Fiction: Here's My Heart (2/2)
This completes this part of the story.
Title: Here’s My Heart (2/2)
Author: longstrt
Pairing: H/W
Rating: slash
Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these guys, but I don’t; David Shore does.
Note: This completes this part of the story. I have included a brief “medical” scene; I apologize for any inaccuracies.
Summary: Wilson got a Valentine; now he’s in Chicago.
Two Weeks Later
Greg House stormed into Lisa Cuddy’s office, even though it was clear that she was in a meeting. He wasn’t there because his sarcastic mouth had ruptured his friendship with the man who meant everything to him. He was there and storming because JAMES WILSON, M.D., HEAD OF ONCOLOGY was being removed from his friend’s door - - as they spoke.
“What’s goin’ on? Why’s Wilson’s name being removed?”
Lisa Cuddy silently apologized to the accountants who were going over the hospital’s budget with her. For a moment she remembered her teasing of House that she had to sleep with them first before she could sleep with Wilson, then reality set in and she looked up at the tall man with the cane.
House was obviously upset and angry. Why did she always get involved in these things? This time, looking directly at the accountants, she said, “Could we take the time for a SHORT break and then I’ll be right with you. Watching the older, very husky man get up and walk out while glaring at House, Cuddy once again smiled to herself about her pledge to sleep with the man and his partner.
Breaking away from the thought, she turned to House, who had slumped into the recently evacuated chair and said, “All right, what’s this about?”
Leaning forward, his blue eyes as intense as they ever had been, House enunciated clearly, “It’s about Wilson’s name being removed from his office door.”
Looking faintly confused, Cuddy took a breath and then lied graciously, “Oh, I thought you knew about that, sorry.”
House grimaced, like ‘sure pull the other one’, but held his tongue - - for once.
“Dr. Wilson has been given a grant to implement a new cancer research project. He and Dr. Driscoll are working on it now. He felt that being Head of Oncology would drain his time too much so he asked . . . well, actually he resigned from that position. He should be returning in a few weeks to continue the research here. Dr. Driscoll will continue the research at Mercy Hospital as well.”
House normally had low blood pressure, but if a sphygmomanometer had been attached to his arm at the moment, there would have been an explosion which would have made Vesuvius envious.
“And, just why wasn’t I told this? I need consults with Oncology. Who’s the moron that I will be dealing with?”
Lisa Cuddy had known Greg House for many years. Hostility had settled into a relationship that was hard to define, but she could read between the lines almost as well as Wilson could.
House was supremely stubborn and his recent question was just about as close to asking about Wilson as was possible. *How did I get to be the liaison between these two morons?*
“Dr. Crenshaw is temporarily taking over those duties.” Here Cuddy had to stop since her speech was overwhelmed by the loud snort and the cacophonous bellow, ‘CRENSHAW?’ that House uttered. She tried to continue even though the image of Greg House slumped in the chair, laughing his head off, was difficult to ignore. She decided to be honest, and see where that got her.
“Just because Wilson is the only one you can work with and the only doctor, who doesn’t immediately want to throttle you after a consult, doesn’t mean that Sam Crenshaw can’t do his job. Try to work with him or get your ducklings to do so. . . . After all, you were the one who got into the fight with Wilson.”
The small woman stopped her and drew a breath, realizing what she had just said. Deep, intense blue eyes stared piercingly at her. Slowly, very slowly, House got up and limped to the door. Just before leaving, he turned and said in a quiet but distinct voice, “I think you better get some new meds for THAT TIME OF MONTH.”
HWHWHWHW
Just before Greg House sat down in his office chair, he drew his thumb across his forehead - - much as he had done thousands of times before. Only, this wasn’t like thousands of times before; he had driven his friend . . . his only friend away two weeks ago and he still couldn’t face it. He had used Wilson’s name removal to try and find out about the moron who was out in Chicago, getting grants, doing research, and probably bedding Driscoll.
Greg House knew that the two men had had sex, but that been twenty years before, *why did I have to assume that they would do it now?* A headache slashed through his brain. He had been having lots of tension lately, but this felt more severe. *Maybe I can go home . . . sick.*
Sighing, slumped in his chair, with his right leg propped up, his lower lip came out much as in a pout; he refused to think about that cretin who had flaunted the Atlantic City picture in front of him, just as he was on his way to Chicago to jump into the bed of that cheating, conniving Driscoll.
House put up barricades in his mind so that he wouldn’t think about his friend. It didn’t make any difference if Wilson had been there for him when House had died . . . twice. Didn’t make any difference if he had told Wilson that he loved him in a drug-need stupor. How could the man turn from House and go with that . . . cheater? AND THEN TO FLAUNT THAT PICTURE . . . okay, so they had had great sex in Atlantic City, but that didn’t mean that their relationship was a commitment. After all he had had sex with women since that time, could Wilson say the same thing . . . well, except for CB and she didn’t count as a woman or even as human.
Turning on his ipod, Greg House nodded his head; he had NOTHING . . . NOTHING to apologize for.
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
The next ten days were HELL . . . for Sam Crenshaw and Lisa Cuddy - - Greg House made sure of that. It vaguely resembled House’s efforts to gain access to cable that resulted in Cameron getting “fired”.
Lisa Cuddy sat at her desk, contemplating nothing, except peace and quiet. Greg House had started ignoring Crenshaw after conflict number 2222 or whatever it was so the ego front was at an armistice for the moment. *If it could just stay that way, until Wilson got back.* The Oncologist had wrapped up his seminars and was returning to work on the research project while Driscoll worked at the Chicago end.
Sudden shouting broke through the PPTH administrator’s thoughts. She knew those voices right away; she had certainly heard them enough lately. Springing to her feet, she was out the door, heading towards the sound of the “guns”.
“You’re a moron!”
“And you’re an egotistical, sarcastic jerk. I don’t know why you bother with a consult since you always know all the answers!”
“Where did you get your degree? What you know about Oncology wouldn’t fill a specimen cup!”
At that moment, Cuddy arrived in the corridor outside of House’s office. The two men were in each other’s faces with Taub and 13, standing in the background. Sighing, she moved to get near enough to try to break up the “children” from another round of argument.
“All right, all right, what’s the matter now?”
Both men immediately started shouting their version of the problem. Cuddy held up her hands, signalling for quiet. For once the two men shut their mouths. She pointed at Taub and said, “You.”
Taub looked fainting stricken then replied, “Dr. House asked Dr. Crenshaw for a consult about a fifty year old male with possible breast cancer. When Dr. Crenshaw arrived, he looked at the patient and disagreed. That was it.”
Those last three words told the whole story. Reading between the lines, Cuddy knew that Crenshaw had probably told House a lot more than that and that was what was overflowing out of the examining room.
Sighing, Lisa Cuddy nodded, “Sam, I would like to see you in my office in a few minutes. I’ll go with Dr. House right now and examine the patient myself. I’m sure that this can all be taken care of.” Lisa Cuddy was not the expert that Crenshaw was, but she had to separate the two men, and she had to get a correct diagnosis for the middle-aged patient who had come to PPTH for help.
Fortunately for Lisa Cuddy, she did not have to take the burden of siding with one man or the other because a miracle occurred. A miracle, in the form of James Wilson, who had walked out of the elevator a moment before and had heard much of the conversation. The Oncologist looked haggard and apprehensive, but he seemed to comprehend what was needed as he said, “It’s all right, Dr. Cuddy, I’ll take a look.”
Cuddy smiled a look of gratitude at him while motioning Sam Crenshaw to follow her. Greg House stared at Wilson for a moment then headed towards the clinic where his patient was waiting.
The tension in the small room was overwhelming and Mr. Bloomfield felt it immediately. Not only was he nervous about the possible diagnosis, but the two men who stood staring at him were sending off vibes that would light up a city. Vaguely wondering what happened to the other three white coated figures who had been in the exam room previously, Bloomfield sat and waited.
The younger man carefully examined his chest, showing no reaction. He was careful and very efficient. Bloomfield instinctively trusted the man who wasn’t wearing a name plate, but had introduced himself as James Wilson. After a few minutes, the man in the suit, excused himself to look at some medical tests that had been sent from his family doctor, who had wanted a second opinion, but Bloomfield had certainly gotten more than he bargained for when those two other doctors had seen him.
Wilson spent several minutes looking over the tests and placing a phone call; then he went to see Cuddy who seemed to be waiting for him. She motioned him to come in. Both House and Crenshaw were there, glaring at each other from across the room.
Wilson was desperately tired, having flown in from Chicago without stopping for food or to find a hotel. In a quiet but firm voice, he said, “Of course, you can update the tests, but I called Mr. Bloomfield’s physician. They are very recent, and I could find nothing that indicated cancer. I suspect that he’s having an empathetic reaction to his wife’s pregnancy. He’s a little older than many fathers, and I think he’s feeling what his wife feels. Further tests wouldn’t go amiss though. I’ll let one of you tell him.”
Lisa Cuddy’s face showed a sigh of relief, murmuring “thank you”. With that, James Wilson turned and left Cuddy’s office.
Lisa Cuddy stared at both men. “I’ll expect both of you to tell Mr. Bloomfield the news. You’ve both put that man through more anxiety than was necessary; then I will talk with you separately, later today.”
Sam Crenshaw turned to leave then stopped, “I won’t work with him anymore. He can deal with Wilson from now on.”
Crenshaw departed. Cuddy turned to House, “Wilson is not on active service now. He’s here to do research. I’ll have to see if he’s willing to consult.”
House limped to the door, “Don’t bother; I’ll talk to him.” Walking away from Cuddy’s office a faint smirk, covered the whiskered face.
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
House located his friend in the cafeteria, eating a salad. House grimaced because he really wasn’t hungry for rabbit food, but sacrifices had to be made. Limping up to Wilson’s otherwise unoccupied table, House grabbed an olive and popped it into his mouth.
Wilson didn’t look up, either because he refused to or he already knew who it was. House, never daunted, grabbed a piece of carrot then made his front teeth stick out like a rabbit, and wiggling his nose, blurted out, “Annnhhh, what’s up doc?”
House could see a small smile form on the bent head, but Wilson didn’t fall into the trap of retaliating or responding. House’s smirk died as he realized that this wasn’t *his* Wilson. This was a man who had been out of sight, but definitely not out of mind for more than three weeks. *How had Driscoll gotten so much influence over the man, already?*
House tried again, with a far more dangerous ploy. “You get tired of sleepin’ with Driscoll?”
That got a reaction. Wilson’s head shot up, brown eyes blazing. Realizing where he was, however, Wilson immediately swallowed his fury, responding, “No, but thanks for asking.”
Before House could retaliate, Lisa Cuddy arrived at the table. “Ah, here’s where you are, Dr. Wilson.” Staring through Greg House who was attempting to protect Wilson’s half-eaten meal, Cuddy smiled, “I thought, if you are ready, that I would show you your new office and the facilities we have set aside for your research.”
Wilson smiled; his first true gesture of pleasure since entering the building over an hour before. “Thanks, I wasn’t sure what would be available.” Standing, the Oncologist began to follow his boss to his new “home”.
House stared at the departing couple then uttered quite clearly for everyone in the cafeteria to hear, “I’ll bet she’s available, if you ask nicely.”
Both individuals kept on walking, seemingly taking no notice of the taunt. When they got out of range of House’s ears, however, Wilson sighed, saying quietly, “I see that he failed the Dale Carnegie course, AGAIN.”
Cuddy laughed and led her favorite Oncologist to his new domain.
Much later that night, James Wilson was still at it. Most of his equipment was set up, but his records and other data still had to be put in place. He had talked to Driscoll and spent better than an hour with Cuddy, explaining what the two men hoped to accomplish. Most of the tests would be done at Driscoll’s hospital, but there was lots of research to be done and Wilson had agreed to do much of that.
This research would involve the need for a very flexible schedule for Wilson as well as somewhat frequent trips to Chicago. Wilson, ever the organizer, wanted to make sure that Cuddy understood what the whole project entailed.
After Cuddy left, Wilson continued to work and even when the housecleaning crew came in, he was still at it. He had brought one suitcase with him. He didn’t have his car since he had come straight from the airport in a taxi. His exhaustion was so great that he decided to collapse on the sofa that Fred, his favorite custodian, had managed to scare up for him.
It was after 9:00 pm; his eyes were so heavy that he decided to stretch out for a few minutes before completing the pile of folders on his desk. His head was aching slightly and his eyes were burning, but a few minutes would do the trick. He was on the edge of drowsing when he heard a voice that he recognized immediately.
“Ah, the poor man’s hidey hole. I would have thought that the big time researcher could afford better.”
Not letting House see his interior grimace, Wilson opened one eye then shut it. The silhouette, standing at the door was unmistakeable - - so was the bent posture which said that House was in pain and definitely exhausted.
“Yes, I got so used to the luxury of your sofa when I stayed with you that I’ve got quite a fetish for them now.”
House smiled slightly, but his blue eyes held confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“I work here; at least, that’s what Cuddy said, but then she could be confused.”
“Put your coat on; I’ll take you to a hotel.”
“Thanks, but I’ll start fresh tomorrow. Pick up my car and find a hotel.” Brown eyes looked suspiciously into House’s blue eyes. “Why are you so late; got a case?”
“Nah, just had some things to do.”
Wilson merely nodded then closed his eyes as if to go to sleep.
“I said, go get your coat; you need to get some rest.” The voice was strange; it showed the same concern that House had shown for Kate, who had been marooned in Antarctica.
“I’m all right, House. See you tomorrow.”
House couldn’t understand what was going on. This wasn’t his Jamie, the man who had stuck with him through . . . well, everything, including his sarcasm. House stood there for a moment, almost ready to leave then he decided to try again and really shake Wilson out of his complacency.
“What’d ya mean about your brother?”
Wilson raised his eyebrow and eyelid, staring at the most irritating man on this earth. He quickly returned the salvo. “Why’d you lie about saying that Bloomfield had cancer, you knew he didn’t.”
House smiled affectionately. *That’s my Wilson!* “Now would I do that?”
Wilson hesitated then replied, “Of course, you would - - really irritated Crenshaw, didn’t it? What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up?”
Piercing blue eyes stared at the man in front of him. “I had Susie on the look out for you. Cuddy got a message that you were coming so I figured I’d test my surveillance system.”
Wilson shook his head as if he was saying, ‘should have known’. Looking up at his friend with tired but twinkling eyes, he murmured, “Actually her name is Sheila. I can only imagine what you know about her that would make her do such a thing.”
Hesitating momentarily, Wilson continued, “House, I’m not doing consulting any more. Just research. There *are* other Oncologists who you can go to.”
House shook his head, “True, but they won’t let me steal their olives.”
“Better find another source for your olives; with this research, I’m bound to be going back and forth to Chicago.”
House stared down his nose at the supine man and whispered, “You didn’t answer my question; get your coat and you can explain it to me as I drive you to your hotel.”
Wilson sighed, knowing a stone wall when he saw it. “I don’t have a hotel; I don’t have my car. I left it in a long term garage.”
“All right, I’ll drive you to the garage so that you can get your car; you can find your own hotel.”
Wearily, Wilson got up, rolled down his sleeves, and put on his jacket. Finding his overcoat, he put it on and followed House to the parking lot.
House seemed hesitant to ask but finally did so after driving for a few minutes, “What did you mean by that remark about your brother leaving because of me?”
“I lied.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“All right, I told the truth.”
“Well, then what did you mean by it?”
“Don’t worry, I might have meant it then, but it’s not true now.”
House glared at the man in the other seat, almost hitting a car parked on the side of the road. Quickly he pulled into an empty parking place, shifting his body so that he could see Wilson better.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Wilson closed his eyes and smiled. “All right; I had a crush on you in Med School. Somewhere along the way, it became quite an infatuation, and that little trip to Atlantic City added to it. My brother became suspicious during that time, and I was forced to tell him how I felt. It wasn’t long after that that his mental illness took a turn for the worse and he . . . left.”
Wilson’s eyes were cast down. Sometimes Wilson was so easy to read. It was obvious that there was a lot more to this, but before House could ask more, Wilson looked up and noticed his surroundings. They were parked in front of House’s apartment building.
“This isn’t the parking garage.”
“Oh really, looks like your car to me.”
Puzzled, Wilson looked around and saw a Lexus that looked just like his. It even had his license plate! “How did you do that?”
“What did you think that I was doing at the hospital at 9:00 at night? Got your parking ticket and got your car out of hock. Voilà, monsieur, as they say.”
Wilson laughed, “Where’s my key and what do I owe you?”
“You’ll see; come on in and I’ll feed you, and then we can talk.”
“House, I’m tired, I’ve got jet lag, I’m homeless, and I don’t know how I feel about you right now, what do you want from me?”
Opening the driver’s side door, House bent over to peer into the car. “I’ve got your suitcases in my place, so you better come in. We’ll eat and then I’ll tell you what I want you to do for me.”
James Wilson could hear warning bells clanging. “House, I am not coming in, even for my clothes, unless you give me an explanation about what’s going on.”
Sad, blue eyes looked at the younger man. Sighing, House said in a voice so low that Wilson had to lean forward to hear, “All right, here it is in a nut shell. I want you to live with me, and I want us to be friends again.”
James Wilson stared at the older man then carefully opened the passenger door. He started to head towards his car, but realized that House had still not given him his key. He turned to head towards the apartment door of 221 without looking further at House.
House remained mute, giving out a small sigh of relief. He had accomplished his first goal: getting Wilson into his apartment.
Wilson entered the familiar place and looked around for his suitcases. House read his mind and pointed, “They’re in the bedroom.”
Wilson’s look clearly implied his scepticism of House’s motives, but he headed towards the bedroom. House shouted at his disappearing back, “You can have the bed tonight if you don’t want to lie on my pee-stained sofa!”
Wilson said nothing. He disappeared into the bedroom, looking for his suitcases. House waited and waited for Wilson to come storming out, but he didn’t. Strangely concerned, House moved to the entrance of the darkened room; James Wilson was there, holding a photo frame in his hands.
“Thought this was destroyed.”
“Put it in a new frame. I thought you were mocking the sex we had in Atlantic City; that’s why I threw it. Finally realized it meant more.”
Wilson slowly turned, looking at the anxious man who stood silhouetted against the light of the hallways. “We were . . . happy. Guess that’s what I wanted you to remember.”
House nodded slightly as he turned to walk out of the room. He waited for Wilson in the living room. Wilson was carrying his suitcases. Heading towards the door, he stopped to stare at the man who was a total enigma sometimes. “Can I have my keys?”
Reaching in his pocket, House threw the Lexus keys to Wilson. “You’re tired; why not stay here tonight?”
Wilson’s brown eyes grew darker and more intense. “Don’t think that’s a good idea. Good night, House.”
Opening the door, the younger man stopped and whirled around, a look of comprehension on his face. “You . . . you’re the one.”
House’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion; he shrugged as if he didn’t understand.
Wilson felt the ice around his heart thaw the tiniest bit, “You’re the one who sent me the chocolate heart!”
House’s eyes twinkled, but the only thing he said was, “Now, would I do that?”
Wilson didn’t know what to do; there was plenty of pain between the two men; the man had constantly tested and pushed their friendship to the edge. He had thought about permanently moving to Chicago but knew that wasn’t the answer.
Opening the door wider so that he could get his suitcases through the door, he turned back to look at the man, standing there so rigidly. “Okay, House. I’m willing to try and be your friend again, but I won’t live with you - - you can do your own cooking.” Stepping through the door, it began to close, but House could hear Wilson’s final words quite clearly, “No more friendship tests, House.”
House stood there. Maybe this would work out all right. At least, his Jamie was home and their friendship might be saved.
Smiling House turned off the lights and went to bed. Now how could House get that gorgeous moron to give him *his* heart?
The End of Part 2
The sequel: Monsters: Atlantic City and Elsewhere will be posted somewhere near RSL’s birthday.
Title: Here’s My Heart (2/2)
Author: longstrt
Pairing: H/W
Rating: slash
Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these guys, but I don’t; David Shore does.
Note: This completes this part of the story. I have included a brief “medical” scene; I apologize for any inaccuracies.
Summary: Wilson got a Valentine; now he’s in Chicago.
Two Weeks Later
Greg House stormed into Lisa Cuddy’s office, even though it was clear that she was in a meeting. He wasn’t there because his sarcastic mouth had ruptured his friendship with the man who meant everything to him. He was there and storming because JAMES WILSON, M.D., HEAD OF ONCOLOGY was being removed from his friend’s door - - as they spoke.
“What’s goin’ on? Why’s Wilson’s name being removed?”
Lisa Cuddy silently apologized to the accountants who were going over the hospital’s budget with her. For a moment she remembered her teasing of House that she had to sleep with them first before she could sleep with Wilson, then reality set in and she looked up at the tall man with the cane.
House was obviously upset and angry. Why did she always get involved in these things? This time, looking directly at the accountants, she said, “Could we take the time for a SHORT break and then I’ll be right with you. Watching the older, very husky man get up and walk out while glaring at House, Cuddy once again smiled to herself about her pledge to sleep with the man and his partner.
Breaking away from the thought, she turned to House, who had slumped into the recently evacuated chair and said, “All right, what’s this about?”
Leaning forward, his blue eyes as intense as they ever had been, House enunciated clearly, “It’s about Wilson’s name being removed from his office door.”
Looking faintly confused, Cuddy took a breath and then lied graciously, “Oh, I thought you knew about that, sorry.”
House grimaced, like ‘sure pull the other one’, but held his tongue - - for once.
“Dr. Wilson has been given a grant to implement a new cancer research project. He and Dr. Driscoll are working on it now. He felt that being Head of Oncology would drain his time too much so he asked . . . well, actually he resigned from that position. He should be returning in a few weeks to continue the research here. Dr. Driscoll will continue the research at Mercy Hospital as well.”
House normally had low blood pressure, but if a sphygmomanometer had been attached to his arm at the moment, there would have been an explosion which would have made Vesuvius envious.
“And, just why wasn’t I told this? I need consults with Oncology. Who’s the moron that I will be dealing with?”
Lisa Cuddy had known Greg House for many years. Hostility had settled into a relationship that was hard to define, but she could read between the lines almost as well as Wilson could.
House was supremely stubborn and his recent question was just about as close to asking about Wilson as was possible. *How did I get to be the liaison between these two morons?*
“Dr. Crenshaw is temporarily taking over those duties.” Here Cuddy had to stop since her speech was overwhelmed by the loud snort and the cacophonous bellow, ‘CRENSHAW?’ that House uttered. She tried to continue even though the image of Greg House slumped in the chair, laughing his head off, was difficult to ignore. She decided to be honest, and see where that got her.
“Just because Wilson is the only one you can work with and the only doctor, who doesn’t immediately want to throttle you after a consult, doesn’t mean that Sam Crenshaw can’t do his job. Try to work with him or get your ducklings to do so. . . . After all, you were the one who got into the fight with Wilson.”
The small woman stopped her and drew a breath, realizing what she had just said. Deep, intense blue eyes stared piercingly at her. Slowly, very slowly, House got up and limped to the door. Just before leaving, he turned and said in a quiet but distinct voice, “I think you better get some new meds for THAT TIME OF MONTH.”
HWHWHWHW
Just before Greg House sat down in his office chair, he drew his thumb across his forehead - - much as he had done thousands of times before. Only, this wasn’t like thousands of times before; he had driven his friend . . . his only friend away two weeks ago and he still couldn’t face it. He had used Wilson’s name removal to try and find out about the moron who was out in Chicago, getting grants, doing research, and probably bedding Driscoll.
Greg House knew that the two men had had sex, but that been twenty years before, *why did I have to assume that they would do it now?* A headache slashed through his brain. He had been having lots of tension lately, but this felt more severe. *Maybe I can go home . . . sick.*
Sighing, slumped in his chair, with his right leg propped up, his lower lip came out much as in a pout; he refused to think about that cretin who had flaunted the Atlantic City picture in front of him, just as he was on his way to Chicago to jump into the bed of that cheating, conniving Driscoll.
House put up barricades in his mind so that he wouldn’t think about his friend. It didn’t make any difference if Wilson had been there for him when House had died . . . twice. Didn’t make any difference if he had told Wilson that he loved him in a drug-need stupor. How could the man turn from House and go with that . . . cheater? AND THEN TO FLAUNT THAT PICTURE . . . okay, so they had had great sex in Atlantic City, but that didn’t mean that their relationship was a commitment. After all he had had sex with women since that time, could Wilson say the same thing . . . well, except for CB and she didn’t count as a woman or even as human.
Turning on his ipod, Greg House nodded his head; he had NOTHING . . . NOTHING to apologize for.
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
The next ten days were HELL . . . for Sam Crenshaw and Lisa Cuddy - - Greg House made sure of that. It vaguely resembled House’s efforts to gain access to cable that resulted in Cameron getting “fired”.
Lisa Cuddy sat at her desk, contemplating nothing, except peace and quiet. Greg House had started ignoring Crenshaw after conflict number 2222 or whatever it was so the ego front was at an armistice for the moment. *If it could just stay that way, until Wilson got back.* The Oncologist had wrapped up his seminars and was returning to work on the research project while Driscoll worked at the Chicago end.
Sudden shouting broke through the PPTH administrator’s thoughts. She knew those voices right away; she had certainly heard them enough lately. Springing to her feet, she was out the door, heading towards the sound of the “guns”.
“You’re a moron!”
“And you’re an egotistical, sarcastic jerk. I don’t know why you bother with a consult since you always know all the answers!”
“Where did you get your degree? What you know about Oncology wouldn’t fill a specimen cup!”
At that moment, Cuddy arrived in the corridor outside of House’s office. The two men were in each other’s faces with Taub and 13, standing in the background. Sighing, she moved to get near enough to try to break up the “children” from another round of argument.
“All right, all right, what’s the matter now?”
Both men immediately started shouting their version of the problem. Cuddy held up her hands, signalling for quiet. For once the two men shut their mouths. She pointed at Taub and said, “You.”
Taub looked fainting stricken then replied, “Dr. House asked Dr. Crenshaw for a consult about a fifty year old male with possible breast cancer. When Dr. Crenshaw arrived, he looked at the patient and disagreed. That was it.”
Those last three words told the whole story. Reading between the lines, Cuddy knew that Crenshaw had probably told House a lot more than that and that was what was overflowing out of the examining room.
Sighing, Lisa Cuddy nodded, “Sam, I would like to see you in my office in a few minutes. I’ll go with Dr. House right now and examine the patient myself. I’m sure that this can all be taken care of.” Lisa Cuddy was not the expert that Crenshaw was, but she had to separate the two men, and she had to get a correct diagnosis for the middle-aged patient who had come to PPTH for help.
Fortunately for Lisa Cuddy, she did not have to take the burden of siding with one man or the other because a miracle occurred. A miracle, in the form of James Wilson, who had walked out of the elevator a moment before and had heard much of the conversation. The Oncologist looked haggard and apprehensive, but he seemed to comprehend what was needed as he said, “It’s all right, Dr. Cuddy, I’ll take a look.”
Cuddy smiled a look of gratitude at him while motioning Sam Crenshaw to follow her. Greg House stared at Wilson for a moment then headed towards the clinic where his patient was waiting.
The tension in the small room was overwhelming and Mr. Bloomfield felt it immediately. Not only was he nervous about the possible diagnosis, but the two men who stood staring at him were sending off vibes that would light up a city. Vaguely wondering what happened to the other three white coated figures who had been in the exam room previously, Bloomfield sat and waited.
The younger man carefully examined his chest, showing no reaction. He was careful and very efficient. Bloomfield instinctively trusted the man who wasn’t wearing a name plate, but had introduced himself as James Wilson. After a few minutes, the man in the suit, excused himself to look at some medical tests that had been sent from his family doctor, who had wanted a second opinion, but Bloomfield had certainly gotten more than he bargained for when those two other doctors had seen him.
Wilson spent several minutes looking over the tests and placing a phone call; then he went to see Cuddy who seemed to be waiting for him. She motioned him to come in. Both House and Crenshaw were there, glaring at each other from across the room.
Wilson was desperately tired, having flown in from Chicago without stopping for food or to find a hotel. In a quiet but firm voice, he said, “Of course, you can update the tests, but I called Mr. Bloomfield’s physician. They are very recent, and I could find nothing that indicated cancer. I suspect that he’s having an empathetic reaction to his wife’s pregnancy. He’s a little older than many fathers, and I think he’s feeling what his wife feels. Further tests wouldn’t go amiss though. I’ll let one of you tell him.”
Lisa Cuddy’s face showed a sigh of relief, murmuring “thank you”. With that, James Wilson turned and left Cuddy’s office.
Lisa Cuddy stared at both men. “I’ll expect both of you to tell Mr. Bloomfield the news. You’ve both put that man through more anxiety than was necessary; then I will talk with you separately, later today.”
Sam Crenshaw turned to leave then stopped, “I won’t work with him anymore. He can deal with Wilson from now on.”
Crenshaw departed. Cuddy turned to House, “Wilson is not on active service now. He’s here to do research. I’ll have to see if he’s willing to consult.”
House limped to the door, “Don’t bother; I’ll talk to him.” Walking away from Cuddy’s office a faint smirk, covered the whiskered face.
HWHWHWHWHWHWHWHW
House located his friend in the cafeteria, eating a salad. House grimaced because he really wasn’t hungry for rabbit food, but sacrifices had to be made. Limping up to Wilson’s otherwise unoccupied table, House grabbed an olive and popped it into his mouth.
Wilson didn’t look up, either because he refused to or he already knew who it was. House, never daunted, grabbed a piece of carrot then made his front teeth stick out like a rabbit, and wiggling his nose, blurted out, “Annnhhh, what’s up doc?”
House could see a small smile form on the bent head, but Wilson didn’t fall into the trap of retaliating or responding. House’s smirk died as he realized that this wasn’t *his* Wilson. This was a man who had been out of sight, but definitely not out of mind for more than three weeks. *How had Driscoll gotten so much influence over the man, already?*
House tried again, with a far more dangerous ploy. “You get tired of sleepin’ with Driscoll?”
That got a reaction. Wilson’s head shot up, brown eyes blazing. Realizing where he was, however, Wilson immediately swallowed his fury, responding, “No, but thanks for asking.”
Before House could retaliate, Lisa Cuddy arrived at the table. “Ah, here’s where you are, Dr. Wilson.” Staring through Greg House who was attempting to protect Wilson’s half-eaten meal, Cuddy smiled, “I thought, if you are ready, that I would show you your new office and the facilities we have set aside for your research.”
Wilson smiled; his first true gesture of pleasure since entering the building over an hour before. “Thanks, I wasn’t sure what would be available.” Standing, the Oncologist began to follow his boss to his new “home”.
House stared at the departing couple then uttered quite clearly for everyone in the cafeteria to hear, “I’ll bet she’s available, if you ask nicely.”
Both individuals kept on walking, seemingly taking no notice of the taunt. When they got out of range of House’s ears, however, Wilson sighed, saying quietly, “I see that he failed the Dale Carnegie course, AGAIN.”
Cuddy laughed and led her favorite Oncologist to his new domain.
Much later that night, James Wilson was still at it. Most of his equipment was set up, but his records and other data still had to be put in place. He had talked to Driscoll and spent better than an hour with Cuddy, explaining what the two men hoped to accomplish. Most of the tests would be done at Driscoll’s hospital, but there was lots of research to be done and Wilson had agreed to do much of that.
This research would involve the need for a very flexible schedule for Wilson as well as somewhat frequent trips to Chicago. Wilson, ever the organizer, wanted to make sure that Cuddy understood what the whole project entailed.
After Cuddy left, Wilson continued to work and even when the housecleaning crew came in, he was still at it. He had brought one suitcase with him. He didn’t have his car since he had come straight from the airport in a taxi. His exhaustion was so great that he decided to collapse on the sofa that Fred, his favorite custodian, had managed to scare up for him.
It was after 9:00 pm; his eyes were so heavy that he decided to stretch out for a few minutes before completing the pile of folders on his desk. His head was aching slightly and his eyes were burning, but a few minutes would do the trick. He was on the edge of drowsing when he heard a voice that he recognized immediately.
“Ah, the poor man’s hidey hole. I would have thought that the big time researcher could afford better.”
Not letting House see his interior grimace, Wilson opened one eye then shut it. The silhouette, standing at the door was unmistakeable - - so was the bent posture which said that House was in pain and definitely exhausted.
“Yes, I got so used to the luxury of your sofa when I stayed with you that I’ve got quite a fetish for them now.”
House smiled slightly, but his blue eyes held confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“I work here; at least, that’s what Cuddy said, but then she could be confused.”
“Put your coat on; I’ll take you to a hotel.”
“Thanks, but I’ll start fresh tomorrow. Pick up my car and find a hotel.” Brown eyes looked suspiciously into House’s blue eyes. “Why are you so late; got a case?”
“Nah, just had some things to do.”
Wilson merely nodded then closed his eyes as if to go to sleep.
“I said, go get your coat; you need to get some rest.” The voice was strange; it showed the same concern that House had shown for Kate, who had been marooned in Antarctica.
“I’m all right, House. See you tomorrow.”
House couldn’t understand what was going on. This wasn’t his Jamie, the man who had stuck with him through . . . well, everything, including his sarcasm. House stood there for a moment, almost ready to leave then he decided to try again and really shake Wilson out of his complacency.
“What’d ya mean about your brother?”
Wilson raised his eyebrow and eyelid, staring at the most irritating man on this earth. He quickly returned the salvo. “Why’d you lie about saying that Bloomfield had cancer, you knew he didn’t.”
House smiled affectionately. *That’s my Wilson!* “Now would I do that?”
Wilson hesitated then replied, “Of course, you would - - really irritated Crenshaw, didn’t it? What would you have done if I hadn’t shown up?”
Piercing blue eyes stared at the man in front of him. “I had Susie on the look out for you. Cuddy got a message that you were coming so I figured I’d test my surveillance system.”
Wilson shook his head as if he was saying, ‘should have known’. Looking up at his friend with tired but twinkling eyes, he murmured, “Actually her name is Sheila. I can only imagine what you know about her that would make her do such a thing.”
Hesitating momentarily, Wilson continued, “House, I’m not doing consulting any more. Just research. There *are* other Oncologists who you can go to.”
House shook his head, “True, but they won’t let me steal their olives.”
“Better find another source for your olives; with this research, I’m bound to be going back and forth to Chicago.”
House stared down his nose at the supine man and whispered, “You didn’t answer my question; get your coat and you can explain it to me as I drive you to your hotel.”
Wilson sighed, knowing a stone wall when he saw it. “I don’t have a hotel; I don’t have my car. I left it in a long term garage.”
“All right, I’ll drive you to the garage so that you can get your car; you can find your own hotel.”
Wearily, Wilson got up, rolled down his sleeves, and put on his jacket. Finding his overcoat, he put it on and followed House to the parking lot.
House seemed hesitant to ask but finally did so after driving for a few minutes, “What did you mean by that remark about your brother leaving because of me?”
“I lied.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“All right, I told the truth.”
“Well, then what did you mean by it?”
“Don’t worry, I might have meant it then, but it’s not true now.”
House glared at the man in the other seat, almost hitting a car parked on the side of the road. Quickly he pulled into an empty parking place, shifting his body so that he could see Wilson better.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Wilson closed his eyes and smiled. “All right; I had a crush on you in Med School. Somewhere along the way, it became quite an infatuation, and that little trip to Atlantic City added to it. My brother became suspicious during that time, and I was forced to tell him how I felt. It wasn’t long after that that his mental illness took a turn for the worse and he . . . left.”
Wilson’s eyes were cast down. Sometimes Wilson was so easy to read. It was obvious that there was a lot more to this, but before House could ask more, Wilson looked up and noticed his surroundings. They were parked in front of House’s apartment building.
“This isn’t the parking garage.”
“Oh really, looks like your car to me.”
Puzzled, Wilson looked around and saw a Lexus that looked just like his. It even had his license plate! “How did you do that?”
“What did you think that I was doing at the hospital at 9:00 at night? Got your parking ticket and got your car out of hock. Voilà, monsieur, as they say.”
Wilson laughed, “Where’s my key and what do I owe you?”
“You’ll see; come on in and I’ll feed you, and then we can talk.”
“House, I’m tired, I’ve got jet lag, I’m homeless, and I don’t know how I feel about you right now, what do you want from me?”
Opening the driver’s side door, House bent over to peer into the car. “I’ve got your suitcases in my place, so you better come in. We’ll eat and then I’ll tell you what I want you to do for me.”
James Wilson could hear warning bells clanging. “House, I am not coming in, even for my clothes, unless you give me an explanation about what’s going on.”
Sad, blue eyes looked at the younger man. Sighing, House said in a voice so low that Wilson had to lean forward to hear, “All right, here it is in a nut shell. I want you to live with me, and I want us to be friends again.”
James Wilson stared at the older man then carefully opened the passenger door. He started to head towards his car, but realized that House had still not given him his key. He turned to head towards the apartment door of 221 without looking further at House.
House remained mute, giving out a small sigh of relief. He had accomplished his first goal: getting Wilson into his apartment.
Wilson entered the familiar place and looked around for his suitcases. House read his mind and pointed, “They’re in the bedroom.”
Wilson’s look clearly implied his scepticism of House’s motives, but he headed towards the bedroom. House shouted at his disappearing back, “You can have the bed tonight if you don’t want to lie on my pee-stained sofa!”
Wilson said nothing. He disappeared into the bedroom, looking for his suitcases. House waited and waited for Wilson to come storming out, but he didn’t. Strangely concerned, House moved to the entrance of the darkened room; James Wilson was there, holding a photo frame in his hands.
“Thought this was destroyed.”
“Put it in a new frame. I thought you were mocking the sex we had in Atlantic City; that’s why I threw it. Finally realized it meant more.”
Wilson slowly turned, looking at the anxious man who stood silhouetted against the light of the hallways. “We were . . . happy. Guess that’s what I wanted you to remember.”
House nodded slightly as he turned to walk out of the room. He waited for Wilson in the living room. Wilson was carrying his suitcases. Heading towards the door, he stopped to stare at the man who was a total enigma sometimes. “Can I have my keys?”
Reaching in his pocket, House threw the Lexus keys to Wilson. “You’re tired; why not stay here tonight?”
Wilson’s brown eyes grew darker and more intense. “Don’t think that’s a good idea. Good night, House.”
Opening the door, the younger man stopped and whirled around, a look of comprehension on his face. “You . . . you’re the one.”
House’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion; he shrugged as if he didn’t understand.
Wilson felt the ice around his heart thaw the tiniest bit, “You’re the one who sent me the chocolate heart!”
House’s eyes twinkled, but the only thing he said was, “Now, would I do that?”
Wilson didn’t know what to do; there was plenty of pain between the two men; the man had constantly tested and pushed their friendship to the edge. He had thought about permanently moving to Chicago but knew that wasn’t the answer.
Opening the door wider so that he could get his suitcases through the door, he turned back to look at the man, standing there so rigidly. “Okay, House. I’m willing to try and be your friend again, but I won’t live with you - - you can do your own cooking.” Stepping through the door, it began to close, but House could hear Wilson’s final words quite clearly, “No more friendship tests, House.”
House stood there. Maybe this would work out all right. At least, his Jamie was home and their friendship might be saved.
Smiling House turned off the lights and went to bed. Now how could House get that gorgeous moron to give him *his* heart?
The End of Part 2
The sequel: Monsters: Atlantic City and Elsewhere will be posted somewhere near RSL’s birthday.