Title: In His Footsteps
Author: srsly_yes
Summary: After years apart, Wilson has changed, becoming more like House. House wants to know why. Part 6: Next day at the hospital, Wilson discovers House is conducting an investigation into his recent past.
Characters: House/Wilson, Wilson/OC, LLB (he's aliiiive!!)
Word Count: ~2700
Rating: R for Language
Warning: Future AU, Angst. Slash. Still quite sad, but not as bad as part 4. It will improve after this.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be.
A/N: The sequel to "Freeze Out." I want to thank everyone for expressing an interest in a continuation of this story. This fic also encompasses, "A Glassful of Shattered Hope" (slight allusions to DCE) which should be read before part 8.
In addition, I want to extend a big thank you to my betas, bishojo_kitsune  and bookfan85 for all their wonderful assistance.
Also, I want to thank hwshipper for creating Wilson's salt-of-the-earth oncology secretary, Nora, who is the inspiration for peppery admin, Bruce.
Concrit welcome.

Previous: One, Two, Three, Four, Five

Chapter 6:

*

“You! Yes you. Are you a doctor or do you work in cosmetics at Macy's? Never walk into this department again wearing a trace of perfume or you’re suspended. Do you understand?!”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Wilson, I was on my lunch break, and the saleslady sprayed a sample—“

“Did I ask you to share? A pack of cub scouts could track your whereabouts by the stench. Chemo patients are already nauseated enough without having to deal with you coming into the hospital smelling like a cheap hooker. Wash up or go home.”

“Yes, Dr. Wil—“

“And, you!” Wilson was on to his next victim. “Why are you on your phone texting and checking stock quotes while conducting a breast exam? How many hands to you have?”

“Only two. I’m sorry, Doct—“

“That’s a rhetorical question. You were probably playing with your Game Boy in English class when the teacher explained the concept.

“Don’t forget you’re a first year resident. Lowest form of life in the hospital. As it is, patients feel like third-rate citizens when you step into their room.

"More importantly, doctor, and I use the term loosely. You need to prove to me and my staff that your neck is more valuable for attaching your head to your shoulders than a place to hang your stethoscope.

“Must I tell you to give patients your full attention?! You could miss a symptom that could affect the proper treatment and outcome of a prognosis.

“Unless you plan to retire on your three shares of Apple stock, you shut your phone off while you're in this hospital unless you can prove there is a medical reason. If I see your thumbs so much as twitch, you're out of here.” 

“Never again, Dr. Wilson. I prom—“

“I don’t want promises. Promises get broken. See that you do it.”

Wilson looked over the flock of bowed heads, “Why are you standing around? Surely there are still more patients for you to frighten and torture with your ineptitude. Go. Get back to work.” He watched them scatter before he walked away.

Hearing a squawk coming from his atrophied conscience, Wilson absently rubbed his neck and ignored the nagging feeling. He might have been too harsh on the residents and fellows this morning. After blistering the ears of eager but still inexperienced second year residents, and barely controlling his temper with several fellows designing expensive and near-useless clinical trials that would do more for their image than for the patients, he heaped all his displeasure onto the first years. There was a time when he behaved more like a mentor, but he discovered they shaped up quicker when he snarled and insulted them. They might as well toughen up now. Oncology wasn’t all kittens and daisies. It more often resembled the aftermath of a forest fire with scorched earth and unrecognizable carcasses left in its wake.

For the last few years, he found too much standing and walking wore out his patience with his patients, so he delegated more and more, turning his caseload over to his attendings.

But, if he was being ruthlessly frank, as he was doing with everyone else today, he'd have to also admit to transferring cases because of his drinking. He couldn’t trust his hands to stay steady.

While he missed the interaction, his objectivity improved, often arriving at the diagnosis before any of the staff. He couldn’t help but think of House. Was this the trick he used to pull eleventh hour miracles out of a hat?

Wilson limped back to his office. Usually, if he wasn’t tired or in pain he could match his right to his left perfectly, but his left leg was sending signals from the twilight zone for the last few days. Electric shocks sizzled through his phantom leg, and he shied away from putting any weight on it. He brought out a vial from his pocket, popped the cap, and dry swallowed a couple of pills.

When he opened the door, he wasn’t surprised to find West stretched out on the sofa engrossed in one of his medical journals.

Just another typical day with West camping out in his office.

Wilson’s eyes swept over the young doctor. No more than 35, the internist was tall, almost lanky, but deceptively muscular. He suited his unusual doctor’s garb – jeans and a buttoned up pastel striped shirt. A snowy white crew collar stuck out from the top. He could swear a Batman logo ghosted through the fine cotton of the shirt. The sandy hair was fashionably rumpled, the wide mouth open in a mischievous smile. It was the eyes that were his best feature. An arresting deep violet blue in the boyishly clean-shaven face.
 
As Wilson walked by, he pulled the magazine out of West’s hands and threw it back on top of the stack piling up on the nearby bookshelf.

“Hey, I was reading that.”

“I’m sure you were. Do you learn more by reading it upside down?” Wilson sat down behind his desk and began fanning through his mail.

“If I read every fifth word it gives me the winning numbers for the upcoming lottery, the next triple crown winner, and the precise time when the four horsemen of the apocalypse arrive in Chicago.”

“Is House riding one of the horses?”

“I take that back. There are only three horsemen stuck in commute traffic on the Kennedy Expressway. House spends his time purposely galloping after you. Which of the four riders is he?”

“Pestilence, definitely pestilence.” Wilson answered without missing a beat. “Like the plague, he sucks the life out of me with his questions and neediness.”

Smirking, West chided, “You mean someone can get to you? I thought you were the man of steel. Bullets bounce off of you.”

Tearing open an envelope, Wilson unfurled a letter, squinting at its contents and added it to a waiting pile on his desk. He focused his attention outside of his window before making eye contact with West, “House uses hollow point bullets. With one shot, he triples the damage that most normal people couldn’t dream of making. If you want another metaphor, he’s a gun without a safety. Only a fool would want to get in harm’s way.”

West worked hard to keep the cynical smile on his face, but he interpreted his friend’s words entirely differently. The man who couldn’t be shaken by the hospital head, or by the board of directors when he insisted on special equipment and more staff, had a vulnerable spot. That imaginary gun and bullets had already torn up Wilson’s heart and was doing collateral damage to his own.

This morning, while he was looking into the mirror shaving, he resolved to bring up the phone messages from the other night, but he wasn't convinced that Wilson could deal well with the news right now or he could deal with Wilson. It had been a couple of rough days, and he was tired of smoothing over irritated outbursts, and what he absolutely couldn't handle would be Wilson's eyes lighting up when he heard the news. No, he wasn't ready to find out or cope.

He found something else to talk about, “I checked with Mercy. Everything is drum tight. I also called Children’s and told them I was with Good Sam doing a background check on you. Got nothing. HR is doing their job.”

Wilson nodded, “It warms my cockles to see your cunning nature put to good use.”

"You know your cockles are my utmost concern." West felt relieved. He sidestepped a prickly issue, and received a pat on the head. He never knew when he was overstepping or not. He sat up and stretched his long arms out on the top of the couch cushions.

Wilson kept his head down, trying to tackle the stack of paper in front of him, ignoring the man in his office. He noticed the looming tower was smaller than he left it this morning. West must have lent a hand while he was out.

Wilson hadn’t a clue why such a nice guy took an interest in him. For the third time today, he felt a pang of conscience. After all West had done for him, he really treated him shabbily, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. West couldn’t be in it for the sex. Frankly, he wasn’t up for it most of the time, and it didn’t come close to the effort he used to put into it with-- he blinked to clear his head. He had to stop comparing West to House. But, there was just a slim trace of House in the way West looked that never let him forget. His hand involuntarily pinched the bridge of his nose, brushing the shadowy thoughts away. He couldn’t afford another addiction.

There were two sharp raps on the door. Only one person knocked liked that, his admin, “Come in Bruce.”

An SUV of a woman gripping a steno pad and a pen in her hands walked in and shut the door behind her. Part of her everyday uniform was the headset sticking out from under a thick iron gray mass of hair that balding middle-aged men sighed over as she walked by. She was hard-coded to be a drill sergeant; a skill that was perfected while raising eight children. Her crap detector was highly tuned, and people were known to duck for fear that the top of their skulls would be sliced off by the laser rays emitting from her eyes when they raised above her reading glasses. Right now the all-knowing dark brown orbs darted from doctor to doctor, reading the terrain and not missing a thing.

Wilson scowled away a smile as he saw from the corner of his eye, West sit up straight and hide his fly from view as his knees came together like some prissy elementary school student.

Bruce didn’t miss the movement from the sofa either, and coolly said, “At ease, private.”

She was probably the only person that Wilson couldn’t intimidate. Going through life with the name of “Bruce” might do that to you.  She was brutally honest with everyone including him, but she was completely loyal and a formidable gatekeeper who was always suspicious of other people’s motives. She could sufficiently tenderize medical supply and pharmaceutical reps with her shrewd interrogation skills, so by the time Wilson barked his questions at them, they were only to happy to keep their presentations brief. Most left with their eyes raised toward heaven, giving silent thanks to be walking out alive.

She was his Zantac.

Wilson ensured that Bruce's pay was higher than her top grade level without ever needing to ask for a raise. Even with her salary pinching his budget, he was the envy of all the department heads who wanted her as their own personal Swiss guard.

Contrary to her appearance her voice was youthful and gentle. “You’re not leaving us are you Dr. Wilson?”

“No intentions of shaking off ‘this mortal coil’ if that’s what you’re asking.”

West’s eyes went back and forth between the two. Wilson always transformed in front of her - a lion unafraid of the whip, indulging the ringmaster by becoming a tamed tabby.

Since he wasn’t asked to perform, he sat back and enjoyed the show.

She answered him, “No, that’s not what I’m suggesting, and I’m sure you wouldn’t tell me because it would be none of my business. But, I do have a black dress hanging in the closet for just such occasions.

“I'm asking if you are taking a job at another hospital?”

Wilson raised his eyebrows imperceptibly as he glanced at West, “Why would you think that?”

“Several people called today who, by the way, sounded suspiciously alike, making inquiries about your background information.”

“And what did you give him…er, or them?”

“Must you ask? Why, not even the time of day.”

Nodding his approval, Wilson prodded, “Who called?”

Bruce found the reading glasses dangling from a cord around her neck, and slid them on to check her notes, “Two hospital HR departments, an insurance agency, and a bonding firm.”

“But you were suspicious it was the same person?”

"Each one had a different accent, British, Indian, Japanese, but the questions were very similar. HR wanted your employment and work/absentee records. The insurance and bonding reps asked about your personal medical history.”

West saw Wilson’s slightly flushed face turn white. The lips tightened into a forced smile as he whispered under his breath what could have been a curse, but he uttered, “House.” The voice remained fluid and soft as he probed, "Was that all?"

Clearing her throat, Bruce licked her lips and pressed them together in a duplicate of her boss before she spoke, “Two staff members received calls and messages. I checked with HR, and Rayburn’s admin. They received queries too, but refused to answer questions over the phone.”
 
“I see.” Wilson’s face turned toward him. The face looked calm, but the eyes whipped with fury, “You know, Dr. West I’m not feeling well. Think I have chills and a fever. Definitely seeing spots before my eyes. Perhaps you should check me into the hospital for observation?”

“I’ve been observing you for an hour now, and agree you don’t look your receptive cuddly self.” (That earned a glower) “I’ll note the symptoms, but as long as they don’t become worse, you can still work and see me on an out-patient basis.” Turning to the older woman, West concluded, “Bruce, please let everyone know that Dr. Wilson is under my care and remind everyone about doctor/patient confidentiality.”

“Consider it done.” She turned back to her boss, “I can clear your schedule if you want to go home?”

“No, don’t bother. I have a couple of meetings that will go into the evening. Thanks, Bruce, for coming to me with that information. You earned your Christmas bonus early this year.”

“Just doing my job, Dr. Wilson.”

With nothing more to say, she left the office.

West tried to dispel the gloomy thunder cloud that hovered over the room. “I swear to God, Wilson, you're in love with that woman.”

A genuine smile briefly flitted over the cross doctor’s features, “It’s either make love to her, or pay her exorbitant amounts of money from the hospital’s coffers. She’s worth more than her weight in gold.”

Wilson gathered up the pile of junk mail and threw it into the waiting trashcan. Irritation rolled off him in waves.

“So, you think House made the calls?”

Wilson snapped, “Who else do you think it was? I told you he’s a nosy bastard.”

West was feeling uneasy about his actions during last night. As sure as global warming, House’s messages were going to blow up in his face. “If he doesn’t get what he wants over the phone, what’s gonna prevent him from hopping a jet and speaking to you face-to-face?”

“That’s completely different. House doesn’t go anywhere.”

“He flew out to see you at the conference.”

“Cuddy probably threatened him with extra clinic duty if he didn’t attend. Besides, that was a short trip, and on the East coast. He won’t travel beyond the Pocono’s. He’s seen far too many John Wayne cowboy movies, and thinks there are renegade Chickasaw crouching behind every fire hydrant. If House can be stonewalled for a month, he’ll lose interest in his little game. I know how he thinks.”

West couldn’t help himself, “And if House stops? Will you be disappointed?”

Wilson glared, “Haven't I done everything short of offering a contract on the man's life? What would make you think that?”

“Yes, but…it’s clear you…don’t hate him. You’re just avoiding him. How bad would it be to have a confrontation?”

Eyes filled with black ice, “It’s personal.

"Don’t you think it’s about time you get back to diagnostics before Eberly forgets you work for him?”

West felt he was teetering on the precipice of their relationship. Wilson was this close to writing him off as a bad debt and crossing him off the ledger. The thought caused physical pain. He wasn’t ready for that to happen. Not yet. He smothered the ache in his chest, and tried smoothing things over between them, “How about I come over tonight and fix dinner? Make my famous meatloaf, and I’ll bring another bottle of that cab you enjoyed last week.”

A speculative gleam melted the ice storm, “You’re on. What time are you coming?”

“Five?”

“Fine. I’m in meetings until six. Use your key to get in.”

“Don’t be late, or you’ll miss seeing my ass every time I bend over to look in the oven.” West winked, praying things would return to normal.

There was a trace of a smile that accompanied the growl, “You are so gay, Nate.” The corners of Wilson’s mouth threatened to crack wider, “I wouldn’t dream of missing your floor show for the world.”

Continue...

Thank you for reading. Comments always welcome. <3

A/N: Next chapter is short, but you'll find out how House is faring on his mission to wheedle information about Wilson.