Fandom: House, MD
Characters/Pairing: Gregory House / James Wilson
Prompt: #3 - "Wrath"
Word Count: 1079
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: House, MD © David Shore
Author's Notes: Wrote this while waiting to start my work shift. Inspired by the episode "Histories" regarding Foreman's antagonism towards the homeless and Wilson's past with his former brother. Some OOCness due to the fact that Wilson is not in a placid state of mind. Rated for language, violence, and blood.

"Foreman is an asshole."

House looked up from his file that he had been studying and made a disapproved expression. "I thought I was an asshole."

Wilson seated himself across from the doctor and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes with frustration. "You're a bastard. Not an asshole."

The diagnostician made another face -- this one being disappointment. "Aw, I've been demoted?"

"Nope, you're still top dog." The oncologist slapped his hands on his knees. "But he's catching up with you, and fast."

"Really? What did he do this time? Kick a puppy?" House pulled out the familiar dark orange bottle and popped the lid off, dumping out two white pills.

Wilson stared at the pills before he spoke with a tone barely above a murmur. "No, not exactly."

"Let me guess-- another homeless person?" The older man dry-swallowed the pills, making Wilson visibly cringe at both the fact that House had hit dead center on the head of the nail and the fact that he had just swallowed the Vicodin dry.

"You would've thought that he'd learned the first time," he reasoned with annoyance lacing his tone. "That bastard actually tried to drag the patient out."

"Tried?" House raised a brow with interest.

"Patient went into cardiac arrest. Had to resuscitate him in the lobby. Cameron and Chase are running tests right now for all the good stuff, and drugs just to shut Foreman up for me. Foreman's pouting in Cuddy's office." Wilson wilted in his chair. "Took a damn heart failure to get that bastard to listen."

"Hey, I'm bastard, he's asshole." House looked annoyed. "I'm nothing like him."

"No, but he's exactly like you. Just what we need, two House's. The world is damned." Wilson sat up and pointed at House with an agitated finger. "He is like you though. Neither of you will listen, neither of you know what to stop, and neither of you learn from the past."

House looked thoughtful. "True, that's why the past is in the past. If it weren't the past, it'd be the present or the future. Besides, doesn't that list describe you too?"

"House, shut up."

The diagnostician made a startled motion, staring at Wilson as the oncologist simmered quietly. "Wilson?"

"Nobody ever learns. Nobody,especially myself. Why is it that we can't learn from our mistakes? You with your pills, me and my wives, Foreman and the homeless--why?" He clenched his fists in his lap, refusing to look up.

House blinked slowly. Wilson was pissed. He was beyond pissed, he was boiling in his own anger. He needed to calm the man down before things got out of hand.

"We're merely human, Wilson. We're going to make mistakes--a lot of them. Just--put it out as us being men. You know what Cuddy says about me all the time--I'm a stupid man."

Wilson did not look amused. In fact, if it were possible, he looked angrier.

House reached beside him for his cane and laid it on his lap--just in case.

"Wilson," he narrowed his eyes and eyed his friend critically. "What happened exactly between you and Foreman?"

The man clenched his mouth shut, refusing to speak. His lips quivered from anger, along with his fists.

"Wilson, let Cuddy deal with him." House attempted to brush it off but apparently, that was the wrong thing to do. Wilson looked up and snapped.

"Foreman's in the office trying to convince Cuddy that we should transfer the patient because 'we're a high level hospital that shouldn't stoop that low to become a homeless shelter'. We shouldn't stoopthat low?! Who the hell does he think he is?!" He shot to his feet and started pacing back and forth wildly, arms flailing as he rambled with incomplete thoughts. "Oh if only he--he only--Michael he--damnit nine years--why, damn him--"

House pushed himself to his feet, feeling just a little nervous at seeing his friend being this unsettled. "Wilson, calm down."

He whirled and was instantly in House's face. "I am calm! I'm not mad! I'm not pissed! I am holding myself back That son of a bitch, damn him!" He whirled around and threw his fist blindly.

There was a loud snap of glass breaking, which was quickly followed by a loud crash and shower as the glass that had been the divider between House's office and the conference room shattered and littered the floor. House rushed over, throwing his cane behind him as he made his way to Wilson's side.

"Damn it, Wilson, what were you--" He froze and stared at the numbed look on his friend's face.

Wilson didn't appear to be in pain. In fact, he didn't even appear to be shocked by the large amount of blood that was pouring from his sliced hand. Several large pieces of glass stuck out at odd angles from the backside of his hand, and there were several bloody scrapes along the wrist and part of his arm. The blood was practically pouring out--apparently he hit a vital.

"Wilson, you idiot." House grabbed the man's wrist and glared at the skin as he dug through his pockets.

"House," Wilson's voice was strangely calm, eerily monotone, and barely audible. House leant in to hear what he was saying.

"I didn't feel it. I couldn't feel it. It--it's not even--" he narrowed his eyes as he stared at the sliced skin.

"Wilson, you're shocked. You may have cut something you shouldn't, let me--" House stopped abruptly when Wilson yanked his hand away from the man.

The oncologist glared at him. "Leave. Me. Alone." His voice was deep, and firm. He was leaving no room for argument. He turned and left the room in a whirlwind of glass shards and red blood drops.

House remained behind, watching wordlessly as his friend left. He ignored the concerned stares from fellow doctors and nurses and averted his gaze to the blood stained carpet.

Making a quick mental debate, he hobbled to where he threw his cane and picked it up, heading out into the hallway to go to Cuddy's office in hopes of 'accidentally running in on her and Foreman in a deep discussion'.

He was sure that she'd want to hear about this, and even if she didn't, he was going to chew Foreman's ass off for pushing Wilson over the edge.