cuddys_house | Friday, October 6, early evening

Friday, October 6, early evening

Wilson had been patient. He'd been biding his time, giving House a chance to pull his head out of his ass and do the right thing. It hadn't been easy. Wilson had been treading a fine line between appearing to be minding his own business and keeping tabs on House and Cuddy. And it wasn't nearly as easy as it looked. Cuddy avoided him when she could and was maddeningly vague when she couldn't. And House...he was being typically obtuse, pretending he didn't understand Wilson's subtle probing or responding to questions with non-sequitors.

The real difficulty is that there weren't many tabs to be kept. As far as Wilson could tell, House and Cuddy had very few interactions, certainly none that weren't strictly work related. As far as outside of work...as the impasse stretched into the second week Wilson had even taken to driving by House's apartment just to see if he was home. He always was which meant he wasn't spending his evenings with Cuddy.

He finally couldn't take it anymore. He decided to talk to Cuddy. She was as private and stubborn as House, but she wasn't as good at lying. He figured he had a better chance of getting a clue from her than he did from House. That, too, was easier said than done. He'd caught her once, in clinic, and her eyes had teared up before she'd escaped to the safety of her office. More determined than ever, Wilson made sure he 'accidently' ran into her in the parking lot after work. He was almost sorry he had.

So there Wilson was, not twenty minutes later, pulling into a parking space in front of House's apartment. According to a clearly distraught Cuddy, waiting had turned out to be a bad idea. House had told her he was done--with her, with the baby. Finished. Finito. And Wilson was nearly beside himself. He knew House was a jerk. He knew House rejected relationships, but Wilson had thought his friend might actually try acting like a human being this time. He was angry at House for climbing back into his solitary hole.

And he was angry because House had made him look bad. After all, it was Wilson who'd told Cuddy to wait for House to be ready. The fact that House had used that time to cut his ties to Cuddy made it look like Wilson was giving bad advice. Well, Wilson intended to find out what game House thought he was playing and hopefully knock a little sense into him while he was at it.

He got out of the car and locked the door behind him. As he entered the building and approached House's door, Wilson was about as agitated and pissed off as he could remember feeling in a while. It wasn't an unusual feeling when dealing with House but Wilson didn't like it. He wanted some answers.

He lifted his fist and banged loudly on the door.

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House didn't know what he was going to do for the evening. He hadn't planned anything, though he was in a mood to just be by himself for the evening. Between seeing Cuddy a fair bit this week and being at work, he'd reached his socialisation quota for the week and needed some space on his own. On the way home, he'd grabbed a few things from the store - some ready-made macaroni cheese in a packet, some milk, bread, beer, a few other things that he considered necessary such as soap. He decided he'd make the macaroni, sit down with it and a beer in front of the television and blank out for the evening. Maybe he'd phone up Cuddy a bit later. If not, he'd see her the next day, probably. Hopefully with an idea where to take this vacation he'd insisted on.

He had a shower when he got home first. Then he put his groceries away and got out a pan and the ingredients needed to make the macaroni with. Twenty minutes later, he had a bowl of macaroni cheese, a beer and had made himself comfortable on the couch when suddenly there was a knock at the door. Worst timing ever. He was hungry, too, damn it.

"I'm not here," he called out to whoever the hell it was. He spooned up a bit of macaroni and blew on it while a plume of steam wafted up from it... and sighed in exasperation when another knock sounded at the door. Sitting forward, he slapped the bowl down onto the coffee table grabbed up his cane and made his way to the door. He got a surprise, however, when he peeked through the spy hole and saw Wilson standing there. He didn't seem to look too happy, either. House wondered straight away if Cuddy had managed to say anything to Wilson. He guessed he'd find out, seeing Wilson was here. He schooled his expression into a sombre, flat look, to give Wilson the impression that he was clearly not in a good way because of his 'breakup' with Cuddy.

House opened the door. "This better be good," he greeted crisply.

"Funny, I was just going to say the same thing to you." Wilson stood there for a moment waiting for House to let him in. And giving him a good look while he was waiting. Cuddy was a little easier to read but House wasn't impossible, not if you'd known him for as long as Wilson had. House looked...almost sullen. Unhappy. Which, admittedly, was not all that different to how he normally looked but since Wilson knew what his friend had been going through it was easy to assume House's mood was the result of ending his relationship with Cuddy.

Wilson realized he might be waiting a while for an invitation so he simply pushed past House and into the apartment. Before he turned back to face House, he saw what House had been doing before he arrived. Well, no wonder he'd broken it off with Cuddy. What man wouldn't want to spend his Friday night alone watching TV and eating mac and cheese and drinking beer.

"What are you doing here?" Wilson said, a frustrated look on his face. "It's been two...no, three weeks since your argument with Cuddy. I thought you were going to try to work things out."

"I live here. I don't need an excuse," House retorted.

Inwardly, House felt the same anger he'd felt the other night at finding out what Wilson was really up to, bubbling away inside him as he stared at Wilson. He was careful to try and keep his face schooled into a morose expression, though. Part of him felt like just shutting the door on Wilson's face. He wouldn't get any satisfaction out of that, however, though he certainly wasn't impressed when Wilson just shoved past him and let himself in.

"Yeah, make yourself right at home, I don't mind," he said sarcastically. He hesitated, taking a moment to keep his temper in check, before he slowly shut the door.

He then turned and looked at Wilson, leaning heavily on his cane. "I'm eating dinner," House said, motioning towards his food on the coffee table. "Drinking beer. Doing the usual sort of thing I generally do in my own home."

As Wilson began talking, House was wryly amused at Wilson's seeming sense of concern at the fact that he and Cuddy hadn't worked things out. When Wilson expressed that he thought House was going to try and work things out with Cuddy, House easily pulled his face into a look that was equal parts bewildered and curious. He made a point of showing just how 'bewildered' he was by throwing a look around his living room, as though he would find the answer somewhere in the room as to how Wilson could possibly know the status of his relationship with Cuddy.

"I haven't spoken to you in a while about it," House said, feigning confusion as he looked back to Wilson. "How would you even know whether I've worked things out with her or not?" He squinted at him. "More to the point, why are you so outraged? It's not you that's lost a relationship. For once."

"Because...because you're here. Because you're not with Cuddy," Wilson said. He didn't really want to tell House that he'd just talked to Cuddy. He didn't think it was necessary. It seemed obvious to him. Whenever he was in a relationship he always wanted to spend all his time with that woman...except for the time he spent with House, of course. He assumed House would be the same. That he would prefer to spend time with Cuddy and not eating mac and cheese in his apartment.

Wilson was making agitated movements with his hands, sort of aimlessly flapping his wings as it were, because Wilson was outraged and House didn't seem to be. Wilson was upset and House was almost calm. It was all backwards. Except...it would be just like House to go deep into denial and refuse to face his own heartache.

"Yes, good, bring up my failures. That's hugely helpful." Wilson shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't keep flapping them around. He took a few steps toward the piano, then looked back at House. "The question isn't why am I upset. It's why aren't you? You somehow lucked into something amazing, something most people dream about." It was something Wilson dreamed about, repeatedly. He simply wasn't able to sustain the dream when he woke to reality.

"Are you really going to throw that away?"

House had to try very hard not to give Wilson a filthy look. Maybe he hadn't spoken to Cuddy... except why else would he be here if he hadn't? Why would he be this agitated if he hadn't spoken to Cuddy. Wilson's lying was so incredibly blatant to House now and part of him wanted nothing more than to just call Wilson out on his bullshit and tear into him for being such an asshole.

"That doesn't explain how you knew that," House shot back. "Doesn't explain why you're being so agitated, either."

Because, oh yeah, Wilson was definitely agitated with all the hand flailing. He watched him wander across to his piano. "Your failures are way more fun to make fun of," he countered. "Especially seeing you're way more of a pro than me at this failing at relationships thing."

He rubbed his fingers across his forehead and began heading towards the couch, his anger and bitterness towards Wilson eating away at him like bile. He shot Wilson a look when Wilson asked why he wasn't upset. "Do you see me jumping for joy?" he retorted.

"The question is why are you upset. Because it's not even your problem. So why would you care so much? What makes you so invested that you show up here, unannounced, demanding to know what I'm doing with a relationship that you had no part of?" He threw his hand out in a wide, angry gesture because he was starting to lose control of it the more he talked. "What does it even matter whether I throw it away or not? What does it matter to you?"

"I knew because I've been keeping an eye on you," Wilson admitted. He'd been doing a little more than just keeping an eye on House but it all boiled down the same thing in his mind. He'd been worried about his friend. "I've been keeping an eye on you because I know how you are when things go bad and I wanted a little advance warning so I could get to a bomb shelter if you and Cuddy exploded all over the place."

Wilson rubbed fretfully at his forehead, then wandered a little further into the room. He stopped in front of the fireplace, turning on House with completely incredulous look.

"It matters to me because it matters to you. Or it should." Wilson continued to stare, trying to figure out how House could ask why it mattered whether he threw his relationship away. He could explain House being angry at him as House's way of deflecting, his way of expressing emotional pain he couldn't voice in any constructive way. Wilson had been there before. He'd taken the brunt of a lot of House's pain and anger after Stacy left. Damn it, he'd hoped this time would be different.

"It does matter to you. It matters and that's why you're pissed off," Wilson said, shaking his finger at House. "But getting mad at me won't fix anything. Neither will telling Cuddy it's over. You need to stop jerking her around and tell her the truth."

House really was struggling to keep his anger at bay. He stood on the other side of the coffee table to Wilson, leveling him with a look that grew steadily icier the more Wilson talked.

"Wow, that's very altruistic of you," House replied sarcastically. Then he added when Wilson observed he was pissed off, "Oh, yeah. It matters and I am definitely pissed off, but not for the reason you think I am."

Of course his relationship with Cuddy mattered to him. It mattered hugely. But he was getting a kind of twisted pleasure out of watching Wilson unknowingly dig himself deeper into his little web of lies. Sure, maybe it did matter to Wilson, but it certainly didn't seem to matter enough to keep what House had confided in him to himself.

"Huh," House said mock thoughtfully. "Weird. You seem to know an awful lot from Cuddy's side of things. For all you know, seeing you've just been 'keeping an on' me, I may not have even spoken to Cuddy in the last few weeks."

He fixed Wilson with an even colder look. "But I need to stop jerking her around, you say? Again, weird. Because I was just thinking the same thing about you."

"Then enlighten me--what are you pissed off about?"

Wilson pressed his hands to the sides of his head, this close to pulling at his hair. On the surface, it appeared he and House were having a conversation about House's relationship with Cuddy, or former relationship as the case may be. And yet Wilson had the distinct impression they were actually having two conversations: his and House's. He was used to conversations with House being so convoluted as to be damn near impenetrable but this was simply confusing.

"Okay, either you've finally lost your mind or I have because I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm not the one who's been jerking Cuddy around. You're the one who dated her, impregnated her and then spent two weeks brooding and swilling beer before telling her you don't want anything to do with her."

He dropped his hands to his sides again, completely baffled. In his mind, he'd done nothing that could be considered jerking Cuddy around. He'd simply tried to learn the full story. And, while he was at it, use what he knew about House's state of mind to encourage her to stay hopeful while at the same time advising her to be patient. As far as he was concerned he'd been nothing but helpful.

"And speaking of the baby issue--what were you thinking?" Wilson said. Thinking of his talk with Cuddy reminded him of a little tidbit of information House had neglected to mention. And he was so flustered at the moment he forgot he wasn't supposed to have that tidbit. "You were having sex with a woman who wants children. Who was on fertility meds. Didn't it occur to you that the issue might come up?"

Part of House wanted to laugh at Wilson, point and tell him how much the joke was on him now after how much he'd jerked Cuddy around. He was too angry, though. And he didn't even need to point out why the joke was on Wilson because Wilson did it himself a moment later, letting slip a fact about Cuddy that House was pretty sure Wilson didn't know.

"Yeah, now, see," he began darkly, pointing at Wilson as he made his way around the coffee table towards him. "How could you possibly know Cuddy was on fertility meds? How could you possibly know that issue would come up? Unless you've been talking to Cuddy, of course."

He stopped in front of Wilson, staring right into his eyes. He didn't see any point in hiding that he knew what Wilson had been up to. "You used what I confided in you about to talk to Cuddy." He pointed to himself in the chest to stress what he was saying. "What I confided in you about."

He then pointed at Wilson accusingly, almost aggressively. "You went and made our business your business when it wasn't even your business to begin with. I confided in you because trusted you. And then you took that knowledge and went to Cuddy and jerked her around with it, making out to her that you didn't know what was going on. And you're telling me that I jerked her around?"

For a moment Wilson's face went blank as he realized that he'd given away the fact he'd talked to Cuddy. "Of course I've been talking to Cuddy. I've been talking to Cuddy for years," he said, trying to brazen it out, but House didn't give him a chance, immediately accusing him of having manipulated Cuddy.

"That's not the way it was," he said, holding his hand up, palm toward House, in a 'wait and listen' sort of gesture. "First, I kept your confidence. I never told Cuddy what you'd told me because I didn't think you'd want me to. The only way I used that information was to encourage her to not give up so fast."

Wilson threw his hands up, growing more emphatic as he tried to make his point. He truly didn't see what he'd done as interferring. After all, it wasn't like he'd gone looking for Cuddy to pry into her business. Admittedly, after talking to House he'd been very curious to get her point of view, but it had come out of a random meeting. A meeting that came after House had left her reeling. He was certain that if anyone had been hurting Cuddy, it was House not Wilson.

"She was devastated, clearly heartbroken about what had happened between the two of you. What was I supposed to do? Just wish her better luck next time and go about my business?"

"Wait." Wilson stopped abruptly as his brain finally processed what House had said. He'd never told House about his conversation with Cuddy so there was only one way he could know about it. "How do you know what I talked to Cuddy about...unless you've been talking to her." He stared at House suspiciously. "You didn't break it off with Cuddy, did you?"

"That's exactly the way it was!" House shouted over the top of Wilson. He glowered at him as Wilson went on to try and explain himself, though he completely dismissed what Wilson was saying because he was too angry to at least give Wilson the benefit of the doubt.

"Well, when's the last time you really gave such a crap about any of her relationships?" House shot back. "That's exactly what you would've done had it not been me she was with. You wouldn't have even cared." He suddenly remembered what Wilson had said in his office a few weeks back when he'd gone to Wilson to talk to him. "In fact, that sounds familiar - 'I don't care what Cuddy thinks'."

He was surprised at how angry he felt. He almost wanted to shove Wilson or hit him or something physical because it felt like all the stress of the last few weeks - perhaps even the last few months - was erupting in a sudden gush and House's response to strong emotion was usually in some way aggressive. As it dawned on Wilson that House hadn't in fact broken it up with Cuddy, he met Wilson's suspicious gaze with a fierce glare.

"No," he retorted, equal parts scornful and triumphant. "You want to know why? Because I had no intention to. Because when I talked to you, I reached a decision to put things right with her. And then you went to Cuddy and manipulated the crap out of her."

"That was a slip of the tongue, and taken completely out of context," Wilson retorted. Of course he cared what Cuddy thought...just not as much as he cared what House thought. He didn't normally pry into Cuddy's personal life because he wasn't that close to her. He wished the best for her but, admittedly, the only reason he'd dug a little deeper this time was because House was the other half of the equation.

Wilson slapped his hand to his forehead in disbelief. "So...Cuddy lied to me? And that was to prove what?" He was still baffled by the unexpected turn of events. Obviously Cuddy and House had collaborated in order to...what? Get revenge? Revenge for what? He knew House hated anyone poking into his private business but it wasn't like Wilson had been trying to undermine House's relationship. He'd only been trying to help and heaven knew House usually needed a lot of help when it came to relationships.

"I didn't manipulate Cuddy," Wilson insisted, starting to get a little pissed off himself. "What I did was tell her not to believe the things you said in the heat of the moment. I told her not to give up. And if that's manipulation...well, it was for your benefit. So why are you yelling at me?"

"The same way you lied to her," House shot back with a sharp nod of his head. "Same way you lied to me. Making out you were none the wiser about what was going on, when you knew because I told you.

"You did!" House shouted when Wilson insisted he didn't manipulate Cuddy. "You pretended--" He cut of abruptly as Wilson said he'd done it for his benefit, then retorted, "My benefit? By going behind my back, using what I told you to get information out of Cuddy? I didn't confide in you just so you could snoop around my relationship."

House faced away because he was moments away from lashing out at Wilson and he didn't want to lash out at him... even though part of him really wanted to. He turned back to Wilson after letting out a slow breath to try and keep himself in check.

"You pretended you didn't know it was me. You pretended you didn't know she was pregnant. You manipulated her. You hurt her." His voice was steadily rising again and he began approaching Wilson once more. "You jerked her around, pretending you cared. Why would you do that? For my benefit? What about Cuddy's benefit? She matters to me, and if what matters to me matters to you, then why did you treat her like she doesn't matter?"

"I didn't lie to her. I just didn't tell her I knew who her boyfriend was." And yeah, in Wilson's opinion, sins of omission were not as 'evil' as sins of commission. In his mind, playing dumb was the lesser evil in this situation. He could have avoided Cuddy all together, but if he had he wouldn't have been able to put in a good word for House. He was a little confused as to when protecting House had become a bad thing.

"Wait..wait." Wilson held his hand up as House approached, silently asking for a moment to sort through his thoughts. House was furious, way beyond any anger Wilson had ever seen House direct at him before. The curious thing was that only part of that anger was about House. Most of it was about Cuddy, and that was somewhat unexpected. Maybe he should've expected it but it had been too long since Wilson had seen House care more about another person's feelings than his own. This was an unexpected development, and a good one, he hoped.

"Wow, you're actually more upset about Cuddy's feelings than your own." Wilson's voice was a little calmer now that he'd started to piece together what had gotten House so riled up. He still didn't see events the way House did, but understanding why House was upset made it easier for Wilson to deal. It was his nature to try to smooth things over; he just needed to know what needed smoothing.

"Look, I agree that Cuddy matters. I certainly never meant to hurt her, but if I did then I will apologize to her." If apologizing made Cuddy, and House, feel better, he'd gladly do it. Hell, he certainly had plenty of experience apologizing to women for hurting their feelings.

"And you didn't tell her you knew she was pregnant," House reminded Wilson, giving him a filthy look. "You pretended you didn't know. That's lying. You baited her with it to find out about what was going on between us."

He felt another surge of anger build in him. "You knew how I felt about that because I confided in you about it. And all you did was use it as a cheap tactic to score insight into our relationship. Which was none of your business."

He was about to add more but halted briefly when Wilson said for him to wait, giving Wilson a challenging look as though to dare him to say something else that would piss House off further. Instead, he came to a ridiculous conclusion about House being upset on behalf of Cuddy's feelings, which really was ridiculous because House never admitted anything such as the feelings of another person mattering to him. Except in Cuddy's case, they did. Her feelings mattered to him, even if he was a jerk to her half the time and always hurting her feelings.

"Of course I'm upset!" he fired back. "I love her."

He looked away the moment he realised what he'd said. He hadn't meant to admit that; it had just come tumbling out of his mouth before he got a chance to think it over. He returned his gaze to Wilson fleetingly before facing away completely so his back was to Wilson. He heard Wilson say about apologising to Cuddy but he ignored it for the moment.

In his mind, this wasn't how confronting Wilson about his little manipulative ploy was supposed to go. He'd had it planned that he'd laugh at Wilson's expense, make fun of him and gloat about beating Wilson at his own game. Instead, he was angry and upset and admitting things he didn't mean to admit. Not because he didn't mean them but because he didn't want to admit anything that would make him vulnerable in front of Wilson, especially seeing Wilson had already betrayed his trust once by taking what House had admitted in a vulnerable state and used it to get information out of Cuddy.

"Maybe it's none of my business per se, but it's a little difficult to offer advice or be supportive if I don't know what's going on."

Wilson knew House saw him as manipulative and interfering and self-righteous to boot. Wilson didn't see it that way in his own mind. House was hopeless when it came to dealing with the world, and somewhere along the line Wilson had appointed himself as a sort of mediator between House and the rest of humanity. He was only trying to help. At worst, he'd admit to a degree of self-interest. He thought that was perfectly reasonable because if this thing between House and Cuddy went bad, Wilson didn't want to get caught in the middle unawares.

"Besides, you know how I am. If you didn't want my input, you shouldn't have told me anything," Wilson said crisply, because he wasn't about to take the full blame for this. Actually, he still wasn't sure what blame there was to be had. House and Cuddy had obviously worked something out so...all's well that ends well, right?

He watched as House suddenly fell silent after admitting he loved Cuddy. Wilson had already guessed that but it was good hear his friend confirm it. It was good to know House was still capable of love, which was something he'd begun to doubt as the years passed.

"Mazel tov." He grimaced as he recognized the faint hint of sarcasm still coloring his voice. He didn't want his frustration at being unfairly duped to influence his congratulations because he was genuinely happy for House. Worried and definitely suppressing the fear that this would all go bad somehow, but still--happy for him.

"You're a lucky man, so stop wasting time bitching at me and try to be happy."

"I wanted your input, but that didn't mean I wanted you to go poking around," House replied angrily.

The sarcastic tone in Wilson's congratulations made House bristle. He clenched his jaw and refused to look at him... until Wilson spoke next. House turned his head and shot Wilson a sharp, dark look before reeling around to face him fully.

"How does any of this make me lucky?" he exploded. "She's pregnant. I don't think I can be what she needs, doesn't matter how much I want to be with her. I definitely don't think I can be what this kid is going to need."

He started to pace, gesturing angrily with his hand. "How can I be happy about that? How the hell can I be happy, knowing that I probably can't make her happy? She gets angry or upset with me whenever I can't deal with something. I don't know how to deal with this pregnancy and I'm scared I'm going to lose her because of it." He stopped to look right at Wilson. "How the hell does any of that make me lucky?"

Wilson gave a dismissive shake of his head. As far as he was concerned, House had no room to be angry about someone poking around. He did it constantly. He'd done it Wilson, he'd done it to Cuddy, he did it to anyone who piqued his curiosity. Sometimes House seemed to treat people like his own personal reality show--there for his entertainment. So if Wilson was willing to concede that he'd interfered--which he wasn't--he'd still think House had no right to complain.

"Yes, well, I did say try to be happy," he pointed out. He watched House pacing back and forth. He felt for House, he really did. He knew this was overwhelming to him. Wilson suspected just falling in love would be overwhelming but adding a baby into the mix was probably just about enough to make House's head explode.

"You're lucky because you're in love and you know how amazing that feels. Whether you want to admit it or not, you like how that feels. More luck--she loves you, too. Love can suck--I know that--but it can be pretty wonderful, too."

Wilson ran a hand through his hair, giving his scalp a quick scratch as he waded through the concerns House had voiced. He was sure House was right about Cuddy getting upset when House wouldn't deal with something. She'd always gotten upset when House refused to deal, and why wouldn't she? He might not know Cuddy as well as he knew House, but he knew she wanted a better life for House. House always responded by stubbornly remaining in his own miserable little world. And that attitude wasn't doing him any favors.

"Let me ask you something." Wilson didn't know if he'd get an honest answer but he hoped he could at least make House rethink his approach to the problem. "You keep saying you can't deal with the baby...but have you even tried? Seriously, House, have you stopped avoiding the issue long enough to give it a little honest thought?"

Yes, House knew how good being in love could feel. And how terrifying it felt, too. Sometimes, he wasn't sure if it felt good or terrifying because the two feelings tended to overlap each other. But when he was positive it felt good, it felt really good, just like when things were good between Cuddy and himself, they were really good.

But something always ended up getting in the way - his nightmares, his struggles with getting past the shooting, this baby. Even his leg, which wasn't painful like it had been the other day, but still noticeably aching. Just enough to make House feel nervous.

He started to pace again but stopped when Wilson said he wanted to ask him a question. He stared at Wilson for a long moment after hearing his question out. He remembered the few times he and Cuddy had sort of discussed it and the weird, fear-filled awe feeling he got whenever he thought too deeply into the fact that she was carrying his child.

He gave his face a fretful rub and looked away. "Yes," he began. "And no. I don't know how to. I just wish it would all go away. All of it." He stood with his face buried in his hand. "The shooting. The pregnancy. All of it."

"That's kind of my point, though. None of this stuff is going to go away."

Therapy would be a great start but Wilson knew better than to think that House would ever get therapy. God knew the man could use a good shrink--but he figured hell would freeze over before Gregory House embraced the concept of modern psychotherapy. But there was nothing that said that help had to be formal therapy. Help could be simply talking to a friend.

"You're going to need help to deal with the shooting. I know you hate the idea but it won't go away until you deal with it."

Wilson paused, somewhat stymied because the baby wasn't going to go away, whether House dealt with it or not. He knew House didn't want kids but he didn't know why. House usually liked kids. In fact he tended to like them more than the adults who produced them. Yet he was obviously quite resistant to the idea of his own offspring.

"Look, you can keep hiding from this stuff. You're pretty good at avoiding issues so I'm sure you can find a way to avoid these issues. But I'm also sure that way will end up with you being alone. You don't want to do that."

House just gave a derisive snort at the very idea of getting help. For the millionth time in the last couple of months, he thought stubbornly to himself that he didn't need help. The problem he was facing, however, was that even though he did his best to ignore the issue, he was finding it wasn't actually going away.

If anything, it was getting more and more pronounced and he didn't know why. He'd hoped that by ignoring it long enough, it would fade into the background where it belonged. But that didn't seem to be the case and he was absolutely loathe to admit that he needed help. It was such a frustrating spot to be in. He felt like he was walking on the spot; using up energy to get past the whole thing but not actually going anywhere.

He gave his face another rub, an irritated one this time, and dropped his hand away with a frustrated sigh. This wasn't how confronting Wilson was supposed to go. It wasn't supposed to end up with him being the focus of attention with his god damn issues or about the pregnancy or the shooting. It was supposed to end with Wilson being humiliated and House laughing at him.

In fact, he was getting beyond frustrated because of his own stubbornness towards admitting he needed help and towards Wilson and towards the pregnancy. Towards the stress of the shooting, residual stress of the past couple of weeks without Cuddy, just... stress. He'd never handled stress to well, particularly personal stress, but particularly lately he found himself easily exploding over things he wouldn't normally explode over. He could never explain why he reacted that way, either. He just did, as though he had no control over his temper or his stress levels.

He could feel it quickly rising within him now, a kind of bubble of anger and frustration and defensiveness. "No," he admittedly bitterly.

No, he didn't want to end up alone. And that was a deep-seated fear of his about his relationship with Cuddy - that he really wouldn't be able to be what she needed and he'd somehow end up screwing the relationship up or she'd leave or...

He suddenly lifted his cane and brought it down onto his coffee table with a loud, angry slam, causing his bowl of cooling mac cheese to jump with a quiet thud and the spoon within it to rattle. He felt better, his anger purged, for about three seconds. Then he hit the coffee table again. Then lifted his bad leg and gave the table a shove with his foot, causing everything on top of it to shift with a jerk. The beer bottle teetered, then toppled over and a torrent of beer flooded out over the table and onto the floor.

He immediately dropped down onto the couch, his cane now on the floor and his head in his hands. This was stupid. This was just like the other morning, when he'd almost come undone in front of Cuddy in her bathroom for no valid reason. He found it embarrassing and humiliating that he allowed his emotions to get the better of him like this... except he honestly seemed to have no control over it. Worst part of it was sometimes lashing out didn't do anything to diffuse his anger. Like right now. He had this urge to just keep kicking the coffee table. Feeling ashamed of his outburst didn't help, either.

"Feel better?" Wilson asked as House took out his frustration on the coffee table. He didn't expect an answer, didn't wait for one. He picked up the fallen beer bottle and took it to the kitchen. There he grabbed the dish cloth from the sink, wetted it, and returned to the living room to clean up the mess.

He cleaned quietly, allowing House time to calm himself down. There were times when Wilson deliberately provoked House, times he even got a small satisfaction from being able to provoke him. Sometimes House needed to be pushed out of his comfort zone, and sometimes he did it simply because he was pissed at House. This time, though, he recognized that it wouldn't be a good idea to push. House seemed to be on the edge already.

Wilson returned the damp cloth to the kitched and grabbed two beers from the fridge before he rejoined House.

"This is not an impossible situation," he said, holding out a fresh bottle to House. "Difficult, but not impossible." He cracked open his own beer and took a drink as he wandered back over to stand in front of the fireplace.

"The first step to dealing with the shooting is admitting that you need to deal with the shooting...which will be the most difficult step for you."

Wilson took another distracted drink of his beer. The baby thing was almost trickier. He honestly didn't know if House could do the father thing, but in a way it didn't matter. He was going to be a father and he could either try to do it right or give up now.

"As for the baby thing, maybe you need to take...well, baby steps. I know you don't hate children on general principle so try to find something, some small reason to be happy about this child." Wilson frowned, lips pursed as he wracked his brain for a reason House would accept. It wasn't easy. The reasons most people wanted children didn't apply to House.

"Aren't you at least a little curious to see what kind of person you and Cuddy are going to produce? Because I know I am."

The whole time Wilson busied himself with cleaning up the mess, House remained on the couch and kept his face hidden. He really hated himself when he got like this. He already disliked himself by default, but he really hated himself at times like now. He hated his emotions even more, the way they welled up, seemed to claw up his throat like a beast trying to break free. The way his chest tightened as though he was heading towards a panic attack and his eyes burned with shameful, angry, frustrated tears.

By the time Wilson returned with a fresh beer, House had gained some control over his emotions, at least to the point where he was sure he wasn't going to reach breaking point like he was a moment ago. That didn't mean his emotions were still simmering on the surface, though, and it also didn't mean that he was willing to look at Wilson because he really did feel ashamed of himself and humiliated when he got like this.

He took a swig of his beer to wash the bitterness down, then stared darkly down at a spot on the floor as Wilson pushed the issue. He didn't answer Wilson's advice about dealing with the shooting. He didn't even want to think about it, futile as that was. When Wilson said about the baby, however, House snapped his head up and shot Wilson a sharp look.

"I'm terrified I'll screw it up," House replied. "I don't want my kid to have a screwed up life. It deserves better than that. It deserves love and affection, like kids are supposed to have."

He realised what he said, then, amongst everything he'd just blurted out - my kid. He'd never called it his kid before. He'd been too scared to even address it as having anything to do with him. He looked away and took a long pull of his beer to save himself from saying anything else he didn't mean to say.

"Of course it does. Are you saying you can't love this kid? Or is that you're afraid to?"

Wilson would have to admit that, other than having been a son with parents himself, he didn't have any particular insight into parenthood. Most people didn't, not until they became parents themselves. That's what he'd been told anyway--that your whole life changed when a child came into it. Wilson figured it would happen for House, too, because he didn't believe for a moment that House was incapable of loving a kid.

Wilson took another drink and set his beer bottle on the mantel over the fireplace.

"As I understand it, every parent gets it wrong at least once in a while. Presumably that means you will too, and when you do, I'm guessing Cuddy will let you know about it," he said with a wry grin. Actually, he wondered how that would work. Cuddy and House would likely be at opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to child-rearing philosophies...which could make things interesting.

"I know you're more comfortable with worst case scenarios, but try thinking positive for once. Your son--or daughter-- is going to want a father. You owe it to him--or her--to try."

House didn't answer Wilson's question. He'd already said he was scared of screwing the kid up and that didn't need repeating. And... it wasn't so much that he couldn't love this kid. He was just scared to. And acutely aware that he might not be able to give the kind the things it needed on an emotional level.

He focused on drinking his beer rather than looking at Wilson or replying to anything else he said. However, something Wilson said took House by surprise. It took him by surprise because it wasn't something he'd thought of before: the fact that if he abandoned the kid, that would ultimately make him worse than giving it a chance. Lord knew he loathed parents who were stupid and irresponsible, the ones that abused their children or abandoned them. He'd be no better if he abandoned his. And that... was a terrifying thought because now that had occurred to him he suddenly felt responsible. For Cuddy, for the kid, for the fact that he was going to be father.

He set his beer down and lowered his face into his hands for a moment before lifted his face away again and looking across the room away from Wilson. He worried his lip between his thumb and forefinger while he tried to work out how to deal with this sudden revelation.

In fact, he didn't even know what to say, either. He began pushing himself up from the couch, retorting stubbornly, "The first step towards failure is trying."

"Yes, that's the spirit," Wilson said sarcastically.

It was strange, given how his visit had begun, but he felt like he'd regained his equilibrium. He'd started off anxious and worried that House had completely messed up another relationship. Then he'd been by turns bewildered and then annoyed that House and Cuddy had been messing with him--unfairly so in his mind. But somehow the tables had turned and he was back in his rightful position: pointing out House's mistakes, offering advice, and being mostly ignored.

"You're wrong, of course. Trying might not succeed, but not trying guarantees failure," he said, watching House get up from the couch. He wasn't sure how easy it would be to convince House of that fact. House would try anything, no matter how risky, when it came to medicine, but for himself personally.... Ever since Stacy he'd refused to try, believing that loneliness was better than the risk of loss. It was going to be a hard habit to break. Cuddy had managed to put a good dent in it with this relationship. Maybe she could break the rest of the way through.

"Come on, do you really want to leave it to Cuddy to teach your son baseball? She throws like a girl," Wilson said, hoping to cajole House into a less gloomy mood. His eye, though, had landed on the bowl of macaroni and cheese and his stomach rumbled. He'd been so worried about House and Cuddy, he'd rushed right over to House's apartment directly after work. Now that he was in a less anxious mood, he was hungry.

Wilson pointed at the mac and cheese. "You going to eat that?"

House began towards the kitchen because... well, he didn't really know what he wanted in the kitchen. He just wanted some other place to go to escape Wilson's questions, to distract himself. He only made it halfway, though, when Wilson remarked about Cuddy throwing like a girl and then asked about his mac cheese.

House stopped and half turned to look at Wilson. What he'd said about leaving it to Cuddy to teach his son - or daughter - baseball tapped into another thought that had been going through his mind. Only mildly, but enough that he'd recognised that it was an issue.

"I may not even be around long enough to do things like that," House replied. "I'll be in my fifties by the time it turns five. I'll be in my sixties by the time it starts middle school. I'll be pushing seventy by the time it starts college. With how shot my liver is, I'll be lucky to even see sixty."

He hadn't had a liver function test in a while to assess the actual state of his liver, something he was supposed to have done regularly when he was on Vicodin. And maybe he was just being exceptionally pessimistic but he didn't think it was an unreasonable point to make. If he had to be honest, there were times he wasn't sure he wanted to even last that long. He'd endured enough in life to not want to endure anymore. He'd even confessed to Cuddy that night when he broke down in his kitchen that he sometimes wished he was dead. Of course, being with her had given him a newer perspective on longevity in that he wanted to stay around as long as possible to be with her. But even then he didn't know how long their relationship would last, if it even would in the end. And given his health and the amount of years he used (and abused) Vicodin and alcohol, he couldn't say for sure he would have a long life.

He dropped his eyes to his forgotten dinner. He wasn't even hungry anymore, not now. He waved his hand dismissively as he turned back towards the kitchen. "It's yours if you want it."

"All the more reason to give this kid everything you can while you can."

Wilson's expression had sobered, though. He was all too aware of the wear and tear House's body had sustained, some of it self-inflicted. In fact, he'd often felt he worried more about the abuse House's body suffered than House did. It wasn't just the Vicodin either. It was the alcohol on top of the Vicodin and the poor diet and the lack of any real exercise. Even House's emotional state contributed to his overall lack of glowing health.

"Besides, you're off the Vicodin now and the liver does have the ability to regenerate, to a degree. And you're just plain ornery enough to outlive us all purely for spite."

Wilson wasn't really that hopeful but the shooting might just be a turning point for House. The leg pain was gone which meant the drugs were gone. He'd gotten into a relationship which was usually a mental health boost if nothing else. And Cuddy was a bit of a health nut--Wilson knew she'd try to make House eat healthy. House could end up living a whole lot longer than Wilson would've been willing to bet on a year ago.

Wilson leaned down and grabbed the bowl of mac and cheese. It looked disgusting, and when he took a bite of the cooled pasta, he grimaced. It tasted more disgusting than it looked. Still, he was hungry and he knew the odds of House having anything else edible in the apartment weren't good. He followed House into the kitchen and put the bowl in the microwave. The mac and cheese would still be disgusting but at least it would be hot.

"Stop being such a damn pessimist," Wilson said, leaning back against the counter in front of the sink as he waited for his food to warm. "You're the one who's always saying this life is all there is. Try to make it count."

Once in the kitchen, House didn't actually know what to do. He didn't want to wash the pile of dishes waiting for him in the sink, he didn't want to make anything to eat, he wasn't interested in doing anything domestic in here. So, he headed across to the bottle of bourbon and then over to the sink to get a glass.

Despite everything, despite how angry he'd been with Wilson and how uncomfortable this conversation was making him... part of him was glad for Wilson's company, if only because there were things he could say to Wilson that he didn't feel safe saying to anyone else, not even Cuddy. Realistically, as angry and upset as he'd gotten over Wilson's betrayal of trust with going to Cuddy after he'd confided in him, that didn't diminish the trust House had in him, not really. Wilson was his best friend, after all.

He listened to Wilson put the bowl into the microwave while he poured himself a healthy amount of bourbon. He set the bottle down and picked the glass up, swilling the contents as he stared down absently at it while it swished around. He remained facing the sink so his back was to Wilson. His friend was right; House was always saying to his patients and to those around him that this was all there was, that people only got one stab at life. But...

"That's just it," he replied, murmuring. "I've gone so long without having a reason to make my life count..." He trailed off and took a sip of his drink. "I spent my time during rehab after being shot, uncertain whether I was glad if I'd survived or not. I didn't see much point in being glad because what reason did I have to be glad to be alive?"

He paused for a long moment. He was confused as to where this was all coming from and why he was choosing now of all times to open up, but it was like he needed to get this out because these were thoughts that had been on his mind for a long time.

"And now I've got a reason," he finally continued. "I've got someone in my life that matters to me. And big part of me wonders if I even deserve it."

Wilson opened his mouth to dispute House's claim that he had no reason to make his life count but the timer on the microwave dinged and he turned to take the bowl of macaroni out. Maybe the interruption was just as well--he'd spent countless hours in the past arguing with House over reasons for living, for enjoying life. And he still didn't know for sure if House was truly so self-loathing that he didn't think he deserved to be happy or if it was that he was afraid to be happy. Having had some glimpses into the twisted workings of House's mind, Wilson figured it was a combination of factors.

He set the bowl on the counter for a moment to let it cool enough to hold it and turned back toward House just as he finished speaking.

"Why not you? You deserve it as much as anyone else. More, even, than some people." House was an ass and Wilson would be the first person to say so, but he wasn't a bad person. If anyone could be said to 'deserve' happiness, House had just as much right to it. There was no doubt about that in Wilson's mind. What he worried about wasn't whether House deserved it, he worried about whether House would accept it.

"And what about Cuddy?" Wilson picked up the bowl and took a quick bite of macaroni, pausing to wipe a smear of cheese sauce from the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist. "This is kind of a joint venture here--it's you and Cuddy. Even if you don't think you deserve to be happy, surely you'd agree that Cuddy does."

House just shrugged. He couldn't really define the reasons why he didn't think he deserved happiness, other than one of the reasons being he was afraid of it. Afraid to step out of his comfort zone and take risks. He'd take risks in every other area of his life, but the biggest and scariest risk to House was setting his heart out on his sleeve. That was part of why this relationship was so utterly terrifying to him. It was forcing him to step way outside his comfort zone.

He drank some more bourbon, still keeping his back to Wilson. "Cuddy wants happiness," he replied. "She deserves what she wants."

He lifted a hand and ran it across his forehead while looking down at his glass on the counter. "She says I make her happy," he continued, his voice still quiet. "Or that I could make her happy, at least. "

He heaved a deep sigh. "Problem with Cuddy is, she is so stubbornly determined to see the world the way she wants it to be. How she wants it isn't always how it actually is." He rubbed his hand over his chin. "What if I can't be what she deserves? What she needs?"

While these were all very legitimate concerns because he did think over them a fair bit, he also found voicing them very depressing. Hearing himself talk just made his mood sink lower because when he got down about himself, he got really down. He picked his drink up and glanced across at Wilson. Nodding towards his dinner, he said, "You owe me a meal."

"Cuddy's ability to see beyond the obvious isn't something you should be complaining about," Wilson said around a mouthful of macaroni. He defended Cuddy because really, he was similar. Both of them tended to believe good things were possible even though they were aware that the good things didn't often come true. The ability to see the possibilities was a big reason they were both still friends with House. Or in Cuddy's case, something more than a friend now.

He nodded at House's word as he ate. He knew it was possible the relationship would go bad. He knew better than anyone how easily that could happen. Still, he wished he could convince House to try just a little of Cuddy's optimism. He definitely wished he could convince House that he was worth taking a chance on.

"Oh, please," he said indignantly. He waved his spoon at the bowl of macaroni. "This stuff barely qualifies as food. It certainly isn't a meal."

He started eating again, though, aware that he'd be buying a meal for House before long no matter what. These days he protested mostly out of habit rather than because he minded. Feeding House was just one of the small costs of being his friend.

"There are no guarantees, but Cuddy's neither naive nor stupid. She knows what she's getting with you and she knows it's not Prince Charming. Which is okay because I don't think she's looking for a Prince Charming." Wilson set the bowl down and reached for a napkin to wipe his mouth. "And what about you? Can Cuddy be what you need?"

"It is," House argued. "It was my meal."

Not that he minded that Wilson was eating his food because he still wasn't really hungry. It qualified as a meal to him, though, because that was the kind of thing he usually ate for dinner.

He drank more of his bourbon, looking away as Wilson kept on the topic about Cuddy. The way Wilson talked about Cuddy reminded him that Wilson had gone snooping around his relationship and had probably gotten Cuddy's side of the story.

He felt a brief stab of that anger he'd felt before... then realised he couldn't be bothered being angry right now because this conversation had strangely diffused any anger he had. Maybe he really had needed to talk about it because in a weird way he felt a little relief that some of this stuff was off his chest. Some payback this was for Wilson, though - turned out it wasn't any payback at all.

He was silent for a moment as he thought over Wilson's question about Cuddy being what he needed. He still wasnt't a hundred percent sure why Cuddy wanted to be in a relationship with him, what she saw in him, why she loved him. He wasn't sure because the concept of someone loving him as deep as Cuddy seemed to was weird to him, especially seeing he didn't think he'd ever find anyone ever again to love or that would want him. But the way those two weeks had been without her... he'd felt like he'd lost a part of himself.

"She already is," House replied.

"And you should thank me for saving you from this alleged meal," Wilson said. He set the bowl of macaroni next to the sink. There was still some left in the bowl but now that the edge was off his hunger he honestly couldn't stomach any more.

He walked over to the fridge and crouched down, searching for something other than beer to wash away the taste in his mouth while House mulled over his question. Wilson glanced up when he spoke. "Good," he said simply.

He knew Cuddy was the kind of friend House needed, and she was definitely the kind of boss he needed. Whether she could be the kind of lover he needed...well, he was willing to take House's word for it. He had some misgivings naturally, but Wilson was, and always had been, a sucker for romance. He was going to hope for the best.

He gave up on searching the nearly empty fridge and hunted through the cabinets until he found a clean glass. He filled it with water from the tap and took a long drink before he turned to House with another very important question.

"So you love Cuddy and she loves you and you're going to have a junior House and it's all good. Really, it's great and I'm happy for you." Wilson gave him a teasing look. "But this isn't going to interfere with our bowling nights, right?"

House didn't think it was so great there was going to be a 'Junior House'. He wasn't too pleased to be reminded of that fact, either, so he gave Wilson a flat look while Wilson gave him a teasing look in return. He gave a conceding snort, though, at what Wilson said next.

"You might have to ask Cuddy about that one," he replied dryly. He took another sip of his bourbon, then picked up the bottle from the counter to take into the living room. "Without manipulating the crap out of her this time."

He gave Wilson a pointed look before he started to head out of the kitchen. "I don't spend all my time with her," he continued over his shoulder. "That would drive me nuts. It would probably drive her nuts, too. But it would particularly drive me nuts."

That would probably have to change a lot when she had the baby, he thought to himself. Then he realised what he was thinking and quickly shook it from his mind. He slumped down onto the couch, set the glass and bottle down, frowning at the beer he had still standing there, the one Wilson had brought out after he'd knocked the other one over. He'd forgotten about that beer while out in the kitchen. Oh well. Deciding to polish that off before pouring any more bourbon, he sat back and took a long drink.

"So, now you've eaten my dinner and helped yourself to my beer, does this mean you're staying or going?" he asked, looking over at Wilson.

Wilson rolled his eyes in exasperation when House brought up the manipulation accusation again. Wilson still didn't see what he'd done as manipulation. His intent had only been to get some understanding of the situation, and it certainly hadn't been done to hurt anyone. It wasn't worth arguing about, though. House always suspected people of having the worst motives and Wilson decided to write off the misunderstanding as being the result of House's suspicious nature.

He was momentarily amused by the notion of having to ask Cuddy if Greg could come out and play, but he had to agree it was probably best for House to have some time away from her. He was a solitary person by nature and total togetherness would probably be too much for him, or Cuddy, to handle.

"Yeah, I figured the fact that you're here alone on a Friday night might have something to do with needing a little alone time," Wilson said as he followed House back into the living room. Of course, he'd unwittingly intruded on that alone time. He wasn't sorry he had; he was glad they'd cleared the air a bit. And he was glad they'd talked a bit, too. He didn't know if House was feeling any better for having talked about some of his concerns but Wilson did.

Still, he figured if House wanted some time to be alone, he should give it to him. "I think I'll go. I sort of rushed over here straight from work when I thought you'd done something stupid." Wilson gave a little shrug. "It's been a long week and I'm kind of beat. I think I'll go home and just watch a movie until I fall asleep."

House just threw Wilson a look, a slightly smug one for the first time since Wilson had arrived this evening. Well, this confrontation didn't turn out anywhere near as confrontational as House expected it to, despite how angry he'd gotten, but at least he'd got one up on Wilson a little. Served Wilson right for being so confused after all the poking around he did and how much he jerked Cuddy around.

He looked back down to his beer, then lifted it to his mouth for another sip. "Suit yourself," he replied. Once he swallowed, he set the beer down and reached for the remote to change the channel. Wilson could see his own way out because House was sitting down now. He flicked through a few channels before resting his head back on the couch to look up at Wilson.

"You still owe me a meal," he said. "And you owe Cuddy an apology for being such a manipulative bastard. Just as a warning, she might come after you with her claws out because she's so not happy with you." He turned his attention back to the TV. "Then again, she might not. But who knows, with the hormones she's got pumping through her."

He shifted on the seat and resumed channel surfing. "Night, Wilson."

"All right, all right--I told you I'd apologize to her," Wilson said, putting his hands up in a defensive posture. He would, too. He didn't think he'd done anything wrong but if he'd upset Cuddy, he would gladly apologize if that's what it took to smooth the waters. He noted House's warning, though. Cuddy was normally a pretty reasonable person but being pissed off and pregnant...he'd definitely be careful to watch what he said.

As he pulled his car keys from his pocket, he watched House settle into his usual spot on the couch, apparently content with his TV and his beer. Wilson gave a fond shake of his head as he walked to the door.

"Night, House."

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Friday, October 6, early evening

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