Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Maybe I lost my mind / No one noticed…

---

The apartment was quieter than Wilson remembered. Still smelled faintly of scotch and hospital soap.

The air was stiff, that kind of Sunday morning air after a busy saturday, where one was too busy to open the windows for fifteen seconds.

The blinds were half-drawn, and the sunlight came in like diluted ginger tea.

House didn’t look up when Wilson stepped inside.
He was the only person that had a spare of keys, so he knew he could have invited himself everytime he wanted. It was only fair, after all, after decades of inviting himself basically everywhere.

He was on the couch, sitting, weirdly not sprawled—sipping on a glass of water water. Eyes half-closed. One leg stretched out like it hurt less that way. He rested his head on the cushion, sighing heavily.

“Your plant’s dead,” Wilson said softly.

“I didn’t know I had one,” House replied. Voice flat, not even amused or pretending to be.

Wilson set the takeout on the table, didn’t ask if House was hungry or what we wanted. He wasn’t expecting an answer anyway. So he just went with a lucky guess, he knew all his orders by heart anyways.

A minute passed, maybe two but who was counting after half of their lives spent like that. Pining, following, chasing each other in a little dance they sometimes enjoyed and sometimes not.

“You’re not going to ask how it went?” House finally said, eyes still on nothing.

“I figured if you wanted to talk, you would. I know you".

"And I know you. You always try to get me to talk to lecture me or listen or scold me because I never do".

"Oh, well" Wilson simply said, shrugging.

“The meeting was great,” House said. “I'll recommend it to all my least favorite people.”

Wilson let that hang and appreciated the attempt at a dead joke.
Sat in the armchair, hands folded, watching the curve of House’s shoulder rise and fall with his breath. Slower than it used to be.

"Let's just hope I'm not on that list", he added after a while with a faint smile.

They were trying.

---

No one tried
To read my eyes
No one but you
Wish it weren't true

---

House broke the silence again, quietly this time. As if he was ashamed or what was about to come out of his mouth. And maybe he was.

“Did anyone notice?”

“Notice what?”

“That I was gone.”

Wilson looked at him. Not answering right away was worse than lying.

"House, it's impossible not to notice when you're gone. Plus, it was just half a day".

House exhaled, not quite a laugh but it felt shaky. Angry, maybe?

"That's not what I meant to ask and don't play dumb with me now, Jimmy. I can't handle it".

"House, don't hurt—"

"Just answer", the older man cut him off.

Wilson sighed, giving up.

"No one seemed to care".

House smiled. A sad, downward smile.

“Exactly.”

----

The sound of water running echoed softly through the apartment. Wilson sat on the edge of the couch, unsure whether to stay or leave, keys heavy in his palm.

He knew House liked to end his particularly hard days with a hot bath, to ease his metaphorical and literal nerves.
He had gotten up and limped to the bathroom without saying a word, the oncologist understood what he was up to when he heard the soothing noise of running water and the splash of soap getting dropped unelegantly into it.

He figured it was rude to hang out in the living room while his friend was taking a bath just a couple of rooms behind (even if they had done that plenty of times during their 'roomies stage', but Wilson tried not to think about that).

Then:

“Stay,” came the voice from the hallway. Muffled, but clear.

He froze. Turned.

"Uhm" he just muttered, uncertain, taking into vision the wrecked man that stood in front of him.

House was leaning in the doorway to the bathroom. The shirt had come off.
His expression wasn’t asking—wasn’t pleading—but Wilson heard the echo of something that was. How could he refuse, after all.

So he nodded, and followed.

In the end, he would always give him what he wanted, no matter how awkward or humiliating, wouldn't he?

The tub was filling. House moved with a slight limp, slow and tired. He lowered himself in with a hiss of breath and a strong wince, but said nothing else.
Wilson's eyebrows frowned as they always did when he heard his friend being in pain. He knew he hated that, he simply couldn't seem to stop it.

Steam curled around him.

Wilson sat on the closed toilet seat, facing away, giving the other man a little privacy.
Hands in his lap.

It's not like he hadn't seen his friend naked before, or the other way around. After all, they had spent almost two decades of their lives joined to the hip.
Whatever it was: gym showers, young and dumb skinny dipping, drunk nights or painful operations, they had been through them all.

If you could think it, they had done it. Wilson feels strangely emotional at the thought.

So much time had passed, and even then, his gentleman persona forced him to turn around, even if House's body was likely covered by bubbles.

House's voice broke his train of thought.

"You’re not exactly the best company,” House muttered.

“You invited me.”

“Mm. Moment of weakness.”

Neither spoke for a while. The only sounds were the soft splash of water against porcelain and the gentle hum of the radiator kicking on.

Come on, don't leave me...

“I used to pretend I didn’t care when people left,” House said suddenly. The words slipped out like he hadn't meant to say them, but it was too late.
“That it was their loss. That I was better off. First, my father. Then, whoever came after him".

Wilson didn’t answer right away.

“But you weren’t,” he said.

“No.”

More silence. And then, soft—almost a whisper, so soft he wondered if he had hallucinated saying it:

“You notice. When I go. Don’t you?”

Wilson closed his eyes.

“Every goddamn time.”

House let out a breath. It wasn’t quite relief, but it was something.

The water rippled gently as he sank further in. Wilson stayed. Didn't turn around. Just sat, as if his stillness was much needed to hold the pieces of something broken together.

Chapter Text

House hadn’t moved for a while, mostly hugging is injured leg above the water.
His body felt slack beneath the blanket of bubbles, head tipped back against the tile, breathing slowly and deep.

Only his fingers twitched on the rim of the tub—mimicking a Song he was playing in his head.

At some point, the younger man stood up and got closer to the tub rim. He managed to look at his friend, offering a soft smile, confident thanks to the bubbles that provided the older doctor some modesty.

He crouched down beside the bath, to get eye level as you would do with a child.
His knees clicked a little from the movement, and House smirked faintly at the sound.
He wasn't really in the position to laugh though, since he couldn't crouch at all.

For a few seconds, Wilson just stayed there like that—close, searching for words. Something to say.

Then, he reached out and let his fingers brush the edge of the whiteish porcelain. Never touching House, not even trying.

He didn't want him to freak out.

And then, gently, curious, echoing the earlier moment:

“Would it be easy for you? Being far from me?”

The question traveled in the steam like incense with his dangerous perfume . House’s eyelids didn’t flutter, but his breath caught.
He took a long breath, wishing he could have just put his head underwater and hide, like an ostrich does in the sand.

Even if ostrichs don't actually do that.

“…No,” he said finally.

Wilson heard the weight of it. He loved when he could hear that grey undertone in his voice, knowing he was telling the truth.

House’s voice had gone raw at the edges, like it had traveled through something sharp to get to the surface.

“I’d pretend it was,” House added, after a moment. “I’d be cruel about it. Say something that made you hate me. So it would be the perfect excuse for me.
If you hate me, I hate you, and it's easier to be distant.
But no. It wouldn’t be easy.”

Wilson didn’t respond right away. He just nodded once, hand still resting on the rim. Then, slowly, he leaned forward until his forehead rested lightly against the cool tile next to House’s head—close enough to feel the warmth coming off him.

They stayed like that a long time.
His knees were hurting but he couldn't care less. He wanted to feel the warmth, the steam, the closeness.
The sound of their breathing, mismatched. His own glassy eyes, unable to decipher if from tears or the hot haze lingering in the air.

They didn't talk or touch, simply sharing each other's air and welcomed presence.

-----

It was late, at least late for Wilson's standards.

After his bath, everything felt softer, and even the pain in House’s leg went quiet for a while. Or better, dull, whispering. Never quiet.

Wilson was still there. He had gotten up and fixed himself a cup of tea (House didn't even remember he had tea, but be my guest, I guess), then he curled up as comfortably as his legs let him in the armchair and pulled a thin blanket on himself, sipping on his tea. One socked foot poked out despite his various attempts at pulling it back in under the blanket. It just didn't fit.

House laid on the couch, watching the ceiling like it might shift if he stared hard enough.
He wondered on his previous gesture, asking his friend (was he really just his friend? he asked himself then pushed the thought away to make space for the original one) to remain close to him while he washed himself and tried, vaguely, to relax.

It had been so childish, to vulnerable he was almost ashamed.
Almost only because it was Wilson, and he knew he would never judge him.
If it was anyone else, he would have.

“Why are you still here?” he asked, voice low.

Wilson was resting his eyes, and didn't open them to look at him. “Because you didn’t tell me to".

“I didn’t say stay, either.”

“Do you want me to leave?"

"I didn't say to leave, either".

"You're giving me mixed signals, House. Are you my fourth wife?", he said, finally opening his eyes.

Blue eyes met his, and the older doctor simply scoffed and turned back to the ceiling.

Then House said, more to the faint light than to Wilson:
“Sometimes I think you’re the only thing that still keeps me tethered. That still makes me want to look at my own face."

Wilson sat up straighter, suddenly dead serious.
He didn’t answer right away, but started breathing a little bit faster.

Was that some kind of sentimental moment between them? A thought swept out of his mouth that he didn't mean to say? Ramblings?

It was hard to tell and to feel, that kind of emotional status was rare coming from him. He was usually the emotional one to make fun of.
But he would never make fun of his friend because he showed emotion for once.

Never.

He sighed lightly and just watched House, like he was trying to decide whether to deflect or meet him there.

Then, quietly:

“Yeah. Well. Thanks? You’re the only one I keep showing up for, so".

"That makes you the bigger idiot, I hope you know that"

"I know", Wilson said, smiling. House smiled too, and the oncologist thought it was nice to seem him smile once in a while these days.

They just let the silence be what it was: the kind that said more than either of them could manage aloud. It was a lot, and there wasn't enough emotional maturity for that.

But drops of water can keep you alive, but they will never quench the thirst, now will they?

House kept his head turned toward him, just enough to see the outline of Wilson’s face in the half-light. The man was handsome, in a gentlemanly but boyish way. He felt jealous, at times, but he never managed to figure out the depth of that jealousy. Was he jealous of his unfairly gorgeous face or the way people looked at it, thinking the same thing?

“Can you jut...stay there? Until I fall asleep. You know, being alone can-"

Wilson nodded.

“I’m not going anywhere. I think you know that".

-----

It's not right ('cause I'm so over being lonely)

Make you mine (I need a virtual connection)

Take our time

----

House managed to limp slowly and sleepish to his bedroom to sleep on his actual bed instead of the couch and make his middle aged back scream in protest in the morning.

His eyes had fallen half-closed. He looked strangely and uncharacteristically peaceful: his body slack against the couch cushions, breath slowed but not quite even.
Like he was close to sleep, but not ready to let go of consciousness just yet.

Wilson stayed still in the chair and wished him a good night, wondering if he should just head home or make his own bones yell at him the next day, crashing on the couch.

Something about the way he spoke to him that evening made him stir and feel warm.
He felt needed, which he always loved despite how much he liked to admit it, but he also felt...appreciated. Held. Loved, even.

So, slowly, quietly, Wilson got up.

Crossed the short space between rooms.

House didn’t open his eyes, but his brow twitched—aware, but not willing to use his remaining energy to look and doing anything that wasn't trying to fall asleep.

Wilson hesitated. Then, without overthinking it, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to his friend's head. Quick, barely a brush, the same you'd give a child, a grandparent, or your first girlfriend.

The kind of brush no one has to explain and it's just accepted for what it is.

House didn’t say anything. But his breath hitched, just once. He clearly wasn't expecting contact.

Wilson backed away before it could turn into anything they’d have to talk about, pacing toward the couch, but he stopped right before that.

Ten seconds passed. Maybe twenty.

Then, a whisper:

“…well. That was gay. And juvenile.”

Wilson looked up in exhasperation and smiled at the ceiling. “Yeah. Now shut up and sleep".

But House didn’t shut up, not really.

"Do it again when I’m not pretending to be asleep.”

Wilson shook his head, amused, and didn’t answer.
He didn’t say no, either.

He couldn't know, but across the room, House smiled softly—just a little, just to himself—under the blanket.

Chapter Text

If you believe me, I guess I'll get on a plane, and fly to your city...

——

The air in the kitchen felt stiff, and it smelled like burnt toast and cheap coffee. House sat on the armrest, mug in hand, blanket still draped around his shoulders like a cape.

When Wilson came in the room, he snorted lightly at his friend's appearance, making him slightly self-conscious.

He hovered by the fridge, scanning for something that didn’t require effort or an actual stove.

“Would you fly to another city just to see me?” House asked, out of nowhere, breaking the comfortable silence.

Wilson didn’t turn around.

God, it was too early for questions like those.

“Is this a hypothetical, or are you planning on flying who knows where?"

“Humor me.”

Wilson shut the fridge, leaned against it, arms crossed. Still groggy, still in last night’s clothes. His hair flied everywhere and his expression didn’t shift.

“No,” he said simply. “I wouldn’t.”

House raised an eyebrow, lips quirking in mock offense. “Wow, tell me how you really feel, Jimmy".

Wilson didn’t flinch. “If you’re in another city, it means you chose to be far. And I don’t chase people who want to be gone.
If at some point you choose to be far from me, I'll have to accept that", he said sighing.

House looked down at his mug. Let the silence stretch.

Then, almost too quiet to catch:
“What if I didn’t want to be gone. Just… needed to be. What if you're not the reason?"

Wilson’s voice softened, he smiled. A smile House had come to hate, that pitiful raise of lips he couldn't stand.

“Well, if that was the case, I'd wait for you to come back.”

House didn’t answer. Just stared into his black coffee while it cooled down.

Wilson moved toward him, pulled out the chair beside him, and sat down slowly.

“But you’re here,” Wilson added, gently. “And I’m here. So maybe we don’t need to invent ways to hurt each other this early in the morning.”

House let out a breath through his nose—halfway between a laugh and surrender.

“Almost-burnt toast okay?”

Wilson smirked. “As long as you didn't poison it".

House slid a plate toward him with exactly one piece of toast that looked like it had been in combat. Wilson took it without complaint.

He never complained.

Jesus, why did he never complain?!

And for a while, they just ate. Quietly. Close.
The strange miracle of waking up in the same place.
The strange sensation of wanting that to happen for many, many more days to come.

——

Hold me, console me, and then I'll leave without a trace

——

They were getting ready, deciding silently that Wilson would simply give him a ride to work.

He had finished first, obviously, and sat stiffly on the couch, eyes fixed on the floor, waiting.
He was considering something, Wilson noticed, as he had his brows furrowed, gaze unfocused.

The silence stretched between them until House, barely above a grunt, said, “James?"

Wilson blinked, thew off by his first name. Not even his usual "Jimmy" pet name.

“What?”

House glanced up, face half-hidden in shadow, voice rough and reluctant. He looked...shy.

“Would you, ugh, hold me? For like… a minute. A hug. Don’t make it weird.”, he said, voice low.

Wilson’s mouth twitched—half-smile, half-exasperation.
He knew cobra hugs could be useful to console people that usually despised physical affection, so he decided to go with that.

He just moved closer, settling beside House.

He shifted awkwardly but didn’t pull away as Wilson’s arm went around his own. The oncologist rested his head on the other's shoulder, and while the seconds passed, he tightened his grip a little.

They sat like that, House's arms down his torso not reciprocating the hug, quiet except for the hum of the city outside.

After about a minute or so, House muttered, “Okay. You can let go now.”

Wilson just held on a second longer, then let go, with a dumb smile on his face.

"Stop that", House ordered.

"I'm not doing anything"

"Yeah", he whispered.

"Don't you dare think I'm soft, now", he added.

"Soft House is still House, i guess", Wilson answered, patting him on his shoulder, before getting up, gesturing that it was time they left for work.

——

Damn. Greg didn't like that he always had the perfect answer to shut him up. He had felt detached from his own body most of the day, but he knew it would be like that for a while, so he just gave up trying to toss the feeling away.

The day at the hospital dragged on, but between rounds and tests, House and Wilson caught each other’s eyes more than once. Quick glances, a flash of something that said 'I’m still here, I swear', before looking away like it was nothing.

Wilson shook his head once, as if to clear it, but the weight of those looks stayed with him.
He looked scared. He wondered if even his own face looked like that.

Later, at House’s apartment, Wilson dropped his bag by the door.

House was already pulling off his shirt, the tired ache in his leg more pronounced.

“I’m running another bath, my legs hurts", he said over his shoulder.

James paused by the doorway, watching him. Then, with that quiet steadiness he always had, he said something that was totally unexpected in House's brain wires.

Nothing could have prepared him for the question that followed his bath announcement

“Mind if I join you?”

House froze mid-step and looked at him with eyes doubled the size.

“What? No. Absolutely not.”

James shrugged, unfazed. “I’m just saying. For company.”

Greg’s brow furrowed. “Jimmy. Too… far.”

James gave a small, almost shy smile. “Yeah, I get that.”

There was a long pause, House staring at the half-open bathroom door as if it could give him more options to run through. He couldn't believe he was actually considering.

He really enjoyed Wilson's company.

Then, finally:

“Fine. But I’m not looking.”

James grinned. “Deal.”

Inside the bathroom, the warm water hissed as the tub filled.
Greg settled in slowly, helping himself with the handrail, bubbles masking his tired body.

James sat on the edge, careful to keep his distance but close enough that the space between them felt charged.

Slowly, he leaned himself in, Greg's eyes fixed on the ceiling, as he settled deeper into the bath, soap swirling in fun little drawings all around them.

After a beat, James carefully slid down some inches, so that his back was resting gently against House’s chest, the older doctor's arms loosely sitting around the other's waist automatically.

House tensed for a second — then relaxed, letting his forehead fall slightly against James’s shoulder.

Finally, House snorted.

“We’re really two middle-aged men sharing a bathtub. This is messed up. I can't even rememmber the last time I did this".

James let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Not exactly what you imagine when thinking about a rom-com".

They both chuckled, the sound breaking the tension like a released valve.

“You’re heavier than you look, you know" House muttered, his chin brushing lightly against James’s shoulder.

James let out a quiet laugh, not taking any offense despite the weight related comment.

“Did I gain weight, or you’re the one taking up all the space? I had to improvise.”

“I don’t recall inviting you into the tub.”

“You didn’t say no.”

House huffed. “Didn’t think I needed to spell it out.”

James shifted slightly, just enough to make the water slosh outside the tub with a terrible glorp.

“You don’t spell anything out. That’s half your charm. The other half is being a complete ass.”

“Flattering, but it won’t get you your own towel.”

James chuckled. “You stole my words, by the way. I was just about to say it felt kind of juvenile.”

“Juvenile? Speak for yourself. I've had emotionally stunted growth, which is totally different.”

Wilson smirked. “Guess I’m just catching up to your level.”

“Must be the soap fumes,” House muttered, shifting slightly and causing another splash. “We’re regressing.”

“Speak for yourself. I haven’t felt this calm in weeks.”

A long pause.

Then House said, voice filled with his usual sarcasm:

“If you tell anyone I let you sit in my tub, I’ll deny everything and make up something involving a concussion and a relapse on hallucinogens".

James grinned against his shoulder. “Deal".

After that, Wilson tried to shift his weight a little, in an attempt to not bother House's bad leg. With that, he leaned his head on the older man's shoulder, looking up at him through thick eyelashes and big brown eyes.

"Great,” he muttered. “Now I’m fully marinating in shared man-soup.”

James grinned. “Should’ve thought of that before you got in naked.”

“I always get in naked. It’s a bath, not a business lunch. How am I supposed to get in?"

A pause. James chuckled softly, then let his hand rest on House's other shoulder.
With his head on one shoulder and his hand on the other, it was now a full embrace.
Every line they could think off, every definition of friendship totally crossed in that precise moment.

——

...excited to see your face...

——

The other doctor's breath hitched violently, but he didn't protest.

Wilson's voice came quieter this time.

“I don’t really know why I asked to join you.”

House didn’t answer right away. His hand skimmed the water’s surface, slow, thoughtful.

"House...is this weird? Us?"

He looked at him, focusing on how big the man's eyes were. Why did mother nature gift him such enormous eyes? What did he possibly need them for?

He nodded, then spoke.

"Yeah".

Wilson's eyes drifted in front of him, breaking their contact.

"But—is it wrong?"

House looked at the ceiling for a couple of seconds, then took a sharp breath.

"No. Doesn't feel like it".

Wilson sighed.

"I'm glad".

——

They finally drained the tub, the steam still curling around the bathroom, towels wrapped around their waists.

House stood up straight—too straight—like suddenly trying to be a statue instead of a middle-aged man who just shared a bath with his best friend.

Partner? Ugh, he didn't want to name it

James tightened his towel around his waist, eyeing House with a smirk. “You know, you don’t have to pretend you’re taller than me.”

House glanced down, eyebrows knitting. “I’m not pretending. I am taller than you".

James chuckled. “You’re what, 6’2”? 6'3''? I’m 6'0”. You’re literally towering over me like we're an entire foot apart".

House shrugged like it was no big deal. “Height doesn’t matter when you’re this charming and pretty".

James laughed. “Oh yeah, real intimidating.”

House shook his head, towel slipping a bit as he tried to look unimpressed but failed miserably.

“Alright, alright,” James said, still grinning. “Statues don’t need towels. You can drop yours now, Michelangelo".

House chuckled, bit didn't take the bet. Instead, he went for the kill.

"Oh, but I was talking about you, Wilson. Your height doesn't matter because you're pretty".

That made Wilson's ears go red. He looked away, not really answering, suddenly shy like a teenager.

He knew House wasn't the compliments type. He gave them only when he really believed them to be true, and that made him flustered.

House blinked, caught off guard by his friend's reaction.
He wanted to embarass him, not making him a blushing ridiculous mess.

Ugh, pretty.

But, before he could come up with a snarky reply, James leaned in quickly, raised to his toes and pressed a soft, unexpected kiss on the other's lips.

House froze for a second, then pulled back with a crooked grin.

"Well, that was juvenile."

"...but I liked it.”

James laughed, shaking his head. “See? I knew you’d come around.”

Make you mine.