Eheh. I like this pairing. I honestly think that House just won't recognize it, ever. Oh, um, this messes with perspectives a bit, and I'm hoping that you can figure them out without my help...
On slow days, I stand on the balcony outside my office, and watch the sun move. It would be incredibly boring, if Jimmy didn't always do the same when he saw me out there. Today is one of those days. I'm leaning against the brick railing, close to where he is doing the same.
We don't talk when we're out here, not when it's for calming down. If there's a case, I'll say something. If he has a problem, he'll bring it up. If nothing's wrong, there's nothing to be said. We can talk during lunch or outside a patient's room.
After five minutes of just standing there, Jimmy reaches up and slips one finger all the way around his neck, loosening his tie just a little bit. He sighs, steps back, and rests his elbows on the brick.
Fifteen minutes later, the knot is slack and close to the third button down his shirt. I haven't so much as glanced out over the hospital's lawn since I've come out.
Before long, it's undone and the first two buttons are free. My knuckles are white, gripping my cane.
When he unbuttons his cuffs and the tie is bunched in his hand, I turn away and go inside.
There are days when House looks across the balconies, into Wilson's office, and finds his best friend's face in his hands and arms on his desk. That's when he knows to go outside, because Wilson needs a break. It's a break that he won't take on his own.
There are other days when Wilson looks and sees House sitting in his desk, cane handle against his forehead, thinking behind a blank face. He's already walking out the door as House comes to stand on the balcony. Sometimes, he just needs to be there for House to calm down.
Whenever I'm feeling a little overwhelmed by work, I look out the window and Greg is leaning against the railing, looking at the sky. We never say a word, on the peaceful days. Unless there's something important, we don't acknowledge that the other is there.
This time, I amuse myself for a minute, and I don't walk out to join him. After thirty seconds, he turns, very deliberately, and stares at me with doleful eyes. My breath catches, and I'm out there before I know what's happening.
As I look out at the city, I know that Greg's watching me. He always does. I don't need to look; I've known the man practically since med school, I know what he looks like.
I think it's funny that, no matter how many times he comes out here and just my presence calms him down, he's never figured it out. He stares at me the entire time, but it's never occurred to him.
Greg's in love with me. Which is good, because I'm in love with him, and eventually he'll figure it out. He's a brilliant diagnostician, he'll notice the signs. Probably.
I'm a patient man.
Until then, I'll enjoy our time on the balcony.