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Jan. 13th, 2009 10:26 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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house_wilson_ghcTitle: Haunting House
Author: athinfacade
Rating: PG to PG13 for now
Summary: House gets haunted by the ghost of Amber. (Hopefully interesting)things ensue. Takes place currently.
Characters: House/Wilson friendship, possible to likely slash later.
Disclaimer: I do not own House, Wilson, or any other characters on the show House. I don't own the show, either. I don't even have a video camera.
A/N: I know it's been a little while since I updated this story. If I mess up any details that the show indicated please let me know. I don't think I did. If you're reading, thank you, and if you comment, thank you. :) Hopefully it makes sense and isn't awful.
Previous parts here: http://community.livejournal.com/house_wilson/3023132.html
Six:
House didn't favor Bill Sharpe. He didn't have strong feelings of any kind toward Bill; no more than he had toward any other human being. He liked Bill; appreciated him because he felt accepted by him. When he saw Bill, he enjoyed his presence as much as he was apt to enjoy anyone's. He didn't love Bill. His feelings about Bill were driven much like the feelings were that he had toward his patients...by obsession, a need to know, a puzzle, a path. The only stronger emotion he had toward Bill Sharpe was a silent gratitude that this man was his real father. It failed to make things better, as he'd told Wilson, but he still stuck the fact on his short mental list of Things That Were Good. House remembered the Bill from his childhood strongly and with positive associations. Maybe when he was a kid he felt something akin to love for the man, though it was probably more his burgeoning obsession, especially once he got the inkling that Bill might be something more to him than just a family friend. In the absence of a real father-son relationship, House had never developed anything that truly took its place. There wasn't a man he loved like a father. He used to think about the absence of that relationship from his life, but he hadn't in a long time. Not till this trip, at least. Now he was uncomfortable because he didn't want to think about it. He was looking forward to seeing Bill, and he didn't want to look forward to it.
Well, at least I'm keeping my expectations low to non-existent. Whatever Bill says about our relationship, I can't lose what I never had to begin with. What would I lose? A man who accompanied my family on trips when I was still in grade school? A man who I rarely speak to, anyway?
House grunted inwardly thinking about the concerns Wilson had expressed earlier. There were only two people in the world whose rejection could hurt him: his mother and Wilson.
My mother already rejected me, at least in part. Maybe not meaning to, maybe many years ago, but in making the choices she made, she did. Wilson already did it, too, but Wilson came back.
If Bill didn't stick around, well, House figured it wouldn't be any great loss.
House pulled up to the little diner-type place where he was meeting Bill. He sat for a minute, thinking about what he was doing; thinking of things his mother and Wilson had said to him.
“What are you doing?”
House looked at the passenger seat, and there she sat, eyeing him with a look he couldn't decipher.
“Nothing.”
“I have serious doubts about this qualifying as nothing. Nothing would be you at your mom's house taking a nap. Or tying all of James' pant legs together. This isn't nothing, House. Go back.”
House flinched. “No!”
“House,” Amber's voice got foreboding, “I'm telling you I don't want you to talk to him before you talk to your mother. You're supposed to be here fixing things, not fucking them all up.”
House gave her his best petulance. “I'm going to do what I want. You can't take away my free will just because you're...here from...the underworld. Now, be gone with you, demon spirit.” House waved a hand at her dismissively.
“OK, have it your way,” Amber said. And she was gone.
“I will!” House said loudly to the empty passenger seat. He got out of the car, grabbed his cane and made his way inside. Bill was already seated, and the place wasn't crowded at all, so House made his way right over.
“Hi,” Bill said, standing up. He offered House his hand and House shook it. Bill hooked his other arm around House's back and patted him between the shoulder blades. House felt awkward.
“Hey, Bill. Hope you weren't waiting too long.”
“Not long at all.” They sat down. House noticed that Bill had a Coke, and he could smell the rum in it. “So, how's the visit so far?”
“Not bad.”
“What brought you here, anyway? I know you don't make a habit of visiting, because I see your mom quite a bit and you're never there. She misses you. She talks about you all the time.”
“Well, work keeps me a lot. I, uh...I decided to come this time just for... a visit. Make sure mom's all right since, um, since dad's not around anymore.” House felt the word “dad” stick in his throat. “You...see mom often?” House sipped at the requisite ice water and wondered when the waitperson would come back so he could get something with alcohol in it.
“Oh, yeah. We spend a good deal of time together. She's a great woman, your mom. I take her with me when I have bowling league. Everyone likes her and...well, she boosts my ego. We go walking sometimes in the mornings or get together for lunch. You know. Old people stuff,” Bill snickered.
House cracked a smile. “I'm not exactly a kid anymore, either.”
“Eh,” Bill waved a hand. “Comparatively speaking, you might as well be. I know you're not married, Greg. You at least have a woman?”
House couldn't help but grin at this. “Not exactly, no.”
Bill shook his head. “You should. You need one. Your mom worries about you being alone so much. And, anyway, it's...it's good for you.”
House could feel himself getting defensive, so he was glad that the waitress showed up at that minute to take his drink order.
“You know what you want to eat?” she asked.
“Um...no. Can I get a minute?” House asked. Bill nodded in agreement.
“Sure. I'll be back with your drink.”
“Anyone you like?” Bill asked when the waitress walked away.
“Why are you so concerned with my love life?” House asked. He didn't mean it to sound defensive, but he knew it did. Bill looked a little taken aback.
“I was just asking. Just making conversation, Greg. Besides, like I said, I know your mom worries.”
“What does she say about me?”
“Uh...that you work too much. That you don't call enough. That she never sees you. That she's worried about you being alone. Oh, and she hopes your friend...uh...Nielson? She hopes he's watching out for you, at least.”
“Wilson?”
“Yeah, that's it.”
“My mom talks about Wilson?”
“Sometimes. Only when she's worrying about you. She says, oh, I hope he's at least spending time with Wilson. Or whatever. Anyway, that's the only reason I was asking. About your situation with women. You're the one who wanted to get together one on one...not that I don't want to...but did you have something you'd rather talk about? Otherwise I'm afraid you're going to be stuck with my small talk.” Bill smiled.
The waitress came back with House's drink. “You guys ready to order?”
House pointed at Bill. “You first.”
“Uh...I'll have...a, um, turkey. On rye with mayo. Please. Thanks.”
“And for you?” The waitress looked at House.
“I'll have a burger. Medium well. No pickles. Thanks.”
“No problem,” the waitress said. “I'll be back.”
“Excuse me, wait!” Came a voice from somewhere behind their table. Bill looked up, the waitress turned around, and House, disbelieving, looked over his shoulder.
“Oh for the love of...” House mumbled. He turned back around and rubbed a hand down his face.
“Can I get a cheeseburger? Medium well. And a Coke, please. Thanks.”
“He doesn't want anything,” House interjected. The waitress shrugged.
“Sorry,” she said. “He ordered.” She walked away.
“What are you doing here?” House asked through gritted teeth, staring up at Wilson. He knew Wilson was waiting to sit down, but he didn't move over.
“Meeting you for lunch,” Wilson replied calmly. “Can you scoot in?”
House could almost feel the smoke coming out of his ears.
“Uh...should I give you two a minute?” Bill asked uncomfortably.
House moved over, reluctantly, in the booth, and Wilson plopped down next to him. “No, it's alright,” Wilson said, too cheerfully.
“This is Wilson. His day job is meddling under-bridge troll, but on his off hours he meddles in restaurants and the occasional department store.”
“Hi, James Wilson,” Wilson said, extending a hand to Bill and ignoring House's introduction.
Bill shook Wilson's hand. “So you're Wilson. I saw you with Greg at John's funeral but we didn't get introduced. I've heard a lot about you.”
Wilson gave House a pointed look.
“Not too much from him,” Bill clarified. “More from Blythe. She's apparently under the impression that Greg's well-being is your responsibility.”
“Most people are under that impression. Including him.” Wilson jerked a thumb in House's direction.
“I never said that. I said my dry-cleaning was your responsibility. Though I suppose clean clothes fall under well-being, so I can understand your confusion. How did you get here?”
Wilson turned to House. “They have these things now. They're called cabs.”
“How did you know where I was?”
The waitress came and put Wilson's Coke down in front of him and walked away. Wilson turned to it and sipped for a minute before answering. “I didn't. I had the guy drive past a bunch of places till I saw your car.”
“You idiot. How much was the fare?”
“A lot. Can we drop this now?”
“Uh, Greg, I don't mind that he's here,” Bill said.
“I'm sure you don't, but I do,” House replied pointedly. Bill looked uncomfortable again, and House actually felt a little bad. “Wilson,” House said quietly. “Can you please leave? I'm asking you nicely.”
“And I am going to politely decline your request, House, I'm sorry,” Wilson said.
“I'm sorry I called you a meddling troll.”
“Meddling under-bridge troll and, still, no.”
“I'm not sorry,” House snapped.
“I figured,” Wilson sighed. He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Just ignore this. It's like this all the time,” he said to Bill, who nodded, a dubious look on his face.
“So...uh...what is it you...do, Wilson?” Bill asked.
“I'm an oncologist. House and I work at the same hospital.”
“Right, right...” Bill trailed off. The table sank in to an uncomfortable silence.
“Excuse me,” Wilson said, getting up.
“Leaving so soon?” House asked with a falsely ingratiating smile.
“No,” Wilson said. He turned and headed toward the sign that said “bathrooms”.
House turned to Bill. “You'll notice a number of effeminate qualities in Wilson, the first of which being an inability to pee alone. Be right back.” House got up and followed Wilson as quickly as he could, leaving a confused Bill mid-nod at the table.
When they got in to the bathroom, House was surprised that Wilson actually began using a urinal.
“I thought we were in here to talk,” House said.
“Um...I didn't invite you to come with me. I came in here to...” Wilson glanced downward indicatively.
“Well, we're talking.”
“OK. Just know that I'm not going to leave you here with Bill to screw everything up.”
“Wilson, you can't do this. It's my decision. And guess what? Any outrageous thing I might say to Bill, I'll still say, even with you right next to me.”
“Maybe I'll have the chance to stop you, though. I can't sit at your mom's house, in good conscience, and wait idly while you set in motion a complete disaster.” Wilson paused. “Can you at least...look...somewhere else?”
“No,” House said, purposefully inching toward Wilson and stepping up the intensity of his staring. Wilson sighed.
“You're so immature.”
“I can accept that. I'm not the one who's going to wind up with the UTI. Look, Wilson, you're not going to stop me from doing what I want.”
“You only want to do this because you're contrary. You can't have anything simple, or right, or easy...everything has to be...messed up because...because...dammit, I can't pee with you staring at me like that! Knock it off!”
House stepped back with a bemused look on his face, satisfied for the moment at having freaked Wilson out. Now they were even for Wilson having showed up there in the first place. “Calm down. Pee. I'll go over here.”
Wilson let out a long breath. “Thank you. God.”
House snickered when he heard Wilson finally get started with his business. “No problem. Wilson, don't make yourself crazy. Look, does it really matter? Think about this: either I talk to my mom first and Bill second and he either cuts me off or is fine with it. Or, I talk to Bill first and either he's fine with it and everything's cool or he's not and it isn't. My mom might not like it, but the order of the conversations isn't going to alter the outcome in any statistically significant way.”
Wilson zipped up. He shook his head as he turned on the faucet. “That actually sounds logical. I just...it seemed wrong somehow. Disrespectful...to your mom. Of course, you can make anything sound right.”
“You flatter me.”
“I know!” Wilson said. He dried his hands. “Excuse me for still not wanting you to suffer more rejection than you need to, House.”
“Stop trying so hard, Wilson. I'll be fine. And let me worry about my mom. I'm not going to crush her to bits.”
“Great.” Wilson followed House back to the table, where, by now, their food was waiting. Bill was halfway through his sandwich.
“I thought you guys decided not to come back!”
House slid in to his seat and Wilson slid in after him. “No,” House said. “Wilson just needed help in the bathroom. He can't pee unless someone holds it for him.”
Wilson glared at House, a quick, mad blush racing up his face. He shook his head and started eating.
“Bill,” House said, “there's a reason I wanted to meet you before tomorrow. I...had something to talk to you about. But...is there anything you want to talk to me about?” House picked up his burger, but he looked pointedly at Bill. Wilson glanced up, surprised. House was giving Bill a chance to broach the topic.
Bill stared right back at House who could see, in the way that he could when he wanted to because he could read people like books if he cared enough to do so, a flash, very brief and almost unrecognizable, of understanding in Bill's face. House's eyebrows twitched. He knew that Bill knew what was coming; what this was about. Then a curtain fell over Bill's expression, and he was simply waiting for House to speak.
“How long have you known you're my father?”
Bill cleared his throat and looked down at his half-eaten food. House, to his complete amazement and shock, felt any appetite he had disappear. It was the shock of unexpected emotion hitting him, and, really, most true emotions that hit him were unexpected. He had plenty of well-practiced defenses, the least of which was a wall of Vicodin, and if something major got past everything he had set up to knock it down, well...he physically felt it. He felt this. He also felt Wilson looking at him and he knew that Wilson could tell, so he avoided looking at Wilson.
“I've always known you were my son, Greg.” Bill looked up. “Well, as much as a father could know, just by his gut alone. In that sense, I've known since you were born. That's why when you were growing up, I always tried to be part of your life. The thing is...the thing is...I don't think your mom knows.”
“What?” came Wilson's voice before House had a chance to respond. Now House glanced over at him.
“Sorry,” Wilson mumbled at House, sheepishly.
“It's fine,” House mumbled back.
“I know, it's unbelievable,” Bill said. “But what I'm saying is...I had an affair with your mother. Obviously. When you were...conceived...Greg...your mother was with your father and with me. Either one of us could have been your father, and I think she believed...I think she's always believed because she wanted to and needed to...that John was your dad. I...I've always believed you were my son. But the last time I brought it up to Blythe you were about six months old and she insisted that I was wrong, and I didn't want to hurt her or your parents' marriage, so I never asked about it again. Not even now that you're all grown up and your dad is gone. It's not worth pursuing just because I had a hunch.”
House looked over at Wilson again, to find Wilson looking at him. He could almost read what Wilson was thinking. This is not rejection. This is amazing. House was actually feeling a little dizzy.
“You are my biological father,” House said quietly. “I have a dna test that proves it. Well, I have a dna test that proves that my father...John...was not.”
Bill was just sitting there, his arms at his sides, as they all were, food getting cold. House was boggled by a nauseous sensation that left him unable to imagine eating a bite. “I can't be surprised, Greg.” Bill shrugged. “If things had been different...but, they weren't. Your mom had her own family. Our affair ended with you. We couldn't keep on after that. I went on to have my family. It's too bad that...” Bill let his voice trail off and shrugged his shoulders again. “I'm not surprised about John, I'm really not.”
“I...I can't believe you were right,” Wilson said in amazement.
“I can't believe after so many years of knowing me that you still persist in believing I could ever be wrong,” House replied, his voice shaking slightly. He could feel a cold sweat popping out on his face.
“I'm...sorry...I think,” Wilson said. House was smiling lightly at him, and he smiled back, but then his brows furrowed. “Are you alright?”
“Just warm...”
Wilson grabbed House's wrist and felt for his pulse. House's heart was racing. Wilson looked at his face again, noticing how pale it had gotten.
“Wilson...I don't feel well...” House's voice stopped abruptly when his eyes rolled back and he slumped over in the seat.
“Holy shit. House, wake up. Wake up!” Wilson gave House a gentle shake, while Bill looked on with an almost horrified expression.
“Is he alright?”
“He's fine,” Wilson said. Already House's eyelids were fluttering. “He...he passed out.”
“Jesus.”
Wilson glanced at Bill. “He...I told him not to say anything because I didn't want him to get hurt. But this is...he's overwhelmed.”
“He can't handle it when things go alright?”
“Sure he can. He handles it like this.”
House's eyes opened and he licked his lips. “I...heard that...” he said, reaching for his water. He took a sip and cleared his throat, looking at Bill. “That is not how I handle things, good or bad. It just...happened.”
“First you freak at the rest stop and now this.” Wilson shook his head.
“Shut up, Wilson. I'm fine.”
“Well, I'm sorry to contribute to...that...but it really is no big deal, talking about this. Not for me, anyway. I've been on to this for a long time. I just wish we kept in contact a little more.”
“How come...” House straightened up in his seat a little. Wilson patted his arm absentmindedly. “How come you never tried to talk to me about this?”
Bill leaned back in his seat. “I was afraid you were going to ask me that. When I tell you it's because I didn't want to disrupt your life...that's really the truth. I'm...I'm glad you brought it up for this conversation. I wanted to talk to you about it, but we never talk, anyway, and I didn't want to come barging in to your life with this information and...and have you insist that John was your father.”
House snorted. “I would never insist that.”
“I know he was a difficult guy...”
“He was an awful guy,” House said.
“Yeah...I...he wasn't awful to me, but I know he could be...he could be pretty nasty.”
House squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I...used to...wish for a different father.”
Wilson stared at House. He wasn't worried that House was going to cry...he could count on less than a hand the number of times he'd seen House cry over the years, and the majority of those times involved physical pain. But he couldn't believe how emotional House was getting...because he knew this was emotional for House. Anything beyond nonchalance was emotional for House. He also knew that the wishing for a different father should not have been in the past tense. It had been for his whole life.
The waitress chose this moment to reappear. “Sorry, guys, I got slammed with the lunch rush.”
House looked around. The place had filled up quite a bit around them without them even noticing.
“Is everything OK here? Can I get you boys anything else? Some doggy bags?”
They all looked down at their cold food and shook their heads. “No, thank you,” Wilson said, speaking for the group. “Just the check, please.”
When they paid the bill and got outside, Wilson shook hands with Bill and got in to House's car to wait for him.
“I'll see you tomorrow night, Greg,” Bill said.
“Alright.” House stood awkwardly, now just waiting for the moment to be over. “Thanks for...meeting me.”
“No problem.” Bill put his arms around House and patted him on the back again. House patted Bill on the back with his free hand. He still felt awkward, but not entirely as stupid as he had in the beginning.
“Hey, if you want me to talk to your mom with you...”
House shook his head. “No, no...I think it would be better if I handled that.”
“Alright. See you.”
“Bye.”
House got in the car and looked over at Wilson expectantly. Wilson looked back, but didn't talk. “What? You have nothing to say? Nothing about how much I fucked up?”
“I guess...you didn't.”
“What?” House cupped his ear. “I didn't hear you. Say it again?”
“I'm not saying it again.”
House snickered and started the car. “Don't you want to talk to me about my feelings?”
Wilson sighed. He hid a little smile from House. “I think your feelings were pretty clear.”
TBC
Author: athinfacade
Rating: PG to PG13 for now
Summary: House gets haunted by the ghost of Amber. (Hopefully interesting)things ensue. Takes place currently.
Characters: House/Wilson friendship, possible to likely slash later.
Disclaimer: I do not own House, Wilson, or any other characters on the show House. I don't own the show, either. I don't even have a video camera.
A/N: I know it's been a little while since I updated this story. If I mess up any details that the show indicated please let me know. I don't think I did. If you're reading, thank you, and if you comment, thank you. :) Hopefully it makes sense and isn't awful.
Previous parts here: http://community.livejournal.com/house_wilson/3023132.html
Six:
House didn't favor Bill Sharpe. He didn't have strong feelings of any kind toward Bill; no more than he had toward any other human being. He liked Bill; appreciated him because he felt accepted by him. When he saw Bill, he enjoyed his presence as much as he was apt to enjoy anyone's. He didn't love Bill. His feelings about Bill were driven much like the feelings were that he had toward his patients...by obsession, a need to know, a puzzle, a path. The only stronger emotion he had toward Bill Sharpe was a silent gratitude that this man was his real father. It failed to make things better, as he'd told Wilson, but he still stuck the fact on his short mental list of Things That Were Good. House remembered the Bill from his childhood strongly and with positive associations. Maybe when he was a kid he felt something akin to love for the man, though it was probably more his burgeoning obsession, especially once he got the inkling that Bill might be something more to him than just a family friend. In the absence of a real father-son relationship, House had never developed anything that truly took its place. There wasn't a man he loved like a father. He used to think about the absence of that relationship from his life, but he hadn't in a long time. Not till this trip, at least. Now he was uncomfortable because he didn't want to think about it. He was looking forward to seeing Bill, and he didn't want to look forward to it.
Well, at least I'm keeping my expectations low to non-existent. Whatever Bill says about our relationship, I can't lose what I never had to begin with. What would I lose? A man who accompanied my family on trips when I was still in grade school? A man who I rarely speak to, anyway?
House grunted inwardly thinking about the concerns Wilson had expressed earlier. There were only two people in the world whose rejection could hurt him: his mother and Wilson.
My mother already rejected me, at least in part. Maybe not meaning to, maybe many years ago, but in making the choices she made, she did. Wilson already did it, too, but Wilson came back.
If Bill didn't stick around, well, House figured it wouldn't be any great loss.
House pulled up to the little diner-type place where he was meeting Bill. He sat for a minute, thinking about what he was doing; thinking of things his mother and Wilson had said to him.
“What are you doing?”
House looked at the passenger seat, and there she sat, eyeing him with a look he couldn't decipher.
“Nothing.”
“I have serious doubts about this qualifying as nothing. Nothing would be you at your mom's house taking a nap. Or tying all of James' pant legs together. This isn't nothing, House. Go back.”
House flinched. “No!”
“House,” Amber's voice got foreboding, “I'm telling you I don't want you to talk to him before you talk to your mother. You're supposed to be here fixing things, not fucking them all up.”
House gave her his best petulance. “I'm going to do what I want. You can't take away my free will just because you're...here from...the underworld. Now, be gone with you, demon spirit.” House waved a hand at her dismissively.
“OK, have it your way,” Amber said. And she was gone.
“I will!” House said loudly to the empty passenger seat. He got out of the car, grabbed his cane and made his way inside. Bill was already seated, and the place wasn't crowded at all, so House made his way right over.
“Hi,” Bill said, standing up. He offered House his hand and House shook it. Bill hooked his other arm around House's back and patted him between the shoulder blades. House felt awkward.
“Hey, Bill. Hope you weren't waiting too long.”
“Not long at all.” They sat down. House noticed that Bill had a Coke, and he could smell the rum in it. “So, how's the visit so far?”
“Not bad.”
“What brought you here, anyway? I know you don't make a habit of visiting, because I see your mom quite a bit and you're never there. She misses you. She talks about you all the time.”
“Well, work keeps me a lot. I, uh...I decided to come this time just for... a visit. Make sure mom's all right since, um, since dad's not around anymore.” House felt the word “dad” stick in his throat. “You...see mom often?” House sipped at the requisite ice water and wondered when the waitperson would come back so he could get something with alcohol in it.
“Oh, yeah. We spend a good deal of time together. She's a great woman, your mom. I take her with me when I have bowling league. Everyone likes her and...well, she boosts my ego. We go walking sometimes in the mornings or get together for lunch. You know. Old people stuff,” Bill snickered.
House cracked a smile. “I'm not exactly a kid anymore, either.”
“Eh,” Bill waved a hand. “Comparatively speaking, you might as well be. I know you're not married, Greg. You at least have a woman?”
House couldn't help but grin at this. “Not exactly, no.”
Bill shook his head. “You should. You need one. Your mom worries about you being alone so much. And, anyway, it's...it's good for you.”
House could feel himself getting defensive, so he was glad that the waitress showed up at that minute to take his drink order.
“You know what you want to eat?” she asked.
“Um...no. Can I get a minute?” House asked. Bill nodded in agreement.
“Sure. I'll be back with your drink.”
“Anyone you like?” Bill asked when the waitress walked away.
“Why are you so concerned with my love life?” House asked. He didn't mean it to sound defensive, but he knew it did. Bill looked a little taken aback.
“I was just asking. Just making conversation, Greg. Besides, like I said, I know your mom worries.”
“What does she say about me?”
“Uh...that you work too much. That you don't call enough. That she never sees you. That she's worried about you being alone. Oh, and she hopes your friend...uh...Nielson? She hopes he's watching out for you, at least.”
“Wilson?”
“Yeah, that's it.”
“My mom talks about Wilson?”
“Sometimes. Only when she's worrying about you. She says, oh, I hope he's at least spending time with Wilson. Or whatever. Anyway, that's the only reason I was asking. About your situation with women. You're the one who wanted to get together one on one...not that I don't want to...but did you have something you'd rather talk about? Otherwise I'm afraid you're going to be stuck with my small talk.” Bill smiled.
The waitress came back with House's drink. “You guys ready to order?”
House pointed at Bill. “You first.”
“Uh...I'll have...a, um, turkey. On rye with mayo. Please. Thanks.”
“And for you?” The waitress looked at House.
“I'll have a burger. Medium well. No pickles. Thanks.”
“No problem,” the waitress said. “I'll be back.”
“Excuse me, wait!” Came a voice from somewhere behind their table. Bill looked up, the waitress turned around, and House, disbelieving, looked over his shoulder.
“Oh for the love of...” House mumbled. He turned back around and rubbed a hand down his face.
“Can I get a cheeseburger? Medium well. And a Coke, please. Thanks.”
“He doesn't want anything,” House interjected. The waitress shrugged.
“Sorry,” she said. “He ordered.” She walked away.
“What are you doing here?” House asked through gritted teeth, staring up at Wilson. He knew Wilson was waiting to sit down, but he didn't move over.
“Meeting you for lunch,” Wilson replied calmly. “Can you scoot in?”
House could almost feel the smoke coming out of his ears.
“Uh...should I give you two a minute?” Bill asked uncomfortably.
House moved over, reluctantly, in the booth, and Wilson plopped down next to him. “No, it's alright,” Wilson said, too cheerfully.
“This is Wilson. His day job is meddling under-bridge troll, but on his off hours he meddles in restaurants and the occasional department store.”
“Hi, James Wilson,” Wilson said, extending a hand to Bill and ignoring House's introduction.
Bill shook Wilson's hand. “So you're Wilson. I saw you with Greg at John's funeral but we didn't get introduced. I've heard a lot about you.”
Wilson gave House a pointed look.
“Not too much from him,” Bill clarified. “More from Blythe. She's apparently under the impression that Greg's well-being is your responsibility.”
“Most people are under that impression. Including him.” Wilson jerked a thumb in House's direction.
“I never said that. I said my dry-cleaning was your responsibility. Though I suppose clean clothes fall under well-being, so I can understand your confusion. How did you get here?”
Wilson turned to House. “They have these things now. They're called cabs.”
“How did you know where I was?”
The waitress came and put Wilson's Coke down in front of him and walked away. Wilson turned to it and sipped for a minute before answering. “I didn't. I had the guy drive past a bunch of places till I saw your car.”
“You idiot. How much was the fare?”
“A lot. Can we drop this now?”
“Uh, Greg, I don't mind that he's here,” Bill said.
“I'm sure you don't, but I do,” House replied pointedly. Bill looked uncomfortable again, and House actually felt a little bad. “Wilson,” House said quietly. “Can you please leave? I'm asking you nicely.”
“And I am going to politely decline your request, House, I'm sorry,” Wilson said.
“I'm sorry I called you a meddling troll.”
“Meddling under-bridge troll and, still, no.”
“I'm not sorry,” House snapped.
“I figured,” Wilson sighed. He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Just ignore this. It's like this all the time,” he said to Bill, who nodded, a dubious look on his face.
“So...uh...what is it you...do, Wilson?” Bill asked.
“I'm an oncologist. House and I work at the same hospital.”
“Right, right...” Bill trailed off. The table sank in to an uncomfortable silence.
“Excuse me,” Wilson said, getting up.
“Leaving so soon?” House asked with a falsely ingratiating smile.
“No,” Wilson said. He turned and headed toward the sign that said “bathrooms”.
House turned to Bill. “You'll notice a number of effeminate qualities in Wilson, the first of which being an inability to pee alone. Be right back.” House got up and followed Wilson as quickly as he could, leaving a confused Bill mid-nod at the table.
When they got in to the bathroom, House was surprised that Wilson actually began using a urinal.
“I thought we were in here to talk,” House said.
“Um...I didn't invite you to come with me. I came in here to...” Wilson glanced downward indicatively.
“Well, we're talking.”
“OK. Just know that I'm not going to leave you here with Bill to screw everything up.”
“Wilson, you can't do this. It's my decision. And guess what? Any outrageous thing I might say to Bill, I'll still say, even with you right next to me.”
“Maybe I'll have the chance to stop you, though. I can't sit at your mom's house, in good conscience, and wait idly while you set in motion a complete disaster.” Wilson paused. “Can you at least...look...somewhere else?”
“No,” House said, purposefully inching toward Wilson and stepping up the intensity of his staring. Wilson sighed.
“You're so immature.”
“I can accept that. I'm not the one who's going to wind up with the UTI. Look, Wilson, you're not going to stop me from doing what I want.”
“You only want to do this because you're contrary. You can't have anything simple, or right, or easy...everything has to be...messed up because...because...dammit, I can't pee with you staring at me like that! Knock it off!”
House stepped back with a bemused look on his face, satisfied for the moment at having freaked Wilson out. Now they were even for Wilson having showed up there in the first place. “Calm down. Pee. I'll go over here.”
Wilson let out a long breath. “Thank you. God.”
House snickered when he heard Wilson finally get started with his business. “No problem. Wilson, don't make yourself crazy. Look, does it really matter? Think about this: either I talk to my mom first and Bill second and he either cuts me off or is fine with it. Or, I talk to Bill first and either he's fine with it and everything's cool or he's not and it isn't. My mom might not like it, but the order of the conversations isn't going to alter the outcome in any statistically significant way.”
Wilson zipped up. He shook his head as he turned on the faucet. “That actually sounds logical. I just...it seemed wrong somehow. Disrespectful...to your mom. Of course, you can make anything sound right.”
“You flatter me.”
“I know!” Wilson said. He dried his hands. “Excuse me for still not wanting you to suffer more rejection than you need to, House.”
“Stop trying so hard, Wilson. I'll be fine. And let me worry about my mom. I'm not going to crush her to bits.”
“Great.” Wilson followed House back to the table, where, by now, their food was waiting. Bill was halfway through his sandwich.
“I thought you guys decided not to come back!”
House slid in to his seat and Wilson slid in after him. “No,” House said. “Wilson just needed help in the bathroom. He can't pee unless someone holds it for him.”
Wilson glared at House, a quick, mad blush racing up his face. He shook his head and started eating.
“Bill,” House said, “there's a reason I wanted to meet you before tomorrow. I...had something to talk to you about. But...is there anything you want to talk to me about?” House picked up his burger, but he looked pointedly at Bill. Wilson glanced up, surprised. House was giving Bill a chance to broach the topic.
Bill stared right back at House who could see, in the way that he could when he wanted to because he could read people like books if he cared enough to do so, a flash, very brief and almost unrecognizable, of understanding in Bill's face. House's eyebrows twitched. He knew that Bill knew what was coming; what this was about. Then a curtain fell over Bill's expression, and he was simply waiting for House to speak.
“How long have you known you're my father?”
Bill cleared his throat and looked down at his half-eaten food. House, to his complete amazement and shock, felt any appetite he had disappear. It was the shock of unexpected emotion hitting him, and, really, most true emotions that hit him were unexpected. He had plenty of well-practiced defenses, the least of which was a wall of Vicodin, and if something major got past everything he had set up to knock it down, well...he physically felt it. He felt this. He also felt Wilson looking at him and he knew that Wilson could tell, so he avoided looking at Wilson.
“I've always known you were my son, Greg.” Bill looked up. “Well, as much as a father could know, just by his gut alone. In that sense, I've known since you were born. That's why when you were growing up, I always tried to be part of your life. The thing is...the thing is...I don't think your mom knows.”
“What?” came Wilson's voice before House had a chance to respond. Now House glanced over at him.
“Sorry,” Wilson mumbled at House, sheepishly.
“It's fine,” House mumbled back.
“I know, it's unbelievable,” Bill said. “But what I'm saying is...I had an affair with your mother. Obviously. When you were...conceived...Greg...your mother was with your father and with me. Either one of us could have been your father, and I think she believed...I think she's always believed because she wanted to and needed to...that John was your dad. I...I've always believed you were my son. But the last time I brought it up to Blythe you were about six months old and she insisted that I was wrong, and I didn't want to hurt her or your parents' marriage, so I never asked about it again. Not even now that you're all grown up and your dad is gone. It's not worth pursuing just because I had a hunch.”
House looked over at Wilson again, to find Wilson looking at him. He could almost read what Wilson was thinking. This is not rejection. This is amazing. House was actually feeling a little dizzy.
“You are my biological father,” House said quietly. “I have a dna test that proves it. Well, I have a dna test that proves that my father...John...was not.”
Bill was just sitting there, his arms at his sides, as they all were, food getting cold. House was boggled by a nauseous sensation that left him unable to imagine eating a bite. “I can't be surprised, Greg.” Bill shrugged. “If things had been different...but, they weren't. Your mom had her own family. Our affair ended with you. We couldn't keep on after that. I went on to have my family. It's too bad that...” Bill let his voice trail off and shrugged his shoulders again. “I'm not surprised about John, I'm really not.”
“I...I can't believe you were right,” Wilson said in amazement.
“I can't believe after so many years of knowing me that you still persist in believing I could ever be wrong,” House replied, his voice shaking slightly. He could feel a cold sweat popping out on his face.
“I'm...sorry...I think,” Wilson said. House was smiling lightly at him, and he smiled back, but then his brows furrowed. “Are you alright?”
“Just warm...”
Wilson grabbed House's wrist and felt for his pulse. House's heart was racing. Wilson looked at his face again, noticing how pale it had gotten.
“Wilson...I don't feel well...” House's voice stopped abruptly when his eyes rolled back and he slumped over in the seat.
“Holy shit. House, wake up. Wake up!” Wilson gave House a gentle shake, while Bill looked on with an almost horrified expression.
“Is he alright?”
“He's fine,” Wilson said. Already House's eyelids were fluttering. “He...he passed out.”
“Jesus.”
Wilson glanced at Bill. “He...I told him not to say anything because I didn't want him to get hurt. But this is...he's overwhelmed.”
“He can't handle it when things go alright?”
“Sure he can. He handles it like this.”
House's eyes opened and he licked his lips. “I...heard that...” he said, reaching for his water. He took a sip and cleared his throat, looking at Bill. “That is not how I handle things, good or bad. It just...happened.”
“First you freak at the rest stop and now this.” Wilson shook his head.
“Shut up, Wilson. I'm fine.”
“Well, I'm sorry to contribute to...that...but it really is no big deal, talking about this. Not for me, anyway. I've been on to this for a long time. I just wish we kept in contact a little more.”
“How come...” House straightened up in his seat a little. Wilson patted his arm absentmindedly. “How come you never tried to talk to me about this?”
Bill leaned back in his seat. “I was afraid you were going to ask me that. When I tell you it's because I didn't want to disrupt your life...that's really the truth. I'm...I'm glad you brought it up for this conversation. I wanted to talk to you about it, but we never talk, anyway, and I didn't want to come barging in to your life with this information and...and have you insist that John was your father.”
House snorted. “I would never insist that.”
“I know he was a difficult guy...”
“He was an awful guy,” House said.
“Yeah...I...he wasn't awful to me, but I know he could be...he could be pretty nasty.”
House squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I...used to...wish for a different father.”
Wilson stared at House. He wasn't worried that House was going to cry...he could count on less than a hand the number of times he'd seen House cry over the years, and the majority of those times involved physical pain. But he couldn't believe how emotional House was getting...because he knew this was emotional for House. Anything beyond nonchalance was emotional for House. He also knew that the wishing for a different father should not have been in the past tense. It had been for his whole life.
The waitress chose this moment to reappear. “Sorry, guys, I got slammed with the lunch rush.”
House looked around. The place had filled up quite a bit around them without them even noticing.
“Is everything OK here? Can I get you boys anything else? Some doggy bags?”
They all looked down at their cold food and shook their heads. “No, thank you,” Wilson said, speaking for the group. “Just the check, please.”
When they paid the bill and got outside, Wilson shook hands with Bill and got in to House's car to wait for him.
“I'll see you tomorrow night, Greg,” Bill said.
“Alright.” House stood awkwardly, now just waiting for the moment to be over. “Thanks for...meeting me.”
“No problem.” Bill put his arms around House and patted him on the back again. House patted Bill on the back with his free hand. He still felt awkward, but not entirely as stupid as he had in the beginning.
“Hey, if you want me to talk to your mom with you...”
House shook his head. “No, no...I think it would be better if I handled that.”
“Alright. See you.”
“Bye.”
House got in the car and looked over at Wilson expectantly. Wilson looked back, but didn't talk. “What? You have nothing to say? Nothing about how much I fucked up?”
“I guess...you didn't.”
“What?” House cupped his ear. “I didn't hear you. Say it again?”
“I'm not saying it again.”
House snickered and started the car. “Don't you want to talk to me about my feelings?”
Wilson sighed. He hid a little smile from House. “I think your feelings were pretty clear.”
TBC
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Date: 2009-01-13 07:58 pm (UTC)I feel like I'm spying on some friends and because I'm nosy, I can't stop. Does that make sense?
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Date: 2009-01-13 08:03 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading! And for commenting. :)
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Date: 2009-01-14 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 01:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 11:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-14 01:24 pm (UTC)