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Wilson wanted to rip his hair out. Cuddy had given him a budget report to complete and he had completely forgotten about it.
If his secretary hadn’t offhandedly mentioned it to him earlier, he would’ve turned up to tomorrow’s board meeting empty-handed and oblivious.
God, how had he missed it? The sticky note must’ve fallen off of his computer weeks ago. Now he was cramming like a college student before midterms. It was embarrassing.
To make matters worse, House was in the middle of a case and was bothering him constantly.
His patient, an eight year old girl, was presenting with all the symptoms of a brain tumor, but they couldn’t find anything on the scans.
Which, of course, led to every member of the diagnostics department bustling through his door at least once an hour.
Now, he could tell Cuddy the truth. He could tell her the budget report slipped his mind, and she’d probably give him an extension. Cuddy wasn’t a monster (contrary to what House would say), and he rarely had issues like this with deadlines; she’d be lenient.
But the thought of showing up to the board meeting and having his coworkers whisper their suspicions for why he didn’t have the budget report ready in time was as good of motivation as any to get it done.
By nine o’clock, he was disheveled and drinking his third coffee. Caffeine never did much for him, but it was his last hope. He needed to get through this.
Combing through the spreadsheets his secretary had been keeping proved to be extremely helpful (there was a reason his department was rated the most efficient department at PPTH; that woman was damn good at her job), but he still had to run around to his employees’ offices earlier in the day to ask them some last-minute questions.
Wilson was exhausted and seriously considering whether quitting here was a better option. A rushed budget report might be more of an embarrassment than showing up empty-handed.
He groaned and wiped his hands over his face. Tears of frustration prickled in his eyes, and he took a deep breath to calm down.
Which, of course, was the perfect moment for House to barge in, shit-eating grin plastered on his face.
“The case is officially solved. It was an infection her doctors made worse by putting her on chemo.”
Wilson looked up, momentarily shocked out of his trance, “Seriously? Is she going to recover?”
House looked out the window, still grinning, “Yeah, she should be fine. You should’ve seen the rage on the mother’s face when we told her that her daughter’s oncologist--some big shot from New York–”
He paused momentarily and did a quick look-over of Wilson.
“God, you look like shit,” he chuckled, “I thought you would’ve been home by now.”
Wilson shook his head tiredly and took a sip of his coffee, “No, I have things to do.”
"Yeah?" House raised a brow, “That better be tequila in that cup.”
“It’s scotch.”
House looked taken aback, “Wait, seriously?”
Wilson smiled, despite himself, “No.”
House rolled his eyes, annoyed, but there was a hint of fondness in his expression.
“So, what are you torturing yourself with tonight? Did you pick up some paperwork from that secretary you hired just to look pretty?”
“First off, I didn’t hire her; Cuddy did. Secondly, I’ll have you know she’s the best secretary we have. Not that you’d know, since your department budget isn’t high enough for a secretary.” Wilson smirked, “And I’m not doing her paperwork, I’m doing my own.”
House raised a brow and walked behind the desk to look over Wilson’s shoulder. He made sure to prop his elbow up on Wilson’s head as he leaned forward.
“2010… Oncology Department Annual Budget Report…” House mumbled as he read to himself.
“...Yeah.”
“Isn’t the board meeting for these things tomorrow?”
Wilson pursed his lips and hung his head, which caused House (who was still leaning on him) to stumble forward, before catching himself on the chair.
House looked down at him, surprised, “Did you really put this off until today? Even I tell Cameron to get started on it a couple of weeks in advance.”
“Cameron… isn’t in your department anymore.”
House smirked, “She can’t help but fall for my irresistible charm. She still does my report every year.”
“Ah.” Wilson sighed and shook his head, “No, I– It just completely slipped my mind. I didn’t put it in my calendar. I’ve had other things going on... I don’t know,” he sighed, “I wasn’t thinking.”
House snorted and made his way out from behind Wilson’s desk.
Instead of leaving the office (like Wilson hoped he would), he pulled out his Game Boy, made his way toward the couch, sprawling across its entire expanse.
Wilson groaned internally but bit back a snide comment. Instead, he ran his hand through his hair and asked, “Aren’t you done with your case? Go home, get some rest.”
House glanced over, clenched his jaw, before saying, “I drove my bike in today.”
Wilson smiled to himself, ready to make a snide remark about how a responsible adult wouldn’t make their primary vehicle a motorcycle, but paused after taking a good look at House.
The diagnostician had his focus on whatever game he was playing, but the way he sat wasn’t natural. House had his right leg stretched out along the length of the couch while his elbow awkwardly hung in the air, avoiding leaning on his leg as he held the console. There was a tension in his face that Wilson hadn’t noticed before.
Of course. House was in pain. The conclusion of a case always seemed to make him feel better, but there was only so much a rush of endorphins could do when he was off Vicodin and had been on his feet all day.
Wilson looked over at his laptop, sighed, and rubbed his temples.
“I’ll call you a taxi. I don’t know how late I’m staying, and I don’t need you here distracting me.”
House looked over, incredulous.
“I’m a big boy, mommy! I can stay up past nine o’clock!” He grinned, tapping his fingers on the backrest of the couch before saying, “I seriously hope you aren’t planning on staying here past midnight.”
Wilson shrugged, “Listen, I think I’m almost done, but you know how it is.” House raised a brow, and Wilson couldn’t help but smile, “Sure, Cameron does your paperwork now, but I remember the days when Cuddy would get me to withhold your TV remote in the hopes that you’d cave and do your evaluations, reports, or whatever.”
House grinned, “Remember when I got one of the med students to climb into the ceiling tiles to get the remote? I still can’t believe you put it up there.”
Wilson shook his head fondly, “Look– What I’m trying to say is that it might look like I’m almost done, but there could be an issue that‘ll take me a couple of hours to solve, or some finishing touches that end up taking longer than they should. I– I don’t need you here, bored, complaining, and distracting me the entire time.”
“Is my mere presence that much of a distraction to you?”
Yes
“No,” he shook his head, exhausted, “House… Don’t make this difficult. Go home. Get some rest– or don’t! Stay up and watch reruns of whatever garbage show you’re into this week. Just… let me focus on this. Please.”
House rolled his eyes, sat up, and pushed himself off of the couch. He made his way to Wilson’s desk and reached over to close the laptop. Slowly. Wilson just watched, too tired to say anything.
“It’s a laptop. Take it home. You’ve been here for thirteen hours. No need to be a martyr because one stupid thing slipped your mind. Get off your ass and let’s go.”
Wilson let out a short, breathy laugh and looked up to see House looking at him with the same expression as always, but he could see a bit of concern peeking through. Ironic, wasn’t it? House, clearly in pain, still had it in him to pity him.
House rolled his eyes, clearly reading Wilson’s lack of reaction as hesitation, “I think the board will be concerned if their star oncologist shows up delirious, running on fumes, and in rumpled clothes from the day before. Get up.”
Wilson glared at his friend, but complied. He slipped the laptop and folders into his bag and grabbed his jacket from the hanger. He turned back to House, who was leaning against the doorframe, waiting with his backpack slung across his left shoulder.
“Ready?”
“Yeah.”
As they drove, Wilson couldn’t help but notice as House tapped all sorts of rhythms on the handle of his cane. Some of the rhythms were to the beat and style of the music on the radio, while others seemed to be completely disconnected.
At a certain point, House opened his glovebox, rummaged around a bit, and produced two pens. With a grin, he began to use the dashboard as his own personal drum set. Wilson tried to stop him, but his own smile betrayed the fondness he felt for his best friend and his antics.
As they pulled into the parking spot, House turned to Wilson and flicked him in the ear.
“Thanks for being my chauffeur tonight, mon ami.”
“Thanks for convincing me to not wallow in my office until dawn, mon ravageur.”
House poked him in mock anger, “Hey, don’t use your subpar French to say things I can’t understand,” he grinned, “If you do it again, I’ll be forced to call you horrible things in Chinese.”
Wilson shook his head, rolled his eyes, and opened his car door. He made his way around the car to open House’s door because, apparently, he was his chauffeur now. The way he helped him out of the car was just because it was a part of the bit. Not because he saw the way House’s jaw clenched as he reached to steady himself on the door.
They made their way inside, two pairs of heavy, tired footsteps periodically broken up by the soft tap of the cane. Once they got to their door, Wilson rummaged in his pockets for his keys, checking his coat pockets, his front pockets, and–
“Here,” House said, plucking the keys out of Wilson’s back pocket.
He unlocked the door and pushed it open. They walked inside, shuffling out of their shoes and jackets, although in very different manners.
Wilson took his shoes off and set them along the wall while hanging his coat up. House had left one shoe by the door and another halfway down the hall. His coat was nowhere to be seen from where Wilson was standing, which meant it was probably tossed onto the couch or counter.
Once Wilson got to the living room, he noticed House in the kitchen, making a sandwich. They glanced at each other, and Wilson gave House a quick nod before making his way back to his room.
He cracked his knuckles, pulled out his laptop, and got to work.
Thirty minutes in, Wilson paused because he could’ve sworn he heard something… He strained his ears and then realized it was a guitar. House was playing guitar.
He got up and pushed his door open, looking into the hallway. He could see House’s door was cracked open, and he could see the man, sitting on his bed, strumming away at a quiet, delicate tune. Wilson leaned against his doorframe, observing his friend from across the hall.
All of a sudden, House paused, looked right at Wilson, and blinked like he was caught red-handed.
“You cannot possibly tell me that I was being too loud.”
“No. It was… It was nice. What were you playing?”
House waved the question away and looked back at Wilson, “Don’t you have a budget report to do? Or are you done already?”
Wilson sheepishly shook his head and retreated back into his room.
The sound of soft guitar accompanied him until he was finally, finally satisfied with his work. By the time he was done, the clock read 11:23. He sent it off to his printer and stood up to stretch. He peered out of his room again and locked eyes with House, who was now playing off of some sheet music.
"Done?"
"Yeah."
“Go to sleep, Wilson.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Wilson woke up to a rough hand on his shoulder, shaking him until he begrudgingly faced his assailant.
“What..?” He squinted, “What the hell? House?”
House stared at him, chewing the inside of his cheek.
“You need to… take me to work. I left my bike at the hospital and it’s icy out there, I don’t like my odds of walking to my car.”
Wilson wanted to throttle him. He had told House to park his car closer, but nooo, he wanted to use his parking spot for his bike.
Wilson closed his eyes and dragged his hands across his face in an attempt to both wake himself up and to calm himself down. He needed to strike a careful balance, as he was currently wildly oscillating between those two states.
“Wilson, c’mon.”
He shouldn’t have been that tired, not really. He often stayed up past midnight with House, but this was different. Wilson had been running on overdrive for the entirety of yesterday, and now he was feeling the consequences.
God, why was House awake? He was never awake before Wilson, and that was especially true after a completed case. Had an emergency case come in? Did Cuddy threaten his remote access again?
It was too much to be thinking about first thing in the morning. Trying to puzzle out House’s motivations was hard enough in broad daylight, but Wilson currently felt like he was running on 20% capacity.
After hastily getting ready, he walked out toward the door when he spotted House in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“Want some? I stole some styrofoam coffee cups from the pediatrics lounge. We can take it to go.”
Wilson blinked, unsure whether he should be thankful for the thoughtfulness or appalled at House’s antics.
“Sure…”
House gave a curt nod, turning and pouring his own coffee into one of the to-go cups. Without another word, Wilson watched as he poured coffee, milk, and a spoon of sugar, swirling it around before closing it off with the lid.
He slid both coffees on the countertop toward Wilson and grabbed his cane from where it was hanging on the oven door.
“Let’s go.”
They were halfway to PPTH when Wilson finally glanced over at the time on his dashboard.
8:17 AM
What the hell?
He did a double take, blinked a couple of times, and bit back a nervous laugh.
“House?”
“Mm..?”
“When were you planning to tell me that I’m late?!”
“I figured you needed your beauty sleep,” House looked over, amused, “But then the team called me, and I realized I didn’t feel like walking to my car. So I was forced to wake you up. You should be thanking me, really. If it wasn't for me, you'd still be fast asleep.”
Wilson tapped at his steering wheel, annoyed.
“Hey, it’s not like I was awake and deliberately letting you oversleep. It’s not my fault you don’t know how to properly set your alarm,” he chuckled, “You should be glad I didn’t just take your keys and leave.”
“Oh ho,” Wilson wagged his finger at House, “You don’t want to see what would have happened if you did that.”
They looked at each other with matching grins and spent the rest of the car ride in the ambiance of the pop music playing through Wilson’s tinny radio.
Wilson pulled into the PPTH parking garage, cursing at the lack of spots anywhere near the entrance. With a groan of annoyance, he pulled up close to the elevators and motioned for House to get out.
“Seriously?” House asked with mock offense, “Dropping me off like a side piece?”
Wilson gave him a look. “Sorry, I assumed you weren’t in the mood to walk across this freezing concrete hellhole. Think of it as me doing you a favor.”
“How can it be freezing if it’s a hellhole?”
“House. Go.”
House grumbled something under his breath but reluctantly opened the door, swinging his legs out and shutting the door behind him with the tip of his cane.
Wilson shook his head but went to park his car in one of the farther spots. Once parked, he grabbed his keys, briefcase, and wallet, all while doing a quick look-over of the car to ensure House didn’t leave anything behind.
He just about jogged to the entrance, opting for the stairs instead of the elevator down to the first floor. As he made his way down, he was thankful for the movement, bringing back some heat that the parking garage seemed to have sapped from him.
Once he finally made it to the ground floor, he slowed down, ran his hand through his hair, and smoothed out his collar and tie. He walked through the entrance, smiling at one of the nurses who was standing at the admissions station.
The moment she locked eyes with him, her eyes went wide, and she sprinted over.
“Doctor Wilson! Doctor Cuddy was looking for you. She said something about a meeting? She seemed pretty desperate to find you.”
Wilson blinked and grimaced upon remembering that the board meeting time had been shifted. The meetings had always been over lunch, at noon, but some issues had come up and the timeslot had been moved to 9 o'clock. Wilson was a mess. How had he forgotten this as well?
A memory flashed in his head, the sticky note he had used to originally write down the date of the meeting. He had also written down the time change. God, he needed to digitize his calendar to avoid things like this happening in the future. The fate of today’s board meeting hung on that singular slip of paper that Wilson had lost. He couldn’t afford to have this happen again. Not with the amount of stress it was causing.
Wilson shook his head, realizing the nurse was still looking at him, now with a vague look of worry etched on her face. He cleared his throat.
“Ah, yeah. Of course. I’ll be there.”
Wilson turned to walk away and glanced down at his watch.
8:47
He inhaled sharply. He didn't have a lot of time.
Wilson walked to his office, keeping a brisk pace. Once there, he dropped off his things and just about jogged to the conference room.
He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
-
The meeting went by… pretty well. All things considered, it should’ve been worse. There was a typo he hadn’t caught, but other than that, it seemed fine.
Making his way back to the office, Wilson felt like he could finally breathe again. He still had patients to get back to and responsibilities to catch up on, but everything seemed fine in comparison to the stress he felt yesterday.
As Wilson approached his door, he paused and turned around, opting to stop by House’s office again. He had to thank the man for waking him up. If the team hadn’t had a case so early in the morning, he wouldn’t have made it to the meeting.
He walked into the diagnostics department, expecting to interrupt a differential, but instead found the fellows sitting around the glass table and doing paperwork.
Wilson blinked in surprise, “Are you guys done with the case already?”
Taub looked up, “House didn’t tell you? We finished the case yesterday. It was an infection that looked like brain tu-”
Wilson cut him off, shaking his head, “No, no. The case you guys called him in for. This morning? He- He woke up earlier and asked me to drive him in.”
Thirteen and Foreman glanced at each other.
“Unless House has an ‘appointment’ with some hooker in a janitor's closet, there isn’t any case we’re aware of,” Thirteen said with a chuckle.
Wilson furrowed his brows and bit the inside of his cheek.
What the hell?
He glanced over at House’s office. The blinds were drawn.
“Where is he?”
Chase shrugged and pointed in the vague direction of the elevators, “He said something about doing ‘more productive things,’ which is probably some sorta code for slacking off.”
Wilson nodded, thanked the team, and headed toward the direction of Coma Guy’s room. If House wasn’t there, he could check one of the clinic rooms or the morgue.
Thankfully, as he rounded the corner of the hall, he could see past the curtains of Coma Guy’s room. He spotted a familiar cane resting against the bed. Wilson couldn’t help but smile.
He pushed open the door, popping his head in to see House sprawled across the visitor’s couch, one hand holding up his video player while the other rummaged around in a family-size bag of frosted animal crackers.
Wilson closed the door behind himself. He had to stop himself from smiling fondly at the flagrant display of slobbery, but House had traces of frosting on his lips, and it was hard to take him seriously.
Wilson raised an eyebrow, “How's your case going? Whatever it was seemed urgent enough to call you in this morning. Must have been serious.”
House nodded absentmindedly, “Yeah, it's going alright.”
“Oh, is it?” Wilson tutted, “Because I was just in your office. None of your fellows seemed to know anything about this supposed ‘case’ of yours.”
House bit the inside of his cheek and pointedly continued to avoid making eye contact with Wilson, opting to stare at his screen instead.
Wilson walked over and stood right in front of House, blocking the lights and casting him in a light shadow.
“House,” he insisted.
When the other man didn't give him any indication of listening, Wilson put his left hand over the video player, covering the screen. He grabbed House’s face with his other hand, gently maneuvering his chin upwards.
“House.” He murmured, absentmindedly wiping off the bit of frosting in the corner of House’s lip.
The man in question was now staring up at him, eyes full of surprise. But… there was something else in those eyes. Wilson stared into them, completely forgetting what he meant to say in the first place.
He had always admired House’s eyes. That gorgeous blue seemed almost unnatural at times, but it brought an icy sort of sharpness to his face.
Wilson found himself running his thumb along House’s cheekbone, another factor that added to the sharp nature of his face.
All of a sudden, the absurdity of the moment hit him full force. He was basically covering his best friend’s hand with his own while gently caressing his face.
But House continued to just look at him. Wilson could see the furrow between his brow, the one he got when there was a particularly tricky puzzle for him to solve.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and took a step back.
The sudden mood shift had shocked him, slamming into him, leaving him reeling and trying to regain his bearings.
What the hell??
House looked intently at him as the soap opera kept playing in the background. Neither man paid it any mind.
Wilson cleared his throat and looked around the room. He wrung his hands and quietly chuckled to himself.
“You…” Wilson stopped, ran his hand through his hair, and glanced over at House, “You don't have a case. The team never called you.”
House continued to just look at him, offering no response.
“You– You don't just get up in the morning, especially not that early, without a reason.”
“If you're implying something, I'd rather you spit it out. I can't say I'm in the mood to watch you beat around the bush for the next ten minutes,” he gestured at the video player that was still in his hands, “I have important matters to attend to.”
Wilson rolled his eyes, but relaxed ever so slightly. They were back to banter. That was good, it was safe.
House continued, with the hint of a grin, “How was the meeting?”
“Well, thanks to you, I made it on time,” Wilson smiled to himself, “I don't know what I'd do if I spent that much time on that stupid report only to sleep in.”
House nodded, returning his attention back to the video player.
“House. Seriously, thank you.”
“Think you're thankful enough to manhandle me again? Itching to cop a feel?”
Wilson groaned and put his head in his hands. He could feel his face heat up again.
“Relax, Wilson. Everyone's known you've wanted a piece of my cookie for years.”
“Stop projecting,” Wilson mumbled.
House snorted and shook his head. He was back to tapping at his video player, clearly signaling that this topic of conversation was over.
“Wait… One more thing,” Wilson could never really drop a subject until all his questions were answered, so he pressed on, “Let me get this straight, did you plan any of that? Or did you just happen to wake up at the right time?”
House rolled his eyes and groaned, “Jesus, Wilson, drop the subject. You got to work on time, that's the important part.”
“No. No, you see, if I had clearly gone out of my way to get you somewhere on time, you'd be interrogating me.”
“Why is this such a big deal to you?” House huffed.
“I'm curious. Humor me.”
House ran a hand down his face and muttered, “I set an alarm last night.”
Wilson blinked in surprise, then smirked, "You set an alarm? For yourself? I thought you never came in on time right after you finish up a case.”
House grumbled something underneath his breath and sank further into the couch.
Wilson smiled fondly at his friend. He wouldn't push the subject further. At this point, he could deduce what had happened, and he was touched by House's subtle display of thoughtfulness.
He cleared his throat, and House looked up, still on guard.
“Lunch?”
That had always been their magic word. An offer for lunch and the subsequent agreement were typically all that was needed to clear the air. It was their olive branch, their peace agreement.
“Sure. You're buying.”
“Naturally.”