Work Text:
“I got some coffee from the cart outside,” Cameron said cheerily, setting a drink carrier down on the round table. “They had bagels, too.”
“Bagels in New Jersey?” Wilson made a face. “I’ll pass.”
House, who was writing on the whiteboard and thoroughly ignoring them all, paused for just a moment as he glanced over his shoulder at the offerings.
“Do you want one, House?” She asked, “I wasn’t sure what kind you liked.”
“I’d like to find out why this patient is shitting neon blue,” House replied, and that was that.
Wilson gratefully accepted the coffee Cameron held out to him, taking a drink from it and letting out a pleased hum. “I forgot how much I like their brew,” He said, “I need to go more often.”
“Yeah. They know what they’re doing, posting up outside of a hospital.” Chase said, biting into a sesame bagel.
“Come on people, cool case here. Let’s pay attention.” House said, plucking Wilson’s coffee out of his hand and taking a drag of it, before setting it back into his hand.
Foreman raised an eyebrow at him, but Wilson wasn’t bothered. House always did that - although he was sure if he even looked at House’s red mug he’d pitch a fit - and it wasn’t like Wilson minded.
He’d be lying to himself, even, if he didn’t admit that it was sort of nice. That House only really stole from him. It was a pathetic thought, but it was his thought nonetheless. It had nothing to do with how House’s fingers brushed his as he took the cup - or how House would position himself near Wilson, to better steal from him.
House’s own coffee sat, undrunk, in the little carrier.
---
Wilson had barely opened his tupperware lid when House materialized in front of him.
“Do you have cameras on me, waiting for the moment I go to eat?” Wilson asked, without any real heat, as House stole his fork out of his hand.
“Yes,” House replied immediately, before hesitating as he looked at the food in question, “What is this?”
“It’s chile rellenos.”
House stared at it, the expression on his face strange. The fork still limp in his grasp. “You’ve never made this before.”
“It’s a new recipe, yeah.” Wilson said, confused. “It’s leftovers from when I made it last night.”
“You had some yesterday?” House asked.
“That’s what leftovers means.”
With that, House seemed to relax - which, Wilson hadn’t even noticed the tension in his shoulders and face until it suddenly cleared. He stuck the fork into Wilson’s container, taking a bite.
“Not bad,” He said, as Wilson fished out the extra fork he’d long since started keeping with him when he went to work.
“Glad you like it,” Wilson said.
“I said it wasn’t bad. Didn’t say I was going to suck your dick over it,” House said sharply.
“That suggests there’s something that you would suck my dick over,” He said, trying to sound more amused than intrigued.
“You couldn’t afford me,” House replied with a grin, taking another bite of Wilson’s lunch.
He really needed to start packing extra food or something.
---
“House!” Wilson pulled open the door to House’s office. “Did you eat my pancakes?”
“Oh, were they yours?” House asked, not even bothering to look innocent.
“Just-” Wilson groaned, “You could’ve just asked, I’d have made you your own tupperware.”
House laughed. It sounded forced. “No, that’s- no thanks. It tastes better when it doesn’t belong to me.”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “Right. Well, I’m going to the cafeteria since my lunch is gone.” He was going to add do you want to come along and steal that, too?, but House’s expression was off and he suddenly felt like he was toeing a line.
So instead, he just said, “You coming?”
“Already did this morning,” House said with a grin, grabbing his cane and getting to his feet.
Later, as they sat at the cafeteria table, House stealing bites out of Wilson’s sandwich, Wilson watched him.
It tastes better when it doesn’t belong to me.
Maybe there was more truth to that than House was willing to let on.
Wilson set aside that information to think about later - right now, House was saying something petty and he needed to respond.
---
The next morning, when Wilson made breakfast - while House bitched at him from behind a mug of coffee for waking him up early, as if not being late to work was a crime against him - he asked, casually, “Do you want scrambled or over easy?”
There was a beat of silence - a clink of the mug being set down on the counter.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You always eat in th-” Wilson said, adjusting down the heat of the stove.
“I’m not hungry,” House snapped, and Wilson turned around, then. House looked irritated - no, he would almost call it angry, but that didn’t make sense. It wasn’t anger, it was something else entirely, being covered up by his tone.
But before Wilson could narrow it down, before he could find where to press, House was already on his feet and leaving the kitchen entirely.
“I need to shower,” He said over his shoulder, not even glancing back. Leaving his coffee, over half-full, on the counter. Some of it had sloshed over when he’d set it down.
Wilson watched him leave. Then, sighing, he put the extra egg he’d taken out back into the carton. There was a chance House would come back and eat anyways, but he didn’t want to waste food.
House did not eat any. In fact, by the time Wilson finished eating and had washed the plate and skillet - and wiped up the coffee so it wouldn’t stain the counter - House hadn’t even returned to the kitchen. Instead, he was lounging on the couch, playing on his little game thing.
He was wearing his riding jacket, helmet beside him on the couch.
“I can drive,” Wilson offered anyway.
“No, thanks,” House said, not looking up - a line of tension in his shoulders.
Wilson felt a bit of hurt - since he’d started crashing at House’s place, they always drove to work together. It was nice - they would banter, and House would either complain about the music or sing along off-key - and Wilson looked forward to it. Any extra sliver of time he could scrape with House was always…
Come with me, He wanted to say. I’ll drive you, please. Just five more minutes.
“See you at work, then.” He said instead, and left. Replaying House’s reaction over in his mind. There was something, something there that he was trying to pick apart. House had seemed… wary, almost, by the question. Like he was expecting something.
Wilson was smart. He knew he was. But he wasn’t clever the way House was. He couldn’t answer any puzzle with just a few hints - and he didn’t see human interaction like a puzzle, the way House did either.
House acted like there was always a right answer. He didn’t always do it, but he certainly knew what was most correct.
Maybe he had been concerned that Wilson was expecting an answer? That there was one version Wilson wanted him to say?
But that didn’t make sense, exactly. If House knew Wilson wanted his eggs one way, he’d make sure to insist he did it the opposite. Or poke fun at it, or something.
He wouldn’t just leave. Leave like he was running from the question entirely.
Wilson tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.
Like he was running from the choice.
---
Wilson reapproached at lunch, choosing to act as if nothing weird had happened that morning at all.
House seemed perfectly normal - well, normal for him, anyways - leaning back in his chair and tossing that stress ball around.
“I’m surprised you haven’t learned to juggle.” Wilson said from the doorway.
“How do you know I haven’t?” House asked, eyes still focused on it.
“You would’ve shown it off by now.” Wilson pointed out, “Or used to solve some case.”
“Hm.” House caught the stress ball and set it down on his desk. “How could juggling ever diagnose a patient?”
“I don’t know, I’m not the diagnostician,” Wilson said, “And it was just an example.”
“It was a bad example.”
“I- wh-” Wilson sputtered, before crossing his arms. “Nevermind.”
“You can’t just ‘nevermind’ me,” House said, pointing a finger accusingly. “You’re the one who started this conversation.”
“And now I’m changing the topic!”
“To what? How slutty Cuddy is?” House said loudly - Wilson glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one heard that. The hallway was clear, thankfully.
“No! I’m just heading down to the cafeteria.” Wilson said, before adding, “There’s something interesting going on in my department.”
“Is it that blonde nurse sleeping with the radiologist?” House asked, already standing up and coming over to him.
“Sort of, it’s that the radiologist’s husband is the nurse’s brother…” Wilson fell into step beside House as they made their way to the cafeteria. “And apparently the husband is totally on board with it. Like a lavender marriage situation. But now the nurse wants the radiologist to divorce her brother so they can get married since it’s legal in New York.”
“That’s stupid,” House said immediately. “It’s not legal in Jersey.”
“Yet.” Wilson said, grabbing a tray off the stack. “It could change.”
“I wouldn’t bet my future on ‘could’.” House’s tone was bitter. “They’re risking their jobs, their careers, everything. Just so they can have a stupid piece of paper that doesn’t even count in half the country?”
“Didn’t know you cared so much.” Wilson said, hesitating before grabbing a turkey sandwich, trying very hard not to look at House or do anything different than usual.
“I don’t care,” House said, very clearly lying, as he tossed a bag of chips onto Wilson’s tray. “They should wait until they can’t get fired over it.”
“I mean… marriage is important.” Wilson was not expecting this conversation to go how it was. And he felt a little uncomfortable with it - House knew about his own sexuality, since he’d interrupted a hookup Wilson was having with a man by quite literally sneaking in through the window. “They should be able to-”
“Well no shit they should be able to marry each other. I’m just saying if they had any sense, they’d wait until they can’t be legally discriminated against for it.”
“You’re a cynic.” Wilson swiped his card on the reader, relaxing slightly.
“I’m a realist,” House corrected, “Not my fault reality is depressing.”
They sat at a table, and Wilson cracked open the sandwich container.
House immediately went for half of it - Wilson busying himself with his pager for a moment so he wasn’t watching.
By the time he looked back up, House was already a few bites in, so Wilson reached out and grabbed the remaining half, taking a bite.
“So,” House said, talking with his mouth full, “Aside from the plight of pining lesbians, what else is there? Your unit is easily the most dramatic.”
“That is not true,” Wilson defended. “You know damn well nephrology is on fire half the time.”
“Sure, but they’re more of a constant disaster,” House waved the sandwich in the air, “Your unit is more dramatic. There’s a difference. Obviously.”
“Well…” Wilson hesitated, before admitting, “I guess there is this thing with our PT right now…”
Wilson explained how the physical therapist for their unit had been falsifying her charting, then confronted the nurse who caught her. Which had ended in security pulling the two apart, all while his patients watched. Because of course this happened in the middle of their unit’s sun room.
House laughed at the appropriate times, and made the expected ‘cat fight’ commentary, and, by the time they left the cafeteria, Wilson’s tray was bare.
---
The next morning, House was once again sitting around the kitchen, half-asleep in his coffee.
Wilson didn’t ask him anything about the food, but hesitated all the same. If it was the choice itself, then him simply placing a plate in front of him should be fine. If it wasn’t, though, then that narrowed it down to a few possible things.
So, acting as casually as he could - something he definitely wouldn’t be getting away with if House wasn’t practically asleep, and he still might not get away with it anyways - Wilson set down two plates, instead of one, with eggs and toast on it.
House opened his eyes at the sound of the chair scooching as Wilson sat down beside him, and blinked down at the plates blearily.
Wilson picked up his fork, avoiding eye contact.
House made a noise - an irritated sort of huff - then reached out, picking up the toast from Wilson’s plate.
Wilson didn’t react.
“You’re being obvious, Wilson.” House said around a mouthful of bread.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wilson lied, poking his eggs.
House set the toast back down on Wilson’s plate, and got up. His own plate untouched, and Wilson’s the same except for a lone bitemark.
“Whatever,” He said, “I’m going to go back to bed.”
House limped off, and Wilson stared at the bread.
He wasn’t hungry now, either.
Sighing, he got up and fished out a tupperware, dumping everything into it. There was no point in using two - it was becoming increasingly clear that House had been telling the truth, before.
“It tastes better when it doesn’t belong to me.”
Wilson shoved the food in the fridge, then paused. He grabbed a sticky note from the stack on top of the fridge, writing Wilson’s: Do NOT eat, House! and slapping it on top.
That’d probably ensure House ate it. Which was sort of the point.
---
“House,” Wilson said, as House stole bites of his chicken curry - they were inside his office, since the cafeteria had some sort of event going on that House was trying to avoid. The file in his desk - hidden under patient ones in case House went snooping - was heavy on his mind.
“You’ve been staring at me all day, Wilson. See something you like?”
Yes.
“No.”
House raised an eyebrow, setting down the fork and leaning back in the chair.
Wilson shouldn’t bring it up. Not while they were eating.
“Sorry,” He lied, “It’s nothing important. Just thinking about a patient. Prognosis isn’t good.”
“When is it ever?” House asked, but he didn’t move. He had that tight expression on his face again, the tension in his shoulders. Like he was ready to run.
He was scared. The realization came like a jolt of electricity - House was scared of whatever Wilson was going to say. Whatever he thought Wilson was going to do.
Fear was something that House took pains not to show - and, if Wilson had to guess, most people thought he was incapable of it. But Wilson knew better. Wilson saw how fear had crept into every sliver of House’s wrecked leg, how he twisted it into bitterness that he held out in defense of himself.
He was used to seeing House afraid.
Wilson was not used to seeing House afraid of him.
So Wilson shrugged, while he mentally shoved that file with all its documents and screenings out of his brain, and said, “I guess it usually ends up that way. What about your patient? Still having spontaneous intussusception?”
“Yes,” House said, irritated, “And everyone’s suggesting stupid diagnoses.”
“Well, to be fair, I’m at a loss myself,” Wilson said amicably, using the extra fork he’d brought to stab a piece of potato. “I’ve never even heard of a documented case of intussusception in an adult.”
“There hasn’t been one,” House said, and it was probably a good thing the patient wasn’t in the room to hear how excited House was by the prospect.
Wilson was almost as excited as House was, though, as House picked up the fork again.
“What’re you grinning about?” House asked, frowning even as he popped a piece of food into his mouth. “Normally I’m the inappropriately eager one.”
“Just… excited to see how you’ll solve it,” Wilson said - which wasn’t even a lie, he was curious. And he was also excited to see House’s satisfaction with a case solved.
House looked pleased, at that, and stuck his fork back into the tupperware.
Wilson didn’t need to diagnose House. Didn’t need to pull it apart and find out exactly what caused House to be this way. For one thing, House almost certainly knew it himself. And for another, it just didn’t matter.
As long as it was being managed, Wilson didn’t mind. He didn’t mind cooking for two. Not when it was for House, anyway.
---
“I don’t understand why you let him do that.”
“Well, Wilson’s not trained enough to stay off the furniture,” House said immediately, looking past him - placing down his coffee on the cafeteria table that was between them.
Wilson forced himself to turn and greet Stacy.
“Stacy,” He said, trying for politeness. He’d never forgiven her for all she had done, even if House - sort of - had.
“I’m serious, Wilson.” Stacy said, “He only does that,” She gestured pointedly at the sandwich split between them, “Because you let him. He never did that with me.”
“There’s a lot of things I do with House that you don’t,” Wilson said, rather cattily - ignoring the way House’s eyebrows were steadily rising up his forehead at Wilson’s tone, “Like communicate, for example.”
“Wow, House is rubbing off on you,” Stacy said after an affronted pause.
Wilson could practically see the joke written across House’s face, even without looking at him.
“I have a limited break,” Wilson said, “I’d like to spend it actually eating my lunch, not socializing.”
It was a clear dismissal.
Stacy blinked, then said, “I don’t see you eating much of it.”
“Have a good day, Stacy.” Wilson said sharply, before turning back to face House - and pausing.
House was avoiding looking at him entirely - the half of the sandwich he’d been eating sitting back on the container inbetween them.
“Fuck, she’s annoying,” Wilson said - not bothering to make sure she was out of hearing range. He was trying to sound unconcerned, and missing it by a country mile, “And you criticize my ex-wives.”
“Well, I never married her.” House said dourly, staring at the top of his cane and twisting it around in his hands.
Wilson ate more of his sandwich - House’s unofficial portion sitting between them like an armed nuclear warhead.
“She’s being weird anyways,” Wilson said suddenly, “I mean, it’s not her business what we do.”
House smirked, but it felt forced. “What, you want to start having me ‘rub off on you’?”
Wilson fixed him with an unamused look.
House grimaced, then, “You worry too much, Wilson. It’s annoying.”
“I care about you,” Wilson said suddenly - mentally screaming at himself to shut the fuck up. “And I don’t like how she talks about you.” Shut up! “And i definitely don’t like that she keeps flirting with you after everything she’s done.”
“You’re being territorial, Wilson,” House said. His tone was off. “I’m not something to possess.”
“I don’t want to possess you, I’m not a fucking exorcist!” Wilson waved a hand. “I just don’t like how she treats you and you deserve better.”
“Like what? Like you?” House asked, and now he was goading, and Wilson knew better than to rise to the bait.
“Yes!” He snapped anyways, because he’d never been able to resist arguing with House and they both knew it.
House actually looked taken aback, for once.
“Sorry,” Wilson said, standing up. “I shouldn’t have- uh, said anything. I’ll go.” He was halfway out the cafeteria when House called his name, but he didn’t stop - he could outrun him, after all.
Of course, avoiding House was never easy, but Wilson had been sort of expecting House to avoid him too.
He had not been expecting to walk into his office, and see House sitting behind his desk, feet kicked up, holding a file.
Fuck. Wilson had meant to get rid of that.
“House-”
“You know, exorcists are the ones who remove the possession from the person,” House said blandly, not looking up. “So you wouldn’t be an exorcist. The correct term in that metaphor would be ‘demon’.”
Wilson rolled up his sleeves, sitting down across from the desk into a chair with a sigh. “It’s not what… okay, well, it is what it looks like. But I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“Well, I’m offended.” House said, not sounding particularly offended, as he slapped down the file. “You think I, a diagnostics specialist, can’t recognize my own symptoms?”
Wilson shifted, feeling profoundly uncomfortable.
“Well, I just… I was worried.” He admitted. “I wanted to make sure that… you were-” Not okay, House hated that word. “Safe,” He said finally.
“How considerate of you. Do you want a Nobel prize? Want me on my knees to thank you for caring?” House’s voice was deeply bitter.
Wilson flinched. “No,” He said, “That’s not- I don’t care about you because I want something out of it. I shouldn’t have even said anything. I can handle it myself.”
House didn’t even make a ‘handle’ joke. He was staring at Wilson with that same, off look on his face he’d been wearing so often around him lately.
“House, you don’t… owe me anything. And my feelings aren’t your responsibility.” Wilson paused, “I don’t need anything to change.”
“But you want it to.”
“I- no? I like us. I like how we are.” Wilson hesitated, before admitting - and it felt shameful, so shameful, to admit to wanting. “I won’t lie to you. I do… feel things. And want things. But not more than I want you in my life. However it may be.”
“God, you’re pathetic,” House said, and then he was walking around the desk and shoving Wilson back in the chair, his hands pressing down on Wilson’s shoulders. “Do you have any idea how pitiful you look?” He leaned in, face inches from Wilson’s, glaring. “Begging for me just to sit next to you in your car.” His hand left Wilson’s shoulder to grab his jaw, tilting it up. “You’re desperate.”
Wilson couldn’t breathe. “Yes,” He managed.
And then House was kissing him.
Wilson was surprised into stillness, for a moment, but he recovered quickly - he kissed him back, bringing his hands up to bracket House’s waist.
Then, he tugged slightly, making House half-fall into his lap, legs on either side of his.
“Playing dirty,” House informed, shifting so his weight was off his bad leg. “It’s pathetic how much you want.”
Wilson’s face burned - of course House knew that he hated that he wanted anything. Hated that he desired at all.
“Shut up,” Wilson’s hands sliding down from House’s waist to his hips, fingers digging into the softness there.
“Be a big boy and make me,” House said with too much teeth.
Wilson felt his resolve snap - all of his shoving down his desire and want giving way from the way House was looking at him, touching him.
Wilson surged forward, his lips nearly slamming into House’s. House parted his lips, and Wilson deepened their kiss. He wanted, wanted, wanted.
Adjusting his grip at House’s hips, he stood up - House made a noise, hands clenching on Wilson’s shoulders. But Wilson wouldn’t drop House. He never would.
Wilson set House down on the edge of the desk, letting go of his hips to bring his hands down to House’s inner thighs, parting them open further. His hand traced up the inseam of House’s jeans, grinning into House’s mouth as he gasped.
Then, breaking off the kiss, Wilson dropped to his knees in front of him.
House, for once, seemed at a loss for words. His hands grabbed Wilson’s hands, which were at his belt.
“Is… this okay? We don’t have to.” Wilson said, looking up at House - who was staring down at him.
“Yeah,” House said, seeming surprised, letting go of Wilson’s hands. “Yeah, keep… uh… doing what you’re doing. Go get ‘em, tiger.”
Wilson smiled, and undid House’s belt - House shifting his weight so he could pull his jeans down past his hips.
“I didn’t think you’d spring for office sex,” House said, voice hitching, as Wilson pressed a kiss to his navel.
“Like you said, I’m desperate,” Wilson said, sliding House’s boxers down to expose him. “I’ve been wanting this for so long.”
“I don’t know why,” House said, and he was trying to joke, but Wilson could spot the waver in his voice from a mile away.
Wilson placed his hands along House’s hips, fingers splaying out. Pressing himself up against House, he looked up, licking his lips. “I can show you.”
“You- fuck,” House’s response turned into a curse from somewhere above him as Wilson got to work.
---
“Don’t,” House grumbled, arms tightening around Wilson’s chest.
“I’m not going to be late for work just because you are,” Wilson said, extracting himself from House’s arms and bed.
House made another noise of displeasure, shifting over to where Wilson’s body had been moments before.
“I’m going to shower,” Wilson gathered up his work clothes. “You can either get some beauty sleep or you can join me.”
“That’s cheating,” House complained, even as he sat up and kicked off the covers.
“No,” Wilson said, leaning down and pressing a filthy kiss to House’s mouth, one hand going to his hair. House moaned into it, and, when he tried to deepen it, Wilson pulled away. “That’s cheating,” He said, smiling at House’s irritated expression.
“You fucker,” House said, not sounding too upset about it, as he followed Wilson to the bathroom.
“Mhm.”
After their shower - which, Wilson had to reconsider doing in the future because it was a serious waste of water. Something he thought every time, and then continued to do anyways - House sat himself down in the kitchen while Wilson made french toast.
He set the lone plate down between them, and House snatched up one of the pieces - not even pretending to use a fork and knife - and started eating.
Wilson smiled into his coffee.