Fandom: House MD
Pairing: Chase/Wilson (Chase/Cameron)
Challenge/Prompt: fanfic100, 086. Choices
Rating: PG-15 (just in case)
Genre: Slash (het)
Copyright: Highly edited "The One You Love" by Rufus Wainwright.
Summary: My version of the "Hunting" fallout.
Author’s Notes: Written in January, just after I claimed these boys and before I saw "Hunting". Watch how my writing style's changed (!) Or ignore it, and put this down as not one of my better fics.
Every decision is liberating, even if it leads to disaster. Otherwise, why do so many people walk upright and with open eyes into their misfortune?
Robert Chase and James Wilson fell into bed sometime late into Robert’s second year of fellowship, when Wilson’s marriage stopped being about being *married*, and simply became about hurting each other, seeing who could draw first blood, and which one of them could bleed more. Chase had spectacularly shot himself in the foot, set fire to every one of his bridges, and fallen so far from grace that it seemed impossible for him ever to scramble back up again.
It had started out simply as something that they did because there was *no one* else (sleeping with House was, for either of them, a major no-no, Cameron was too busy being wishy-washy and stalking House, Foreman was, um, too *straight*, and Cuddy… yeah, why not sleep with the head of the hospital? That’s not a bad idea *at all*). They didn’t talk to each other, barely *liked* each other, couldn’t meet each other’s eyes and to all intents and purposes were simply two men with a barely professional relationship.
It was hard to say when they made the transition from two guys who fucked each other a couple of times a week and then went home and felt bad about it for all of about three minutes, to two men who smiled at each other once in a while, and while there wasn’t exactly pillow talk, there was at least *talk*.
But good things just don’t last, as far as Chase is concerned. And he’s basically right.
The mind has so many memories
Can you remember what it looks like when I cry?
Alarm goes off at inhuman hour. Ow. Hangover. Fuck. Whack stupid alarm with hand until it shuts up. Check time. Right. Up for work. Crawl out of bed. Shower. Wash hair. Dry hair. Make coffee. Drop cup. Spill fucking hot coffee all over floor. Contemplate clearing it up. Don’t. Go and see what’s in fridge. Very little. Go and get dressed. Choose the most hideous shirt in wardrobe (there’s fierce competition). Make second cup of coffee. Take aspirin. Try to work out what’s different. Work it out. Drop second coffee cup.
“This isn’t working,” Wilson says softly. Chase opens his eyes, and is tempted to tell Wilson that his pillow talk sucks, except that he’s too busy trying to put on a neat façade of Not Caring. He moves, so that he’s no longer lying with his head on the other man’s stomach, and looks at him in the half-light.
“Ok,” he replies, because there’s so much more he’d like to say, and he can’t. Wilson looks at him, gnawing at his lower lip, a gesture he’s probably copied unconsciously from Chase, and it makes him look weak. “I’ll see you at work then.” And he moves so that Wilson can get off the bed and just fucking go.
“Look, I’m sorry, it’s just that Julie is-”
“Did I ask for an explanation?” Chase spits, and then tries to reign in his anger and hurt and keep being calm. “I honestly don’t care.” Wilson looks a little wounded at that, as he sits up and tries to find out what happened to his clothes.
“But-” he starts.
“Why do you think I need to know *why*?” Chase says, and he feels horribly helpless and vulnerable and a little sick. “It’s just sex. You need to go and save your marriage. I can get this-” he gestures at the bed “-Anywhere. And I don’t need your ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ shit, because it’s not like we’re in a relationship.”
“We’re not?” Wilson whispers, and then pulls himself together. “We’re not.”
He’s practically dressed now and Chase sighs.
“You know where the door is.”
Wilson looks at him like he wants to say something, and then turns wordlessly and walks out. The sound of the front door slamming a little harder than strictly necessary allows Chase to collapse onto the bed and press his hands into his eyes, unable to articulate, even to himself, why he feels so fucking lost.
“You look less than cheerful this morning Jimmy,” House remarks perkily, and Wilson wants to snap at him that no, he’s not fucking cheerful, why would he be, but House would jump on that and refuse to let it go, so he just forces a smile, mutters a random lie about Julie, and carefully puts Chase out of his mind.
I’m trying, trying to tell you
All that I can in a sweet and velvet tongue
A couple of days later, Cameron possibly contracts AIDS. Chase offers her some comfort, because someone who’s hurting around here should really get some relief, and he’s certainly getting nothing. She doesn’t accept his offer of a drink, but later on, she calls him up and asks him to come around. And he goes, even though, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows this isn’t going to end well. Is that what masochism is, really? Walking open-eyed into disaster and not even stopping for a moment to think “huh, maybe if I *don’t* do this, things will be better”.
Cameron is stoned when she opens the door and pulls him into a kiss, and Chase thinks that now would be the time to say ‘no’, except he hurts so much that maybe this can make everything better. He kisses her desperately, glad she’s so out of it that she won’t register quite how frantic and hurting he is, as he unceremoniously pushes her shirt over her head and she tightens her grip on his hips, moaning slightly.
He’s been with men for so many years that he’s actually surprised at how fast he gets her bra undone. She’s got breasts, and he feels a little confused by that, he hasn’t seen these for God knows how long. I wonder what Wilson would think if he could see me now? he thinks, bringing one hand up to cup her breast and trying to remember what you’re supposed to *do* with these. Fuck Wilson.
Cameron is soft and sweet and tastes like all the sugar in the world, and he wonders why House didn’t bloody take her when he had the chance, mouth crawling down her chest, lust taking over, and he’s been sleeping with guys for so long that he wonders if he *can* do this with a woman, if he’ll even remember what to do.
Turns out that it’s like riding a bicycle. You never forget.
But no words ever could sell you
Sell you on me after all that I have done
Chase supposes that it was too much to hope that Wilson wouldn’t find out. He does think it’s a little bit much that the Oncologist is *so angry* about it, but then people are strange like that.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Wilson spits, and Chase thinks bitterly, of course you’ll take Cameron’s side.
“She wanted me to,” he says, and it sounds lame and weak, and he bites his lips together.
“Sure, sleep with a drugged-up, vulnerable colleague- that’s a *great* idea.” Wilson hisses, and Chase flushes furiously, wants to shout if you hadn’t hurt me so fucking much I wouldn’t have had to do it.
“You don’t get to dictate what I do, and you lost the right to pass judgement on it when you walked out,” Chase snarls, and Wilson winces.
“Is that why?” he asks. “That’s *sick*, Chase, really *sick*.”
“That isn’t my problem.” Chase shrugs.
“Are you trying to hurt me?” Wilson asks.
“Depends.” Chase mumbles. “Is it working?”
He waits for Wilson to hit him. The blow doesn’t come. Wilson is chewing his lip again as though he’s trying to work out what to say.
“Don’t make this about me,” Wilson says eventually. “This is about you using Cameron.”
“If you care so fucking much about Cameron then why don’t you just go and marry her!” Chase shouts, and it sounds childish. “Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? Find someone, propose to them five minutes later, and then you wonder why your marriages fail!”
“Fuck you,” Wilson snarls, and he looks really, really furious and hurt now.
“You already did.” Chase whispers, and he feels his throat burn. Please, not now, not now. Don’t break down. “Many times, until you realised that maybe your beloved wife might not approve of you sleeping with men. Last-minute attack of conscience was it, James? You seem to be terribly good at those.”
“And why do you care so much?” Wilson counters, although the use of his first name has obviously thrown him a little. “You can get sex anywhere, as you told me. Didn’t think you’d stoop so low to take it, but then, you’ve never been afraid of crossing lines, have you Chase? Of taking advantage of people? Of betraying them?”
Chase feels cut and he wonders why blood isn’t flowing from all over him. He opens his mouth to scream at Wilson, to tell him he hates him, but in the end the words die on his lips.
“What gives you the right to talk to me like this?” he hisses, and walks away, unable to stay any longer. Wilson’s glare burns his back but he won’t turn around.
I’m only the one you love
Am I only the one you love?
People keep abandoning him and walking out and Chase can never quite work out what’s so wrong with him.
The screaming’s done without moving
One little move and for sure you will be stung
“You’re no fun at all when you’re bitter and miserable,” House whines, poking his friend. Wilson continues to stare dejectedly into his drink. “Move, damn you.”
“I’m not a zoo exhibit House,” he sighs.
“I know. You’re too boring. We’d have to put you down for the good of the species,” House replies, and Wilson thinks God, combining alcohol and Vicodin in you really isn’t a good idea.
“Funny,” he mumbles, and takes another sip.
“Oh come on. I invite you out because I’m bored as hell and you’re the only one I can have a proper conversation with, and then you go all monosyllabic on me,” House moans. “This isn’t *fair*. If I’d wanted long silences and issue-laden staring at alcohol, I’d have invited Chase out with me.”
Wilson nearly flinches at the sound of the Australian’s name, but doesn’t. House isn’t going to give up that easy though.
“Ok, well, you’ve been miserable for about four days. That’s not much help. But you’ve been really angry for about two days. All tight-lipped and clenched everything and stuff. Pretty much since I told you that Chase and Cameron had done the dirty together.” House pauses. “You’re sleeping with Cameron, aren’t you?”
“No.” Wilson says tiredly, draining his glass. “No, I’m not.”
“Then you’re sleeping with Chase.” House sits back, looking satisfied, and waits for Wilson to make his next move.
“*Was*,” Wilson replies, the past tense making his stomach tighten uncomfortably. “*Was* sleeping. We’re not any more.”
House puts on a look of comic surprise, although Wilson gets the feeling that House has known, on some level, for weeks, and was merely biding his time to drop it on him. He gets up to buy more beer, and when he comes back, House’s eyes are still wide and round.
“Oh, grow up House,” he mumbles, sitting down again.
“You should tell me these things.” House says, taking a deep drink. “I’m your *friend*. How else am I supposed to take the piss out of you if I don’t know the things you’re doing with my colleagues? God, I could have made Chase’s life a living hell and you didn’t *tell* me?”
“It doesn’t matter. It was just sex.”
“No, it wasn’t, because if it was just a convenience thing, you’d be sniffing around that new blonde intern in Radiology. Whatshername. But you’re not. You’re moping. Proper moping. You want him back.”
“I left him in the first place!” Wilson protests, a little too loudly.
“Silly boy,” House murmurs. Wilson decides not to answer that one. There is silence as they drink beer.
“So, are you really pissed that he slept with Cameron?” asks House.
“I don’t know. I kind of pushed him into it,” Wilson mumbles.
“Stop feeling sorry for yourself Jimmy.” House sighs. “It’s not a good look on you. It makes your hair look even more droopy.”
Wilson can’t be bothered to come up with a reply, as House gets up to limp over to the bar and bring them more drinks. As he comes back, he says:
“Well, he’s done something that hurt you and pissed you off. But you still want him. So you’ve got a choice. You can either forgive him and see if you can repair the ‘relationship’, or you can not forgive him and let it take you over.”
Wilson stares at him. House is being disturbingly sensible. He wonders if that was the choice House had with Stacy, and he knows what choice House made. He wonders if House regrets it. He knows he does.
“You wanna get some noodles?” asks House. Wilson smiles slightly.
Let’s fuck this awful party
Foreman is the only one in the office who isn’t continually glancing at him. Chase notices the way Cameron is awkwardly avoiding his gaze, and then fixedly staring at him at other times. House keeps sending him looks that seem to say I know *exactly* what you’ve been doing with Wilson, you dirty little whore. Chase bites his lips together and says nothing. There’s very little he can say.
Want you to make love to me -and only to me-in the dark
Chase goes to find Wilson later.
“I’m sorry,” He says.
“Did you apologise to Cameron?” asks Wilson.
“Kinda.” He shifts uncomfortably. “She really doesn’t need you to fight her battles for her.”
“I know,” Wilson sighs.
“How’s Julie?” asks Chase, voice tight and edgy.
“Filing for divorce,” Wilson mutters. “Probably. Turns out the marriage is impossible to save.”
“I could have told you that,” Chase replies.
The silence that falls is really uncomfortable, and Chase is just turning to leave Wilson’s office because, really, what can he say, when Wilson grabs his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and there’s a genuine edge of misery to it. “I never should have-”
“Don’t say it.” Chase whispers, because he can’t hear it, not right now, probably never will. They’ve only been broken up about four or five days, and Chase has already realised he probably *needs* Wilson a lot more than he will ever admit to himself, so really, saying anything out loud will just screw everything up.
Wilson kisses him, slowly, gently, deeply, and his taste is so familiar that Chase wants to flee, just for a minute, because getting attached to people is always complicated, and it’s opening yourself up for heartbreak (if his father taught him nothing else, he taught him that). He pushes that thought away as Wilson pins him against the wall, nuzzling at his neck, and Chase moans softly, as one of Wilson’s soft, soft hands slides down his chest.
“You don’t have to-” he starts. Wilson smiles at him, the smile that’s broken a thousand hearts, and might even break a few more in time (Chase has no illusions), and kisses him again, tongue pressing deep into his mouth, and Chase wants to ask if he’s forgiven, but he’s a little afraid of the answer.
Are you only the one I love?