Archive of Our Own

The soothing touch did little to sooth as James Wilson blinked and started to join the land of the conscious.  He became fully awake with a start, gasping as he took in his surroundings.   Cameron touched his shoulder gently, speaking in those soothing tones while a nurse stood by her side attempting to undo his belt.  His shirt had already been cut away and leads attached to his chest causing the monitor above his head to blip evenly, though fast. 

He pushed the hands away insistently and moved.  He had to move away.  As far away as he possibly could.  He knew they meant him no harm, he knew he was away from … that situation …somehow.  He couldn’t remember how he had gotten to the ER at PPTH but it did not matter.  He had to leave. 

When hands kept invading his space, became more insistent that he stay lying down, that he let them touch him, he knew being in the curtained off area was impossible.  He had to get off the table, rolling on his side, backing up on the gurney, moving his hip to the edge and then letting his legs take his weight.  He pulled off the wires connected to his chest, causing the screen to make a sickeningly flat sound and then alarm obnoxiously.  Cameron reached over and turned it off quickly.

“I’m fine … please.”  Wilson had his hands up and was pushing both palms toward Cameron and Rita, the ER nurse, James recognized. 

“Did you page me …”  Cuddy walked into the area, pushing buttons on her pager and quickly took in the scene.  “Wilson?”  She took in his appearance.  The laceration above his eye was bleeding freely down the side of his face, bleeding through a gauze dressing haphazardly placed there.  His shirtless chest revealed multiple, freshly-bruised areas and reddened welts on his skin.  More than the clinical presentation though, Wilson was obviously shaken.  He had been attacked. 

“Cuddy, I’m fine.  I’m just … I’m just gonna go.”

“He came in unconscious.  He was found on the road a block away.  The ambulance brought him in.”  Cameron clarified. 

Cuddy knew her friend was feeling threatened by their presence.  She walked slowly toward the opposite side of the gurney, leaving Wilson alone on the other side, giving him the space she thought he needed.  She dismissed Rita, quietly telling her to go get the sedative.

After she left, Wilson caught on.  “No … no, you’re not drugging me.  No!”  He began moving his way toward the end of the gurney, just wanting … needing to get away. 

Cuddy spoke softly to Cameron.  “Did you page House?”

“Yes.”

Cuddy nodded and smiled, attempting to gain Wilson’s trust.  “James, nobody is here to hurt you.  You’re safe.”  She moved closer, very slowly. 

“I … I know that.  But, I’m fine.  My name is James Wilson, I’m at Princeton Plainsboro, the date is … June 7, 2010.”  Wilson delivered the requisite questions that he knew proved his mental state. 

“That’s good.  That’s very good.”  Cuddy smiled.  “But you do know that being oriented times three is not a proper neurological exam, right?”

Wilson nodded.  Of course he knew that.  He just could not submit to a proper neuro exam if it meant staying in the room.  He could not stay.  Period.  He found his shirt, cut to shreds at the foot of the gurney, it was bloody and wet.  He would look even worse to them if he put it back on.  He noticed Cuddy moving closer.  He had to get away.  Had to convince them he was okay or they would simply follow him, sedate him and … and he just could not let them do that. 

Wilson took a deep breath, attempting to mimic a calm he did not feel.  “Look, …” He looked down at himself, noting the bruised areas.  “It’s all just superficial.  I’m a doctor.  I know what to do.  I can take care of all of this myself.” 

“Sounds like you got it under control then.”  House announced coming into the curtained area just behind Wilson.

Wilson startled out of instinct but had a better than average recovery time, schooling his features into a mask of calm once more.  He knew if he darted for the other side of the room again he would definitely tip them off that he was not nearly as “fine” as he’d proclaimed and he would also put himself in the corner with no way of fleeing without looking like the frantic person he actually was.  Wilson’s back became ramrod straight at the sound of his best friend’s voice behind him.  He steadily moved to the side slightly, putting everyone in the area within his view once more steadfastly keeping a look out for Rita, the sedative-wielding nurse. 

“I’m fine, House.  I … I don’t need …”

“I said, I know.  You have it under control.”  House reached for the gown laying across the bottom of the gurney and came closer to Wilson, holding open one of the sleeves for him to put it on.  “You can’t walk through the halls half naked though.” 

“House!  What’re you doing?”  Cuddy was appalled, but when didn’t House appall her? 

“Release him to me.  I’ll make sure he’s okay.” 

James visibly relaxed.  He could get out of the ER without them knowing what had happened, without answering their questions.  He could get out without them touching him. 

“He came in unconscious.  He was out for more than a few minutes—probably more like thirty minutes from the time he was found until he woke up and who knows how long before …”

“I got it!”  House glared at Cameron

“The police need to ask him some questions.”  Cameron said.

“Not today they don’t.”  House insisted.

Cuddy and Cameron both nodded.  They knew House was the person James trusted.  He was the only one Wilson had let into his personal space since he woke up and House, despite the fact that he could never be given the “Best Bedside Manner” award, would always take care of Wilson.  No matter what he needed. 

House placed Wilson’s cut-up shirt inside of a bag then motioned toward the opening of the curtain.  “After you.” 

Wilson was beside himself with relief.  The world had been lifted from his shoulders as he was permitted, without repercussions to leave the ER.  He side-stepped away and fell in line, walking with House down the hall.  His relief was, however, short-lived as he saw the tight-lipped smile and the look of concern on his friend’s face.  Now he had to convince House he was okay.

“I …uh, I really appreciate you getting me out of there.”

“No problem.  That’s what we do.”  House reassured. 

“I really am okay, ya know.”

“Yep, I know.”

“I was … mugged … in the parking garage.”  He rubbed the back of his neck and snickered.  “It really was stupid.  I shouldn’t have gone down there at night.  It is kind of a collecting place for riffraff after dark, ya know.”

House took in Wilson’s nervousness and rapid-fire delivery of the biggest lie he had ever heard the man tell.  He took advantage of the fact that Wilson was simply walking with House, without direction so he directed him into the clinic. 

“Wait … what are we doing …?”

House motioned toward the cut on Wilson’s forehead.  “I should probably stitch that up before you bleed all over the floor.”

Wilson tentatively felt the area to his right forehead.  When his fingers came back with fresh blood, he nodded.  “Oh, yeah.  I guess so.”  He didn’t want to sound nervous to House.  He wanted to get free of the damn hospital, of the damn people, but he also didn’t want them thinking he’d gone off the deep end and started showing up at his apartment or forcing him to ‘see someone’.  Resigned to the treatment, Wilson lowered his eyes and followed his friend through the empty clinic area.  The place was eerily quiet after hours but Wilson was thankful no additional people were waiting to pounce on him and his bruised body.  He tightened the patient gown around him, pulling the neckline closed. 

House opened exam room two and guided Wilson inside.  “Have a seat.  I’m going to go grab some supplies and be right back.”

Wilson nodded.  Habit told him to sit on the metal stool.  He side-stepped it and had a seat in the chair, not willing to admit, even for the purpose of stitching up his forehead, that he was a patient—a victim. 

He wasn’t sure how long House was gone, but he sat in silence waiting.  Slowly his respirations, his pulse returned to normal.  He thought about where he had been for the last several hours, what they had done to him.  He thought about why.  Maybe a part of him deserved what they had done.  The nickname “Dr Pantypeeler” was, afterall, one he had earned. 

He couldn’t look up when House made it back with the supplies.  He acknowledged vaguely that House was in the room, moving about, setting things up, but had not noticed anything specific.  He was too focused on thinking through his story quickly before House started asking questions.  He was focused on somehow not being the typical victim personified.  Not to House.  No way. 

Finally House had a seat on the rolling stool and patted the edge of the exam table. 

Wilson shivered, but moved slowly.  The adrenalin, not the pain killer it once was, he sat gingerly trying desperately not to hiss in pain as his posterior became connected to the firm, paper-covered surface.  When he wasn’t expecting it a bolt of pain shot through his ass and he nearly came off the table. 

Looking toward House who couldn’t hide the questioning look, Wilson rose from the table slowly and removed his wallet from his back pocket.  He smiled again toward his friend, lying once more.  “My wallet and this hard table are not playing nice together at all.”  He tossed it onto the nearby counter and sat once more, determined to complete the task without letting House know how much it had cost him physically.

House pulled a syringe from his shirt pocket.  “This is lorazepam.  I would give it to anyone who had just been … mugged, or in a car accident or whatever.  It will calm you down, reduce the shockiness and prevent the nausea that is sure to hit you soon.  It’ll also help with the pain.”

“House …”

“I’m not trying to drug you.  It’s only one milligram.  It’ll just take the edge off, help you relax.”  When Wilson wouldn’t look at him, he continued.  “Do you trust me?”

Wilson sighed.  Finally he nodded his head and pulled the sleeve up on his gown.  He watched as House uncapped the needle by biting it, swabbed his upper arm with alcohol and plunged the needle in.  Despite the fact that he knew the drug was thick and particularly nasty when delivered into the muscle, it didn’t hurt at all.  He barely felt it, actually.  House discarded the sharp in the red container on the wall and returned to Wilson’s side discarding the soaked, bloody gauze Wilson had taped to his head.  He pulled out another syringe.  Wilson pulled back questioningly. 

“Lidocaine.  You don’t want me to stitch you without numbing it first, do ya?”

Wilson sighed.  “No, no … of course not.”  He waved him on. 

“A pinch and a sting.” House warned before he pushed the needle under Wilson’s skin just above his eyebrow.  He pointed the syringe in different angles and pushed more of the numbing medicine into the area.  He moved the syringe along the wound, making sure to use enough lidocaine to effectively do the job.  He wiped the area once more of the free flowing blood.  “Hold this”  He instructed Wilson to keep the gauze in place until it stopped leaking. 

House busied himself preparing supplies.  “How many were there?”

“Three.  Wilson replied automatically.

“Three?  That’s a rather thorough mugging.  Were they armed?”

Wilson nodded. 

“Lay back for me.”  House supported Wilson’s shoulder as he guided him backward to lay flat on the table.  He nudged Wilson’s knees and the man pulled his legs straight so House could pull out the table extension to support his feet thereby putting Wilson in a fully recumbent position on the table.  House pulled off his shoes and socks and Wilson let him.

“Did you know any of them?”  He finished setting up his sterile area, draped a large blue paper sheet, centering the pre-cut hole around the wound on Wilson’s head with the sterile drape.  House put on the proper gloves and got to work.   

Wilson didn’t answer.  He hid silently under the sterile drape, hoping the world would just stop spinning.  He hoped he could stay under the drape forever and not have to keep lying to everyone.  He just wanted to go home, take a hot shower and never ever have to see a look of pity on anyone’s face when they saw him. 

He could feel House stitch him up.  Not that it hurt.  It didn’t.  One by one, the sutures would close the wound to allow the area to properly heel.  He wished there was a way to stitch up the gut-wrenching, soul-crushing void he felt. 

“Wilson?”

“Yeah.”

“You weren’t mugged.”

“I …”

“There are abrasions around your wrists and ankles, probably from whatever was tied around them.”  Wilson fidgeted ringing his hand around the opposite wrist.  He didn’t feel any welts.  “They’re faint, but they are there.  Kidnapping is not the usual modus operandi for a mugger. You said you were mugged in the garage, but you were not found in the parking garage.  You still have your watch on, your wallet still has cash in it and I can see your platinum card from here.  You weren’t mugged.”

Wilson was silent while he screamed.  He was so grateful for the drape.  He didn’t have to hide the chaos surely shown on his face.  It afforded him a moment.  House purposely did this—made sure to give Wilson the chance to process his revelation as far away from humanity as could be afforded at that point.  He knew he was lying.  But did he just want a better lie?  Surely, he was better off not knowing what had really happened.  Wilson knew he himself was better off without House knowing.  He couldn’t stand the thought of his best friend knowing how weak he had been.  That he had allowed his body to respond to their demands.  Disgust and revulsion would be hidden in his expression every time he looked at Wilson …and he thought he would deserve it.  Mortified at the thought of coming clean, he concentrated on breathing, making sure to not give House any more symptoms.  Breathing evenly, he schooled his features.  He knew House could hear his facial expressions in his voice.  He couldn’t lose House.  Calmly, he proceeded with the new tale.  “I .. I didn’t want to make you jealous.”

“You thought I wanted a concussion instead of you?”

“Actually, I met up with … some female company.  It got a little rough.  Not my usual escapade but, hey, carpe diem … and all that.”

“So, you ditched work to sleep with three women?”

“Life … is short …”  Wilson knew it sounded lame, but it was at least a small fraction, possible.  “Besides, I had worked all night.  I deserve a little …fun.”

“Did you know them?”  He repeated the question from earlier.

“I knew one of them.  Molly, a nurse from oncology two years ago.  You wouldn’t know her.”

“Molly?”  House thought back.  “Weren’t you sleeping with her at one time?”

“Yes.  I did.  That’s probably who told the other two about me.  I didn’t know them.”  He took the opportunity away from House’s gaze to squeeze his eyes shut.  He was not a victim, dammit.  NOT a victim.  Just another day in the life of James Wilson—man whore. 

“Molly did this to you?”  House sounded amazed.

“No, actually.  She came in … during … and she actually didn’t want anything to do with me.  Go figure.” 

“Where did they take you?”

“A house.  I don’t know.  All I know is that it had a bed.” Among other things.

“How did they get you there?”

“That was actually pretty kinky.”  He smiled wickedly to keep himself from sobbing.  “Gun to the head.”  He couldn’t explain it further as the sickness he felt when the cold metal pushed up against his head.  The moment the barrel to the gun had been shoved into the nape of his neck, the sickening click of the trigger pulled, a bullet entering pavement in the quiet, morning air and then being shoved into the back of a white van. 

He was supposed to be just coming in to work, but instead, he was leaving.  He had worked all night with a patient that was having a particularly bad reaction to the chemo she was prescribed.  She had no family, nobody was there for her at all.  He had sat in the room with her knowing the nurses had no time to do such things, knowing she just needed to have some connection to humanity to get through the night.  He’d finished his vigil, only leaving her side when she was more relaxed and had good pain control.  He was simply going to go home, take a shower and change clothes so that he could look prepared for the day even though he desperately needed to sleep.  The female voice behind him that had sweetly said “Excuse me, Doctor Wilson?” had distracted him from his course.  The detour had lasted many hours, well into the evening.  The recollection of the events was starting to make his stomach roil. 

“So you had sex with all of them?”  House distracted his thoughts.

Wilson’s breath hitched as he tried hard to not sob.  “No.  like I said.  Molly wanted nothing to do with me.  She left … she left me there.”  Just left me there for her friends to …torture … NO … not now!  Concentrate …get out of this room!

“Did they hit you?”

“Some.”

“Did they do anything else to you?”

“Well … like I said.  It got pretty kinky.”  Again, a smile he needed to plaster on his face.

“I saw some marks on your lower back.”

“Yeah.”  Wilson snipped. 

“I’m done stitching you up.”  Wilson heard House snap his gloves off and felt a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “Hang on a sec.  Let me grab a bandage.”

Wilson nodded and silently thanked him for giving him warning before tearing the drape off.  Listening to House move around gave him time to calm down and fight his facial expressions into something resembling the bastard people like Molly thought he was. 

Soon the drape was removed.  Wilson sat up, feet dangling once more, pointedly not meeting eyes with his friend.  House stood in front of him. 

“Can you stand up for me?”

“Sure.”  Wilson did as he was asked. 

“I’ve got an extra set of scrubs.  Your pants have blood on them.  Can you take them off?”

Wilson furrowed his eyebrows.  “What?  Why?”  he noticed the large paper on the floor ready to collect his clothing and any misplaced DNA samples that came off with them.  He looked over to the counter and saw the box.  Stunned he turned back toward his friend unable to meet his gaze.  “You’re doing a rape kit on me.”  He couldn’t’ look at House.  Wilson hung his head resigned.  He knew.

“Yeah, Jimmy.  I am.”

“House … please.  Don’t.”  Wilson sat before he fell down, visibly pale.  “Uh …God.”

House knew that look and quickly put a pink basin in front of Wilson’s face just before his friend heaved and released the contents of his stomach.  He waited patiently for the heaving to stop.  “Think you’re done now?”

Wilson nodded.  He breathed heavily trying to catch his breath once more.  Finally a cold cloth was placed in his hand.  Rubbing it over his face never felt so good.  Having the cloth over his face meant he didn’t have to look at House for a  little bit longer.  The bucket was taken away, he heard the sound of the running water.  Wilson used both hands to scrub his face with the cloth.  He could feel House close again.  Just in front of him. 

“Did they make you penetrate them?”

Wilson simply nodded.

“Did they … penetrate you?”  He spoke as clinically as he could trying to reign in his own emotions at the thought of his best friend being tied down by the “She-Ra Man Haters Club”

Wilson nodded once more.

“Drop your pants for me.”  He wished the request could sound less abrupt than what it did.

Wilson tilted his head up, tossing the cloth away, still not making eye contact and gave a self-deprecating snort.  Humiliation.  He deserved to be humiliated.  He stood up.

“If you want me to get someone else …”

“NO … no, just ...  just do what you think you have to do.”  Wilson unfastened his pants with shaking hands.  He felt the coldness to his bones and could not stop his teeth from chattering.  Weighted by his belt, his pants fell into a heap on the floor on top of the evidence-collection paper.  He reached under his gown once more and pushed his boxers to follow.  He stepped back carefully and sat back on the exam table although a bit clumsily. 

House opened one bag and placed Wilson’s underwear inside.  He then rolled up the paper with his clothing inside of it and placed that in another bag along with the shirt that had already been cut off of him in ER.  He grabbed a tool from the kit and a small white envelope.

“Raise your hand.  I’m going to scrape underneath your nails.”

Wilson obliged but couldn’t keep his hand from shaking.  Tissue from under his nails on both hands was scraped into the little envelope and then sealed.  A swab was taken from inside his mouth and sealed into another envelope.  House grabbed a stethoscope from a drawer and stood in front of Wilson. 

“I’m going to lower your gown and have a look, okay?”

“Fuck.  House, I’m n…not a fucking baby.  I know w…what you have to do so stop … just stop being so damn nice.”  He pulled his arms out of the sleeves of the gown letting it rest on his lap. 

House nodded.  He noted each bruise and welt.  He noticed a very small circular welt just over his left nipple.  “Was this …?”

“Caused by a lit cigarette?  Yes.”  Wilson snapped.

House was on fire with anger.  Knowing it was not his turn to be emotional, he reigned himself in.  He had to be there for Wilson.  “What were the lashes caused by?”

“My belt.  And a whip.”

“Both?”

“One used my belt, the other the whip.”  Wilson sounded disconnected. 

House pulled the earpieces of the stethoscope apart and placed them into his ears.  “Take deep breaths for me.”  He placed the metal against the man’s chest, listening to his breathing.  He listened to his heart and then placed the instrument back around his neck.  He palpated Wilson’s chest and arms, moved his upper limbs to assess skeletal or muscular damage.  Aside from soft tissue and surface injuries, his torso was relatively in good shape.  Nothing would cause lasting damage. 

House supported Wilson’s shoulder once more.  “Lie back again, Wilson.”

Wilson refused to be guided. “House … please don’t.  Let’s just grab some beer and drink until neither one of us can stand.  Let’s pretend nothing happened today and … and that we’re still friends.”  Wilson pleaded.

House couldn’t stand it.  He pulled the stool back over closer to his friend.  “You think I don’t want to be your friend anymore?”

“I let two WOMEN rape me …”  His breath hitched at the proclamation.  “I was raped.”  Tear-filled eyes finally met House’s.  “I was … raped.”

“Wilson …”

“How fucking pathetic is that!  I … I couldn’t stop … couldn’t stop them f…from …”  Words could no longer form coherent thought  as the despair dragged him under. 

“I know … I know.”  House held his hand grasping like he wasn’t ever going to let it go.  Hallmark sentiment was not going to help. It would make him feel worse.  “Trust me, I am going to find Captain Vagina and her sidekick Douche Crust if I have to hunt to the ends of the earth.  I will not rest until they are a quivering mass of goo not even suitable for buzzard food.”

Wilson couldn’t help but give a hint of a crooked smile.  House didn’t do “Oh, poor thing.”  He did do humor and he was loyal to a fault.  Despite the disagreements, the months of not speaking at times during the last eighteen years of their friendship, Wilson knew if there was one place he did not want to be, it was on House’s bad side.  “Your loyalty is overwhelming.”

“Well,  that’s just what we do.” 

Wilson sighed, a grim smile on his face.  “I’m not pursuing charges.”

“I knew you’d say that.”

“We don’t need to do …”

“Yes, we do.  These samples aren’t only for court evidence, they are to make sure they didn’t spread their skankiness all over you.”

Wilson nodded in understanding.  “I know what you’re saying.  The doctor in me knows that, but …”  He shook his head, “… I just don’t think I can do it, House.”  He looked at House with tears in his eyes he fought to control.

House nodded.  “I understand.”

Wilson shook his head.  “No, you don’t.”  He sighed heavily.  “It’s taking every single fiber of my being to remain in this room instead of hauling ass out of here and never walk through the doors again.”  He scrubbed his hand over his face.  “I’d move to Idaho.  Buy a potato farm …and a tractor.”

“You would be a crappy potato farmer.”

Wilson laughed.  “I know.”  He shook his head.  “I just can’t go through …this …I can’t.”

House nodded again.  “I knew you’d say that too.”

“Good, then I have no reason to be here at all.”

House smiled bitterly.  “You don’t need to think or make any decisions right now at all.  I’ll do that for you and I will keep you safe.  I swear.  These tests have to be done for your health.   James, it has nothing to do with pressing charges.  We just need to know that you are and will be okay.  You have to trust me.”

Wilson nodded imperceptibly. 

“Good.  Just listen to me, okay?”

He nodded once more. 

“The only reason you’re in this room is because I’m an overbearing ass.  Same ol’ same ol’.  Okay?”

Wilson snorted.  “That’s definitely you.”

“Yes, it is.”  He supported Wilson’s shoulder once more and lessened the grip he had on his hand until Wilson let it go altogether and allowed himself to be guided into a lying position.  “Just think how I feel.  I am violating my own ‘no touching’ rule, ya know.”  He pulled out the table extension one more time and positioned Wilsons legs upon it.

Wilson smiled.  “Oh, yes … human contact.  That is a shame.”

House palpated Wilson’s abdomen as well as visually inspected for more marks.  He had obviously been whipped.  The marks were scarce, but it had to have hurt.  The bruising was bothering House.  It took quite a bit of force to bruise the chest.  What the hell had they done to him?  Then it occurred to him.  They were the perfect size of the butt of a gun.  They pistol whipped him.  He pulled the gown aside further and found a nasty purple bruise to his left hip.  Pulling at the gown to try to maintain Wilson’s privacy as much as he could, he found a matching bruise on the other hip.  Fucking bitches!  His thoughts blared with emotion even though he stayed mentally in the room.  Wilson needed him more than he needed to plot revenge.  “Hey, do you know the extent I go to to NOT touch my patients?  Hell, I try very hard not to even meet them.”

“I do applaud you.  M…most of the time that w…works pretty well for you.”  Wilson knew he had to engage in the conversation. If he didn’t, he would have already plowed through his best friend and been gone.  Silent tears flowed unbidden down his temples and into his hair.  Try as he might, he could not stop feeling cold, the teeth-clattering shivers finally taking up residence completely against his will.

House grabbed some blankets from the cupboard and wrapped his friend all the way up to his neck in one and then draped another loosely over his lower half, only exposing the area he was examining.  “It’s taken years of practice … well that and a staff well educated on the art of distracting patients from actually insisting on meeting their attending.”

“A…again, I ap..applaud you.”  Wilson clenched his mouth closed attempting to hide the teeth chattering and chills.

House bent Wilson’s knee and guided the leg over to the side while he started the more personal exam.  He turned and grabbed another pair of gloves, putting them on quickly.  More whip marks on his inner thighs.  House grabbed his equipment and swabbed the inside of his thighs, the shaft of his penis and expelled some fluid from the tip and sampled that as well.  He kept each swab separate and labeled them appropriately, keeping his patient covered as much as he possibly could. 

“Almost done.”

“I know.”  Wilson nodded, squeezing his eyes closed.  “You’re g…going to ask m…me to turn over n…next.” Not a question.

“Just one last exam and you’re done.”

Wilson snorted derisively.  “Yeah, l…last one.”  He tightened his jaw frustrated at how weak he sounded.  “It’s … it’s n…not easy.”

“You know me.  I like a big finale.”

Wilson nodded.  He didn’t move.

“I won’t force you.  It’s your choice.  This is the most important exam though.  I really want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t th…think this is g..going to make me o…okay.”

“Nope.  It won’t.”  House took a seat on the stool and propelled it over toward Wilson’s face.  “Wanna talk about it?”

“Ha …”  Wilson laughed awkwardly.  “We d…don’t talk about ‘it’.”

“Well I’m making all kinds of exceptions here today.”  He pulled out another syringe.  “I have more lorazepam.  Care for another milligram?”

Wilson smiled half-heartedly.  “I’m s…spinning from the l..last dose s..still.”  He shook his head.

“A little spinning won’t hurt.  You’re shocky and concussed anyway, Jimmy.  I just want you relaxed a little bit more.”

“I..I still w…want to go home and sh…shower.”

“I promise.  Those things are going to happen.  Well, you’re coming to my house, not yours, but a shower is very much on the agenda.  Even if I have to hold you up myself.”

Wilson squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.  “Half.”

“You got it.  Half a milligram coming right up.”  Knowing that both of Wilson’s hips were already bruised and sore, House simply reached under the blanket, rolled up the sleeve and injected the medicine into the opposite arm that he had given the previous dose.  He would run out of injection sites though.  “How about you let me start an IV?  I’ll bring some of the happy juice home, give you some fluids which will help with the nausea and the shockiness.  Help you relax and sleep tonight.”

Just the thought of sleep sounded amazingly enveloping and blissful.  Hours of not having to answer questions or listen to anyone or explain to anyone.  Hours of not having to interact with anyone.  But to sleep, perchance to dream … his skin started to crawl at the thought of his subconscious forcing events into the forefront of his brain when he was powerless to stop it.  He knew his brain would transform the events into a pale shadow of the brutality that had already happened to him.  He’d seen PTSD enough to know what he had in store.  Maybe House’s idea wasn’t so bad.  “Even th…though I have a a concussion?”

“It’s just Ativan.  Not a real sedative.  You’ll be able to wake up.”

“Yeah…that’s p…probably good i..idea.”  He tried again to make the chattering stop.  “At h…home though.”

House nodded.  “You want me to take supplies home and start your IV there?”

Wilson nodded.

“Good idea.  Then you can shower without worrying about it getting wet.”

Wilson nodded again grateful House was quick to follow his train of thought.

“Sounds like a plan.”  House confirmed.  “Are you ready to get the hell out of here then?”

“God yes.”

“Okay.”

“B..but you want me to t…turn over first.”  He could feel the Ativan slowly taking effect. 

“You’re not in obvious distress and you’re not showing signs of apparent blood loss from the area.  There’s no rush.  Whenever you’re ready.”

“I … I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, House.”

“Would you be more comfortable if we waited until we got home?”

“No!”  He shook his head.  “No, this … this stays here.  In this room.  Promise.”

“You got it.  Promise.”  House held up two fingers.  “Scouts honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“My first-aid badge is still in a box in my closet.” 

“You stole it from a little kid.”

“Can’t prove it.  It’s mine.”

Wilson laughed.  Wilson sighed heavily.  “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

House nodded and assisted Wilson over.  “Just on your side is fine.”

“Okay.”  He pulled his covers with him as he rolled.  House also made sure he remained covered. 

House donned another pair of gloves and reached, once more for the swabs he would need.  “Just me, Wilson.  I’m moving the blanket aside.”

“I know, House.  Just do it.”

House positioned Wilson as he needed him.  He lay on his left side leaning toward his front, right leg bent.  Anger flashed anew as he took in the sight of Wilson’s backside.  It took everything in him to not curse a blue streak about the bitches that had done this to his friend.  Steeling himself to the task, he took the swabs first eliciting a hiss and a flinch from his patient.  “Sorry sorry.  It’s done.”  He removed the swab and packaged it properly. 

He grabbed a small package from the supplies he had already set out and squirted the contents out onto a paper towel, making sure to coat his finger liberally.  “I’m sorry Wilson, ...this is just going to suck.”

Wilson felt the cold gel on him and grabbed hold of the edge of his blanket tightly then felt the invading digit.  He bit his lip and couldn’t hold back the groan despite his best efforts. 

“There is more bleeding than I thought.”  House continued to prod the area.

Wilson flinched and bit into his lip harder.

“I don’t feel any anomalies with your prostate.”  House finished examining the area and finally removed himself and discarded the gloves.  He helped Wilson pull his blankets back around him and tucked them in on each side as Wilson turned gingerly to lay on his back once more.  “There are a couple of tears.  I could stitch them or not.  They’re small.  I think they’ll heal faster if I stitch them but they will heal either way.”

“Don’t stitch them.  I’ll be fine.”

“You’re the boss.”  House grabbed the scrubs he brought in and looped Wilson’s feet into the leg holes, pulling them up until Wilson could reach them easily.  “Don’t get mad, but I think I want a CT before we leave.”

“House.” 

House pushed the table extension back into the table allowing Wilson to stand.  He handed him the scrub shirt.  “You know it’s indicated with that kind of trauma.”  He indicated the wound on Wilson’s head. 

“CT and then home.  Promise … promise on your eyes.”

“Holy …”

“Promise.”  Wilson insisted.

“CT and pharmacy and then home.  I swear on my eyes.”

 

Wilson finally emerged from the shower.  House had been worried, studying the pattern of the shower noises.  If the noise did not indicate actual live movement, he was ready to pounce on the locked door.  Each time he was near ready to hit Defcon 1, movement was detected once more and he was able to get through the forty minute shower without Wilson knowing how bat-shit crazy he had been with Wilson out of his sight for so long.  Not information the man needed at the moment, House thought. 

House had given him a pair of pajamas and a concert t-shirt to sleep in.  The legs dragged the floor slightly but they fit just fine otherwise. 

“Hungry?”

Wilson shook his head vehemently. 

“You haven’t eaten all day …”

“House, no … just, no food.  Not today.”

“Okay.”  He waved his hand toward the sofa.  “Have a seat.”

Wilson took in the medical paraphernalia and sighed.  He sat down slowly, easing himself onto the cushion.  House sat on the coffee table in front of him, pulling out the tourniquet. 

He watched as House tied the thick rubber piece around his arm.  “How long has it been since you started an IV?”

“Started a what?”

“Haha …seriously, do you even remember …”

“It’s done.”

“Oh, wow.  That was pretty good.”  Wilson watched as he taped down the access site then plugged in a liter bag of IV fluids.   He eased into the couch very ready to be done with such an exhausting day.

“Lay down, Wilson.   On your belly.”

“What?”  Wilson watched House come at him with another medicine, this time in a tube.  “What is that?”

“It has an analgesic and an antibiotic in it.  Some of the nastier welts actually broke the skin.  I don’t want to take the chance of infection and I think it will help … your other issue too.”

“No, you are not rubbing cream on my ass.  House …”  Wilson let out a harsh breath through his nose, shaking his head.

“Do you feel threatened by my presence?  Do you feel unsafe?”

He shook his head once more, emphatically.  “Of course not.”  He did not admit that he was probably in the only place where he could possibly feel the most safe, the most comforted. 

“If me being in your personal space doesn’t bother you, why would you care if I deliver an indicated medical treatment?”

Wilson’s voice became quiet.  “It’s personal.”

“Yeah … I know.  This entire evening has been nothing BUT personal.  Trust me, I’m more than ready to start playing foosball, talking about monster truck rallies and adamantly NOT talking about your personal parts, but I’ve had to improvise as we go.  Now will you roll over, please and let’s get this done?”  House donned a pair of gloves as he waited for his friend to obey.

Wilson rolled onto his belly scrunching the pillow to his chest.  First he felt his shirt dragged up and lotion applied there with what can only be described as a tender touch.  He hadn’t expected such a tender, warm hand.  House talked to him the entire time, his deep baritone voice soothing as he relaxed under House’s touch.  The voice kept him anchored to the room and he was grateful for that.  Soon his cheeks were rubbed with the amazing, pain-reducing medicine and he flinched slightly when his cheeks were spread. 

“No more bleeding.  That’s good.”  House explained as Wilson felt a dollop of the cream was ran quickly up the crack of his ass. 

House righted the clothing and went into the kitchen to wash his hands.  When House returned, Wilson wasn’t sleeping but hadn’t moved either.  House settled into the chair.  “What did they use too …”

“Stop.  No, House.  We are not talking about it.  Not now, not ever.  I will never tell you that stuff.”

“You have to tell someone.”

“Wanna bet.”

“Wilson …”

“House, seriously, it isn’t happening.  I’m not talking about it.  I just want to forget about it.”

“What if they do this to someone else?”

“Well then that person will be just as understanding about why the fuck I didn’t talk about it because they’ll be busy NOT talking as well.”

“Because guys don’t get raped?”

“Because guys don’t talk about being raped.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“----“

“Wilson, do you think this was your fault?”

“House …ugh …just …there has got to be something on Animal Planet right now.”

“This wasn’t your fault.”  House’s voice became less frustrated, more quiet, more solid proclamation. 

“I have no interest in talking House.  Animal Planet or shoot me up and send me to dreamland.  I’m not fucking doing this.  I’m not!” 

It was shark week on the Animal Planet channel.  They both sat together, but apart within the small space.  House shooting him assessing glances with every sigh, every shift of movement and Wilson trying desperately to give him nothing to assess.  Silently they watched until finally, House announced he was ready to call it a night.  They had spent several hours with Wilson being awake and lucid.  House felt safe allowing the man to sleep for two hours without being woken up for a neuro check.  Wilson agreed.

“Now for the yummy stuff.”  House twisted the syringe into the IV port and plunged it in without any complaints from Wilson.  House remained close for another half hour, making sure Wilson was asleep before adding another blanket to Wilson’s still form and turning in himself. 

 

The blood-curdling screams woke House with a start.  He was limping down the hall before he could even register what the hell was going on.  Grabbing another pre-filled syringe from the table, he rounded the sofa and found Wilson in the throes of a nightmare. 

“Wilson!”  He shook the man attempting to keep himself from being hit as the man battled his demons.  “Wilson!!”

Wilson woke with a start, backing away before he was able to take in his surroundings completely.

“Easy, easy…just me.  You’re fine.  You had a nightmare.”

Breathing heavily, Wilson scrubbed a hand over his face and attempted to get himself under control.  “Oh …fuck.  God, I’m so sorry.”

“That looked like a bad one.”  House pushed the drug into the IV line once more.

“It … it was.”  Wilson sat up on the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his hands.  He was dripping with sweat.  Finally he delivered the information to House that would confirm that he was indeed neurologically sound. 

House stood, went to his room and returned in a moment with more pillows.  He sat at the end of the couch, piled the pillows on his lap and guided his friend to lay his head down on the pillows. 

Wilson was easily lead into position but then turned his head.  “Are you serious?”

“Are you gonna talk about what happened?”

“No.”

“Then I’m serious.”

Wilson allowed the medication to seep into his body, slowly taking over and allowing him to relax once more. 

“You just need some human connection at the moment.  I think I can do that.”

Wilson sighed, clearly uncomfortable with their closeness.  “Fine, but if I remember this tomorrow, I’m kicking your damn ass.”

House smiled and watched as the lines of too much damage and too much life-sucking, mind-numbing torture fell away into the smooth expression of sleep.  He knew the sun would come up in a couple hours but he also knew he would give anything for Wilson to not have to lend himself to that chase.  There were so many more questions than answers.  More questions would have to make themselves known as time crept on and eventually answers would come as well.  He felt safe to wrap his arms around Wilson during sedated sleep.  He took in his warmth and gave some of his own.  That was just what they did. 

 

 

House had taken out the IV access soon after they woke.  After Wilson’s third shower the next morning, House met him in the hallway and offered him two white pills and a glass of water.  “Just ibuprofen.  It’ll help with the soreness.”

Wilson nodded and downed the pills and the entire glass of water. 

“Any more bleeding?”

Wilson did not meet his friend’s eyes but shook his head in response. 

“Did you use the cream?”

“Yes.”  Wilson confirmed.

“Good.  Can I look at the marks on your chest and back again?”

Wilson turned around slowly and lifted the t-shirt House had given him to wear that morning.

“They look much better.  I don’t think we need to keep using the cream on your back.  They’re healing fine.  Keep using it on your bottom though, okay?”

Wilson pulled down his shirt quickly and moved toward the living room. “I know.”  He snapped.

“Okay.”  House took Wilson’s empty water glass into the kitchen.  “You want more water?”

“No.”

“I can make some pancakes.   You really need to eat something.”

“House!  Dammit, stop it!”  Wilson sighed frustrated and scrubbed a hand over his face.  “Just fucking stop it.  You’re not my nursemaid so stop fussing.  You don’t fuss over people.  We don’t fuss at each other, so just fucking knock it off.”

The blatant use of the f bomb from his best friend had House analyzing his behavior at once.  Anger.  Perfectly normal stage of grief.  He’d already tried to deny the attack had happened.  Anger was next his clinical mind recalled.  Bargaining, depression and acceptance were also on the list of the stages of grief.  Clinical thought was comforting.  It was predictable.  Expected.  Only this wasn’t some random patient.  What about House’s anger?  He was angry.  Damn right he was angry.  He was fit to begin a rampage the likes of people like Molly and her buddies had never seen.  His fists clenched in rage, the fingernails digging into his palms.  He welcomed the minute pain wishing he could push a fist into a wall or window or a face to nourish the fury, splitting himself wide open to unleash his burden.  Things like this happen all the time, every day.  Those people that they happen to though, they are not to happen to Wilson.  Wilson should be above that.  Wilson was purely good and if anyone on the planet did NOT deserve to have bad things happen to, it was him.  He had that special quality, he liked people, he actually gave a shit…genuinely gave a shit about people.  People that this happened to should be people like House.  People that were selfish bastards. 

House thought he was doing some bargaining of his own with those thoughts and decided to stick with the anger for a while longer instead.  It would suit his needs.  Of course, it would not do Wilson any good at the moment.  Wilson needed a constant supportive presence.  House knew that.  He knew he could be that for Wilson.  He had to be.  This was not something he could overcome on his own.  Strength was never a constant in House’s life.  Sure, he was strongly selfish and self-absorbed.  Nobody had ever needed him though.  Nobody in his life would ever even ask him to be their strength.  Wilson would never ask, he knew that, but House would be Wilson’s strength.  He made up his mind on that. 

 

When House suggested they go to Wilson’s place to pick up some of his personal items, Wilson agreed and quietly dragged himself along.  There was no discussion about Wilson being ready to go back home, no hint that he wanted to be alone. 

House received a text from Cuddy late in the afternoon.

Is he ok?

No

Should he be admitted?

No

What happened to him?

Not my conversation to have

He had a cigarette burn on his chest

Brilliant diagnosis

I gave the police your address.  Sorry, no choice.

 

 

Wilson refused to talk to the police.  He hid, no other word for it, in House’s bedroom, feigning sleep. 

“You have to talk to them sometime, Wilson.  They’re not just gonna go away.”

Wilson pulled the covers up over his head and turned on his side away from the door.

“Hiding your face does not make the boogyman go away.”

Wilson remained silent.

“It doesn’t make you disappear either.”

 

 

Wilson heard House close the bedroom door and waited until the uneven footsteps moved down the hall before he released the floodgates that he could no longer hold back.   Disappear.  God, he would just love to do that.  The darkness that enveloped him underneath the thin veil of blankets felt so protecting from the rest of the world.  Nothing would get in, nothing out.  Just quiet, just absence.  Outside of the blankets, the world waiting for him was harsh, hurtful and demanded too much of him.  Demanded he think, that he process, that he feel.  What the fuck good did that do for him?  All his life he thought feeling was good.  Feelings for his patients, for his wives and lovers and for people in general and what good did that do him?  All these feelings of humanity, decency, respect, kindness, charity, compassion, goodwill … all of this altruism didn’t help him when he had a gun to his head.  When he was being … UGH!  It would help him not in the least right now.  Fuck the world and fuck everyone in it.  Everyone could just leave him the fuck alone and get lost. 

 

 

House was beginning to worry when Wilson hadn’t made another appearance until late evening.  He was just about to go in and make sure his friend was still breathing when Wilson shuffled sleepily into the living room rubbing a hand through mussed up hair. 

“Good nap then?”

“Sorry.  Didn’t realize I’d slept that long.”

“You needed it.”  House shrugged.  “Hungry?”

Wilson sighed and finally nodded.  “Sure.  I’ll eat.”  He conceded reluctantly. 

House busied himself making two bowls of the jambalaya he’d made earlier and then a couple glasses of cola before returning to Wilson in the living room.  Wilson had already found a channel with a monster truck rally.  He visibly turned up the volume when House found his way to the opposite end of the sofa in a definite pronouncement that there would be no conversation over dinner. 

 

 

The weekend shuffled by.  Wilson’s movements became more fluid, less painful.  He wouldn’t allow House to re-examine him.  Said he didn’t want any of “that stuff” to be done in the apartment, but also refused to go to the hospital and find an out of the way exam room either.  House had resigned to trust Wilson to let him know if there was an issue.

 

 

“House?”

The voice was familiar.  He’d thought he heard it in his sleep but the nudge to his shoulder told him otherwise.

“House?”

House opened his eyes, squinting, his eyes still burning from sleep.  “Wilson?  What is it?  You okay?”

“Yes.  It’s just …”

“I’m awake now, Wilson, just tell me.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“You can’t sleep?”  Did he change his mind about a sedative?  Wilson had refused them after that first night. 

“Well, I can fall asleep, I just can’t … stay that way.”

“Do you want some company?  Watch some more TV?”

“No.”  He shuffled his feet and looked down.  “I’m very tired.  Can I just …?”

“For God’s sake Wilson, tell me.”

Wilson didn’t say another word.  He just lifted the edge of the blanket and climbed under the covers next to House.  Once he was settled in, he turned his head to face away from House.  “I’m sorry, House.  You didn’t ask for this, I know, but … you make me feel safe and, at least for the moment, you’re the only thing that makes me feel that way so please…just please, let me sleep?”

House tucked the blanket up tighter.  “It’s okay, Wilson.  Sleep.” 

 

 

Wilson literally ran into the shower as soon as someone knocked at the door early Monday morning.  Literally, ran. 

House sighed but let in the pair of police officers, one male, one female.  Both had very kind eyes and seemed like they would be very gentle with the handling of their questions to Wilson.  House deemed them worthy of speaking to his Wilson.  His Wilson?  Okay?  Well, at any rate, they seemed competent. 

House had knocked on the bathroom door during his shower, announcing that Wilson needed to come out and speak with the very nice police officers.  The bathroom door was locked and after the officers waited a very patient thirty minutes, it was obvious they were not going to be able to interview Wilson that day either. 

In frustration, House had given them Molly’s name and where she currently worked.  He also conveyed just enough information to keep doctor/patient confidentiality, not to mention best-friend confidentiality, so that the officers knew that there had indeed been a violent crime committed against Wilson.  He knew Wilson would be angry with him, but at some point, House knew Wilson would eventually find acceptance and would need to heal.  Justice would be a good form of acceptance. 

Wilson spent the next week in pajamas.  He moved exactly from House’s bed, to the bathroom, to the living room, to the bathroom several times during the day and then back to House’s bed at night.  He didn’t talk and if House didn’t insist he eat and drink, he wouldn’t have bothered with that either. 

 

 

House had had enough.  “Get dressed.”  He ordered.

“What?  Why?”

“Because that’s what people do.  They get up in the morning, they shower and then put on real clothes, not the kind you just barely get away with at Walmart, and they move about in the world.”

“House …I …”

“I don’t wanna hear it.  Go.  Put on some clothes.  We are going to the grocery store where you are buying us food.”

“Oh.”  Wilson obeyed. 

 

House finally felt a little of the anxiety wear off at the thought of taking Wilson out.  They were making their way through the small market easily.  They even laughed at a few of the more interesting looking customers guessing which 40-year-old still lived in his mother’s basement and even spotted a three-hundred pound, 6-foot tall, bald man with an obvious red thong peeking out over the top of his way-too-tight yoga pants.  They had joked that the midriff top he sported added so much class to the ensemble. 

They were laughing.  It was familiar.  It was easy and comfortable strolling together, keeping company with each other, side-by-side. 

Finally, with their purchases, they strolled up to the check out.  House was busy loading the belt with their selections, Wilson digging through his wallet for his debit card, when they both heard a feminine exclamation of  “Excuse me, Doctor Wilson?”

House turned to find Wilson standing ramrod straight, staring straight ahead.  The woman, a short, petite blonde pushing a buggy with a child, about 4-years-old closer to Wilson. 

“Hi, Doctor Wilson.  Haven’t seen you around lately.”

House vaguely recognized her as a nurse although he had no idea which floor she worked.  He assumed the Oncology floor though since she seemed so familiar with Wilson.  He scrambled to get the cart out of his way and push passed it in the small isle, nudging the cart aside with his cane.  “Wilson, why don’t you finish unloading the food.”  He grabbed hold of Wilson’s arm as he spoke, wanting to have his full attention on him rather than the woman.  “My leg is acting up.  Do you mind?”

Wilson shook his head and moved silently away. 

“Oh, hello Doctor House.  I hadn’t realized you two were … partners.”

“That we’re …? Ah, yes.  Reasonable deduction I suppose as is the fact you’re your marriage is in trouble.”

“Excuse me?”

“The box of crème puffs amidst the plethora of vegetable, fruits, lean meats and protein bars tells me you binge eat when your husband isn’t around.  Sign of stress.  The yellowing of your right index and middle fingers tells me that you smoke.  Your husband doesn’t know it or you would have purchased your cigarettes while you were here.  One stop shop, especially with a child would be more convenient, but you don’t do that because he looks at the grocery receipts.  He would know.  You keep gum in your purse and you buy your cigarettes at the gas station on the way home, in cash.  Your hair is cute, but it’s over done.  Went a bit too blonde on the dye job in hopes the hubby will like it since he didn’t even notice it the last time.  Make up is too fancy for this time of day but you do it like that anyway because it makes you feel good when people notice you, because your husband does not.  Lack of communication, lack of attention, high stress and attempting to find solace elsewhere equals marriage in trouble.”

The woman pressed her lips together tightly, turned smartly and wheeled her buggy toward the door without another word.

House turned back to Wilson relieved the man was finishing up the unloading of the cart and showed no further signs of distress. 

“That was not very nice.”  Wilson admonished quietly.

“Well, I’ve never been accused of being nice anyway.” 

 

 

Three more days passed with Wilson steadfastly refusing to get dressed, refusing to leave and most adamantly refusing to get any kind of help. 

The police had called to say that they had two women in custody and the Molly was testifying that she had witnessed these woman attack at least two other men in similar fashion to the attack on Wilson.  They wanted Wilson to come in and identify them as his attackers.  No other victims would come forward so it was simply Molly’s word against theirs.  Even the evidence that House had collected would not be as strong in convicting these bitches then Wilson’s testimony. 

There was no argument about it.  Wilson just refused to do it.  He would not talk about it, he simply shut down. 

 

Wilson and House lay side-by-side in bed.  Wilson was beginning to stir in what House assumed were the beginnings of one doozy of a nightmare.  Self-preservation for his leg should the man start thrashing were one motive to wake Wilson, another being that his heart hammered in sympathy at the sight of his friend so visibly disturbed. 

“Wilson.”  House nudged him between the shoulder blades.  When he didn’t wake, House nudged him again.  “Wilson.”  He said louder.

“Wha …?  Oh …”

“You were having another nightmare.”

“I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“S’okay.”  House scooted forward a bit.  “You trust me?”

“Of course.” 

“Scootch backwards a bit.”

“House?”

“Wilson, just shut up.  Please.” He admonished himself for sounding so demanding.  The last thing Wilson needed was someone demanding to let him have physical contact.  “I just wanna make you feel safe again.  My arm is going around your waist.  Understand?”

Wilson huffed impatiently.  “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.  I read something somewhere about … touching …”

“Yes, House.  Don’t break yourself with compassion.  I got it.” 

Despite Wilson’s seemingly disagreeable attitude about the process, his demeanor calmed exponentially wrapped up in House’s body heat, his breath on Wilson’s neck. He grabbed onto House’s arms like a lifeline.  No longer able to keep himself pulled together, he let himself crash into the heap of despair and scorched flesh he felt like he was.  House pulled his friend in and held on allowing Wilson the time he needed to allow the shredding away of emotion too long pent up.   

Finally, he slept peacefully.

 

 

Cuddy had given them both ample leeway but also had a hospital to run.  House returned to work and surprisingly, Wilson was ready to leave for work by the time House was ready to go. 

“You’re going back today?”

“Yeah.  I don’t have any patients scheduled but I thought I’d go in.  Find my sea legs, I guess.”

“Good.” 

They rode together in silence.  Cuddy met them both in the lobby when they arrived.  Wilson stood up and had a confident stroll but House noticed he had a problem making eye contact with their boss and had kept House between him and Cuddy.

“Wilson.  I’m glad to see you looking well.”  She talked around House failing miserably at not looking like she would just like to hug the stuffing out of Wilson. 

“Thanks.  Good to be back.”  House felt his coat being tugged in the small of his back. 

“Okay, good chat.  Wilson, don’t we have that …” he pointed in the general direction of the elevators and off they went toward the third floor. 

“So this could be a problem.”  House grumbled while waiting for the elevator car. 

“What’s that?”  Wilson stared seemingly unconcerned about his behavior.

“Seriously?”  House glared.

“I don’t see a problem.”

They entered the empty car and let the doors close.  “You don’t see a problem with having to avoid women?  Well, patients, colleagues, nurses and bosses come in all shapes and sizes as well as genders.  Doctors are well-known for having to come in contact with these types of people.  I’m pretty sure you’re going to have to be able to handle yourself around women on the off chance that I won’t be able to follow you around at all hours of your day to act as your buffer.”

“I can.  I will.”

“Wilson … jeezus.  Doctor Nemeth.  Her name is Doctor Cassandra Nemeth.  She comes highly recommended and she has an office right here in our building.  How convenient.”

Wilson turned on House, obviously irritated.  “How is talking about it going to help me?  How is drudging up every excruciating detail going to make me feel better?  It won’t make me feel better, it will make me relive it which I am spending every moment of every single day trying to forget.” 

The doors dinged and opened, Wilson darted between them before they finished parting and rushed toward his office. 

 

 

“House, I’m coming to you first because you seem to be acting as his protector, but I need answers.”  Cuddy stood over his desk, breasts peeking out over her plunging neckline as usual. 

“As his protector, I give you my permission to talk to him yourself.”

“House?”

“What do you want me to say?  I know as much as you.”

“He hasn’t seen a patient in three weeks.  I don’t mind that, I really don’t but he’s not even seeing anyone.  If there was any amount of actual recovery going on, I could … extend his time off.”

“You don’t think I’ve tried?  I’ve made the appointments myself.  I’ve even escorted him down to her office.  He will not step foot inside.  I’ve tried talking to him myself.  He won’t talk about it.”

“I’m worried.”

“Welcome to my world.”

 

 

Evenings were spent in companionable silence, watching television and sharing meals.  Nights were spent wrapped in each other’s arms.  They either spooned or Wilson slept on House’s chest when he needed to reposition his leg.  Absent-mindedly, he rubbed circles into Wilson’s scapula, staring at the ceiling and wondering where this event had unintentionally taken their relationship.  No question he had feelings of wanting to protect him as Cuddy had accused him.  Wilson had needed him to be this close, to make him feel safe.  More likely to make him feel connected to a human instead of flailing about lonely and afraid.  He knew what that felt like.  Protector seemed inadequate a description for their relationship though.  He was his point of contact to make Wilson feel something decent and normal and comfortable and comforted.  He was someone to keep him strong and someone to confide in.  His friend. 

He tried to imagine life without Wilson.  The thought made him feel cold and alone.  He thought about life without having this … this physical contact.  He’d grown used to having Wilson’s solid weight next to him, his scent around him.  How would it be if Wilson decided he no longer needed the physical contact?  Would he miss it?  He decided he would definitely miss his presence.  He might feel happy for Wilson to finally feel free of his dependence on the contact, but he would decidedly mourn the loss himself. 

What did that make them then?  They were already companions in every sense of the word.  Shared their lives thoroughly with each other, lived out of each other’s pocket.  They slept together; they were physical with one another.  Not just the night time cuddling either.  They brushed against each other easily, sat on the sofa together shoulder-to-shoulder.  Each of them comfortably draped an arm around the other as they walked.  Were they lovers then?  House finally fell asleep to thoughts of whether or not sex defined the term.  He wasn’t sure but he didn’t think he would mind kissing Wilson. 

 

 

One week later, House decided he had to get some errands done after lunch and demanded Wilson come with him.  Wilson was agreeable and followed House along the sidewalk along the downtown shopping area and old buildings.  The walked and talked falling into familiar banter about sports and lots of nothing.  Wilson climbed the cement steps absent-mindedly alongside his friend chatting about nothing when he noticed they’d made it inside the courthouse. 

“What are we doing here, House?”

House kept walking, ushering Wilson along with him.  “I need a copy of my birth certificate.”

Wilson was just about to say that House wasn’t even born in that county when middle-aged, brunette dressed in a smart looking navy blue suit joined them in the hall. 

She offered a hand to House which he quickly shook.  “Dr House, thank you so much for contacting me.”  She looked directly at Wilson.  “Dr Wilson, I presume.  I’ve heard so much about you and I just want to tell you how brave I think you are.  Your testimony will make this case.  I don’t need to tell you how much that means to the general safety and well-being of the community.”

“House?”  Wilson visibly paled. 

“Counselor.  Can I have a moment in private with my friend?  Just needs a little pep talk I think.”

“Certainly.”  She ushered them to a nearby consultation room and gave them some privacy. 

Wilson rushed into House’s personal space immediately, threateningly.  “What the hell is going on?!”

“I know your pissed, just wait a minute …”

“I can’t House.  You know I can’t.  What the hell are we doing here, in this place?”

“You’re here because they don’t get to win.”  Blue eyes met brown.  “If you allow their actions to ruin your life then you may as well curl up and die.  They don’t get to win and you don’t give them that satisfaction.  They’re rapists, Wilson.  If you were taking care of a woman in this situation, you would fight and if she didn’t want to, you would talk her into it and you would talk to her until she changed her mind.”

“This is different.”

“Why is it different?  Are you bulletproof?

“No, but I’m …

“You’re a guy and therefore almighty powerful?  They had a gun, Wilson.  You couldn’t stop them.”

“I deserved it!”  Wilson sighed deeply.  “I deserved what they did.  It was my fault.  I couldn’t stop them but it was my fault.”  He slumped into a nearby chair.

“Wilson … no.  How could you possibly feel that way?”  House didn’t understand this realization.  Then it dawned.  “Doctor Pantypeeler.”

Wilson shivered as the name was said aloud.

“You think you’re promiscuous which makes you believe you need to be punished?”  House scrubbed a hand across his face.  “Hate to burst your bubble here but if we’re going by sheer number, I’m pretty certain I have you beat.  Do you know how many hookers I have on speed dial right now?  Sorry, but you don’t hold a candle to my transgressions.  And what makes you think those bitches have any right on this planet to dole out whatever punishment you may think you deserve?  Who’s authority do they act upon?  I highly doubt God appointed them.  Is it their civil servitude?  No, Wilson, it wasn’t.  They acted out of hate and misery and cruelty with no thought whatsoever about the justice you thought you deserved.”

Wilson finally met his eyes once more. 

“What about the college slut porn we’re so fond of?  Do those girls deserve to be raped?”

Wilson grinned at House’s obvious attempt to derail his thought process.

“What about hookers?  Do hookers deserve to be raped?”

“No!”

“No, of course not.  Again, the only difference is the fact that the gender roles are switched.  It doesn’t make the act any less cruel and it doesn’t mean they get to walk free.  They don’t win, Wilson.  Don’t let them.”

 

 

Wilson felt raw after delivering his testimony.  Coming face-to-face with his attackers and with Molly once more had proven to be more than he expected to handle when he had woken up that morning.  It was done.  The defending attorney had been an asshole, but the prosecutor was amazing and he walked out feeling cut down to size and ten feet tall at the same time.

Finally, it was over.  He didn’t have to war with his guilt over not reporting it anymore, he didn’t have to face House’s admonishment over it anymore either.  Done.  Finished.  That felt better then he thought.

 

 

Wilson sat stiffly on the edge of House’s bed. 

“You okay?”  House asked.

“Yeah.  I just…I have to tell you something.”

“Oh jeez.  Fine what”

“I don’t want you to get mad or think that … that I was taking advantage … I wasn’t doing that.  I didn’t think like that when we first started … when we started sleeping together.  I want to say that first.”

“Wilson?”

“I’m gay.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’ve always known.  I’ve hidden it pretty well in all the shallow relationships I’ve had, but I am gay.  I didn’t want to risk our friendship … shockingly enough after all the bullshit we’ve been through over the years.  Our ups and downs and epic battles.  It’s just … after this, after all we’ve been through it just seemed completely ridiculous to not tell you that.”

“What in the hell have you and Doctor Nemeth been talking about the last couple months?”

Wilson smirked.  “I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you.”  he smiled ruefully.  “Stop plotting the break-in to her office to steal my files.  I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” 

“Does this mean you won’t be sleeping with me anymore?”

“I hope not.”  Wilson smiled.

House returned the smile easily.  “Good, then get your ass into bed.  I’m tired.”

They snuggled together just as they usually did, warmth not just about body heat anymore.  Had it ever been just that anyway?  Their lips met, gravity seemingly pulling them together.  The kiss chaste, tender.  Neither of them were quite sure what to do or how to make the next leap but they knew they would do it together. 

House took added comfort in the fact that he had placed a homeless man on his payroll.  An easy spent $100/month to slash Molly’s tires or pour sugar in her gas tank at random intervals.  Her buddies might be paying the price in prison, but Molly had known what was happening and she never came forward on her own.  If the police hadn’t confronted her, they would still be attacking people.  And she was still a nurse because she was never charged with a crime since she testified.  Ridiculous. 

“I love you Greg House.  Thank you for fixing me.”

“Eh, it was my turn.  It’s what we do.”

THE END