Maybe... [1/1] House/Wilson, Wilson/Chase, House-Chase.

Title: Maybe...
Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing: House/Wilson, Wilson/Chase, House-Chase
Prompt: 061. Winter.
Word Count: 1200
Rating: R-NC17ish
Author's Notes:
1. 12 drabbles.
2. Suss = Suspect, Suspicious, Questionable, Odd, Strange, Dubious, etc.
3. Much indebted to antheia for helping me through them all.



1.

He's hiding outside when Wilson finds him, on his back on the cold brick wall separating their balcony, eyes closed and leaves in his hair.

"Communing with nature?"

"Just swaying in the breeze."

"That might make sense if you weren't horizontal."

"Lots of things might."

House's eyes are closed, but he knows that Wilson is smiling gently down at him.

Maybe it's for the best that he doesn't see the frown on his best friend's forehead and the way his hand reaches out involuntarily before clenching into a fist and burying itself deep in his pocket.

But, maybe it's not.

2.

Wilson spends his time haunting the balcony; avoiding patients and their harried parents.

If he crouches down nobody can glance in and completely ruin an already shitty day. If he looks to his right, he can see House.

Wilson likes to watch him when there's nobody there; seeing the cracks in his armour, guard coming down. He can see the wince, the way he reaches for his vicodin, looking guiltily down at the bottle, toying with it before putting it away. Unopened.

House can be amazing when he's not pushing people’s buttons.

Trouble is, there're so many buttons to push.

3.

He watches them dance around each other like uncoordinated boys at a school formal. Their jerky movements and doubletalk distracting from the real issues.

Chase has seen the way they look at each other. The way that Wilson falls into limp beside House: a single, synchronous, gestalt entity. He wonders whether they make love, or whether Wilson just lets House fuck him.

Nothing more than shits and giggles.

From his place in the conference room, he sees Wilson reach out to House and then look up guiltily when he pulls back.

Their eyes connect and Wilson know's he's been caught.

1.

The first time it happens, Wilson cries.

House feels awkward and doesn't know what to do. He's never been very open about displaying affection. Should he pat Wilson on the back, tell him it will all be all right? Offer a handkerchief? Roll over, go shower and hope Wilson's done afterwards?

He rests a hand on Wilson's shoulder and looks at the clock on the dresser, watching the minutes tick past as muffled sobs echo through the room.

He just wants Wilson to stop.

He knows Wilson feels awful for cheating on his wife, but it's just sex.

Isn't it?

2.

The second time it happens, House is drunk.

He smells like he's been drinking turpentine and rolling in the sweat of large, angry men.

Rough stubble grazes his neck as House wraps his arms around Wilson, losing his balance, knocking them both to the ground. Wilson tries to move to help House up but there's a cane digging into his ribs and House is pressing down with his hips.

There's a look in House's eyes like he's never seen before and it intrigues him. He's thrusting and he's blindly trusting that House knows where they are.

Maybe he's just blind.

3.

The twelfth time it happens, Chase is watching.

House's hands are under Wilson's shirt, pushing the material up as he palms the taut chest, their mouths practically devouring each other. Wilson is pressed up against the 'Vette, almost bent backwards over the trunk, panting heavily, desire obvious.

Wilson's head raises as House attacks his neck. His hands claw at the other man's back, legs wrapping around House's waist. His eyes are crossed and barely focussing, but he catches a glimpse of movement and then there's clarity.

As Wilson comes, his lips move silently, his breath catching in his throat.

Chase.

1.

He can barely pinpoint when the shift happened.

Sometime around October, maybe. The chill wind assaulting him and whipping his thick, heavy, woollen coat up around him as he trudges through the darkness to his car. Wilson waits for him with crossed arms and furrowed brow.

"We have to talk."

"Why?"

"Julie's threatening to leave me."

"And?"

"Don't you even care that you ruined my marriage?"

"It was ruined before we started fucking."

"That's cold."

"So's the weather."

"Fine."

He watches the figure stalk off into the night and wonders when he'll come back.

Maybe he doesn't want him to.

2.

He can barely pinpoint when it all changed.

He can draw up the sensations at will; House's smooth fingertips pressing down hard on his arms, the lopsided thrusts, the acerbic nothings growled into his ears. He can remember writhing under the touch, but he can't remember a time when House might have wanted something other than sex.

He didn't want to feel used, didn't want to be the crushed virgin girl after her First Love made it to Home Base and left her in the dust.

He didn't want to feel it.

But maybe that's what he was.

Broken. Used.

3.

He can barely pinpoint why it happened.

One day they were simply talking -- work related, nothing suss -- and then they were drinking and Wilson was broken.

He remembers the fact that Wilson didn't cry. It was like he'd simply run out of tears.

He never spoke directly about what happened, just left hints and ghosts and whispers trailing around their conversations like jigsaw pieces waiting to be put together.

But Chase never asks.

He's simply there, listening.

And then they're touching like old lovers who know all the right places without having to ask.

Because maybe that's all Wilson needs.

1.

It's lonely at the top.

Standing on the roof, he can just make out his house from here. He's more bitter than usual; irascible to interns, catty to Cuddy, petty to patients. Gone is that almost good humoured sarcasm, in its place dripping, vitriol.

He sees them together, around the hospital, laughing and not-quite-touching the way they used to not-quite-touch.

He almost wishes he wasn't such a jerk, but who would he be then?

He couldn't be Chase's Wilson. He couldn't be Julie. He could only be him, and that's how he got into this mess.

Maybe he fucked up.

2.

It's confusing in the middle.

They've been avoiding each other for months. Not easy considering they share a balcony.

It comes as a surprise to see a package on his desk; plain brown paper, twine. He opens it, a piece of paper falling out, covered in House's scrawl.

But something's different.

Instead of rushed, angular lines, they're softer, clearer - like he took care to write:

It's cold out.

Wilson unfolds the package to find a soft, warm, woolen scarf. His lips twist into a sad smile, but he wears it as he leaves.

Maybe it was time to make amends.

3.

It's bittersweet at the bottom.

They've settled back into an easy friendship, showing that they stand the test of time. It was the biggest fight they'd ever had, even Cuddy had worried. The other ducklings are just glad House’s not on a warpath anymore.

But he’s still on edge.

They walk, talk and even not-quite-touch the way they used to. He can't help but feel the jealousy surge everytime they're together.

Even though he knows he's safe.

House catches his eye, raises an eyebrow, an unspoken challenge passing between them.

Chase smirks.

Wilson still comes home to him at night.