Fandom: House, MD
Characters/Pairing: Gregory House / James Wilson
Prompt: #1 - "Greed"
Word Count: 1488
Rating: T
Disclaimer: House, MD © David Shore
Author's Notes: I've been neglecting the House fandom for some time now, and because I haven't even mentioned Amber, I feel kind of bad due to recent any rabid House fan would know. So I decided to do a little take on her. With these two. How does that work? I don't know, it just does. Contains cursing, sex talk, and--well--lesbians. :D Come on, you didn't see this one coming from me? Contains angst. Whoops. D:

It was supposed to be a normal guys night out, minus the out part. It was supposed to be the usual sitting in front of the tube with a case of beer and a bowl of pretzels between them. Their feet were supposed to be propped up on the coffee table, the top few buttons of their work shirts undone to relieve the tension, if you were House your pants would probably be on the floor and you'd be content to be clad in your underwear on the couch, but tonight, nothing is what it's supposed to be.

The air is thick, and the volume of the television is low. There's no monster trucks playing on the screen, instead it's reruns of The L Word. The case of beer lies untouched on the coffee table, and the bag of pretzels haven't even been taken out of the cupboard yet.

House feels an odd sense of déjà vu. He knows he's been on this road before, but he just can't quite place the finger.

"I should be home."

Ah, that's what it was. It's just like back when Wilson was married--the previous two, or three or...House decides not to keep track anymore. It loses its bite after smearing it in your friend's face after a few months.

"Then why, pray tell, are you here?" House sneers, fingers digging into the arm of his couch. He's trying to make it look like he's busy with the television and is completely focused on the ladies on the screen, but he's failing miserable. Fortunately, Wilson doesn't really notice. Or he does, and just doesn't say anything about it.

"You wanted me here," Wilson forces out awkwardly, and House can see out of the corner of his eye the oncologist staring at him critically. "You practically dragged me here."

"You could've, oh I don't know, dragged the other way?" House turns and snaps at him before focusing back on the television. He's moody, but he knows he shouldn't. He's had a good day, the pain hasn't been bothering him--in fact, he hasn't had the need to pop a single Vicodin all day.

That's probably the problem.

"I'm leaving."

House's head spins and he watches as Wilson rises from the couch with a grunt, sore and tired, and makes his way to the door. "But the pretzels--they're lonely. They'll die in that bag."

Wilson is shrugging on his jacket when he finally realizes that House had said that and raises an eyebrow and has an amused smirk on his face. "I'm sure you'll find a strange man on the street that'll fix that for you. Good night, House."

House is already on his feet and at the door, slapping Wilson's hand away from the knob with a glare. "Back to the couch and save the pretzels. Pretzel abuse is wrong." He points to the spot and starts shooing the man back. "You get mad when I talk about clubbing baby seals, you get annoyed when I talk about declaring a holiday for prostitutes, but you scoff at me when I decide to do something right and save something, what is with that?"


"No really, what is with that?" His tone is sarcastic and he's torn the bag open, dumping the contents in the bowl eagerly. "Let's start saving them. Together. Hand in hand with our friend, alcohol." He's finally popped off the cap to a bottle of beer and hands it to Wilson.

Wilson stares at the bottle with a sad expression before placing it back onto the coffee table. "House, what's going on?"

"What do you mean what's going on, nothing's going on--well, except some hot lesbian action that we're missing, but thank GOD for recordings..."

The other man purses his lips and gives House the critical look again and House knows that he can't keep avoiding it forever, but that doesn't mean he won't keep trying.

"I mean, seriously Wilson, lesbians. Eh? Eh? What's better than one woman? Two, that's what." He chops on several pretzels halfheartedly, but Wilson's still not buying it.

The man just stares at House before he makes a move. "House, I'm leaving." He rises again and starts for the door, but this time, House doesn't rise.

He just snaps his tongue at the man, just like he always does.

"Good grief, Wilson, she's not your wife!" He barks and takes a drink from the bottle, and ignores the shocked and angry expression on Wilson's face.

"Excuse me, I know that, but soon we'll--" Wilson starts but House interrupts.

"What makes this one any better, huh? You think that the fourth time is the charm? Sorry pal, it was supposed to be the third but you blew that one!" He's angry, and he doesn't' understand why, so he wants to hurt him.

Wilson is facing him with the glare and has his hands on his hips. "What the hell is your problem?"

He doesn't know, but decides to start bitching anyway. "Oh the fact that I have to put up with your constant obsession with women and beds--sex can be bought on the market for twenty bucks, Wilson. Don't need to keep getting married for that. Oh, you didn't know? Now you do."

"It's not always about the sex!" His friend snaps. "We've been through this. House, what's going on? What's gotten into you?"

"Leave her."

It's out of his mouth before his brain even has time to process it. He doesn't know why he said it. It's not the drugs, it's not the alcohol, it's all Gregory House talking.

And Wilson knows it.

And it scares them both.

Wilson raises a shaking finger. "E-excuse me? What did you just say?"

"Leave her. It's not worth it going through it all." House takes another sip of his beer and ignores Wilson as he approaches him warily.

"That's not a good enough reason, even for you. House, why should I leave Amber?" Wilson kneels on the couch with one knee and sits back, eying House critically. "Did she do something, did something happen, what--"

"I don't want you to be with her," House says in a clipped tone and resumes ignoring his friend.

Wilson doesn't like being ignored.

"Excuse me?!" He barks and House is staring now, watching, as Wilson turns red under the collar. "I'm not going to leave her just because you don't want me to be with her. I will go with whoever I want, and if you don't like it, well, that's just too damn bad!"

House shakes a hand. "I think this is the part where I'm supposed to make some sarcastic remark, but I can't really come up with one at the moment, so, feel free to continue."

Wilson glares. "Didn't we just get over this the other day? God, you--you just can't let it go, can you? We've been through this--I will be your friend, and I will not leave you. I may not be around as much, but I am still here and I am still your friend."

"I don't want you to be my friend."

It's out and it's not exactly what he meant to say. He's slow to look to Wilson, but when he sees him, the man looks like he's been kicked under the table at Christmas. "I s-see, th-then, I--"

"That's not what I mean, exactly," House draws in a breath and leans back into the cushions of the couch. "I want you as--more than just a friend."

It's silent, and it's unbearable. He doesn't want to see what expression is on his friend's face, but he can already tell it's probably something along the lines like anger or disgust.

He hears Wilson move, and then he speaks. "Why?"

House purses his lips. "Because--" He pauses and squints, making a face. "--I don't want anyone else to have you. I'm greedy like that, you know?"

He expects an instant comeback, but doesn't get one. Instead, Wilson gets off the couch and is already out the door, leaving behind a single statement hung in the air like a cloud of smoke.

"You don't always get what you want."