Living in the Glass Closet

A House M.D. fanfic

This fanfic is written entirely from Wilson's point of view because Wilson definitely does not get enough love in the world of fan fictions.

WARNING: Written in a world where Amber never existed! Sorry folks, no angst for you.

Description: Is Wilson gay? No. Definitely not. But when he puts his heart in a steel cage and vows never to date women again, his sexuality is thrown into question and turmoil.

Pairing: Contains House/Wilson and possible mentions of Chase/Foreman. (Depends on the setting of your slash goggles)

Wilson was drunk. Wilson was severely, utterly wasted in fact. At the beginning of his night on House's couch he had a reason for getting so wasted. He had forgotten that reason about half a binge ago. As it was, he was still going strong for… whatever the cause.

House shifted on the couch beside him. Wilson turned a bleary eye and watched House stand and limp off into the sunset. Wait. No. House was just going into the kitchen.

House returned with more beer. Light beer, surprisingly.

"Ish light." Wilson pointed out.

"To help you keep your girlish figure." Unlike Wilson, House was not drunk at all. He had only had two drinks, having been to busy keeping Wilson's bottle filled.

"Ish good," which was a lie. The beer was cheap and tasted bitter in all the bad ways. Wilson found himself holding an empty bottle and blinked. "Dang."

"Hold on," House rose again and headed towards the kitchen. He returned moments later with three full bottles.

Wilson accepted one of the bottles and House tossed the other two onto the couch. Then he vanished. Wilson looked up and blinked. Where had House gone?

"I'm right here." House waved a hand in front of Wilson's face. "Here, hold this."

Wilson took what House handed him. He started to inspect it closely, but bonked himself on the nose. He held it slightly farther away and squinted instead. It was a small box about an inch square. The top and bottom were held up with metal poles as thin as toothpicks. It looked like a—


"Brilliant deduction, Wilson. Do you know why I gave you a cage?"

Wilson shook his head.

House sighed and sat down again on the couch. He fished out one of the beer bottles and popped the top, taking a swig. "Do you remember why you decided to get gloriously drunk tonight, Wilson?"

"Beer tastes good."

"Close!" House laughed. "But no cigar. No, you are here because you just broke up with your latest girl-toy after you both cheated on each other." Wilson began to drop attention. House clapped his hands and Wilson snapped back to life. "Why do you think this is?"

"Other girl was really hot." Wilson nodded and took a drink of his light beer.

"True," House conceded. "But I think it's because you have no control. So! We are going to do an experiment."

"What kind of expa—exprea—axeperetiment—" he gave up.

"You—" House tapped Wilson on the chest. "Are going to put your heart in that little cage."

Wilson made a protest noise. "I'll get blood on it!"

"Not literally. Let's say… Metaphysically. You put your heart in the box and make a vow that you are not to date any more women ever. Ever." House poked Wilson again to make his point.

"Who will I date?"

"That's your problem." House made a jerky movement and rose. "Drink that beer, and then go to sleep."

House vanished down the hall, leaving Wilson alone on the couch. Wilson turned the small cage in his hands. The tiny metal bars reflected neatly in the lights. He liked the way the cage looked. It was very artistic and almost… pretty.

He tried to use his superior intellect to contemplate the severity of the situation, but was quickly distracted by a loose string in the couch cover. He pulled at it until it came loose, and then flicked it over the back of the couch into the great unknown.

Wilson yawned. He was much too tired to think through what House had told him. Instead he put the cage on the coffee table and added his now empty beer bottle to the impressive pile on the floor. He contemplated the final full bottle, but he couldn't open it in his inebriated state.

Wilson slid the final bottle onto the floor and curled up on the couch. He found a comfortable position easily and was asleep before he could think about anything else at all. So Wilson slept, and slept, and slept.

Until he woke up.