Archive of Our Own ^beta

House sat at his usual spot in the Princeton-Plainsboro cafeteria. He picked at a Caesar salad with his spork, contemplating, when he heard two familiar voices walk in.

“Stacy,” Wilson chuckled, “you said that to his face?”

“Of course I did! He’s a jerk. He’s always been a jerk. You of all people should know that,” she said, playfully.

The familiar faces stopped in the cafeteria door. Their expressions morphed into a mix of guilt and anxiety.

House’s first instinct was to decide he shouldn’t care. Why would he? It’s not like he was dating either of them anymore. He decided not to get back with Stacy, and Wilson was just a short fling. Swiftly getting up from his chair, he picked up his half-eaten salad and walked towards the couple. “Here,” he spat, shoving his almost empty bowl in Wilson’s hands. He walked it off.

House didn’t get much farther before Wilson was behind him. Wilson, of course, was faster than him. “I thought you were off today,” Wilson sighed.

“Yeah. I was supposed to be.”

"Look, if this is about Stacy..." He paused, searching for any explanation that House would find reasonable. But then again, what's the point in hiding? Better yet, when has House ever been reasonable? “You guys aren’t together anymore-“

House whipped around to meet Wilson’s gaze. “Do you want me to sleep with *your* ex? Or, sorry, exes. It’ll be a party!” He paused. “It doesn’t concern me. I don’t want to hear about it,” he added, averting his gaze.

Wilson hesitated. “If it doesn’t concern you,” he began, “why are you so avoidant?”

“I’m not—“

“You obviously are! And now you’re lying about it!”

“I’m not lying,” he lied.

"Right. You haven't been hiding in your office since she was hired. You haven't made any snide remarks to her. You haven't had any worsening symptoms."

"Jimmy—"

"Don't," he chided. "Just— If you have something to say, say it."

House wanted to scream. He wanted to say, ‘I hate it, because I still love both of you.’ But what would that do for him? All that could do is make him vulnerable.

“There’s nothing to say.” House limped to his office to go back into hiding.

. . .

“Greg?” Stacy called out, poking her head through the clear office door. She met House’s eyes and welcomed herself in.

House set down his console, as a muffled ‘game over’ sound effect chimed.

“Leave me alone,” he hissed, “I’m trying to have fun.”

“Greg.” She crossed her arms as House narrowed his eyes. Just what was she playing at here? If Wilson’s interrogation didn’t work, hers obviously wouldn’t either.

“What? You’re going to lecture me? But Mom!” he griped.

“You’re upset.”

“I’m upset that you’re in my office, intruding on my free time. I couldn’t care less about what— or who— you do in yours.”

“I know you, House. You can’t lie to me. ”

“Why would I lie about that?” he mumbled. He averted his gaze, clearly preoccupied with something else.

“Because you’re jealous,” she emphasized. “You won’t even look me in the eye.”

Wilson waltzed into the room. “House, you need to—Stacy? What are *you* doing here?”

“She’s cheating on you with me,” House remarked. “And *he’s* cheating on me with you.”

“We aren’t dating,” Wilson said, not entirely sure which accusation he was denying.

Stacy’s eyes widened. “You two? For how long?”

“Ladies, ladies, there’s enough to go around,” House scoffed.

Wilson stared at the floor recalling a drunken autumn night in a crappy hotel. He got two things out of that experience: bed bugs and an altered sense of self. “It was *one* time at a medical conference,” he sighed. “It didn’t mean anything. It was a mistake.”

House’s eyes flashed with a sort of saddened wrath. Was that all it was to Wilson? “A mistake? Oh, come on! That’s not what you said the morning after.”

Wilson’s heartbeat quickened. “That was years ago!”

“How many years ago?” Stacy interrogated. House noticed the switch from Concerned Associate to Conniving Attorney.

“That’s arbitrary—“

“Arbitrary?” House interrupted. “Everything is arbitrary to you. Just like your relationships with your ex wives. Just like how Stacy—“

“Don’t bring me into this,” Stacy scolded.

“Like I’m supposed to ignore the prosecuting bitch in the room. You brought yourself into this the moment you decided you wanted whatever three alimonies had left of him,” House chastised.

The room fell silent. A thick, sickening tranquility washed over House and made his ears ring. He despised silence like this. If he truly didn’t care, maybe he’d turn on his stereo, or go back to his Game Boy, or—

House’s thoughts were interrupted by Stacy’s stomping out of the office. She shut the door behind her with such vigor that House thought it would shatter.

“Too hot to handle,” House whispered, much to Wilson’s dismay.

Wilson remembered why he came into House’s office in the first place. “You’ve done nothing but hide in your office and belittle your team. You haven’t even bothered to look at *your* patient,” Wilson badgered.

“You wanna know why I think you’re here?” House raised his voice. “You don’t care about the patient. You don’t care about my team. You prey on my vulnerability, and you confused indignant isolation as despondency.”

“*I* prey on vulnerability? You’re the man who unjustly forces patients into life-threatening procedures just to get a false sense of superiority!”

“At least I don’t prey on my own friend,” House said scornfully.

“You don’t?” Wilson laughed. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Like you’ve never lied to me. Never stole from me. Never manipulated, never—“

“And you’re just a saint among the living, aren’t you?” House cut in. “You act like you’re altruistic, but I know it’s all self-serving.”

“What have I done to you?” Wilson grilled. “This isn’t about me and Stacy. It’s about you and me — or you and her.”

“You’re the one who refused to talk about us.” House averted his gaze.

“God, House, not in front of her!”

“Why, would it ruin your chances at a shot with her? If anything it’d give you more to bond over.”

“Because I didn’t want her to know about us! I don’t want *anyone* to!” Wilson screamed. He shut his mouth in fear. If anyone heard, it would be death to his career. Nobody would trust a guy like him to come near patients, let alone treat them. And if anyone on House’s team— or even House’s boss— caught wind of that vinous night, he’d never hear the end of it.

Yet House didn’t let up. What could he do, if not poke the bear? “What, our night in Newark wasn’t good enough to speak of?”

“It’s not about whether it was good or not—“

“—It was—“

“This isn’t the kind of thing you speak about openly!”

“So you’re going to repress it forever? We both know you aren’t going to just get over it,” House said with palpable irritability. Maybe he didn’t know what it was like for Wilson, but he knew he wasn’t ever going to forget.

“No— I’m not repressed— I just…” he sighed, wondering just how long he could cling onto any hope of denial. “I’m just saying that I don’t want it out there, okay? I don’t want our relationship— what we had of one anyway— in the public eye!”

“You’re embarrassed by me,” House murmured. He looked up and stared directly at Wilson.

“What?”

“You’re embarrassed by me,” he repeated, raising his voice slightly. He wasn’t angry, but triumphant, as if he solved another puzzle.

Wilson went silent for a moment. He contemplated. “I heard you. I just didn’t expect that.” It was true. And he hated that it was true, and he hated that House had thought of it before him. He was, in fact, embarrassed by his short lived relationship with his coworker. He never told anyone. He didn’t even talk about it with House. But it’s not like it’d come up in casual conversation. What kind of doctor introduces themselves with their dating history? Actually, don’t answer that, he already knows.

“You aren’t denying it.”

“You know I can’t,” Wilson sighed, covering his face with his palms. “I’m not… you know what I mean.”

“Say it.”

“I can’t do that either.”

“You can’t say it? You won’t get dishonorably discharged,” House mocked.

Wilson threw up his hands in frustration, caught in a contradiction. If he admitted it was real— if he admitted his *feelings* were real, then that would complicate things. “If that time in autumn meant anything to you— If *I* mean anything to you,” he added, “You wouldn’t be interrogating me right now.”

“What Stacy does — what you and Cuddy do — is interrogation,” House corrected. “I simply look for answers,” House explained condescendingly. “Besides, it’s not like *nobody* knows.”

Wilson’s heart fell to his stomach. He balled his hands into firsts. “No, no, who— Why would— You can’t—” A cacophony of angry half questions and words spilled out of Wilson.

“Objection, your honor, badgering the witness!” House announced. He added, “I didn’t tell her. She just knew.”

“*Who*?” Wilson demanded.

“Cameron, of course. Who else? She saw me leaving your office with my shirt unbuttoned, so she assumed. I told her she should know what assuming does, but she was smarter than that.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“A generic statement of support and light ridiculing,” House shrugged.

“You’re unbelievable,” Wilson scoffed. He walked out with the same attitude as Stacy.

In Wilson's place, Cameron slid into the room. "House? Is everything okay?" she asked hesitantly.

"No, it's not," House admitted bluntly. “You’d know that if you were listening to what you overheard.”

Cameron's expression softened. "Do you want to talk about it?”

"No, I don’t need your sympathy," House warned, reaching for his bottle of Vicodin.

"I wasn't offering any," Cameron replied, crossing her arms. "Just an observation that this whole thing is dramatic, even for you."

House paused, holding a pill between his index and thumb. "Since when did you become so unsympathetic?" Cameron was the most sympathetic person House knew. She’d cry if she heard you stubbed your toe.

"Since I realized you use self-pity as a shield," she said in an accusatory tone. "Wilson will be back. He always comes back. If he hasn’t abandoned you yet, I don’t think he’s even capable to."

"And Stacy?" House asked, swallowing the pill dry. Maybe it’d help with his mental anguish. “She’s abandoned me.” More accurately, he abandoned her. House couldn’t stand her after the leg. To him, it was her fault he was in pain, and it was her fault that a gap had grown between him and Wilson.

"That depends on whether you actually want her to come back or if you just can't stand seeing her with Wilson." Cameron leaned against the door. "Which one is it?"

House stared at his desk for a long moment. "Both. Neither. I don't know." He wasn’t lying. He hated seeing the two of them together, but that wasn’t necessarily separate from his yearning for Stacy.

"Then do something about it besides hiding in your office insulting them," Cameron suggested. "Your patient is still waiting for a diagnosis, by the way." She didn’t understand why he was doing this. Everything was a game with him. He was a puzzle that was missing a third of its pieces.

”Oh, come on! It’s not like he deserves my time. Didn’t he have discharge from the anus? Robbers leaving from the backdoor? A vacation down under? It’s probably gonorrhea,” he said with malice.

“Are you against diagnosing him because you think he’s cheating,” which he thought about virtually every patient, “or because you’re uninterested?”

“Oh, stop questioning me!” House protested. “Why don’t you deal with him?”

“He’s *your* patient,” she objected back.

“And you’re *my* employee.”

“I feel sorry for you, House,” Cameron admitted, “but I don’t think taking out your frustration on your patient is going to help anyone, especially not you.” She sighed, finally sitting down on an empty chair near his desk. She hesitated, “Don’t you usually eat dinner with Wilson?”

“I’m not paying for you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No,” she frowned. “I’m trying to do something nice for you. If you don’t want to go, that’s fine—“

“I didn’t say that.”

Cameron’s frown turned upside down. “I’ll see you after work, then.”