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“Paging Doctor Wilson to the Clinic,” the speakers boomed. Not something he heard often, Wilson tilted his head in confusion. He could hear House in his office speaking to his two fellows, which confused him further. If it wasn’t House it must actually be important, he realized, getting up from his seat at once. He grabbed his coat on his way out, putting it on as he closed the door behind him. He made a stop at the main Oncology area, smiling at Sandy. “I’m going down to the clinic to see what this page is about, page me if Thomas’s test comes back,” he told her before he left.
The nurse down in the clinic gave him an apologetic look when he walked through the door. “Dr. Cuddy said you’d be able to help,” she shrugged as an apology, handing him a case. He opened it to look at the main points.
“With a simple case of the common cold?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. The nurse shrugged again and lifted her hand. Using the pen in her hand she pointed to the red letters on the top of the page. “Ah,” he said, “I see.”
He walked into the exam room, where a woman was sitting with her small child on her lap busy playing with a small stuffed squirrel. Wilson smiled at the woman, setting the file on the counter to the side of the exam bed. “Hi,” he signed, switching to American Sign Language like second nature. “My name is Dr. Wilson,” he signed, “What can I help you with today?”
The woman smiled at him, probably happy to finally see a doctor who spoke her language after waiting what her file indicated as over an hour. She explained her daughter’s symptoms in clear signs, and Wilson was quick to assure her that her daughter was going to be just fine soon.
“It seems to be nothing more than a cold, don’t worry,” he started, adding his signature smile. He was about to go into explaining ways to help the toddler who was very clearly struggling with a blocked nose when the door to the exam room flew open dramatically. Not even needing to turn around to see who just barged it, he rolled his eyes. “Sorry,” he signed repeatedly, profusely apologizing to the woman, before turning around halfway to be able to see House and still be visible to the patient. “With a patient,” he said, adding the signs simultaneously.
House eyed him suspiciously for a second before he visibly shook himself back into reality. “I need a consult,” he said, looking at the patient.
Wilson sighed. “Can it wait a couple of minutes so I can discharge them?” he asked, signing as he went. He wasn’t a stranger to SimCom, but he still hated it. ASL always got the backseat in SimCom, and it wasn’t fair to the patient, whom he was supposed to give his undivided attention to. To his surprise, House, who still had his eyes fixed on the patient, nodded and took a seat in the corner of the exam room.
Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Wilson turned around to face the patient again. “Sorry again,” he signed with a smile. “Go to the pharmacy to pick up some cold medicine. You can also sit with her in the bathroom with the water running hot so the room gets a little steamy, it might help with her blocked nose.” He could feel House’s eyes on him but he didn’t turn around, staying focused on the patient.
“Thank you,” the woman smiled at him when he handed her the prescription. With a final smile, he handed her the file and asked her to hand it to the clinic nurse outside. Once the door was closed and they were left alone, he turned to finally face House again. “Yes,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “what can I help you with?”
House looked confused, like whatever it was that he came into the room for had completely dissipated. “You speak ASL,” he said in response, eyebrows knit together in confusion.
“Uh, yes? You knew that?” Wilson said, officially confused as well. He wasn’t sure how House could miss that.
He had always been bilingual, born to a father whose first language was English and a mother whose first language was American Sign Language. Both his parents were hearing, but his mother grew up with a Deaf mother, Wilson’s grandmother, and the language spoken in her house had always been American Sign Language. Wanting to facilitate the communication between Wilson and his brothers with their grandmother, his mother always spoke to them in ASL. Speaking both languages, ASL and English, was what Wilson knew, what he grew up with. He switched between the two easily as a kid, tiny hands leading the conversation with his mother, tiny mouth leading the conversation with his father. A seamless duality that defined much of his childhood, and one that he carried into his adulthood, though it rarely found its way to the bustling halls of Princeton Plainsboro.
“How the hell should I know that?” House asked, getting up from the chair and making his way to stand in front of Wilson.
Wilson shrugged, not sure how to respond to that. “I don’t know. It must have come up somehow.” House was standing way too close. Wilson could feel his warm breath on his nose, and he had to look up to see House’s eyes.
House shook his head a little, still looking deep into Wilson’s soul. “Obviously, it didn’t,” he breathed. He took a stumbling step back, blue eyes piercing. “Or you’d have known that I speak it too.”
Wilson’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, not expecting what he heard in the slightest. Without realizing he switched back to ASL, hands flying up. “You know sign language?” he asked.
House nodded with a smirk. “Honestly,” he said, hopping up to sit on the exam bed, “I’m not sure how I could miss it, with how you gesture with your hands whenever you speak.”
Wilson knew he was going red and tried to ignore it. “What do you mean?” he asked, still signing.
It was House’s turn to shrug. “You add random signs when you speak, like you have this innate need to sign as you speak. Sometimes it’s random, but I have noticed you like to do it when I’m being especially annoying. Like when you scream at me to stop, and your hands sign it at the same time.” He had no idea how House managed to make everything sound so fucking erotic. “I thought it was a coincidence.”
Wilson was apparently subconsciously determined to call bullshit on House claiming to know sign language. Not that he even thought it was bullshit, what with House being multilingual, and completely understanding him so far; but his mouth refused to speak, letting his hands take the lead. “My grandmother was Deaf, it was my mother’s first language,” he explained, signing fast on purpose as if trying to challenge House. “It’s my first language as well. English too, with my dad.”
“Can’t mistake you for a non-native speaker with that speed,” House said with a chuckle. “It’s obviously not my first language though.”
Wilson nodded, sitting next to House on the cold exam bed. “I have yet to see you use it,” Wilson smirked as he signed, turning to face House so he could still see his hands. House shrugged again.
“Maybe I’m shy,” he said with a wink.
“Please,” Wilson said aloud, rolling his eyes. “You’re never shy.”
“Maybe,” House signed.
“I think you just wanted me to switch to English,” Wilson sighed. “Anyways, I’ve got to go back upstairs, I have a patient that needs me. Do you actually need a consult?” He jumped off the bed again, looking at House expectantly until he carefully got off the bed himself. Wilson led the way to the door, letting House out of the exam room first.
“Yeah I need you to look at a couple of scans,” House said, following him out of the clinic. “I think you might have to take that one off my hands, cancer is boring.”
“Cancer is not boring,” Wilson responded, pressing the elevator button. “Anyways, pizza tonight?”
Wilson showed up at House’s place at seven with a six-pack of beers and a box of pizza. He ignored House’s annoyed grumble over having to get up to open the door, motioning with his two busy hands to explain himself even though he didn’t need to.
The apartment was dark, the only light coming from the documentary playing on the television. He set the pizza on the kitchen counter, placed the beer in the fridge, and went back to turn on the lights in the living room. House was already back on his couch.
“So,” Wilson started, opening the pizza box and getting two slices on each of the two plates he took from the drying rack. “How do you know sign language?”
The television volume went down, and Wilson lifted his head for a second to look at House. His eyes were still on the television though, so Wilson went back to the pizza. “I learned it when I was five or so,” House hummed thoughtfully. Wilson closed the pizza box and took both plates, carrying them to the living room. He set them on the coffee table and went back to the kitchen to retrieve two lukewarm beers.
“Carry on,” he said, handing House one bottle. He sat down next to him and twisted his beer cap off.
“There’s nothing much to it really. This kid, Jack, moved to my town with his family and there was no Deaf school there. So, they found this family friend of theirs who was a TA and knew how to sign, and she was there to kind of interpret for him.” House twisted the cap off his bottle and took a swig. Wilson took a bite of his pizza, looking at House as he went on. “My teacher thought we could be good friends so she kind of set us up you know? And I really did like him so we spent some time together. I guess when you need to communicate you learn how to do it. We made do until I was able to carry an actual conversation without the help of the TA.”
“It’s pretty unusual for the sixties,” Wilson said.
House half nodded, half shrugged. “Yeah, I know that now. I’m not sure how it happened but it did. I gained a language from that, so no complaints.”
Wilson hummed thoughtfully. “So you didn’t keep in touch?”
“We had to leave two years later because my dad had a new placement, so we lost touch. But at this point, I was invested, so I found a copy of the ASL dictionary that just came out in the library and, well, let’s say it never went back.”
Wilson knew exactly what book he was talking about. His mother had a copy of it, and Wilson could distinctly remember her talking about how expensive it was. He rolled his eyes at House, thinking about the poor librarian who had to deal with the disappearance of such a book.
“Anyways,” House added after a couple of minutes of silent eating, “I’m obviously not as fluent as you, and I can’t sign that fast.”
Wilson felt some sort of pride blooming in him, though at second thought he realized how weird it was. He could hardly take pride in the fact that he learned how to speak as a little boy, and yet the compliment made him feel proud. “I don’t sign fast,” He deflected. House lifted his eyebrows, begging to differ, and Wilson couldn’t help the snort that he let out in response. “I did it on purpose,” he admitted. “I thought you were messing with me.” He could feel his ears go red and the look of amusement on House’s face.
“Do tell, how can I mess with you, while completely understanding what you’re saying?”
Wilson ducked his head. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, “but my hands reacted by going extra fast.”
He felt House’s finger tap on his arm and he lifted his head to look at his hands, an instinct embedded in him from childhood. House’s signs were small and shy, and Wilson thought if maybe House wasn’t actually joking when he mentioned shyness. “You’ll have to slow down when you sign with me,” he signed. Wilson gave him a soft smile.
His fingers curled into an O, then a K. “Shyness becomes you,” he added aloud with a smirk, enjoying the mild red tint to House’s face in response.
“It’s your native language,” House shrugged in response once he recovered.
“So?”
“So, I’m not used to not being the one on top,” he said, again with the innuendo. Wilson couldn’t help himself when he signed in response – “get used to it.”
“Do you speak English with your brother, or do you sign?” House asked the next morning as the elevator climbed up to their floor. Caught off guard by the random question, Wilson turned to look at him. His confused look must have made House think he didn’t hear him because he repeated the question.
“Umm, it depends I guess,” he responded, leading the way out of the elevator as the doors opened. “Obviously we speak over the phone, but when we’re together it depends on who is in the room with us. We’ve kind of perfected that as kids, the three of us.”
“And when you’re alone?” House asked, opening the door to the outer office and walking in. Rolling his eyes, Wilson followed him in. Might as well make some coffee if he was there.
“When we were kids we tended to sign, because that way we were sure the conversation was private. So I guess, signing mostly. I don’t know,” he chuckled, “what’s with the random questions?” House just shrugged in response.
The two fellows were already there. The woman, Cameron, had her nose buried in a stack of files, marking things off with a red pen, and the man, Chase, was focused on solving a crossword. Neither lifted their head to look at the two doctors when they walked in and completely ignored them as they made their coffee.
Wilson tapped House’s shoulder, waiting for him to look up. “Do you not have any patient?” he signed, jerking his head toward the fellows.
House shook his head in response. “Nothing interesting,” he signed back and turned to pick up his coffee. “Come on, I’ll come with you to your office.”
“Can’t, I’m already late for my rounds,” Wilson said apologetically. He picked his coffee up and made to leave the room. “I’ll see you later for the department head meeting.”
“But mom,” House whined. Wilson chose to not dignify that with a response.
The meeting was boring. Ortho spent forty minutes whining about budgets, and everyone else was already losing their mind. Wilson was busy trying with all his might not to focus on House’s beautiful eyes as they stared deep into his soul from across the table, but he wasn’t very successful.
“Take a photo,” House signed in small signs barely visible above the table. Wilson had no doubt his ears were going red. He tried to roll his eyes and shake his head, but apparently, his brain couldn’t fathom the two tasks and he ended up pathetically rolling his head. House let out a soft snort.
“Stop before somebody catches us,” he signed back at House.
House shrugged. “Provoking you is fun though,” he added in small signs.
“ASS,” Wilson fingerspelled for emphasis, marveling at how House couldn’t help the loud snort, all heads turning to look at him.
“Okay,” Cuddy said, interrupting the ongoing whine on budgets, “I think we’ll take this offline, and let all the others go. We’re running out of time anyway. Make sure you remember to hand out all your files by the end of the week so we don’t have any issues with the upcoming audit. That includes Diagnostics, Dr. House.”
House waved his hand in the air in response and Cuddy gave him a stern look in return. “I mean it,” she said. “See you all next week, thank you everyone.”
Dr. Green caught Wilson before he had the chance to get out of his chair. She smiled at him and asked a few questions, but Wilson was hardly listening, completely aware of House’s eyes on the two of them. The jealousy was apparent in House’s body language so he didn’t have to see his face to know it was there. He smiled politely at Dr. Green, answered her few questions, and excused himself.
“Does your wife know you have a new girlfriend?” House bit when they reunited by the door.
“I don’t have a new girlfriend.”
“But you do have a girlfriend.”
“I do not have—You know what? Never mind. You’re insufferable.”
Sign language became a favorite way to communicate between them. Wilson didn’t mind it, switching naturally between the two in a speed that sometimes visibly made House’s head spin, which only acted as an incentive for Wilson. He enjoyed feeling like the know-it-all for once, sometimes even having the opportunity to show House new signs he wasn’t familiar with, usually related to medical vocabulary.
They used it more and more until it became only natural and they started favoring it over spoken English, sometimes opting to sign when they were home alone at House’s watching television or simply hanging out.
And then Julie left him.
He knocked on House’s door with his right hand, his left clutching the small carry-on with his clothes. He had grabbed whatever he could fit in it, agreeing with Julie to come back for the rest of it once he found a new place.
House opened the door and immediately understood upon seeing the suitcase. “You idiot, you told her,” he told Wilson.
“She told me,” he signed back, unable to face spoken English, not willing to hear himself say it aloud.
House moved to let him in, closing the door behind him. Wilson turned immediately to look at him, eyes pleading, hoping he would understand. In response, House nodded, pointing at the couch, “Sit down,” he signed, “I’ll get us a drink.”
Wilson spent the entire night feeling as if he was dying. Julie was vicious, and by the time they were done exploding at each other, all he wanted to do was go to House’s place. “Thank,” he signed when House handed him a glass of scotch. His hand went to rub at his face, feeling the exhaustion kicking in. House nodded, taking a sip of his own drink. The television was on but on mute, and Wilson stared at the silent documentary, watching the lion on the screen tiredly. They sat in silence for a while until he gathered the courage to speak again. Here goes nothing, he thought. Either House would be accepting, okay with it, and nothing changes, or he’d react like Julie did. Wilson didn’t think he would, but he was so tired that he couldn’t help the mild fear deep in his throat.
“She figured out I was bisexual,” he signed, fingerspelling bisexual slowly enough so House could follow. He knew he did because his eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“Sorry, what?” House signed sharply.
Wilson’s hands covered his face and he closed his eyes, taking a breath. He couldn’t deal with another explosion, he couldn’t lose House. Please, God, he thought. He took his hands off his face and looked up again, scared.
“She saw me looking when I didn’t realize it,” he said, explaining as if House wasn’t losing it in front of his eyes.
“Wilson,” House said aloud, causing Wilson to wince at the misplaced, too-loud noise. Realizing it, House continued signing instead. “You’re bisexual?”
Wilson nodded once, still wincing.
House looked at him for a second, then his eyes went softer. “Apparently there’s a lot we don’t know about each other,” he signed with a chuckle. “Okay, carry on.”
The relief that washed over him was so overwhelming that Wilson had to sit back and set his cup on the coffee table. His eyes stung with unshed tears, and his heart was going so fast it beat in his ears. He felt House’s hand on his knee and jerked a little, which House took the wrong way because his hand flew off Wilson’s knee. “It’s fine,” he signed, eyes still closed, “just startled me.” House’s hand went back to his knee, squeezing gently.
It took Wilson a few minutes to catch his breath again, but he opened his eyes, ready to continue. “She said it was disgusting and kicked me out,” he signed slowly, shamefully. “I tried explaining but she wouldn’t listen.” While he was busy catching his breath, House refilled their glasses. He picked the now full glass and emptied it again, gathering the courage to look at House again. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go, I’m sorry. If…” he stuttered, pinky finger tapping under his eyes repeatedly. “If you think it’s disgusting too, I can go find a hotel.”
House chuckled, and the loud sound made Wilson look up to find his eyes. They were soft, almost smiling, as he looked at Wilson. It made him feel a little better. “You are an idiot,” House signed, shaking his head. Wilson was about to apologize again, feeling his heart drop at what House had said, but House continued. “I’m bisexual too, moron.”
It changed nothing, and it changed everything. Wilson slept on his couch, and life moved on while they got on each other’s nerves, and enjoyed each other’s company, all at once. House kicked him out, sabotaged his apartment hunt, and made him into his housewife. Somehow, overall, Wilson had no complaints.
He started noticing House’s eyes going softer every time they talked, his smirk holding a touch of fondness and genuine warmth as he teased Wilson about stupid things. It seemed like sign language helped House open up to his emotions better, and he was able to hold longer conversations. As if emotional fatigue kicked in a little later.
Nights spent on the couch watching television brought them closer. House was sitting a little closer every night until within weeks they were sitting flush together, physically incapable of sitting closer. It wasn’t ideal for signing conversations, but they made do, unwilling to give up the physical touch, And it was slowly dawning on Wilson that he was falling in love with his best friend. Somewhere, in the comfortable silences, the silent conversations, Wilson discovered a depth of feelings that he had never felt before, for none of his wives or girlfriends.
His heart ached.
The cafeteria was bustling with mid-day rush. It wasn’t their favorite time to have lunch, but House had a serious case and Wilson had back-to-back meetings, and it was the only time they could both fit in. Wilson scanned the room for a free table, locating one in the middle of the room. He led the way, holding both his and House’s trays as House walked behind him with two bottles of water in his hand.
“Will you be okay sitting here?” he asked, gesturing to the tables around them where multiple people were having their lunch. He was hoping the overlapping conversations would drown out the noise of people chewing enough for House to survive this lunch.
Wilson sat first, setting the trays, and watched House sit in front of him. He was visibly tired, which Wilson knew caused everything to be extra-triggering. His eyes were tight and his jaw clenched, right fingers drumming erratically against his left arm.
He waved his hand to catch House’s attention. “Okay?” he signed.
House’s eyes darted around the room, then back at Wilson. He gave a small shake of his head as his hands moved to sign, “Too loud.”
Wilson’s heart ached at his best friend. He knew how it could become unbearable for House. How, while mostly he did okay with noise, sometimes it was just too triggering for him. All consuming, until he couldn’t focus, function, or live, while the noise was still going. “Let’s go,” he signed, picking up both trays. He couldn’t sign while holding on to both, so he hoped House would follow.
Relief washed over House as they got up. Wilson led the way to the elevators and up to their floor. As they ascended, the noise faded into the soft hum of the fluorescent lights. They reached the sanctuary of Wilson’s office, and Wilson set the trays on his table as silently as he could, the door closing behind them with a comforting click.
House sank into the sofa, shoulders sagging. Wilson moved to his side, abandoning the food on the trays. House wouldn’t be able to deal with Wilson’s eating at the moment anyway, and the food could wait until House was alone. He faced him, waving again to catch his attention. “Better?” he signed.
House nodded, his hands trembling slightly as he signed. “Yeah, thanks. Everything was too loud, the chewing, the talking…”
“I know,” Wilson signed back, his expression soft with love. He wished he could do more, wished he could take away the burden. The pain that House carried with him every day. “You can stay here as long as you need. Lunch will wait.”
House’s hands came to rest on Wilson’s knee, squeezing softly. He nodded his appreciation and closed his eyes for just a second, breathing deeply. Wilson’s heart quickened at the touch, and he hoped to god that House couldn’t feel it. He watched the tension slowly leave House’s body and felt a surge of protective affection. He wanted to reach out and take the other man in his arms, to offer more than just a quiet space, but he held back. For now, being here, understanding House, had to be enough,
They sat in a comfortable silence, the unsaid words hanging between them. As House’s breathing steadied, he looked up at Wilson, his eyes softer, more open. “You always know what I need,” he signed shyly. Wilson smiled, his own hands moving to sign back, “I try my best.”
Wilson was exhausted. The long hours at the hospital, combined with the emotional toll of losing two kid patients, had left him drained. He was half curled on the couch when House walked into the apartment. The television was off and he was happily dozing. He heard House walk in but refused to lift his head, listening to the other man as he walked around the apartment shedding his work clothes and putting on a different set of t-shirt and pants.
“Wilson?” he asked, coming into the living room. Wilson hummed his response, not bothering to get up.
House sat down less than an inch from where his head lay, a comforting presence amidst the chaos of his thoughts. He nuzzled into the couch again when he suddenly felt House’s hand carding through his hair. He froze for a moment, tensing before relaxing into the touch, allowing House to guide his head into his lap. It was so uncharacteristic of House that Wilson didn’t want to open his eyes lest it made House stop, but House’s other hand tapped gently on his shoulder, catching his attention. He opened his eyes and looked up straight into the blue of House’s eyes. House’s face was serious, a mix of determination and vulnerability in them that made Wilson’s heart race with unfamiliarity. The proximity and tenderness of the moment caught him off guard and his ears were flat-lining, the silence too loud.
“I need to tell you something,” House signed.
Wilson’s breath caught in his throat. He was trying to keep his hopes down, but something in the back of his mind was not letting him, was pushing him to hope, to crave, to dare to think. He nodded slowly, motioning for House to go on.
“I think,” House started, signing slowly before halting. He took a deep breath and started again. “I think I’m in love with you,” he signed, the hand in Wilson’s hair leaving it to help the other as he signed the words.
He looked apologetic, and Wilson wanted desperately to kiss the look off his face. Not sure he could believe his eyes, Wilson sat up at once and faced House. “Say that again,” he pleaded with his hands.
“I love you,” House signed it word by word, emphasizing each of them like they were magic.
Wilson’s eyes widened, his heart pounding against his chest. The confession hung in the air heavy with the weight of suppressed emotions. He reached up, his hand finding House’s cheek and caressing gently. “I love you too,” he signed back, signing word by word. He huffed out a laugh, eyes glistening with tears. Folding his middle and ring finger so that his hand shaped into an I Love You form, he waved it in front of House again, just to emphasize.
House’s face softened, a mixture of relief and affection flooding his eyes as he leaned in for a soft kiss. Their lips met and Wilson felt like he was going to faint. Holding on to House’s shirt, he pushed into the kiss, tongue exploring the other’s mouth. He would have time to panic later, he thought to himself, moving closer to House. He would have time to wonder what made House confess all of a sudden. But all of that could wait. Right now, he just needed to kiss him some more, to feel him some more. To be happy, finally.