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It was in no way an uncommon occurrence for House to go through Wilson’s mail. There was at least a 70% chance that anything Wilson received had already been opened and carelessly shut again by House. So really, it was no surprise when House opened a package from Wilson’s mother.
The only reason his mother had sent something for him to the hospital in the first place was because Wilson had moved places so many times in the past few years (his house with his now ex-wife, then living with House, and now temporarily staying in a hotel). This was the only way she could ensure he definitely got it. And what Wilson got, House got.
He was away doing some lung biopsy, anyway. He’d be gone for a while, House reasoned.
The package was bulky and as House searched for the seal, he vaguely wondered if there were actual bricks inside. Maybe in her dementia, his mother had mistaken the doctor for a bricklayer.
Nothing deterred House, though. He finally managed to open the seam, and pulled out several VHS tapes. None labelled. Now this was interesting. What could possibly be on them? Memories of a childhood long gone? Wilson practising for his first job interview? A school play?
“Patient’s finally left,” came Foreman’s cool tones as the door opened. This information was not new to House; he’d already watched her leave from his balcony. It was adorable how much his team still doubted his omniscience.
Taking his lack of response as an opportunity to probe him, Cameron asked, “What are those?”
“VHS tapes,” House replied, deadpan. “As you were born yesterday, you won’t have heard of them. The rest of us, however-”
“I know what VHS tapes are, House.”
“Oh, so the ignorance was all an act? Thank god. It's only been three years.” House turned to the TV in the office, pushing the first tape into the VCR. The team’s arrival had been perfect timing. Nothing like some good old witnesses to back up evidence he could tease Wilson with. “Film night’s starting early, kids.”
Following reluctant glances at each other, Cameron, Chase and Foreman pulled up chairs as the screen flickered to life.
House sat back, the corners of his mouth turning up. This was going to be good, he could feel it. He liked to embarrass Wilson. Anything to get his attention on House. Anything to get him furiously looking at House with those big brown eyes. Anything to get him to drop his usually calm, reserved manner. Oh, he couldn’t wait.
A much younger Wilson appeared on screen, a good few years before House had met him, for sure. Teenage Wilson was wearing an ugly orange sweater and jeans and grinning like an idiot into the camera. He still had that same mole under the left side of his lip.
Cameron gasped. “Is that Wilson?”
“Shut up!” House hissed. He wouldn’t miss this for anything.
Just as he turned back, the Wilson onscreen asked, “Is it recording, Mom?”
“Yeah, go on, sweetie,” came a voice from behind the camera.
Younger Wilson stepped back, nervously wringing his hands. Somebody off camera began to play a soft tune on the guitar.
To everyone’s astonishment, he began to sing. A song from the early 80s, House couldn’t remember the name. The Smiths, he guessed. He knew Wilson had had an obsession with them once.
Vaguely, in the background, he thought he heard Chase say “he’s good” but he wouldn’t swear his life on it. All he could focus on at that moment was Wilson, young and hopeful, singing to his heart’s content. Every time he went up a note, it was accompanied by a hand gesture, as if he was guiding himself. House could tell which lyrics resonated with him personally by the slight furrow of his brow as they left his mouth.
House had never heard Wilson sing before. No matter how drunk they’d gotten, no matter how many times House had suggested karaoke, no matter how many times he’d tried to sneak up on Wilson and catch him in the act. Not once. He’d always assumed Wilson was a particularly awful singer and was too scared to be made fun of if he sang. No way had Wilson been hiding this talent for years. House could hardly believe it.
Without realising, he’d gotten out of his seat and walked out of the office. Wilson was probably still singing on the screen. He’d never know, because he just kept on going and going and going until his cane was clicking against the smooth floor of one of Princeton Plainsboro’s many operating rooms.
He found Wilson and a handful of other surgeons removing their PPE, meaningless chatter filling his ears. He made a beeline for his best friend, rudely stepping between him and a very pretty looking woman.
“What’s up?” Wilson asked immediately, concern clouding those gorgeous eyes.
“Oh, nothing. Just missed you, darling.”
House gave Wilson the sweetest smile he could. Wilson laughed.
“Yeah, sure.”
He stepped around House to wash his hands. Annoyingly, House turned the tap off just as he’d lathered up his hands.
Wilson sighed, used to House’s antics by now. “Are you gonna answer truthfully this time if I ask again what’s up?”
“Maybe,” House pondered. “Try again.”
“What’s up?”
“Not much, really. You?”
In response, Wilson flicked his now wet hands at House, the water spraying over his shirt, and began to walk away. Just as he reached the doors, House called after him.
“Do you still sing?”
Wilson froze. A few of his colleagues turned to look at them, but quickly returned to their own conversations, uninterested. Slowly, suspiciously, Wilson turned back around.
“What do you mean by that?”
House closed the distance between them. He would have backed Wilson up against the double doors if Wilson wasn’t already propping one open, leaning against it like he needed the physical support.
“I mean, do you still sing? Like you used to?”
“Like…I used to?”
Often House thought he could write a book on Wilson’s range of facial expressions. Several, maybe. He loved every single one of them. It really was fascinating how in the space of a few seconds, his face could contort in confusion, then doubt, then panic, then fear, then anger. Finally, he settled on mildly irritated.
“Your mom sent some tapes,” House said infuriatingly, sauntering away.
Sure, he hadn’t got his answer, but Wilson’s open-mouthed expression was enough. He could probe him more at lunch.
-
House was on his best behaviour as he and Wilson queued up in the cafeteria. No sarcastic comments and no stealing Wilson’s food. He was trying so hard.
As they sat down, House innocently hummed to himself. If it happened to be a song younger Wilson had sung on one of the other tapes in the package from Wilson’s mother – well, that must have just been a coincidence, of course.
Wilson didn’t entertain it. He picked at his salad, talked about his newest patient’s ovarian cysts. House always cared about Wilson had to say, of course he did, but right now he only had one thing on his mind.
“So I’ve scheduled her to come back in on-”
“Wilson.”
Really, he’d tried his best to hold back. Wilson should be proud.
Wilson sighed, knowing he’d never get to finish his story. “Yeah?”
“You never let me catch you, but I know you do it.”
It was comical, really, the way Wilson’s eyebrows rose. “What?”
“Singing,” House generously clarified. He probably would have gotten a laugh out of letting Wilson guess what he was talking about, but he had a point he was eager to get to.
“Oh, not this again.”
“Why not?” House obnoxiously grabbed Wilson’s drink and sipped it. Stolen cola tasted so much sweeter. “Cat’s out of the bag now. I know your dirty little secret. I know. I mean, I can snoop around more if you want, but it’s probably easier for you if you just tell me.”
“Tell you what?” Wilson asked, exasperated. He hadn’t even seen the tapes yet that had been sent, but he recalled – vividly – their contents. Nobody was supposed to have seen them. He couldn’t let this get out.
“Why keep this from everyone?”
Why shouldn’t he? Wilson knew he was a good singer. In his teenage years, he’d received plenty of praise for it. His mom always insisted on recording him when she could – as if she knew there might come a time when he didn’t sing anymore. Things were just…different now. Truth be told, he was embarrassed. He was a well-respected, middle-aged doctor. He didn’t need to go around risking his reputation for a voice crack. It was bad enough being perceived by people in general, let alone baring his heart and soul to them – because that’s what singing was to him. He had really had a passion for it, getting the lyrics just right where the notes struck his heart. Nobody was allowed to see that side of him. Of course, House knew him inside out, upside down, in any universe – but a man’s got to keep some secrets. And this one felt simply too humiliating to finally open up about on a random Tuesday.
“It’s not some massive secret,” he said, carefully chewing his salad. “It’s just not something I do anymore.”
“Bullshit,” was House’s immediate response. “You don’t lose your love for something like that.”
Wilson leaned back, considering, eyeing House. No matter how clueless he tried to act sometimes, House really did understand the human soul like no one else. Could Wilson bring himself to finally show House one of the last hidden parts of his own?
“Loving something is different to doing it.”
House scoffed. “I do people I love. I think it’s the same.”
“That’s not-” Wilson shook his head. “You know that’s not what I meant.” But now House had mentioned it…he could imagine House’s lips on his jaw, his steady hands, his- “I don’t have the time, and even if I did, I’m not going to do some grand performance for everyone. At most, I’ll sing in the shower. Otherwise, it’s just not… it’s just not a part of my life anymore.”
He often wondered what it would be like if it was, though. He could freely do karaoke on a night out like he so wanted to. He could do a duet with House, even. But after you sing in front of people once – and they realise you’re good – they’ll never stop asking you to do it again. And Wilson did not need more expectations placed on him.
“So not in front of other people?”
“Definitely not.”
House looked at him - really looked at him - before standing up. “Shame. You’re really good at it.”
-
House rewatched the tapes religiously over the next week. At any given point, it was guaranteed that he’d have them playing in the background somewhere, absent-mindedly humming along to Wilson’s soft tones.
He hadn’t brought it up with Wilson since that day in the cafeteria. He knew this sort of thing couldn’t be pushed out of him. He had to give him time. Wilson would break eventually, House was sure of it.
When Wilson came over for their weekly movie night, he was tempted to play a musical and suggest they sing along. No. He had to be patient.
Instead, they ended up watching some cheesy rom-com from a few years back. The type of film that House always pretended to despise, yet he felt an inexplicable feeling deep in his chest every time he noticed the way Wilson’s eyes lit up while watching it.
Wilson made his way to the kitchen when the protagonist didn’t get together with the man he had been rooting for but her ex instead. House could hardly conceal his smile. Wilson really took these things to heart sometimes.
For a while, House flicked through the channels, lazily searching for something else to watch. He had a pile of DVDs stacked by the side of the couch as a reserve in case he found nothing of interest, but for the moment he was content to drowsily stare at the screen with the smell of Wilson’s fantastic cooking wafting towards him.
He was on the verge of drifting off when he first heard it.
“Drawn by the undertow… My life is out of control…”
It was confirmed. House had already fallen asleep. There was no other rational explanation for the noise that sounded suspiciously like Wilson coming from the kitchen.
Or was there? Had Wilson decided now was the time to finally open up to him?
House full-on grinned now. Christmas had come four months early.
“I believe this wave will bear my weight so let it flow…”
He didn’t care about the clatter he made as he clumsily limped to the kitchen. He had to see this with his own eyes.
And sure enough, there stood Wilson, shirt sleeves neatly rolled up, stirring something delicious in a frying pan, lightly nodding his head as he continued to sing:
“Oh, sit down…Oh, sit down…Oh, sit down… Sit down next to me…”
House felt feral. He’d have all of Wilson’s children for him if he asked. It didn’t matter that it was biologically impossible, he’d find a way.
“Sit down, down, down, down, down in sympathy…”
Wilson turned away to grab another ingredient and directly locked eyes with House. There wasn’t shock there, not exactly, but some kind of wonder. Almost like he’d wanted to get caught but couldn’t believe that he actually had been.
“It was stuck in my head.” He rushed to get the words out, defensive.
“No, it wasn’t,” House countered easily. “You seriously think I’m gonna believe that?”
Wilson swallowed. “It’s been stuck in my head all day.”
House was still wearing that stupid smile. Fine, Wilson could keep arguing. But House knew. And he was going to let Wilson know that he knew.
“It-” Wilson had a death grip on the spatula he was holding- “It. Was. Stuck. In. My. Head.” Deadly serious, he enunciated each word with a wave of the spatula.
“Ok.”
This seemed to frustrate Wilson even more.
“Let it go, House. It’s not happening again.”
House thought it was cute how red Wilson’s cheeks became when he was embarrassed. He felt proud to be able to have that kind of effect on him. He wondered what else he could do to make him blush.
Then an idea struck him.
“I’ll kiss you if you do it again.”
Wilson visibly relaxed. They were resuming to their usual banter. They could put this all in the past.
“Yeah, not a chance.”
Like he could get away that easily. House took his chance as Wilson turned back to his cooking. He wrapped his arms around Wilson’s chest, cane forgotten, angling his head to the side on Wilson’s shoulder to whisper in his ear: “I mean it.”
He felt the moment Wilson’s pulse sped up. He stood stock still, eyes fixed on the contents of the frying pan like he was afraid anything else he looked at would explode.
“House,” he whispered, an edge of desperation to his voice.
House nodded, shrugged, began to draw away. “Well,” he said, lowering his tone to match Wilson’s, “offer’s always there.”
And with that, he shuffled away back towards the living room.
He wasn’t disappointed, not really. He’d expected this to take a lot more time. They’d get there one day.
He heard the sound of Wilson adding something to the pan, letting it sizzle. Business as usual then. Except-
It was shaky, quiet, but it was there.
“Now I’m relieved to hear…that you’ve been to some far out places…”
Good thing he hadn’t made it all the way back to the couch yet.
“It’s hard to carry on…when you feel all alone…”
Wilson’s back was still turned to him, but House could see his hands trembling slightly as he stirred in the new ingredient. House had to give him credit for his bravery. This man had been scared to sing around him for years – out of fear? Embarrassment? Shame? – but was sacrificing all of that for a kiss with his best friend. Oh, the things he was finding out today.
He hadn’t even meant it seriously. He did want to kiss Wilson, it was one of the few topics he could never get off his mind, but he never expected Wilson to respond to these jokes. Because he always had to joke about his feelings for Wilson; nothing was ever going to happen.
Well, that’s what he’d thought for a long time. There's always time to update old theories, though.
House closed the rest of the distance between him and Wilson, grabbing Wilson by the sides of his face and pulling him round into a long-awaited kiss. Wilson twisted round immediately, grabbing at House’s hair and his hips and his lapels and oh, it was all too much. Neither of them hesitated, they just kept moving their lips and hands and disregarding their need to breathe. That could come later. When House pulled at his tie to get a better angle, Wilson made a slight noise that could almost go unnoticed, but House stored this new information away, knowing he’d find a way to make use of it somehow in the future.
“Wait. Wait-” Wilson was pulling back, turning away- “I-”
He could not seriously be backing out now. House, disheartened, let go of his tie. Wilson’s hands were elsewhere already. House had hoped for out least a full make-out session before either of them started having Big Feelings.
Then, in an instant, Wilson was back on House again, biting at his lips and running his hands under the bottom of his shirt like he’d been doing this for years. What?
House yanked him back, struggling to catch his breath or catch up with his thoughts.
“What the hell was that all about?”
Wilson blinked. “Umm. You said you’d kiss me if-”
“No.” House gripped his arm. “You just pulled away and…” He really was out of breath. “You…”
“Oh.” Wilson let out a small chuckle. “Turned the hob off. I’d rather the place didn’t burn down while we were making out.”
House stared at him in shock. So he really was fine with this new change in their dynamic? And was planning to make out with House long enough that the hob might catch on fire and burn an entire apartment down?
“You know there’s no going back from this,” House warned him. He couldn’t get his hopes up. Not yet.
Wilson shrugged. “I hope not. If I get to do this again whenever I want for the rest of my life, I’m happy.”
“Well, if you’re happy, then I’m…”
They kissed each other again like they’d never been apart. They never would be again.
-
The next day at work, Wilson heard a knock at his door.
“Come in,” he called, checking his watch. His ten o’clock patient was early.
“Hi, Wilson.”
…Or not, he thought, as Cameron, Chase and Foreman walked into his office.
“Hi.”
“I don’t suppose you know what’s up with House today?” Foreman asked, one eyebrow raised.
Wilson shuffled some of the papers on his desk. Of course he knew. “How do you mean?”
“He’s completely different,” Cameron pleaded, in a tone one might beg for their life with. “There’s something up.”
“Yeah, he’s all…hopeful,” Chase chimed in.
The three of them stared down at Wilson like he had all the answers. He did, but they didn’t have to know that.
“That’s…strange, I agree. And it’s only today he’s been different? Not any other day?”
“Well…” Chase hesitated.
Foreman shook his head. “It’s definitely worse today.”
Oh, because House being in a good mood was such a bad thing.
“No, but…” Chase shifted, uncomfortable. “He has been different over the past weeks. I assume he told you, but he found these tapes of you singing and… I don’t know, he’s obsessed. Playing them all the time. Asking us about singing and all that. And now today, yeah, he’s all optimistic and everything, and it’s weird, but he has this look in his eye like when we first watched the tapes. You think it’s connected?”
Wilson pretended to consider. Really, he was thinking about how much he was going to tease House about this tonight. Once the initial newness of it all wore off, House would be able to put on his old grumpy disguise again, but for the first little while they could all bask in his newfound positivity that he hadn't quite learned to hide yet.
And to think Wilson was the cause of that. He wanted to giggle and kick his feet like a teenage girl.
“I don’t know,” he said, finally, realising he hadn’t given his opinion yet. “He seems all right around me. Maybe it’s another one of his games.”
“You think he’s playing with us?” Cameron asked incredulously. “We thought he’d finally- ugh. Right. Thanks, Wilson.”
With that, she pushed past the other two out of Wilson’s office, outraged.
“Yeah, thanks,” Foreman echoed, turning to leave as well.
Only Chase remained. He still looked sceptical.
“Listen, uhh…” Chase nervously rubbed the nape of his neck. “Maybe I am reading too much into this, but House… He’s really obsessed with you. And after weeks of pining he comes in all happy like nothing can get him down. Maybe I’m out of line for saying this, but, umm... congratulations, Wilson.”
Wilson was glad he didn’t agree on the bet House had wanted to make about who would figure it out first. He really thought it would’ve been Cameron, given how much she was usually able to read into House’s and Wilson’s emotions. He had to give Chase credit, though; the man noticed all the subtle in-betweens often left forgotten by everyone else.
“Thanks, Chase.”
He was trying so hard not to smile. God, he wanted to fucking beam, he was so happy. Well, they’d all find out eventually anyway.
Chase nodded. “Yeah, see? I knew it. See ya.”
As soon as Wilson’s office door closed behind him, the balcony door slid open and House snuck in.
Wilson raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
Really, Wilson should have known better by now.
“They’ve been interrogating me all day,” House complained, making fake puppy dog eyes as he approached Wilson.
“Aww,” Wilson said in mock sympathy.
They were kissing again in seconds, tugging at collars and running their hands through each other’s hair. Yeah, they could definitely get used to this.
“You know,” Wilson panted in between kisses, “I heard you’re-” they really couldn’t stop kissing each other- “you’re acting all cheerful today.”
“Me?” House murmured, unpopping Wilson’s top button and loosening his tie. “Never.”
Wilson chuckled. “Yeah, sure.” It really was difficult choosing between talking and sticking his tongue down House’s throat. “They’re saying it’s ’cause of me.”
House pulled back, his fingers still entwined in Wilson’s hair, studying him.
“Do you believe them?”
For once, Wilson didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”
“Good.” House kissed him once more. “It’s true.”
“Not just because I sang?”
“No. But sing again anyway. I like it.”
“You were- you were right, you know. I do love it.”
And you. But that confession would come later anyway.