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It was not at all surprising when Wilson came back to find House lounging in his office chair, tinkering with one of the many artifacts that Wilson kept on his desk.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home.”
“I’m avoiding Cuddy.”
Wilson sighed and grabbed the action figure from House’s hand. “You’re avoiding your team. The people who are trying to help you.”
House pouted. “What can I say? They’re annoying.”
“They’re worried.”
“Same thing.” House crossed his arms and glanced up at Wilson. “You look different. What’s wrong?”
“Why would something be wrong?”
House narrowed his eyes and demonstratively dropped his feet from Wilson’s desk, swirling the chair to better face him. Wilson crossed his arms and inclined his head quizzically.
“You’re not berating me for walking out on my team.”
“Okay…”
“Which means you either don’t care, but you’re Wilson, or you are hiding something.”
Wilson laughed, a little nervously. Sometimes he forgot just how good House was at reading him. Never for long, though. “If you want a lecture, I’m sure I can provide.”
“I’m good,” House cut him off quickly.
Wilson allowed a small, relieved smile to tug on his lips. “Good, because I’m not actually interested in giving one.”
House scoffed, but it wasn’t unfriendly. He picked up his cane and used it to spin the chair in slow circles. His gaze fixed on the ceiling. He wasn’t exactly dismissing Wilson’s presence, just thinking. It gave Wilson the time to observe his friend. As an oncologist he was familiar with many different types of responses from patients. Disbelief and anger ranked high. Then there was resignation and fear and, less commonly, even relief. Some patients straight up denied the fact they were sick until the symptoms could no longer be ignored. What all patients, however, had in common was the barely perceptible haunted look in their eyes.
House looked normal. More importantly, he looked, talked and acted the same as always. Either he was a master of illusion, or he was lying.
Wilson would never dismiss denial as a viable reaction to finding out you’re dying -and House was a manipulative bastard who could make others believe almost anything-, but in the back of his mind he did wonder if this could simply be written off as a joke. Part of him hoped it would, because the alternative would be that in a couple of months his friend would be dead.
The cold fist that had seized Wilson’s heart since the moment Cuddy had told him the news House was seeing an oncologist, tightened its grip. House was still spinning his office chair around, lost in thought. He looked contemplative, with sharp creases in his forehead and slightly pursed lips. Wilson’s eyes lingered briefly on those lips. The lips that Cameron had kissed. The lips that had kissed her back. Unbidden, a wave of protectiveness welled up in Wilson’s chest.
“House, would you come over here for a second?”
A sharp tap of the cane against wood and the swivelling stopped. House’s bright blue eyes sharply turned to Wilson. “Why?”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “Because it’s easier to tackle you when you’re on your feet.”
House gave him an amused look.
“Please, just do it.”
With an excessive sigh, House pushed himself to his feet and limped around the desk. He stopped in front of Wilson, already looking impatient. “Well?”
It wasn’t hard for Wilson to recognize that despite the dramatics, House was curious. Pressing down on his nerves, because this was House, his friend, Wilson reached out and straightened House’s jacket. House’s left arm jerked in surprise and his eyebrows raised, but he didn’t step away. Wilson sought his eyes.
“They showed me the scans.”
“Ah…” House said softly. He dropped his gaze, eyes following Wilson’s hands suspiciously.
“You have less than a year to live.”
“Subtle. Do you break the news to all your patients like this?”
“You already knew this,” Wilson pointed out flatly. His fingers slipped under the folded fabric of House’s lapels and held on it for a moment before Wilson dropped his hands and crossed his arms. He waited for House’s eyes to meet his. “That’s not a lot of time. Why didn’t you tell me?”
It should have been funny, and in any other setting than the one they were currently in it probably would have been, the way House’s frown deepened and his eyes narrowed, showing clear confusion before moving on to a leer.
“Are you trying to kiss me?”
Wilson’s heart was pounding rapidly, pushing sweet adrenaline through his systems. For a moment it was hard to breathe, but Wilson didn’t move away and neither did House, who was smirking now like he was onto Wilson.
“What’s your plan? Are you going to stab me too? Because that didn’t work out so well for the last person that tried.”
“Are you sure about that? She wanted access to your blood and she got it.”
With a cold chuckle House stepped back, breaking the tension he had allowed to build between them. “You talked to Cameron.”
“She talked to me,” Wilson corrected. “She was upset. Wanted me to talk some sense into you. House, how could you do that?”
“It was easy. She came onto me.” But for all his confidence and suggestively wiggling eyebrows, Wilson could see that there was something bothering him. “What did Cameron tell you?”
“That you’re a selfish bastard. Really House, did you have to make her cry? As far as kissing goes, that's not the raving review you could have gotten.”
“Never made a woman cry during sex?” House asked tauntingly. “Maybe I’m just that good.”
“Maybe you’re just that much of a jerk.”
“I suppose you wanted to see for yourself.”
“Maybe.”
House raised a finger belligerently. “I’m not falling for the same trick twice.”
“Who says it’s a trick?”
House shook his head. “You’re not into that.”
Wilson pursed his lips in a thoughtful expression. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just curious what made Cameron cry?”
House stared at him, unmoved. “It certainly wasn’t my lack of skill.”
“Then what are you afraid of? I didn’t bring a syringe. You can pat me down if you want.”
“That mean you’ve come to collect a sperm sample?”
Wilson blinked in confusion, but quickly retorted, “Aren’t you gonna buy me dinner first?”
House’s nose wrinkled. This was confusing him and Wilson would have found it funny if he hadn’t been so nervous. “What are you doing?”
“Settling a score,” Wilson replied boldy. “You kiss Cameron, you grope Cuddy. What’s in it for me?”
House blinked, expression torn between smug and confused. “You want to kiss me?”
Wilson raised an eyebrow. Inside his chest, his heartbeat jumped in response to the fresh, cold wave of adrenaline. His mouth was suddenly dry as he spoke slowly, barely believing the words coming from his mouth. “No woman should die without knowing the feeling, right?”
House swallowed. “You’re hardly a woman.”
“No, I’m your best friend,” Wilson argued pointedly. “Are you really going to leave me in suspense?”
A complicated series of emotions passed over House’s face, before finally settling on a challenge. House stepped closer. Wilson fought his impulses to back away and kept their eyes locked while House loomed over him. Very slowly he brought up his hand between the two of them and placed it flat on House’s chest. For a few seconds nothing happened except for the thundering of House’s heart against Wilson’s palm.
“Why aren’t you kissing me?” House prompted, trying hard to sound impatient and detached while his breath had quickened and his cheeks were slightly tinged.
Wilson leaned in a little further. The closeness was making him feel light-headed, dizzy. His eyes flicked to House’s lips and back to his eyes. It was a miracle he was still thinking straight enough to form coherent sentences. “I have given you my consent,” he said softly. “You haven’t given me yours.”
There was that confusion again, a sharp, silent intake of breath, eyes that narrowed, a barely perceptible tilt of House’s head. The hand that was not holding his cane landed lightly on Wilson’s hip. His head moved closer, barely an inch separating their lips now, but his eyes were still open, still hesitating, still expecting it to be a trick.
Wilson didn’t dare move, scared his legs would give out. He could feel the man’s breath against his lips, catching in his throat and felt more that saw House swallow. The fingers on his hip flexed. He saw House’s gaze soften, saw the moment he decided to give in and his eyes fell shut.
Blindly, Wilson parted his lips and then, finally, House moved in. Their lips touched, House’s capturing Wilson’s upper lip softly in a chaste kiss.
It lasted only a moment before House pulled back, separating their lips. Wilson barely had time to process that it was over, when House moved in again with more force. Wilson clung to him startled, opening his mouth obediently when he felt House roughly add tongue. His hand fisted into House’s shirt, the other one clutching at House’s jacket, pulling him closer instinctively, possessively. House tilted his head, changing the angle so they fit even better, could kiss even deeper. His hand shifted, pressed against Wilson’s lower back, guided them closer, impossibly closer and Wilson thought he would faint if this went on for much longer. Heat burning between them, the slick sensation of House’s tongue brushing against his own, fingers pressing possessively into his skin.
Then suddenly it was over. House stepped away and observed him sharply.
“You’re not crying,” he stated. Then he frowned. “Why are you smiling?”
Wilson realized that he was, indeed, grinning rather idiotically. He felt high on adrenaline, almost triumphant and his heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest. House, apart from the confusion, didn’t look unaffected either. His scruff barely concealed how red his cheeks had become and his usually sharp eyes were not fully focused.
“You were right,” Wilson said, still breathing hard. “It’s not your lack of skill.”
“I’m hurt that you ever doubted me.”
House took another step away and straightened his back, trying to regain his composure. His eyes met Wilson’s briefly before he looked away. Nervous, Wilson recognized. There was something House was trying to hide from him and it went further than how affected he was by their kiss. A cold wave of irrational, bittersweet hope flooded Wilson’s chest as he realized what this could mean.
“Was that all?”
“Just one more thing,” Wilson stepped back into House’s personal space. His throat tightened, both from their proximity and the fear that was closing its fist around his heart and threatening to squeeze out the hope that had bloomed there. “You would tell me, wouldn’t you?” he whispered, unable to keep the pleading from his voice. He needed it to be true. He needed himself to be right on this, because he would not be able to deal with the consequences if he wasn’t. “You would tell me if you were dying.”
A long moment passed before House raised his head enough to look at him. His blue eyes were wide in fear, in wonder, curiosity. Then his gaze softened. “You’re crying,” he observed, sounding genuinely surprised. “Just like Cameron.”
For a moment Wilson thought House was going to kiss him again, but then House stepped away. Without another look at him, House opened the door, ready to flee the office, when Wilson found his voice.
“House, answer me.”
House paused. Almost reluctantly, he hovered in the opening. “Yes,” he said eventually. “I would tell you.”
And then he was gone.