Not the Way You Should See Me

By Clarity Scifiroots
Regular disclaimers apply. Title from "Make it Go Away" by Holly Cole
Fandom/Characters: House MD – House, Wilson
Spoilers: One Day, One Room
Rated: FRT?
Summary: Another take on the aftermath of the episode. Wilson questions.
May!fic 17 of 31


House still can't wrap his mind around why he told her the truth. He tweaked the truth at first and Eve was convinced he'd lied. That should have been the end of it. But then he admitted he'd lied about lying.

(Wasn't my grandmother, but it was true.)

Cuddy's so amazed by the whole incident that she's letting him off a couple days of clinic duty as long as his Ducklings turn up a case. Strangely he's not as thrilled as he ought to be. Not that he ever wants to step foot in the clinic, after this recent adventure he wants to be there even less.

(Why did you choose me?)

(There's something about you. It's like you're hurt too.)

"Stupid little girl," he mutters. He secures his helmet and revs the bike's engine. He's determined to get some air before going into work.

Since bringing Eve to the park he can't make himself go back. Instead of imagining all the ways the joggers can embarrass themselves or fuck up their bodies, he sees only his own image reflected. He remembers the way his muscles used to flex when he ran, the sweat dripping down his back; the wind used to feel good when he ran, now he has to bundle up against the chill.


Foreman and Cameron eye their watches almost in unison when he limps into the conference room. House glares at them. "What, am I late?"

"Actually—" Cameron stops when his eyes narrow. Shouldn't she know his rhetorical questions by now?

"What did you dig up?" he asks, moving to the coffee maker.

Chase starts listing the patient's stats with the occasional commentary about personal history from Cameron. House lets himself ease into routine and pushes aside thoughts of teary-eyed girls and rainy nights in chilly, early spring.


Wilson turns up in House's office a little after one. He's rubbing the back of his neck and wearing an expression that says he's about to attempt a serious conversation. If they were two other people, it would probably be called a "heart-to-heart."

"Sorry, no tumors," House says, returning his attention to the PSP in his hands.

"What?" Wilson props himself on the desk and crosses his arms. "Your patient? I'm not here about him/her." House takes another peek and isn't pleased that Wilson seems to be fortifying himself.

"Whatever it is, spit it out," he growls. As it is, he can barely concentrate on destroying the walking dead

Wilson clears his throat quietly. "I can't help noticing you've been a little off-balance since your conversation with Eve."

Real subtle... House jabs ruthlessly at the green-skinned, one-armed zombie blocking the exit.

"Who says we had a conversation?" House says.

"As hard as it is to imagine you having a sincere discussion with a—well, anyone, really—I find it much more likely than Eve having a sudden epiphany and reversing everything she'd previously insisted."

House continues fighting for his character's life, damn zombies have gotten in a number of hits since Wilson came in. "If I die, I'm blaming you," he mutters.

Wilson lets out a long-suffering sigh. "House..."

Oh, enough already! House hits the pause button and looks up. "What're you digging around for? She made her choice, she's talking, and she's on her merry way."

"She needed to connect with you," Wilson says, straightening up and taking a step towards House. "And you found some sort of bond. I know what Cameron and Foreman said, and I know you couldn't take their advice. You couldn't pull this off with a lie."

"Oh, please. Like you have any more experience than I do at talking to poor raped girls." He stands up and drops the PSP on the chair.

"She didn't want a sympathetic shoulder to cry on or someone to coddle her. I don't know what she wanted from you but somehow you helped—"

"And what? You have some secret you want to get off your chest to see if I can fix it? What is this really about?"

Wilson stares at him silently for a time. House clenches his jaw.

"The truth is something horrible did happen to you. She opened up because you told her. And it's bothering you now because she stirred it up." Wilson's gaze is far too knowing and irritatingly compassionate. "Don't you think there might be something to sharing what happens in our lives?"

"Can't change it now," House snaps. "Talking about crap cements it even more." He fixes Wilson with a pointed glare. "Repeating it aloud isn't going to help her."

"She won't know until she tries." Wilson breaks eye contact but draws closer until House can feel his body heat. "You've never told me what it was that made you hate your dad so much."

House freezes for a millisecond. He sneers, "Let's take a wild stab at psychotherapy 101. I'm not having this conversation with you."

Wilson doesn't let him turn, and his cane is just out of reach. "Give me the damn cane."

"He did something," Wilson says quietly, dropping his gaze. House can feel his pulse throbbing wildly beneath his jaw.

Damnit... Let it go.

With a sigh, Wilson steps aside. House nearly lunges for the cane and immediately feels more secure with it in hand.

"Now if you'll excuse me? I have a patient to save."

"Greg? You'll tell me sometime, won't you?"

House stops with his hand on the door. He doesn't turn around when he responds. "Some day." That'll have to be good enough. There's nothing else he can offer.

-- --

Everyone will tell you... that that's what we gotta make her do. We have to help her, right? Except we can't. We drag out her story. Tell each other that it'll help her heal. Feel real good about ourselves. But all we've done is make a girl cry.

- House – "One Day, One Room"

And yes, House is playing some made-up PSP game with zombies because of trieduntrue's fic and titterwings' adorable drawing.