The entire hospital knew something big had happened between their two most illustrious Department Heads. Usually when Greg House and James Wilson got into an argument, House would take it out on his lackeys. He would shout orders at them all day and completely lose the ability to be objective, no matter what the case was.
This time was different. This time was worse. House completely shut himself off from everyone. He admitted to the fact that he was in no way fit to diagnosis anyone, and hastily handed the case over to his team. If they had any questions, they could consult him, but other than that, he more or less holed himself up in his office all day.
Lisa Cuddy was the only one, besides the three members of his diagnostics team, that knew exactly what was going on. She knew House and Wilson had been seeing each other for the last six months. It was amazing, what happiness could do to House. He took several cases on at a time now, and managed to solve all of them. He still often argued with Cuddy, but it had become more of a playful banter than anything else. He, of course, still complained about working in the clinic, but she had strongly suspected that he would do that no matter what.
She brought lunch to House that day, slipping into his office with a Reuben. He took it grudgingly and nibbled at the edges, his mind not entirely there. Neither said a word, and Cuddy jumped with surprise when his low voice finally broke the silence.
"He asked me to be his best man," he said quietly, his eyes faraway.
Cuddy inwardly fumed at her Head Oncologist's lack of tact. "What did you say?" she asked, forcing her voice to come out calmly.
"I told him I would," he responded. "I have to leave work a little early tonight to get fitted for a tux."
"That's fine," she nodded, not at all shocked at his decision. She knew that House would do anything for James Wilson, even if it broke his own heart in the process. She wondered how much of a heart House really had left now, after James Wilson stabbed it.
Allison Cameron was first to notice the small changes in her boss. Even after he and Wilson had started seeing each other, he had made an effort to not be particularly cheery. He didn't want to ruin his image.
She was nearly thrown into shock the day that he walked through the doors to the conference room with his hair in disarray and his head staring at the ground as he mutely walked passed them all into his office.
"Something's wrong," she whispered to Chase, who nodded in agreement with her. At first, they had thought it had nothing to do with Wilson, because Wilson, in fact, had seemed happier than usual.
Those thoughts had been squashed later that very day when a beautiful woman stopped by Wilson's office at lunch, entwining their hands and giving him a quick peck on the lips. The team had been shocked at Wilson's lack of humility as the two lovebirds ate lunch out on Wilson's balcony, which could be seen clearly from House's office windows. Cameron, on the other hand, was quite possibly the angriest of all of them.
She remembered the very day James Wilson had approached her about her date with House.
"Oh, it's not, it's not you I'm worried about," he'd said. At Cameron's shocked look, he'd sighed and continued. "It's been a long time since he opened up to someone and I…" He'd stopped, starting with another sentence. "You better be absolutely sure you want this because if he opens up again and gets hurt… I don't think there's gonna be a next time."
She'd started at him in obvious shock, but now she understood it. House had opened up to Wilson, and now all that was left was a shell of who he used to be.
As soon as she had seen Wilson and his newest girlfriend sitting on the balcony, she'd stormed into House's office, ignoring his slightly questioning look, and made a beeline for the blinds. Making sure Wilson saw her glaring at him, she forced them shut and then sat down in the seat across from House.
He lifted his eyes, his head still tilted downward, to look at his employee. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.
For a long while, he said nothing. Cameron was seriously considering getting up and leaving him to himself, that was clearly what he wanted, but then he spoke, and the words came out so quiet that at first she wasn't sure if she'd heard him correctly.
"He's ashamed of me," he whispered again, this time a little louder.
"What makes you think that?" she asked, keeping her voice soft and comforting.
"S'what he told me," he mumbled. "Said we couldn't really be together because of what people would say. I told him I didn't care," House said pathetically. It was at that very moment that Allison Cameron came to hate James Wilson with every fiber of her being; the very moment that her stubborn, genius, confident, arrogant boss started crying in his office. "He cared though. Didn't want people calling him names. Said he was ashamed of what we were doing and that we had to stop before it got any worse." House sniffed. "Then he-he went off and asked out the first beautiful woman he could find. Can't say I blame him though. I mean, she's gorgeous. She's a college professor, so she's smart too. And young…" He continued talking about how none of this was Wilson's fault, and how the woman was perfect and Wilson would be out of his mind not to prefer her over himself.
"House, just stop," Cameron said, wiping away her own tears. "Don't do this to yourself. That woman is not perfect, and if Wilson did this to you, neither is he."
House and Wilson rarely spoke in the weeks leading up to the wedding. They were forced together several times due to wedding plans, but House kept silent and let the bride make her decisions with the man she loved. House couldn't blame her for loving James Wilson; he did to. And he couldn't blame her for Wilson loving her instead of him; it wasn't her fault.
Cuddy, Foreman, Chase, and Cameron had alternated staying with him every night. One of them was always sleeping on the couch in his townhouse; it was a group understanding that he didn't want to be alone.
House rarely ate. Cuddy would stop by for lunch, and bring him excellent tasting food, but he would usually just take a few bites and throw away the rest. Everyone was worried about him, but there was no way they could get him to snap back. He was a corpse; a shell of what he used to be, and it was all James Evan Wilson's fault.
The night before the wedding was unbearable for Gregory House. His best friend, the love of his life, was getting married again. The only difference was this time House had come to terms with his feelings towards the man, and none of it mattered.
He refused to drink that night; he didn't want to be hung over the day of Wilson's wedding. He'd save it for when the wedding was over. He didn't want to ruin Wilson's special day.
He'd slept horribly, tossing and turning and screaming in his sleep. Cuddy and his three team members had stayed with him that night, horribly frightened that he would try to commit suicide.
He'd clung to Cuddy that night, sobbing in his bedroom after she shooed the team out to the living room. She knew that the old House wouldn't want his employees to see him like this.
He took three extra doses of his anti-depressants and more than tripled his intake of Vicodin that day, making sure he'd been in a semi-good mood for the wedding. He smiled all the way through the wedding, walking the bride's sister down the aisle, and kissing the bride on the cheek in a gentlemanly fashion as he helped her into the limo to head to the reception. He stared into space during the limo ride, ignoring the cooing noises coming from the happy bride and groom. Dr. Chase, another groomsman, sat next to House, his arm tight on his shoulder, comfortingly.
He wore his smile as the Maid of Honor made her speech about the happy couple, and wore it still as he stood to make his own speech. He tried to close out his friends' sympathetic stares as he spoke.
"I met James Wilson on his first day at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. At the time, I wasn't Head of Diagnostic Medicine as I am right now; actually, at the time, the department didn't even exist. I was the general go-to guy for all the other doctors when they couldn't figure out a case. Lisa Cuddy pretty much gave me free reign.
"Then Wilson started in the Oncology Department. I was sitting in the clinic, without my lab coat, which I never wear, when he walked in for his first clinic duty. Me being a cripple and all, he motioned for me to follow him into an exam room. I grinned and followed him in, telling him that my leg had been bothering me very badly lately.
"I didn't tell him about the infarction, or the fact that half of my thigh muscle had been removed, and laughed as I watched him try to figure out what was wrong with me. After about an hour, two doctors walked in. One was Lisa Cuddy, the Dean of Medicine, and the other was the Head of the Neurology Department.
"Cuddy threw me the file and told me to solve the case. When she noticed Wilson standing there looking bewildered, she glared at me and told me to stop terrorizing her new oncologist. Before I left the room, I smirked at him and said, 'I had an infarction a couple months ago. They removed all the damaged muscles.' He just gaped at me and I left.
"We became Department Heads around the same time, and our offices were right next to each others. I always stole his lunch, and threw rocks at his balcony door while he was with a patient. No one in the hospital could understand our strange friendship. He's by far, the nicest, most caring doctor in the hospital, and I'm generally known for being a manipulative bastard. I mean, this man is so good, patients actually thank him when he tells them they're dying, which, when you're an oncologist, happens pretty often.
"I've seen him go through three marriages." House paused for a moment after he said this, lost in his own little world for a half a second. "And some other… flings, but I've never seen him as happy as he is right now, with Rachel. You're a wonderful woman Rachel, and Jimmy's lucky to have you. I wish you both happiness." With the flourishing end, House raised his glass with everyone in the room and drank to the happy couple. As the chatter picked up and House was meant to take his seat next to James Wilson, his stomach churned. His vision became dizzy and he stumbled back.
His team ran up to him, Chase finally catching him before he hit the floor. "I'm going to be sick," he muttered, and almost no one else in the room noticed as Chase and Cuddy carted him off to the bathroom, followed in by Foreman and Cameron. Cameron and Cuddy had no objections to being in the men's bathroom.
As he dropped to his knees in front of a toilet, he began apologizing in between heaves. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Didn't mean to overdose… Just wanted… Just wanted to look happy… Happy for Jimmy…"
The door to the bathroom squeaked open and James Wilson peered in, checking on his colleagues. "Get lost," Cameron hissed from her crouched down position
Cuddy ignored the man, rubbing House's back comfortingly and speaking softly to him. "Greg," she whispered. "What did you take, honey? You need to tell me what you took and how much."
"Amitriptyline," he gasped out, "and Vicodin."
"How much?" Chase asked anxiously. "House, how much did you take?"
"Three… Three times the normal… Amitriptyline dosage," he struggled to say. "And Vicodin, lots of Vicodin. Don't remember how much. Didn't want to ruin the wedding." He got the last sentence out before turning abruptly back to the toilet to vomit again.
Cuddy pulled out her cell phone and called for an ambulance to Princeton Plainsboro. "We're going to need to have his stomach pumped. He won't be able to get it all out."
Cuddy and Chase easily helped House up. He hadn't eaten the past couple months unless you forced him to, and he was all skin and bones; his tall figure weighing about 120 pounds. Wilson blocked the doorway, demanding to know what was happening.
The glare Cameron sent Wilson was deadly. "He OD'd!" she hissed. "He wanted to make sure he seemed happy on your wedding day so he wouldn't ruin it for you."
Cuddy was very prepared to throw Wilson out of the hospital when he followed them. He had no right to be there. He was the reason House was like this, and she didn't care how anguish Wilson was; House had been going through this for months.
After finally slipping passed Cuddy, he entered House's room and was met with a wave of apologies. "Jimmy, I'm so, so sorry." House was sobbing. "I didn't want to ruin your reception. I just wanted you to be happy. I didn't mean to, I swear. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Sh," Wilson whispered, stroking his hair. "It's alright, Greg. I'm not mad at you. It's not your fault. You've got no reason to apologize. Sh."
And as many words that were spoken that night, it didn't heal Gregory House. As soon as House was released from the hospital, as a patient, Wilson returned to his wife, and House returned to his office. He'd taken to sleeping there, not wanting to go home to an empty apartment.
After two weeks of sleeping on the couch in his conference room, Cuddy had hauled him into her car and dropped him off at his townhouse. She told him he needed to be at home, where he belonged. He didn't need to say that where he belonged was with Jimmy; Cuddy could see it in his eyes.
Months passed, and House became slightly more sociable again. He was not even a fraction of what he used to be, but he actually started taking on cases again, and even half-heartedly arguing with Cuddy.
He was shocked one day when Wilson stopped by his office, asking him if he wanted to have lunch. Never being able to deny him anything, House nodded and went into his conference room to tell his team he was going off to lunch. He turned his back in time to miss the sad glance from Chase and Foreman, and the menacing glare sent at Wilson from Cameron. Wilson, however, didn't miss it.
Exactly two years from the day Wilson got married to Rachel, House sat in his townhouse, a beer in one hand, watching television. He heard knocks on the door; the knocks taking on a rhythm that he hadn't heard on his door for years.
Slowly and skeptically, he set his beer down and walked to the door. He opened it as far as the chain would let him, and it was enough to see a frowning James Wilson with a suitcase in his hand.
How dare he? After all the hell he's put you through, he screws things up with his wife and ends up on your doorstep again. Tell him to go to hell and slam the door in his face. Tell him to never speak to you again!
But he ignored his mind's protests, and closed the door to unlatch the chain, the opened it all the way and stepped to the side to let his ex-lover into his apartment.
There will probably be a sequel, but I won't promise anything. This was my first published House fanfic, but I'm working on a couple stories right now too. I hope you liked it. Reviews would be much appreciated.
By the way, take note of the bolded letters in Wilson's initials. James Evan Wilson. His initials spell out JEW! How freakin awesome is that!
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