For Good: First Times Chapter 2
Title: For Good: First Times
Chapter: 2/5
Rating: PG-13 for language
Pairings: House/Wilson
Summary: A look at House and Wilson, and how their relationship developed. PreHouse to season one.
The first time James Wilson realized there might be something not-entirely-platonic about his relationship with Gregory House was on his and Jennifer’s second anniversary. He’d done everything he could think of to make the evening as romantic as possible. Dinner at the restaurant where he’d proposed, dancing, wine, the works. He’d finished it all off by taking her back home and serving her dessert he’d spent six hours making earlier. It should have been perfect.
Except for the fact that it felt like both of them were trying too hard. Their conversation was full of boring small-talk, or mushy sentiments that felt more empty than they had in the past. They still loved each other, no doubt about that. It just struck James as wrong that they cared so much about the formality of the whole ordeal. He realized that he hadn’t done it all as a purely romantic gesture. It was more that he’d known Jennifer had expected it of him, so he’d gone through the motions.
Adding to the imperfection was the fact that he kept thinking of House at the most inappropriate moments. Cynical words kept popping into his head almost as if his friend was running a commentary behind a curtain. He had nearly laughed out loud at something he imagined House would say when a waitress had accidentally ground pepper into a woman’s cleavage. Either James was eccentric or just plain fucked up.
Still, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, he thought. Jenny didn’t notice his distraction. She was too busy making exaggerated moaning noises into her dessert. James sat across from her at their dining table lost in his thoughts.
So James had a somewhat-scarily-codependent-obsessive relationship with House. House was his best friend. Like a brother to him. Well, maybe not a brother per se… that just didn’t seem the right word for it somehow. But “best friend” still seemed too weak of a term. Influential companion…lifelong buddy…platonic soul-mate? Still not it. Why was it that every phrase he came up with sounded so gay?
Anyway, House was his friend. So what if having House around always made a shitty day into a good one? It wasn’t odd that James was always hyper-aware of House’s movements; how he could make simple everyday gestures seem to have an underlying grace no one else could match. It didn’t matter that James felt his throat constricting a little during those rare moments when House would do something that showed he actually cared. And so what if James was hypnotized by the way House’s dexterous hands seemed to fly when he played piano? If he wondered what else those hands were capable of, he certainly wasn’t telling.
And there he was analyzing his relationship with House when he was supposed to be focusing on Jenny. He snapped his attention back to the present as Jenny finished her dessert and smiled at him in that coy way that told James he was about to get lucky. He stood up and they walked hand in hand to the bedroom.
Later, as he lost himself in that pounding ancient rhythm, Jennifer squeezed her legs tighter around his hips and reared back. He faltered for a moment, and took the opportunity to open his eyes and look at the woman he loved. Her face was flushed, chest heaving, heavy lidded eyes staring into his. He’d always loved the steel-gray of her eyes.
Whether it was the darkness of the room, luminescence from the sliver of light coming from the hallway, or James’ own imagination, at that moment Jenny’s eyes were a bright shade of blue he’d only ever seen once before in his life. A surge of pure, electric need so strong passed through him that he immediately picked up the rhythm, going faster, pressing harder, deeper until he was practically fucking his wife through the mattress. He was helpless to stop the barrage of images that leapt unbidden into his mind, all having to do with his very egotistical, very exasperating, very male best friend.
With a sharp cry James came harder than he ever had in his life, gasping and biting down on his tongue to stop the exclamation of the name Greg! from escaping. He collapsed almost immediately, trying to distribute his weight so he wouldn’t crush Jenny. She was shivering from her own orgasm, pulling him close to her and kissing his lips tenderly. He closed his eyes.
Fuckfuckfuck, James swore silently, I want him. I actually want him.
However incredulous he was about it he couldn’t deny the facts. James had never been that good at lying to himself or the people he loved. His shattered first marriage was proof of that.
On the night of his second anniversary in the arms of his loving wife, James had a very quiet mental breakdown.
The first time Gregory House realized there might be something not-entirely-platonic about his relationship with James Wilson was when he started to notice things.
Things like how when Wilson was getting along with his wife he’d smell stronger because he’d splash on a little bit more cologne than he usually did in the morning. Wilson’s hair seemed to inexplicably get less… flippy… with every terminal diagnosis he delivered. Wilson would make a show of being annoyed when Greg stole from his lunch tray, but still let a small, amused smile cross his face afterwards when he thought Greg wasn’t looking. When Wilson lost several patients in a short period of time he’d joke around with Greg more than he did normally.
Those were all observations Greg could deal with. The kind he could add to his growing list of information about Wilson. None of it was too remarkable or outwardly disturbing. They were the sort of things Greg noticed about everybody all the time. It was his job to analyze and make conclusions from often-missed observations, and he was damn good at it.
The part where it got kind of odd was when he started noticing things he shouldn’t have noticed.
Things like how certain ties somehow made the brown in Wilson’s eyes look a deeper and brighter shade at the same time. The small mole underneath Wilson’s lip on the left side of his face added to how young he seemed when he smiled. He had eyebrows so thick that they reminded Greg of caterpillars, but for some reason they just added to Wilson’s appeal.
How strongly he reacted to his friend was starting to weird him out. Like how when Wilson really wanted something he could pull a look that would make Greg cave every time. How nobody, not even Stacy, could make Greg laugh like Wilson did. Greg would feel the urge to walk a little closer to Wilson when Deborah or Brenda started looking at the oncologist in a way that wasn’t completely professional. His heart seemed to speed up a little (and wasn’t that a cliché load of crap?) whenever Wilson laughed so hard at one of Greg’s comments that his eyes started tearing up.
The part where it started to get scary was that he wanted to know everything about Wilson, wanted to understand where the hell all this was coming from. Greg liked prying into everyone else's business so this wasn’t an altogether new thing, but with Wilson it seemed different. The somewhat-functional-obsession had given way to a WAY-too-interested-to-be-healthy-obsession. And the new element to Greg’s curiosity about Wilson was that he actually cared on an emotional level. It wasn’t just all about the puzzle anymore.
It wasn’t that he wanted Wilson. He had everything he wanted, everything he needed in Stacy. He loved Stacy; he liked Wilson. It was more of an appreciation for his friend on an intellectual level than anything else. Who wouldn’t appreciate Wilson? He was funny, intelligent, good-looking and one of the few people who didn’t bore Greg to tears. It was completely understandable that Greg would be slightly attracted to him.
Emotions, like paperwork, just got in the way of things. Greg prided himself on being obscenely good at ignoring both. So he didn’t analyze the way his day wasn’t complete until he’d bugged Wilson at least once. He didn’t wonder why his shoulder seemed to tingle for a few minutes after Wilson would pat him companionably before heading back to his office. And it didn’t require further introspection when he found himself thinking it might be nice to mess up that perfectly coifed hair by running his fingers through it.
He had more important things to worry about, anyway.
The first time James Wilson knew that Gregory House was the most important person in his life was when he got a phone-call to his hotel room at two a.m. He’d just spent the day sightseeing all over Greece with Jennifer and her overbearing sister. His eyes snapped open at the sharp ring. Jenny groaned and rolled over. James had to reach over her to grab the receiver.
“Hello?” he asked, his voice rusty with sleep.
“James?” It was Stacy. Why the hell was she calling at this hour? “I’m sorry, I couldn’t take the time-difference into account. This couldn’t wait. Greg just came out of surgery ten minutes ago.”
“What?” His heart sprang into his throat. He was completely awake now. “What happened?”
He listened, his eyes widening in horror as she told him. Leg pain. House being accused of using the clinic to get drugs. Three days of agony and misdiagnosis. Muscle death. Infarction. Medically induced coma. Stacy overriding his wishes to save his life.
“They… they say he’s got a pretty good chance. But… but they still don’t know if he’ll make it.” She was crying quietly.
“I’ll book the first flight I can get,” James assured her, panic clawing up his throat. He was shaking. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“I wanted to, James, I’m sorry. But Greg… he made me promise not to. He said he didn’t want you to know. I don’t know why. I’m sorry. You should’ve known. You should’ve been here.”
James had always thought it was just a figure of speech, but he felt his blood run cold.
“It’s alright. I’ve got to go. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Okay. Call me when you get in.”
“I will. Just…” Just what? Take care of him? Make sure he doesn’t die before I get there? He let the sentence hang unfinished. “I’ll be there soon. Bye.”
He hung up and leapt out of bed, turning on the light and dressing. He began to pack their things on auto-pilot. He pushed the panic aside to worry about later. At least now he had something to do.
“James?” Jennifer’s muffled voice came from the bed. “Baby, what’s going on?”
“House is in the hospital,” he said hurriedly. “He’s just gotten out of surgery. We’ve got to go back. I’ll book the first flight out tomorrow morning.”
“What? What’s wrong with him?”
James explained while still packing. It felt odd to hear what Stacy had just told him coming out of his mouth. He still wasn’t sure he completely believed it. House had always seemed indestructible.
By the time he’d finished explaining he was nearly done packing. He grabbed the phone to schedule the flight. He wondered if he would even be able to book one at this hour. Before he could dial Jenny took the receiver away from him and hung it up.
“Jenny, what-?”
“Wait a second, James,” Jenny said. “You’re panicking. There’s nothing you can do.”
“Nothing I can do here, no,” James agreed, irritated.
“Even when you get there, what could you do but wait around?”
“Nothing much, but I could be there. They might need me.”
“Listen to yourself, James. You said that Stacy hadn’t called earlier because he didn’t want you to know. Why would he want you there?”
The words stung, coming from her. Even if he’d wondered it himself.
“You’re being unreasonable,” she continued. “We’re leaving the day after tomorrow anyway.”
James couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“This is my best friend we’re talking about, Jenny,” he snapped. “My dying best friend. I’m going whether you come with me or not. If you want to stay here with Meredith for another day, fine. Have fun. But I am going.”
Jennifer had never liked House. Still, he was James’ best friend. That should count for something. As he looked into her shocked face he saw this for the power play it was. He wondered if she could possibly be the same woman he’d married. Maybe he was the one who’d changed. But the fact remained that House’s life mattered a hell of a lot more to him than his wife’s happiness. She’d just have to deal with it.
When he walked out of the hotel leaving Jenny glaring at him from the bed he got that nauseous feeling in his gut he’d gotten the last time around when he’d wondered if his marriage was going to last. Maybe it was the panic or the stress talking, but for a split second he was almost positive that it was only a matter of time before this one ended as well. He could only hope that it would be on amiable terms.
For the 14 hour long flight he couldn’t sleep. He sat there trying to imagine life without House. Every time he did he wanted to tear down the aisle and scream at the pilot to fly the damn plane faster. House would be fine. The bastard had a stubborn streak broad enough to get him through anything. James had to keep telling himself that, or he would have a panic attack in the middle of a crowded cabin.
How did people deal with shit like this? He’d dished out the bad news often enough, but he’d never really had to deal with it himself. Everything seemed to be going fast-forward and in slow motion at the same time. He was having trouble breathing. He couldn’t think straight. His eyes were burning. He felt like he couldn’t keep still.
The physician’s part of his mind knew that all of this was a physiological response to shock, stress and panic. His emotions were causing his adrenaline to pump, his body to go into fight-or-flight mode. This resulted in rapid heart-beat, shallow breathing, cold sweat. That part of his mind couldn’t stop the fear from closing up his throat, though, couldn’t stop the helplessness from eating away at his stomach.
He refused to let himself wonder why House hadn’t wanted him to know. He was already upset enough as it was. But his mind kept racing, and he couldn’t help thinking about it in short bursts before he cut himself off. He thought he might go into hysterics.
After an eternity the plane landed, and James practically sprinted out of the terminal after grabbing his luggage. He pulled his cell-phone out as he got into the cab.
“Stacy? It’s James. I’m here.”
The first time Gregory House realized that he trusted James Wilson more than anyone else alive was when he was going through the most excruciating pain he’d ever experienced in his life. Six days ago it’d just been muscle pain, bed rest, antibiotics. Nothing life threatening. Now it seemed even reality was crumbling before his eyes. The worries, disappointments, hopes and plans of the past month seemed like a pipe-dream, and he wondered if any of it had even really mattered. On top of it all the bitter taste of betrayal lay heavily on his tongue.
If Greg thought about it objectively he couldn’t blame Stacy for what she’d done. That didn’t mean there wasn’t resentment ripping at his chest, anger burning through his veins almost as strongly as the pain. He’d woken up from the coma to find what felt like half his thigh just… gone. They’d threatened to restrain him when he’d ripped away the surgeon’s dressings to see the extent of the damage.
Then Stacy had confessed to what she’d done, and he’d lost it. He didn’t shout at people he hated as badly as he’d screamed at her for the next ten minutes before she’d choked back a sob and left the room. Stacy hadn’t come in again since then. The pain still coursing through him told him it must have been days, but the clock told him it’d been a mere matter of a few hours. Greg could see her sitting outside his room, though, looking pensive, afraid and smaller than she’d ever seemed. Normally he’d feel protective of her if she looked like that. Now he felt a measure of smug satisfaction that he knew he shouldn’t. With a tired sigh he leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes.
He was jolted awake when he heard shoes pounding a staccato rhythm down the hallway towards his room. He looked out the window to see Stacy standing up, rushing to whoever it was and falling against them. Sobs wracked her frame as she buried her face into an expensive tie. Shit. She must’ve called Wilson while he was in surgery.
They talked in hushed tones for a few minutes, but Greg couldn’t make out what they were saying. Finally Wilson took her elbow and led her away. It was another half hour before he came back.
His friend strode into the room looking more worried than Greg had ever remembered seeing him, and that was saying something. Sometimes he thought Wilson lived in a constant state of worry. There were deep rings under his friend’s eyes, his hair was a mess and his clothes were rumpled. He must’ve just gotten off the plane. He sat down next to Greg’s bed. He opened his mouth and closed it twice before he finally spoke.
“This is probably the stupidest question I’ve ever asked you, but how are you doing?”
“Fantastic,” Greg bit out sarcastically. “Figured I’d go for a run just as soon as they took out the damn catheters. What’s your opinion on spandex shorts?”
Wilson smiled sadly.
“Well, at least your mouth still works the way it used to. I’d say that’s cause for hope.”
“You always say there’s cause for hope right up until the point you’re telling the parents their kid is terminal.”
Greg did not allow himself to feel a flash of guilt when Wilson’s eyes darted down to his lap, wincing as if he’d struck him.
They sat in silence for a moment until Wilson took a deep breath and asked tentatively, “Why didn’t you have them call me earlier? You know I would have come the second I heard.”
“What, you’d rather hang out in a hospital than tour the Parthenon? I thought you had more taste.”
“The Parthenon was a let-down. Not nearly as impressive as all the brochures say it is. If I recall correctly, you were the one who told me it was over-rated, and you’re always right, remember?”
Greg couldn’t help the weak smile that fought it’s way onto his face.
“Of course,” he said. “That’s one more thing the world can add to the list of certainties. Death, taxes, and Gregory House is never wrong.” The last part came out a little strained. His eyes snapped shut tightly and he winced as the pain intensified for a few moments.
When he looked up again Wilson’s impressive eyebrows were knitted into a deep frown.
“How bad is the pain?” he asked. Greg winced again.
“Not that bad.”
“Liar. Why not just tell me?”
“Because there’s nothing you could do about it, and the last time I answered that question truthfully they took half my fucking thigh muscles,” he bit out passed clenched teeth. Wilson was stunned into silence for a few moments.
“You know that Stacy had no choice,” he ventured. “You know it was killing her to watch you like this without being able to do anything about it. Can you really blame her?”
“Yes. I’m capable of any number of despicable things. I thought we’d established that. Besides, you got her to go away fairly quickly. Maybe she’s finally accepted the fact that I’m pissed.”
“She was exhausted! She’s been here for two days straight. I told her to go home and get some rest.”
“Good. I hope she enjoys the disturbed sleep of the guilt-ridden.” He knew he was acting like a two-year-old, but he couldn’t help himself.
“She loves you, you idiot! She did what she thought she had to do.”
“Did she have to? Would you have done the same thing?” He glared accusingly at his best friend through the haze of pain.
“It doesn’t matter what I would have done!” Wilson hissed. “I wasn’t here. I didn’t know. God damn it, House, I didn’t know that my best friend was dying while I was on a completely irrelevant vacation with my wife and my annoying sister-in-law. What the fuck could I have done but come back to find you like this, or worse, come back to find you dead?”
Wilson never got this upset. He was always cool, calm, collected in the face of everything. House had only been able to rile him occasionally and even then it never even approached what he was witnessing now. Wilson’s hands were gripping his knees so hard that the knuckles had turned white, his jaw was clenched, and his eyes were suspiciously bright, almost as if he was holding back tears. He looked angry, helpless, frustrated… hurt. And Greg had to look away. Wilson took in a calming breath.
“So why didn’t you let Stacy call me?” he whispered. “Was I so irrelevant that you didn’t even want to give me the closure of being able to say goodbye if it came to that? Do you have any idea what I’d do for you?”
Greg did have a good idea of the lengths Wilson would go for him. It was one of the things he consistently didn’t think about. Just like he’d been trying not to think about his reasons for practically ordering Stacy to keep Wilson in the dark.
He wanted to lie. He wanted to say one of the many plausible things that Wilson would accept. “I didn’t want to worry you,” or, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.” Those statements would take some of the hurt out of Wilson’s eyes, they would let Greg continue to deny what he was feeling about the whole situation. But he couldn’t do it.
The fact of the matter was that he’d been terrified. Scared out of his mind just like he was now because of how badly he’d wanted Wilson there. Stacy had been with him, and that should have been all he needed. But it still hadn’t been enough. The panic had been eating away at him more than it should have, and the only thing he’d really wanted was for Wilson to come back. He’d needed Wilson, and he didn’t know how he felt about that.
It’d almost been harder with Stacy there. That protective streak in him had been crying out to deny the pain, to hide how bad it was so that Stacy didn’t have to see. And not being able to hide it, her seeing him like that… it had been more humiliating than he would have thought. There wasn’t such a strong sense of pride in his relationship with Wilson. There also wasn’t that sense of the need to protect. Wilson had proven himself to be able to handle anything God or Greg could throw at him and then some. Knowing that Wilson was his equal in every way that mattered… that was liberating in a way it wasn’t with Stacy.
And it was scaring the shit out of Greg that right now that concerned gaze Wilson was leveling on him was more comforting, more of an anchor than Stacy’s tears, than her hand stroking through his hair. What the fuck was wrong with him?
“You’re blaming yourself for this,” Greg observed after a long moment. “Not that it’s much of a surprise. You always blame yourself.”
There was an almost imperceptible flicker of emotion that blazed through Wilson’s eyes for a split second.
“Maybe I could have done something,” his voice came quickly. “I would have known that it wasn’t about the drugs. I would have made them listen, we might have figured it out sooner…” He trailed off, dropping his head into his hands with a weary sigh.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered from his slumped position. “You don’t need this right now. I’m being an ass.”
“Finally, something we can agree on,” Greg mumbled. Wilson let out a slightly-hysterical laugh.
They lapsed into silence, and Wilson finally lifted his head. Their eyes locked, and for a moment it seemed that they were trying to communicate without saying anything. Greg finally broke the silence.
“If things keep going the way they are, they want to start my physical therapy in a month.”
“Good. That’s… good,” Wilson fumbled.
“Yeah.” And it’s gonna hurt like hell. “I’ve… asked them to schedule it in the early afternoon.” Wilson looked confused.
“Stacy will be back at work by then.”
“I know.” I don’t want her to have to deal with it. To see me go through that.
“Ah.”
“If you… I mean, if you weren’t…” Greg trailed off. He was really fucking bad at stuff like this. I don’t want Stacy there, but I can’t do this alone. I want you there. I need your help. Wilson’s eyes softened.
“I’m sure I can fit it into my schedule.”
“Oh. Okay. Uh… thanks.” For being there. For… caring.
“Don’t mention it.”
They were silent for a few moments again. Greg’s eyes were starting to get heavy. He fought it for a minute, but he was exhausted. Slowly, he let himself succumb to sleep.
Just before he went under he felt a strong hand rest on top of his. Greg turned his over and gave a weak squeeze.
And maybe he imagined it, but he thought he heard Wilson’s choked voice whisper,
“Thank God you’re still here.”
The first time Gregory House knew that James Wilson was always going to be around was three months after Stacy finally left for good. They’d only lasted eight months after the infarction, and they’d fought more in those eight months than they had for the entire rest of the time they’d known each other. Then why the fuck did he miss her so much?
Greg wasn’t used to missing people. People were annoying when they were in his life, good riddance when they were gone. And he’d had enough resentment and anger stored up against Stacy that he’d thought when she left it wouldn’t hurt.
He’d forgotten the blazingly obvious fact that underneath it all he still loved her. She’d been one of the best things that had ever happened to him. And now he found himself spending most nights holed up in his room contemplating death like a whiny teenager. Heartbreak was a bitch.
The only thing that had remained a constant, that had gotten him through the worst times (even though he’d never admit to that) was James Wilson. Whereas Stacy and Greg knew all the weak spots in each other’s armor and the built up resentment had allowed them to score direct hits, Greg never seemed to be able to get to Wilson. He’d dealt out some low-blows, too, but the bastard just seemed to shrug them off by giving him an eye-roll and a look that screamed, I understand that you’re being a total ass right now, but I’m not going to comment on it.
It was messing with Greg in ways he didn’t like to think about. Mainly that his slight attraction to Wilson had been getting stronger by the day. And while he probably could use a rebound fuck he wasn’t about to entertain the notion that he could get one from his married best friend.
He felt like he was a baby duck imprinting on the first human he saw. Post-Stacy, the first person who showed any caring or affection towards him was Wilson so it only made sense. Not that Greg needed affection. He was an island, man.
He sighed and sat down heavily on his couch, wincing when his thigh gave a painful twinge. The chronic leg pain wasn’t helping his depressed state any. Where he used to run a couple miles every morning, now it was killing him to walk a block. It had taken the better part of a year of physical therapy to even get to this point. The fact that he’d have to use a cane for the rest of his life was like having a third limb as a constant reminder of his physical short-comings.
He couldn’t deny that he had gotten better since the beginning, though. Those first few sessions had been agony, and the only thing that hadn’t let him give up then and there was Wilson’s hand resting steadily on his shoulder. He’d never agreed to let Stacy sit in on the sessions. She would’ve been too emotional about it. Wilson was always silent, never commenting, just leaving his hand on Greg’s shoulder to let him know there was someone there who cared.
It was uncanny how easily Wilson was able to read him. Sometimes it seemed like he knew exactly what Greg needed without having to ask. And he could call Greg on his bull shit better than anyone else could.
Since Greg had been doing better Wilson had taken to reading medical journals during the therapy sessions. He would only stop reading if he thought that Greg was having a bad pain day. Last week Greg had been bored with the session and miffed at Wilson’s disinterest so he’d acted like he was having a lot more trouble than he actually was. At a particularly loud grunt of “pain”, Wilson had smirked without raising his eyes from his journal and said,
“Your theatrics are commendable, but would you mind keeping it down? I’ve just gotten to the best part.”
Thank God he only had another two weeks of therapy left before they handed him the bottle of vicodin and shooed him out the door. He knew his therapist would only be too eager to have him gone. He’d made her life a living hell. It was one of the few things from the whole ordeal that he was actually proud of.
He was jolted out of his thoughts by a knock on the door. It must be Wilson. He really needed to get an extra key made up. Wilson practically lived here, anyway. He limped over to the door and opened it.
“Hey,” Wilson said.
“You did not bring food. I see no Chinese. This is a problem,” Greg informed him. Wilson rolled his eyes.
“Because as scintillating as my company is, it doesn’t fill your stomach,” he deadpanned. “I figured I’d make dinner.” He brushed passed Greg and into the kitchen. For a split second, Greg envied his easy stride. He stamped the feeling out, though, and followed his friend. His gait was limping, but his legs were longer so he caught up to him easily.
“What’s wrong?” Greg asked as Wilson searched the cupboards for something edible.
“What? Why would something be wrong?” Wilson didn’t meet his eyes.
“Because the only time you voluntarily cook for other people is when you’re trying to seduce someone, impress a dinner party, or are upset enough that you want something to distract you. Since I have no breasts and there’s only one of me, I’m assuming it’s the last one.”
“I just feel like cooking. Nothing’s wrong.” He was banging the pots around more than was strictly necessary.
“Right. And you just poured spaghetti sauce onto uncooked noodles because nothing is wrong.”
Wilson’s back tensed up then sagged as he let out a tired sigh.
“Jennifer left me.”
“Really? When?” Interesting.
“She moved into her sister’s house this afternoon.”
“Huh. Any particular reason why? The sex not good anymore? You didn’t match the new furniture?” Wilson glared at him.
“She accused me of cheating on her.”
“Really? Were you?” This was puzzling. Greg hadn’t noticed Wilson schmoozing with any of the nurses lately.
“I admitted to it,” Wilson sighed. Greg frowned.
“But were you?”
“Not… not in so many words, no.”
“Ah. So you didn’t actually follow through with the prohibited fornication, but you wanted to.”
“Yeah.”
“Often.” Greg smirked. Wilson was starting to blush.
“Yeah.”
“Dirty fantasies playing through your head at all hours of the day.”
“House!”
“So why didn’t you?” Wilson wasn’t looking at him again. Greg hated when he did that.
“It’s… complicated. But it doesn't matter. Even without the mental cheating, our marriage was doomed anyway.”
“So who is she?” Greg asked. Wilson snorted.
“I hardly think that’s any of your business.” Wilson turned around and drained the sauce from the uncooked noodles, rinsing them off and throwing them in a pot of water he set to boil. He was being stubborn. Dammit. Greg wasn’t going to get anything more out of him.
He limped into the living room and sat down on the couch. He clicked the TV on and started channel surfing. After a few minutes he settled on some sort of infomercial. He wasn’t paying attention to it, anyway.
Now that he thought about it, Wilson had been devoting most of his energy to aiding Greg in his recovery. Wilson was a constant in his world where everyone else had abandoned him. Since Stacy had left, Wilson came over at least five nights a week with dinner, ate lunch with Greg every day since he’d gone back to work six months ago and never missed a therapy session. Even before Stacy had left he’d made a point to look in on Greg once or twice a day and usually ended up spending a few hours with him. He’d tried to get Greg out of the apartment on weekends. Actually, Wilson spent more time at Greg’s apartment than he did at home.
That much time spent with someone else couldn’t be good for any marriage. Greg knew that his relationship with Stacy had suffered because of it. She’d seen Greg trusting Wilson more than her, preferring to have Wilson come to the therapy sessions instead of her, laughing with Wilson when she was lucky to get him to smile. He was a jerk to Wilson like he’d always been, but there wasn’t the underlying resentment, the sense of betrayal and hatred he felt when he looked at Stacy. She’d picked up on that. They’d fought about it several times before she left.
What if Greg was one of the reasons Jennifer had left? And why did he feel so…satisfied at that thought?
Wilson came out then, handing Greg a plate of spaghetti. He sat down next to him on the couch and started eating from his own plate.
“You’re planning on buying three industrial sized tubs of Oxy-Clean?” Wilson asked.
“Who wouldn’t? Just look at how it takes the blood out of that carpet. I wouldn’t have to worry about hiding bodies in the closet anymore.”
“Well, that guy seems pretty enthusiastic about it. Maybe you can get high off it. You think he’s been snorting it back stage? It might explain the volume of his voice if he’s lost some of his lower brain function.”
Greg laughed, then took a bite of his food.
“You know what?” Greg asked after a few moments of silence. “I thought you’d have better things to do than look after a jaded cripple. What do I have to do to get rid of you? You’re still here.” His voice was light and sarcastic, but he knew Wilson could sense the underlying seriousness.
“I must admit, the abusive conversation leaves a lot to be desired, but the food is good, and the couch is comfortable,” Wilson said with a smile. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”
And for the first time in a long time Greg felt almost happy.
“I know.”
Chapter: 2/5
Rating: PG-13 for language
Pairings: House/Wilson
Summary: A look at House and Wilson, and how their relationship developed. PreHouse to season one.
The first time James Wilson realized there might be something not-entirely-platonic about his relationship with Gregory House was on his and Jennifer’s second anniversary. He’d done everything he could think of to make the evening as romantic as possible. Dinner at the restaurant where he’d proposed, dancing, wine, the works. He’d finished it all off by taking her back home and serving her dessert he’d spent six hours making earlier. It should have been perfect.
Except for the fact that it felt like both of them were trying too hard. Their conversation was full of boring small-talk, or mushy sentiments that felt more empty than they had in the past. They still loved each other, no doubt about that. It just struck James as wrong that they cared so much about the formality of the whole ordeal. He realized that he hadn’t done it all as a purely romantic gesture. It was more that he’d known Jennifer had expected it of him, so he’d gone through the motions.
Adding to the imperfection was the fact that he kept thinking of House at the most inappropriate moments. Cynical words kept popping into his head almost as if his friend was running a commentary behind a curtain. He had nearly laughed out loud at something he imagined House would say when a waitress had accidentally ground pepper into a woman’s cleavage. Either James was eccentric or just plain fucked up.
Still, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, he thought. Jenny didn’t notice his distraction. She was too busy making exaggerated moaning noises into her dessert. James sat across from her at their dining table lost in his thoughts.
So James had a somewhat-scarily-codependent-obsessive relationship with House. House was his best friend. Like a brother to him. Well, maybe not a brother per se… that just didn’t seem the right word for it somehow. But “best friend” still seemed too weak of a term. Influential companion…lifelong buddy…platonic soul-mate? Still not it. Why was it that every phrase he came up with sounded so gay?
Anyway, House was his friend. So what if having House around always made a shitty day into a good one? It wasn’t odd that James was always hyper-aware of House’s movements; how he could make simple everyday gestures seem to have an underlying grace no one else could match. It didn’t matter that James felt his throat constricting a little during those rare moments when House would do something that showed he actually cared. And so what if James was hypnotized by the way House’s dexterous hands seemed to fly when he played piano? If he wondered what else those hands were capable of, he certainly wasn’t telling.
And there he was analyzing his relationship with House when he was supposed to be focusing on Jenny. He snapped his attention back to the present as Jenny finished her dessert and smiled at him in that coy way that told James he was about to get lucky. He stood up and they walked hand in hand to the bedroom.
Later, as he lost himself in that pounding ancient rhythm, Jennifer squeezed her legs tighter around his hips and reared back. He faltered for a moment, and took the opportunity to open his eyes and look at the woman he loved. Her face was flushed, chest heaving, heavy lidded eyes staring into his. He’d always loved the steel-gray of her eyes.
Whether it was the darkness of the room, luminescence from the sliver of light coming from the hallway, or James’ own imagination, at that moment Jenny’s eyes were a bright shade of blue he’d only ever seen once before in his life. A surge of pure, electric need so strong passed through him that he immediately picked up the rhythm, going faster, pressing harder, deeper until he was practically fucking his wife through the mattress. He was helpless to stop the barrage of images that leapt unbidden into his mind, all having to do with his very egotistical, very exasperating, very male best friend.
With a sharp cry James came harder than he ever had in his life, gasping and biting down on his tongue to stop the exclamation of the name Greg! from escaping. He collapsed almost immediately, trying to distribute his weight so he wouldn’t crush Jenny. She was shivering from her own orgasm, pulling him close to her and kissing his lips tenderly. He closed his eyes.
Fuckfuckfuck, James swore silently, I want him. I actually want him.
However incredulous he was about it he couldn’t deny the facts. James had never been that good at lying to himself or the people he loved. His shattered first marriage was proof of that.
On the night of his second anniversary in the arms of his loving wife, James had a very quiet mental breakdown.
The first time Gregory House realized there might be something not-entirely-platonic about his relationship with James Wilson was when he started to notice things.
Things like how when Wilson was getting along with his wife he’d smell stronger because he’d splash on a little bit more cologne than he usually did in the morning. Wilson’s hair seemed to inexplicably get less… flippy… with every terminal diagnosis he delivered. Wilson would make a show of being annoyed when Greg stole from his lunch tray, but still let a small, amused smile cross his face afterwards when he thought Greg wasn’t looking. When Wilson lost several patients in a short period of time he’d joke around with Greg more than he did normally.
Those were all observations Greg could deal with. The kind he could add to his growing list of information about Wilson. None of it was too remarkable or outwardly disturbing. They were the sort of things Greg noticed about everybody all the time. It was his job to analyze and make conclusions from often-missed observations, and he was damn good at it.
The part where it got kind of odd was when he started noticing things he shouldn’t have noticed.
Things like how certain ties somehow made the brown in Wilson’s eyes look a deeper and brighter shade at the same time. The small mole underneath Wilson’s lip on the left side of his face added to how young he seemed when he smiled. He had eyebrows so thick that they reminded Greg of caterpillars, but for some reason they just added to Wilson’s appeal.
How strongly he reacted to his friend was starting to weird him out. Like how when Wilson really wanted something he could pull a look that would make Greg cave every time. How nobody, not even Stacy, could make Greg laugh like Wilson did. Greg would feel the urge to walk a little closer to Wilson when Deborah or Brenda started looking at the oncologist in a way that wasn’t completely professional. His heart seemed to speed up a little (and wasn’t that a cliché load of crap?) whenever Wilson laughed so hard at one of Greg’s comments that his eyes started tearing up.
The part where it started to get scary was that he wanted to know everything about Wilson, wanted to understand where the hell all this was coming from. Greg liked prying into everyone else's business so this wasn’t an altogether new thing, but with Wilson it seemed different. The somewhat-functional-obsession had given way to a WAY-too-interested-to-be-healthy-obsession. And the new element to Greg’s curiosity about Wilson was that he actually cared on an emotional level. It wasn’t just all about the puzzle anymore.
It wasn’t that he wanted Wilson. He had everything he wanted, everything he needed in Stacy. He loved Stacy; he liked Wilson. It was more of an appreciation for his friend on an intellectual level than anything else. Who wouldn’t appreciate Wilson? He was funny, intelligent, good-looking and one of the few people who didn’t bore Greg to tears. It was completely understandable that Greg would be slightly attracted to him.
Emotions, like paperwork, just got in the way of things. Greg prided himself on being obscenely good at ignoring both. So he didn’t analyze the way his day wasn’t complete until he’d bugged Wilson at least once. He didn’t wonder why his shoulder seemed to tingle for a few minutes after Wilson would pat him companionably before heading back to his office. And it didn’t require further introspection when he found himself thinking it might be nice to mess up that perfectly coifed hair by running his fingers through it.
He had more important things to worry about, anyway.
The first time James Wilson knew that Gregory House was the most important person in his life was when he got a phone-call to his hotel room at two a.m. He’d just spent the day sightseeing all over Greece with Jennifer and her overbearing sister. His eyes snapped open at the sharp ring. Jenny groaned and rolled over. James had to reach over her to grab the receiver.
“Hello?” he asked, his voice rusty with sleep.
“James?” It was Stacy. Why the hell was she calling at this hour? “I’m sorry, I couldn’t take the time-difference into account. This couldn’t wait. Greg just came out of surgery ten minutes ago.”
“What?” His heart sprang into his throat. He was completely awake now. “What happened?”
He listened, his eyes widening in horror as she told him. Leg pain. House being accused of using the clinic to get drugs. Three days of agony and misdiagnosis. Muscle death. Infarction. Medically induced coma. Stacy overriding his wishes to save his life.
“They… they say he’s got a pretty good chance. But… but they still don’t know if he’ll make it.” She was crying quietly.
“I’ll book the first flight I can get,” James assured her, panic clawing up his throat. He was shaking. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“I wanted to, James, I’m sorry. But Greg… he made me promise not to. He said he didn’t want you to know. I don’t know why. I’m sorry. You should’ve known. You should’ve been here.”
James had always thought it was just a figure of speech, but he felt his blood run cold.
“It’s alright. I’ve got to go. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Okay. Call me when you get in.”
“I will. Just…” Just what? Take care of him? Make sure he doesn’t die before I get there? He let the sentence hang unfinished. “I’ll be there soon. Bye.”
He hung up and leapt out of bed, turning on the light and dressing. He began to pack their things on auto-pilot. He pushed the panic aside to worry about later. At least now he had something to do.
“James?” Jennifer’s muffled voice came from the bed. “Baby, what’s going on?”
“House is in the hospital,” he said hurriedly. “He’s just gotten out of surgery. We’ve got to go back. I’ll book the first flight out tomorrow morning.”
“What? What’s wrong with him?”
James explained while still packing. It felt odd to hear what Stacy had just told him coming out of his mouth. He still wasn’t sure he completely believed it. House had always seemed indestructible.
By the time he’d finished explaining he was nearly done packing. He grabbed the phone to schedule the flight. He wondered if he would even be able to book one at this hour. Before he could dial Jenny took the receiver away from him and hung it up.
“Jenny, what-?”
“Wait a second, James,” Jenny said. “You’re panicking. There’s nothing you can do.”
“Nothing I can do here, no,” James agreed, irritated.
“Even when you get there, what could you do but wait around?”
“Nothing much, but I could be there. They might need me.”
“Listen to yourself, James. You said that Stacy hadn’t called earlier because he didn’t want you to know. Why would he want you there?”
The words stung, coming from her. Even if he’d wondered it himself.
“You’re being unreasonable,” she continued. “We’re leaving the day after tomorrow anyway.”
James couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“This is my best friend we’re talking about, Jenny,” he snapped. “My dying best friend. I’m going whether you come with me or not. If you want to stay here with Meredith for another day, fine. Have fun. But I am going.”
Jennifer had never liked House. Still, he was James’ best friend. That should count for something. As he looked into her shocked face he saw this for the power play it was. He wondered if she could possibly be the same woman he’d married. Maybe he was the one who’d changed. But the fact remained that House’s life mattered a hell of a lot more to him than his wife’s happiness. She’d just have to deal with it.
When he walked out of the hotel leaving Jenny glaring at him from the bed he got that nauseous feeling in his gut he’d gotten the last time around when he’d wondered if his marriage was going to last. Maybe it was the panic or the stress talking, but for a split second he was almost positive that it was only a matter of time before this one ended as well. He could only hope that it would be on amiable terms.
For the 14 hour long flight he couldn’t sleep. He sat there trying to imagine life without House. Every time he did he wanted to tear down the aisle and scream at the pilot to fly the damn plane faster. House would be fine. The bastard had a stubborn streak broad enough to get him through anything. James had to keep telling himself that, or he would have a panic attack in the middle of a crowded cabin.
How did people deal with shit like this? He’d dished out the bad news often enough, but he’d never really had to deal with it himself. Everything seemed to be going fast-forward and in slow motion at the same time. He was having trouble breathing. He couldn’t think straight. His eyes were burning. He felt like he couldn’t keep still.
The physician’s part of his mind knew that all of this was a physiological response to shock, stress and panic. His emotions were causing his adrenaline to pump, his body to go into fight-or-flight mode. This resulted in rapid heart-beat, shallow breathing, cold sweat. That part of his mind couldn’t stop the fear from closing up his throat, though, couldn’t stop the helplessness from eating away at his stomach.
He refused to let himself wonder why House hadn’t wanted him to know. He was already upset enough as it was. But his mind kept racing, and he couldn’t help thinking about it in short bursts before he cut himself off. He thought he might go into hysterics.
After an eternity the plane landed, and James practically sprinted out of the terminal after grabbing his luggage. He pulled his cell-phone out as he got into the cab.
“Stacy? It’s James. I’m here.”
The first time Gregory House realized that he trusted James Wilson more than anyone else alive was when he was going through the most excruciating pain he’d ever experienced in his life. Six days ago it’d just been muscle pain, bed rest, antibiotics. Nothing life threatening. Now it seemed even reality was crumbling before his eyes. The worries, disappointments, hopes and plans of the past month seemed like a pipe-dream, and he wondered if any of it had even really mattered. On top of it all the bitter taste of betrayal lay heavily on his tongue.
If Greg thought about it objectively he couldn’t blame Stacy for what she’d done. That didn’t mean there wasn’t resentment ripping at his chest, anger burning through his veins almost as strongly as the pain. He’d woken up from the coma to find what felt like half his thigh just… gone. They’d threatened to restrain him when he’d ripped away the surgeon’s dressings to see the extent of the damage.
Then Stacy had confessed to what she’d done, and he’d lost it. He didn’t shout at people he hated as badly as he’d screamed at her for the next ten minutes before she’d choked back a sob and left the room. Stacy hadn’t come in again since then. The pain still coursing through him told him it must have been days, but the clock told him it’d been a mere matter of a few hours. Greg could see her sitting outside his room, though, looking pensive, afraid and smaller than she’d ever seemed. Normally he’d feel protective of her if she looked like that. Now he felt a measure of smug satisfaction that he knew he shouldn’t. With a tired sigh he leaned back against the pillow and closed his eyes.
He was jolted awake when he heard shoes pounding a staccato rhythm down the hallway towards his room. He looked out the window to see Stacy standing up, rushing to whoever it was and falling against them. Sobs wracked her frame as she buried her face into an expensive tie. Shit. She must’ve called Wilson while he was in surgery.
They talked in hushed tones for a few minutes, but Greg couldn’t make out what they were saying. Finally Wilson took her elbow and led her away. It was another half hour before he came back.
His friend strode into the room looking more worried than Greg had ever remembered seeing him, and that was saying something. Sometimes he thought Wilson lived in a constant state of worry. There were deep rings under his friend’s eyes, his hair was a mess and his clothes were rumpled. He must’ve just gotten off the plane. He sat down next to Greg’s bed. He opened his mouth and closed it twice before he finally spoke.
“This is probably the stupidest question I’ve ever asked you, but how are you doing?”
“Fantastic,” Greg bit out sarcastically. “Figured I’d go for a run just as soon as they took out the damn catheters. What’s your opinion on spandex shorts?”
Wilson smiled sadly.
“Well, at least your mouth still works the way it used to. I’d say that’s cause for hope.”
“You always say there’s cause for hope right up until the point you’re telling the parents their kid is terminal.”
Greg did not allow himself to feel a flash of guilt when Wilson’s eyes darted down to his lap, wincing as if he’d struck him.
They sat in silence for a moment until Wilson took a deep breath and asked tentatively, “Why didn’t you have them call me earlier? You know I would have come the second I heard.”
“What, you’d rather hang out in a hospital than tour the Parthenon? I thought you had more taste.”
“The Parthenon was a let-down. Not nearly as impressive as all the brochures say it is. If I recall correctly, you were the one who told me it was over-rated, and you’re always right, remember?”
Greg couldn’t help the weak smile that fought it’s way onto his face.
“Of course,” he said. “That’s one more thing the world can add to the list of certainties. Death, taxes, and Gregory House is never wrong.” The last part came out a little strained. His eyes snapped shut tightly and he winced as the pain intensified for a few moments.
When he looked up again Wilson’s impressive eyebrows were knitted into a deep frown.
“How bad is the pain?” he asked. Greg winced again.
“Not that bad.”
“Liar. Why not just tell me?”
“Because there’s nothing you could do about it, and the last time I answered that question truthfully they took half my fucking thigh muscles,” he bit out passed clenched teeth. Wilson was stunned into silence for a few moments.
“You know that Stacy had no choice,” he ventured. “You know it was killing her to watch you like this without being able to do anything about it. Can you really blame her?”
“Yes. I’m capable of any number of despicable things. I thought we’d established that. Besides, you got her to go away fairly quickly. Maybe she’s finally accepted the fact that I’m pissed.”
“She was exhausted! She’s been here for two days straight. I told her to go home and get some rest.”
“Good. I hope she enjoys the disturbed sleep of the guilt-ridden.” He knew he was acting like a two-year-old, but he couldn’t help himself.
“She loves you, you idiot! She did what she thought she had to do.”
“Did she have to? Would you have done the same thing?” He glared accusingly at his best friend through the haze of pain.
“It doesn’t matter what I would have done!” Wilson hissed. “I wasn’t here. I didn’t know. God damn it, House, I didn’t know that my best friend was dying while I was on a completely irrelevant vacation with my wife and my annoying sister-in-law. What the fuck could I have done but come back to find you like this, or worse, come back to find you dead?”
Wilson never got this upset. He was always cool, calm, collected in the face of everything. House had only been able to rile him occasionally and even then it never even approached what he was witnessing now. Wilson’s hands were gripping his knees so hard that the knuckles had turned white, his jaw was clenched, and his eyes were suspiciously bright, almost as if he was holding back tears. He looked angry, helpless, frustrated… hurt. And Greg had to look away. Wilson took in a calming breath.
“So why didn’t you let Stacy call me?” he whispered. “Was I so irrelevant that you didn’t even want to give me the closure of being able to say goodbye if it came to that? Do you have any idea what I’d do for you?”
Greg did have a good idea of the lengths Wilson would go for him. It was one of the things he consistently didn’t think about. Just like he’d been trying not to think about his reasons for practically ordering Stacy to keep Wilson in the dark.
He wanted to lie. He wanted to say one of the many plausible things that Wilson would accept. “I didn’t want to worry you,” or, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.” Those statements would take some of the hurt out of Wilson’s eyes, they would let Greg continue to deny what he was feeling about the whole situation. But he couldn’t do it.
The fact of the matter was that he’d been terrified. Scared out of his mind just like he was now because of how badly he’d wanted Wilson there. Stacy had been with him, and that should have been all he needed. But it still hadn’t been enough. The panic had been eating away at him more than it should have, and the only thing he’d really wanted was for Wilson to come back. He’d needed Wilson, and he didn’t know how he felt about that.
It’d almost been harder with Stacy there. That protective streak in him had been crying out to deny the pain, to hide how bad it was so that Stacy didn’t have to see. And not being able to hide it, her seeing him like that… it had been more humiliating than he would have thought. There wasn’t such a strong sense of pride in his relationship with Wilson. There also wasn’t that sense of the need to protect. Wilson had proven himself to be able to handle anything God or Greg could throw at him and then some. Knowing that Wilson was his equal in every way that mattered… that was liberating in a way it wasn’t with Stacy.
And it was scaring the shit out of Greg that right now that concerned gaze Wilson was leveling on him was more comforting, more of an anchor than Stacy’s tears, than her hand stroking through his hair. What the fuck was wrong with him?
“You’re blaming yourself for this,” Greg observed after a long moment. “Not that it’s much of a surprise. You always blame yourself.”
There was an almost imperceptible flicker of emotion that blazed through Wilson’s eyes for a split second.
“Maybe I could have done something,” his voice came quickly. “I would have known that it wasn’t about the drugs. I would have made them listen, we might have figured it out sooner…” He trailed off, dropping his head into his hands with a weary sigh.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered from his slumped position. “You don’t need this right now. I’m being an ass.”
“Finally, something we can agree on,” Greg mumbled. Wilson let out a slightly-hysterical laugh.
They lapsed into silence, and Wilson finally lifted his head. Their eyes locked, and for a moment it seemed that they were trying to communicate without saying anything. Greg finally broke the silence.
“If things keep going the way they are, they want to start my physical therapy in a month.”
“Good. That’s… good,” Wilson fumbled.
“Yeah.” And it’s gonna hurt like hell. “I’ve… asked them to schedule it in the early afternoon.” Wilson looked confused.
“Stacy will be back at work by then.”
“I know.” I don’t want her to have to deal with it. To see me go through that.
“Ah.”
“If you… I mean, if you weren’t…” Greg trailed off. He was really fucking bad at stuff like this. I don’t want Stacy there, but I can’t do this alone. I want you there. I need your help. Wilson’s eyes softened.
“I’m sure I can fit it into my schedule.”
“Oh. Okay. Uh… thanks.” For being there. For… caring.
“Don’t mention it.”
They were silent for a few moments again. Greg’s eyes were starting to get heavy. He fought it for a minute, but he was exhausted. Slowly, he let himself succumb to sleep.
Just before he went under he felt a strong hand rest on top of his. Greg turned his over and gave a weak squeeze.
And maybe he imagined it, but he thought he heard Wilson’s choked voice whisper,
“Thank God you’re still here.”
The first time Gregory House knew that James Wilson was always going to be around was three months after Stacy finally left for good. They’d only lasted eight months after the infarction, and they’d fought more in those eight months than they had for the entire rest of the time they’d known each other. Then why the fuck did he miss her so much?
Greg wasn’t used to missing people. People were annoying when they were in his life, good riddance when they were gone. And he’d had enough resentment and anger stored up against Stacy that he’d thought when she left it wouldn’t hurt.
He’d forgotten the blazingly obvious fact that underneath it all he still loved her. She’d been one of the best things that had ever happened to him. And now he found himself spending most nights holed up in his room contemplating death like a whiny teenager. Heartbreak was a bitch.
The only thing that had remained a constant, that had gotten him through the worst times (even though he’d never admit to that) was James Wilson. Whereas Stacy and Greg knew all the weak spots in each other’s armor and the built up resentment had allowed them to score direct hits, Greg never seemed to be able to get to Wilson. He’d dealt out some low-blows, too, but the bastard just seemed to shrug them off by giving him an eye-roll and a look that screamed, I understand that you’re being a total ass right now, but I’m not going to comment on it.
It was messing with Greg in ways he didn’t like to think about. Mainly that his slight attraction to Wilson had been getting stronger by the day. And while he probably could use a rebound fuck he wasn’t about to entertain the notion that he could get one from his married best friend.
He felt like he was a baby duck imprinting on the first human he saw. Post-Stacy, the first person who showed any caring or affection towards him was Wilson so it only made sense. Not that Greg needed affection. He was an island, man.
He sighed and sat down heavily on his couch, wincing when his thigh gave a painful twinge. The chronic leg pain wasn’t helping his depressed state any. Where he used to run a couple miles every morning, now it was killing him to walk a block. It had taken the better part of a year of physical therapy to even get to this point. The fact that he’d have to use a cane for the rest of his life was like having a third limb as a constant reminder of his physical short-comings.
He couldn’t deny that he had gotten better since the beginning, though. Those first few sessions had been agony, and the only thing that hadn’t let him give up then and there was Wilson’s hand resting steadily on his shoulder. He’d never agreed to let Stacy sit in on the sessions. She would’ve been too emotional about it. Wilson was always silent, never commenting, just leaving his hand on Greg’s shoulder to let him know there was someone there who cared.
It was uncanny how easily Wilson was able to read him. Sometimes it seemed like he knew exactly what Greg needed without having to ask. And he could call Greg on his bull shit better than anyone else could.
Since Greg had been doing better Wilson had taken to reading medical journals during the therapy sessions. He would only stop reading if he thought that Greg was having a bad pain day. Last week Greg had been bored with the session and miffed at Wilson’s disinterest so he’d acted like he was having a lot more trouble than he actually was. At a particularly loud grunt of “pain”, Wilson had smirked without raising his eyes from his journal and said,
“Your theatrics are commendable, but would you mind keeping it down? I’ve just gotten to the best part.”
Thank God he only had another two weeks of therapy left before they handed him the bottle of vicodin and shooed him out the door. He knew his therapist would only be too eager to have him gone. He’d made her life a living hell. It was one of the few things from the whole ordeal that he was actually proud of.
He was jolted out of his thoughts by a knock on the door. It must be Wilson. He really needed to get an extra key made up. Wilson practically lived here, anyway. He limped over to the door and opened it.
“Hey,” Wilson said.
“You did not bring food. I see no Chinese. This is a problem,” Greg informed him. Wilson rolled his eyes.
“Because as scintillating as my company is, it doesn’t fill your stomach,” he deadpanned. “I figured I’d make dinner.” He brushed passed Greg and into the kitchen. For a split second, Greg envied his easy stride. He stamped the feeling out, though, and followed his friend. His gait was limping, but his legs were longer so he caught up to him easily.
“What’s wrong?” Greg asked as Wilson searched the cupboards for something edible.
“What? Why would something be wrong?” Wilson didn’t meet his eyes.
“Because the only time you voluntarily cook for other people is when you’re trying to seduce someone, impress a dinner party, or are upset enough that you want something to distract you. Since I have no breasts and there’s only one of me, I’m assuming it’s the last one.”
“I just feel like cooking. Nothing’s wrong.” He was banging the pots around more than was strictly necessary.
“Right. And you just poured spaghetti sauce onto uncooked noodles because nothing is wrong.”
Wilson’s back tensed up then sagged as he let out a tired sigh.
“Jennifer left me.”
“Really? When?” Interesting.
“She moved into her sister’s house this afternoon.”
“Huh. Any particular reason why? The sex not good anymore? You didn’t match the new furniture?” Wilson glared at him.
“She accused me of cheating on her.”
“Really? Were you?” This was puzzling. Greg hadn’t noticed Wilson schmoozing with any of the nurses lately.
“I admitted to it,” Wilson sighed. Greg frowned.
“But were you?”
“Not… not in so many words, no.”
“Ah. So you didn’t actually follow through with the prohibited fornication, but you wanted to.”
“Yeah.”
“Often.” Greg smirked. Wilson was starting to blush.
“Yeah.”
“Dirty fantasies playing through your head at all hours of the day.”
“House!”
“So why didn’t you?” Wilson wasn’t looking at him again. Greg hated when he did that.
“It’s… complicated. But it doesn't matter. Even without the mental cheating, our marriage was doomed anyway.”
“So who is she?” Greg asked. Wilson snorted.
“I hardly think that’s any of your business.” Wilson turned around and drained the sauce from the uncooked noodles, rinsing them off and throwing them in a pot of water he set to boil. He was being stubborn. Dammit. Greg wasn’t going to get anything more out of him.
He limped into the living room and sat down on the couch. He clicked the TV on and started channel surfing. After a few minutes he settled on some sort of infomercial. He wasn’t paying attention to it, anyway.
Now that he thought about it, Wilson had been devoting most of his energy to aiding Greg in his recovery. Wilson was a constant in his world where everyone else had abandoned him. Since Stacy had left, Wilson came over at least five nights a week with dinner, ate lunch with Greg every day since he’d gone back to work six months ago and never missed a therapy session. Even before Stacy had left he’d made a point to look in on Greg once or twice a day and usually ended up spending a few hours with him. He’d tried to get Greg out of the apartment on weekends. Actually, Wilson spent more time at Greg’s apartment than he did at home.
That much time spent with someone else couldn’t be good for any marriage. Greg knew that his relationship with Stacy had suffered because of it. She’d seen Greg trusting Wilson more than her, preferring to have Wilson come to the therapy sessions instead of her, laughing with Wilson when she was lucky to get him to smile. He was a jerk to Wilson like he’d always been, but there wasn’t the underlying resentment, the sense of betrayal and hatred he felt when he looked at Stacy. She’d picked up on that. They’d fought about it several times before she left.
What if Greg was one of the reasons Jennifer had left? And why did he feel so…satisfied at that thought?
Wilson came out then, handing Greg a plate of spaghetti. He sat down next to him on the couch and started eating from his own plate.
“You’re planning on buying three industrial sized tubs of Oxy-Clean?” Wilson asked.
“Who wouldn’t? Just look at how it takes the blood out of that carpet. I wouldn’t have to worry about hiding bodies in the closet anymore.”
“Well, that guy seems pretty enthusiastic about it. Maybe you can get high off it. You think he’s been snorting it back stage? It might explain the volume of his voice if he’s lost some of his lower brain function.”
Greg laughed, then took a bite of his food.
“You know what?” Greg asked after a few moments of silence. “I thought you’d have better things to do than look after a jaded cripple. What do I have to do to get rid of you? You’re still here.” His voice was light and sarcastic, but he knew Wilson could sense the underlying seriousness.
“I must admit, the abusive conversation leaves a lot to be desired, but the food is good, and the couch is comfortable,” Wilson said with a smile. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”
And for the first time in a long time Greg felt almost happy.
“I know.”