House x Wilson

3

House stood from where he had been lying on the old blue bathroom tile. The lack of a window made it so no evening light could enter and he had to squint in the dim glow from the weak lamp light in order to see the sleeves of his bright blue button up shirt as he slid it back over his head. It was loose so there was no need to play with the plastic buttons each time he wanted to change. He threw his jacket over his head. He looked just like he always did: disheveled.

Wilson, on the other hand, had been wearing a perfectly-fit white collared shirt with a brown tie and brown jacket that he actually used to guard him from the cold. He usually looked tidy yet after their strenuous activity, his hair was scruffy and disordered. Anyone would look at him and think either he just had great sex or run a marathon. "I didn't know you wanted this," he said, repeating what House had said earlier.

"I know. My suggesting we have sex was just too subtle" House said, sarcasm dripping from his words. He began to leave the room. The bigness of what they did dawned on him. He needed the clarity of his office to think. He didn't want to ruin a good thing, but his mind was already working to replace his happiness to make it as short-term as possible.

House's immediate return to his normal, distant self made Wilson double take. He questioned whether House even felt anything at all. Sex was usually just sex to him. He even regularly hired hookers for god's sake. Wilson put his hands out so he was in anatomical position. "What are we going to do?"

"I'm going to get Park to send me pics of that patient's hidden bunker. That thing's more expensive than my apartment." House deflected. He needed time to deal.

"No, no, I mean about us." He knew his friend was just trying to get out of the conversation— it's what he always did— but that time he wasn't having it. He can't just sleep with his best friend of over 20 years and pretend it meant nothing. 20 years.

House groaned. "This talk, huh?" He leaned against the doorway. He turned around in the direction to leave. He had a patient to diagnose/call paranoid and doctors to whom he had to teach the art of finding the truth.

Wilson sighed. House was officially out of his information-giving mood and he'd have to wait until the man regained his head or else he'd drown in a sea of rationalizations before he ever found out how (if at all) the man felt. "It's a reasonable question," he pressed, though confident it would go nowhere.

"We still on for lunch tomorrow? We can talk then." He left Wilson alone, looking like crap, in the bathroom.

As soon as House stepped into his car, he checked his messages. He had been neglecting his phone for obvious reasons. Now the sky was going dark and he still hadn't responded. His inbox had been filled to the brim with texts from all four of his dutiful team members which had sent in an effort to receive their boss' medical opinion on what to do about the lawyer's (he forgot his name) progressing neurological symptoms.

Park and Adams had been catfighting the whole case, and it was fascinating earlier to analyze their responses to work/personal stress. Now that he was going through it himself, not as fun. He ended up siding with Park on her method of treatment: DNA assays for sporotrichosis, meningococcemia. Invasive... but necessary. He was getting the young girl to think like him.

He realized that Park, Adams, Taub, And Chase had everything under control. He was no longer needed at the hospital until another problem would inevitably arise. He leaned to the side of the door struggling to get into a decent position. He would just sleep in his car until the next day. No way he was going back up to his apartment when Wilson could still be in there.

**********

Wilson entered the cafeteria, slightly dark lines outlining the wrinkles under his eyes. He had been thinking about his sexual encounter with House all night and all day. House may have been the initiator but Wilson couldn't help but blame himself. Their dysfunctional friendship would crumble.

He fell into the booth with a his sandwich he had bought quickly and messily. He almost even forgot to thank the cashier lady for letting him pay an even $20 when his total was $20.01.

House collapsed in the bench across from Wilson's spot and grabbed half of his sandwich. He tasted it and the dry meat and bread bathed his tongue. "Forgot to ask for mustard," he commented. He had thought about what to say to Wilson all morning but he finally decided to just wing it. He was off to a great start.

Wilson glowered at him. Usually he was able to read his best friend like a book. Like a textbook about self-destructive behavior or something. But now he was coming back with nothing. "Did yesterday evening mean nothing to you?" He demanded under his breath.

"Of course it meant something," House hissed. As much as he didn't want to admit vulnerability, he read somewhere that communication could actually help in situations such as the one he was in. His friend knew how to back him in corners, but this time he didn't have the energy or desire to back out.

Wilson raised his eyebrows, relaxing his shoulders. Thank god. I thought I was going crazy. He realized with a start that he had confirmed nothing but that there was implications behind what happened. "Well?"

House dropped the sandwich back on Wilson's plate in frustration. He made things so difficult all the time. With him, there was no such thing as self-indulgence. Going with the flow. "Well what?" He snapped. "Can't you grow a freaking pair? I was the one who commenced the sex. The balls in your court, now." He stood up and limped off.

Wilson gawked after him. He had never considered the prospect House wanted to be pursued. The diagnostician displayed affection through intercourse but Wilson had other ways to show he cared. It was time to see how devoted his friend really was.