Hangman

PART SIX
*
Chase is making coffee with shaking hands. He’s the last person House wants to run into right now, but it’s this or go treat clinic patients. Still, he can’t bring himself to go in right now, not with Wilson’s words burning their way through the layers of his emotional defences. He has no idea when they will finally break through, when the words you were a mistake will shatter the last layer of apathy and he’ll start crying. So he tries to blank out his mind and just watch Chase for a moment, as the coffee cup slips between his hands, and even through the glass House can hear him scream “Shit!” as he cuts his finger trying to pick up the shards.
House eventually pushes his way through the door. Chase is half-crouching, sucking on his bleeding finger in a way that makes House almost want to forget all this ever happened. He wonders what Chase tastes like when he’s broken.
“I can think of a better use for that tongue of yours…” he murmurs before he can stop himself.
“Oh yeah?” Chase asks, straightening up and almost smiling. The hope in his eyes is almost painful.
“Yes. You could go and shove it down Wilson’s throat again. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” House snarls. Chase crumples for a second, and then his face twists with ice.
“Jealous, are you?” he asks with more strength in his voice than House had expected him to have.
“You’re nothing but a cheap fuck to me.” House responds, and the lie barely burns his lips at all.
“But I do mean something to you though,” Chase smirks, “Or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
It’s true. If Chase was nothing but a slut to him then he wouldn’t really mind loaning him out to Wilson, would he? House’s stomach twists. He shouldn’t have thought that. All he can see now is Wilson with his hands roaming over Chase.
“Who kissed who first?” House asks, because he wants to know, needs to know. He watches Chase’s face contort in the agony of trying to work out whether he can blame all this on Wilson, or if he should own up to it. House pops a Vicodin and tries to figure out if this question is too personal and goes under the topic of ‘caring’.
“I kissed Wilson.” Chase admits finally. “When he drove me back from the hospital on the day that you- that I got wet.” He can’t say the true circumstances and that pleases House a little, because Chase still has welts on his wrists, but most of him is just thinking: that LONG? I thought it was a one-off but that gives them two or three days to have been… *shit*.
“Ok.” House says. “Thank you.” He turns and starts to walk away.
“House, I’m-”
“If you say you’re sorry I’ll hit you.” House says casually.
“But I- it was a mis-”
“If I hear that it was a mistake one more time I will scream,” House says calmly, “And don’t try to apologise. Because Chase,” he turns around, “That was Wilson kissing you, and you were kissing him back. And that was Wilson with his hand down your pants-” Chase’s mouth starts to open but House cuts him off- “And I saw that so don’t tell me he didn’t, and you wanted it then. I know you did because you were letting him do it, and we all know how much you love to scream ‘rape’, don’t we Chase?” The Australian flinches. “The thing is- there’s no point in apologising to me because I know that you wanted it. There’s really nothing you can say.” House pauses. “Whore.”
“And just who have *you* been kissing, House?” asks Chase, face flaring with anger.
“No one.” Lies House.
“Yes, your lips are just all kiss-swollen naturally, aren’t they?” Chase says, removing his finger from his mouth. “You’re such a hypocrite. And a bastard.”
He walks out and House runs a finger across his swollen lips and curses Wilson for biting so hard.
*
House hasn’t slept all night, but does remember to shower and put on a clean shirt before he comes in. He’s early, which will earn him dozens of Brownie Points with Cuddy. Pity he doesn’t actually *care* any more.
He lounges on the main desk, idly, bothering the nurses and occasionally shouting various diagnoses at patients coming in with pathetic things like sweaty palms and itchy contact lenses and papercuts and broken hearts- oh, wait, that’s just me. It’s not until one of the receptionists picks up some sheets of paper pouring out of a machine that he moves.
“Fax for Doctor Wilson.” She calls. “Anyone going near Doctor Wilson soon?”
“I’ll take it.” House offers, whisking the sheets of paper out of her hand and hobbling swiftly away before she remembers that Doctors House and Wilson aren’t technically speaking to each other right now.
*
House sips a coffee and rifles through the papers. Hmmm… so Julie has finally filed for divorce, huh? It was only a matter of time, he knows, but to come *now*… ooh, that’s kicking Wilson while he’s down and no mistake. And now he has absolutely no shoulders to cry on. House smiles slightly but feels a little guilty as he does so. Better get these papers to Wilson.
The other man is sitting at his desk as House comes in without knocking, and doesn’t look up.
“Got a fax for you.” House offers, and watches Wilson flinch slightly at his voice.
“Great, thank you House.” He responds almost normally, and tucks his work back into a patient’s file. “Are you going to give it to me or are you just going to snicker and rip it into pieces in front of me?”
“I’m not that childish.” Says House.
“Yes you are.” Sighs Wilson, and then manages to look expectantly up at the older man. “Well?”
House lays the divorce papers down on the desk with a slight reverence. He’s disappointed by Wilson’s reaction, though, when the other man simply sighs, picks up his fountain pen, and begins flicking through them.
“Do you want me to say ‘sorry’?” House suggests.
“What would be the point Greg?” asks Wilson, signing on a dotted line. “You won’t mean it. You never mean anything you say.”
“That’s not true!” protests House. “I can look people in the eye and-”
“You can look people in the eye all you like but you’ll still be lying through your teeth.” Wilson snaps, signing another line. “And I know that, because *I* left *you*, remember?”
How could Greg forget? He remembers the time, long time way back, when he first kissed James, about three months after the latter’s first divorce, and they began their relationship. It was a mutual decision to split, but it was instigated by James, and it was him walking out of Greg’s apartment and slamming the door that really *ended* it. House has always thought that although it was over, their relationship had meant something to both of them, and that was why they were still friends. He had loved James so much, even when the other man gave up on him, even when they fought, and he had thought that James loved him too, just a little. You were a mistake. Apparently not, and House is so hurt by that that the bleeding may never stop.
“Can I do something for you House?” asks Wilson, as he signs away yet another wife.
“Touch Chase again and I’ll kill you.” The other man replies. Wilson flicks the page over again and scrawls another looping signature that House knows as well as his own on the line. The silence stretches and House’s threat hangs in the air like a black cloud. Wilson gets to his feet and shuffles his divorce papers into a neat pile with quavering hands.
“Get out House.” He says, and he no longer sounds amiable. “Get out right now. You have no right-” He pauses, takes a deep breath, and when House doesn’t move, he hits him.
House stumbles back slightly, up until now he hasn’t believed Wilson had it *in* him to hit him, ever, not calm James who seems to think strong emotions are ugly and should be kept hidden.
“I said get OUT!” Wilson shouts but his voice is now thick with tears and House goes. As he shuts the door and presses his cool fingers against the rising bruise on his cheek he can hear Wilson starting to sob.
*