Least You Can Do

By Clarity Scifiroots

Regular disclaimers apply. Written by a fan, for other fans. Title inspired by Alanis Morissette’s “Perfect.”

Spoilers: “One Day, One Room”

Teen

Summary: For hctib_notsob who wanted to see Wilson finding out. Also, my first House fic.

May!Fic 2 of 31

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“I can feel you brooding all the way down to the elevators.” Wilson walks into the office without knocking and slides into the chair in front of House’s desk.

“And that makes it alright for you to come barging in here?” House scowls, scooping up his GameBoy and turning it on to annoy his friend.

Wilson doesn’t comment, just frowns and continues. “What are you complaining about? Turnabout’s fair play.” House ignores him as he starts his game. Wilson sighs. “So, how about I drop by tonight with Chinese and this movie called... Skull of Cadavra?”

“That’s The Lost Skeleton of Cadavra,” House corrects, eyes locked on the game screen. “Seen it.”

“Fine, but I haven’t, and I thought you derived joy from exposing me to b-movies and cult classics.” House shrugs. Wilson leans forward in the chair. “What’s with you? You’re not seriously passing up free food,” he says skeptically.

“I’ve got leftovers. This is strategic planning.”

“Alright. So when do you want the rain check?”

House glances up, momentarily confused. “Careful, you’re starting to resemble one of those obnoxious terriers that doesn’t know when to let go.”

Rolling his eyes, Wilson says, “Yeah, not the first time you’ve compared me to an animal. Hate to tell you this, but I’m not leaving you alone until I find out what’s going on.”

“That’s usually my job,” House says, annoyance clear from his tone. “Cuddy put you up to this.”

“No, although she did ask if I knew what was going on.”

The GameBoy goes silent, presumably on pause. House gives Wilson a once over. “Any ideas?” he asks dryly.

Wilson crosses his arms and leans back, considering. “Something about her got to you,” he finally says.

House’s eyes narrow. “You’re an idiot,” he snaps. Tossing the GameBoy aside he reaches for his cane and gets up.

Startled, Wilson stands as well and follows House onto the balcony. He hadn’t really been too sure about the thought tugging at the back of his mind, but now he starts processing what he knows about Eve’s case.

“It is about her, isn’t it? You couldn’t keep her out and help her at the same time,” Wilson says. He stands to the side as House paces irritably back and forth. “What did she say? Or was it something you said?”

House grimaces as he makes a particularly vicious turn. “Has anything bad ever happened to you?” he mocks, staring at nothing but his own feet.

Wilson remains silent. He remembers that question and how House had been at such a loss for a response. He wonders now what House said. A truth, of sorts, he assumes. As unlikely as it seems for House to share something personal with anyone, let alone a stranger, he isn’t prone to outright lying as much as he is to twisting or omitting parts of the truth.

“What did you say?” Wilson asks quietly, hands stuck deep in his pockets.

House stops, facing away from him, and tilts his head back to squint at the sky. “I hate the fucking cold,” he says abruptly. Wilson looks up and sees House shiver for a moment.

“Um, I can grab your jacket,” he offers, unsure as to what this means.

House shakes his head sharply without turning. “You don’t get it.” He purses his lips and raps his cane on the ground a few times. “Do you ever wonder what it’s like when someone falls through a frozen lake? Imagine being trapped in freezing water and seeing a white blur of light above you, unable to break through. Have you ever thought how it feels to drown in ice?”

Wilson shivers in reaction, bringing his hands out of his pockets so he can hug his chest. The air suddenly seems far more chilly. Still, there’s a point here he needs to puzzle out. House doesn’t like to casually toss out personal history. Lord knows it took Wilson years to find out even a little about House’s childhood—moving around, his early interests, the number of languages he can speak...

Drowning and ice. “Did it... did you fall through the ice?” he asks, already knowing he’s wrong. House doesn’t even acknowledge the question. Wilson sighs as he sees another shiver. “Come on, let’s get inside.” He turns back towards the office and takes a step forward.

“There were nights he locked me out.” Wilson pauses and turns his head back slowly, hoping House will say something more. House is looking down and a deep frown creases his face. “She didn’t have any right to ask, but she did. And for God knows what reason, I told.” A twisted smirk curls up the corner of his lips.

Wilson turns around and carefully walks closer. “He...” Still trying to process. “Your dad?” he asks, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach. “Locked you out, made you sleep outside,” he states blandly. He stares at House with a mix of awe and horror. House glances at him sidelong. “And the... what about the ice?” Yet he already knows.

House looks up at the sky again with a small grin.

A strange sense of guilt and betrayal churns in Wilson’s gut. “Why her?” he asks, and if he sounds a little upset he’ll deny it later.

House shifts his cane from hand to hand. His expression is blank. “I got stuck in her room. Little fiend wouldn’t let me get back to my own without taking something.”

Wilson’s silent for a few moments. “No...” he argues quietly. “She didn’t take it. You gave—actually gave—it to her.” He stares at the ground with a frustrated frown. “Does it always take some tragedy or trauma to get you to open up?” he asks irritably.

House snorts softly. “You’re jealous.” And like that, Wilson knows his chance to garner any details is past.

Damn.

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Eve: "I'm gonna base this moment on who I am stuck in a room with! It's what life is, it's a series of rooms, and who we get stuck in those rooms with, adds up to what our lives are."

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