Title: I, Who Have Nothing
Email: M, for mature language
Summary: Wilson's infidelity causes a rift in the relationship.
Spoilers: Nothing specific
Archive: Yes, but please ask. I'd love to visit your website.
Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me and either does the show, which is okay because I couldn't afford it anyway. But I get to play with them for free.
Warning: Mature dialog, leading to some future mature scenes.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" House growled.
Wilson looked at him helplessly and shrugged his shoulders.
House landed a right hook on the corner of Wilson's jaw that made him stumble to the ground. Hot tears stung in his eyes, but he resisted from touching his face.
"Get out," came the dangerous whisper from House.
"Do you have a hearing problem? Get. The. Fuck. Out!" he enunciated harshly
"Greg… please don't."
House was seeing red, knowing full well that Wilson wasn't going to leave without a fight.
"Don't call me that!" he spat.
Wilson's breath hitched and sobs wracked his quivering frame. House looked on with disgust.
"Get a grip. If I was that important to you, you wouldn't have slept with a fucking nurse. But I can't say that I'm surprised. Doctor James FUCKING Wilson, boy wonder oncologist, cock like a rock," he bellowed sarcastically.
The words stung, but he took it all in silence.
"What? No witty comeback? No rationalization of behavior?" House pushed.
"I don't deny it," Wilson murmured.
"I heard about it from the nurses' station. God, Wilson! Couldn't you have enough professional courtesy to tell me that we're over?"
"That's not what I- "
"I'll say it for you," he interrupted. "We're done. I hope she was the best lay you've ever had!"
A cry of anguish rang from Wilson's throat. But before getting to his feet, he took a shaky breath.
"How does it feel to be fucked over?" Wilson sobbed.
"What?" House responded incredulously.
"I said-," Wilson cleared his throat and said in a stronger voice, "How does it feel to be fucked over?"
"What kind of question is that?"
"I've loved you for eight years. I've dedicated my life to you, risked my professional career twice for you. God, doesn't that mean something?"
"Piss poor judgment. You're an enabler," House said, trying to hurt him.
"I made a mistake!"
"Is that all?"
"A huge fucking mistake, alright?" Wilson exclaimed.
"No, it's not alright!"
A terrible silence settled over the two of them. Finally Wilson spoke up.
"Did-did you ever think we'd be too good to be true?"
"I honestly didn't think you'd make it this long," House confessed.
"Oh, House," Wilson groaned sadly. "I-I never thought-" Wilson groaned in frustration, searching for the right words, wild gestures unhelpful to his thought process.
"Thought I'd find out? Generally I don't listen to the mindless chatter of the nurses. Really, it was dumb luck," House said, hobbling to the couch. "Was the sex sub-par? I haven't been with a man since-," he said, trying to take the pressure off his ego.
Wilson was eager, perhaps a little to eager to diffuse House's fears.
"No! You were the best I've ever had."
"Ah, past tense," House smiled bitterly.
"You know what I mean. And seriously, is this the best time for a grammar lesson?" Wilson asked annoyingly.
"You're a doctor, for God's sake! You should be able to say what you mean!"
"I was lonely," Wilson murmured.
"You needed to get fucked," House countered.
"I craved an intimate touch and she was convenient."
"An honest statement, thank God!" He fumed. "I want details."
"Details of what?"
"Of how you seduced her, how and when you fucked her."
"House, is that really necessary?"
House glared at him, and Wilson knew he had an answer.
"I lost a patient. A little girl."
"You've lost patients before."
"This girl, Elizabeth," Wilson continued, ignoring House's statement. "She was a ward of the state. When she was diagnosed with Leukemia, she was in between foster homes. No mother or father to speak of. Both addicted to Methamphetamines. No one was with her when she died. The attending nurse that found her… I gave her my address and a time to meet me."
Wilson looked up at House, whose face was expressionless. He sighed and continued.
"I was completely lucid. We had sex the whole night. I tried to make it good for her, but,"
He tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat, and continued. "But having sex while you're crying is really hard. Anyway, she left in the morning. Probably as empty as I am."
House was studying the frame of his distraught lover. His generally animated hands were quietly placed in his lap. The formation of a bruise was beginning to appear on his chin. Every so often, Wilson would tremble. House stood up and hobbled over to the edge of the couch. Wilson immediately looked up and saw the pain in House's face.
"Come on," House grunted.
Wilson followed him into the bedroom that they once shared. At the end of the bed, House turned to Wilson. He moved in closer, and placed the palm of his hand gently on Wilson's abdomen. Shocks of electricity shot through his frazzled system. House then raised his hands to loosen the knot in Wilson's tie. When he reached the buttons, he fumbled with the first few, but they eventually all came undone. In the beginning of their love making career, Wilson lost dozens of shirts to House's frantic need to see his chest, buttons be damned. However, House kept Wilson's undershirt intact, and began to work on his belt buckle. When he was able to undo the buckle, he slid the perfect pair of khaki Dockers down his beautiful hips. He had to restrain himself from kissing his hipbone. Once his pants were around his ankles, his voice broke the spell.
"Sit down," House commanded.
Wilson obediently sat on the edge of the bed, and watched as House knelt down beside him. He took off his loafers, and slid the pants away with them.
"I want you to lie down."
Wilson had no idea what was running through his lover's head. But he would oblige anything House wanted, just to be able to stay a while longer. House stood slowly from the floor, and began to take off his clothing, with the exception of his boxers and t-shirt. When he climbed into bed, he scooted close to Wilson, hoping he'd get the hint and roll over. When it was obvious that he wasn't getting the hint, House asked.
"Look at me, James," he urged.
The tears spilled freely from Wilson's eyes as he turned to face his fate.
"A little bit closer," House said in a sing-song voice.
A small grin made an appearance on Wilson's face. As soon as he got close enough, he buried his face into House's chest and started sobbing like a child. House wasn't surprised at the open display of emotions. He'd lent the proverbial shoulder to cry on when Wilson was going through his divorces. They didn't cry together, but instead consumed large amounts of alcohol and watched old comedy movies. Offering sincere physical-emotional support was sort of a foreign concept to him. Wilson's cries were intensifying and House could feel his heart rate becoming much more rapid. House was grasping at straws, trying to think of ways to comfort him. He snaked his arm around Wilson's waist and stroked his lower back.
"What would I do if one of my patients were spiraling out of control?" House asked himself. "I'd probably drug him, and let someone else take care of it."
But Wilson wasn't just a patient. He was his best friend, his lover.
"I'm sorry," Wilson hiccupped between gasps of breath. "So sorry, sorry, sorry," he cried into House's chest as a mantra.
House had to bite his tongue. He immediately wanted to respond with something along the lines of, "You tell all your ex-lovers that?" But he clamped his mouth and exercised some of that self control that everyone around him talked about.
After an hour of intense crying, House knew that Wilson must've had a headache that wouldn't quit. When House moved his arm, Wilson jerked up to look at House. God, was he a sight! His whole face was bright red, especially around the rims of his eyes and nostrils. He looked like hell.
"You're dehydrated. And I'm sure you have a headache. I'll be right back."
"I'll live. Just don't leave me," Wilson pleaded.
"Don't be ridiculous!" House snapped. A look of annoyance washed over his face when Wilson flinched. "You'll feel better. Just let me get the water and ibuprofen. Trust me, I'm a doctor."
Wilson tried to smile, but it came across as a grimace.
"I'll be back. Now, could you let go of my ass for a second?" House said, sliding from his grasp.
Though he'd never admit it to Wilson, he was in pain. His leg was in pain since they went to bed. Hobbling to the kitchen was no easy task. He rummaged around and found the ibuprofen, a water bottle and the blessed vicodin. He took his immediately and limped back to the bedroom. Wilson was still slumped in the spot where he left him 5 minutes ago.
"Wilson, sit up and take the medicine," he prodded gently.
He propped himself up on his elbows and took the drugs in submissive silence. Looking down at his shirt, he saw dried snot and wet blotches from Wilson's tears. As he turned to limp to the dresser, he felt Wilson's fingers grasping his wrist.
"Take it off, and come back to bed."
"Demanding, are we?" House scoffed.
"Greg, please," Wilson pleaded. "I need you."
Grumbling silently, House climbed into bed with his shirt discarded somewhere close to Wilson's. Before his head could even hit the pillow, Wilson was attached to his side. House could hear stray sniffles from his broken friend. He knew that he would have to punish Wilson. But tonight, he'd just sigh and plot internally.