Here And Now



Take a breath.

He was only your best friend and all…and the man you had, unfortunately, fallen in love with…

Stupid wonder boy… with his cute little ass and his too sweet voice…and... I've got to quit thinking 'bout him!

I had to blow it. I lost the only thing that's ever really lasted. The only thing I could ever call mine. That friendship…not him. Only having our friendship wasn't quite enough…

I had to blow it and reach for more… I had to kiss him.

I'm an idiot!

He kissed me. I don't know why, and I don't know…Why?

Did he do it just to mess with me? Was this some sort of convoluted plan to screw with me? Shivers ran down my spine at the double meaning of the sentence.

Or had he found out? I mean, they all told me it was obvious. Cuddy, Cameron, Foreman, Chase, Thirteen, Kutner, Even Taub! They all said it was obvious and that it was a miracle House hadn't yet realized it. I was in love with House.

How the hell could I have fallen for him! It's not possible. This is House. A narcissistic, sarcastic, cruel heartless bastard of a… needy, understanding, empathetic, brilliant Diagnostician…who, in his own demented twisted ironic way… loved me AS A FRIEND! So what in the world possessed him to kiss me? I had to find out. I was going over there…

On the way to his place, the scene I hadn't been able to stop thinking about no matter what flashed through my mind.

I was in House's office just after House had gotten his job back once again. We were celebrating. This consisted in boozing up in his office. House was about one drink in and I hadn't even touched the fucking bottle. I had pulled up the chair close to House's desk. He was sitting in his chair, leaned back with his feet propped up. We were talking about the patient.

"Did you really have to be so horrible to that kid's parents?"


"They thought it was in his best interest."

"There are serial killers who think of themselves as Angels of Mercy. They kill people experiencing grief and think of it as helping them 'move on'."

"That's not the same, House…and how do you find out this stuff?" I replied exasperatedly pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Yes, it is. They actually think that they're helping them, that they're doing nothing wrong. And that's for me to know and for you to…never find out." informed the annoying diagnostician with a smug little grin.

"They were his parents!"

"Who drugged there kid in order for him to be energetic and try and prove to his doctors that he didn't have cancer 'cuz they didn't want to pay for chemo. Yeah, they sure as hell didn't deserve being yelled at."

I sighed. "The parents weren't cheap. They just didn't want there child to have some horrible disease. They wanted him to be normal. I stood up with my hands on my hips.

House stood up and limped, cane less, over to me. "Oh, don't give me that cute little 'You-ought-to-no-better' look. An easy way to make all the chicks swoon but they aren't any to impress in here. Who you trying to impress? Me?" asked House jokingly.

"Says the man who jumped called my 'look' cute."

"You're still wrong about the kid's parents, James."

I froze. He never called me James. His eyes locked with mine and for a second a very difficult struggle appeared in the hypnotized Diagnostician's eyes. Then he leaned forward and brushed my lips with his. It sent a jolt down my spine and made me jump and stiffen slightly. It didn't get to be anymore then just a brush. But still it had the same intention. It was a kiss.

House met my eyes in the couple seconds after he pulled away. Then he grabbed his cane, left his jacket and bag, and fled. I stood frozen as he limped down the hall.

So now, as I parked in front of House's apartment building and stepped out into the cold night, I felt real fear. House and I had been through everything. Everything but this. Amazing how, after almost twenty years, there had never been a drunken one nightstand or sloppy kiss between us. We had never even come close.

I jumped when I heard a knock at the door and groaned. It had to be Wilson.

For the first time in my life, I had no excuses, or comebacks, or anything ready for the questions he was sure to ask.

"House. Open up."

"Go away, Jimmy."

"I have a key, Greg."

"So use it. There's no reason for me to get up off my ass, then."

I heard the slight clinking of a key be pushed through a lock. I practically jumped off my couched and speed limped down the hall to my bedroom. Before I made it around the corner Wilson had pushed the door open, called my name and had practically jolted up to me and grabbed the end of my cane.

I stopped and turned back. As I looked from my cane to Wilson and back again I couldn't help but chuckle.

"I can think of so many wrong comments…"


"Oh, come on, Jimmy. It was just a brush. We've been friends for years, one time in twenty is a pretty good track record, don't ya think?"

"You meant something by it."

"How would you know that?" I replied. The fact that I blushed and stared at my feet while shifting my weight didn't help matters. Wilson was awesome at reading body language.

"Because I know you. Your eyes. The way you just fled. If it meant nothing you woulda just smirked, made a joke about it, or laughed it off. There is no way in hell you would have run. Running means you're afraid. Fear means it meant something."

"You're too good at that."


"Analyzing people. You've become just as bad as me, to every little thing we do, there is a reason and emotion behind it. You're far too good. If you're that good, I'm surprised you haven't figured it out. Everyone else has. Fuck, perfect stranger got it! How can you not know?"

"Know what?" his voice was on the edge of breaking.

"That I'm God Damn, Fucking, head over heels in love with you and there's not a god damn thing I can do about it! You think I enjoy this. I hate it.

This is pure torture! I watch you enter relationship after relationship, thinking that it just might last. That I never even had a chance. Watched you hurt me and yourself time after time again. Do you know how much it hurts to watch the one person you've ever really loved be with someone else. I've had to keep my mouth shut for years for fear of losing you completely. I was doing a great job at repressing my emotions too.

It's just when you look at me, or we lock eyes, or you touch me. It's near impossible. I was coping…and I broke. I couldn't take it so I did it. I fucking kissed you and ran like a child. Because…I can't handle loosing you…I really can't…I had to once…and failed miserably at it!

I wish I wasn't. I really do. You don't know how painful it is to be in love with someone you had no chance of getting, and my best and only friend too… Damn. Fate means fucking screwed on purpose!" I rambled trailing off.

I looked up for mere seconds and locked eyes with clouded brown ones.

"Wait a second," he broke the silence with his little epiphany," You like me."

"Hell, No!" If I just liked you this would have been so much easier. I'm in love with you, you idiot. Wish I wasn't-" before I could go on he had pushed me against the wall and captured my lips with his. He kissed me hard and I was dazed for a moment. I had never, in my wildest dreams, actually expected him to kiss me the fuck back!

I gasped and kissed him back in the same way. Hard.

Twenty years of pent up sexual tension had led to this.

Love isn't sweet, or pretty, or easy. It's gritty, ugly, and painful. None of this happens perfectly. The two of us trip and stumble as we make our way to my bedroom. My back hit's the door and it hurts. He presses against me and obsessively licks and explores every part of my mouth. It strikes me suddenly that he's had to deal with it too. I wonder if there were nights he couldn't sleep, images of blue eyes and pianist fingers dancing behind his lids, and by the way he's gasping and sucking air out of my lungs before he nips my lip, I know he's spent hours analyzing the way I've said something; why I did something; what I was doing when he wasn't with me.

Wilson manages to jerk the door open and we both fall to the ground in a pile of limbs. My leg aches sharply, but at the moment, it's the last thing on my mind.

We find a rhythm that suits us and it's fumbling and imperfect and we don't meet each other's eyes for longer than two seconds. The sex is imperfect and nothing like the millions of times I imagined it would be. We both cant quite seem to get each other's clothes off and our hands are shaking and we're scared where this'll lead almost to the point of insanity. But the fact that I have him, hear against me, on my bed and gasping and wanting me, overrides my worries. Lust takes control. He obsessively licks as much of me as he can and I clutch at him and claw at him. His naked flesh is slick against mine with sweat and everything about this is new. We don't spout off meaningless, poetic phrases, and even if my whole world is spinning off its axis and tilting, and I'm sure his is too, but in all reality, the sun will rise and set tomorrow, the world is still going to hell in a hand basket, and nobody really cares.

When it's over we collapse onto my bed, gasping for air. We don't tell each other we love one another, it's already been done for us. In the morning, we'll take things as they come and burn any bridges that need burning behind us. The only thing that I'm slightly assured of is the fact that I'll probably never have to bite my lip and keep my mouth shut ever again. The only thing that ever really matters is the here and now. I'm not worried about tomorrow or the next. I'm not even curious about if Wilson and I are technically now dating. The only thing I care about is the person tangles in my limbs and clutching onto me like he'll never let go. Right now, that's all I ever really want to care about…