Title: House's Problem, Wilson's Issues
Summary: Unfairly abused chicken, bomb dropping, and man-love.
Word Count: 1,343 words
Disclaimer: No living chickens were harmed during the making of this fanfic. I still don't own House or any of the other sexy people on House, M.D.
A/N: What crappy ending of the fifth season? I didn't see any mental issues, Cuddy lovin' (hallucinated or otherwise), or psyche hospitals. Everyone else must just be delusional. Yeah. That's it. *sails carelessly down The Nile*
House's Problem, Wilson's Issues
"Do you wanna know what your problem is?" Wilson said as he set his tray down on a table and sat down.
House set his tray down across from Wilson and plopped down into his chair. "Actually, no. I don't like problems and I avoid them when I can and I don't like people pointing them out to me," he replied.
Wilson snorted and continued. "You're scared; scared of love – don't make that face at me, House, you know I'm right. Ever since Stacy left you've been hiding out in your apartment eating crap and watching lame TV."
"I did the same thing before Stacy left, only there was usually sex after lame TV," House shot back.
Wilson rolled his eyes and gave up, eating his salad in lieu of going up against House's denial one more time.
"Besides," House muttered, stabbing his chicken a little harder than necessary, "I'm not afraid of love, it's his wife that's got me worried."
Wilson almost choked on his salad. "Pardon?"
House looked up from his tray with wide eyes. "What?"
"You just said-,"
"Never mind," House interrupted gruffly and glared at Wilson, indicating that the subject was not something House considered open for discussion.
Wilson opened his mouth, determined to proceed, but the look on House's face promised pain, of the deep psychological kind that usually ended in Wilson avoiding House and sleeping in his office. Wilson went back to his salad.
House nodded, satisfied that the subject had been dropped and went back to mutilating his chicken.
A couple minutes of silence passed before Wilson finally said, "Ok, I'm sorry, but you said 'his', as in 'him', as in a guy as opposed to a girl, so…"
House sighed and dropped his fork. Standing, House said, "If you can't come to your own conclusions then you're more stupid than I ever gave you credit for." Having said his piece, House limped out of the cafeteria, leaving Wilson to pick up both trays and figure things out for himself.
Several hours later House was sitting at his desk, bouncing his thinking ball against the wall, when he felt someone's eyes on him. He looked up to find a rumpled Wilson watching him through the glass. His shirt was untucked, his tie gone, and several buttons at the top were undone. His hair looked like he'd been raking his hand through it. His eyes, still on House's frozen form, were confused and wide, like a deer in headlights.
House stood to go to his friend and Wilson's eyes widened even further, as if he'd just noticed House wasn't preoccupied. He took off too fast for House to even begin to have a chance to catch up to him.
Berating himself for opening his big mouth and chasing his only friend away, House sat back down in his chair and rubbed at his thigh and stared off into space. He was angry with himself and Wilson for pushing it, but mostly he was anxious. What if Wilson took off? Was it too late to pretend that it had all been an elaborate joke to confuse and baffle Wilson again? House pushed away from his desk with a sigh, scooped up his bag, and stomped (well as much as a crippled man can) out of the hospital.
A quick bike ride and he would be home, where he could drink until he forgot.
House didn't see Wilson again for three days, and he was completely unbearable for all of them. His ducklings had taken to hiding in the clinic and even Cuddy was avoiding him, not even bothering to nag him about taking a patient or doing his clinic hours. They all knew it had something to do with Wilson's disappearance, but anybody who'd braved House's office to try to talk to him had been pelted with heavy objects from House's desk. After the first couple of hours, everyone just avoided the office, hoping Wilson would be back soon, and the two men would make up.
On the fourth day of House's Reign of Terror, House was once again throwing the ball against the wall between his and Wilson's office (if it was a little more vicious than usual, it was no one's business but his own). When House felt eyes on him again he wasn't surprised to find Wilson staring at him through the glass. Wilson still looked deliciously ruffled, but his eyes were steady and determined.
House stood like he had before and when Wilson didn't show any signs of bolting like a scared animal, he limped towards the door. He stopped three feet from the door to give Wilson one more chance to change his mind, to run away.
He didn't. Instead Wilson opened the glass door and took the last few steps separating them. Stopping about 10 inches away from House, Wilson said, "Hey."
House swallowed past the lump he felt forming in his throat. "Hey." He itched to close the last couple inches, but he wasn't sure what kind of conclusions Wilson had come to.
Wilson's face was serious and House swallowed hard again. "I have something to say that-I, well…House, I-," Wilson began.
House moved to take a couple steps back, determined not to show the disappointment on his face and to put some space between him and the pain.
Wilson grabbed his hand before he could get far though. "House, stop," Wilson pleaded.
"Let go of my hand," House commanded, trying to tug free of Wilson's deceptively strong grip. "I really don't need you to-,"
"I love you," Wilson said, not letting.
"-manhandle me like-what?" House said and ceased struggling.
"Still want your hand back?" Wilson asked, grinning now. It wasn't often that he made House speechless.
"I've got another," House answered distractedly.
"I didn't know how you'd feel about me saying that. And I'm sorry if I worried you. I just needed some time to sort some things out," Wilson told House.
House nodded, still in shock. He'd been steeling himself for the worst, not for a declaration of love. He'd gone over every potential situation in his head. Except for this one apparently.
Wilson took House's continued silence as a sign he should go on.
"If-if we're going to do this, we're both going to have to try, be willing to compromise. And we both need to be all in. I'm a one-woman man – or a one-man man in this case and I don't share."
"Julia?" House managed, finally coming back to his senses.
"We were already separated and in the act of getting a divorce. She cheated on me."
House's eyebrows rose.
"I didn't want to bother you with it. I've been staying in a hotel."
House nodded. "I'm all in."
Wilson nodded back and they stared at each other for a few seconds.
"I'm going to kiss you," House said, moving closer. "Please don't run. I'm not in any condition to chase you right now."
Wilson chucked and it sound a bit hysterical. He swallowed hard, but stayed where he was.
House stopped inches from Wilson's mouth. "Last chance," he whispered. "Turn around and run now or you're stuck with me forever."
Wilson chuckled again and this time it was normal sounding. Once again, he closed the last bit of space between them.
It was a clumsy and sort of awkward kiss. A testing of waters.
House pulled away with an uncharacteristically goofy grin. And damn if those waters weren't fucking perfect.
They moved back together, lips against lips, and House dropped his can to grab Wilson's hips and pull him even closer.
Wilson whimpered and his hands were on House's shoulders kneading.
When they pulled apart again they were both smiling and didn't even notice House's ducklings hurrying away, mouths agape.
House was still grinning when he said, "Let's go get some hamburgers and then go back to my place and make out."
Wilson snorted. "How romantic."
"Says the man who shouted "Finally!" at the end of Love Story," House countered.
Laughing, they left House's office.