FicWad

No More Lies Fic: Now More Lies 1/?
TITLE: No More Lies, part 1
Part of the Denuo AU
part of a series
prior stories to this can be found at http://home.arcor.de/larabee/house/housemain.html
This is an ongoing plotverse! You should know about the prior events to understand this one...
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: House/Wilson
DISCLAIMER: not mine. Wish I could have them, but whoever all owns them, I'm not trying to infringe on anything. All rights are with the creators of the show, the studios, whatever.
The Denuo universe was created by Lara Bee and myself. More stories from different shows can be found here: http://home.arcor.de/larabee/mag7/denuo.html
Macx's Voice of Warning (aka Authors' Note): English is not my first language; it's German. This is the best I can do. Any mistakes you find in here, collect them and you might win a prize The spell-checker said everything's okay, but you know how trustworthy those thingies are.....
WARNINGS: paranormal element, slash (duh!)




Later, James Wilson would be unable to say just what it was that had him on this floor, in front of these examination rooms, and in the middle for a near-brawl. He couldn't really say he had wanted to walk this way, nor had he had any business being here. All his patients were in oncology, or he was down at the clinic with the non-specific patients with the every-day complaints. But there he was, drawn by something someone else might have called foreboding or need. There had been this feeling for a while before stepping out of the elevator and walking here that something was wrong. There had been this unease, this rising tension inside him, and it wasn't him. He wasn't feeling tense...
"Bastard!"
The shout rang out on the otherwise quiet floor, in the wing where the serious cases were treated. Not serious enough to warrant intensive care, but close enough.
Wilson started running the moment he heard the yell, felt his emotions somersault, felt the apprehension turn into annoyance, then pain, then brief fear, and then startled surprise.
House! he only thought, not even aware that he was contemplating his lover and best friend in context with the emotional outburst.
And then he almost came to a full stop as he took in the surprising scene. House sat with his back against the wall, obviously stunned, eyes a bit glassy, and one hand was holding his jaw. Over him stood a bear of a man, brandishing House's cane, his face red with anger, teeth bared, ready to attack.
Wilson felt his blood run cold.
No...
"No!" he yelled without thinking. "Stop!"
*
House had expected the irate husband to lunge at him, make a strike, but he had underestimated the bull's agility. For all his apparent obesity and slowness, he was quick on his feet.
Much quicker than a cripple, he mused.
The fist connecting with his jaw had almost dislocated it. At least it felt like a dislocation. His head was ringing, his jaw ached, and for a moment House had trouble actually concentrating on anything. He knew he had gone down, that he was kept upright only by the garish brown wall, but he really had a blackout moment because next thing he knew Wilson was there.
James stood between him and his attacker, white coat flapping like a crusader's cape.
My hero, House thought giddily.
From his position on the floor he had a good view of things, though he couldn't see a lot of Wilson's face. What he could see was scrunched up in plea, worry and intense concentration, and what he heard were soft, cajoling words. It was like watching the Discovery Channel, someone calming down a frightened beast, trying to soothe the tension and stroking over ruffled feathers.
Riveted, House watched.
It was as if he had never seen Wilson calm someone before. He knew his lover was good with people, that his patients trusted him, that he weathered a lot of emotional storms every week, but he had never seen anyone calm down fury with such ease.
The husband was lowering the cane, looking at Wilson, trying to hold on to his anger but losing, and finally the cane cluttered from his hands. He started shaking, tears gathering in his eyes, and he stumbled back.
Still, Wilson kept talking. Not much. Not like a waterfall. He just murmured reassurances, apologies, and finally he stepped away from House and touched the distraught man.
House was truly, truly amazed how the much larger and a lot more volatile man slumped, his lips moving as words stumbled over his lips, and then there were others. Chase and Foreman were there, and Cuddy, and Cameron, and nurses. Some security, too.
"House?"
He blinked.
Huh, another little blackout. Not good. He gazed at his lover.
"Can you get up?" Wilson wanted to know.
House glared at him and clawed at the wall to get up. He was still dizzy, achy, and his leg hadn't taken his fall very well either.
Damn.
He bit back on the curse.
Wilson handed him the cane and he pushed himself into a more or less balanced standing position. Things were tilting at an interesting angle and he really didn't relish limping back to his office.
"What happened?" Cuddy demanded, glaring at him.
House sighed. "A little disagreement," he muttered.
"I can see that! What did you do?"
He rolled his eyes and immediately regretted it. That really hurt.
"Why is it always me?"
"Because it always is," she shot back.
He glared at her through the pain.
"Come on," Wilson murmured, placing an unobtrusive hand on his elbow.
He didn't push, he didn't try to support, but he got his point across. The touch was like a caress and House followed Wilson almost docilely. He limped more than ever, his leg hurt, his head was swimming, and he thought he heard Wilson say something to Cuddy about taking care of things.
A part inside of him rebelled against the 'taking care of House' part. He wasn't a baby! He didn't need care!
And then they were in his office, the blinds drawn shut, and he was sitting in his oh-so comfortable chair. Wilson palpated the bruise spreading on his jaw, shining a light into his eyes, asking questions that House thought he answered pretty well. Finally the light out of his eyes and Wilson's touch was the only sensation still left. That and the pain in his leg.
"How bad?" the calm voice asked.
"I'm fine," he muttered.
"Right."
There was the sound of movement, then the warm presence was back and his hand was filled with his blessed Vicodin. He swallowed it without another argument and waited for the magic to begin.
"What did you say to him?" Wilson wanted to know after a moment.
"The truth."
A heartbeat of silence. House cracked an eye open and looked into the patient face of his lover. The brown eyes were to drown in and the whole man was radiating such soothing calm, he wanted to relax into this presence.
"Greg..." Wilson prodded.
He sighed and dropped his head back against the chair, staring at the ceiling.
"He asked what made his wife sick. I told him."
"And he decked you for it."
"Yeah."
"What made her sick?"
"Sleeping around."
Wilson winced a little. "And you told him just that in your incredibly subtle way."
House looked at him again, frowning. "What? You want me to lie to him?"
"No. You never lie. You also never learned subtlety."
"That's what I have you for."
Wilson raised his brows. "You do?"
House grinned. "Yep."
"So why didn't you call me?"
"No time." He closed his eyes again, relaxing more as the Vicodin kicked in. Bliss...
Wilson touched him again, running a gentle caress over his temple. It was a brief contact, loving, relaying so much without saying anything, and House felt something inside of him shiver with need. He kicked it hard and told it to shut up.
The door opened all of a sudden, destroying the fragile calm and warmth, and House felt Wilson draw back as he collected himself. It was like getting a physical kick; not too painful but still there. He glared at the intruder and Cameron shot him an apologetic look.
"Sorry," she murmured. "How are you?"
"Alive," House grunted and made a grab for his cane as he got up.
He didn't like the once-again flaring pain. The dizziness was no fun either. Again he had the distinct impression of Wilson reaching out, trying to soothe him, calm him down, but it was so brief, it might have been wishful thinking.
"Mr. Lindholm has calmed down," Cameron said.
"Did you do the tests?" House only wanted to know.
"Chase is at the moment. We'll have the results soon."
"It's scabies," House just repeated what he had said before.
Wilson's brows rose a little again. "And the husband?"
"Doesn't have it," House said before Cameron could answer the question.
"We don't know that," she argued.
"I do. He doesn't have it. She does. She's sleeping around. And she hasn't let him touch her for a while either." He raised his brows. "Husband doesn't have it, wife does."
The Vicodin had by now numbed the pain and he was feeling between really good and really crappy, depending what body part was concerned.
"Scabies symptoms," House prompted, looking at Cameron, challenging her.
"Rash and bumps between the fingers; inside the wrists, elbows, or knees; in the skin creases of the buttocks and groin; around the navel and nipples; on the feet; and on external genitalia," she recited.
Blue eyes gave her a 'see?' look. Wilson just watched the exchange, out of the immediate line of fire. House was perfectly aware of him, a reassuring presence in the background as he so often was.
"The test results..."
"Will show scabies," he repeated. "Coat her body with a mixture of petroleum jelly and 5% sulfur for three consecutive nights. We keep the lesions clean and give her cotton gloves during and after treatment to prevent her breaking the skin by scratching. I'm done."
House limped out of his office, still feeling dizzy spells, and the sight of Cuddy storming his way had him groan.
"House!" she snapped.
"Already gone," he muttered, limping past her.
She stayed on him, her face a dark cloud. "What were you thinking?" she demanded.
"I told him the diagnosis."
"You told him his wife is sleeping around!"
House stopped, giving her a peculiar look. "And I told the truth. She is."
"You don't know that!"
"She has scabies, he doesn't. Do the math, Cuddy! Even you can add those two together!"
Wilson had appeared again, silent, at his side. House would never confess to the feeling oft rightness his lover's presence brought.
"If he complains..."
"If," House repeated, starting toward the elevator again. "He won't."
"And why not?"
"Too embarrassing. The neighbors would want to know where he got all the millions from." He viciously stabbed at the call button. "He'd have to tell them that he sued the hospital over his wife sleeping with other men while he got none and a doctor telling him the truth about it."
Cuddy looked ready to blow, then just muttered something under her breath and left in a flurry of cleavage and curly hair. Wilson remained, shooting him that mildly annoyed look.
"You had to do it," he just stated.
"I always have to do it," House replied, cheerful.
Wilson was with him as the elevator doors closed and he walked with him through the entrance hall.
"You should go home," the younger man finally said. "You have a mild concussion and you should lie down."
House grimaced. "I'm not a child. I don't need nap time."
"No, you're not a child, but you behave like one. Go home. Want me to drive?"
House met the dark brown gaze and felt something inside of him shiver again. Whatever snark had been on his lips died as that gentle warmth washed over him again, making him relax.
"You're annoying," House stated without any heat or bite behind it.
"I'll get my things," Wilson only said, not even deigning that comment with a return. "Stay here."
"Yes, Mom."
Wilson gave him an eye-roll, then was off to gather his things and probably let Cuddy know he was taking House home. House just sat down on a convenient chair, rubbing a hand over his hurting thigh. It was a dull pain. A gentle throb now and then. His leg let him know that even Vicodin couldn't give him total peace. He had to take the strain off it.
He hated it when his body betrayed him.
When Wilson was back, dressed in his dark suit, tie, and a coat, carrying a bag, House felt more tired than ever.
Damn, damn, damn.
There was no fight, no argument, left. As Wilson drove, House sat in the car, almost dozing off. He had no memory of the drive home, how he got into his apartment. He only remembered Wilson's presence, his gentle words, his familiar touch, and another Vicodin.
Yes, he hated his treacherous body. A lot.
*
Wilson watched as House lowered himself onto the couch, feet up, his eyes closed, his face twisted in pain. The bruise on his jaw was quite vivid now and the mild concussion was probably wreaking havoc with his mind. Knowing House, Wilson was aware that whatever pain his lover suffered, he would deny everything. He would push himself, would behave as if nothing was wrong, and he would make it worse.
It was late afternoon and already mostly dark. Winter was coming their way. Autumn had turned out to be rather cold already, with a little snow here or there. It had been enough for House to switch from the bike to the car more often than not. He was grumbling about missing those days, that he wanted to ride. Wilson just let him grumble and grouse.
Changing into more comfortable clothes, Wilson then walked into the kitchen to make himself and House some tea. Coffee wasn't good right now. Not at all. And he wouldn't even think about alcohol. He also prepared an ice pack for House's jaw.
"Here," he said quietly as he came back and held out the mug and ice pack.
House took it wordlessly.
It was how they spent the next minutes, just sitting together, drinking the hot beverage, Wilson watching his lover, House just gazing at nothing at all. Finally he rose and changed places. He expertly raised House's legs without much discomfort for his lover and put them onto his lap. House's brows rose as Wilson undid the laces of his sneakers and pulled them off.
"Danger," the older man muttered. "Unwashed feet."
"Shut up," Wilson only replied mildly.
With the socks off, he started to carefully stroke over the exposed feet and when House didn't protested or pull away, he began a massage. It took House no more than a minute to groan his approval. He seemed to sink deeper into the couch, one arm over his eyes, the other resting on his stomach. Tension flowed out of him like a waterfall.
Wilson smiled as he manipulated the pressure points. Greg House was wax in his hands. He continued the massage for a few more minutes, then gave the feet a gentle slap.
"Bed," he told the other man, who only grunted.
Blue eyes cracked open a slit and Wilson smiled as he looked into the most relaxed version of Greg House he had ever seen - aside from post-coital snuggling sessions.
"Let's go, old man," Wilson teased.
The relaxed looked turned into a glare.
"You want me to carry you?"
House grunted again. "Might slip a disc. You're also not a pretty nurse." House managed to get up, but he was struggling.
Wilson smiled to himself and let him try until a low growl told him that House was unsuccessful. He unobtrusively helped him, assisting only as much as he was allowed to by this stubborn individual. House was proud; he hated being weak.
The moment House was in bed, almost naked, he dropped off. Wilson smiled to himself as the other man snuggled close to him - House protested any notion that he was a snuggler - and soon his breathing evened out. A hand was over Wilson's stomach, he felt House's warm presence against him. It was mushy, but it felt good.
House would kill him if he ever said so to his lover.
Smiling, Wilson took his book and started to read a little until he was tired enough to join House in sleep.
*
It had been the incident with Lindholm that set House's sights on Wilson. Not in a sexual way. It was more of a diagnostician who had a new and puzzling case. That of Dr. James Wilson, a man with a warm bedside manner, who was liked by his patients, who was so calming and soothing to them all. He had had people take a swing at him, but even the worst had been pacified in the end. House had always chalked it up to the boyish good looks, the smile, the eyes, the non-threatening demeanor, but there was something else.
With Lindholm it had come to the forefront.
So he watched. And he thought back about the past moments between Wilson and patients, between Wilson and colleagues, and between Wilson and himself. James Wilson was a stable rock in a turbulent sea, and he had the perseverance, the inner balance and the, yes, aura.
That got House thinking on a completely different track.
James came from a family of paranormals. His grandfather was paranormal and his great-grandmother had been talented, too. Nothing spectacular. Always low lying abilities, nothing that influenced anyone on a grand scale. Grandpa was a latent empath, sensing emotions, and great-grandma had been something like this, too. All children and grandchildren had been untalented, until Derek Wilson had been Triggered. He had been a late bloomer, realizing his abilities with eighteen, and they were strong. He was a powerful empath; very powerful.
So if Derek had talent, why not Wilson? But his lover was closing in on thirty-eight by now and late bloomers usually showed around twenty. Maybe a very late bloomer?
House frowned.
His involvement in the paranormal had died with his leg. He didn't know about what launched the paranormal gene into working, he didn't know how to classify abilities as more than human, and he sure as hell wouldn't call Stacy. That was his past.
But if Wilson was his future, he might have to jump over his own shadow and contact either anyone from Salt Lake or talk to Stacy.
What were the chances that James was following into Derek's footsteps and discovering his paranormal side? If there was a chance -- and with his heritage there was - how strong would he be? And what would he be? Were his soothing abilities, the calmness he radiated, already blooming powers? Or was it simply James Wilson at work?
House finally reached for his phone and dialled.
It wasn't Stacy's number.
*
He watched.
He made notes. Mostly mental notes.
He kept an eye on his lover, on what Wilson did, how he behaved, and slowly but surely House's puzzle became a complete picture. Well, a few pieces were still missing, but mostly he saw what was starting to happen. He didn't know whether to laugh or to cry.
And he had yet to tell Wilson.
Alone in his office, the darkness outside a clear indicator that it was way past clinic hours and deep into the night, he studied the whiteboard.
'Empathy' was on top of the list he had made.
Derek Wilson was a strong empath, grandpa Wilson was a latent empath, and James Wilson had talent as well. House had determined that his lover wasn't as affected by this power as his younger brother was. Derek was suffering from debilitating overload; James was simply more open to someone's plight and feelings. He adjusted to what the patient or relative needed, and he soothed that pain.
House tapped the whiteboard pen against his lower lip.
That was another symptom. The way Wilson calmed people, pacified even the most furious of relatives. Take Lindholm, he mused. The man had been ready to make mince-meat out of House. Wilson had stepped between them and worked his magic.
He chuckled.
Magic. Huh. Right. Magic of a kind that had nothing to do with sparks and fireworks.
Wilson comforted people, but not like any of his colleagues. He didn't have to say much; his very presence took the aggression down several notches. And his words calmed people.
Intriguing.
Last came something House had only stumbled across while making Wilson his study object.
His lover seemed to be able to blend into the background, make himself invisible to another's senses. He was still physically there. People looked at him. But their eyes glanced off the non-threatening figure. House remembered multiple occasions when someone had stormed into his office, yelling - mostly Cuddy - and Wilson, who had been present at the time, had been completely overlooked. He had been there, right there, and Cuddy had... ignored him.
Very intriguing.
What he had gotten back from Dr. Nathan Jackson in Salt Lake City had helped him a little. Jackson hadn't asked too many questions as to why he needed the information. He had offered to help with anything House wanted to discuss, but House had waved him off. He only needed the information. He would discuss everything with the whiteboard.
Empathic. Calming presence. Apparent invisibility.
What did that make Wilson? And how strong were these powers? When had he started to display them?
Wilson had always been... Wilson. Sympathetic, handsome, attractive, boyishly charming, and... empathetic. Empathic.
So if this had been with him for a while... why was it stronger now? And had he always been so pacifying? Or invisible if things started to boil up around him?
House couldn't answer the questions - yet.
He needed more information.
*
His search for more clues was aided and interrupted by clinic duty. It helped to watch his best friend work with patients, as he treated runny noses and screaming kids, keeping the moms and dads calm. But his own patients kept interrupting and he was his most irritable at the best of times.
"Diabetes," he told one very persistent woman.
"I only have blurred vision!" she protested.
"It's diabetes," House told her more firmly, angered by her close-mindedness and her set expression.
"I need glasses!" she shot back. "I'm not a diabetic."
He rolled his eyes and wrote something on the sheet inside the file, then opened the door of the exam room.
"You," he told the patient. Margo something or other. "Lab. Blood work."
"What kind of doctor are you?" she demanded. "I come here for an eye exam and you tell me to pay for blood work? I want a second opinion!"
House sighed deeply. "Oh right. A medical degree isn't enough. Sure. Get a second opinion. Take a pick from the doctors available. I hear you can get a discount by how many diagnose you with the same illness."
She glared some more, then gathered her things and stormed out of the room. House handed Margo's file over to the nurse.
"Set her up for the lab," he told the woman. "And tell Dr. Wilson he has another patient. She'll dig him."
The nurse smiled briefly, then turned back to her work.
House popped a Vicodin and turned to his last case of the day. As he entered exam room two he felt like adding a second pill to the first. A young woman sat on the exam table, wheezing, her face red and swollen, her hands blistered with leaky nodules, and her watery eyes screamed 'allergies' as much as the rest of her body.
His only hope for this day to get any better was for his team to find him a new case or for Wilson to start displaying some tremendous powers so that at least his partial boredom was finally over.
*
A new case took priority over Wilson's possible paranormal status, but House wasn't deterred from his Wilson Watch. While he treated a forty-three old woman suffering from obvious obesity and symptoms that weren't associated with her physical condition or medical history, and while he tried to find out what she really had, he also secretly read through the files he had been sent through Vin Tanner.
He had made it clear in his call that if Tanner told Stacy one word about this, he'd come to Salt Lake City in person and make a rug out of the wolf. Tanner had been amused and slightly put off by House's assumption that he was sharing private calls with any ally he knew.
"I don't care what you think. Stacy called you the moment she got wind of my condition. I just want to make sure you're not a tattle-tale yourself," House had snapped at him.
"Believe me, I can keep my mouth shut, Dr. House. I'll have the files delivered to you. If you want something else, let me know."
For now he had enough. He had everything he had requested on paranormals that fit the parameters. House would never have guessed that the Nexus was actually such a comprehensive data base. Interesting.
*
In the afternoon of the day House solved the mystery case of a young man, Thomas Brauer, collapsing with a strange cough and totally unrelated symptoms, the diagnostic specialist was in his office, playing with his yo-yo. His mind had turned to Wilson again, needing to work off excess energy from the Brauer case.
How often had Wilson come by his place, totally by surprise, with no other business on his agenda than visiting House? How often had he been there when House had felt the need for company, for this specific company? How often had he simply dropped everything, even when it had been something to do with his wife? And it didn't matter which wife it was. Wilson had this uncanny ability to be there when House needed him.
So the diagnostician in him wanted proof if that was just a sign of someone who knew him well and had his ear everywhere, or if it was something paranormal.
House managed to grab a copy of Wilson's time table for the next day and saw it was rather filled with appointments, meetings and two hours of clinic duty. Good. That would work.
He made sure to have lunch with his lover and they talked about meaningless things, but then Wilson left for a meeting and clinic duty after that.
It was time to set the plan in motion. He had already skipped one Vicodin pill of the day, ignoring the flaring pain throughout lunch, deflecting Wilson's questions as to whether there was something wrong or not. It wasn't too bad yet.
There was nothing waiting for House but boring paperwork, and his team was doing whatever they did right now. Settling in his chair, he took his over-sized ball and played with it, his attention on the TV where something or other was playing. His leg was protesting more now.
Painfully.
House grimaced and grabbed his leg, willing himself to go through with this. He had done it before, had detoxed, had suffered the pain, and he would do it again. Not for a week or two. Just for a few hours. Just to see if he could prove another point.
When the door opened and the familiar and oh-so-welcome figure of Wilson walked in, House was ready to bang his head into a wall. The pain was so bad at the moment.
"House? What the hell are you doing?" Wilson demanded.
He looked at the younger man, smiled as he took in the hands on the hips, the expression, the flare of anger in the brown eyes.
"Aren't you in a meeting?" he asked.
"Already over."
"Clinic duty?"
"Screw clinic duty! What are you trying to prove? Has Cuddy made another deal?" Wilson snapped.
"No. No deal."
"What then? Threatened to discipline you?"
"I would be so lucky," House smirked.
"House!"
"Just a little experiment."
"With your leg? You never forget the pills! You double up if you don't want to deal with people! You eat it like candy!" Wilson spread his hands, giving him a 'tell me!' look.
House dug for his Vicodin bottle and popped the lid, taking two, chewing them just to annoy his lover. Wilson let his hands slap against his thighs, looking frustrated and annoyed and slightly pissed.
"Why do I even care?" he muttered.
"Because you love me?" House teased.
Brows lowered over flashing eyes. "I wonder why."
House grabbed his cane and pushed himself to his feet, grimacing as his leg flared again. Even a double Vicodin needed time to work its magic.
"Clinic," he reminded his lover. "Or Cuddy will gut you."
"You would know." For a moment Wilson hesitated, then shook his head, sighing in defeat. "Dinner?" he asked instead.
"You're paying."
"Always am. My choice tonight."
House favored his bad leg a little. "Topless dance bar?"
"That would be your choice."
"Rib Eye?"
"Yours, too."
House grimaced. "So where to?"
Wilson smiled. "I'll think of something. See ya." And with that he was gone.
House chuckled, settling against the desk and absent-mindedly massaging his thigh. He had proven another point. His diagnosis was looking better and better.
*
House wasn't above using sex for his gains. Not that he had slept with many people after Stacy to get what he wanted. Actually, he hadn't slept with anyone, not even a hooker, and his hand had been his best friend. Then Wilson had broken not only his dry spell but also torn down his walls one brick at a time.
Now he watched his spent lover, took in the flushed skin, the dilated eyes, and when House drew a hand over the hot skin he noticed how Wilson seemed to both flinch a little and lean into the contact.
Receptive, he mused. Very receptive to his touch and the accompanying emotions.
He had seen enough sci-fi and fantasy movies with enough bad or mediocre plots and special effects to try out his own set of experimental tests. One 'fact' the movies always tried to sell the audience was that empaths and telepaths were very receptive to touching. Bare skin on bare skin contact with another person led to all kinds of complications. So House had tried that.
Wilson wasn't wearing gloves or any kind of protection like it to keep people from touching his bare hands, so he wasn't that receptive. But sex... sex dropped many shields, and House knew that only too well. So post-coital touching was one such test. It wasn't any different from the caresses they normally exchanged, but now House was watching. He was doing it deliberately. He was interested.
House kept on stroking over the warm skin, carefully letting his emotions go past his walls, letting what he felt for the younger man pour into the contact.
Wilson's eyes seemed to dilate more, he was gasping a little, drawing a shuddering breath, and when House claimed those partially open lips, the body in his arms reacted even more.
He had watched James throughout their sexual intercourse, throughout foreplay and finally climax, and when House himself had come inside the younger man, Wilson's reaction had been intense.
Wilson started to drift off, murmuring something soft and loving. House kept on stroking, smiling to himself as he felt his own need for sleep set in. Mental notes were scribbled furiously.
His test had apparently been successful. He would have to follow up on this.
But not now.
Now... sleep.
*
House's sudden focus wasn't lost on Wilson, but he put it down to his lover being who he was - eccentric in a brilliant and over-energized kind of way, as well as the fact that none of the recent cases had kept him very interested. So his attention was on something or someone else. Failing to bug Stacy or even stalk her as he had done in the beginning, Wilson had been the next target.
The weekend came and went, with not much on their agenda. House had boxed some of his older journals and Wilson had read up on what he hadn't had the time to go over throughout a very busy week. Slouched on the very comfortable couch, papers close by, dressed in leisurely clothes, he enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere.
House switched to watching a western marathon throughout the afternoon and Wilson smiled to himself as he continued reading.
Monday came too early and House grumbled about Wilson's insistence to be on time as he was unceremoniously pushed out of bed. A shower together was out of the question because it would make them late, Wilson argued, and it left House grumbling all throughout the drive to the hospital.
"Grow up," Wilson muttered as they walked into the hospital together.
"My inner child refuses to."
Wilson shook his head and headed off to his department. There was a smile on his face and when his head nurse saw him, she winked a little. Oh great. Now they thought he got laid this morning. Or had a successful weekend. Not that it hadn't been a great weekend; and he had gotten laid. Still... Oh well, rumors would fly. Ever since it had leaked out that he and House were an item, things had become both complicated and easier. Wilson wasn't for flashing their relationship and they still behaved around each other as before. As it was, the 'before' had been nothing but foreplay with the 'old married couple' mixed in. They had known each other too long to change anything about who and what they were.
The snark was there, the inane conversations, the teasing, the taunting, the smirks and jabs, and his patient acceptance that Dr. Greg House was so much rolled up in a complicated package that not even over a decade of friendship could unravel the mystery.
Smiling to himself he checked his time table and discovered three important appointments, the first one in just twenty more minutes. Wilson took the file in question and browsed through it again, well-acquainted with the patient already. She had been to this hospital in the past three years and her cancer was in remission. It was good, but not yet reason to celebrate.


Lunch was a quick affair and while House made his usual appearance, stole his dessert and ranted about Cuddy being on his case again, Wilson's thoughts were with one of his more severe cases. A young boy, barely in his teens, with a brain tumor that had been operated on before. The cancer was spreading, he was already starting to hallucinate, and the parents were desperate. It would be a rather stressful appointment.


It was after that appointment, which had been as stressful as Wilson had believed it would be, that he walked by Stacy's office and found the door was open. He glanced inside and made a dead stop.
"You're leaving?" he blurted.
He stared at Stacy in shock and surprise. She was wearing a crispy blue and very stylish outfit, looking her normal busy self, but the office didn't. There were boxes, pictures taken down... Wilson was reminded of his own moment of horror when he had started to pack up his belongings, leaving the teaching hospital because of Vogler.
Stacy hesitated, then put another book into the box on her desk. "Yes."
"Why?"
She evaded his eyes. "It's time."
"What are you talking about?" His voice rose a little.
"This isn't working," Stacy clarified. "Mark's getting better, he needs to get back to work, so do I..."
"You work here!"
"And it's not getting better," Stacy argued. "Greg and I... we don't work."
Wilson shook his head, failing to see the reason. "Stacy, you accepted Greg as part of your work here. You knew he was here! You knew he was a paranormal before I ever did!"
"But you will be the one to know and discover more about him than I ever did, James. He has opened up to you. I'm no longer part of his life, either here at the hospital, or as a friend, or as an ally. I can't be here."
Wilson paced a few steps, then stopped, shaking his head again. "You're running away," he said quietly. "Why?"
Stacy was silent, gazing at the contents of the box. "I can't look at you, and him, and wonder, James. I can't stop thinking."
"W-what?"
"You share so much more than I ever could. It makes me sad and happy and jealous and content. I feel so much when I watch you interact, see how he opens up as he only did to me once. But to you, it's different. It's not the love we shared. It's more. Something connects you. I envy that. And I'm afraid of it."
"Stacy..."
Her dark eyes met his, stopping his words. "It's better this way. Mark... Mark needs me. He needs me as his wife."
Wilson stared at her as if she had grown a new head. There was so much disbelief in his eyes, it was almost comical. Only almost.
"James, I need to do this. I need to go. Or I lose Mark. Lose everything." Her voice was pleading now.
"Okay," Wilson breathed. "Okay. Do it. But don't think he'll understand it, Stacy."
"I know he won't understand. Whatever my reasons are, he never would." She placed a lid on the box. "When I came here, I still felt something. It was this sense of adventure, of being back with him, around him, feeling this sizzle whenever he got into a mystery." She smiled a little more. "You know how infectious it is to see Greg work, to see this incredible mind put to a problem and solve it with his unconventional leaps. He's a genius and being there... with him... I wanted it. But I can't live on that adrenaline. I can't continue lying to myself. I'm very happy with Mark. I was happy with Greg. But he has moved on, has changed."
Wilson met her gaze, shaking his head. "He hasn't."
"He has you. He always had you. There was something between you, James. I knew it when you met. It was intense, it grew only in strength, and it is unbreakable. You are the only one who can survive in close proximity with him. You are what he needs, and Greg is who you need. You compliment each other."
"So you leave."
Stacy nodded. "It's time."
"What if I need your help?" Wilson asked quietly.
"As an ally I'll always be there for the two of you, but you are doing just fine. You've been born an ally. I learned to be one. With Greg, I lost his trust. And trust is so very much part of a relationship between a paranormal in need and an ally." Stacy's smile turned sad. "He trusts you, James. More than he ever did with me. He loves you and he trusts you."
Wilson was too stunned to reply. He just stood there, watched her place the box on a pile of similar boxes.
"When?" he finally asked.
"Tomorrow."
"Will you tell him?"
"No."
"Stacy...!"
Again she hesitated. "You tell him. I don't think I can."
"You'll hurt him more by running in silence than confronting him! You can't do that to him! You have no idea how long it took him to recover from the past blows!" he told her, voice rising.
"I can't look at him and tell him I'm leaving," Stacy said.
"Please!"
Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head. "I've to think about it."
Wilson felt despair and anger war inside him, but in the end the anger was swallowed. He had to be the reasonable one. He had always been the reasonable one in any of his past relationships.
"You do that," he only said quietly and left the office, mind whirling.
Stacy was leaving, the only other ally he knew at the teaching hospital, was leaving. Stacy, the woman who had loved House, who had left House right in the middle of rehab, who had come back and haunted his best friend's waking and sleeping mind.
Shit!
His fist crashed into the wall and smarted immediately.
They didn't need this! Not at all!
*
"So she's leaving, hm?" House remarked almost casually.
"Yes," Wilson replied, careful, watching his lover like a hawk. He was slouched in one of House's chair.
"Mark's not through rehab. He almost set back his therapy by trying some stupid stunt," House went on. "So why is she leaving?" He looked intrigued, but Wilson doubted he was as interested in the fact as he was in a mysterious new case.
"She's leaving because of you."
Eyebrows climbed. "What did I do?"
"You exist?"
His lips twisted into a smirk. "Cheap excuse."
"She needed one."
"I've been here since day one. I was part of the parcel she accepted," House huffed and twirled his cane. "She's running," he finally stated.
Wilson just tilted his head.
"She's running from me and from this." He made a general gesture that might have meant Wilson and him, or the whole hospital. "Coward."
"You don't even trust her anymore," Wilson stated, changing the subject; changing tracks.
"So? She's got a job, her husband is in need of help, and I've got you." House smiled almost cynically, changing tracks as well.
Wilson's brows rose again. "I see. You don't care she works here, but you wouldn't trust her in any capacity. Not even as your attorney --"
House shrugged. "We know each other too well."
"-- and not, more specifically, as your ally," the younger man finished.
"Got you for that, too."
"I cook, I clean, I wash your laundry... and I'm your ally?" Wilson teased.
"You also provide cheap entertainment and sexual distraction," House added with a smirk.
"Almost forgot that."
House wagged his finger. "Don't you ever. Not to mention you sign for my drugs."
"So I'm much more useful and you won't lift a finger to convince her to stay?"
"Got that right, Sherlock."
"House, you and her were together once!"
"What? You play the 'old friend and lover' card now? How cheap."
"Maybe it's cheap, but you were friends. Doesn't that count?"
House gave him an intense, scrutinizing look. "What do you want, Jimmy?" he asked quietly, all mockery gone from his voice. "Why do you want her to stay? Why do you want me to talk her into something she obviously doesn't want?"
Wilson chewed on his lower lip and looked at his hands. "She's an ally," he said softly.
"Not mine."
"She is yours, too."
"I don't need her."
"Greg..."
"I don't!" he stated forcefully. "Stacy has betrayed my trust too often. I would never go running to her for anything! And I won't keep her from leaving either!"
Another sigh and Wilson rose. "Okay," he only said.
He left the office, deep in thought. He didn't want to lose Stacy's presence here. It was strangely comforting to know he had another ally close by. Not that he had needed her in any capacity, but it helped to have someone to fall back upon if there should ever come the day he needed an ally.
Wilson sighed softly.
He really didn't need this...
*
"I heard Stacy was leaving."
House threw a 'God help me' look toward the ceiling, then faced Cameron.
"Yes, she is leaving. You want to throw a going away party?"
She pursed her lips, not looking pleased. House just smirked.
"Why?" the immunologist now wanted to know.
"How should I know?"
"It's because of you, right?"
He rounded on her, giving the woman a hard look. "Not everything in this hospital revolves around me, Dr. Cameron. It took me a while to accept I'm not god, but my psychiatrist says I'm making progress."
The door opened. Chase came in, followed by Foreman, both men giving the two doctors present a curious look.
"Why else would she suddenly pack and leave?" Cameron shot back.
"Are we talking about Stacy?" Chase asked.
House grimaced. "Yes, we are discussing our wonderful attorney who has decided that she needs to go back home and be with her husband, loving wife that she is. And it has nothing," he gave Cameron another hard look, "to do with me. Now," he changed subjects, "what do you have for me?"
House pointedly turned away from Cameron's dark look and concentrated on the case again.
*
The office was empty. No more pictures on the walls, or on the shelves, all books packed in boxes and already carried away. House leaned against the open door and silently watched as the woman who he had been in love with so many years ago put the lid on the last box. Stacy raised her eyes.
"You weren't about to tell me," House said quietly.
She brushed over the cardboard lid. "I didn't see a reason why."
"I never took you for a coward. You're running."
"I always am."
House gazed at the floor. "You think this is what you have to do?"
"Yes. For me, for Mark, for you and James... it's the best."
A shard of anger raced through him. "You come back into my life, turn everything upside down, you actually give me hope for... for..." House broke off, stomping his cane onto the ground. "You gave me hope," he repeated. "And now you turn tail and run!"
Stacy visibly tried to collect herself. "Greg, I ... I confess that there was a kind of attraction... but you and James... I never had a chance."
He glared at her. "And now you blame me for leaving?"
"I'm not."
"Oh, but everyone else is! Big bad House chasing off the poor woman with her crippled husband!"
Stacy closed her eyes, looking pained.
House exhaled sharply. "Say hi to Mark from me. Good luck to him. He'll need it." And with that he pushed away from the door and limped away.
Anger boiled up inside of him. How dare she do this? After everything else she had already thrown into his side of the court! She had left him in the middle of rehab after overriding his wishes and agreeing to a surgery that, yes, maybe had saved his life, but had also crippled him. She had been an ally, she had told some stranger in Salt Lake City all about him, she had left! She had left him alone, damnit!
His fist connected with the wall and he bit back on a curse.
"House?"
The soft voice was there all of a sudden. Unexpected but needed. He looked up and the diagnostician in him laughed at how Wilson had once again proven his theory by being here. The man inside him recoiled in fury that he had been caught at such a vulnerable and open moment. And the damaged and hurting human being wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around his lover and hold on; just hold on.
Instead he glared at Wilson, met the warm brown eyes with the anger he felt for Stacy, and it was easily deflected. There was this expression of mildly annoyed tolerance, something Wilson had quite often around him.
"You and Stacy talked?" the younger man asked, knowing the answer already.
"Yeah," House grunted and pushed past him, limping heavily.
"Do we need to talk as well?"
He glared at Wilson again and the other man smiled a little.
"Apparently not."
"I told her as I see it. She's running. She's taking the easy way out and making my life miserable once more!"
"Miserable how?"
House jabbed viciously at the elevator button. "Ask Cameron."
"Ah." They went into the elevator together.
Silence descended and House had never been so aware of his lover's presence than now. He knew he was being watched, he knew Wilson was trying to determine how bad it really was, but House refused to fall for the bait of 'talk to me'.
"I'm meeting a colleague tonight," Wilson broke the silence as the elevator doors opened.
House shot him a brief look.
"Dinner."
He gave a grunt.
"Might be late."
House glared a little. "Don't treat me like one of your wives!" he finally growled.
"I wasn't." Wilson waited a heartbeat, then added, "Don't do anything stupid tonight, okay?"
"You mean like drink myself into oblivion over Stacy?" House gave a humourless bark. "That's times long gone, Jimmy. I'm over that."
It got him a critical look, filled with disbelief. House muttered something dark and pushed past his lover, heading out of the clinic. He felt like taking the bike out on a long cruise, the wind biting into his clothes, and nothing but the freedom he experienced while he was riding the bike.
Yeah, that sounded good.
Really, really good.
*
Like mostly throughout the week they had drifted together at the end of their work, that unexplainable magnetism that had Wilson at House's side nine times out of ten when he was leaving. Sometimes his lover stayed late because of paperwork, board matters or even a patient, but mostly he was there with House, both of them leaving the hospital together.
There was no question as to where they went. Wilson's apartment was closer to the hospital, but it held no warmth. It had furniture, but no life. While Wilson had still slept there when he was on call or had a very late night, he now mostly came to House's place.
House didn't mind.
He minded when Wilson didn't come or chose to do the logical thing and stay at his place because of the hour. Heavy snow was a reason not to chance travelling too far, but the apartment wasn't really that much further.
So Wilson was living at House's more or less.
No, House didn't mind.
Sitting together, watching the Simpsons, House's mind was still feeding him the facts and theories from his research. His eyes were mostly on his lover, but not really checking him out, though that black long-sleeved shirt did something really nice to House's general well-being. There was this tingle, this perception of 'he's mine', running through him, and even his cautious, paranoid and distrustful side couldn't argue against it right now.
"Is there something wrong with my nose?" Wilson suddenly asked.
House tilted his head. "No. I'm perfectly happy with the way it is. Why?"
"Because you keep staring at me as if I have something hideous in my face."
House grinned. "Definitely not your nose. I like your nose. The eyes aren't too bad either. Especially that puppy dog look when you want something. Now, there are your cheek bones..."
Wilson frowned. "What about them?"
"Nice."
Confusion warred with annoyance. "House. What's going on?"
"Nothing."
"You have been watching me for a while now. Don't think I haven't noticed!"
House smiled. "I would be worried if you hadn't."
"You weren't really subtle sometimes."
"Subtlety isn't my thing."
Wilson grimaced. "I know. We all know. So... what's up? Is this about the 'situation' again?"
House smirked. "No, I think we figured out you like to bottom, I like to top, and it's great sex for all around."
"You like to bottom, too," Wilson pointed out.
"Not as much as you do."
"It's because you like to top more than to bottom, but if I were to make a move on you, let's say in the office, you'd love to be bent over the desk and fucked blind."
House involuntarily glanced at his own desk. They were at home, not the hospital, not in his office, but his imagination liked to play along. There was an almost thoughtful expression in those blue eyes.
"Office sex? Jimmy, I'm impressed," he commented.
"You should be."
"Learned from the best?" Now House had that 'from me because I'm the best' expression.
"No," was the slow reply. "Living out my fantasies, actually."
House blinked, intrigued. "Fantasies?" he echoed. "Now I want to know more. Tell."
Wilson gave his lover the Look, brows drawn down a little. House's expression was all innocent. "You're diverting from the question," Wilson said instead of falling for the bait.
"No, actually you are. You keep telling me you want to do the nasty with me in the office. In an office that has glass walls, too." House waggled his eyebrows. "And if we are to add some toys to the fun..."
"Now you're into kink?"
"I've always been into kink. Just look who I work for? Having a woman whose cleavage can blind people within a second as your boss can be called kinky."
"House, spill. What's going on?"
There was a moment of silence, then the blue eyes turned a lot more serious.
"You," House said, jabbing a finger at Wilson, "are a paranormal."
Wilson stared at him as if he had lost his mind. Wide brown eyes studied him, then the lips twisted a little and he shook his head. "And you lost your mind, House. Grandpa might be talented, and Derek has the abilities, but I didn't inherit anything."
"You did." House felt smugness rise.
"Did not. House, I'm not paranormal. My gene's there, but it never activated."
"It did."
Wilson had his hands on his hips as he looked at his lover, who still smiled that smug smile. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
"You want the whole diagnosis?"
"Yes, please. Because you're totally off. I'm not talented."
"Oh, you are. You have quite a lot of talent in many areas." House waggled his eyebrows. "But coming to the paranormal side..."
He limped over to his overflowing desk and pulled a medium-sized folder out of the piles. House brandished it at his lover.
"Facts," he announced. "You know your own heritage, Jimmy, so I don't have to tell you the probability factors, the statistics, and the dumb luck involved."
Wilson shook his head. "Luck has nothing to do with it."
"No, not really. Triggers do."
Wilson gave him an interested look. "You read up on your paranormal. I'm impressed."
House grimaced and settled against the desk, taking the strain off his leg. "Don't be. I'm not going to get involved," he muttered.
"You already are. And you did. You researched, Greg. I call that involvement."
He gave the younger man a dirty look. Of course he researched. Like the vampirism and its possible causes, Wilson's abilities interested him. But that didn't mean he was becoming involved. The Nexus could go to hell for all he cared.
"As for heritage factors, we all have them," Wilson told him matter-of-factly. "All of humanity. The paranormal is so interwoven in our genetic code, anyone could be something."
"I'm not talking about anyone. I'm talking about you," House said crisply.
"Okay. So you think I'm a paranormal? You diagnosed something not even a whole family of allies could see?" Wilson teased.
"Derek," he only said pointedly.
"Derek's different."
"So are you."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Okay, Dr. House, tell me about your diagnosis."
"For one, you have the curse of coming from a family of empaths."
"Grandpa..."
House held up a finger, glaring at him for the interruption. "Empathy runs in your family. Derek," he repeated.
"Derek is an exception!"
"Like you."
Wilson huffed and shook his head, but he didn't comment. He refused to rise to the bait.
"So, proof," House continued. "Let's start with what got me interested. Paul Lindholm."
Wilson's brow furrowed. "The guy who decked you?"
"Yep."
"What about him?"
"You stepped between him and me. You calmed him down. You actually managed to deflect his anger and he was suddenly very docile."
Wilson opened his mouth to say something, then snapped it shut again. Finally he said, "He had already taken his anger out on you."
"That's not the point. You were on my floor. You were there when it happened. Why?" House prodded.
Wilson looked thoughtful, then shrugged. He apparently didn't know.
"You sensed the distress. You reacted to it. Like you react to your patients and their relatives. You have this soothing, calming, mellowing effect on people."
"I have manners. You don't."
"It's not manners. You can tell them whatever you want, and they still thank you."
"House, that's not proof."
House reached into his folder and pulled out a collection of papers. Wilson took them from him and leafed through the stack, brows climbing higher.
"Those are my cases or whenever I consulted on some."
"Yep."
"You read my case files?" Wilson asked, amazed and slightly annoyed in one.
"Sure. I had to get to the bottom of this."
"There is nothing to get to the bottom to!"
House smiled. "There is. You are empathic, Jimmy. And you can somehow calm people down. It's not just bedside manner and handsome good looks. It's above normal."
"It's not!" Wilson argued once more. "Only because you are a misanthrope and can't stand patients, I'm not paranormal! Doctors talk to their patients. They talk to the relatives. It's what we do, House!"
"Not like you."
Wilson threw his hands in the air. "Whatever! I'm not a paranormal."
"Are so very much," House sang. "And the moment I can find some way to test for it, I will."
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Magic-users can test for other paranormals."
"What kind of magic-users?"
"Strong witches are enough to pick up traces. Trained wizards can tell you what it might be."
"Know anyone?"
"I'm not paranormal!" Wilson cried.
House's smug expression said it all.
"Okay. I'll call a friend and ask around if there's someone who can set this to rest," he growled. "Satisfied?"
House leered. "Not just yet. I can think of something you can do to satisfy me..."
Wilson's lips twisted into a misgiving expression. House pushed away from the desk, limping over to him, ignoring his leg.
"Greg..."
"Hm?"
He was close. Reaching for his goal. Wilson wasn't moving, those brown eyes meeting intense blue ones. Wilson let himself get pushed back, against the wall, taking some of House's weight as their lips met.
"You're sensitive," House murmured, kissing him to stall the reply.
"Not empathic," Wilson argued as they came up for air.
"Are too." And another kiss.
Wilson was breathing a bit harder when they separated and House worked his way down the smooth throat, drawing a sound of pleasure as he mouthed the known hot spot.
House didn't forget about proving his point to Wilson, but he enjoyed making his lover writhe and moan, liked how he hardened under his hand as he stroked him roughly. Wilson's legs spread a little, he let his head drop against the wall, and House took full advantage. It was quick and dirty, but it took the edge off. Almost fully clothed, looking deliciously hot, House brought his lover to completion and enjoyed the low moan that accompanied the warm wetness that soon coated his fingers.
"We'll find one of those witches," he whispered into Wilson's ear, his own breathing a bit more bothered. Watching his lover had him horny, too. "And we'll figure this out."
"'m not paranormal," James argued, gasping as House stroked over the semi-hardness.
"You are. Shut up, Jimmy. I'm not done yet," House growled.
"Hope not."
"And you call me insatiable."
Wilson laughed a little. "You're an addict. I'm just horny."
"Addictions are fun."
"If you say so."
"Long years of experience." House caught his lover's mouth in a slow, deep kiss. "Bed," he ordered.
Because he wanted him. He wanted to watch Wilson as he aroused him once more, taking his time now, when he buried himself in the willing body.
*
It was a nice quiet suburb street with family homes, double garage parking spaces, manicured lawns, paved walkways to colourful entrance doors. There were flowerbeds in front of some homes, now covered in mulch because of the declining temperatures. Others had a white fence. Another family home had planted young trees that currently looked rather dead in the on-set of winter.
Willow Creek Hills had been one of the first family home projects and consisted of dozens of small houses that were roomy enough for your average family with two and a half kids, a dog, a cat and some optional rabbits. But it was also affordable for those families and had been quickly sold.
Wilson stopped the car in front of one of the houses. Number 45, House noticed. There was a white picket fence, the well-groomed lawn, and a small car was parked in front of the garage doors.
"The Witches of Willow Creek Hills," House remarked.
Wilson grimaced a little. They walked up to the door and Wilson rang. The woman who opened the door was not exactly witch material. No warts, no crooked nose, no red hair, no green eyes, no black skirt and blouse. She was about half a head smaller than Wilson, her dark brown hair bound back out of her face in a pony-tail, and the hazel eyes studied them with interest. She was dressed in a simple blue sweater and gray pants, wearing jogging shoes.
Sporty Mom, he classified her.
"James!" she called, smiling warmly.
No missing teeth either, House thought.
"Hey. Helen, this is my friend House. House, Helen Pinerolo."
She gave House the same warm smile but she didn't offer her hand. House hadn't been inclined to take it anyway. Interesting. Then her eyes were back on Wilson and House didn't miss the mild frown marring her sun-tanned features. He followed his friend inside and looked around, curious and nosey as always.
It was a clean home. Spacy. Warm, too. Lots of wood and stone, large windows, sunny when the sun actually made it past the early winter clouds. There were plants growing in abandon and the view of the garden was quite nice.
"Coffee? Tea? Soda?" Helen offered.
"Soda," Wilson decided as he peeled out of his jacket.
"Same," House added.
As Wilson took his Coke, Helen studied him. "Something's different," she remarked, tilting her head.
"Told you," House said almost sotto voce.
Wilson shot him a 'not now' look. House just smirked and limped over to the couch, sinking down to watch what was to come.
"James?"
"Uh..." Wilson hesitated.
"I think Jimmy here's a paranormal and he won't believe me," House said lazily, grinning at his slightly put out lover.
"I see." Helen gave him a once-over and House gestured a 'no'.
"Know about me. Old hat. He's your patient."
Helen's expression showed interest as she looked at him, but she nodded her agreement that House wasn't the reason they had come here.
"Something has changed about you, James," she told Wilson. "I noticed it the moment I opened the door."
Wilson looked exasperated. "I'm not paranormal!"
Helen's expression became more intense and House could see how she was concentrating. Nothing happened on the outside. No sizzle, no sparks, no light show, but something was going inside.
"You are," the witch finally said quietly.
Wilson looked thunderstruck. "B-but..."
"I can see your aura. It has changed profoundly."
"Told you," House murmured, then almost yelped as something warm briefly flickered against his hand.
In shock and surprise he stared at the white tiger python that had somehow made it onto the couch without him noticing. The albino's tongue flickered again, tasting him, sensing him, and her head was only an inch away from his hand.
"What the fuck...?" he muttered.
Helen smiled. "She's curious. She likes paranormals."
"Lemme guess... familiar?" House ground out, inching away from the snake. She wasn't impressed; she simply followed.
"Yes. She doesn't bite, don't worry."
He shot the woman a dirty look. Helen had already turned back to Wilson, ignoring House's plight with the curious snake.
"James, the last time we met... your aura wasn't like this," she addressed his lover.
"I haven't changed!"
"You have. Something happened since that time. I think it was over a year ago." Her eyes strayed to House. "I suppose it was before your time together."
"Together?" Wilson repeated.
"James, you never bring friends along. Especially not paranormal friends. I'm a witch and I read auras well. Yours is reaching out to his and while his is sick and unhealthy and rather gray, it has signs of yours."
Wilson looked slightly perturbed. "How..." he stuttered.
"I don't know. You never showed signs of developing any kind of abilities. Maybe you had weak ones, ones that didn't register. Many humans have them."
"Patients," House only said.
"That's no paranormal ability!" Wilson argued hotly. "Only because you don't like being with patients..." He stopped, collecting himself. "Other doctors are good with patients, too."
Helen shrugged. "Like I said, maybe you had very weak flares already, but this isn't weak any more. It's low, granted, but not weak. You are on low levels, not really strong, but what you have looks refined. Now to what it might be..."
"Empath," House sang.
Helen shot him a curious look.
"Simple research," House told her, shifting a little as the python came closer again.
She wasn't deterred and had by now moved a substantial part of her body onto his lap. As if she sensed his bad thigh, she had avoided that area and most of her weight was on his good leg.
"If you want to know the details, you have to ask a shaman, and good luck with that. They're so very rare," Helen told them. "All I can say is that it's all related to those primary abilities. Your family has empaths, right?"
"Yes," Wilson said slowly, not looking at her.
"Grandfather and brother," House supplied, not out of spite or to see his lover suffer.
They had to clear this up, get it out in the open, have Wilson know what he was and might be able to do. They had to deal with it now. Not that House was good with dealing things, but some things were easier to deal with than others.
"Your brother?" Helen asked, intrigued.
Wilson gave a long-suffering sigh, shooting House a dirty look. "Derek... is strong. I lost contact with him. He ran away, got triggered, his powers broke through with a vengeance, he was nearly insane from the overload, and only his familiar keeps him balanced. That's it in a nutshell."
Helen nodded slowly. "He was late. You are even later. And you were triggered, too. I can see where the Trigger used his powers to shift and poke and prod."
"I have never met a Trigger in my life!" Wilson argued.
"Then someone did this without your knowledge. "
"Why?"
"I don't know, but that's not important. The results are the same. You're a paranormal."
Wilson looked shocked to the core. His skin was pale, the eyes wide, and his fingers curled and uncurled. Finally he rose abruptly and left the room. The witch just looked at House, nodding at him to follow, damnit, and he did. Limping after his lover, his now tested and declared paranormal lover, who hadn't stopped outside the door. Actually, Wilson had walked quite some way before stopping, looking lost and alone in the quiet neighbourhood.
House reached his best friend, taking in the signs of utter shock. Stopping, he just studied the other man. Wilson seemed to be drawn between running and staying. Fight or flight. He wasn't easily shocked or scared. This had accomplished both.
"Jimmy," he said quietly.
Wilson flinched as if he hadn't really been aware of him so close by.
"Jimmy," House repeated.
The younger man ran a hand through his hair. He looked so completely undone... But House didn't touch him. He just stood there, keeping his distance, waiting.
"Runs in the family," the older man finally remarked.
Wilson was silent, only briefly glancing at him.
"Could be worse, though."
His lover shot him a confused look.
"You could be a raving madman, living on the street and talking to birds." House quirked a little smile.
Wilson gave an almost desperate sounding laugh. "Yeah," he managed.
House came closer, careful, aware how skittish Wilson was at the moment. He remembered his own shock when he had found out what he was. It had been so long ago, but he had never forgotten.
"Jimmy," he murmured and finally reached out.
Wilson didn't shy away from the gentle touch. He closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath. He was still so very composed, so controlled, and House was impressed. Inch by inch, the distance shrank until House had the shocked young doctor in his arms, and he held him tightly, not caring if anyone saw them. In this quiet neighbourhood, no one did.
"What now?" Wilson murmured after a while.
"What now what?" House asked in reply.
The other drew back, still looking so shaken and undone while also holding himself tightly under control. This hadn't been the breakdown. House knew breakdowns. They were usually ugly.
"I'm a paranormal."
"Seems like it. Welcome to the club."
Wilson grimaced a little. "I'm also no longer your ally."
"So?"
"House... I'm a paranormal like you now!"
"I hate repeating myself. So what? You're still you."
Wilson sighed a little, shoulders slumping. "This changes everything."
"Changes nothing at all," House said gruffly. "And why are you so shocked? You come from a family of allies, you know other paranormals, and it's always been a possibility that you inherited a stronger gene than your parents, right?"
"But I would have shown abilities throughout puberty!" Wilson argued. "I didn't! None of us did."
"Late bloomer," House commented dismissively.
"With thirty-eight?"
"Very late bloomer then."
"This isn't normal! I should have displayed abilities prior to now!"
"Who says you haven't?"
That stopped Wilson and he frowned. "I didn't," he only said.
House smirked. "But you don't know. You only know that some Trigger snuck up on you and gave you that last push. He must have seen something in you." Suddenly he frowned. "Tagana."
"What?"
"That magic-user who used you as a baseball," House elaborated. "He catapulted you through a glass wall, using magic."
"I remember," was the quiet reply and Wilson unconsciously rubbed over the scar at his neck.
"You were struck by his magic, right?"
"Magic can't change me from no abilities to empath."
"But maybe it can rattle your genes and the Trigger just put everything as it should be."
That got him a surprised look. "You really read up on that, huh?"
"Kinda."
Wilson started walking back to Helen's place, heading for the car. House followed him, watching. Tagana's accidental release of magic might be an explanation, even if it sounded a bit far-fetched, but something had probably rattled Wilson that day on a genetic level. House believed that his lover was predisposed for empathy because of his family, so maybe Tagana destroyed the protective shell around those abilities, made them 'visible'. Whoever the Trigger had been, whatever had gotten him to do what he had done, he had completed the process.
"Jimmy?" he finally prodded.
"Huh?"
He nodded toward where Helen was standing in the doorway. She walked over to them, looking a bit more sombre than before. Wilson dredged up a smile.
"Thanks," he said softly.
Helen didn't say anything, just smiled.


The drive home was spent in silence. House didn't say anything at all, just watched Wilson, who was driving.
*
There was nothing worse than a silent Wilson, sitting on his couch, looking contemplative and depressed. House wouldn't have any of that. He was aware of his own personal limitations to do something helpful right now, but he also knew that if he did nothing, Wilson would slide even deeper into his state of thinking too much.
So he grabbed the phone and dialled, smiling cheerfully at his lover as he limped into the kitchen as to not give away who he was calling and why.


Wilson was in the middle of staring another hole into the carpet when a phone was thrust at him. Blinking, he looked up and into the impatient face of Greg House.
"For you," his lover only said.
"Huh?"
"For. You," House repeated slowly, pronouncing each word as if talking to an imbecile. "Take phone, talk to nice person. Chit-chat. Go!"
Mystified Wilson took the portable phone.
"Yes?"
"Honey," a familiar voice called.
"Mom?"
If looks could kill, House should be dead now. The nerve! Calling his mother of all people!
"Jamie, how are you feeling? Greg told me about what happened."
"Uh, yeah, well, I'm fine."
"Don't lie to your mother, James Wilson!" she said sternly and he almost sat up straighter.
A sigh escaped him and he fell against the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling. "I'm not sure," he finally confessed. "This is a bit much. I mean... I never thought..."
"No one ever does," she interrupted him.
"Mom, I'm thirty-eight! This shouldn't have happened!"
"Jamie, there is no such thing as coincidence. If this is your destiny, accept it. Your father and I are very proud of you."
He almost rolled his eyes. His mother was having one of her esoteric moments.
"I'm not sure there is such a things as my destiny," he muttered.
"Nonsense. Look at you and Greg. This was meant to be just like your relationship. It took you two ten long years. Maybe your gene took its time as well."
"Mom, genetics doesn't work like that!"
She tsked. "Stop asking yourself why and how. Accept it. We're all very proud of you."
It sounded like he had won an Olympic gold medal. Wilson smiled a little and glanced over to where House was sitting. He was so blatantly listening in, Wilson had to smile more. House just smirked.
The conversation with his mother tapered off, turned to other things, sometimes coming back to the paranormal, and in the end Wilson felt a lot more relaxed than before. No wonder, he mused. His mother was an ally and allies helped new paranormals as well. They assisted in settling into their lives, their powers, this other world.
Feeling tired, he said good-bye to his mother and dropped the receiver for a moment, then chugged it at House. The older man caught it deftly.
"That," he muttered, "was a cheap shot."
"But it worked. Now..." House brandished the phone, "I'm hungry. Pizza?"
Wilson wasn't up to arguing about anything any more. He surrendered and simply nodded. House smiled triumphantly and hit the speed dial.
"Bastard," Wilson only mouthed as House waited for the pizza place to pick up.
House's smile widened. He pursed his lips into a little kiss, then turned to their order as the pizza guy picked up.
*
The pizza had been great, the movie rather bad, and Wilson had enjoyed the greasy food and the company throughout it. House had commented on the actress's breasts, her surgical good looks and her inability to be a good damsel in distress, while the hero was simply a really bad actor.
They retired to bed after a while, sliding together. House looked at his lover with the most peculiar expression.
"What?" Wilson asked.
"Is it really that bad for you?"
He was silent for a moment, just looking into those intense blue eyes. "No," he confessed after a while. "It's just... I have to adapt to this."
"What's there to adapt to?"
"House, I'm an empath!"
"So? You've been doing great so far. You heard the Wicked Witch. You've had your abilities for a while now. And I studied you, Dr. Wilson. This isn't as new as you think it is."
"I was your guinea pig?" Wilson sounded half as outraged as he tried to be.
House looked smug. "Yes. You performed perfectly."
He huffed. "Uh-huh."
House studied him, reaching out to caress one cheek. "Just be who you already are, Jimmy. It's your ability."
"What if I overload?" Wilson asked, a note of desperation in his voice.
Another caress. "You won't. You're low level."
Wilson groaned and sank into the pillow. House leaned over him, smiling wickedly.
"And I tested for the overload factor as well. You only overload on sex, nothing else."
"What?!"
"When your shields are down. And it's not really bad, I suppose. You get a great rush, right? Best sex you ever had?"
Wilson looked disconcerted. "You... you took notes?"
"On how I did making you come?"
"House!"
He smirked. "I only made mental notes, Jimmy. Don't worry. No one's ever going to read about this anywhere."
Wilson groaned. "You're worse than wife number two!"
"Eve?"
He nodded.
"She made notes on your performance?" House smiled devilishly. "Where can I get my hands on that?"
Wilson sighed deeply. "House..."
"No, seriously. We could compare notes. Older, more experience, now into a manly sort of sex..."
"She didn't make notes on my performance!" Wilson snapped. "She just... wanted to talk about it all afterwards. Like you!"
"I only want to talk about your paranormal powers, not your stamina."
"Which is just fine," Wilson felt the need to add.
House only gave him that silent look of 'oh, you think so?'. Wilson refused to rise to the bait.
"Stop distracting from the matter at hand," he said instead. "What did you do?"
"Nothing any other respectable scientist wouldn't have done the same way. I performed a few tests. You went through them with flying colors." House smirked again, brushing their lips together. "You are receptive, Jimmy, but you won't crash or overload. Trust me."
Wilson did. He trusted him deeply. "You're not respectable," he muttered. He gave House a critical look. "And care to tell me what you did with me?"
"Had sex?"
Another Look.
"As for the other things... I have a file."
"You have what? You just said you didn't!"
Wilson almost managed to dislodge his lover as he tried to sit up. House just wrapped his arms around him, holding him.
"I didn't make notes on your sexual prowess, Jimmy. But I made some on the other stuff. For your eyes only," he explained. "No one's ever going to see it."
Wilson inhaled deeply, then relaxed into the hold. "You damn better make sure of that," he said roughly.
House kissed his neck. "I'll burn it after you're done."
"Thanks."
Nothing more was said as they lay together, Wilson seeking support, but also giving it in his own way.
*
The weather had started to decline on Saturday and by Tuesday the clouds were releasing snow by the ton. There was a non-stop shower of white fluffy stuff coming from the sky and House hated every moment of it. Snow meant treacherous pavement, and his gait wasn't quite that sure on slippery roads. Snow also brought quite a lot of accident victims and people who didn't have the sense to dress up for the colder weather. Frost bite, kidney problems and more sniffles than ever were the result. What parent let his child go out into sub-zero temperatures dressed like she was going to the beach! House only waited for a case of 'navel piercing frozen to the skin'. Now that would be fun.
Wednesday found the snow chaos culminating in the fact that many people couldn't come to work on time because of the heaps of snow, and House took an insane pleasure in showing up around three and claiming he had to wait for a snow plough. Cuddy only gave him a dark look and damned him to two hours of clinic duty. Not even the argument about his work hours ending at four could make her relent.
Oh well.
He hitched a ride back home with Wilson and they spent the evening watching reports on the snow chaos along the East Coast, and sharing micro-waved food.
House studied the younger man. His lover. His best friend. The only one who had never turned his back on him and run as fast as he could. Stupid, he thought sometimes. Martyr. Masochist. Jimmy Wilson. Twelve years of being with him. Damn.
Wilson looked up from the journal he had been reading, frowning mildly. House grinned. So much made sense now. Like his lover picking up on things, on emotions, and even if he was low level, he was rather singularly receptive of Greg House if the emotions were clear enough.
"Empath," House mouthed.
It got him a grimace. "We still don't know if I'm empathic. No proof."
"You are. Trust me."
"I do, but you can't be certain."
House gestured at his overflowing desk where the file still lay underneath a lot of medical stuff. "It's all in here."
"You have no way to confirm it!" Wilson argued.
"Well, so how does a fledgling paranormal define what his low level powers are?" House asked pointedly.
"Well... family history is one factor. And before you start, yes, we have empaths, but that doesn't mean..." Wilson tapered off, sighing. "Okay, right, I might be predisposed, but it's not one hundred percent."
"All right, who else could tell you who you are."
"Seekers. They have this uncanny ability to see who and what you are."
"Know one?"
"No."
"Not an option then," House quipped.
"I could ask around, though."
"There's that. Anything else?"
"Healers, but they are as general as witches can be. And then there are the shamans."
House frowned. "Shamans? They exist?"
"Oh yes. They keep a very low profile, and as rare as they are, they do exist."
He frowned. "Know one?"
Wilson hesitated. "Actually, I do. Not personally. I know where one lives."
"Salt Lake?" came the guess.
Wilson smiled. "Nope. Vegas. And before you ask, we're not going there again!"
"Why? I think it was fun." House smirked.
"Only if we swing by Salt Lake, too," Wilson shot back.
"Spoil-sport." House studied him silently for a while, then, "You want to know."
"Of course I want to know!" Wilson said forcefully. "But I'm not about to post ads in the local papers to find a Seeker!"
"Or a shaman."
"Or that."
"You have to contact an ally. Know one?"
Wilson sighed. "Yes. I know someone who might be able to help me, but I can't be sure."
"Then call him or her." House frowned a little. "It's not Stacy, right?"
"No," was the answer. "She isn't the one I was thinking about."
"Okay, then you have my blessing. Go forth and call."
Wilson smiled a little. "Thank you, mighty one."
House looked smug. "You'll find a way to get what I already know in writing. You're an empath. Trust me. I know."
"You don't. If you were still functional as a Diagnostic I would trust your word. As it is, you can't even catch a glimpse of what I might be."
House glared at him. "Rub it in, will ya?"
"I'm not. I'm just stating a fact. You'd be my first and best pick to determine what I am. You just don't work any more, Greg. That simple."
House glared more. "And you pointing it out every other month won't help in that development either."
"I would be happy if there was development. There is none. You're not changing your addictions." Wilson got up and carried his mug over to the small kitchen sink. "I'll call the ally I know, see if he can point me toward a Seeker."
"You do that."
Wilson gave him a last look, smiling briefly, and left.
*
It took him three weeks to finally get into contact with a Seeker, who was located in New York City of all places. He was a member of the local law enforcement and Wilson battled traffic, the weather and general New York madness to meet with the man.

Now, on his way, driving past East Brunswick, he was going over the words again and again.
"You're an empath. Basically, that is."
Empath. He was an empath.
Wilson didn't know what to think about it. He wasn't really all that shocked. He had grown up with the paranormal and it was... normal.
That almost made him smile.
So basically he was an empath, just like House had predicted, well, diagnosed. "Basically" meant that, according to the Seeker, he had abilities connected to empathy, but he wasn't solely empathic. He had two other abilities associated with empathy and because of them, the empathy as such hadn't come out so pronounced. While Wilson was receptive to another's emotions and reacted to them, he also soothed whatever anxieties someone in his proximity exuded. He was the perfect listener, had the perfect bedside manner. As for what House had called his 'invisibility', the Seeker put that in context with the empathy as well. He could influence people into overlooking him. If there was an outburst of negative energy, Wilson could blend into the background and remain unseen.
Like when Cuddy was ripping House a new one - she never noticed Wilson. Or so it seemed. Wilson was instinctively classifying himself as harmless. Nothing of it was voluntarily; he was working on instinct.
Well, now he knew.
House would be smug for days. He had told him already without having Seeker powers.
Wilson chuckled a little. He could handle a smug House.
Now he just had to get used to the fact that he was really a paranormal.


He pulled out toward Plainsboro a while later, almost automatically heading for House's place. It was late, there was hardly any traffic, but when he parked the car, the lights were still on inside the house.
*
"So, how was your date?" House asked lazily as Wilson walked into the living room and dumped the overnight bag he had taken along. Just a precaution in case of weather problems or jams or pile-ups.
"It wasn't a date," Wilson responded automatically, slipping out of his heavy overcoat.
House just gave him that all-innocent look. "Got yourself checked out now? Let me guess..." He pursed his lips thoughtfully, squinting at Wilson. "You're an empath!"
Wilson sighed and flopped down onto the couch. "Yeah."
"And who told you that before?"
He gave him a mildly annoyed look.
"And who said you don't need a Seeker?" House went on. "Because he already knew? Hm? Who?"
"You did."
"Aha!"
Wilson stretched, feeling tired. "I needed official confirmation."
"I told you I was right!"
"Yes, but you couldn't really confirm it. It was guess-work."
"What?" House looked scandalized. "It was so not!"
"It was. You couldn't know. I might have been something else entirely."
Blue eyes narrowed. "And what, pray tell? Werewolf? Vampire? Dragon? Unicorn?"
Wilson rolled his eyes. "There are no such things as unicorns and dragons."
"Aw, shucks."
"And I could have been... I don't know.. something else." He gestured weakly. "I needed this, Greg."
House's expression turned serious and he tugged at Wilson's sleeve. The younger man complied the unspoken request and moved closer, intimately closer, leaning against his lover.
"I know," House murmured and kissed the brown head. "All better now?"
"Kinda."
Slipping a hand under the layers of clothes House wore Wilson stroked the warm skin underneath, and was rewarded with a soft sigh and a not so soft, hungry kiss.
*
Wilson looked down at the man on the bed, taking in the warm, blue eyes, the slight flush to the skin, and he leaned forward, kissing those wonderful lips. House's hands came up, caressing his sides, and Wilson moved his hips, feeling House's grip tighten. He drew back a little, settling down on the long legs, smiling. He was almost instinctively careful of the injury, not putting any pressure on the damaged muscle. Then he began to slowly unbutton the dark shirt, like unwrapping a present. House's eyes never left him as he reached the t-shirt underneath, grinning cheekily.
"You wear too many clothes, lover," Wilson murmured.
House pushed himself up on his elbows to help with the removal of the shirt and t-shirt.
"Like peeling an onion," Wilson added. "And the best's underneath all the layers."
His voice dropped to a seductive whisper, then his lips were back on House's. They kissed languidly for a while, enjoying the simple contact, until Wilson started to nibble his way along the chin and down the vulnerable throat. House's hands were skimming up his arms and down his sides once more, his body tensing whenever Wilson hit a soft spot.
The younger man smiled to himself and started to slowly undo House's belt, then slid the pants off the long legs. He undressed himself quickly, then resumed his position, and just looked at the naked man underneath him.
Their eyes met and House interlaced their fingers, squeezing Wilson's hand. Wilson smiled in reply, kissing House's knuckles.
Love you, he thought.
His free hand traced over the chest, petting, caressing, stroking... soothing and arousing in one. House freed the caught hand and Wilson used it to dually stimulate his lover. From the evidence further south, House was very stimulated already.
Wilson slid down the slender form, nibbling at the soft skin in the process, and when he finally swallowed his lover's hardness House made a soft sighing noise. Wilson smiled inwardly. House's hips twitched a little as Wilson continued, and he was starting to breathe harder.
The younger man's hands wandered over the body he had got to know so well during the past months. One hand slid between his lover's legs to tease a little and then - he pushed carefully. House was no bottom, but Wilson knew exactly how it felt, and this time he wanted to give this instead of receiving it.
House stiffened under him, and he felt a hand caressing his neck, but the other man didn't resist his ministrations. Wilson slid his finger a little deeper, heard House gasp, the hold on his neck tightened - and then he was where he had aimed for, stroking the spot inside his lover that would give him the most intense pleasure.
House bucked and hissed.
Wilson did it again. And again.
And then...
A suppressed moan.
"...Jimmy... "
House's voice was hoarse with passion, and he was starting to tremble. Wilson smiled. Applying just a little more pressure, stimulating, caressing, sucking in earnest now, until he could feel every fiber in House's body tense up, heard some panting, almost sobbing sounds, as House gripped the sheets. He heard him suck in a lungful of air - which exploded in a deep groan as he did just the same, his climax washing over him and through him like a thunderstorm, again and again.
Wilson glided up the still slightly trembling form of his lover and found himself wrapped into two strong arms holding him close, and a hot mouth plundering his, the deep passion, love and lust in that kiss making him groan. House made a soft noise and then his hand slid between their bodies, fingers closing around Wilson's hardness. Wilson moaned and deepened the kiss, bucking helplessly into his lover's hold, feeling House's finger glide and tease, while his other hand weaved into his hair. Then House increased his rhythm and all Wilson could do was spread his legs and moan, whimper and sob softly, holding on to his lover until House finally allowed him to stumble over the edge.


Lying in their shared bed Wilson felt his lover's hand tracing languid circles over his back.
"Feel that?" House rumbled.
"Of course I feel that. I'm not numb," Wilson answered sleepily.
"Em-path," House sang.
"Give it a rest. I got it. I'm an empath. And you're obnoxious."
House smiled widely, very self-satisfied in various ways. Wilson rolled his eyes, feeling very sleepy. Maybe he was feeling something from House, pushing past his natural walls, but he couldn't sense any difference. Was safety an empathic sensation or just his own feeling when it came to this place? He didn't know. He didn't care.
Falling asleep in House's bed, with House next to him, Wilson didn't see the tender expression crossing his lover's face. He only felt the caresses over his skin and the warmth that lulled him into safety and finally restful sleep.