TITLE: Contingency
AUTHOR: Dr Captain Divine
SUMMARY: Three months after the incident, Wilson has finally fallen into the routine of taking care of House.
PAIRINGS: House/Wilson
DISCLAIMER: Wilson and House are only my playthings. I also do not know much about the legal system (all I know I learned from Law & Order), so if it is not entirely accurate, don't hurt me.
A/N: I FINISHED! I feel so accomplished, this is just about the first story I've actually completed. Quite exciting. I should have been studying for my science final, but I felt this was more important. Thanks for reading, you've all been great (thanks for all the reviews!) Review, and send me a message!

Wilson hated waking up in the hospital. Even falling asleep in his office unnerved him when he awoke to the sterile, contestant world of medicine. But now, as he lay on the opposite side of the glass he'd spent hours staring through not many months ago, he felt another weird feeling.

Maybe it was the lights. Or the ugly painting on the wall over there. Or the fact that he was surrounded by almost every nurse on the second floor, Cuddy, and Dr Chase.

Wilson watched though blurry eyes as Cuddy's face twist from worry to contentment and she let herself smile. "He's back," she announced, and the whole room breathed a sigh of relief. He glanced over at Chase again, who placed the paddles back on the crash cart and nodded to a nurse to take it away. He placed the heart monitor clip back on Wilson's finger and took out his stethoscope.

"Mrphm?" Wilson muttered, attempting to say 'what happened?' Chase obviously understood him and answered.

"You were shot," he replied. "Apparently a neighbour heard the ruckus and the gunshot and called the police. They found you and House, and brought you both here. Your surgery went fine, but you crashed a few minutes ago. We're going to start you on some nitro, you should be okay though." Wilson tried to nod, but his head hurt too much to let him. He settled for mumbling again.

"Whrsee?" he slurred, wanting to know where House was. Chase said he didn't know, but would find out. Wilson tried to say one last thing before falling asleep, "Iluvim."

"He loves you too," Chase answered, walking out.

Wilson slept for the next four days, weaving in and out of dreams. Elaborate fantasies of a perfect future twisted into nightmares of a ruined life, and he tried to mix his thoughts with reality. When he finally woke again the following Wednesday, he was pleasantly surprised to see House propped up in a wheelchair beside him.

To say the least, he looked horrible. His normally unshaven face had become hopelessly covered in weeks' worth of stubble, twisted and dirty. His blank eyes were now glazed, filled with medication. New bruises adorned his body, and bandages were not enough to hide them. The only thing that hadn't changed was House's indifference. He stared forward, not making a sound when Wilson called out to him.

"House," he started, cringing at the thick cracking of his voice. House didn't look at him, and Wilson felt his throat tighten, remembering the events that had led up to this moment. I'm the reason he's like this, he thought, turning his head away. I'm the one he tried to save.

The following days consisted of House sitting beside Wilson (he learned later that Dr Chase instituted their visits), watching the medicine drip from the IV, each day feeling physically better.

Emotionally, however, Wilson was a wreck. He couldn't help from feeling guilty, like all of House's pain was directly related to his interference. He wouldn't accept that House had dug his own grave, being his usual self in the first place.

The trial was scheduled eleven days after Wilson finally checked out of the hospital. Vinnie was caught only miles from the apartment, giving himself up almost immediately. He had been sure Wilson was dead, convinced that he got his revenge. He was charged with a slew of attempted murder, assault and rape offences, and immediately pleaded 'not guilty' the moment he was informed that Wilson was not dead.

The day of the trial was ironically beautiful. The sun shone high, and only a few clouds dotted the bright blue sky. The air was humid, and although it felt good on his skin, Wilson found it catching in his throat. He coughed a lot as he drove House slowly to the courthouse, trying to focus on anything but the impending testimonies.

The courtroom was a stuffy, rectangular room with old wood furniture refurbished for the wrong era, large windows, and an unforgiving demeanor. Wilson led House to the plaintiff's table and sat him down. Wilson himself remained standing a took a look around.

Chase and Cameron sat together in the gallery. Cameron's eyes were shining already, and Chase's arm laid limply around her shoulders. Foreman was seated next to Chase, with an obligatory stare in his eyes. Cuddy was in the front row, a stern look on her face. Several other people populated the benches, many of whom Wilson did not know. He sighed and turned back to House as their lawyer arrived.

The next few hours were excruciating. The judge, Judge Mathews, was a tall woman with greying blonde hair, demeaning green eyes, and perpetually pursed lips. She constantly glanced over at House, as if wondering if he was even worth deciding over.

"Next witness," Matthews drawled, looking down to a sheet of paper. "Dr James Wilson."

Wilson stood up and walked to the stand, swore himself on the Bible (all the while laughing to himself about what House might say about that), and waited to be questioned. He looked over at Vinnie, who sat at the defendant's table with his lawyer, looking suspiciously confident with himself.

"Doctor Wilson," House's lawyer, Mr Anderson, began. "Please describe to the jury the severity of the abuse of Dr House. Have these events impended on his personality and ability to preform daily tasks?"

Wilson looked out at the gallery again, and found Cuddy's eyes. She nodded to him, and Wilson took a deep breath. "Dr House was never a bowl of sunshine before these incidents, and I will not make it seem like he was." He looked over to House, who was slumped in his chair, not paying attention. At least that hasn't changed, Wilson smirked to himself.

Wilson proceeded to tell the jury of House's mental stability (or lack thereof), pausing to glance over at the man in question every now and then throughout Anderson's questions, feeling worse and worse as he answered each one in detail, as House seemed to remember every incident he described. "After a few weeks, I noticed a change," Wilson said, fiddling with his tie. "He wasn't himself. He was. . . reserved."

Strategically leaving out any mention of the deeper level of their relationship, Wilson recounted the day he found House lying in a pool of his own bodily fluids, and the succeeding events. He dare not embellish Vinnie's attack, but simply telling it like it had happened. Vinnie was stone-faced during Wilson's testimony, regarding nothing. "I had no idea what was going on. Because the last thing I remember is a gunshot," Wilson finished. Anderson seemed satisfied with Wilson's answers and sat down, smiling ever-so-slightly to himself.

The mood in the room was lifted as each witness backed up the charges. Dr Lang described as much as she was legally allowed about House's condition being "directly related to life-altering trauma," and gave the jury a psychology lesson on the effects of rape on perception, and even Judge Matthews began to look convinced that even Dr House was a regular man, capable of mental breakdowns. Vinnie remained as emotionless as ever, but Wilson noticed (he always noticed) the defeated look crossing his eyes.

"And now the defendant may have a chance to make his case," Judge Matthews stated after Dr Lang finished. Wilson felt House tense as Vinnie walked past their table, but Wilson knew even a slight hand brush at this point would send him over the edge. Instead, he opted for a quiet, soothing whisper which did nothing to ease him.

"Mr Vincent Levine," Anderson began. "Did you rape Dr House?" Straight to the point.

"Yes," Vinnie answered. Anderson shot a glance over to Judge Matthews who, if such a thing was possible, pursed her lips even more.

"Mr Levine," she said coolly. "You pleaded 'not guilty' when you were apprehended. Are you revoking that plea?"

"No, ma'am," Vinnie cooed with an obvious disdain for the circumstances. "I am not, nor do I feel, guilty about what I've done."

His lawyer slapped a palm to his face and sat down.

"Mr Levine, that is not the sense of the word–"

"I know what sense you meant, ma'am. I know what the cops wanted from me. But they're not gonna get it, because no matter how much I tell them this never would have happened if they'd only gotten that arrogant bastard of a doctor out of practice, they're still gonna blame me," he spat, glaring over at House. "The minute they told me that Jimmy over there wasn't dead, I knew my job wasn't finished."

Vinnie stopped, and he stared off into the gallery for a moment, thoughts racing. "House still has everything. And because of him, I don't. And that's damn enough reason for my defence."

"He hurt you, therefore you hurt him? Mr Levine, 'an eye for an eye' is not relevant anymore," Judge Matthews seethed, eyes glaring. She held such honour for her job, and hated any who defied it. "Your defence now rests. The jury shall decide wether this is even a case anymore. Court is now in recess."

With the bang of the gavel, Wilson looked over at House. He was still staring off in an auxiliary direction, and Wilson wondered if he even knew what was going on. House finally turned his head slightly, and Wilson gave him a small smile. "I think we've won, House," he said quietly, as if House would suddenly spring back as soon as Wilson confirmed it was over.

That didn't happen, and it wasn't until twelve minutes later that the jury returned to either agree with Wilson's prediction or to ruin his future. "Has the jury reached a verdict?" Judge Matthews asked, wondering if anyone would honestly let this go. She glanced over at House, who stared at his cane with bemused interest.

"Yes. The jury finds the defendant," a tall man said, standing. "guilty on all charges." Wilson sighed happily and almost threw his arms around House. He looked over at Vinnie, who did not seemed moved by this verdict. He smiled instead, laughing to himself (his lawyer did not share the reaction.) Cuddy, Foreman, Chase, and Cameron all laughed with relief, and got up to leave.

Wilson finally felt a sense of closure as he drove House home. The day seemed brighter, the sky bluer, and the sunshine warmer. But even though he was quite assured that the set of circumstances that had led to this moment would not be repeated, Wilson still felt a deep pang of guilt deep in his stomach. House was still someone else, and may never be the same man he was before again.

And for this, Wilson wished he had never woken from the shooting.

Wilson parallel parked close to the apartment, shut the car off and sat back in the seat. House's eyes were narrowed, a look Wilson recognised. He's sorting things out, he thought to himself, a feeling of joy swelling in his chest. He's thinking.

Wilson was about to say something, but was cut off by a sudden crashing of lips.

House was touching him.

House was kissing him.

Wilson laughed into House's mouth and felt a few tears roll down his cheek with happiness.

It's over, he thought, feeling the innocence of the kiss. And he knows it.

And even though this moment was a breakthrough, Wilson knew House would never be the same. It wasn't an epiphany, and House did not follow the kiss with a crack about Wilson's rather ugly tie, but Wilson felt it was almost as good. House was free.

And that's when Wilson realised that anything was possible when left to contingency.