cindylouwho | Turn Back Time (complete)

Wilson sat in his office, gnawing unconsciously on his chapped lower lip. He was totally tuned out, galaxies away, and he didn't hear the characteristically loud entrance belonging to House.

“Wilson. Wilson!” House practically shouted to break Wilson's trance. House stared at Wilson's shock back to reality. In the seconds before, he had seen a look on Wilson's face that he hadn't seen in months. It was the bone weary look of the grieving and the same look Wilson had worn as he left House's hospital room after Amber had died. House shook his head slightly at his reverie and turned his attention back to Wilson.

Wilson shut his eyes tight and then reopened them as if to erase an image from his conscious mind. He stared wide eyed at House, taking him and his surroundings in. “Wilson, what's wrong? Are you sick,” House asked. House never asked him what was wrong and due to this, Wilson tried to keep the rising panic from escalating as his mouth gaped open but no sound came out.

House came around to where Wilson was seated at his desk and looked down at a shell shocked Wilson. He would never admit it, but he was starting to worry about his friend. All Wilson was able to do was to utter some sort of whimpering sound, and wrapping his arms around House's waist, Wilson held on for dear life.

House was unused to physical contact, even with someone he had known for as long as Wilson. But the events of the past months caused him to rethink his initial thoughts of pulling away. They stayed like that, locked together for some time. Despite the pain in his leg, House was afraid to move, afraid to see what was written across Wilson's face.

Time passed, and only when a tremor shook House's leg did Wilson pull back. Freed from Wilson's arms, House moved the short distance to the couch, popping Vicodin, and rubbing his mangled thigh. Wilson sat there a while longer and finally moved, the tear tracks on his face the only giveaway of his emotional condition. He went to the small refrigerator and retrieved water for each of them, and joined House on the couch.

Silence descended upon them, like a thick blanket of winter snow. House, awkward in such situations, wisely kept his mouth shut. Wilson, on the other hand, had plenty to say, but was unsure how to start, unsure how long he would be able to stay composed.

Wilson took a deep breath and tried to relax. He began to relay to House about the phone call he had received that afternoon from his mother. She had called to tell him that his childhood best friend, John, had committed suicide the day before. It was a sudden, random act, that had that suburban neighborhood in shock and despair. Wilson continued to tell House the details that he knew, and that there would be a memorial service the following day. At some point House tuned out, his own thoughts flashing to a few Christmastimes past and a moment with a jack knife not too far in the past. No wonder Wilson is flipping out, House mused. He was suddenly overwhelmed with fondness and sympathy for Wilson, something he wasn't normally capable of. House looked up into Wilson's reddened eyes, and tear stained face and simply said, “I'm sorry.”

Wilson pushed the memory of the last time House had said he was sorry to him back, as he cleared his throat; composing himself. He began to tidy up his office, putting files into his briefcase to review later on, and shut down his laptop. House fidgeted with his cane, unsure if he was a help or hindrance right now. Wilson called Cuddy and explained the situation at hand and that he would need a few days off. Cuddy was more than willing to give him the time and inquired if he was going to be going on his own. Wilson paused when she asked him that. He hadn't thought about asking House to come along, but realized it might be a good idea. When Wilson looked over at House, and was about to ask him when House simply nodded and limped out of Wilson's office, heading toward his own. Wilson exhaled rapidly, unaware he had been holding his breath. “No, House is going to come with me,” he said to Cuddy before ending the call.

House came back to Wilson's office a few moments later, his blue backpack slung over his shoulder. “Everything cleared with Cuddy?” Wilson nodded. “What did you tell your team?” House smirked. “I told Foreman not to admit anyone, Taub to keep it in his pants, 13 to make videos of any of her sexual encounters, and told Kutner to stay away from any defibrillator machines. That should about cover it.” Wilson chuckled for the first time in hours as he locked up his office and the two headed for the elevator.

After stopping at their respective apartments for clothing and necessities, Wilson steered the car north. They were quiet the first thirty miles or so. House was curious about this friend of Wilson's he had never heard of, and although the curiosity was killing him, he was too hesitant to start the conversation.

Finally, after about forty minutes of strained silence, Wilson began to talk. He told House of how they met in the second grade because their last names were close in relation to the alphabet. Wilson took to Jon straightaway because to him it was immediately clear he needed a friend. Jon was small, but robust for his age, and his family didn't have much money. He was a loner, until Wilson took him under his wing. Jon was picked on all through grade school, middle school and all the way through high school in fact. Jon never “looked” right, or tried to fit in, or did whatever the social norm was at the time. Wilson always tried to be his protector for what it was worth, even if it meant he was ostracized as well. House had to smirk at that. It seemed like Wilson was still making the same mistakes when it came to selecting his friends.

As they drove through New York and Connecticut, Wilson's mood seemed to brighten slightly, as he reminisced about good times and told stories of his youth. He told House of ski trips, tales of sneaking out of the house, and staying out all night. He explained how things changed when they went to separate colleges. Jon was so excited to be away from his home, his family and went a little wild. The first time Wilson went to visit him, he hardly recognized his friend; he'd lost a ton of weight, had obviously been doing a fair amount of drugs, and had picked up smoking as a habit.

That was when everything began to change, and when their relationship changed. Wilson had gotten into a fast track program at McGill and was busy studying and learning as much as he could in preparation for med school. Whenever he talked to Jon, it was about some girl or some guy, or the latest party he had hit; the highest he had been. Wilson had such a hard time understanding the changes that his friend had undergone. Jon always wanted to help people, to give back, and had always talked about going into law or education or social work. But all he seemed to care about was party, party, party.

Wilson sighed, drained from the conversation. House looked at him carefully, trying to figure out what was going on in Wilson's mind. Wilson glanced at him, a slight smile on his lips. “Thanks for listening.” House nodded slowly, and fiddled with his cane, not wanting to match Wilson's scrutiny. “So what happened after you finished college? You went on to medical school obviously. What did Jon end up doing?”

Wilson sighed. “I'm not sure what he did, right after college we kind of lost touch for a bit. My first year into med school, I was so busy with classes and studying and getting as much hands on experience as I could. I hardly had time to call my parents, never mind keeping in touch with Jon or any of my friends.” House nodded. He didn't share the same sentiments, but knew what Wilson meant nonetheless.

“I think it was the summer before my second year of med school. He called me in the middle of the night out of his mind. I don't know if he was drunk or stoned or what, but he was incoherent, babbling on about some girl. And then he started crying, sobbing about how much he missed me, how alone he was, still at home and everything. I didn't know what to do, I kept trying to tell him it was going to be ok, and then he just stopped talking. I guess he passed out or something because when I called him back the next day, he had no idea what I was talking about. It was then I think I realized there was something wrong, other than the possibility of drugs, something wrong with him mentally. I wasn't sure if he was bi-polar, depressed, or something else. I just didn't know what to do.”

House was silent, staring out the window. He felt slightly guilty, all those times he worried Wilson, called him in the middle of the night drunk or in pain. He hadn't known about Jon, or he might have done some things differently. People always said that House was the most closed off of the two, but it was really Wilson no one really knew anything about.

House noticed that while they had crossed the Massachusetts border Wilson had gone quiet. He was still curious, still didn’t have enough information for the mini white board he had set up in his mind, but didn't necessarily want to upset Wilson any more than he was. Even House could be compassionate sometimes. That didn't, however, mean House wasn’t slightly hurt that Wilson had kept all this from him. He prided himself on knowing everything about everyone. “I mean I've known you for what, twenty some odd years and I am only now hearing about this guy? What gives?”

Wilson pursed his lips and thought for a few minutes about how to approach this with House. He didn't think House would be disgusted or angry, but one could never tell with House. Wilson decided to be direct about it, and get the entire story out in the open.

“I think I had just finished my second year of medical school, and I had come home to see my family. Jon was still living in the area, and we made plans to meet. So I came home, did the family thing for a bit, and then went to meet Jon at some bar, I don't even remember the name of it now. By the time I got there, he had already had a few. He was ok at first; we caught up, reminisced about the old times, but there was something different about him I couldn't quite figure out.” Wilson paused and glanced over at House, who at least was making the attempt to feign interest. “But I figured it out when he leaned over and kissed me.”

If House could have jumped, he would have. “He did what? He kissed you?” Kissed you how, on the cheek like the French or full on the mouth? He stared at Wilson, who was suddenly finding the highway very interesting. That told him everything he needed to know. House couldn't just let this go. He had to know what happened. “So what happened? Did you freak out and punch him? Tell him you'd never speak to him again? What?”

Wilson took a deep breath. He looked to his right, to make sure no cars were coming, and pulled over to the side of the road. He parked, but left the engine running. He leaned forward so his elbows rested on the steering wheel and braced his head in his arms. “No House, I didn't do any of those things. We had an affair the entire time I was home. But before I left I called it off. The affair and the friendship. It was just too much. He was too much. He was bi-polar, and for most of the time I was home he was in a manic phase, hardly sleeping, partying, and sleeping with me. Yes the sex was great, but when he crashed he crashed hard.”

“Two days before I was supposed to go back to med school, he wouldn't get out of bed. He wouldn't look at me, talk to me. I thought at the time he was ashamed of me, but now I know he just couldn't deal with me leaving. I left information about places he could get help, medicines that were making a difference for people, but he wanted nothing of it. He called me a few times since, over the years, but I always missed the call. I heard he had gotten help, treatment or something, but nothing really more. And then I had wife one, and then I met you, and I sort of just let the past stay in the past.” All House could do was nod. Wilson pulled back on to the highway and continued to head north.

This was a lot for House to take in. He was aware of some of the parallels of the two of them with the drinking and the drugs, but never, never had he ever imagined he would have ever had a chance with Wilson being more than his friend. Especially now, after Amber, and all the things that have happened over the past twenty years. He wished he had just taken a chance all those times he had the chance. All those times when he wanted nothing more to reach over and touch Wilson. All that lost time. He wondered if he still had a chance, or if this, along with what happened to Amber, put Gregory House at the very bottom of the list of people who James Wilson would never sleep with.
The remainder of the day and the next day were unremarkable. House was uncharacteristically quiet, saying his leg just was hurting more, and did everything he possibly could to be a supportive friend to Wilson. He was even quiet and reverent during the funeral. House mocked him at all the inappropriate times of course, like when he was blow drying his hair, or helping his mother with the dishes, but still Wilson knew he was trying.

They decided to stay in Boston an extra day, since it was now the weekend, and neither of them had to be back at the hospital. They did some touristy things, not too much walking of course, and decided on a nice meal for their last evening.

Wilson showered and used the bathroom first, which gave him the chance to go downstairs to get the suit he had ordered on a whim. While they had been out, House had noticed the soft gray suit in a store window. Wilson had commented at the time about how nice it would look on House, which led to a diatribe about how House could dress so much better, which he conveniently ignored. But he did make a note of the name of the store, and while they were having lunch, he went to use the bathroom and made a call to the store to have the suit delivered to their hotel.

When Wilson finally exited, all primped and his hair blown dry, House rolled his eyes, and as he walked by Wilson and ruffled his perfect hair. House laughed at Wilson's irritated glare, and quickly made his way into the bathroom and Wilson was none the wiser about what House had been carrying with him.

About thirty minutes later House exited the bathroom. Wilson glanced over at him, and had to do a double take. House was wearing the soft gray suit from the store window, paired with his sky blue shirt and a gray silk tie threaded with the filament of blue. And most surprisingly of all, it looked like House had shaved, but on closer inspection, he had just trimmed down to the barest stubble. If Wilson didn't know any better, he would have thought House was trying to court him.

“You look, you look great House.” I really mean that,” Wilson stammered out. House rolled his eyes and laughed. “You mean I look your definition of 'good,'” House countered. Wilson just nodded, not wanting to ruin the evening and led them out of the hotel room, thinking to himself when had House's eyes had gotten so blue.

Dinner was excellent; the food was delectable, and House was on his best behavior, so Wilson didn't even think about lecturing him when he ordered a second and third scotch. They talked about House's latest case, and Wilson even told some stories about he and Jon from when they were kids.

By the time they got back to the hotel, they were both slightly intoxicated and not very steady on their feet. They made it without any major issues back to the room, and both collapsed laughing on the couch. House freed himself from the confines of his tie, and turned to Wilson. “Are you ok? Really ok?” Wilson stared at House, wide eyed and confused. House got up and poured himself a drink from the mini bar. “I know this past year hasn't been easy for you. I was trying to be a good friend and ask if you were ok. I know it's not something I normally do, but I'm drunk enough now so I might not remember it tomorrow.”

Wilson laughed. “Yeah. I'm ok. It was a shock at first hearing about Jon. It brought back a lot of good and bad memories about Jon, about Amber. About our friendship.” House looked down at the carpet. Wilson got up and joined him where House stood at the mini bar. “I miss Amber every day. But if I had lost you, I don't know what I would have done.” House swallowed back the uncomfortable rising sadness. “You would have been ok Wilson. You're strong, you have friends and co workers who care about you. You would have been fine,” House said quietly. He drained the rest of his scotch and set the glass down.

They stood there in the uncomfortable silence for a moment, until Wilson took a deep breath and continued. “I wouldn't have been fine. I would have lost the chance to tell you . . . “ Wilson's voice broke off, and he looked up at the ceiling, trying to will the tears away. “I would have lost the chance to tell you that I love you too.” House smiled slightly as Wilson placed his hand on top of House's, which was still holding on to the glass. “We always keep coming back to each other,” Wilson said softly. “Yeah, we do,” said House. And in that moment, House knew this was the moment, his moment to take a chance. So he leaned forward, closed the distance between the two of them, and kissed Wilson softly on the lips. And he knew it was the right moment, as he felt Wilson smile into the embrace.

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Turn Back Time (complete)

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