The bleeding hearts and the artists (Make their stand)

By Clarity Scifiroots

Regular disclaimers apply. Title again from Pink Floyd’s “Outside the Wall.”

pre-House/Wilson, past Wilson/OMC

Teen

Summary: Wilson wants things sorted out as much as Cuddy does. Continuation of “After all it’s not easy...” (thanks for the encouragement!)

May!fic 9 of 31

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Patient History:

First, Wilson meets Chris Anderson at a bookstore coffee shop. They’re both perusing novels by the same author and start to talk. They meet a few days later to talk some more. They exchange numbers.

Next, their first date is on the other side of town at Chris’s favorite French restaurant; he explains that he helped build the place a few years ago. Chris is a construction manager. By the end of the week Wilson’s been to Chris’s house twice. The third night he comes by, he finds himself taking off Chris’s shirt and trembling with anticipation as Chris unbuckles his belt.

Then, House starts to suspect. Chase does the grunt work, probably because he often has clinic duty overlapping with Wilson’s and saw Chris drop by one day. Cameron joins Chase in spying after House tries to bully information from Wilson.

Next, House barges into his office and pokes some more. Wilson admits defeat and answers. When House walks out, he’s convinced his fears are verified.

And then House does something incredibly stupid: he harasses Chris (mostly verbal). Understandably, Chris gets upset. Inexcusable is the matter of Chris responding by beating the crap out of House. When they meet up at five Chris tells Wilson about the run in with a “crippled jackass” and the resulting verbal/physical fight. Wilson explains nothing about House nor gives any suggestion of the man personally, but states in no uncertain terms that he won’t tolerate violence.

Later that evening, he confronts House. Like always, he receives no apology, no explanation, and does most of the talking... An epiphany stirs up a whole new world of trouble. He realizes House’s actions are more than the result of his usual possessive nature of controlling people. House is jealous, and Wilson doesn’t know what to do about that.

---

“Come in!”

Cuddy walks in and says without preamble, “Do you owe someone money?”

Wilson turns away from his computer and stares at her. “Excuse me?”

She arches an eyebrow expectantly. “I’ve just fended off a Mr. Anderson for the fifth time in the past two days. He’s insisting that he see you.” Wilson feels the blood drain from his face. Cuddy looks grim as she takes a seat. “Rumor has it you’ve been awful friendly with Chris Anderson the past few weeks. Care to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not particularly,” Wilson says with a sigh. He leans forward, propping his elbows on the desk, and rubs his forehead wearily. “There’s this personal element to personal matters.”

Cuddy casts him an amused smile. “I hadn’t realized. I still think you might want to take a guess at why your friend’s lurking around and getting more frustrated by the hour.”

Wilson’s helpless look does nothing to put her off. Cuddy leans forward a bit, her low-cut shirt revealing the expected flash of cleavage. “I’m pretty sure you know all about House’s ‘little’ incident in the parking lot. He fed me an elaborate yarn including ninjas and a dwarf.” She shakes her head, clearly at least a little amused. “However, I have the sneaking suspicion that the cause of your latest upheaval is due to a run-in between our resident sarcastic bastard and your... ex-boyfriend.” She waits patiently, her expression telling Wilson there’s no way he’ll get away with leaving anything out.

“If you’ve got it all figured out, why come to me?” Wilson asks in irritation.

“I’m sure it wasn’t unprovoked,” Cuddy says, “but I’m not eager to let a man who assaulted my best doctor roam around hospital grounds.” She fixes him with a determined glare. “With House unwilling to admit he can identify his attacker I have no confirmation of what happened, and I can’t easily ban Anderson from the premises. I’d appreciate your help.”

With a soft groan, Wilson leans back in his chair and pinches his nose. A migraine’s settling in...

“House attacked him first,” he finally says. “Mostly I know Chris’s side of the story. You know House, he won’t admit much.” His reigns in his expression tightly. Thinking about House is something he wishes he could avoid. “Look, I’ll talk to Chris...”

Cuddy looks unimpressed. Her lips press tightly together, the white of constricted blood flow clear even beneath her lipstick. “I had to just about drag House inside the other day. Care to know the list of injuries?” Wilson winces at her sharp tone. No, he really doesn’t want to know the extent of Chris’s damage. He certainly doesn’t want to feel guilty over a situation that had been out of his control to begin with.

“The same punch that loosened a few of his teeth made him bite his cheek. Then there’s the split lip and facial bruising. I had to check for fractured ribs and internal bleeding because there’s a hell of a bruise below his chest. He sprained his ankle. And let’s not forget Mr. Anderson deliberately running over House’s cane.”

Wilson stays silent, feeling a little numb. Cuddy looks particularly intimidating at the moment.

After a couple minutes Cuddy calms down and sighs wearily. “And what trace did House leave? A bruise on Anderson’s lower jaw. I think this was a little more than an eye-for-an-eye.”

Wilson avoids Cuddy’s stare by looking anywhere but her face. “There’s the nasty bruise on his shin,” he mumbles. It’s a weak argument, he knows, and honestly he doesn’t really want to defend Chris; but House is by no means an innocent bystander.

“Oh yes, that gives Anderson the right to run over a crippled man’s cane and leave him lying on the pavement with God knows what injuries.”

“I’m not defending him!” Wilson sighs, dropping his head in his hands. “It was out of line. There’s plenty of times— But he didn’t deserve it from Chris.”

Cuddy’s smile is grim when he looks up. “I want you in my office the next time this man comes calling. And I’m having security outside waiting to escort Anderson away. Permanently. I don’t want that man setting foot in this hospital ever again.”

She stands once Wilson gives a defeated nod. At the door she pauses. “I’m sorry.” She glances at him sympathetically. “This isn’t your fault, you know. Try not to beat yourself up too much?”

“Yeah...” Wilson stares blindly at the wall opposite him for a long time after she leaves.

---

Foreman catches up with him the next morning in the elevator.

“Whatever the problem is, you mind hurrying along the resolution?”

Wilson casts him an irritated glance. “You realize that, as is the case with most of these breaks in communication, House is the one who screwed up.”

“Sure. But he never fixes things.” Foreman’s expression is expectant. “Besides, this is about his run-in with the boyfriend, right?”

Wilson does a great impression of a goldfish, unable to say anything. The elevator opens and Foreman sticks a hand out to hold the doors. He raises his eyebrows and smiles a little. “Seriously, talk, duke it out, screw for all I care. Just get him out of this funk.”

The elevator doors close behind him and Wilson is left staring wide-eyed at his reflection.

Shit.

---

Two hours later Cuddy calls. “He’s in the clinic asking for you at the desk. I want you to come down and get him, then meet me in my office. Got it?”

Wilson shrugs into his lab coat.

He taps his foot nervously during the elevator ride and switches to drumming his fingers on his hip when he starts walking down the hall. As he nears the clinic he sees House standing at the doors, one step out into the hall. His attention is focused behind him, and he doesn’t see Wilson.

Oh, shit.

He quickens his steps and ends up virtually running when House turns around and walks back inside, shoulders squared in preparation for a fight. The voices carry out into the hall and Wilson’s peripherally aware of patients and staff whispering to one another. He pushes his way in and takes a deep breath. The tension in the air is palpable.

“House, back off,” he says, quickly coming alongside his friend. House glances at him sidelong and Wilson finds himself staring at the yellowing bruise at the corner of House’s mouth.

“You know him?” Chris is fuming. Wilson stares at him in surprise. This is definitely not the man he’s known in the past weeks. (Why does House have to be right?)

Wilson takes a few steps forward so that he’s roughly in the middle of the face-off. Commonsense yells at him to keep out of the way, but he doesn’t think he can bear to actually watch House get beat up.

“Chris, let it be. Please, let’s get out of here. This is disrupting our patients.” He holds his hands out in supplication. “You need to leave.”

“Be gone!” House says with a magnanimous wave of his hand. Wilson glares at him.

“Isn’t this a free clinic?” Chris demands, stare fixed on House. “I have every right to be here. So, what are you? In-patient? Psych ward escapee?”

House snorts derisively. “Sorry to disappoint. Doctor,” he says, pointing smugly at himself. “Genius. Miracle worker. As opposed to your Neanderthal status.”

Chris is moving forward. Wilson jumps in, holding his hands up in attempts to fend him off. “Alright, alright! Chris, listen to me. He’s a real jerk, but you need to let it go. Can we please go somewhere else to talk?”

Finally Chris’s stare changes focus. Wilson backs up a step at the intensity. He swears he can feel the slight pressure of fingertips on his back.

“What was this—were you planning on jealousy to initiate the relationship you really wanted? Or do you just enjoy sleeping around?”

Wilson clenches his fists and tries to calm down before saying anything that might worsen the situation.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to say anything. Cuddy’s voice snaps through the air like a whip. “Mr. Anderson! You will leave the hospital immediately. These fine members of our security team will make sure you find your way off the grounds.” She strides over, heels clicking sharply on the linoleum. She stops only a few inches away from Chris and glares up at him.

In a lower voice she warns, “You are henceforth banned from entering the premises. If you persist I will gladly call the police to haul you off to jail. You are damn lucky I’m not reporting you already for assaulting one of my doctors.” She takes a deep breath and steps back. “Have a good day,” she says, voice dripping with disdain.

Security comes forward and lead Chris away. At least the man isn’t making more of a scene, although the fury sparking in his eyes is threatening enough. Wilson doesn’t breathe easily until they’re out of sight. He sags with relief and barely hears Cuddy ordering everyone to get on with their work.

“I want you both to watch your backs,” Cuddy says, one hand on her hip and the other pointing accusingly between House and Wilson. “I can take care of things at the hospital, but I wouldn’t put it past that man to pick up a stalking habit.” She sighs tiredly and looks at Wilson in bemusement. “You certainly attract the interesting ones.” With a shake of her head she walks off.

Wilson rubs his neck uncomfortably as he realizes there’s still plenty of people staring in their direction.

“How ‘bout you buy me lunch,” House says, already turning towards the exit. Wilson stares heavenward for a moment before trailing along behind.

---

Wilson unlocks his office the next morning and stops in surprise when he sees a small cushioned envelope sitting on his desk. He glances down at the door handle, knowing instinctively that House has messed with the lock (again).

He sets aside his briefcase and throws his jacked over the back of his chair. He sits down and stares suspiciously at the innocuous-looking package; from House, you never know what to expect.

Eventually he gives into temptation and pulls the lightweight package onto his lap. He digs his finger under the flap and tugs, wrestling with the damn adhesive that practically cements the two sides together. He does manage to get it open and reaches in.

He pulls out a folded piece of paper and a pair of cheap, plastic sunglasses. Bewildered, he sets the glasses aside and unfolds the paper. It’s a webpage print out. The website title is printed in the upper left-hand margin: “Self-Defense Security Products.” The top half has a picture of a pair of sunglasses with bolded text underneath it exclaiming “Spy Glasses!” He feels his lips twitching toward a smile.

The write-up reads: “These spy glasses look like an ordinary pair of sun glasses. Yet they have a unique feature...you can see behind you. The lenses on these spy glasses have a special coating that allows you to look straight ahead and still see what is going on behind you.

Stylish and great for walking and biking. You won't need to turn your head to see if a car is coming. It'll be like you have a rear view mirror with you. Have you ever thought you were being followed? Now, no one can sneak up behind you. These spy sunglasses make a great novelty gift!”

Wilson can’t help but chuckle. He lets the paper drop onto his desk so that he can examine the glasses. Clearly these aren’t the ones from the website—they’re the old school “cool” shades with small mirrors at the outside corners of the lenses. He leans back and holds the glasses up, amusing himself by playing around and looking at the reflections.

---

House appears on the balcony later that day. He stands at the dividing wall looking perfectly casual. Wilson isn’t sure how long he’s been standing there. Glancing at the glasses sitting on his desk, he makes his decision. He grabs the glasses on his way out.

House makes a show of looking surprised. Wilson gives him an exasperated look.

“I hope you don’t really think these will do any good,” Wilson says, holding out the glasses.

“How can you distrust the best spy glasses on the market?” House scoffs. He snatches the glasses from Wilson’s hand and puts them on. He looks around, then turns so that his back is to Wilson. “Hold up your hand, I’ll tell you how many fingers you’re holding up.

Wilson plays along for a few moments.

“Two. Four. Five... Ooo, that’s naughty.” House tilts his head. “And all it takes is a stupid game to get you to smile.”

Wilson shakes his head in amusement. He’s grinning when House turns around and hands back the glasses. “You’re obnoxious as hell,” he says.

House raises an eyebrow. “And that makes you grin, why?” He rolls his eyes dramatically. “You are such a masochist.”

“If I was, I would have made an attempt to punch Chris yesterday,” he says in all seriousness. House’s expression of surprise is genuine. Wilson glances away and rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “He had no right to beat you up.” His mouth tightens as he thinks of Cuddy listing off the injuries. “I’m not condoning your own attack, but his retaliation was too much.”

He looks back at House. The other man is staring thoughtfully into the middle-distance, expression blank. Wilson wishes House would apologize or, barring that, at least make some move so he’ll know what to do.

Eventually House glances at him with a little smirk. “I think Cuddy may be right, you attract some real head cases.”

Wilson folds his arms over his chest. “Yes. I think you’re the strangest, though.”

House straightens up proudly. “Damn right. Can’t be a genius and be normal.”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night,” Wilson says with amusement.

They lean comfortably against the wall for a few minutes, the silence a familiar one devoid of recent tensions or expectations.

House clears his throat some time later and turns his head slightly to look at Wilson. “So I was thinking it’d be in our best interests if you stayed over a few days. You know, let the Neanderthal cool off and move onto a new target. Cuddy would go on a rampage if you got damaged.”

Wilson bows his head to hide a smile. “Power in numbers?” he queries.

“Something like that.”

Wilson looks up. “And what sort of takeout am I bringing over?”

House squints at the sky. “Oh... I have a little money on the sly. Thought I’d order Chinese?”

Wilson is speechless. He stares at House for long moments, watching as House shifts minutely in a sign of discomfort.

Finally Wilson grins. “I’ll come over after grabbing a few things from the hotel,” he promises.

House glances at him from the corner of his eye. “You’re not moving in,” he warns. Wilson smirks.

Conversation apparently over, House stretches and picks up his cane to go back inside. Wilson makes a split-second decision and reaches out to catch House’s arm. He leans in quickly and brushes his lips over the fading bruise. House is staring at him when he pulls back. Wilson smiles a little and walks back to his office, hands in his pocket and whistling a tune.

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Spy Glasses description quoted from http://www.tbotech.com/spyglasses.htm