A/N: Okay, so I wrote this for an April Fools Joke I never went through with. It was going to be proof of a fake fight between me and one of my best friends, Conscience (she's also my beta). That's why it's really choppy. See, she's a SUPER grammar freak and I think more of style than grammar. So this was supposed to be stylistically choppy. I hated it (HATED IT!) when I was righting it but I need to do something with it. And I can't bring myself to fix it. It's all about the style, BAYBAY! Anyways, this is my first House fic but I've written plenty of other stuff. Mostly for Harry Potter. My beta insists I make it quite clear that this is UNBETAED. So yeah, all grammatical mistakes, stylistic or otherwise, are not her fault.
Disclaimer: I don't own House. Don't know exactly who does. Don't care. I would so buy the rights to Harry Potter before I'd buy the rights of House. Seriously, Jo Rowling is my friggin hero. So yeah, don't sue me.
House played his piano apathetically. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Wilson should have been there an hour ago. He was probably on a date with Cutthroat Bitch, of course. Or she was stalling him. She hated House. Maybe she was holding him hostage. But James Wilson was too nice to be held hostage… he didn't find it a pain at all. House snickered. He'd probably thank his captors.
"Sorry I'm late," Wilson said. He hadn't bothered to knock, House noted. But then, House liked that. House wished Wilson would wise up and figure out that they were perfect for each other. Cutthroat Bitch was, just like all the other girls, a distraction.
Amber. That was her name. House refused to call her that. It would be bringing humanity to a place where there was none. Like patient-doctor interaction in a hospital. House hated it. He hated humanity. But mostly, he hated Cutthroat Bitch.
It was a feral hate, based only on the fact that he wanted what she had. He wouldn't call it jealousy. Naming it would be admitting it was there. That just wasn't on.
"What does it matter?" House asked. He didn't leave the piano.
"You're the one who invited me over." Wilson glared at him.
"We're friends, aren't we? Friends do stuff together. Outside of work." House secretly hoped Wilson would fall for him by his piano skills. That would make him laugh. But House didn't laugh. No, laughter was for happy people. Ignorant people.
"We're not normal friends," Wilson pointed out.
"How's Cutthroat Bitch? Has she used you yet?" House ignored Wilson's statement. That was one of his quirks. He knew exactly how to push people to the edge. He hadn't pushed Wilson over the edge yet. That's why he loved Wilson. Wilson was the only one who hadn't allowed their friendship to end. Wilson was the only one who didn't rise to all the provocation that House threw at him.
Well, Cuddy had ignored it too. But Cuddy was his boss. Cuddy didn't have to deal with it. And he had to follow her orders. House fancied himself a god of sorts. That's why he hated Cuddy. She could order him around. Gods didn't have people telling them what to do. They also didn't have people who manipulated them. That's another reason why he hated Cutthroat Bitch.
"Her name is Amber," Wilson replied. "And I don't see why you care." Wilson watched House carefully. House had never cared before. He'd never felt threatened before. If Cutthroat Bitch became the fourth Mrs. Wilson, House didn't think there would be any more. The cheating would end. The friendship with House would be trashed. Cutthroat Bitch would shape his life exactly how she wanted and Wilson would let her. He was putty in her hands.
He thought of telling him. Seriously contemplated it. But then reconsidered. That would push their friendship over the edge. No, he'd just have to wait it out. Wait for something to happen. Nothing was permanent. House knew that well. He just had to wait until something broke with him and Wilson. Something was sure to break. When things got old, they broke. They never got better. House knew. He knew.
"House, are you okay?" Wilson asked him. He must have been thinking for a while.
"I'm fine," he insisted. "We need to do something friendshippy."
"That's not a word. And stop smiling. You're scaring me." House didn't smile. Not really smile. There were smirks. Sarcastic smiles even. Sometimes, he grimaced. Never. Never Ever was there a real, genuine smile. Not since his leg had--. Not since Stacy had left. The first time Stacy left.
Stacy. Inadvertently, Stacy had helped House figure it all out. When he'd kissed her it felt good but there wasn't much of anything there. He knew something was off. He figured he wasn't in love with her anymore. Though, if love was what they said it was, he'd never been in love with her to begin with. Then, House figured, something must have changed.
Then, he saw it. Clear as day. And he meant that sincerely. He saw that he was in love with someone else. He didn't know quite why. He didn't know who he was in love with. He did know that it was someone close to him though.
It took Cutthroat Bitch-- actually, it was more Amber in this memory-- to help him figure it out. He stood, gaping like a fish, when he figured out Wilson and Cutthroat Bitch were together. He gaped even more when he figured out Wilson was dating a female version of himself. That thought had been bitter sweet. It had made House oddly happy but at the same time, he wanted what she had. He wanted Wilson. That's when it had hit him. He wanted Wilson.
"Wilson," he said. He didn't know what he wanted to say. He knew he wanted to say something though.
"You sound sincere. Not a hint of sarcasm anywhere in that." Wilson looked perplexed. He well should be. House didn't like being serious. That meant he had to face the truth. Truths that he hadn't made up himself. Truths that made him fallible and quite ungodly.
"Wilson, you know you're my best friend, right?" House hated sappy things too. He didn't know what had come over him. He did know that he wasn't himself today.
"Did someone switch your vicoden with antidepressants?" Wilson questioned. House snorted.
"I know when my vicoden's not vicoden," House remarked. He was quoting himself. He'd been talking to Cuddy at the time. Of course, Wilson had heard the story. House liked to brag. He did fancy himself perfect after all.
"Well you're acting oddly out of character," Wilson replied. He looked skeptical. It bothered House. But then, House was got at ignoring things.
"I like to be unpredictable," he sniffed. Unpredictability was one of his crowning achievements. Or so he thought.
"House, you're highly predictable," Wilson laughed. "You will pop vicoden. You will test crazy theories on patients. And you will be an ass."
"Nothing is certain except death and taxes," House quoted Benjamin Franklin. He wasn't a fan of founding fathers. They really were a bunch of layabouts in his mind.
"House, there is something wrong with you. Have you been drinking?" Wilson was now concerned. House liked Concerned Wilson. It was cute.
"No. I'm in love." Oops. He shouldn't have let that slip. Oh well. Wilson would take well to 'I don't want to talk about it'.
"Good for you!" Wilson cried. House knew Wilson wanted to see him happy. House knew he'd never be happy.
"It's unrequited." That's how House knew he'd never be happy. He knew that James Wilson MD was straight. He knew he didn't have a shot in hell. Especially since he was fairly certain Jimmy didn't go for chicks that were formerly dudes.
"Have you told her?" Wilson asked.
"Him. And no, I've not told him." House was embarrassed. No one wanted to hear about his gay fantasy. Of course, there'd been a few before. House had even 'experimented' in college. He hadn't told anyone. He hadn't told anyone he'd liked it either.
"You don't know it's unrequited until you tell them. You're not a mind-reader." Wilson had a point. He always had a point. That's what came from being a rational, compassionate man.
"It could ruin our friendship," House defended.
"Yours and his?" Wilson asked for confirmation. House nodded. "Well, you like to push things past the limit."
"Love's a funny thing, Jimmy. It makes you do things you wouldn't normally do." House sneered. He only did it for Wilson's sake. He wasn't sneering inside. Not really.
"Well, Greggy, tell him. It's the only way you'll ever know. And I know you love to know everything." Wilson shook his head at House.
"James Wilson, I love you," House said firmly. He then got up, grabbed his cane and tried to hobble away. He didn't want to face the embarrassment.
"You mean, that we were talking about me that whole time," Wilson said, grabbing House's arm. He had an astonished look on his face but he didn't seem angry. Or repulsed.
"I know it's difficult for your loving, compassionate brain to think self-centeredly for five minutes but yes. We were talking about you." House gave him an impatient look. Wilson didn't let go. House noticed this. House was in love. People who are in love notice odd things about the people they're in love with. Especially when those people don't let go.
"And you're in love with me," Wilson still looked shocked.
"Yes. My god, you told me to tell you. See, this emotions thing is bad for me." House was getting angry now. He wished Wilson would kiss him or reject him. This crazy limbo stuff was pissing him off.
Then, after two minutes of staring at each other, Wilson kissed him. "I wondered when you'd figure it out." He remarked. Then they kissed again.
"Where are you going?" House asked as Wilson walked away.
"Someone's got to break the news to Amber."
"Ooh! Can I break the news to Cutthroat Bitch?" House looked like a kid in a candy store. He felt like one. Or maybe it was more like a teenager in a porn shop. He really didn't care.