Fic: In A Way

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Title: In A Way
Author:  jihime47 
Rating: PG
Warnings: Spoilers for S5, maybe S4
Disclaimer: Don't own the show. Shore does. If I owned it, House would be 4th Mrs. Wilson. Oh yeah.
A/N: My very first finished fanfic in English. And first real piece of writing since October 2008. No beta, all mistakes are mine. I wrote half of it in the middle of the night on my mobile phone while listening to triedunture's podfic of nakeno's and recrudescence's Discovery. That was one weird night.



There are two beds in the room, both narrow, squeaky and uncomfortable, placed in the opposite corners and separated by a table and a chair. No blinds in the windows, moonlight seeping inside, making everything go gray-blue, almost surreal.

House is sitting on the covers, his back to the wall, eyes closed. He doesn’t have to look, he knows that they’re here. Been here for a few days now, he doesn’t bother to count. It won’t help him. There’s no exact date of his “release”, actually he’s not so sure there ever will be one.

“Ignoring me again?” Amber asks, smirking. She lies on her side on top of the covers, head propped up on one elbow. “You could do this at home. Same effect.”

“No TV, no stereo, no books,” Kutner adds, sounding slightly bored. He’s sitting on the table, swinging his legs like a child waiting for something. “How long are we going to stay here?”

“Shut up,” House murmurs. “As long as you’re here, I’m not going anywhere. Thought you got this figured out.”

“Oh, come on! We’ve been sitting here for days, doing absolutely nothing,” Kutner continues. “Doing things changes things, remember? Not doing things--”

“Then do something,” House snaps, opening his eyes and glaring at him with murderous intent. Can you kill someone who's already dead? he wonders. “You’ve got a bed, right? What did you tell me once? That Amber’s got legs that go all the way up to Canada?”

“I beg your pardon?” Amber sits straight on the bed, he can hear the springs squeaking in protest. They shouldn’t. She’s a hallucination for Christ’s sake. “House, are you out of your mind?” House and Kutner snort at the choice of words. She ignores them. “You want--”

“I’m kind of desperate, you know,” House says. “Would do anything to shut you up. And since I have no internet connection nor cable--” He lies back on the mattress, closes his eyes and tries to go to sleep. He needs it. Hadn’t sleep through the night for a long time now, not counting the sleeping pills.

The room is silent for a moment. Then, sound of footsteps on the linoleum, high heels click-clicking a few times.

“House,” Amber whispers into his ear, “look at me.”

He slowly opens his eyes. She’s standing next to his bed, arms crossed, a knowing grin on her face. Kutner is staring at them both, giving House an amused smile of his own, legs still swinging.

“What?” House groans.

“Tell me something,” she raises one leg, knee digging into the mattress. House’s eyes widen. “What do you think,” her other leg goes over his own to rest on the other side, next to his hip. The bed squeaks loudly. “Why me?” she asks, leaning forward, then chuckling. “There has to be a reason, always is.”

House closes his eyes. “And why do you ask? Get off me.”

“It could be anyone,” she continues, “Your dad, Kutner--”

“I’m here!” Kutner protests. “You--”

“But I was first,” she interrupts him, then turns back to House. “So? Come on, House, you have to know the answer, you always do. Think. Answer the question.”

“Get off me,” House growls, eyes squeezed shut again, trying not to knock her off, because she’s a hallucination, can’t be hurt, can’t be touched. She did pat him on the knee once, but that was different. He allowed that. Kind of.

“Why me, House?” a lower, deeper voice.

House’s baby blues snap open to meet chocolate ones, almost black, pupils dilated in a drug-induced-like effect. Wilson, smirking, looming over him, short brown hair-- why did he cut it?-- starting to grow back to it’s usual fluffiness, a distinct flush on his face. He’s wearing a white, dark-striped shirt, unbuttoned-- no undershirt-- dark slacks, no shoes, no socks.

Amber and Kutner are gone.

Wilson lowers his head, his nose almost brushing House’s ear. “Tell me.”

House can-- no, he thinks he can feel Wilson’s warm breath tingling his cheek. He thinks he can smell Wilson’s aftershave, it’s scent mixed with Wilson’s own. It’s just another hallucination, just like Amber, Cuddy, and Kutner. It must be. Or maybe a dream.

“It answers some questions, doesn’t it?”

Wilson leans forward and grazes their lips together. One of his hands travels up to House’s nape, where it rests, entangled in slightly damp, curly locks of hair. The other slides under House’s t-shirt, fingertips curiously tracing the curves of his ribs.

Wilson deepens the kiss and House follows, his left arm rising to rest on small of Wilson’s back. Right hand clutches the collar of the dark-striped shirt, pulling Wilson closer. He can feel Wilson smiling through the kiss.

Images flashing through his head. Admit it, admit it repeated to infinity. Wilson, knowing smile on his lips, arms crossed, screwing with you. It needed to be done. Cuddy saying that police found him trying to walk home. Oddly, from his own apartment. Stupid idea, trying to imagine what exactly Wilson told the officer. What was the word. Was it going home? Or maybe going to House? Looking for House? Looking for him? Genuine concern in Wilson’s voice when House asks him to sit on his differentials, Amber standing next to him, telling House not to deflect, you care about him, tell him you--

Wilson’s mouth slowly exploring his jaw and throat, hot-wet tongue lapping at his pulse. A small sigh escapes his lips. Fingertips playing with his nipple, then sliding lower, nails brushing his chest, palm smoothing over his stomach, then resting on his hipbone, thumb tracing the line of the waistband of House’s sweatpants.

House gasps, arches into the touch, wanting more. A low rumble of mirth next to his ear, growing louder, higher.

“Doesn’t it?” Amber asks. House stills, involuntarily opening his eyes. Amber’s face not even an inch away from his, brow raised curiously, challengingly. He lets go off her labcoat’s lapel, slides his hand from under it, presses both arms to his sides.

Amber tilts her head. “Aren’t you happy? You solved it. In a way.”

Kutner smiles. “One question down.”

~fin~