Chapter Text
Cameron was waiting for him.
He didn’t like it when she did that. Since he was never one to sit on his feelings, he told her so.
“Oh, I’m sorry for caring,” Cameron grumbled as they walked back to the diagnostic office.
“You should be. It’s just a liability.”
“I was dropping things for Cuddy,” she glared, then paused. “But I couldn’t help notice you were having an interesting conversation.”
“We were talking about grown-up stuff. I’ll explain it all to you when you’re older.”
Cameron rolled her eyes. “What were you talking about?”
“None ya beeswax,” House said briskly.
“I can help,” she offered.
“So tempting,” House joked. “But I have to do this alone.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I’m so glad I have my close friend Cameron to rely on,” he said.
“Was it about Wilson?” she guessed.
House paused. “Why would you think that?”
She shrugged, but House could see a satisfied gleam in her eyes. “You just have this look when you talk about him.”
“You would, too, if someone that annoying made your life miserable.”
“No,” Cameron raised her eyebrows, looking almost smug. “Almost like you care.”
“I-” He stopped.
“You’re trying to determine your feelings for him,” Cameron guessed. House was quiet; had he really been that obvious? Correctly interrupting the silence, Cameron pressed on:
“I don’t think it matters.”
“You don’t think my feelings matter?” House said dramatically, hand to his forehead. “I thought we were friends!” Was it real or not?
Cameron ignored him. “I mean,” she said. “You don’t need to know if whatever you think you saw was real or not to determine your feelings. Knowing if you wanted it to be real- or lack thereof- is almost as important.”
House floundered. “What do you mean, real or not?”
“Hallucinations?” she guessed. House ducked his head, nodding.
“Love is a vulnerability, yes,” she called as she walked away. “But not a weakness. Never a weakness.”
~~~~!
Lunch was rarely a pleasant affair.
Somewhere very deep inside, Wilson greatly disliked people in general. House was the perfect excuse to not do so (his company was better, anyway) and then people felt bad for him- that poor man, in House’s company again!
He would follow House to the edge of the earth. House would probably push him off.
Wilson raked a hand through his hair, as if he could push all the unreal thoughts back in his head. They were too heavy for him to handle on his own.
House pulled up beside him, silently sitting down across from Wilson and eyeing his full tray of food. Now that he didn’t have his cane, he could easily sneak up on Wilson. (He shuddered to think of all the pranks this opened up.)
“Are you...alright?” Wilson asked cautiously.
House jumped. “Fine.”
“Right, I forget you’re Mr Invincible,” Wilson huffed.
Wilson wondered if he was going to say Mr Invincible doesn’t limp. He did, once, when Wilson had lied to him.
God doesn’t limp.
And neither do you.
Being around him hurt. It was an ache in his chest, the worst thing he had ever felt, but he would rather die than have it go away. Have him go away.
House looked at the ground. His eyes seemed to plunge through it. “I liked the apple juice.”
“This is mine,” Wilson said through the straw in his mouth. He knew what House was trying to say, though- in their corner of the universe, words took on a different meaning, and I liked the apple juice became Thank you for taking care of me.
“Of course it is.”
Wilson silently handed House his own. Even though he knew House stealing from him was half the fun, House accepted it with a half-smile.
“How’s your case?” Wilson tried.
“Boring.” House didn’t say any more, and Wilson was tempted to reach over and yank the words out of his mouth. But he knew that never worked.
Nothing did.
~~~~!
House was reaching a new all-time low: the vanilla coffee creamer.
He couldn’t figure it out. For a once-in-a-generation mind, and world-class doctor, House was an awful diagnostician.
The thing was, with Wilson, it was easy to exist. To just exist- they didn’t even have to pretend the rest of the universe faded away.
With Stacy- they always had to be doing something- sex, eating, watching a movie. Distracting themselves from each other. With Wilson, there were no fake fronts or niceties or date nights.
Well. Until now. House poured the coffee creamer into his empty cup and drank some. He sputtered- it was even worse than he thought.
All the puzzle pieces were there: the hallucination, Wilson’s odd behavior early this morning and at lunch- and...House. Was it possible that the diagnoser held most of the evidence?
House clenched his teeth. There was almost that feeling again. Not the incessant thoughts, tapping at the wall of his consciousness- he was used to that by now- but that Wilson lay, doe-eyed, lay at every twist and turn, the end of every road. Couldn't he just take a step forward without stumbling into him? He hated it.
And he needed it more than anything.
House heard a rustling, and turned to find Chase walking over and sitting next to him.
“I heard Wilson was getting on your nerves.”
Normally, House would say something rude and sarcastic, but right now, he just didn’t have the energy. “Of a sort.”
There was a pause. “I know you don’t like coffee creamer, but drinking it straight might be why.”
House shrugged and looked at the cup.
“I don’t mean to pry, but-”
He held up a hand. “Then don’t.”
Chase, much to House’s surprise, smiled. “If you’re trying to figure out what’s going on with you two...Why don’t you just ask him?”
“He’s-” House stopped short, frustrated.
“He’s probably more involved with your relationship than Cuddy or Cameron or Foreman.” He paused. “Maybe just Cuddy and Foreman.”
House snorted. What was he doing talking to Chase? Chase, of all people, was not the person he expected to give advice from. He didn’t want advice from anyone, actually, but at this point, he couldn’t change the advice he had already gotten.
Find out for yourself.
You can’t diagnose relationships.
Love is a vulnerability, not a weakness.
And now, potentially the best one yet… just talk to him.
It wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Wilson was...different. Best summarized as an anomaly of the human race. House knew the man inside out, yet he still managed to surprise him. It was crazy that they were even friends- as Cuddy had said, they somehow fit in both Wilson’s real human heart with his over-analytical and frozen cold head. But that wasn’t true- Wilson was the nice one of them, yes, but he wasn’t necessarily nice. If anything, he was a surface-level nice, not actually kind. He manipulated House almost as much as House manipulated him- if not more. Just the other day, he somehow got House to unload all the groceries by pretending he had forgotten where they went.
It was stupid. And he had fallen for it- he always did.
Then again, House hadn’t realized it on his own. There was a feeling stirring in his chest- he didn’t know what it was, but it seemed to take over all the controls.
Chase was saying something about the first time he had his heartbroken- as if House cared- but House jumped to his feet regardless.
All his running had prepared him for this- never underestimate a god pairs of legs.
“Where are you-” Chase had barely started, but House was already out, banging the door open and running down the hall, tearing through a sea of patients.
“Wilson.”
~~~~!
Wilson was on the balcony.
House burst through his office, grabbed a bouquet of flowers from his desk, and shimmed through the sliding glass door, partially open. (There were roses on the balcony- much more romantic, but a little prickly to pick. These would have to do.)
“Wilson,” he announced. Wilson turned, white shirt partially untucked and (stupidly) expressive eyebrows raised. “My one true love.”
“House,” he said curiously. Damn, House had probably overused the gay jokes. He would have to find a more dramatic nickname. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
House was tempted to kiss him right then and there, but instead, he offered the flowers to Wilson.
“These are from my desk.” Wilson raised an unreasonably thick eyebrow. "Anna gave them to me after her latest results came out."
“And they’re very lovely, too,” House said politely.
Wilson cocked his head and took the flowers. “What’s going on?”
“I talked to Cameron, and Chase, and Foreman.” He paused. “And Cuddy.”
“Okay. Social interaction good.”
“About us,” House clarified.
“Okay?” A bemused expression was on his face.
“I asked them if they thought you and I could be a couple.”
Wilson choked. “You-you talked to Cuddy? About if we could have a romantic relationship?”
“Yeah.”
“This will totally ruin my rep,” he joked.
“There’s not alot to ruin.”
“Well, I’ve learned a lot of lessons,” House said, not entirely sure if he was being sarcastic or not. “And I have drawn the conclusion that you,” he said accusingly, pointing a finger at Wilson, “are a manipulative bitch.”
House could see Wilson restrain a smile. “You know just what to say to a girl. I have to say, though, I still have no idea what we’re talking about.”
“You manipulated me! You pretended to be awkward and confusing so I would talk to all these dimwits and realize I’m-” he stopped. In love with you.
“I did not,” Wilson said firmly. It was a beautiful day, and a playful breeze ruffled his hair. “Trust me, if I had masterminded something like that, I would totally take credit for it.”
“It’s just.. When you were almost unconscious, we were talking, and I- you-.” Wilson took a deep breath, and forced himself to meet House’s burning eyes. “I said I cared about you, more than you knew. And you said you loved me.”
“And you didn't know what to say," House guessed. "So you kept quiet."
“I just..” he shrugged. “I didn’t want to let you off the hook. I didn’t...I didn’t want you to run again.”
There was a moment of silence. The breeze stirred the flowers in Wilson’s hand and both their jackets.
“I love you,” House said suddenly- realizing it the same moment he said it. All those jokes- they meant something. All the looks between them, Wilson’s stupid ties- they meant something. In his hallucinations, he had literally killed someone trying to find meaning in his life.
But he already had it. It was right here- on his balcony, on his fine spring day, standing next to his best friend. Who he was in love with.
This little universe they had built-
It meant something.
Something that only he and Wilson could define- not Cameron, or Cuddy, or Foreman or Chase. Not even his Stacy or his father.
Something he wanted to define, in his own words.
Wilson paused, pained. “Please don’t joke.”
“I’m not,” House took a step closer.
“Oh.” Wilson gazed into House’s eyes. They've been close before, sure- picking each other off the floor, escorting each other out of bars when drunk- but they’ve never been lingering and breathless and torturous like this before.
“Okay,” he whispered, cupping a hand around House’s neck. House felt himself freeze, and then melt at the touch.
Wilson leaned up and kissed House’s nose. “I love you, too, you bastard.”
“Romanticly?” House felt the need to double-check.
“Romanticly,” Wilson confirmed, rolling his eyes slightly, but there was a huge grin spreading across his face. He buried his face in House’s shoulder.
So this was it.
House dipped his head- he could see Wilson's eyes widen, his lips parts- then, he mashes his lips onto Wilson's, who kisses back with surprising vigor. All those years of not kissing him were surging out of him, flying out of his mouth and into Wilson's, from hand to back to jaw to lip to ear and Wilson's hair, curled at the nape of his neck.
There was the sound of a door opening, then a yelp, and it suddenly closed again. Wilson pulled away, breathing fast and heavy. "Maybe a balcony isn't the right pace for this. Um. When we get home, though..."
House rolled his eyes. "To be continued." Wilson tasted like light, and it was rushing in House's blood. The two turned to the edge of the balcony, staring at the city, spread out below them. The sky seemed larger today, as if the vast blue expanse was showing off, just for them.
“I’m never going to let you forget that,” House said softly, keeping a hand on Wilson's lower back. He was so warm, so solid, House wanted to run his hands all over his body, just to make sure he was still there. It all made sense now.
“Never let me forget?” Wilson sputtered. “As if I’m the one who keeps on running from his feelings, and am so emotionally constipated he can’t thank the waiter when they’ve poured a glass of water.”
House paused. Wilson did have a point. “No, you’re the one who has three failed marriages.”
“Maybe that was because I was supposed to be with you,” Wilson mumbled, leaning into House’s touch.
House didn’t respond to this.
He and Wilson just stood there, leaning, two old men who kept on finding their way back to each other.
Maybe the credit was given to House’s subconscious.
Maybe it was fate.
But one thing was for sure: they were here. They were now. They were together.
And beside them, the roses were in bloom.