Chapter Text
Turns out, Greg House isn’t worth one hundred million dollars.
He limps into the dive where he knows Wilson has been posted up since four, dropping his backpack and his coat on a stool and hooking his cane over the edge of the bar. He lost a patient today, and a job he’s had for sixteen years. Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital no longer has a department of diagnostic medicine.
“It’s done?” Wilson is as slouched as House has ever seen him, tie undone and hair mussed from running his hands through it. Empty pint glasses clutter the bartop.
“No clemency.” House waves down the bartender and toasts the double whiskey he receives after a few moments.
Wilson taps the dregs of his fourth beer against House’s tumbler but says nothing.
“You have savings?”
Wilson shrugs. “Less than I’d like. You?”
“Since I’m not paying alimony? Plenty.” House knocks back most of his drink. “So if you need anything—“
“I’m fine.”
“Right.”
“…but thanks.”
“Yeah.”
“Christ,” Wilson says after a pause. “What a mess.”
House rolls his glass between his hands, watching the amber liquid inside ebb and flow. “So. You remember that job offer from Rochester Med?”
Wilson wrinkles his nose. “The HIV vaccine thing? I thought Cuddy chased them off.”
House’s half-smile is rueful. “Obviously she won’t this time. I called, and the offer is still on the table.”
“You laughed at the pay.”
House shrugs. “It’s looking better now. Besides, real estate is cheap. I could buy a place.”
“Sounds like you have it all figured out.”
“Almost.” House finishes his first drink and waves down the bartender for another. “They’ve got a cancer center out there.”
“Yeah, pretty focused on osteosarcoma—“
“They were. Esther Phillips is retiring.”
Wilson gives a low whistle. “They’ll never replace her.”
“Rumor has it they’re going in a different direction.”
“Oh?”
“Pediatrics.”
“Really?” It was Wilson’s secret specialty. His dream. To save enough kids to make up for the deep well of guilt that House would never fully understand.
“It would be a pay cut—“
“Wait. What? They haven’t even put out a job listing.”
“—and you obviously wouldn't be a department head yet. But I figure you might be over board meetings for a while.”
Wilson is silent. House pulls a folded printout from his jacket pocket and drops it on the bar. He sips his second whiskey while Wilson reads. It isn’t the offer Wilson deserves, but it was what House could finagle.
“You did this for me.”
“I wasn’t planning on facing the frozen North alone.”
“And Vogler?”
“Rival funding. They’re excited to poach us.”
Wilson runs a hand through his hair. Smooths the letter of offer out on the bar top. His wedding ring gleams dully against the sticky polished wood. He sighs like a great dane whose owner just canceled a trip to the park. “Julie would hate Rochester.”
“She might change her mind if her husband moves there.”
“She’d have to leave her job.”
“I have to imagine Rochester also needs accountants.”
“She won’t want to live so far from New York.”
House slaps his palm on the bar in exasperation. “If it’s going to be that much of an issue then she doesn’t have to come.”
It was meant to be a joke. As House says the words, he knows it was not a joke at all. Wilson puts his glass down a little too heavily on the bartop.
“Greg.”
“Yeah.”
When House dares to look, Wilson’s eyes are bright. Scared. Hopeful. “Is this our chance?”
House wets his dry lips. “Yes. Come with me. Just me.”
Wilson wipes his hands over his face. “Jesus.”
“I’m going to spend the next twenty years herding a bunch of immunologists toward an HIV vaccine. You can finally spend all the time you want kissing little leukemia-ridden babies.” House places a heavy, intentional hand on Wilson’s knee. “Buy a two-bedroom with me in Rochester so we can only use one.”
“This is insane. You’re talking about moving. You’re talking about getting divorced.”
“I’m talking about living together. Holding you at night.” The shift in headspace is dizzying. “We’ll get a cabin in the Finger Lakes and lock ourselves in every long weekend.”
Wilson is almost breathless with longing, a flush blooming high on his cheeks. It’s mesmerizing. “Could we really do that?”
“Move upstate with me and we can try it out.”
“God, I want—“
“Me too.”
“Show me.” Wilson is a little drunk. Not drunk enough not to mean it when he covers House’s hand with his own and demands: “Show me what it would be like.”
“Assuming we’re some degree of closeted, probably just like this.”
“We aren’t in Rochester yet.” Wilson’s eyes are practically glued to House’s mouth.
“You aren’t divorced yet,” House reminds him.
“Julie can take me for everything I’m worth,” Wilson murmurs, dragging House’s hand up his thigh. “You’ll take care of me, right?”
House squeezes the muscle under his palm. “This time, yes.”
“Then show me.”
After years of waiting to do it, kissing Wilson is too easy. It’s so simple to lean down a scant inch and take a sip of what House has wanted for so long. “Oh,” Wilson sighs when they part, and House can only nod eagerly before dipping in again, brushing their lips together so gently. Wilson’s mouth is soft and warm. House has been waiting to taste him for years.
Wilson’s free hand finds the curve of House’s cheek. He drags his thumb against the grain of his stubble and House shivers. He wonders if he can get away with cupping Wilson’s dick over his chinos in this bar and decides against it. He compromises by teasing his fingers over Wilson’s inner thigh and swallowing the surprised, eager noise out of his soon-to-be-lover’s mouth. Why did they take so long to pull the trigger on this again?
“I’ve heard sodomy can be, uh, really great, actually,” House observes, nuzzling into Wilson’s cheek a little until he can rest their foreheads together. “Might be worth a try, if we’re thinking about next steps.”
“Jesus.” Wilson is grinning helplessly, fishing his wallet out of his pants.
“A lot of Christian epithets from you tonight.”
“Yeah.” Wilson tosses a couple of bills on the bar. “The gay version of me is also a Methodist. Let’s go make it official on your couch.”
House knocks back the rest of his drink and grabs his cane. “Yes,
sir.
”