prostate gland.”
Wilson sighed, resting his head in his hands.
“God…” he muttered.
House limped into the kitchen and came back with two beers, one of which he handed to Wilson.
Wilson took the beer, but he was looking everywhere except House’s face.
House sighed, watching him.
“Are you avoiding looking at me because you have cancer, or because you’re dripping on my floor?”
Wilson looked down, startled, and turned bright red.
House sighed, “go clean up. I’ll get you some pants.”
Wilson looked at him, “I… don’t have… with me…”
“There’s a box in the cabinet under the sink.”
Wilson looked confused.
“Dude, I didn’t want you peeing on my couch again if you happened to stay over.”
Wilson sighed, and went into the bathroom.
House got a pair of sweatpants and tossed them into the bathroom without opening the door more than a few inches.
The he limped out, sat down on the couch, and drank both his and Wilson’s beers while he waited.
He was halfway to the kitchen to get Wilson another beer, when the younger doctor came back out, sighing.
“Thanks,” he said, quietly.
House shrugged, and continued towards the fridge.
Wilson frowned, “did you drink *both* the beers?”
House nodded, and kept going.
“And you’re getting more?”
“For you, dimwit, since I drank yours.”
“Oh,” said Wilson, “uh… you don’t have to…”
Again, he seemed incapable of meeting House’s eyes.
“Wilson,” said House, wearily, “either get over whatever it is, or get out. We’re not fifteen year old girls.”
Wilson finally met House’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, then left in a rush, not remembering to take his soiled pants out of the bathroom.
House sighed, watching him go.
This sucked.
Wilson raised his head, as he lay curled on the couch, half asleep, at the sound of the doorbell ringing.
He got up, and walked to the door.
It was House, so he opened it.
House stepped inside, handing him his pants.
Wilson nodded, biting his lip, “I… sorry I left like that. I just… you seeing me like this… I’m sorry. It’s just… every time… you look at me… I feel ashamed.”
House looked at him for a long time, which made Wilson squirm.
“Why would you be ashamed?” he asked, almost coldly, though his eyes weren’t angry, “you’re not a crippled old man.”
He left, before Wilson could think what to say.
Wilson slid down the door, head in his hands, fingers tangled in his hair.
House honestly thought the reason they weren’t together was that he… repulsed… Wilson?
God, no…
Wilson just… he didn’t… they had just been getting close again after the Tritter thing, when Amber came along. House took so long to learn to trust again…
And then Amber…
Wilson clenched his fingers, and let out a loud, frustrated yell.
He called House’s number, but the older doctor didn’t pick up.
He left a message, saying he needed House’s opinion on what they should do about the cancer.
House called back five minutes later, and said he’d meet Wilson in the hospital, in Wilson’s office.
Wilson agreed.
Twenty minutes later, he walked into his own office, to find House already there, sitting on the couch with Wilson’s file spread out on his lap.
He had a box of gloves, and reached for them when Wilson came in.
Wilson shook his head, “I just needed to talk.”
House nodded, and moved the papers and gloves out of the way so Wilson could sit on the couch next to him.
“I don’t think surgery is necessary yet.”
House tilted his head, “you’re incontinent. You don’t want that to go away?”
Wilson sighed, “I… don’t want to lose my prostate, risk damage to the nerves.”
House shook his head, “the tumor is pretty close to the lymph nodes. You don’t want it spreading, Wilson.”
“I just think… it’s premature.”
House shook his head again, “if you’re asking for my opinion, my *medical*, unbiased opinion, it is that the tumor is too close to the lymph nodes to be safe. It’s spread throughout the prostate, and you’re incontinent. You should have it taken out.”
“What if I wanted your personal opinion.”
House looked at him for a long time.
Finally, he sighed, shaking his head.
“You wanna know my real personal opinion?”
Wilson nodded.
“You should have it taken out.”
Wilson frowned, “what? But… why?”
“Because then maybe the surgeons would nick your nerves and you wouldn’t be able to go off on another one of your stupid whirlwind marriages. Because then you’d be as damaged as I am.”
Wilson stared at him.
“You’re… you’re not…”
House sighed, getting to his feet.
“No, I’m not serious; duh. But I’m your doctor, in this, Wilson. If you want my personal opinion, get someone else to take your case. Because I can’t be both your doctor and your friend at the same time.”
Wilson sighed, nodding.
He looked at House, “I… I want to tell you something.”
House looked away.
“Go find some cancer chick with ovarian cancer. You’d make a nice pair.”
House left.
Wilson sighed.
House limped down the hall, into his office, and sunk down on the chair.
God. He’d said that to make a point, but… he honestly wished that Wilson would have nerve damage. He wished injury on his best friend out of jealousy over that same friend…when that friend wasn’t even involved with anyone! He was jealous… that there was even the potential that someone else could have his friend.
God, he was so screwed up….
Cuddy sighed, as House came into her office.
“Go away. I have to finish this up, and get home.”
“I wanted Wilson to be impotent.”
She looked at him.
He looked honestly distressed.
She rolled her eyes, “of course you do.”
“I’m not kidding!” he said, angrily.
“And I’m not joking. You love him. You’ve had him taken away from you four times. Of course you wish nobody would want him. He would still be happy, in the world you’re imagining. He would just be happy with you. You’re not wishing he would lose any hope of being happy, you’re just wishing he could only be happy with you. Like you can only be happy with him. Now leave me alone.”
House left, looking much less distressed.
Pairing: House/Wilson
Author: alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG-13-ish
Warnings: Sick!wilson, medical stuff, depression and promiscuity.
Summary: The door opened, and he said, without looking, “come back without the urine sample. Or at least close the damned container.” “House,” said a voice, waveringly. House looked. Wilson was standing there, his labcoat for some reason tied around his waist…
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Feedback: Reviews and flames are welcome. (They make it look like I'm writing fast)
Notes: may be a little squicky and sad. but it has a happy ending by the last chapter.
T
House sighed, lifting his leg up onto his desk as he watched Marie and Rico argue.
The door opened, and he said, without looking, “come back without the urine sample. Or at least close the damned container.”
“House,” said a voice, waveringly.
House looked.
Wilson was standing there, his labcoat for some reason tied around his waist…
House deflated somewhat, “please tell me your patient peed on you and you’re just looking to borrow some pants…”
Wilson shook his head, face nearly the same color as his horrible red tie.
House sighed, and lifted his leg down off the table.
“When?”
“Um,” said Wilson, coming in and standing awkwardly with his hands pressing the labcoat closer to his crotch, “last night. And this morning. Every time I drink something.”
House grimaced.
“No control what-so-ever?”
Wilson shook his head, miserably.
“Let go of the coat. Looks like you’re playing with your balls. Go back to your office through the balcony—and don’t drink anything. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Why can’t you come now?” Wilson practically squeaked.
“Because my scrubs are in my locker, and I’m not letting you anywhere near my jeans until you can control your pee. Also, I don’t exactly happen to have adult diapers lying around my office…”
Wilson hung his head, and practically waddled over to the balcony.
House sighed, watching him, then went to get the items he had mentioned.
When Wilson was dressed again, House took him down to the clinic, locked the door of the exam room, and snapped on a pair of gloves.
Wilson looked like he was about to cry from embarrassment.
“Jesus, Wilson. We’re both doctors. It’s just a prostate exam.”
“It’s not just a prostate exam when you’re being examined by someone who’s had more than just a finger or two up there in the past.”
House sighed, resting his hand on Wilson’s back.
“Do you want me to get someone else?”
Wilson looked over his shoulder at the older doctor.
“Are you actually being sensitive?”
“No, I’m being uncomfortable having my fingers up your ass when I’m not supposed to have anything else up there anymore.”
Wilson’s face saddened.
“House...”
“You had a girlfriend. You’re not supposed to want sex with a crippled old man when you’ve had a hot young girlfriend and found out what it’s like to have sex with someone half your age. It’s just the exam is awkward, is all.”
Wilson sighed.
Despite his words, Wilson knew House was still hurt, to a certain extent.
House ended the period of reflection by shoving his fingers up Wilson’s rectum and feeling around.
Wilson tried to think of chemo and dying children and anything except Amber or House’s bodies.
It really wasn’t working.
Not that getting a prostate exam was exactly fun, it was just the physical sensations that felt good.
By the time House removed his fingers, Wilson was hard, blushing, and had peed on the exam table.
House sighed, stripping his gloves off.
“Clean yourself off, jerk off, and get dressed.”
“What did you find?”
“Your prostate is significantly enlarged, but it’s not hot or inflamed, so it’s not infected.”
Wilson went from blushing to pale in record time.
“Do you think…” his voice trailed off.
“It could be cancer. Or it could be benign prostatic hyperplasia. Those are pretty much the two options at this point. If it’s the later, I’ll write you scripts for alpha blockers and 5α-reductase inhibitors, see if that helps.”
Wilson swallowed, “and if it’s the former?”
“You’re the oncologist.”
Wilson looked down at himself.
“Could you…?”
“I’m sad. That doesn’t mean I’m easy.”
Wilson hung his head.
“Get yourself cleaned up,” said House, handing Wilson a box of tissues, “I’ll be back after I get a blood kit. The cupboard seems to be out.”
He left.
Wilson frowned.
House hadn’t opened the cupboard.
Fifteen minutes later, House came back in, holding a tray with blood draw vials.
He pulled up the stool, and sat on it while he carefully drew four vials of blood from Wilson’s arm.
Wilson looked kind of queasy.
“You afraid of needles?” asked House, but he didn’t quite manage to get enough humor into his voice to make the questions sound anything other than the excuse to break the silence that it was.
“No… it’s just getting my blood drawn. Dunno why.”
House shrugged, and put the last vial back in the tray.
“Should have these back in a few days. You should have enough pads and diapers and whatever to last that long.”
He got up, handed Wilson his pants, and left after Wilson had covered himself up.
Wilson watched the door close, sadly.
House was hurting.
And he didn’t want Wilson to know.
House sighed, tapping his fingers on the counter, as he waited for the lab technician to bring out the results of Wilson’s blood tests.
She finally appeared, and handed him the sheet.
He sighed, heavily.
Wilson was had a PSA result of thirty-eight, which meant it was probably cancer.
Wilson was sitting at his desk, filling out a form, when House came in, and dropped a sheet on his desk.
Wilson slowly picked up the sheet, and looked through it.
He closed his eyes.
House’s pager went off, and he looked apologetically at Wilson.
Wilson shook his head, gesturing for House to go.
Hours later, after he had finished for the day, he walked past House’s office… but it was empty.
He sighed, and shook his head, walking towards the elevators.
House sighed, sitting on his couch and watching the coppery-gold liquid in his glass as he swirled it a little.
Wilson. Had. Cancer.
He took a large gulp of the alcohol, and tried to lose himself in the burn of the liquid sliding down his throat, rather than the ache in his chest.
When a knock sounded on his door a while later, he was quite honestly drunk.
He stumbled over to the door, and looked out through the peephole.
Wilson.
He almost didn’t open the door.
But he did, and Wilson caught him as he tumbled out through the doorway.
“House! Are you okay?!”
“’m good,” slurred House, “jus’ drunk.”
Wilson sighed, and helped House walk back to the couch.
“I wanted to tell you something. But I’m going to wait until you’re sober.”
House blinked blearily at the younger doctor.
“Kay,” he mumbled, then curled sleepily up on the couch, his head somehow ending up in Wilson’s lap.
Wilson smiled a bit, and sighed.
House was upset.
So was he.
House sighed, as Wilson came into the exam room.
“You okay?”
Wilson nodded, miserably.
“You ready?”
Wilson nodded again, climbing up onto the table.
“Curl… yeah, like that. Almost like you’ve done this before!”
Wilson looked at House over his shoulder, expression pained.
“I’m the head of oncology, House.”
“Not today, you’re not! Today, you’re just a patient.”
Wilson closed his eyes.
Of course. Why would he expect House to be sensitive—ever, much less when he was about to stick a long circular object up Wilson’s rectum.
He was surprised, then, by House’s hand gently resting on his side.
“You’re trembling, Wilson,” he said, quietly.
Wilson nodded, “I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I’m just…”
“It’s cold in here,” said House, in the same quiet tone, “it’s okay.”
Wilson couldn’t help it.
He felt tears leaking out of his eyes. And urine leaking out of his bladder.
“Shit…” muttered House, “Wilson?”
Wilson rolled over, opening his eyes, and gripped House’s gloved hands, holding on as the older doctor sat on a stool, looking uncomfortable.
House sighed, and waited, not pulling his hands out of the distressed doctor’s grip.
“It’s okay, Wilson. It’s okay.”
“I peed all over the table…”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Wilson sniffed, closed his eyes again, and cried.
Eventually the tears tapered off, and his breathing calmed.
He fell asleep on the table, and House didn’t want to wake him too soon.
So he just took a towel, and gently balled it up under Wilson’s penis, so it would soak up the urine that was dripping out.
He waited, until Wilson finally woke of his own accord, looking much more stable than he had before, though his face still had tearstains on it.
He rolled onto his left side, and curled, and House put on a fresh pair of gloves, and did the biopsy.
Wilson sighed, when House finally removed the probe.
House smirked a bit, “you wanted me to leave it in?”
Wilson turned over, looking up at his friend.
He smiled a little, and shook his head.
House handed him a towel, and Wilson started cleaning himself off.
Later that day, House paged Wilson to the pathology lab.
He was sitting at a microscope, his cane hung on a rack of urine samples.
“Well?” asked Wilson, his voice sounding somewhat squeaky.
House looked up, and got off the stool.
He looked grim.
Wilson sat down in his place, and looked.
Suddenly, the room was spinning, and there was an awkward arm around his back.
His head was resting against a shoulder.
He felt like he was going to throw up.
“We’ll get a CT to check the spread of the cancer,” said House, voice gravely, low and quiet.
Wilson nodded into his friend’s shoulder, now hiding his face in House’s shirt.
They stayed there like that for a long time, until House finally pulled away, looking uncomfortable and pained.
Wilson vacated the stool so House could sit down.
“Thank you,” he said, quietly, brown eyes downcast, unable to look at his friend.
“Hey,” said House, “stop it.”
Wislon looked at him.
“You’re annoying when you’re sad.”
Wilslon laughed, quietly.
“Sorry,” he said, managing a small smile.
House nodded, “that’s better.”
Wilson nodded, then looked down as his pager went off.
He nodded to House, “I’ll talk to you later to schedule the CT?”
House nodded, starting to clean up the stuff from analyzing Wilson’s biopsy.
“Wilson,” said House, sitting in the control booth of the CT.
“Yeah?”
“What were you going to tell me? When you came over and I was drunk?”
“It… I don’t remember.”
“Oh,” said House, not buying it, “right.”
Wilson sighed.
“It’s nothing.”
“You don’t agonize over telling someone “nothing”,” snapped House, irritated.
Wilson sighed again, “do you think there might be a better time?”
“No. you can’t run away. It’s the best time possible.”
A long silence.
“She didn’t hate you.”
House frowned.
“Amber?”
“She liked you, House. Maybe… it might not have turned out like with Bonnie and Julie. I thought for once, I might get to have both love and friendship.”
House closed his eyes.
“Oh,” he said, quietly.
The machine beeped, and the scan shut off, done.
House hit the button to slide Wilson out of the scanner, got up, and left.
Wilson watched him go, sadly.
“Wilson,” said House, limping into the office, “it’s stage two. Limited to the prostate gland.”
Wilson sighed, resting his head in his hands.
“God…” he muttered.
House limped into the kitchen and came back with two beers, one of which he handed to Wilson.
Wilson took the beer, but he was looking everywhere except House’s face.
House sighed, watching him.
“Are you avoiding looking at me because you have cancer, or because you’re dripping on my floor?”
Wilson looked down, startled, and turned bright red.
House sighed, “go clean up. I’ll get you some pants.”
Wilson looked at him, “I… don’t have… with me…”
“There’s a box in the cabinet under the sink.”
Wilson looked confused.
“Dude, I didn’t want you peeing on my couch again if you happened to stay over.”
Wilson sighed, and went into the bathroom.
House got a pair of sweatpants and tossed them into the bathroom without opening the door more than a few inches.
The he limped out, sat down on the couch, and drank both his and Wilson’s beers while he waited.
He was halfway to the kitchen to get Wilson another beer, when the younger doctor came back out, sighing.
“Thanks,” he said, quietly.
House shrugged, and continued towards the fridge.
Wilson frowned, “did you drink *both* the beers?”
House nodded, and kept going.
“And you’re getting more?”
“For you, dimwit, since I drank yours.”
“Oh,” said Wilson, “uh… you don’t have to…”
Again, he seemed incapable of meeting House’s eyes.
“Wilson,” said House, wearily, “either get over whatever it is, or get out. We’re not fifteen year old girls.”
Wilson finally met House’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, then left in a rush, not remembering to take his soiled pants out of the bathroom.
House sighed, watching him go.
This sucked.
Wilson raised his head, as he lay curled on the couch, half asleep, at the sound of the doorbell ringing.
He got up, and walked to the door.
It was House, so he opened it.
House stepped inside, handing him his pants.
Wilson nodded, biting his lip, “I… sorry I left like that. I just… you seeing me like this… I’m sorry. It’s just… every time… you look at me… I feel ashamed.”
House looked at him for a long time, which made Wilson squirm.
“Why would you be ashamed?” he asked, almost coldly, though his eyes weren’t angry, “you’re not a crippled old man.”
He left, before Wilson could think what to say.
Wilson slid down the door, head in his hands, fingers tangled in his hair.
House honestly thought the reason they weren’t together was that he… repulsed… Wilson?
God, no…
Wilson just… he didn’t… they had just been getting close again after the Tritter thing, when Amber came along. House took so long to learn to trust again…
And then Amber…
Wilson clenched his fingers, and let out a loud, frustrated yell.
He called House’s number, but the older doctor didn’t pick up.
He left a message, saying he needed House’s opinion on what they should do about the cancer.
House called back five minutes later, and said he’d meet Wilson in the hospital, in Wilson’s office.
Wilson agreed.
Twenty minutes later, he walked into his own office, to find House already there, sitting on the couch with Wilson’s file spread out on his lap.
He had a box of gloves, and reached for them when Wilson came in.
Wilson shook his head, “I just needed to talk.”
House nodded, and moved the papers and gloves out of the way so Wilson could sit on the couch next to him.
“I don’t think surgery is necessary yet.”
House tilted his head, “you’re incontinent. You don’t want that to go away?”
Wilson sighed, “I… don’t want to lose my prostate, risk damage to the nerves.”
House shook his head, “the tumor is pretty close to the lymph nodes. You don’t want it spreading, Wilson.”
“I just think… it’s premature.”
House shook his head again, “if you’re asking for my opinion, my *medical*, unbiased opinion, it is that the tumor is too close to the lymph nodes to be safe. It’s spread throughout the prostate, and you’re incontinent. You should have it taken out.”
“What if I wanted your personal opinion.”
House looked at him for a long time.
Finally, he sighed, shaking his head.
“You wanna know my real personal opinion?”
Wilson nodded.
“You should have it taken out.”
Wilson frowned, “what? But… why?”
“Because then maybe the surgeons would nick your nerves and you wouldn’t be able to go off on another one of your stupid whirlwind marriages. Because then you’d be as damaged as I am.”
Wilson stared at him.
“You’re… you’re not…”
House sighed, getting to his feet.
“No, I’m not serious; duh. But I’m your doctor, in this, Wilson. If you want my personal opinion, get someone else to take your case. Because I can’t be both your doctor and your friend at the same time.”
Wilson sighed, nodding.
He looked at House, “I… I want to tell you something.”
House looked away.
“Go find some cancer chick with ovarian cancer. You’d make a nice pair.”
House left.
Wilson sighed.
House limped down the hall, into his office, and sunk down on the chair.
God. He’d said that to make a point, but… he honestly wished that Wilson would have nerve damage. He wished injury on his best friend out of jealousy over that same friend…when that friend wasn’t even involved with anyone! He was jealous… that there was even the potential that someone else could have his friend.
God, he was so screwed up….
Cuddy sighed, as House came into her office.
“Go away. I have to finish this up, and get home.”
“I wanted Wilson to be impotent.”
She looked at him.
He looked honestly distressed.
She rolled her eyes, “of course you do.”
“I’m not kidding!” he said, angrily.
“And I’m not joking. You love him. You’ve had him taken away from you four times. Of course you wish nobody would want him. He would still be happy, in the world you’re imagining. He would just be happy with you. You’re not wishing he would lose any hope of being happy, you’re just wishing he could only be happy with you. Like you can only be happy with him. Now leave me alone.”
House left, looking much less distressed.
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