For Every Closed Door Chapter 4
Title: For Every Closed Door (4/?)
Fandom: House MD/Dead Like Me crossover
Author: Starling
Rating: R overall
Characters/pairings: House, original character, eventual House/Wilson.
Warnings: Afterlife!Fic. Thus, by necessity, also a death!fic, but not depressing.
Summary: "This is easy. I don't even have to tell you when you're being stupid now."
Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own, write for, or produce either of these fabulous shows. I'm just a geek with too much time on her hands.
A/N: Posting for this fic will probably be less frequent for the next week or two. Real life is conspiring against me (it's Finals week, in other words). So here's a nice long chapter (almost 3500 words) to tide you over.
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.
Concrit feedback gives me warm fuzzies.
x-posted to housefic and house_wilson.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Interlude 1
What's the point in keeping your head down if it's already been blown off? From Dead Like Me
"What I wouldn't give for an old-fashioned Irish wake," Kay said, perusing the table of food at the funeral home. "I mean, look at this. Hors d'oeurves and wine. Vegetable dip and... what is this? I don't even know what this is."
Kay held up a mysterious pink concoction spread all over a rice cracker, sniffed it, and then put it down again as she resumed her tirade.
"Where's the potatoes? Steak? Where's the goddam whiskey? Don't get me wrong, we Irish have plenty of downfalls, but at least we knew how to stuff ourselves and get wasted and send a person off in style. I remember my Uncle Malachy's funeral, this was back in Cork before I emigrated..."
House tuned her out. Kay apparently could talk endlessly about a few things, death, food, and Ireland most principal among them. Probably the result of growing up in the post Irish famine generation. House had asked her, hopefully, if she'd considered requesting a transfer to somewhere in the Emerald Isle, and Kay had just sighed dramatically.
"It just... wouldn't be the same." House hadn't been able to stop the eye roll the words had produced.
House watched the small crowd that had gathered to see his body laid to rest. So far, he'd found that most of them fit into three categories: People He'd Saved, People He'd Pissed Off, and Other.
The first was a small group, mostly made up of former patients. There was the horny septuagenarian with syphilis, sitting with her asshole son. There was the brain damaged former piano prodigy's father. Must have left the son at home to practice tying his shoelaces. There was terminal cancer autopsy girl, wheelchair bound and hooked up to an IV, but definitely still alive, and quite possibly more cheerful than ever. And how embarrassing was it that Wilson's prediction about her outliving him had actually come true?
The second group consisted of doctors, nurses, and members of the various boards that at different points in his career, he'd butted heads with. To put it nicely. They'd probably just come to gloat. Or maybe to provide a stake, hammer, and holy water should House rise from his grave.
Ha. If they only knew...
And then there was everyone else, though many of them could have also fit into one of the other categories (and both, in some cases). Cuddy, with a disappointingly demure black dress on, was running around talking to the caterers, guests, and various underlings. Stacy and Mark (who was now out of the wheelchair and on crutches instead) were sitting and talking to each other in a corner. Mark looked disgustingly sympathetic at Stacy's tears. House's minions were gathered by the wine table, which figured. Cameron looked surprisingly dry-eyed. If he'd figured anyone for the wailing and rending of garments, it would have been her. Chase, on the other hand, had bloodshot eyes and a puffy face, as if he'd been crying all week. Foreman looked about the same as always.
His parents were stationed near the casket, like they were keeping vigil. His mother looked older than he remembered from when he last saw her, over a year ago. His father just looked blank. Or maybe drunk. House avoided going too close to them, feeling guilty for reasons he couldn't articulate.
"So which one's Wilson?" Kay asked, walking over to him with a plate loaded with finger food.
And then there was Wilson. He was dressed in a somber black suit. Had he been able to, House would have teased his friend for trying to look like a gangster, Pulp Fiction style. House had been watching him make the rounds among the guests ever since he and Kay had gotten here.
They'd taken Kay's car here instead of the bike ("Death drives a Volkswagen?" he'd asked. "You expected a hearse? Do you know the gas mileage of those things?") deciding that even if Reapers generally stayed under the radar, that was just asking for trouble.
"He's there," House said, watching Wilson smile and shake some board member's hand.
"People are treating him like he's your widow or something," Kay observed.
House shrugged. "He was the only person who stuck around that didn't have to. People probably feel sorry for him."
Kay nodded. "He's cute," she said randomly.
House sneered at the girl. "You're kind of young for him."
With the curly red hair and freckles, Kay looked like she was barely of drinking age, despite being almost twenty-five when she died, and nearly a century old at this point .
"I'm old enough to be his grandmother, you ass," Kay said around a mouthful of pâté.
She squinted at Wilson. "Great grandmother, maybe."
"Well, Mrs. Robinson, be careful. He's a needy serial-divorcee on the rebound."
"From you? That's quick. You must have been a shitty lay."
House glared at her, then glanced over to see Wilson heading towards terminal cancer autopsy girl and her mother. Or rather, towards Kay, as House was still incorporeal. Kay moved away, shifting to fade into the background. House stayed where he was, watching Wilson shake the mother's hand.
Overall, the man seemed okay. There were dark circles under his eyes and tension in his smile, but he hadn't aged ten years or anything dramatic like that. Chase looked worse than Wilson did, but Chase had always worn his heart on his sleeve.
Wilson bent down to accept a hug from the Little Baldie That Could, stood, turned and stared right at him.
A jolt went through House, rocking him back on his heels. It was the closest thing to a physical experience he'd felt since he died. Wilson had seen him.
A dozen feet away, Wilson shut his eyes, then opened them. He looked around the room again, then sighed. House watched as he squeezed the bridge of his nose in a familiar gesture.
"Kay!" His undead chaperone was refilling a plate of food and exchanging pleasantries with, of all people, Nurse Brenda. House was momentarily startled by seeing the woman out of her scrubs. He would have guessed she lived in them. Even more surprising was that she had kind of a nice body. And holy crap - was it his imagination or was Kay standing just a little too close to the other woman?
"Will you excuse me a moment?" Kay said to Brenda. The nurse smiled and nodded, turning back to the food table.
"Were you flirting with her?" he asked, trying to put as many filthy connotations into the word as he could.
"Maybe. Why do you care?" The tone was defensive. And she was crossing her arms. Interesting. House filed the observation away for future reference, when he had time to torture her with it.
"That woman's pure evil. Or pure dominatrix. Either way, she gets off on being in total control. Should be an interesting first date with the two of you."
"I'll be sure to tell you all the details afterward. Now do you mind?" She started to move back. House poked his hand into her shoulder to stop her.
"Wilson saw me."
Kay blinked twice. Then she popped a potsticker dumpling in her mouth and said, "No, he didn't."
"Yes he did."
Kay chewed and swallowed. "It's wishful thinking."
"It's not. He saw me. His eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead. Then he shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, he couldn't see me anymore but he was looking for me. And then he did that thing where he pinches the bridge of his nose when he's stressed."
"Really," Kay said, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. "His friend died, he probably had to take care of the funeral arrangements, he's trying to hide his grief, but the only reason he could be stressed is from seeing your ghostly form. Despite the fact that's impossible."
House glared at her. "I know what I saw," he said stubbornly.
"You saw what you wanted to see," Kay said dismissively, and turned back towards Brenda, who had somehow not noticed that the redhead had been talking to thin air for the last two minutes.
House kept glaring at her, then turned his attention back to Wilson. He had moved on to the other side of the room and was talking with Chase. With another glance at the Reaper, who seem enrapt in whatever horrible story Brenda was telling about him, he took a deep breath and shouted. "Hey, Wilson!"
Kay flinched, then excused herself again from Brenda's company. House continued shouting in the meantime.
"Hey, Wilson, look at me. I'm talking to you from beyond the goddam grave! Least you could do is turn your head! Wilson!"
"You're not going to prove anything," Kay hissed. "Except that you're an asshole, which I already know, so you can stop anytime."
House ignored her, brushing past and sometimes through the other guests as he walked towards the other doctor, who seemingly hadn't heard a thing.
"Look at me, Wilson. Look at me. You already saw me once, so turn around. Look at me, dammit."
He was only a foot away, but Wilson hadn't given a sign that he'd heard anything, was still nodding and apparently hanging on Chase's every word.
"Wilson!" House shouted. And he saw it; a slight tightening in Wilson's shoulders. Not quite the reaction House had hoped for, but he'd heard or sensed something and was trying to cover it.
House sighed in relief. He wasn't imaging it. Without realizing what he was doing, forgetting he was no more solid than a cold breeze, House unconsciously reached out towards him, touching his hand to Wilson's shoulder.
And Wilson flinched. He whirled around, pale and confused, eyes searching around the room. House could almost hear his rapid heartbeat from where he was standing.
"Doctor Wilson?" Chase was asking, reaching up to touch Wilson's elbow. "Are you all right?"
Wilson licked his lips, and pinched the bridge of his nose again. "I'm fine, Chase. Sorry. I just need some fresh air."
Chase looked at him, confusion and concern on his features. "I understand." Then he pat Wilson on the shoulder. House rolled his eyes. If Wilson wasn't careful, he'd set himself up for some gay pity sex from the little Wombat.
Wilson, for his part, just gave a quick nod and walked out of the room. House began to follow him, but was intercepted by a vengeful fury in the form of a short, red-headed psycho pomp.
"I need to talk to you. Now."
House tried to get past her but to his shock, she grabbed him by the arm and started pulling him away.
"What the hell? You can touch me!"
"If I need to. It's like sticking my hand in a bucket of ice water that has an electric current running through it, so I don't like to. But if you don't stop acting like an asshole, I will be forced to just grit my teeth, and kick you in the nuts."
Her speech had carried them into the outer room of the funeral home, Kay stalking forward and dragging House behind her. She looked around, and saw nobody else, and let go of him.
"You said the living couldn't see the dead," House said.
"Most of them can't. My guess is that your friend is a really weak medium."
House stared at her. "Wilson is psychic?"
"A little. Just barely. Probably wouldn't notice most ghosts if they bit him in the ass, but he definitely felt you."
House leaned against the wall, conflicting emotions running through him. Wilson could see him, feel him even. Holy shit.
"House." Kay's tone was too serious. "You have to leave him alone."
"What? Why?"
"Because he doesn't know what this is. He'll think he's going crazy. He's hiding it well, but he's barely holding himself together as it is. This will put him over the edge."
House's mind was racing, thinking back to exactly what his friend had looked like. Wilson had looked all right. Not great, but there hadn't seemed to be an imminent mental breakdown.
Kay had that look on her face that House knew signaled another creepy mind-reading statement. "I've been to a lot more funerals than you, House. I've seen a lot of grief, and I can recognize the signs."
House rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. But I've practically got a degree in Wilson psychology. He's resilient enough. He was my friend for ten years after all."
It was Kay's turn to roll her eyes. "I'm sure he had to be tough for that. But leave him alone."
Fine. He'd wait till he was finally corporeal again, then he'd find a way to convince Wilson...
And Kay was doing the damn mind-reading thing again. He could tell. He decided to beat her to the punch.
"You're going to tell me I can't talk to him even when I get a body."
"This is easy. I don't even have to tell you when you're being stupid now."
"You're the one being stupid." House knew it was a lame comeback the second it came out of his mouth.
Kay rolled her eyes. "And you're a fucking child. He thinks you're dead. You won't be able to convince him otherwise. Besides, Reapers don't associate with the living because the living really don't want to know about us. We're under the radar, but if you stick your neck out too far, you're fucked. The Gravelings will start messing with you, and that's the shits, my friend."
House shook his head. "The what?"
"The shits. Uh, it was a metaphor. Mostly."
House rolled his eyes. "What the hell are Gravelings?"
Kay seemed to realize that she'd said more than she meant to. "I want a cigarette. Come walk with me."
There wasn't anything else he could do, so he followed her outside. She lit one of her cigarettes and started walking aimlessly around the well kept grounds. Whoever had taken care of his arrangements had chosen a nice place to have his funeral. House appreciated that they hadn't tried to have it in a church.
Kay took a deep drag on her cigarette and exhaled it slowly before she began to talk. "You notice that Reapers aren't the ones who actually kill people, we just take the souls. Gravelings are the ones that set the circumstances. They made that cigarette fall into the puddle of gasoline, and gave that James Taylor CD the right spin and speed to cut through your neck. They also turn that meaningless clump of benign cells into a malignant tumor. Put an oil slick on a busy road. Turn that little scratch into a raging infection."
House was intrigued. There were mysterious evil gremlin things going around killing people. It was kind of cool.
"They'll also make your life hell if you fuck around with the order of things."
That was less cool. Still, he wanted to see them in action. Just not with him in their line of sight.
"So, if I make contact with Wilson, I'll get tortured by evil death gremlins?"
"You'll cause the both of you to have emotional breakdowns first, which should be deterrent enough."
House sighed. "All right," he said, a despondent note leaking into his tone. "I won't try to contact Wilson."
This was, of course, a blatant lie.
"And this party sucks. Everyone's either zoned out, depressed, or smug. I'm ready to go when you are," he told Kay, hoping he had read her as well as he thought he did.
"Okay. Let me just go get some more food, and I'll meet you at the car."
"Right." Couldn't pass up free food. Post Irish famine culture for the win.
House watched her walk back inside, then started running. Wilson had been heading towards the side exit, on the other side of the building, and House could only hope he was still there.
He turned the corner and saw his best friend, leaning against the building, and-
House blinked. Holy fuck. Wilson was smoking.
That was... That was....
Kind of hot.
Wait, what? Had he just actually thought that? What had death done to him?
It was just that he'd never seen Wilson do anything even slightly rebellious before, except to save House's ass (or to exact revenge on him, but they were two sides of the same coin, really). Now Wilson was standing on the side of a building in his Pulp Fiction suit, the tie loosened just slightly, and smoking furtively, looking around to make sure nobody would catch him.
"Oh, Jimmy. Your mother would be so disappointed," House said.
The words fell flat, and Wilson didn't look up. So the other man probably couldn't hear him all the time. As an experiment, solely in the name of Science and not because he really wanted to touch Wilson, House stepped forward to put a hand on his shoulder.
"James?" Cuddy said, and House jerked his hand away before he remembered Cuddy couldn't see him, and thus couldn't misinterpret the situation.
"They're about to start the ceremony." She didn't say anything about the cigarette. Interesting.
"Okay. I'll be right in. Give me a second," Wilson said, exhaling a stream of smoke.
Cuddy seemed about to go in, but turned back at the last second. She hesitated, then spoke. "You never told him, did you?"
Wilson looked up sharply at her. House did too, though neither of them saw it.
Wilson rubbed at the back of his neck, such a familiar gesture that House would have smiled if he wasn't so confused. "No," Wilson said. "I never did. Probably for the best though, considering..." Wilson swept his hand out in an all-encompassing gesture.
House could have screamed at the vagueness of their conversation. People should have more regard for the fact that their dearly departed were trying to eavesdrop on them.
Cuddy nodded, a sad smile on her face. "I'm sorry."
"Thanks," Wilson said. It was, House thought, supposed to sound sincere but came across as just exhausted.
Cuddy turned and went in. House wondered what the hell she'd been talking about. The smoking? It didn't seem important enough to warrant such sad and sympathetic tones. He looked back at Wilson, trying to find the answer written on his face, but there wasn't anything there but a familiar weariness.
Wilson took a last drag of his cigarette, then dropped it, grinding it under the heel of his shiny dress shoes. He walked past House, and if he swerved slightly to not walk through him, neither of them noticed.
At the last second, Wilson paused. "House?" he said.
If House still had a heart, it would have started beating very hard. "I'm here."
Maybe Wilson heard him, because he spoke again. "You're a bastard," he said, then turned and walked back inside with slow, measured steps.
House was left standing there, wondering what the hell was going on.
"Well," came a voice behind him. He turned to see Kay standing and munching on a baby carrot. "I hope that was enlightening. You're an asshole, by the way."
"That's my name, don't wear it out," House replied, but his sarcasm was on auto-pilot. "Were you listening?" he asked her, gesturing towards Wilson's retreating back.
"Yep," she said, not at all apologetic.
"Any idea what the hell was that about?"
Kay looked up at him, a piece of broccoli halfway to her lips. "You don't know?"
"Would I ask you if I didn't?"
Kay shook her head. "If you don't know, I'm not going to be the one to tell you." She popped the broccoli into her mouth and started walking back to the car.
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" House shouted. Well fine. He'd just find out for himself. That was much more fun anyway.
Fandom: House MD/Dead Like Me crossover
Author: Starling
Rating: R overall
Characters/pairings: House, original character, eventual House/Wilson.
Warnings: Afterlife!Fic. Thus, by necessity, also a death!fic, but not depressing.
Summary: "This is easy. I don't even have to tell you when you're being stupid now."
Obligatory Disclaimer: I don't own, write for, or produce either of these fabulous shows. I'm just a geek with too much time on her hands.
A/N: Posting for this fic will probably be less frequent for the next week or two. Real life is conspiring against me (it's Finals week, in other words). So here's a nice long chapter (almost 3500 words) to tide you over.
Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.
Concrit feedback gives me warm fuzzies.
x-posted to housefic and house_wilson.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Interlude 1
What's the point in keeping your head down if it's already been blown off? From Dead Like Me
"What I wouldn't give for an old-fashioned Irish wake," Kay said, perusing the table of food at the funeral home. "I mean, look at this. Hors d'oeurves and wine. Vegetable dip and... what is this? I don't even know what this is."
Kay held up a mysterious pink concoction spread all over a rice cracker, sniffed it, and then put it down again as she resumed her tirade.
"Where's the potatoes? Steak? Where's the goddam whiskey? Don't get me wrong, we Irish have plenty of downfalls, but at least we knew how to stuff ourselves and get wasted and send a person off in style. I remember my Uncle Malachy's funeral, this was back in Cork before I emigrated..."
House tuned her out. Kay apparently could talk endlessly about a few things, death, food, and Ireland most principal among them. Probably the result of growing up in the post Irish famine generation. House had asked her, hopefully, if she'd considered requesting a transfer to somewhere in the Emerald Isle, and Kay had just sighed dramatically.
"It just... wouldn't be the same." House hadn't been able to stop the eye roll the words had produced.
House watched the small crowd that had gathered to see his body laid to rest. So far, he'd found that most of them fit into three categories: People He'd Saved, People He'd Pissed Off, and Other.
The first was a small group, mostly made up of former patients. There was the horny septuagenarian with syphilis, sitting with her asshole son. There was the brain damaged former piano prodigy's father. Must have left the son at home to practice tying his shoelaces. There was terminal cancer autopsy girl, wheelchair bound and hooked up to an IV, but definitely still alive, and quite possibly more cheerful than ever. And how embarrassing was it that Wilson's prediction about her outliving him had actually come true?
The second group consisted of doctors, nurses, and members of the various boards that at different points in his career, he'd butted heads with. To put it nicely. They'd probably just come to gloat. Or maybe to provide a stake, hammer, and holy water should House rise from his grave.
Ha. If they only knew...
And then there was everyone else, though many of them could have also fit into one of the other categories (and both, in some cases). Cuddy, with a disappointingly demure black dress on, was running around talking to the caterers, guests, and various underlings. Stacy and Mark (who was now out of the wheelchair and on crutches instead) were sitting and talking to each other in a corner. Mark looked disgustingly sympathetic at Stacy's tears. House's minions were gathered by the wine table, which figured. Cameron looked surprisingly dry-eyed. If he'd figured anyone for the wailing and rending of garments, it would have been her. Chase, on the other hand, had bloodshot eyes and a puffy face, as if he'd been crying all week. Foreman looked about the same as always.
His parents were stationed near the casket, like they were keeping vigil. His mother looked older than he remembered from when he last saw her, over a year ago. His father just looked blank. Or maybe drunk. House avoided going too close to them, feeling guilty for reasons he couldn't articulate.
"So which one's Wilson?" Kay asked, walking over to him with a plate loaded with finger food.
And then there was Wilson. He was dressed in a somber black suit. Had he been able to, House would have teased his friend for trying to look like a gangster, Pulp Fiction style. House had been watching him make the rounds among the guests ever since he and Kay had gotten here.
They'd taken Kay's car here instead of the bike ("Death drives a Volkswagen?" he'd asked. "You expected a hearse? Do you know the gas mileage of those things?") deciding that even if Reapers generally stayed under the radar, that was just asking for trouble.
"He's there," House said, watching Wilson smile and shake some board member's hand.
"People are treating him like he's your widow or something," Kay observed.
House shrugged. "He was the only person who stuck around that didn't have to. People probably feel sorry for him."
Kay nodded. "He's cute," she said randomly.
House sneered at the girl. "You're kind of young for him."
With the curly red hair and freckles, Kay looked like she was barely of drinking age, despite being almost twenty-five when she died, and nearly a century old at this point .
"I'm old enough to be his grandmother, you ass," Kay said around a mouthful of pâté.
She squinted at Wilson. "Great grandmother, maybe."
"Well, Mrs. Robinson, be careful. He's a needy serial-divorcee on the rebound."
"From you? That's quick. You must have been a shitty lay."
House glared at her, then glanced over to see Wilson heading towards terminal cancer autopsy girl and her mother. Or rather, towards Kay, as House was still incorporeal. Kay moved away, shifting to fade into the background. House stayed where he was, watching Wilson shake the mother's hand.
Overall, the man seemed okay. There were dark circles under his eyes and tension in his smile, but he hadn't aged ten years or anything dramatic like that. Chase looked worse than Wilson did, but Chase had always worn his heart on his sleeve.
Wilson bent down to accept a hug from the Little Baldie That Could, stood, turned and stared right at him.
A jolt went through House, rocking him back on his heels. It was the closest thing to a physical experience he'd felt since he died. Wilson had seen him.
A dozen feet away, Wilson shut his eyes, then opened them. He looked around the room again, then sighed. House watched as he squeezed the bridge of his nose in a familiar gesture.
"Kay!" His undead chaperone was refilling a plate of food and exchanging pleasantries with, of all people, Nurse Brenda. House was momentarily startled by seeing the woman out of her scrubs. He would have guessed she lived in them. Even more surprising was that she had kind of a nice body. And holy crap - was it his imagination or was Kay standing just a little too close to the other woman?
"Will you excuse me a moment?" Kay said to Brenda. The nurse smiled and nodded, turning back to the food table.
"Were you flirting with her?" he asked, trying to put as many filthy connotations into the word as he could.
"Maybe. Why do you care?" The tone was defensive. And she was crossing her arms. Interesting. House filed the observation away for future reference, when he had time to torture her with it.
"That woman's pure evil. Or pure dominatrix. Either way, she gets off on being in total control. Should be an interesting first date with the two of you."
"I'll be sure to tell you all the details afterward. Now do you mind?" She started to move back. House poked his hand into her shoulder to stop her.
"Wilson saw me."
Kay blinked twice. Then she popped a potsticker dumpling in her mouth and said, "No, he didn't."
"Yes he did."
Kay chewed and swallowed. "It's wishful thinking."
"It's not. He saw me. His eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead. Then he shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, he couldn't see me anymore but he was looking for me. And then he did that thing where he pinches the bridge of his nose when he's stressed."
"Really," Kay said, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. "His friend died, he probably had to take care of the funeral arrangements, he's trying to hide his grief, but the only reason he could be stressed is from seeing your ghostly form. Despite the fact that's impossible."
House glared at her. "I know what I saw," he said stubbornly.
"You saw what you wanted to see," Kay said dismissively, and turned back towards Brenda, who had somehow not noticed that the redhead had been talking to thin air for the last two minutes.
House kept glaring at her, then turned his attention back to Wilson. He had moved on to the other side of the room and was talking with Chase. With another glance at the Reaper, who seem enrapt in whatever horrible story Brenda was telling about him, he took a deep breath and shouted. "Hey, Wilson!"
Kay flinched, then excused herself again from Brenda's company. House continued shouting in the meantime.
"Hey, Wilson, look at me. I'm talking to you from beyond the goddam grave! Least you could do is turn your head! Wilson!"
"You're not going to prove anything," Kay hissed. "Except that you're an asshole, which I already know, so you can stop anytime."
House ignored her, brushing past and sometimes through the other guests as he walked towards the other doctor, who seemingly hadn't heard a thing.
"Look at me, Wilson. Look at me. You already saw me once, so turn around. Look at me, dammit."
He was only a foot away, but Wilson hadn't given a sign that he'd heard anything, was still nodding and apparently hanging on Chase's every word.
"Wilson!" House shouted. And he saw it; a slight tightening in Wilson's shoulders. Not quite the reaction House had hoped for, but he'd heard or sensed something and was trying to cover it.
House sighed in relief. He wasn't imaging it. Without realizing what he was doing, forgetting he was no more solid than a cold breeze, House unconsciously reached out towards him, touching his hand to Wilson's shoulder.
And Wilson flinched. He whirled around, pale and confused, eyes searching around the room. House could almost hear his rapid heartbeat from where he was standing.
"Doctor Wilson?" Chase was asking, reaching up to touch Wilson's elbow. "Are you all right?"
Wilson licked his lips, and pinched the bridge of his nose again. "I'm fine, Chase. Sorry. I just need some fresh air."
Chase looked at him, confusion and concern on his features. "I understand." Then he pat Wilson on the shoulder. House rolled his eyes. If Wilson wasn't careful, he'd set himself up for some gay pity sex from the little Wombat.
Wilson, for his part, just gave a quick nod and walked out of the room. House began to follow him, but was intercepted by a vengeful fury in the form of a short, red-headed psycho pomp.
"I need to talk to you. Now."
House tried to get past her but to his shock, she grabbed him by the arm and started pulling him away.
"What the hell? You can touch me!"
"If I need to. It's like sticking my hand in a bucket of ice water that has an electric current running through it, so I don't like to. But if you don't stop acting like an asshole, I will be forced to just grit my teeth, and kick you in the nuts."
Her speech had carried them into the outer room of the funeral home, Kay stalking forward and dragging House behind her. She looked around, and saw nobody else, and let go of him.
"You said the living couldn't see the dead," House said.
"Most of them can't. My guess is that your friend is a really weak medium."
House stared at her. "Wilson is psychic?"
"A little. Just barely. Probably wouldn't notice most ghosts if they bit him in the ass, but he definitely felt you."
House leaned against the wall, conflicting emotions running through him. Wilson could see him, feel him even. Holy shit.
"House." Kay's tone was too serious. "You have to leave him alone."
"What? Why?"
"Because he doesn't know what this is. He'll think he's going crazy. He's hiding it well, but he's barely holding himself together as it is. This will put him over the edge."
House's mind was racing, thinking back to exactly what his friend had looked like. Wilson had looked all right. Not great, but there hadn't seemed to be an imminent mental breakdown.
Kay had that look on her face that House knew signaled another creepy mind-reading statement. "I've been to a lot more funerals than you, House. I've seen a lot of grief, and I can recognize the signs."
House rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. But I've practically got a degree in Wilson psychology. He's resilient enough. He was my friend for ten years after all."
It was Kay's turn to roll her eyes. "I'm sure he had to be tough for that. But leave him alone."
Fine. He'd wait till he was finally corporeal again, then he'd find a way to convince Wilson...
And Kay was doing the damn mind-reading thing again. He could tell. He decided to beat her to the punch.
"You're going to tell me I can't talk to him even when I get a body."
"This is easy. I don't even have to tell you when you're being stupid now."
"You're the one being stupid." House knew it was a lame comeback the second it came out of his mouth.
Kay rolled her eyes. "And you're a fucking child. He thinks you're dead. You won't be able to convince him otherwise. Besides, Reapers don't associate with the living because the living really don't want to know about us. We're under the radar, but if you stick your neck out too far, you're fucked. The Gravelings will start messing with you, and that's the shits, my friend."
House shook his head. "The what?"
"The shits. Uh, it was a metaphor. Mostly."
House rolled his eyes. "What the hell are Gravelings?"
Kay seemed to realize that she'd said more than she meant to. "I want a cigarette. Come walk with me."
There wasn't anything else he could do, so he followed her outside. She lit one of her cigarettes and started walking aimlessly around the well kept grounds. Whoever had taken care of his arrangements had chosen a nice place to have his funeral. House appreciated that they hadn't tried to have it in a church.
Kay took a deep drag on her cigarette and exhaled it slowly before she began to talk. "You notice that Reapers aren't the ones who actually kill people, we just take the souls. Gravelings are the ones that set the circumstances. They made that cigarette fall into the puddle of gasoline, and gave that James Taylor CD the right spin and speed to cut through your neck. They also turn that meaningless clump of benign cells into a malignant tumor. Put an oil slick on a busy road. Turn that little scratch into a raging infection."
House was intrigued. There were mysterious evil gremlin things going around killing people. It was kind of cool.
"They'll also make your life hell if you fuck around with the order of things."
That was less cool. Still, he wanted to see them in action. Just not with him in their line of sight.
"So, if I make contact with Wilson, I'll get tortured by evil death gremlins?"
"You'll cause the both of you to have emotional breakdowns first, which should be deterrent enough."
House sighed. "All right," he said, a despondent note leaking into his tone. "I won't try to contact Wilson."
This was, of course, a blatant lie.
"And this party sucks. Everyone's either zoned out, depressed, or smug. I'm ready to go when you are," he told Kay, hoping he had read her as well as he thought he did.
"Okay. Let me just go get some more food, and I'll meet you at the car."
"Right." Couldn't pass up free food. Post Irish famine culture for the win.
House watched her walk back inside, then started running. Wilson had been heading towards the side exit, on the other side of the building, and House could only hope he was still there.
He turned the corner and saw his best friend, leaning against the building, and-
House blinked. Holy fuck. Wilson was smoking.
That was... That was....
Kind of hot.
Wait, what? Had he just actually thought that? What had death done to him?
It was just that he'd never seen Wilson do anything even slightly rebellious before, except to save House's ass (or to exact revenge on him, but they were two sides of the same coin, really). Now Wilson was standing on the side of a building in his Pulp Fiction suit, the tie loosened just slightly, and smoking furtively, looking around to make sure nobody would catch him.
"Oh, Jimmy. Your mother would be so disappointed," House said.
The words fell flat, and Wilson didn't look up. So the other man probably couldn't hear him all the time. As an experiment, solely in the name of Science and not because he really wanted to touch Wilson, House stepped forward to put a hand on his shoulder.
"James?" Cuddy said, and House jerked his hand away before he remembered Cuddy couldn't see him, and thus couldn't misinterpret the situation.
"They're about to start the ceremony." She didn't say anything about the cigarette. Interesting.
"Okay. I'll be right in. Give me a second," Wilson said, exhaling a stream of smoke.
Cuddy seemed about to go in, but turned back at the last second. She hesitated, then spoke. "You never told him, did you?"
Wilson looked up sharply at her. House did too, though neither of them saw it.
Wilson rubbed at the back of his neck, such a familiar gesture that House would have smiled if he wasn't so confused. "No," Wilson said. "I never did. Probably for the best though, considering..." Wilson swept his hand out in an all-encompassing gesture.
House could have screamed at the vagueness of their conversation. People should have more regard for the fact that their dearly departed were trying to eavesdrop on them.
Cuddy nodded, a sad smile on her face. "I'm sorry."
"Thanks," Wilson said. It was, House thought, supposed to sound sincere but came across as just exhausted.
Cuddy turned and went in. House wondered what the hell she'd been talking about. The smoking? It didn't seem important enough to warrant such sad and sympathetic tones. He looked back at Wilson, trying to find the answer written on his face, but there wasn't anything there but a familiar weariness.
Wilson took a last drag of his cigarette, then dropped it, grinding it under the heel of his shiny dress shoes. He walked past House, and if he swerved slightly to not walk through him, neither of them noticed.
At the last second, Wilson paused. "House?" he said.
If House still had a heart, it would have started beating very hard. "I'm here."
Maybe Wilson heard him, because he spoke again. "You're a bastard," he said, then turned and walked back inside with slow, measured steps.
House was left standing there, wondering what the hell was going on.
"Well," came a voice behind him. He turned to see Kay standing and munching on a baby carrot. "I hope that was enlightening. You're an asshole, by the way."
"That's my name, don't wear it out," House replied, but his sarcasm was on auto-pilot. "Were you listening?" he asked her, gesturing towards Wilson's retreating back.
"Yep," she said, not at all apologetic.
"Any idea what the hell was that about?"
Kay looked up at him, a piece of broccoli halfway to her lips. "You don't know?"
"Would I ask you if I didn't?"
Kay shook her head. "If you don't know, I'm not going to be the one to tell you." She popped the broccoli into her mouth and started walking back to the car.
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" House shouted. Well fine. He'd just find out for himself. That was much more fun anyway.