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“Could be a tuberculoma,” Chase offered.
House bounced his good leg. “Tuberculoma doesn’t account for all the physical symptoms.”
The fellows shared a glance. Cameron spoke up. “I…thought the physical symptoms were explained by the accident he was in a few weeks ago.”
House squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes, I know that.” He chastised the team like it was obvious, even though he had forgotten. “The moles on his back. He didn’t have those from birth, did he? Could be cancer.” He posed, rubbing his face as if he was tired.
Foreman raised an eyebrow, as he was wont to do when something concerning was said. “The patient doesn’t have any moles on his back, House.”
House opened his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. He tapped worriedly on the table. Was he losing it? He definitely remembered seeing moles on the patient’s back. Or…wait.
His fist slammed down into the table with little warning. Cameron jumped, worried the glass would shatter.
“Are you–” she started.
“I need to go.” House stood and walked out of the room, leaving his fellows with no direction or information whatsoever.
Wilson has moles on his back, House thought, making his way down the hallway, cringing at himself. How juvenile was it that he had mixed that up? Running through the symptoms he realized how boring of a case this actually was. Chase was right: it was a tuberculoma. How did he not see it from the beginning? Why was he so…distracted?
House peered into the sliver of window beside Wilson’s door. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve loved to barge in on a patient meeting, but right now he wasn’t even sure what he was planning to do. Luckily, the man was alone. Focused, but alone. How dare he be focused when House couldn’t even remember the details of a simple case?
He opened the door. Wilson looked up at him, opening his mouth to ask what House needed. Then, his mouth shut, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as House started to twist all the blinds closed. Eventually Wilson sighed, recognition flashing in his expression.
“I’m busy, House, we can’t– not right now,” he protested.
House rolled his eyes at him. “Am I a whore to you, Jimmy?” he asked. “That’s not why I’m here.”
Wilson was confused again. “Why’d you close the blinds?”
House looked away, almost sheepishly. “I dunno,” he admitted.
Wilson scanned the look on his face. He sighed again, exasperated. “Look, I don’t have time for games, okay, I told you, I’m busy–”
“I need something from you. I don’t know what it is.”
Wilson’s expression softened at the honesty in House’s voice. “Is something wrong?” Wilson asked.
House was still avoiding eye contact. He tapped his cane nervously against the carpet, using the vibrations under his feet to ground himself. “I’m distracted. I can’t figure out why.” Wilson tilted his head a little. “I’m not in too much pain, I’m not tired, I’m not horny. I don’t know. I got…confused. I tried to explain symptoms that the patient didn’t have.”
“Which were…?” Wilson goaded.
House groaned, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling. “Moles on his back.” Wilson raised his eyebrows. “Patient doesn’t have moles on his back. You do.”
Wilson laughed. “And you’re sure you’re not horny?” House scoffed and made eye contact with him again. Wilson got up and walked around his desk to meet House. They stood face-to-face now, and House felt his heart rate raise slightly. God, how pathetic is that? Wilson crossed his arms. “What do you need?”
“I just told you, I don’t know–”
“What do you want, House?”
House’s mind was blank. It was frustrating, being unable to solve a puzzle, but when that puzzle was in his own head, it felt like a different emotion altogether. He stared at Wilson, who looked so smug. No, not smug. Some combination of adoration and pity. House just wanted to kiss that stupid expression off of his face– oh.
Hm.
He leaned forward and put his hand on Wilson’s cheek, rubbing across soft skin with the pad of his thumb. Wilson’s face was beginning to heat up, but he kept his cool anyhow. He settled his hands tentatively on House’s hips, as if they were slow dancing at prom. The contact still made House shiver like he’d never been touched before.
This all felt so domestic and embarrassing. It was girly , a repressed and horribly passé part of House thought. He almost wanted to walk out of the room and pretend he was being bothersome on purpose. But the way Wilson was looking at him told him he probably wouldn’t get away with that. It also made his resolve fade in a way that felt so vulnerable he thought he might be killed. House felt his features relax as he pressed their foreheads together, eyes closing almost automatically. After a moment, it was clear Wilson was letting him take the lead on this.
House kissed him, soft at first, shallow and tender. He exhaled in frustration when he realized this was working; he was starting to feel better. Wilson deepened the kiss, slipping his arms around House’s body. Eventually, to House’s horror, he realized he was being hugged .
“Hey,” he mumbled into the kiss. “Stop that.” Wilson just hugged him tighter, kissed him sweeter. A tingling buzz ran up and down his spine, the touch feeling so foreign in a way that was embarrassing.
The kiss wasn’t chaste, but it wasn’t lustful. It was something in between that House couldn’t define. Perhaps he could define it, but that didn’t mean he could accept what it meant. His eyes were closed, but everything was in shades of yellow and orange. The feeling of deep dark red that underlined it all felt less intimidating now; a nuisance, to be sure, but one that could be dealt with.
Wilson pulled away, and the small (quite humiliating) sound that left House’s throat was all his fault. Wilson just looked at him fondly. “That was it, huh? You wanted a kiss?”
“I could kill you right now.”
Wilson kissed him again, quick and soft. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” House lied, trying to prolong the conversation so he could stay in Wilson’s arms. “I’d slit your throat.”
If anyone else had said that to Wilson, looking so deep into his eyes, sounding so deadly serious, it would’ve been cause for concern. But with House, it was just Tuesday.
“You really know how to make a girl swoon,” Wilson deadpanned.
"You're not a girl." House put his head on Wilson’s shoulder, poorly pretending he didn’t just want to get closer to him. "If you were, I would have different methods…”
Wilson chuckled before he registered that House had trailed off. He pushed their bodies apart in order to get a look at his face. It was just as he had suspected.
“Oh God, is this one of your moments ?”
“It’s not a tuberculoma,” House stated, almost like a response. Wilson couldn’t help but to laugh.
“Happy to be of some service.” He patted his partner’s shoulder. “Go get ‘em. Or whatever.”
House kissed him, yet again, as a silent thank-you, and marched out the door. Once he knew Wilson couldn’t see him, he smiled.
Wilson was busy. But, now, all he could think about was how, more than pain, more than pleasure, more than an unsolved puzzle, his kiss had distracted Gregory House. That’s gotta count for something.