Valentine

by Melody Clark

Notes: Many thanks to my beta Annie Booker. This story was originally part of another H/W story of mine that can be found on my site. The stories took on different tones, but this can be seen as the prequel to that one (it's not here because it's FRAO).

He could always tell the hour by the central pavilion, the time in the cast-away colors through changing shadows on the wall. The hospital hallway reflected sunset like a long, cylindrical canyon. The effect was transformative. Magical. Princeton Plainsboro was a very different place when night fell.

He was standing there yet again that night at the mercy of one or another of House's divine machinations. He barely even registered the uniqueness of the request anymore. House would ask him -- probably as a test of his will to see if he'd cave. Wilson would, to preserve his own delusions of personal dignity, check his calendar and then usually if not always, well, cave.

After a full day of scowling at paper garlands of pink and red flowers, candy cupids and doily hearts, House's excuse was, "I have plans. It is Valentine's Day."

Wilson had looked back in full skeptical mode. "You sneer at any occasion of humanity with a hint of sentiment attached and you’ve planned a hot date on Valentines Day? Valentines Day, an event which just this morning, until I casually reminded you of the evening clinic punishment duty that Cuddy had assigned you, you called a pointless, craptacular, pre-fabricated non-event for mindless morons?

He nodded. "Well, if you have to be cynical about it, yes."

Wilson exhaled, shaking his head to himself and any other sad hopeless wretches watching. "And it never occurred to you that I ... I a person who actually likes Valentines Day ... might have my own plans?"

"Well," House said, "do you?"

Wilson yanked the Clinic's steering schedule out of House's hand. "Never mind."

That was how the day had started. That was the bend of the road that steered him into the night. That night.

Happily, it was a light night. Two patients, one nurse and a night janitor with a glide bucket and mop. Wilson had spent most of the evening re-reading a medical journal on emergent cancer-associated viruses. And he looked at his watch. A lot.

At break, he came up from the midway with two coffees to find that the duty nurse who had taken in a patient for his set-up wasn’t out yet. She wasn't at her station. She wasn’t in the lounge. The patient chart wasn't hanging on the exam room rack.

The exam room door was closed. Which wasn't normal. It wasn't even recommended at the night clinic.

He set down the coffees and knocked softly at the door. "Hello?"

From inside, a small plaintive voice murmured, "You can come in, Doctor."

He opened the door to see Becky the night nurse, and a patient. A patient who was immediately familiar -- flushed, shaking and sweating, but familiar. Wilson was still trying to place the face when he noticed the gun in the young man's hand.

"Come in," the younger man said. "And close the door."

For a long moment, it wasn’t real. Another moment after, he was trying to remember all the abnormal psych he could salvage out of old derelict memory. He was struck by the familiarity again, but the other man seemed to be recognizing him, too.

Not knowing what else to do, Wilson walked in and closed the door.

The other man gestured the gun toward him. "I know you. You're Dr. House's friend."

And that was the moment Wilson recognized him. His appearance and tremor didn't help matters. Wilson nodded to him slowly, carefully. "Yes, that's right. I'm House's friend."

"Where is House?" the younger man asked nervously, suddenly cocking the handgun to point it at the young blonde nurse's head. "I called. I've been calling all week. She said to me on the phone he was on duty tonight. She lied to me."

"No," Wilson said quickly, trying to keep level eye contact with the other fellow. "Becky didn't lie to you. House was supposed to be here tonight. I took the shift for him. But I'm a doctor too so I can help with -- "

"I don't need a doctor!" the younger man roared back, switching directions with the unsteady gun to aim at Wilson. "I have something to tell him."

"You can tell me," Wilson said quickly. "I can tell him. I can even call him, you can tell him what you have to say on the phone. Just let Becky go. She is two months pregnant and you can see how scared she is. Traumatic stress can trigger miscarriage. I’m sure you don't want that."

The younger man looked from the nurse back to Wilson. His eyes hazed over in a slow-rolling battle with confusion. "No. I mean ... I don't know. She'll call the police and stuff before I talk to House."

"No, she won't. Will you, Becky?"

She shook her head hard and whispered, “No.”

Wilson fought to serve up a smile. "See? We'll wait. We'll all wait. For House. Just let her go. You and I can wait together."

The young man looked at her harshly. "You won't call anyone? Because if you do -- "

She shook her head harder. "I swear."

The young man nodded then gestured to the door. "Then get out."

Becky hesitated only a second. She looked to Wilson with grateful eyes and then rushed through the door. The door shut with a decisive thud, tripping the locking mechanism behind her.

"You. Sit." The young man gestured the gun toward a chair. "There."

"I‘m sitting. Relax," Wilson said, slowly seating himself. He leaned back enough that he could see the graduated call button the clinic had finally installed six months before. It was on the side of the exam desk. It was technically required, but PPTH didn't let a little thing like legalities get in the way of fiscal preservation. It was a direct speaker line to Security. If it was triggered, they would be able to see and hear everything happening in the exam room. He wondered if Becky had tripped it. There would be a faint glowing light at the center, if she had. From that vantage, he couldn't see if there was one.

He made himself look back to the young man. "So," Wilson said. "What now?"

"We wait." The young man climbed a step up to sit on the exam table, just across from Wilson‘s position. He re-aimed the gun. "I told you I know who you are. You know who I am?"

"I think so."

The young man smirked, eyeing him with sharp-edged suspicion. "Okay then who am I?”

"You're Kalvin. We met in front of House's place. You wanted him to diagnose you."

The young man nodded, clearly surprised and more than a little relieved. "That's right, that's me. You do remember. I thought you were just bullshitting me. Doctors never remember patients."

"I do," Wilson said. "You and your father -- "

"My father's dead," Kalvin coughed out, as if strangling on the seldom used words. “Almost a year now.”

"Oh. God. I’m sorry."

Kalvin said quickly, grimly, "Don’t be. He died the death of a pathetic alckie. He fell when he was drunk and alone one night. He cut his head. He bled to death."

Wilson nodded, smiling in a stilted if sad strain of sympathy. "It happens."

Kalvin laughed with a small, dark, humorless sound. "Yeah. Apparently."

Kalvin the gay kid with the hunting disease. Kalvin who had stalked House around in the first place.

Wilson sat back a little more, finally getting the call button in his full line of sight. It did in fact faintly glimmer at the center. He hoped it wasn’t some optical illusion from the light.

He glanced back toward the gun. "Could you please take your finger off the trigger? You can put it right back on before I could reach you. It would make it easier for me to breathe."

"Well, that's what's important," Kalvin snapped, glancing at the gun in his hand. He slowly relieved the trigger, letting the gun relax a little in his grip. His smirk was more than bitter. "All better now?"

"Much. Thank you. Shall we call House?"

The young man's eyes flashed bright with a sudden, reflexive fear. "No, not yet. I have to ... work up the courage. First I want you to tell me something ... "

"If I can."

Kalvin thought a moment then finally pointed a warning finger at Wilson. "And don't lie to me. You lie to me, I'll know. And I won’t be happy.”

Wilson smiled nervously. "I'm not exactly in a position to lie. I'll tell you what you want to know. But it may not be what you want to hear."

"I get the difference. I’m not a child. I want the truth, either way." Kalvin continued, his voice having slowly tightened up in a knot of nervous conviction, "In life I have only two gifts. One is inerrable 'dar. I am never wrong. I've relied on it my entire life for meeting men. So tell me. And remember I told you not to lie.” Kalvin took a deep, tight breath before asking in what was little more than a whisper, “Is House gay?”

"I told you when we first - " Wilson said.

"No, you didn't!" Kalvin said quickly, as if sighting some vital truth inside his crosshairs. A smile floated nearer to his lips. "I remember exactly what you said. You said we're not g -- hard g -- together. You definitely started to say the hard g for gay, but you didn't. You changed the phrase from we're not gay to we're not together. Why?"

"Obviously, I don’t remember what I said. If I said that, it meant nothing. Other than the fact that I misspoke."

"No, you didn't misspeak!" Kalvin snapped, on the sudden verge of tears. "You changed what you were about to say. If you'd saidwe're not gay, that would be a lie. Instead you said we're not together, which was true. You don't like to lie. I remember House saying that, too. Which tells me that my 'dar is true."

Wilson's mind stepped back from the moment. Now the situation had just been complicated by a minimum factor of ten. "You know, we should call House now. Becky certainly won't call the police but if somebody comes in the after-hours clinic and no one is here, they may alert Security. And you still want to talk to House, right?"

"I didn't think of that. They might."

"So let's call him, you can tell him what you have to say and then you can be on your way before anyone can get here."

Kalvin shook his head. "First, you answer my question. No, let me ask a better one. I mean, I know he's been married to a woman. He has sex with women. I get that." Kalvin's voice trembled under the weight of the words as he asked him, "But can he ... you know, does he like men, too?"

Wilson had quietly settled into some stolen moment of calm. He’d had a feeling the topic was going there. When he sighed, he hoped the sound had come through full of doubt and not like the fatalistic expression of sad certitude it had seemed to him. "Are you asking if House is bisexual?”

“I guess, yeah,” Kalvin said, his eyes focused on his hands. He seemed to be frozen in fear before the moment of his answer.

Wilson shrugged. “I don't know, Kalvin."

"What do you mean you don't know? You're his best friend!"

"We‘ve never discussed things like that for a variety of reasons."

"All guys discuss things like that. Even gay guys."

"House isn't all guys. He's not even some guys. For that matter, neither am I.“

“Then why did you say we're not g-together? And don't tell me you misspoke!"

"Because ... "

Wilson's cell phone rang. He looked slowly down at his pocket. He thought better than to reach for it. "It may be House."

"I don't want to talk to him yet."

"I should talk to him."

Kalvin shook his head hard, fear brightening his eyes again. “It can wait. He’ll call back. I can’t tell him ... yet.”

“Tell him what?”

Kalvin sighed again, backhanding some residual perspiration from his forehead. “I’m going to tell House ... what he means to me. How I feel.”

Wilson hoped to hell and back Kalvin wasn’t going where Wilson feared he was headed. “What do you mean?”

“House stood up to my father,” the young man said, a waver running through his voice. “He called him on his bullshit -- he even punched him out.”

“House calls everyone on their bullshit. That’s who House is.”

Kalvin shook his head with sustained conviction. “But then he healed me. He helped me like no one else has.” Kalvin’s gaze sank deeply into the open hand without the gun. He said gently, “I think I have ... you know, feelings for him.”

Wilson swallowed hard. It had in fact gone just exactly where he was afraid it was going. He rubbed at his more than tired eyes. “And that’s what you needed to tell him?”

“Yeah,“ Kalvin said, nodding in return. A kind of bleak, even pain squared the edges of his voice, “It’s just like before. He won’t see me. He won’t take my calls. He won’t read my email or letters. This was the only way I could think of to get his attention.”

Wilson listened to the stammer of his own heart for a few spare moments. “Kalvin, I don’t wish to diminish the sincerity of your feelings for a moment, but -- “

“It’s not a crush!” he roared back. “I’m not a teenager. I’m a grown man. I’ve been in love. That’s what this is.”

“What if it is? Have you considered the ramifications?”

“Does anyone ever? Would it matter?”

“It should. Maybe House could return your feelings, but what if he can’t? And this is House we’re talking about. You must have noticed by now that sensitivity is not his strong suit. He brings heartbreak to a whole new level of experience. To brazenly paraphrase a song from my childhood, you don't jump on Superman's cape, you don't spit into the wind, you don't pull the mask off the Lone Ranger, And you do not ... under any circumstances ... fall in love with House.”

“You’re saying if I did know him, I wouldn’t love him? You seem to care a lot about him. How do you put up with him? Everyone else seems to hate him.”

Wilson’s mind moved back a little, to regard as quickly as he could his small array of options. “That’s not what I’m saying,“ Wilson said, laughing sadly to himself. He rubbed at an eyebrow again to calm the nervous twitch behind it. “Look, do you know anything about John Adams?”

“The guy on the Addams family?”

“No, that in fact was Gomez Addams. This is John Adams ... Member of the continental congress, first US Vice President, second US President -- “

“Oh, yeah. Big hero founding father dude. I remember now. What the hell does he have to do with anything?”

“He’s a big hero now,” Wilson said. “But back then everybody ... and I do mean everybody ... hated him. He was staunchly anti-slavery, he championed lots of unpopular causes, he even defended the redcoats after the Boston Massacre. He did all that because he saw what no one else could see. He saw the soldiers were innocent, persuaded the jury they were and he won the case. No one at the time wanted independence from their mother country, but Adams was the first to see how dangerous King George was and he said so. Over and over again until everyone heard him. The only fight he ever lost was the one to get slave emancipation into the Declaration of Independence, but he tried. He was an ill-tempered bastard with next to no social skills, but he was a brilliant and honorable one.”

“Oh, so the same as House you mean only different?” Kalvin asked, clearly bored and fighting to follow the story.

Wilson gave an indecisive nod. “That’s the general idea. Anyway, one day another member of Congress walked up to Thomas Jefferson and said 'Good lord, man, how can you even put up with that contemptible devil as an acquaintance, never mind someone you like,' and Jefferson said, 'Sir, if you knew John Adams as I know him, you would love him.' If you knew Greg House as I know him, you'd love him. All you know of him is your fantasy, your debt of gratitude. I honor that. I know that the feelings are real. But they’re no more based on reality than those of the people who hate him."

“But I do love him.”

“I understand it seems that way. I’ve crept my way through a flotilla of land mines you haven’t even approached yet, any one of which could detonate and destroy you body and soul at any time. The reward is great but the risks are immeasurable. It may seem like a fine romantic notion to live your life for something impossible. But it’s not what it’s cracked up to be. I’m already living that life. You don’t want to join me in it.”

The younger man’s eyes filled with a sad understanding. “You -- ?”

Wilson nodded, lowering his voice to a narrow shadow that would only fit between them. “I think ... what you were picking up on ... was from me. I have my own more complicated feelings for him. But they aren’t ... reciprocated. He doesn't even know about them. I need to keep it that way. You of all people should understand.”

Kalvin’s eyes shone more clearly in the light. He seemed, for the first time in that short time, to be truly feeling for someone other than himself. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“But if you haven’t told him, how do you know -- “

“I know. You have gay-dar. I have House-dar.”

The younger man appeared to breathe out everything in him, his posture settling downward into one of resignation as he did. “You’re his best friend. Everyone says you’ve always helped him. And let’s face it, you’re a mega hottie. If he was going to fall for any man, it would be you. And I’ve never gotten in the way of another man’s mojo in my life. I’m not about to start now. All of which is good for you, but not so great for me ... “

Wilson laughed softly, sadly. “Thank you ... I think. Beyond that, I wish I had some wisdom to offer.”

Kalvin nodded and slowly slid off the exam table. He smiled as if his heart was slowly shattering. He laid down the gun beside Wilson. “I have had some really stupid ideas, but this was the bonehead bonus round for sure. Now not only am I crushed, I’m probably going to jail.”

Wilson reached for the gun like it was something ready to detonate. It was a heavy plastic object that felt to him more like some demonic toy. He pushed the object behind him on the table.

“Maybe not. No one was hurt. I gather they take that kind of thing into consideration.” He unclipped his pocket penlight, then moved forward to flash it a moment in each of Kalvin’s eyes. “And the crystal meth you’re crashing off of is doubtless grounds for diminished capacity.”

Kalvin laughed sadly, brushed off a tear, then turned his gaze to consider the world outside the window. The cherry vanilla swirl of red police beams passing in and out of white fog was spilling past the multiple panes of glass. “Looks like the police are here. Guess it’s time for my Gay Plato scene on the front steps now.”

Wilson laughed. “They’re probably listening in on us through security. It’s probably just a matter of us walking out.”

“Thanks. For talking to me. And talking me out of making a colossal ass of myself, too.“ The younger man looked back at him with a sympathetic smile. “You know, not that it helps, you're the only one he's ever let inside."

Wilson shook his head. "There are others."

"Not from what I can see. He still pings my ‘dar to the max. I wouldn’t write off him loving you altogether, if I were you.”

Wilson thought for a long moment before replying. "House cares about me. As a friend. I'm reasonably confident anyway. On the other side, he also has his reasons for everything or I wouldn‘t be around. He needs me for stabilizing factors. Money, advice, ballast, a reliable alibi. I'm ... useful."

"Sounds to me like that's your own empty rationalization for not dealing with things. Maybe House was right. Maybe you are self-loathing," Kalvin said. A pained smile wavered again on his mouth. “Maybe that’s why this all happened. One love dies so another may begin."

Wilson tried not to laugh. When he did, there was no humor in it. "Life doesn't end in poetry, Kalvin."

"Now you sound like House."

"Because sometimes he's right. Sometimes, love exists in a vacuum. Andsometimes, it's better that way.”

“Maybe I’m not the only one seeing what I want to see,” Kalvin said sharply. He glanced toward the door. “Besides, if they are listening to us out there, you know chances are House can hear us, too.”

That icy blast of reality had been reaching Wilson via a draft though some distant door since the moment he had spoken the truth aloud. He had delayed until this had resolved itself to arrange a suitable dodge.

“I know that, Kalvin.”

The young man smiled apologetically. “Please. Call me Kal. Kalvin sounds like some wily grab- ass cartoon character. I’m embellished enough as it is.”

“And I’m James.” He nodded toward the door and looked up toward the ceiling to speak to ears unseen. “This is Wilson. We’re coming out now. Kalvin isn’t armed. The gun is on the secondary table.”

It felt like having a festering mass lanced that then slowly drained away as Kalvin opened the door and very slowly walked out.

Wilson heard some sharp exchange of words. Loud authoritative voices giving way to more moderate tones.

Vaguely and suddenly, he was aware of a trail of faces lining up through the exam room door. When he looked around toward them, he was reminded weirdly of a comet. The ball of fire, its catalyst Cuddy, and the trail slowly leading away. The front tier was in party-going clothing. House looked like he’d been drinking. There was a surprise.

They all looked worried. Wilson inexplicably felt guilty as hell.

“You okay?” House asked slowly, his eyes asking a thousand other things in different ways.

“I’m fine. It’s over. I need a drink.”

He moved past them all into the now-crowded waiting room. Becky the night nurse was sucking at a cup marked Sanka, talking to someone in Jersey trooper gear.

Kalvin was handcuffed and wilted against a wall. He had been staring at the ceiling while bored-looking cops asked Kal questions that Wilson couldn‘t hear.

“Hey, James!” the younger man’s voice shot across to him. Kalvin’s eyes wandered for a moment to the place House was standing, just behind Wilson, but then his attention returned to Wilson. “Remember what I said, okay?”

Wilson nodded. “Take care of yourself, Kal.”

The police led the young man out of the clinic.

For the first time in minutes, Wilson could feel his feet and hands. He looked over at Cuddy. He said in the voice of a man whose analgesics had just taken effect after one long night of pain, “If the police need to talk to me, I’ll be in my office.”

Wilson walked into the switch foyer and was nearly to the corridor when he realized someone had followed him out into the hall.

The comet’s fireball had, of course, detached itself.

“Wilson!” House said, his voice full of expectation.

Wilson turned back around. Massaging the Gordian knot now splitting itself between his stressed-out eyes, he asked simply, “What?”

House‘s eyes grew huge with disbelief. “How can you ask me what? What the hell happened in there? What was all that crap Gonzo Junkie Queer Bitch was spewing?”

“House,” Wilson said sharply. “His name is Kalvin. The man thought he was in love with you. He might merit a little more consideration from you than that.”

“He’s not in love with me!” House said, the derision thicker than usual in his voice. “He came up with that bullshit story to cover his own crystal meth stoked ass while he played Homecoming Queen’s Got a Gun. Leave it to you to fall for it hook, line and big, fat stinker.” The quiet grew darkly around them. He waited a few moments before adding, “It’s what you said to him ... that I want to know about.”

“What did I say to him?” Wilson asked, leaving it to House’s memory to attest to the recent past.

“Life doesn’t end in poetry, Kalvin. Sometimes, love exists in a vacuum. And sometimes, it's better that way,” House repeated. “The first of which, by the way, sounds nothing like me and the rest of which sounds like idiotic chick flick nihilistic crap, but that was the gist.”

Wilson inhaled, exhaled, and processed it all through his well-used House filter. Finally, he just shrugged in a gesture of surrender. “Weigh the probabilities, Dr. House. With hoofbeats, think horses. As you say, he had a gun on me. He was amped up on crystal meth at the time. I probably just came up with that bullshit story to save my ass, right?” He reached up to tear down a pink paper garland of hearts, dangling awkwardly along the corridor wall. He slowly bunched up the garland in his hands. “Sorry I ruined your Valentines Day.”

And as always Wilson waited until he was safely behind his locked office door before he allowed himself the luxury of tears.