Chapter Text
Not everyone gets visitors. Most don't, actually. Guess no one wants to see someone they care about losing their mind. House knows there are plenty of people who would laugh at his current situation rather than weep for him.
Wilson hasn't visited. No one has. But Wilson hasn't. House hasn't called except for "Listen to the doctors, and I'll be able to visit soon." "House, I'm so sorry. I wish I could help you."
But he hasn't spoken to his best friend since then.
House is prepared to be called to the front office, but he thought it was cause Alfie finally couldn't keep his mouth shut about The Prank. He doesn't expect to see Wilson standing there looking flustered. His suit jacket askew, hair ruffled like he skipped even brushing it.
House keeps a disinterested face as he turns to the woman Wilson is speaking to.
He puts forth his best pissy "Yes?" and waits for a response from the woman wearing preteen jewelry, ignoring Wilson.
"You have a visitor Mr. House."
"Doctor." House and Wilson say in unison, one more forcefully than the other.
He glances at Wilson from the corner of his eye.
The woman pulls a face, "yeah, doctor. You have a visitor." She gestures to Wilson as if House couldn't see him standing there this whole time. So House plays it up, spinning in place and letting out a dramatic "woah!" when he faces Wilson.
He can see his friend smile. It's muted, but it's there.
"Isn't he nice to come and see you like that?" The woman says in a prompting tone that House ignores, having finally acknowledged Wilson, he studies him closer.
Wilson doesn't shrink from his friend's scrutinizing gaze. He never does, but he still looks mighty uncomfortable.
Desk Woman sighs at not getting any response out of House, which only prompts him to turn and say, "isn't there a visiting room? You know, for conjugal visits and the like. We only have a little time before the warden calls for cell check."
She has no response. Stuttering in a way that House concludes exposes her homophobia.
Wilson finally speaks up, always one to try to recover the conversation after House has sent it careening off a cliff. "That's not- uh. That's not. I'm just visiting a friend. We're not going to- that."
Well, he's made better attempts, but it's not his worst to date. But Wilson's stumbling gave the woman a moment to collect herself and get off of her fat ass.
"The room is this way."
Now that he looks around, it's not unimaginable that this is what visitation rooms would be like in some prisons.
"I'll let Dr. Nolan know that you've dropped by, but I'll give you guys some time to talk first," she lies. House can hear her scurry at top speed as soon as the door shuts.
House makes himself comfortable in the corner of a loveseat that once had fluff in it. Seriously, where do they find this furniture? on the side of the road? And looks up at Wilson who is still standing. He's looking at House, but he is also kind of staring at the middle-space.
"Well?" comes House's harsh tone.
Wilson's hair swooshes when he jerks his head up. House notices now that the oncologist's knees are a little wobbly.
"I know, … House, I know I haven't visited, and I'm sorry for not checking up on you…"
He's running on his patented guilt and caring-so-much-ness. House doesn't tune his friend out, exactly. He's always tried not to do that (when Wilson isn't being insufferable). He just takes a longer look at his friend. Eventually, he feels like he's gotten as much out of this runaway train that he's going to get. "So you haven't visited, and you're really really sorry about it. But that's not why you're here."
Wilson's shoulders droop as he sighs.
"Why are you here, Wilson?"
"I… need," the man bites his lip
The quivering knees are worrisome now. All it ever takes to calm Wilson's guilt with House is a quick apology, mainly because he knows he's never likely to get even that much from his near-sociopathic best friend. But he's not calming down. The shaking is just getting worse. The bastard needs to sit down.
House puts his bad leg along the back of the couch so that Wilson has room to sit. He expects the oncologist to sit in front of his foot. Instead, Wilson sets himself down in the middle of the couch, almost right up against House's thigh.
As entertaining as the first few seconds of this horror show has been, "Okay… You gonna tell me why you're acting weird?"
Wilson groans. "Can't you just figure it out?"
"I'm tired. Pretty tired regularly actually, part of the drugs."
Wilson sighs. "You're really going to make me say it?"
"Say what exactly?"
The frustrated sigh is familiar. "I need you to just- sit here with me."
Shit. House didn't think it would get this bad while he was detoxing. Which, it really didn't. If pissant Nolan had minded his own business, House would already be back out in the world. Instead, he's having to deal with this.
House takes a subtle deep breath before, "Okay… Once again, why?"
"Because I'm dropping!" Wilson throws his hands up before bringing them down in fists onto his thighs. Hard. But he doesn't seem to notice. "Because I've been off since the day I dropped you off at this stupid place and now you're here and I can't go another day shaky and sad and pathetic. A patient heard me whine yesterday, House. Do you know how humiliating that is?!"
It's not that House doesn't know Wilson's designation. People can't keep secrets from House for several days, several years is impossible.
However, they've had very few actual conversations where the fact has been acknowledged.
Wilson's need for neediness is contrary to his classification in a way that makes it hard for him to hold long term relationships, that and his wandering libido.
After Wilson's second divorce, House was forced to address a drop that neither of them were prepared for. It was a nightmare of Wilson refusing to communicate while he was already down, trying like hell to not need anything from House. House, who was standing right there frustrated that he hadn't thought to prepare for this. All he had to go on was what he had learned in class, and of that what he had bothered to retain from any dom/sub subject a class may have covered.
Wilson didn't look like that now, but House could see it starting. He looked frayed. And his stature had shrunk. His eyes are far away again and House knows he's about to…
Wilson leans forward, knees almost touching the floor in front of the couch. Ready to kneel there, on the hard tile. House is grateful for his instinct to pull the submissive back up onto the couch instead.
In a breath, Wilson is laid against House's chest.
Great.
And wasn't this just a perfect moment for Dr. Prick Nolan to come strutting in.