Love Letters

Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and Wilson's getting love letters… but who are they from? Meanwhile, House is up to something… House/Wilson, hints of Cameron/Chase

Written mostly in couple days, not revised much. So sorry if its crap.

All the medical stuff in here is pulled out of my ass, so if it sounds especially fake, I'm sorry. I was too lazy to look something up.

-

When House limped into the conference room at nine thirty Wednesday morning, Chase and Foreman looked up at him to see who it was, then looked back down at the medical journals they were both reading. It's just House, they seemed to think.

Cameron, on the other hand, smiled at him. "Good morning, Dr. House."

He merely grunted in response, pouring himself a cup of coffee and turning to go into his office and ensconce himself with some music and his computer games, but found that Cameron had blocked his path.

"Happy Valentine's Day," she said, holding out a small package of assorted candy.

House stared at it. It was wrapped in opaque paper with little hearts printed on it, tied at the top with red, pink, and white ribbons that had been curled at the ends, and had a folded piece of pink paper attached to it.

He blinked, grimacing at the sheer cutesiness. "You had to, didn't you?"

Her expression hardened a little. "I thought it would be nice."

"Chill out, House." Chase said; sounding exasperated. "She brought one for all of us."

"Aww, were you expecting special treatment?"

To House's surprise, Chase just smirked and looked back at his article. He glanced at Cameron, and saw that she was blushing. Rolling his eyes, he grabbed the candy and retreated to his office.

As he closed the door behind him, House called out, "Foreman. You owe me thirty bucks."

Foreman groaned, and began protesting his innocence to his coworkers. House didn't think they'd buy it. He knew that they wouldn't be surprised to learn that he'd bet on the eventuality of Chase and Cameron starting to date, but for some reason people seemed to expect better from Foreman. Amazing what age and crippling disability could do to lower people's expectations.

House sank down into his desk chair and unwrapped the package. He dumped out the contents, revealing three lollipops, two heart-shaped Peeps, a couple of candy bars and a box of those awful, chalky Sweethearts that tasted like chewable multivitamins.

House was about to chuck the empty wrapping in the trash when he noticed the paper taped upon it- it was undoubtedly a note from Cameron. Sighing, he opened it.

House-

Happy Valentine's Day!

XO, Cameron

He grimaced, even though the sappiness hadn't been as bad as he'd predicted. Mentally, House once again cursed Hallmark for turning Valentine's Day into another excuse for the female population everywhere to be overly cutesy.

Last Valentine's Day, he'd bullied Wilson into going out with him after work, and they'd drunk their way through all the best bars in town. They'd finally gone back to House's place well after midnight, and as Wilson was so drunk he could hardly walk straight (his friend's marriage had been looking ominous even then, and he'd been drowning his marital woes in liquor) he'd crashed on House's couch.

He'd also spent the night at House's apartment on the two following nights, on account of the fact that Julie was refusing to let him into the house. An uncomfortably large part of him had hoped that Wilson would leave his wife- but on the third day, they finally made up, and his friend returned home.

This year, there was no Julie to worry about. This had to be the first Valentine's Day in years when Wilson hadn't had either wife, fiancée, or girlfriend- for a couple of them, House remembered, he'd had two out of three. Perhaps this called for something special.

He was interrupted by Foreman sticking his head in the door and informing him that they had a case. House scanned the file briefly, decided that it would do to alleviate his boredom, and went back into the conference room.

After twenty minutes spent arguing over the differential, the ducklings were sent off with orders to do tests.

House turned to go back into his office, but stopped in his tracks. Sitting innocently on the conference table was a stack of that pink, heart-adorned stationary the note on House's package had been written on.

House stared at it for a moment, an idea forming in his mind. A smile formed on his face and he nabbed a few pieces of the paper. He knew just how to use it…

-

That morning, Wilson went around and checked on his patients. This took him the better part of an hour. He finally arrived back at his office, intent on doing some paperwork.

It wasn't until he'd sat down at his desk that he noticed the folded piece of pink paper sitting innocuously upon it. Puzzled, he unfolded it.

James-

I've never written a love letter before, but I guess that's what this is. I've felt this way about you for a long time. Your kindness and your warm brown eyes make my heart melt. If you'd just hold me in your arms it would make everything go away. You care so much, about everybody. You're such a good person, who couldn't love you?

Wilson blinked at it for a moment. That was it? He stared at the note, re-reading it again and again. The paper, all cutesy and heart-covered, as well as the handwriting, made it obvious that a woman had written the note. But who could it be? He didn't know of anybody who felt this way about him.

He sighed. As much as he'd like to figure it out, the paperwork was calling.

Around eleven, Chase came in, informing him that House wanted a consult. Wilson, glad to get away from the paperwork, followed the Australian doctor to the MRI room. House was sat in front of the computer, fiddling with his cane, and Cameron and Foreman were lifting the patient onto the machine.

"She's not conscious?" Wilson asked.

House shook his head. "That's the point. She's in a coma. Nobody knows why. She's also seizing, suffering from fever, and possibly hallucinating."

"While in a coma?" Wilson asked skeptically.

House gave him a 'duh' look. "That's why I said 'possibly'. It's probably neurological."

"Hallucinations would be, yes." Wilson said. "So you think it's a tumor?"

"Might be." House said evasively. "Chase."

"Yeah?"

"Go be somewhere that's not here."

"What? Why?"

"Because you're not in the secret friendship club. Now scram."

Chase exited, rolling his eyes.

"Lock the door, would you?"

Wilson frowned. "Why…?"

"Trust me."

Wilson laughed. "That's a frightening thought," he said, locking the door anyway.

House shot him a hurt look faker than Britney Spears' breasts. "Why, Jimmy. You wound me." He was silent for a few moments as they both scrutinized the images on the screen. "So… it's Hallmark sappy day. Have you picked out Mrs. Wilson number four yet?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "This is what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I've got a bet going with Cuddy. She says you won't get married again so soon. I disagree. You need someone to focus on, always have."

"And… if I find someone, I'll leave you alone." Wilson stated. When House didn't reply, he continued, "I thought you wanted my attention."

"Yeah," House said sardonically. "I was never loved as a child, so I'm looking for comfort in-"

"Wait, freeze it right there." Wilson said, gesturing to the computer. "That's-"

"Yep." House said. "It's a tumor."

-

The conversation ended there, with House, Wilson, and the ducklings returning to the conference room to figure out the details of treatment, ect. After everything had been decided and the three younger doctors sent off, Wilson made to go.

"Uh uh, you don't get out of it that easily." House admonished.

"Get out of what?"

"Telling me the dirt on your next chosen victim- sorry, wife."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "And if I told you that this was most emphatically none of your business…"

"I'd ignore you, yes."

He sighed. "There's no one, House."

His friend raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me you haven't been mobbed by lonely women on today of all days?"

"No. Maybe none of them want the emotional baggage of dating the infamous Greg House's best friend." Wilson shot back.

House just rolled his eyes and suppressed a grin. "You really haven't gotten any offers?"

"No- well, not unless you count this." Wilson said, taking the anonymous note out of his pocket and tossing it on the table.

House picked it up and looked it over. He snorted. "'Your kindness and warm brown eyes make my heart melt?' Please. I've heard better romantic dialogue on General Hospital."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I thought it was sweet."

House looked surprised. "Really? Should've known you were a secret romantic."

-

Wilson didn't actually get back to his office for another half hour- one of his patients had had an adverse reaction to chemo and he'd had to meet with them and see for himself exactly what was up.

A couple of nurses smiled at him much more brightly than normal, and Wilson wondered if one of them had written the note.

All considerations of such things stopped when he realized that there was another piece of pink paper sitting on his desk.

James-

I assume you got my note. I hope it cheered you up. You've looked sad lately, but when I saw you earlier you seemed happy. That's all I want. None of those women you've been with understood you. You need someone who understands. Don't be so hasty next time, rushing into a relationship because you, or they, need somebody and you want to fill the gap. Do it because you fall in love.

-

Wilson showed House the second note over lunch.

"At least she's stopped with the corny, George Lucas worthy dialogue," he remarked after reading it. "No idea who she is yet?"

Wilson shook his head. "Nope. And believe me, I've asked around. Nobody's seen anyone go into my office all day. You haven't seen anything, have you?"

House shook his head. "Admit it. You're enjoying this."

"What? I'm not-"

"Don't lie."

Wilson sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's flattering, yeah. And romantic. I just wish I knew who she was."

"So you could do her."

He glared at House. "So I could talk to her."

"And then do her."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless."

"Welcome to the obvious, glad to have you with us."

"House…"

-

Wilson was in and out of his office for the next few hours. During that time, another note appeared.

James-

I guess I should've figured that you'd try to find out who I am. It isn't going to work. I've been covering my tracks very well, and everyone you ask is either going to lie, or honestly not know. This isn't going to turn into a relationship. It was never supposed to. It was about helping you. Because… I love you.

Wilson was a little surprised at the raw honesty in the note. Honestly, he didn't know what to make of it, so he stuffed it in his pocket and went to House's office.

"Seems as though your happy-go-lucky stalker has been doing some serious angsting." House observed after reading it.

"Yeah." Wilson said. "Do you think-"

The shrill beeping of House's pager interrupted him. His friend glanced at it, swore, and stood.

"Patient's having heart failure."

"While in a coma?"

"So it would appear. Wanna come see what's up?"

"Yeah, okay."

When they got to the patient's room a few minutes later, she'd been successfully revived. As House berated his ducklings for not knowing exactly why her heart had failed (never mind that he had no definite ideas himself), Wilson skimmed the chart, looking for clues.

His heart froze, however, when he recognized one of the sets of handwriting in the chart. It was sloppier, and had clearly been written in haste, but it was unmistakably the same handwriting as the three notes he'd received.

And now he realized that he'd seen this handwriting before. It was unusual, because scarcely any doctors had handwriting this good. He thought, trying to remember all the doctors who'd had access to this patient. House was her attending, obviously, but other than him, it was just Foreman, Chase, and-

Cameron. Wilson looked over at her, half expecting her to be staring back at him. But no, she was wrapped up in the impromptu wheel of diagnostics that House had set up.

Cameron was writing him love letters? It didn't make sense. Wilson hadn't been sure that Cameron had even gotten over House, and then there had apparently been something going on between her and Chase. So why turn her attention to him?

"Wilson."

"Huh?" he blinked, noticing or the first time that the ducklings were exiting and he and House were alone in the room.

House was giving him that strangely assessing look that had allowed him to find out countless embarrassing little facts about people- including Wilson, before he'd learned to hide from it. But his mind had been wandering, and House had always been able to read people all too well.

"Why were you giving Cameron puppy eyes?"

Dammit. He'd half hoped that House wouldn't have noticed. That had been stupid of him. "I, uh… She…" he looked almost pleadingly at his friend. "Did you know?"

House sighed and looked away. "Sort of."

"'Sort of'? You're Greg House. You don't 'sort of' know anything. You'd bribe my own mother to leave me alone if you thought she was a threat, do you really expect me to believe you'd let Cameron-"

"It's not Cameron." House interrupted.

"Wait- it isn't? Then who?"

House hesitated in that way of his that meant he was about to reveal something. "You… were meant to think it was her. But it was someone else."

"And you know who it is."

"And I know who it is, yeah."

"And… what, you're not going to tell me?"

"Nope."

Wilson frowned. "Why not? And how did you find out, anyway?"

"This person's been using my balcony to deliver those notes."

Wilson frowned. "With your permission? No, no way would you let anyone near me! Come on, House, just tell me who it is."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Wilson folded his arms. "Well, I disagree. Somebody has been sending me love letters all day, House, and you've decided that you're not going to tell me who it is?"

"They're not trying to hook up with you, they said that. They just… wanted to cheer you up." House said evasively.

"Yeah, I got that much. Why are you protecting her, anyway?"

"Because I'm a selfish bastard."

"What does that-" he broke off, suddenly comprehending.

He looked at House. House looked back at him. They stood in silence, until House finally looked away.

"The first note was a joke," he confessed. "You were supposed to think it was Cameron. But then… I got into it."

"Was it true?" Wilson asked quietly.

House glanced up at him, then looked back at the floor. "Yeah," he said so quietly Wilson could hardly hear him. "Every word."

He let out a breathless laugh. "You know… you could have saved me two weddings if you'd just told me that seven years ago?"

House looked up at him, clearly shocked. "You… what?"

Wilson rolled his eyes, closed the distance between them, and pressed his lips to his friend's. House stood completely still for one instant, then pulled Wilson to him, fervently deepening the kiss.

They were interrupted by House's phone ringing.

"Damn! Hang on," he quickly took out his phone and flipped it open. "This better be really fucking good… okay… no, I don't… not off the top of my head… look, she's stable. Go home… because I'm going home… yeah, I feel generous… 'cause I think I'm about to get laid," he raised his eyebrows questioningly at Wilson, who nodded. "Yep… none of your business… yeah… maybe… Cameron! Go have sex with Chase," he hung up the phone rolling his eyes.

Wilson chuckled. "Come on. Let's go home."

House pulled him in for another kiss. "Yeah, let's."

-

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