House MD Fanfiction

Our Paths, They Cross

Hilson, first kiss, 1,183 words
By: lord_is_it_mine

Foreman leaves, and House is struck upside the head with the laws of natural order, how nothing stays the same, how everything is constantly moving from a state of order to disorder- or in his case, order to disorder and maybe back to order again, in some sense of the word. Maybe not- he's still missing too many key variables- just one variable, actually.

And in walks Wilson, that one remaining variable, looking tired and determined and apprehensive all at once. House has long since stopped questioning Wilson's ability to be so many things at the same time. Right now, House is simply wondering how he ever went without this great big contradiction of a man, how he misses him so much more now that he's standing right there.

He wants to say something, but that would only lend itself to the illusion that he is in any kind of control over what happens next. It's always just been the illusion of control, with them- the illusion that they haven't only been inevitable from the moment they first met- the illusion that they haven't missed their chance, that House hasn't already made one too many mistakes and Wilson hasn't already been much (much, much) too forgiving.

Really, that particular illusion was shattered the moment House drove his car through Cuddy's living room window. Possibly before that. But now, Wilson is standing there with all kinds of possibilities written on his face and for once, House has no problem admitting that he shouldn't have any say in what happens next, because he will most certainly waste any potential he and Wilson might still have left.

So he waits, frozen in place like a man about to be handed life without parole- having stood before a judge, he can say with certainty that this is something akin to that- whether or not it is worse will be determined by whatever Wilson says now. So House waits for the words to leave Wilson's lips, even though he doesn't know what words he's hoping for or which words he'sallowed to want.

He's waiting for a punch, he realises, the most likely outcome of all prior events that have directly led to this one. It's a well-established fact that Greg House would sooner suffer severe injury than admit when he is at fault, but he will admit that injury is perhaps the least of what he deserves in this case.

It all happens in seconds, though thoughts take longer to articulate. Wilson comes through the door- it sways shut behind him, almost silent as he steps forward, angling his shoulders as if to swing his fist. But then, he does just the opposite- he walks right into House's space and kisses him, sudden but sure, not touching him otherwise, a single point of contact that is as soft as it is concussive- House swears he can hear glass shattering or thunder clapping, can see lightning flash behind his eyelids when he hadn’t even realised he had closed his eyes in the first place.

House, ever the analyst, struggles to compare this kiss to something, give it context before it’s even over, but his usual methods of comparison are all coming up short. He can't really compare this to being high- to do that would be an insult to what a grounding experience this is, how it makes him gladly throw away every preconceived notion he's ever had- of course, Wilson is the only one who's ever been able to sidestep his preconceived notions about anything, so it does make sense, in a way. The kiss itself makes sense- so much sense, in fact,  that it's hard to believe that it's only just happening now, that it hasn’t happened yet- they’ve had no shortage of moments like this, so many missed opportunities.

House realises that he's been waiting for this too, waiting forever, though he wonders if you can actually wait for something without knowing you're waiting for it.

The kiss itself is simple, if that’s a word that can describe something so sudden and surprisingly important. Wilson’s lips are smooth and warm- they don’t really taste like anything, the way that most first kisses don’t- if he did taste like anything right now, he’d probably taste like coffee, like he’s running on no sleep. That’s it- he hasn’t slept in two days and he’s had too much caffeine and now he’s here, in House’s office, having ass-backwards responses to stress and emotion. But at least it’s real, at least it’s happening- that’s more than House can say for himself or his life in the last year.

And then, just as sudden as it started, the kiss ends. Wilson leans in and then leans away, which House is sure means that Wilson's better judgement just kicked in, that it's occurred to him just what kind of crazy idea this was in the first place. A part of House doesn't want to look, but he does anyway, opens his eyes in time to see the look on Wilson's face before it changes, a look that says everything but what the hell did I just do and what a stupid move that was and well, I'm never doing that again.

Wilson looks at House's mouth like he's looking for a mark, like he's sure that should have changed something, like he wanted it to change something. It has, House knows it has, but he doesn't know if he can find words for it. Something stupid in him jumps up, tempted to make a crack like is that all, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Turns out he wouldn't have had the chance to say anything anyway, because Wilson chooses now to throw the punch that House was expecting in the first place, the punch that he would have been ready for twenty seconds ago but now sends him reeling, tripping backwards on his own feet and falling flat out on his ass. He sits up right away, rubbing his jaw to make sure it's only going to bruise. He wonders how Wilson's knuckles are, sees Wilson clutching his hand and would laugh at the symbolism if his mouth didn't still sting- even when Wilson wants to hurt House, he only ends up hurting himself. House never would have admitted that this was a two way street, but it is, or it should be.

"Dinner later? Wilson asks, and that means I forgive you but I'm still pissed, or I'm still pissed but I'll forgive you eventually. "I'll pick something up."

"I heard about a good new vegetarian place," House offers, meaning I'm sorry. It's always backwards with them, the forgiveness coming before the apology, the apology never really a sure thing but the forgiveness being a universal constant.

"Screw that. I want steak." Wilson sighs, then sighs again, like he's still catching his breath. He turns his back and goes to leave.

"I'll meet you at your place at Eight," he says, half out the door, not looking back- House doesn't really hear him- House only hears I missed you.