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It had been two months. A summer. Amber had died two months ago and ever since James Wilson turned his back on him that day when he had woken from the coma, the man hadn’t said a word to him apart from the usual, practical stuff. He didn’t just walk in to see how he was, he didn’t come on consults anymore – and if House asked for one, he would send another idiot of a doctor, and House couldn’t help but notice how they were not the oncologist he still saw as his best friend. Wilson had left House’s life, like he had told Amber he would, in that coma-induced state. That last moment when the world had seemed perfect. His leg didn’t hurt, Amber was there and if he would’ve asked his subconscious nicely, he was sure that Wilson would’ve been there too.
He shook his head at the memory. He wouldn’t have wanted Wilson there because his subconscious would’ve put the two lovers together, like it should. And he didn’t want to live in a world with two people of which one of them wants to kill him because he has stolen her lover. It had hurt, seeing the two of them together, but then again, Wilson had seemed happy, like he had had in every early stage of a relationship he had ever been in. House didn’t want the oncologist to be not happy, because that was what mattered most to him. He wanted to make Wilson as happy as he could and if that was by letting him love someone else, then so be it. It wasn’t like he could stop people from feeling love – he should know, he tried it many times.
House had returned to work as soon as he could and tried to pretend that everything was still alright, that Amber’s death had not happened. He dealt with the aftermath of Thirteen’s positive Huntington’s test – even though she hadn’t told anyone yet, he could see it by her posture and attitude towards life – he dealt with his annoying patients that would not stop being stupid and lying. All he would have needed were some words from a very specific doctor in Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. What were the odds that that man did not want to talk to him? Slim, even for him. But luck wasn’t on his side for once and while he craved for Wilson to acknowledge him even once, the man was struggling through his own stuff.
Wilson started having trouble sleeping after Amber died. It wasn’t so much the bed as it was the room, the memories, everything else. In the end he moved out of the apartment he had rented together with Amber and he had almost moved to a different city, a different hospital. It had taken everything Cuddy had to convince the oncologist to stay. And he had stayed, but he hadn’t stayed because he wanted to. He had stayed because he had to. After a while, Wilson had grown physically worse. Of course it had started immediately after Amber’s funeral, but the signs hadn’t been as visible back then as they were now. The oncologist had started losing weight, like he had stopped eating at all. He worked late – at least that gave House some control over what the oncologist ate. He would go to the cafeteria after Wilson had returned to his office to ask what he had bought. By the end, the people knew his question before he had even asked it. They had made a list. ‘James Wilson’s list of food’ they called it.
Wilson had looked slimmer and slimmer over the course of those two months because – surprise, surprise – the list wasn’t that long. The item that was the most on there was a bag of crisps. In the occasional situation that the man bought something a bit more substantial, he didn’t eat more than a few bites before he started poking at the food. This situation had House worried, but it wasn’t like he could go up to the oncologist and say ‘Hey dude, remember how it was my fault that your girlfriend died? Well, you’re well on the way to die as well, so mind if I worry about you and save your freaking ass?’ No. He couldn’t. But he could tell Cuddy and that was exactly what he did.
The Dean had looked surprised the first time he had mentioned how he worried about Wilson. She had thought it was just a weird obsession, that it was just his way to try and make up for Amber’s death to Wilson, but after a few weeks, when the signs that House had picked up because he knew the man so well, had grown more visible, Cuddy had started to believe him and had tried to talk to Wilson. Without any success. The oncologist had refused that his eating habits had completely left him, that the hunger that usually drove him to eat quite a lot was simply not there anymore. He wasn’t intentionally starving himself – at least that’s what House liked to believe – but his eating pattern wasn’t healthy enough to keep him going. In fact, the man could collapse any minute.
As soon as House had realized this, he had started keeping a closer eye on the oncologist. He made sure some lunch appeared on the oncologist’s desk when he was sitting next to one of his patients who was dying, he urged some nurses into asking the man out for dinner – anything to get some more meat on those bones. Even his team had spotted it by now. They had noticed how Wilson was looking dangerously thin. When they had first told House their suspicion of what was going on, House had just snapped it away, like he always did. He had acted like he didn’t care anymore to hide that, in fact, he did care a lot.
Cameron had noticed this. Alison Cameron had been the one to see that House’s deflections were merely covers for what was really going on. She had been the one to hold his hands while he explained how he felt and it had been so good to finally tell someone – even if that someone hadn’t been Wilson. Just hearing himself confess his feelings to the oncologist he had been oppressing for years now felt so good. Now all he needed to do was find a good situation to tell Wilson. When that situation arrived, though, House hadn’t been ready for it.
Everyone with a pair of eyes that knew James Evan Wilson had seen it coming. The doctor had collapsed on his way over to one of his patients on one of his more busy days. He hadn’t had breakfast that morning and there had been no time for lunch – too many appointments with patients, too many people to diagnose – and the man had fainted. His body had ran out of fat to burn and needed more proteins and energy. Someone had been clever enough to call Cameron, who had called him to let him know the man he loved was in a hospital bed, in a coma.
House had arrived in the room as soon as he could. He hadn’t cared about the case, he had abandoned it immediately and left his team to figure it out. If they had real trouble they would come to him anyway. It had felt surreal to see Wilson lying there like Amber had been, hooked to too many machines to keep the man alive. The body had started to attack itself, trying to get more of the things it needed to function. He sat down next to the bed, holding Wilson’s hand, making sure that he could still feel a heartbeat – that was what his mind was telling him, the truth was that he just wanted to hold the man’s hand – and letting Wilson know that there was someone there for him.
After a long week during which House had basically lived in the hospital and had been alternating between sitting next to Wilson’s bed, working and sleeping in the chair in his office, the oncologist had finally woken up again. House had been there when those dark brown eyes had opened again and blinked confused.
“Wh-..” The oncologist had tried to talk, but House had cut him off immediately.
“Don’t talk. You collapsed in the hallway.” The man’s voice was unusually soft. He didn’t want to start throwing medical terms at the man who had only just woken up from a week coma. “You hadn’t been looking after yourself very well the last two months.”
Wilson cast him a confused glance. “Why...” He croaked.
House wanted to list a couple a few answers to that question, but Wilson’s glare stopped him immediately. He was the only one who could make him stop saying something – and even that was rare.
“Why are you here?” Wilson managed eventually.
“It doesn’t matter, I’ll call Cuddy, tell her you’re awake and then you’ll be up and about in no time.” House got up and limped to the door.
The next croak that escaped Wilson’s throat stopped him. “Don’t… go. Please.”
House looked up surprised and walked back over to the bed. “You hate me.” He said it as a statement, but he actually meant it as a question. Do you hate me? Do I need to leave?
“I stopped hating you three weeks and two days after Amber died.”
This surprised House even more. “You actually… don’t hate me? Then why…?” He couldn’t finish the question. Why didn’t you talk to me? Why didn’t continue to treat yourself like shit?
Wilson shook his head. “Because, House, I might not have hated you anymore, but I was definitely not over Amber’s death. I don’t think I ever will be.”
House nodded, scanning Wilson’s body for signs that he was actually worse than before. But no, Wilson seemed to get better. The week he had spent in a coma had given his body the time to recover – even if it was just a little bit. His face didn’t look as thin anymore.
“And there’s that other thing.” Wilson whispered and House had almost told himself that he had imagined it. “There’s this thing where I am doubting my sexuality.”
House had no idea what to say next. He had hoped that this conversation would come one day, but not right now, not what the oncologist was waking up from a coma he had only gotten into because he was mourning his girlfriend who had died barely two months ago.
House limped to the door again and left quickly after mumbling. “I’ll tell Cuddy you’re awake.”
After House had disappeared, Wilson was left confused – even more than he had been when he woke up. He had just basically confessed that he was gay and that he suggested that he might love House before the man had run away. He sighed and let the medication take him again.
When Cuddy and House returned Wilson was once again sleeping like an angel. The oncologist had rolled over – proof that he had been awake and that the brief conversation they had shared had not been a lie.
Cuddy actually smiled as she walked over to the man’s bed and gently stroked his hair – a move for which House wanted to kick her and pull her away from him, but he didn’t. He decided to play Mr. Nice Guy for a bit longer.
“He told me he didn’t hate me.” He mumbled to the Dean standing next to him. “He said that he stopped hating me more than a month ago.”
She looked up surprised. “He actually said that? What else did he tell you that you didn’t page me but came all the way to my office to get me?”
“He said he had started to doubt his sexuality.”
Her eyes widened even more. “Did you confess your undying love for each other and now you just want me out of the room so that you can kiss him?” She rolled her eyes. “Of course not because then you wouldn’t have run away and you would have been kissing instead of having this discussion with me.”
“Oh shut up will you.” House grumbled
“No you shut up.” The soft bickering was interrupted by the only other person in the room. “House… Is there something I don’t know?”
House glared at Cuddy, as if this all was her fault, but she just shrugged and – the traitor she was – left the room for the two men to talk this out.
“House, I need an answer here.” Wilson grumbled softly as soon as Cuddy had left the room.
House nodded and took a deep breath. “Yes there is.”
“What? You need to give me a bit more than that!”
“I haven’t doubted my sexuality recently, but I have known for ages that I am bi.” He mumbled, looking down so that he didn’t have to see the look of surprise on the oncologist’s face.
“You…” House could almost hear the radars inside Wilson’s head turning. “So… You sat down next to my bed for god knows how long because… You love me?”
House finally looked up at the oncologist’s face. “Yes.”
All different kind of emotions flashed over the Wilson’s face. Surprise, disbelief, regret and eventually acceptance. “How long?”
House sighed softly. “Ever since we met.”
“Why haven’t you said anything?!” Wilson snapped, completely taken by surprise by the confession of the diagnostician.
“I knew you were straight, Wilson, I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of you only days before you got married.”
“When I was divorced the first time?”
“I was too busy making sure you were fed properly.” He tried to joke about it.
Wilson just rolled his eyes. “Shut up, House.”
The diagnostician got serious again. “Before I got the courage to tell you, you had met your soon-to-be Mrs. Wilson number two.”
Wilson nodded once again. “And after that…? You had Stacey.” He answered the question before House even had a chance. “And then you had your leg.”
House nodded. He was an incredible coward when it came to it. He probably could have told the oncologist years ago. They could have been kissing, there could have been no Amber and then Wilson wouldn’t be lying there in front of him.
“Kiss me, House.”
He looked up. Did he hear that right?
“Kiss me.”
“But… You’re in a hospital bed. You’ve just woken up from a week coma.” House protested and he had no idea why he even was doing that.
“Just bloody do it.”
House eventually moved closer and leaned in for a kiss. It wasn’t a kiss that would be sung by angels, but it was nice. It was soft, sweet and over way too soon. When House pulled away again, Wilson grabbed his collar and pulled him closer. The next kiss was much more passionate, hungry, needy. This was a kiss of lovers who hadn’t seen the other for years. This was a kiss that told House exactly how right this was and how much he needed this. He smiled into the kiss and while he gently cupped the other man’s cheek, he carefully got on the bed.
“House…” Wilson protested now. “We shouldn’t be going this fast. We should go on a few dates first, wait until I’m out of this hospital room where everyone can see us.”
“Oh please.” House scuffed. “We’ve been going on dates for ages. What do you think all those dinner evenings were?”
Wilson grinned softly. “Yes. Yes of course we’ve been dating for years but that doesn’t give us the excuse to have sex in the middle of the hospital in front of everyone.”
House pouted. “Oh please?”
“No, House, we’re not doing this right here, right now. You’ve waited for years, you can wait a bit longer now.”
House pulled back now and nodded. “Yes. Let’s get you out of here as soon as possible then, I suppose.”
Wilson nodded once more and even though he wasn’t going to admit it to the diagnostician, that was all he wanted.