Fic: Excessive Tape and Major Miracles
TITLE: Excessive Tape and Major Miracles
AUTHOR: Caro (barely_bean)
PAIRING: House/Wilson
RATING: PGish.
WARNINGS: None.
SUMMARY: Wilson took a deep breath. "Just everything in my life doesn't have to do with you," he said softly, looking everywhere but at House.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. I'm okay with that.
NOTES: Written for slodwick's Worst Case Scenario challenge. My challenge is here. Special thanks to scrunchY who got my words out (whoa, wrong fandom there!) and pun who fixed them. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
House knew Cuddy was pissed at him the moment she walked in through the door. But this really came as no surprise. The only problem was that he couldn't recall, at the moment, what exactly his latest transgression was. There were at least three things that she could be pissed about, more if she bothered to talk to Green in Radiology.
"What part of mandatory don't you understand?"
Oh, *that's* what she was upset about. At least he felt better. On the scale of things she could be pissed about, this was relatively minor.
He glanced up at her, irritated that she couldn't manage these outbursts at a better time. Like, say, when General Hospital wasn't on.
"Nice shirt," he commented. She was wearing a pink shirt whose neckline lost any chance of being declared appropriate right around her navel. He thought it was kindness on his part that he always took the time to appreciate what he felt was a special gesture on her part for him.
She rolled her eyes.
"Who told you I was here?"
"Oh please," Cuddy said. "You didn't think I'd know where you were. Because I should be surprised to find you salivating over the brand new high definition plasma screen."
"I was busy. There were lives at stake."
"You're sitting here watching General Hospital."
"I didn't say real lives. Carly's going in for emergency surgery today and Sonny might get to the hospital too late. It's riveting."
"Whatever. I'm tired of arguing. I'm your boss, but clearly the fact that I sign your paychecks means nothing to you, and I'm sure you'll feel that way even when they go missing occasionally. Regardless, I have a duty to do." She thrust a piece of paper at his general direction. "And part of it involves making sure my employees are safe."
"What is this?" House asked, wrinkling his nose as he took in the memo.
She ignored him, and walked out.
***
"Have any of you seen Doctor Wilson?"
Cameron, Chase, and Foreman looked up, each acknowledging him with a nod. House threw the memo on his desk, and looked at them expectantly.
"Haven't seen him all day." Cameron was the first one to speak up.
House frowned. Now, this was strange. He'd been waiting for Wilson to show up all afternoon, first because he hadn't caught Wilson up on the plot twists and turns on his soap this week, and then because he'd wanted Wilson to give him the report as to how pissed Cuddy really was. Clearly, Wilson had fallen down on that second job but House was willing to forgive him.
"Trouble in Paradise?" Chase asked.
House glared at him, but Chase was showing those rare moments of actually having a spine, and refused to cower. This irritated him even more.
"Well, we all can't have your luck with the gentlemen, now can we?" House said.
"Maybe he's just busy." Foreman offered, in that entirely too practical tone that made House wonder if Foreman had been born with the bug up his ass or if he'd had it inserted later. "I mean, he is the head of Oncology right?"
House stuck his tongue out at him. He grabbed the phone and punched in some numbers rather quickly. 911 page for Doctor Wilson.
There was a possibility that Wilson was actually busy, but he'd been busy before, and that hadn't meant that he'd avoided House. And that's what it was starting to feel like. Like his best friend was avoiding him. And House fully intended to solve this mystery.
He grabbed a file off his desk, sitting on the edge, and pretended to be interested in the case. He wasn't. It was made clear to his staff when five minutes later, a paper airplane hit Chase on the nose. Cameron grabbed the airplane, and Foreman rolled his eyes. Chase looked confused, but that was par for the course.
"What is this?" Cameron asked, unrolling the sheet of paper.
"New Safety Guidelines," House replied.
"Oh, I heard about this," Foreman said. "Dr. Stein in Internal Medicine said that it was an hour of really fun discussion on what to do if terrorists from outer space take over our ER." He looked pointedly at House. "She mentioned that you hadn't shown up."
"I didn't show up," House said with a shrug. "Unlike Dr. Stein, some of us are busy in the business of saving lives."
"You were busy saving lives?" Cameron asked, raising her eyebrows. He threw her dirty look and she backed off.
"What to do in case of a bomb threat?" she read aloud.
"Fascinating. What to do in case of a bomb threat. Oh like that's real hard to figure out. What part of run like hell can't these highly paid geniuses figure out?"
"We'll see how fast you can run," Foreman said.
House ignored him. Cameron kept reading. "What to do if you get suspicious mail? Wasn't there an incident at Union General recently? A doctor got hurt?"
"That's because he was stupid enough to screw two nurses in the same hospital where his wife worked at. He's lucky that all he had was a few acid burns," House replied.
"Yeah. Though that *malfunctioning* morphine drip must have been a pain in the neck," Chase added.
"Nurse A didn't mind the wife, but didn't care so much for finding out about Nurse B," Foreman said.
"Ok, if you housewives are finished gossiping..." House got up from the desk and paced around the room. Still, no Wilson.
"Watch out for excessive tape." Cameron spoke up again.
"Pardon?"
"This," she indicated to the line. "Apparently, excessive tape is a characteristic of mail bombs."
"I always use too much tape," Chase said, wrinkling his brow as he leaned over Cameron to read the memo.
"Yes. That's because you put the obsessive in Obsessive Compulsive."
"Whatever." Chase rolled his eyes at House. "Why do you think the packages are always bulky? I mean, if you're a good terrorist, don't you think you'd have figured out how to put your bomb in a nice solid box by now?"
"Maybe they're just too cheap to pay the dollar sixty nine at Staples." House suggested.
"Oh I'm sure whoever sends you love letters will spring for the extra padded secure model," Foreman said.
"He doesn't open his mail," Cameron said, with a frown. "I do."
"Oh delightful." House grinned. "Clearly I have nothing to worry about." He didn't see the dirty look that Cameron was sending his way, as he left the office in search of the elusive Doctor Wilson.
***
"There you are."
"Here I am." Wilson stated, nonchalantly, as though he hadn’t been hiding from House all afternoon.
"I've been searching everywhere for you."
"Well, clearly, that's not the case, or you would have found me." Wilson pointed out, waving to indicate the width of his office. "I've been here."
House scowled. "I paged you."
"I noticed."
"You didn't answer."
"I noticed that too."
"Is there a reason you're being a jackass today?"
"I don't know. Do you ever need a reason?" Wilson retorted.
House frowned, somewhat at a loss. It wasn't really the sarcasm that threw him off. It was almost a way of conversation between them, a language rooted in several years worth of friendship and the fact that Wilson was one of the few people House knew that he could actually match wits with. It was normally comfortable.
Today though, he sensed something amiss with Wilson, and he wasn't sure what it was. House couldn't remember the last time Wilson hid something from him.
Well, unless he happened to be dumping House to go out on a date with one of House's exes.
"So, who's in town?"
"Excuse me?"
"Well, it can't be Stacey. Cause you know, been there, done that."
Wilson threw his hands in the air. "I'm sure I have no idea what you are speaking about, but feel free to continue while I completely ignore you and actually try to get some work done."
"Is it Sarah? You always had a soft spot for Sarah." He grimaced. "Don't let it be Rebecca."
"Oh, shut up."
"I'm warning you. If you start dining Rebecca, and she starts working here..."
"It's not Sarah. It's not Rebecca." Wilson stated, punctuating his sentences by slamming files shut. He pushed away from his desk, and stood up, rubbing his eyes as he did. For the first time, House noticed that he looked a bit weary. Like a man who hadn't slept in some days.
"James?" he inquired .
"Just." Wilson took a deep breath. "Just everything in my life doesn't have to do with you," he said softly, looking everywhere but at House. "And I wish you'd remember that sometime."
Before House could respond, Wilson walked out the door, leaving House staring after him.
"Well," House said to no one. "That was certainly uncalled for."
The package arrived by messenger five minutes later. It was special delivery to Dr. James Wilson. For five seconds, House debated paging Wilson, but in the end, lied to the courier, and forged Wilson's name.
'Excessive tape,' he noted as ripped open the manila envelope.
***
"So, when were you planning on telling me?" House asked.
"Excuse me?" Wilson looked up from the brown lump he was poking at. It was apparently what was passing off as roast beef in the cafeteria today.
House walked forward, clutching the manila envelope in one hand. "This," he said, tossing the package onto the card table someone had once stuck in the oncology lounge, and declared a dining area. The look on Wilson's face indicated that, without even inspecting it, he knew exactly what it was.
"You nosey bastard." Wilson said, quietly.
"Endearments will always get you so far." House pulled a chair out, and sat facing Wilson. "Why didn't you tell me that your wife filed for divorce?"
"Did it ever occur to you that it might not be any of your business?"
"No," House replied honestly.
"Well, it's not."
"And that's just bullshit. You know," House said with a sigh, "I can't pretend to be here for you if I don't know what's going on."
"You were going to be there for me?" Wilson asked, incredulous. "What, in case I needed someone to talk to?
"No." House scoffed. "Not unless you're paying me two hundred dollars an hour. I can, however, offer alcohol and strippers, my friend. The modern man's cure for heartache."
"No, thanks."
"Come on. We know this routine. We've gotten it down cold."
Wilson rose from the chair, picking up his plate with him, which he forcefully tossed in the garbage. He paced around the room until House got bored of watching him.
"Would you sit down? You're making me tired. And I'm not about to come chasing after you."
Wilson let out something that sounded like a laugh, only with nothing resembling mirth. "When have you ever?" he whispered.
"Excuse me?" House blinked, suddenly nervous at the direction of this conversation. There was a dark gleam in Wilson's eyes, one that left House feeling like he was on the edge of something precarious and about to lose his footing. And when you were a man with a bad leg, stability was the one thing you couldn't let yourself be without.
"Do you know that I don't know when my anniversary is?" Wilson said suddenly.
House frowned at the sudden switch in topic.
"So?" he said, deliberately casual. "It's only control-freak nags who actually expect their husbands to remember every single date-"
"I know ours." Wilson made a motioning gesture between them. "October 3rd. Eleven years this year."
"I'll send flowers."
Wilson chuckled. "I know what you had for dinner on Saturday; I know that you haven't picked up your dry-cleaning yet. I have your ticket by the way. I know you have thirteen dollars in overdue fines at Hollywood Video."
"I'm not paying it." It was a coward's way out, House knew. Stick to humor. Stick to the glib jokes. Until whoever it is eventually gets tired of pushing him into a serious conversation. Eventually gives up.
But then Wilson had never learned to give up on him.
"Because you know I will." Wilson said firmly. "Eventually. When you get bored enough and start complaining about not being able to rent anything and get into an argument with the sixteen year old behind the counter."
House stood up. The tension was running like a current over his skin, itching, and he wished he could run. Wished he could break into a sprint and take off, cursing his leg for holding him back. Then Wilson looked at him, his eyes bare, and House breathed heavily, chest pounding like he'd sprinted anyway. Knowing that what was anchoring him had nothing to do with dead muscles, and everything to do with a heart he'd never admitted to having.
He couldn't run from this, not when running meant leaving Wilson behind.
"My wife moved out," Wilson said. "She was gone for three days before I even noticed. I hadn't bothered going home, except for a change of clothes."
"Wilson..." You're upset. This is a mistake. You don't know what you're saying. He wanted to say, but none of it was true. It wasn't that Wilson didn't know what he was saying. It was that House didn't know how to hear it.
"My marriage ends, and I don't even notice, Greg. But I know the way to your house, I know when you're running out of milk, I know your neighbors. I know...I know you. But I don't know if I'm fooling myself. I don't know if what I'm chasing is real..." he trailed off, and House found himself moving forward, moving so that if Wilson even took a step forward, they'd be touching. There was an edge, and if Wilson was going to fall, House was going with him. Maybe one of them would catch the other.
"It's real," House whispered, bringing up a hand to Wilson's face. He couldn't lie about this. Make this a joke. Not with Wilson looking at him so earnestly.
He traced the outline of Wilson's lips, felt the strangeness of the skin he'd never allowed himself to touch before. Wilson closed his eyes, leaning into House's touch. House felt Wilson's breath on his hand, traced it back mentally from pictures he studied in medical school, respiratory pathways and organs, everything working in unison to create this movement, this major miracle happening without any conscious thought. Easy enough to ignore but impossible to live without, and it wasn't something he had to question.
Loving Wilson was like that. Nothing that he'd ever had to consciously think about, just something that had always been there, and now that he recognized it, he could name it. He was a man in love.
Startlingly, terrifyingly, in love.
"Oh God," he murmured, taking in a shaky breath.
"I wondered when the panic would set in," Wilson said, cocking open one eye.
"I'm not panicking," House protested, but Wilson knew him too well, knew his shortcomings when it came to connecting to actual human beings. And who knew that could be comforting?
"Suuuuure, you're not." Wilson grinned, stepping back. House recognized the gesture, recognized that Wilson was leaving it up to him, giving him the space he needed. Wilson wouldn't push. Or rather he would push, but only as far as House was willing to go.
He reached forward, clutching at Wilson's hip, pulling him forward. For a moment, he stood there, just enjoying the press of their bodies.
"We've lasted longer than most marriages, you know," Wilson whispered against his skin.
"Longer than yours, that's for sure," House retorted, laughing when Wilson did so. He leaned forward, and Wilson met him halfway, and when they finally kissed, House had to admit it was the easiest thing he'd ever done.
Easy as breathing.
The end.
AUTHOR: Caro (barely_bean)
PAIRING: House/Wilson
RATING: PGish.
WARNINGS: None.
SUMMARY: Wilson took a deep breath. "Just everything in my life doesn't have to do with you," he said softly, looking everywhere but at House.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own House. I'm okay with that.
NOTES: Written for slodwick's Worst Case Scenario challenge. My challenge is here. Special thanks to scrunchY who got my words out (whoa, wrong fandom there!) and pun who fixed them. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
House knew Cuddy was pissed at him the moment she walked in through the door. But this really came as no surprise. The only problem was that he couldn't recall, at the moment, what exactly his latest transgression was. There were at least three things that she could be pissed about, more if she bothered to talk to Green in Radiology.
"What part of mandatory don't you understand?"
Oh, *that's* what she was upset about. At least he felt better. On the scale of things she could be pissed about, this was relatively minor.
He glanced up at her, irritated that she couldn't manage these outbursts at a better time. Like, say, when General Hospital wasn't on.
"Nice shirt," he commented. She was wearing a pink shirt whose neckline lost any chance of being declared appropriate right around her navel. He thought it was kindness on his part that he always took the time to appreciate what he felt was a special gesture on her part for him.
She rolled her eyes.
"Who told you I was here?"
"Oh please," Cuddy said. "You didn't think I'd know where you were. Because I should be surprised to find you salivating over the brand new high definition plasma screen."
"I was busy. There were lives at stake."
"You're sitting here watching General Hospital."
"I didn't say real lives. Carly's going in for emergency surgery today and Sonny might get to the hospital too late. It's riveting."
"Whatever. I'm tired of arguing. I'm your boss, but clearly the fact that I sign your paychecks means nothing to you, and I'm sure you'll feel that way even when they go missing occasionally. Regardless, I have a duty to do." She thrust a piece of paper at his general direction. "And part of it involves making sure my employees are safe."
"What is this?" House asked, wrinkling his nose as he took in the memo.
She ignored him, and walked out.
***
"Have any of you seen Doctor Wilson?"
Cameron, Chase, and Foreman looked up, each acknowledging him with a nod. House threw the memo on his desk, and looked at them expectantly.
"Haven't seen him all day." Cameron was the first one to speak up.
House frowned. Now, this was strange. He'd been waiting for Wilson to show up all afternoon, first because he hadn't caught Wilson up on the plot twists and turns on his soap this week, and then because he'd wanted Wilson to give him the report as to how pissed Cuddy really was. Clearly, Wilson had fallen down on that second job but House was willing to forgive him.
"Trouble in Paradise?" Chase asked.
House glared at him, but Chase was showing those rare moments of actually having a spine, and refused to cower. This irritated him even more.
"Well, we all can't have your luck with the gentlemen, now can we?" House said.
"Maybe he's just busy." Foreman offered, in that entirely too practical tone that made House wonder if Foreman had been born with the bug up his ass or if he'd had it inserted later. "I mean, he is the head of Oncology right?"
House stuck his tongue out at him. He grabbed the phone and punched in some numbers rather quickly. 911 page for Doctor Wilson.
There was a possibility that Wilson was actually busy, but he'd been busy before, and that hadn't meant that he'd avoided House. And that's what it was starting to feel like. Like his best friend was avoiding him. And House fully intended to solve this mystery.
He grabbed a file off his desk, sitting on the edge, and pretended to be interested in the case. He wasn't. It was made clear to his staff when five minutes later, a paper airplane hit Chase on the nose. Cameron grabbed the airplane, and Foreman rolled his eyes. Chase looked confused, but that was par for the course.
"What is this?" Cameron asked, unrolling the sheet of paper.
"New Safety Guidelines," House replied.
"Oh, I heard about this," Foreman said. "Dr. Stein in Internal Medicine said that it was an hour of really fun discussion on what to do if terrorists from outer space take over our ER." He looked pointedly at House. "She mentioned that you hadn't shown up."
"I didn't show up," House said with a shrug. "Unlike Dr. Stein, some of us are busy in the business of saving lives."
"You were busy saving lives?" Cameron asked, raising her eyebrows. He threw her dirty look and she backed off.
"What to do in case of a bomb threat?" she read aloud.
"Fascinating. What to do in case of a bomb threat. Oh like that's real hard to figure out. What part of run like hell can't these highly paid geniuses figure out?"
"We'll see how fast you can run," Foreman said.
House ignored him. Cameron kept reading. "What to do if you get suspicious mail? Wasn't there an incident at Union General recently? A doctor got hurt?"
"That's because he was stupid enough to screw two nurses in the same hospital where his wife worked at. He's lucky that all he had was a few acid burns," House replied.
"Yeah. Though that *malfunctioning* morphine drip must have been a pain in the neck," Chase added.
"Nurse A didn't mind the wife, but didn't care so much for finding out about Nurse B," Foreman said.
"Ok, if you housewives are finished gossiping..." House got up from the desk and paced around the room. Still, no Wilson.
"Watch out for excessive tape." Cameron spoke up again.
"Pardon?"
"This," she indicated to the line. "Apparently, excessive tape is a characteristic of mail bombs."
"I always use too much tape," Chase said, wrinkling his brow as he leaned over Cameron to read the memo.
"Yes. That's because you put the obsessive in Obsessive Compulsive."
"Whatever." Chase rolled his eyes at House. "Why do you think the packages are always bulky? I mean, if you're a good terrorist, don't you think you'd have figured out how to put your bomb in a nice solid box by now?"
"Maybe they're just too cheap to pay the dollar sixty nine at Staples." House suggested.
"Oh I'm sure whoever sends you love letters will spring for the extra padded secure model," Foreman said.
"He doesn't open his mail," Cameron said, with a frown. "I do."
"Oh delightful." House grinned. "Clearly I have nothing to worry about." He didn't see the dirty look that Cameron was sending his way, as he left the office in search of the elusive Doctor Wilson.
***
"There you are."
"Here I am." Wilson stated, nonchalantly, as though he hadn’t been hiding from House all afternoon.
"I've been searching everywhere for you."
"Well, clearly, that's not the case, or you would have found me." Wilson pointed out, waving to indicate the width of his office. "I've been here."
House scowled. "I paged you."
"I noticed."
"You didn't answer."
"I noticed that too."
"Is there a reason you're being a jackass today?"
"I don't know. Do you ever need a reason?" Wilson retorted.
House frowned, somewhat at a loss. It wasn't really the sarcasm that threw him off. It was almost a way of conversation between them, a language rooted in several years worth of friendship and the fact that Wilson was one of the few people House knew that he could actually match wits with. It was normally comfortable.
Today though, he sensed something amiss with Wilson, and he wasn't sure what it was. House couldn't remember the last time Wilson hid something from him.
Well, unless he happened to be dumping House to go out on a date with one of House's exes.
"So, who's in town?"
"Excuse me?"
"Well, it can't be Stacey. Cause you know, been there, done that."
Wilson threw his hands in the air. "I'm sure I have no idea what you are speaking about, but feel free to continue while I completely ignore you and actually try to get some work done."
"Is it Sarah? You always had a soft spot for Sarah." He grimaced. "Don't let it be Rebecca."
"Oh, shut up."
"I'm warning you. If you start dining Rebecca, and she starts working here..."
"It's not Sarah. It's not Rebecca." Wilson stated, punctuating his sentences by slamming files shut. He pushed away from his desk, and stood up, rubbing his eyes as he did. For the first time, House noticed that he looked a bit weary. Like a man who hadn't slept in some days.
"James?" he inquired .
"Just." Wilson took a deep breath. "Just everything in my life doesn't have to do with you," he said softly, looking everywhere but at House. "And I wish you'd remember that sometime."
Before House could respond, Wilson walked out the door, leaving House staring after him.
"Well," House said to no one. "That was certainly uncalled for."
The package arrived by messenger five minutes later. It was special delivery to Dr. James Wilson. For five seconds, House debated paging Wilson, but in the end, lied to the courier, and forged Wilson's name.
'Excessive tape,' he noted as ripped open the manila envelope.
***
"So, when were you planning on telling me?" House asked.
"Excuse me?" Wilson looked up from the brown lump he was poking at. It was apparently what was passing off as roast beef in the cafeteria today.
House walked forward, clutching the manila envelope in one hand. "This," he said, tossing the package onto the card table someone had once stuck in the oncology lounge, and declared a dining area. The look on Wilson's face indicated that, without even inspecting it, he knew exactly what it was.
"You nosey bastard." Wilson said, quietly.
"Endearments will always get you so far." House pulled a chair out, and sat facing Wilson. "Why didn't you tell me that your wife filed for divorce?"
"Did it ever occur to you that it might not be any of your business?"
"No," House replied honestly.
"Well, it's not."
"And that's just bullshit. You know," House said with a sigh, "I can't pretend to be here for you if I don't know what's going on."
"You were going to be there for me?" Wilson asked, incredulous. "What, in case I needed someone to talk to?
"No." House scoffed. "Not unless you're paying me two hundred dollars an hour. I can, however, offer alcohol and strippers, my friend. The modern man's cure for heartache."
"No, thanks."
"Come on. We know this routine. We've gotten it down cold."
Wilson rose from the chair, picking up his plate with him, which he forcefully tossed in the garbage. He paced around the room until House got bored of watching him.
"Would you sit down? You're making me tired. And I'm not about to come chasing after you."
Wilson let out something that sounded like a laugh, only with nothing resembling mirth. "When have you ever?" he whispered.
"Excuse me?" House blinked, suddenly nervous at the direction of this conversation. There was a dark gleam in Wilson's eyes, one that left House feeling like he was on the edge of something precarious and about to lose his footing. And when you were a man with a bad leg, stability was the one thing you couldn't let yourself be without.
"Do you know that I don't know when my anniversary is?" Wilson said suddenly.
House frowned at the sudden switch in topic.
"So?" he said, deliberately casual. "It's only control-freak nags who actually expect their husbands to remember every single date-"
"I know ours." Wilson made a motioning gesture between them. "October 3rd. Eleven years this year."
"I'll send flowers."
Wilson chuckled. "I know what you had for dinner on Saturday; I know that you haven't picked up your dry-cleaning yet. I have your ticket by the way. I know you have thirteen dollars in overdue fines at Hollywood Video."
"I'm not paying it." It was a coward's way out, House knew. Stick to humor. Stick to the glib jokes. Until whoever it is eventually gets tired of pushing him into a serious conversation. Eventually gives up.
But then Wilson had never learned to give up on him.
"Because you know I will." Wilson said firmly. "Eventually. When you get bored enough and start complaining about not being able to rent anything and get into an argument with the sixteen year old behind the counter."
House stood up. The tension was running like a current over his skin, itching, and he wished he could run. Wished he could break into a sprint and take off, cursing his leg for holding him back. Then Wilson looked at him, his eyes bare, and House breathed heavily, chest pounding like he'd sprinted anyway. Knowing that what was anchoring him had nothing to do with dead muscles, and everything to do with a heart he'd never admitted to having.
He couldn't run from this, not when running meant leaving Wilson behind.
"My wife moved out," Wilson said. "She was gone for three days before I even noticed. I hadn't bothered going home, except for a change of clothes."
"Wilson..." You're upset. This is a mistake. You don't know what you're saying. He wanted to say, but none of it was true. It wasn't that Wilson didn't know what he was saying. It was that House didn't know how to hear it.
"My marriage ends, and I don't even notice, Greg. But I know the way to your house, I know when you're running out of milk, I know your neighbors. I know...I know you. But I don't know if I'm fooling myself. I don't know if what I'm chasing is real..." he trailed off, and House found himself moving forward, moving so that if Wilson even took a step forward, they'd be touching. There was an edge, and if Wilson was going to fall, House was going with him. Maybe one of them would catch the other.
"It's real," House whispered, bringing up a hand to Wilson's face. He couldn't lie about this. Make this a joke. Not with Wilson looking at him so earnestly.
He traced the outline of Wilson's lips, felt the strangeness of the skin he'd never allowed himself to touch before. Wilson closed his eyes, leaning into House's touch. House felt Wilson's breath on his hand, traced it back mentally from pictures he studied in medical school, respiratory pathways and organs, everything working in unison to create this movement, this major miracle happening without any conscious thought. Easy enough to ignore but impossible to live without, and it wasn't something he had to question.
Loving Wilson was like that. Nothing that he'd ever had to consciously think about, just something that had always been there, and now that he recognized it, he could name it. He was a man in love.
Startlingly, terrifyingly, in love.
"Oh God," he murmured, taking in a shaky breath.
"I wondered when the panic would set in," Wilson said, cocking open one eye.
"I'm not panicking," House protested, but Wilson knew him too well, knew his shortcomings when it came to connecting to actual human beings. And who knew that could be comforting?
"Suuuuure, you're not." Wilson grinned, stepping back. House recognized the gesture, recognized that Wilson was leaving it up to him, giving him the space he needed. Wilson wouldn't push. Or rather he would push, but only as far as House was willing to go.
He reached forward, clutching at Wilson's hip, pulling him forward. For a moment, he stood there, just enjoying the press of their bodies.
"We've lasted longer than most marriages, you know," Wilson whispered against his skin.
"Longer than yours, that's for sure," House retorted, laughing when Wilson did so. He leaned forward, and Wilson met him halfway, and when they finally kissed, House had to admit it was the easiest thing he'd ever done.
Easy as breathing.
The end.