Chapter Four

As the Saturday morning sun rose, the baby began crying – and Wilson didn’t rouse. Cursing, House grabbed his bottle of Vicodin and downed a pill, his leg already constricting painfully. He managed to get out of bed, lifting his bad leg with both hands, and stood shakily, still drowsy from sleep. The brat’s insistent cries carried through the door, but House could tell that Wilson wasn’t awake yet, from the lack of shuffling.

He didn’t bother to be quiet as he stumbled outside, leaning rather heavily on the cane. If Wilson had managed to sleep through the baby’s cries so far, then he wouldn’t wake up from the sound of his footsteps.

The baby’s face was red and scrunched together in anger. House hoped that food was the problem rather than the diaper, because he wouldn’t be changing that, no matter what.

He managed to lift up the baby on the first attempt this time.

“You are a loud thing, aren’t you?” he muttered, and the baby wailed unhappily. “Yeah, yeah—you don’t smell like crap, so I guess it’s that morning smoothie of milky goodness you want?”

Wilson snored loudly on the couch, one arm draped over his face an the other one holding onto the blanket, and one foot rested on the floor. He looked like he had passed out rather than fallen asleep. As House shuffled past him, carrying his cane and holding the kid, he wondered once more just how much Wilson had had to drink, to be able to sleep through the noise.

He would have claimed to have no knowledge of how to make the formula the baby drank several times each day, had Wilson asked, but as it was not Wilson asking, House sighed and made it. It only took a few minutes, but he already had a headache by the time it was finished. The baby took the bottle and became blissfully quiet as he began suckling.

“At least your daddy’s going to have a worse headache than the one you just gave me,” House said, a slight smirk on his face. He had no intention of making Wilson’s hangover any easier for him.

Once the baby had eaten, House put it to his shoulder, because one could not possibly go through medical school without knowing that a baby needed burping after eating. He placed a towel under the baby’s chin, because baby vomit was gross.

When it had been fed and burped, House placed it, with some difficulty because he couldn’t simply drop it down, on the rug in the kitchen, and then he proceeded to make himself a much-needed cup of coffee.

He wondered what Wilson would say when he woke up – other than ‘ugh’, that was, because that was a given with the hangover he was bound to have. Would he remember the previous night at all, or had he drunk himself so much into oblivion that it would be a black hole? Would he remember thanking House – House still did not know what for – and would he remember kissing House’s cheek? And whether or not he remembered, what should House do about it?

Nothing, he told himself. He should and would do nothing.

When the diaper began smelling – after the brat made a concentrated face that House recognized with a sigh – House walked into the living room.

He stood at the end of the couch, watching the snoring Wilson for a moment. He wore a shirt, the same one he had worn last night, and he had only managed to remove one sock before collapsing on the couch. His hair was in disarray in a way that he would never allow it to be when he was awake, his mouth slightly open, and House had to think that it looked almost—cute.

He poked at Wilson with his cane, starting at his foot and then moving upwards to the side of his stomach, because Wilson didn’t move so much as a toe.

“Leave me—‘lone,” he mumbled, shuffling on the small couch, clearly still asleep.

“No can do,” House said, cheerily and rather loudly, because Wilson was never kind to House when he was hung over – or had done some rather stupid medical experiment that lead to a hangover. “You’ve got a kid that needs a changing.”

“Mhm,” Wilson mumbled, sleeping on.

House kept poking his side, pondering whether he should go out and get some water to place Wilson’s hand in so that he would wet himself again, but decided against it, because he did not recycle pranks. Then he thought of a bucket of ice to dump on Wilson, but that seemed like a lot of work, and it would be hard to carry the bucket, so he didn’t.

Then he thought about bending down and kissing Wilson – perhaps the shock would wake him up. However, if he did wake up, Wilson might not be feeling so well, and he might end up puking all over House. House wanted to avoid that, because grown-up vomit was even grosser than baby vomit. And besides, kissing Wilson was an exceptionally stupid idea.

He settled on yelling, “Wilson!” in a long, drawn out and rather high pitch.

Wilson groaned and opened one bleary eye, then quickly shut it again.

“House,” he muttered, as though it hadn’t been obvious who had made the noise.

“Wakey, wakey, sunshine,” House said, in a tone far too chipper. “It’s a bright new day – don’t you think it’s glorious?”

“Go ‘way,” Wilson mumbled. Both arms now covered his eyes, to keep any light from seeping in.

“Aw, is little Wilson tired today?” House said, relishing in not being the hung over one for once. He tried to recall the last time Wilson had been this bad, but couldn’t think of one.

He poked Wilson’s side again and Wilson gasped.

“If you do that again, ‘m gonna puke,” Wilson said.

“Yeah, well, that’s your problem,” House said. “What’s also your problem is the little brat on my kitchen floor, who smells like—well, it would probably be unkind to tell you—”

He smiled angelically at Wilson, who moved suddenly, perhaps to sit up, at the mention of his son.

“Sean,” he said, but then fell back on the couch, and House could see the waves of nausea wash over him. Wilson swallowed, over and over, trying to quell the queasiness. “Might wanna get me a bucket or something.”

His words were quiet now, and rather filled with shame. House wanted to curse him – that note of shame would take the fun out of taunting Wilson.

He did get a bucket, because he didn’t want Wilson to puke all over his living room floor – Wilson wouldn’t be in any state to clean it up, and if House didn’t, it would stay on the floor for several hours before Wilson managed, and that was a smell House could do without.

It took only a couple of moments after House handed Wilson the bucket, before he vomited the first time. House turned away and walked into the kitchen, where the scent of coffee still won over the smell of the dirty diaper.

Wilson stood in the doorway a few minutes later, looking as pale as a sheet. There seemed to be no color in his cheeks whatsoever, his movements were careful but jerky, and he kept swallowing back nausea.

“I’ll change him now,” Wilson mumbled.

He shook as he bent over, his face set in concentration, and picked the baby off the floor. The baby cooed in his father’s arms, still seeming happy despite the diaper. Wilson moved carefully out of the kitchen, his eyes not meeting House’s.

House heard the sounds of retching coming from the bathroom, and the change of the diaper took nearly three times longer than normal.

“Not up to your usual standards?” House asked, loudly, when Wilson returned.

Wilson winced, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please, House.”

“Oh no,” House said, smirking. “If you’d been ill, I might’ve been nice, but this is all your own doing. Face the consequences of your own actions – isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

Wilson glared. “I’m going to lie down again. Can you keep an eye on him?”

“I think I’ll manage,” House said, “considering I’ve done it for the last eleven hours.”

Wilson frowned for a moment, but didn’t say anything. House wondered what he remembered of the night before; Wilson’s expression gave nothing away, other than that he was still feeling ill. Perhaps he was still too concentrated on not puking again, and couldn’t think clearly. If a discussion of the previous night’s events was to happen – and House really preferred it if no such talk ever took place, but if Wilson remembered, he would surely bring it up – it would have to wait.

When night fell, House felt more rested than he had in a while. Some semblance of guilt had kept him in the apartment all day long, to keep an eye on both Wilson and the brat – because a part of him knew that he had been one of the reasons Wilson had been out drinking to begin with. He didn’t admit that reason even to himself, though – he told himself that the only reason he had stayed home all day was that it was raining outside and he didn’t want to get wet.

Wilson came shuffling into the kitchen. He had been up and about through the day – House had fed the baby and kept it somewhat entertained, but resolutely refused to change him, which meant it was Wilson’s job. House had also heard him run the shower, but he stopped the thoughts of Wilson in the shower before they produced images in his head that he shouldn’t have.

“Didn’t think you knew how to do that stuff,” Wilson said.

House looked up from his spot with the baby in his arms, happily downing a bottle of milk.

“I didn’t,” House said. “Cuddy came by and made it.”

“House, I’m hung over, not blind and deaf,” Wilson said. “I’d’ve noticed.”

House shrugged.

He wondered if he should offer to help more. He probably should. Sure, the brat was Wilson’s and had nothing to do with House, but at the same time, it did have something to do with him. Wilson was obviously not coping as well as House had hoped he would. Then again, helping wasn’t House’s style.

Perhaps he shouldn’t offer, but simply take the kid every once in a while when it was screaming, so that Wilson could rest.

“Want me to take him?” Wilson asked.

“Eat some dinner and then you can have him,” House said gruffly. “He’ll just start screaming if we take away the bottle now.”

Wilson regarded him with a small smile that was borderline amused. “Right. You made dinner?”

“Not a chance,” House said, “but I do have the Chinese place on speed-dial.”

A chuckle escaped Wilson, and House reveled in the sound. He could make Wilson smile, even in the midst of the hangover from hell, which in turn had come to be because Wilson was miserable.

“Going out again tonight?” House asked.

“No,” Wilson said. “I—uh, don’t think there’ll be any going out in a while.”

“Perhaps you should tell Emma, so that she’s not counting on the babysitting money,” House said. He regretted it immediately, knowing he had given Wilson an in to discuss the previous night.

Wilson stilled at his words. He had his back to House as he was putting Chinese food on a plate, and House could see his shoulders tense up.

“I just needed some time alone,” Wilson said, turning slowly to face House.

House realized that Wilson had been needing the exact same thing House had been needing. Wilson hadn’t even had the luxury of going to work every morning – he had been stuck with the baby all day and all night. House’s foul mood could hardly have made it any easier. Not that House strove for making Wilson’s life easier, but still—

“Thanks for taking care of him last night,” Wilson said. “I—lost track of time, I guess.”

“It was nearly four in the morning by the time you got in, so yeah,” House said. “Way to go on being the responsible father.”

He wondered why he kept stabbing Wilson with the knife of guilt, when the man obviously already felt enough. He watched as Wilson’s face crumbled, his arms falling to his sides, fingers only loosely holding onto a fork. Guilt and shame radiated off him in waves.

“I’m not the responsible father,” Wilson said softly. “There, are you happy now? I am horrid – I leave my own child with a teenager and I go out and get drunk beyond oblivion to forget everything and—”

He trailed off, eyes cast to the floor, obviously unable to meet House’s gaze.

The baby spit out the nipple. House grabbed the towel he had put on the kitchen table, by which he sat, and placed it on his shoulder. Without a word, he shifted the baby to rest against his shoulder as well, rubbing small circles on the baby’s back.

He looked up to find Wilson staring at him, eyes wide and shocked.

“Never seen a man with a baby before?” House said, voice snappish but also amused with the look on Wilson’s face.

“You—you,” Wilson said, but didn’t get any farther.

“If I help, will you stop this incessant self-pitying and self-doubting thing you’ve got going?” House asked, all the while wondering what he was getting himself into.

“You’d help? With Sean?” Wilson asked, sounding shell-shocked.

“Yeah,” House muttered. “I seem to be doing it anyway.”

“But you don’t even call him by his name,” Wilson asked. “He’s always ‘it’ or ‘the brat’ or—you’d help with him?”

“I think I just said so,” House said. “Although you’re already making me regret it. And I’m still not changing any diapers.”

Wilson nodded. “Okay. All right. Anything you’re willing to do—”

House thought that there was a number of things he was willing to do, that were probably not on Wilson’s list.

“Yeah, well, it can’t be that much now,” House said. “You’re going back to work on Monday and he’ll be in daycare all day.”

“I’m sure we can find something for you to do,” Wilson said, and there was some happiness in his voice once more. House felt his pride return; he was making Wilson happy. It was something he had little experience with – most of the time, he only managed to get Wilson miserable, be it by taking too many pills, or making him lose his job. He realized that this did, in fact, feel rather nice.

Wilson warmed his food in the microwave and once it was hot, he sat down in the chair opposite House and ate quietly.

“You do realize you’d be doing something nice for me, right?” Wilson asked.

“You know, I’m already regretting my offer,” House said, but his tone was playfully snappish, rather than angry.

Wilson chuckled, and House couldn’t help but grin back.

“Thanks, House,” Wilson said.

House wondered for a brief moment if he would lean over the table and kiss House again. They gazed at each other, and House thought that those warm, brown eyes were really lovely enough to drown in. But then the moment was broken, as the baby burped rather loudly, and Wilson chuckled and asked if he should take him. House handed him the baby, still wondering what Wilson had been thinking just moments earlier.

On Wilson’s suggestion, they spent their Sunday – the last day before Wilson returned to work – in the park.

“This feels ridiculously domesticated,” House said as he hobbled along with his cane, Wilson pushing the baby carrier.

“I didn’t force you to come,” Wilson said easily.

“No one can refuse your puppy-dog eyes,” House said sarcastically, as though it wasn’t the truth.

“Good to know,” Wilson smiled. “There’s a café over there, do you want to sit down?”

“Well, you know, the cane is just for show,” House said. “Really, I can walk all day.”

Wilson rolled his eyes, smiling again. “Café it is.”

House wondered if he would ever get enough of Wilson’s smiles. They were beautiful.

They drank coffee and the baby made noises until it was fed, and then changed in the bathroom. Then House and Wilson stayed for a while longer, talking about the décolletages of the girls running past the café windows, wearing only sport bras and tight pants, and House pretended that they were the ones who made him horny, rather than the man sitting across form him.

Come night time, House and Wilson sat side by side on House’s couch, and watched a game of football while the baby slept in the crib on the other side of the room. A beer each stood on the table, but no more; Wilson refused to get so much as tipsy.

“I’ve had enough for the rest of the year,” Wilson said.

“And all in one night,” House said. “You should get a medal.”

“Or a call from Child Services,” Wilson said, sounding miserable all at once.

“Now that’s some quality self-loathing right there,” House said. “As if you’re the first parent to go out and get drunk. I’m surprised it took you nearly three months to do it.”

He watched as one of the teams scored, and couldn’t find it in himself to care. He could feel Wilson’s gaze boring into him, and he sighed.

“What? I think you should’ve gone out and gotten drunk way earlier,” House said. “She left you with a kid, just like that. I’d’ve been drunk the very same night.”

He hated being so honest about himself and his flaws, but he knew that put in Wilson’s situation, he would have handled it far worse. Then again, he would never have been happy about becoming a father in the first place. Undoubtedly, he had some things in common with Cutthroat Bitch.

“But you let us stay.” Wilson’s words were soft.

“Huh?” said House, turning to look at Wilson.

“You let us stay,” Wilson repeated. “Here. And you didn’t drown your sorrows in alcohol. You didn’t throw us out. You just—let us stay.”

“Yeah, well, that hotel isn’t the place for a kid,” House said grumpily, wondering how he was going to steer this talk away from himself and other decidedly dangerous subjects.

Wilson’s eyebrow rose. “I’m sure you just had Sean’s well-being in mind when you let us stay.”

“Why not?” House snapped. “Him happy, you happy. Seemed like a logical choice.”

He regretted the words immediately. He never, ever admitted to Wilson that he wanted Wilson happy. Wanting Wilson to be happy meant he cared, and he didn’t. He didn’t.

Except for the part that loved Wilson, of course, said a little voice at the back of his mind.

Wilson stared at him, confusion turning into a soft smile. “You want me happy?”

“Right now? No, right now I want me dead,” House said, crossing his arms over his chest and resolutely staring at the TV-screen, all the while being acutely aware of Wilson’s close proximity.

He felt, and saw out of the corner of his eye, Wilson move, coming closer to House. Their legs brushed each other, and House imagined he could feel Wilson’s breath against his own, although he was still a bit too far away for that to be possible.

“What about you, House?” Wilson asked. “Do I make you happy?”

House wanted to snap at Wilson – ‘what kind of question is that’ or ‘no, you make me want to kill myself’ or something else rude that would have Wilson running in the opposite direction – but he couldn’t make himself. He knew that this was it, this was his chance. He didn’t know what Wilson was fishing for, exactly, but he knew that Wilson would never do anything to hurt House, at least not consciously. Agreeing to Tritter’s deal, that had hurt House, but Wilson had had his best interest at heart. All the times Wilson had tried to get House to lower his dosage of Vicodin had given House pain, but those were Wilson’s attempts to protect House from himself.

Wilson wouldn’t do anything to hurt House; he didn’t have it in him. If House was reading Wilson wrong – and he could be, because Wilson still sat far enough away from House that it could be friends-distance, rather than anything more – then Wilson wouldn’t use it against him. It would be hellishly embarrassing, but they would get over it. House would get over his crush, and Wilson would stay, because that was what Wilson did.

The answer to Wilson’s question was so obvious that it could have been shouted from the rooftops, had House been the silly kind who did such things. He was not, and he answered by giving a simple, tiny nod.

He didn’t dare to look at Wilson; instead he closed his eyes and awaited the answer, the chuckle, the retort, whatever response Wilson deemed fitting.

“Good,” Wilson said, very softly. “Because despite that mouth and temper of yours, you make me very happy, too.”

House opened his eyes, glancing briefly at Wilson, quite certain that he had fallen asleep. Wilson met his gaze steadily, his brown eyes warm and—loving. House couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so much love in someone else’s eyes.

They moved simultaneously, lips meeting hesitantly in the middle, trying out new grounds after years of friendship. Wilson’s lips were warm and soft, his chin only with the barest hint of stubble. The scent of aftershave still lingered, together with that smell that was simply Wilson. House wondered when he had been close enough to smell Wilson before; they had hardly ever touched.

His thoughts flew out the window as Wilson’s tongue darted out, running across House’s lower lip. House’s lips parted easily, and his own tongue warred with Wilson’s; it was a competition but one that House, for once, didn’t mind losing.

They pulled apart, panting slightly, and Wilson rested his head against House’s shoulder, hand picking up House’s and lacing their fingers together.

“I thought I might get a face full of fist for that,” Wilson said softly, a chuckle escaping him. “This was much better.”

House looked down at the top of Wilson’s head, wondering what on earth had just happened. In five minutes, his entire world had changed, standing on end and creating complete turmoil. Yet at the same time, he marveled at how it was possible that in the midst of that chaos, he felt more at peace than he had in years.

Wilson looked up. “You okay?”

House nodded mutely, for once having lost the ability to speak. Wilson smiled, that smile that brightened even the darkest of House’s days, and House realized that his leg was, for once, not throbbing as badly as it usually did.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” Wilson said.

“You have?” House asked, wondering how he, who prided himself on being able to read people in general and Wilson in particular, had missed that.

Wilson nodded against House’s chest. “Yeah. When I realized that I preferred playing house with you, more than I liked doing it with Amber—it just became obvious what I really wanted.”

“Cutthroat Bitch didn’t deliver?” House asked.

Wilson chuckled, and House realized that it was the first time he had heard Wilson be happy when he spoke of the Bitch. “Oh, she delivered. And before you say anything, so did I. Obviously, otherwise Sean wouldn’t be here. I loved her, I did. But she just—”

“Would have been ex-wife number four,” House filled in. “I told you she was a proxy.”

“Yeah, well, you are supposed to be the smartest doctor in town,” Wilson said.

“On the East coast,” House corrected him.

“And yet you missed the fact that I’d fallen in love with you,” Wilson said.

House stilled – he hadn’t thought Wilson would go quite as far as to proclaim that just yet. It had taken House months just to admit to himself that he had fallen for his best friend; he had no idea how long it would take before he could say as much to Wilson.

Wilson sat up, and looked at House. “Yeah, I’m in love with you. I don’t expect you to say anything back, because you’re you, and that’s fine. I think I know anyway.”

House wished he was as at peace with everything as Wilson was, but despite having realized several months ago that he was in love, his world was still upside down now that he knew it was recruited.

“You’ve got it all figured out,” he said, voice rather rough.

“Not everything,” Wilson said. “But I know what I want.”

“And what’s that?” House asked.

“You,” Wilson smiled. “You and Sean, and us as a family.”

House allowed his imagination to run free for a moment, in fantasies that he had not dared think of since realizing he was in love with Wilson. He saw Wilson, making dinner for the three of them, the kid growing, the splitting image of his father. He saw himself, going to bed at night, Wilson occupying the other side, perhaps waiting naked beneath the sheets.

“And what if Cutthroat Bitch comes back?” House asked, and he ignored the stab of fear that her return would mean that Wilson would leave him behind.

“I don’t think she will,” Wilson said, “but if she does, we’ll deal with it. But you’re the one I want.”

“But we’ll fight,” House said.

“No kidding,” Wilson said, rather amused. “I’ve been friends with you for a decade, House. I don’t expect things to change all that much, except—well, you know. I mean, we already live together, and we already hang out a lot. We’ll fight, of course, because you wouldn’t be you otherwise.”

“Yeah, like it’s all my fault,” House grumbled.

“Of course it is,” Wilson said, smiling. “I’m the Boy Wonder Oncologist. I can do no wrong.”

“Humility isn’t one of your stronger points, you know,” House said.

“I’m surprised you even know the meaning of the word,” Wilson replied. Then he leaned forward again and pressed another kiss against House’s lips, a kiss filled with love and promise and other ridiculous things that House didn’t think should be possible to feel in a kiss at all. And House realized that yes, they would fight, and yes, there would be times when he would want to leave, but god how he wanted this.

When they parted, there was a grin on House’s lips.

“Just so we’re clear,” House said. “You’re the girl. I’m the man. You keep making dinners, and I keep refusing to change the diapers.”

Wilson chuckled, all the while rolling his eyes. “Of course. If I came home to a meal cooked by you, I’d probably have a heart attack from the shock of it.”

“Good, then that’s decided,” House said. “No cooking for me.”

“Like I said, I’m not expecting things to change much,” Wilson said.

“Other than me doing naughty things to you in the bedroom, that is,” House said, grinning.

“Yeah,” Wilson said, rolling his eyes but chuckling all the while. “Other than that.”

Just then, the baby woke up for his midnight snack. The wails filled the room, but House couldn’t stop smiling. He suspected his face would hurt, come morning, if this continued – he hadn’t smiled this much since—well, since ever.

Wilson placed another kiss on House’s lips, and stood to get the thing that seemed to have started it all – Sean.

---

“A new baby is like the beginning of all things - wonder, hope, a dream of possibilities.”

- Eda J LeShan

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