Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m looking to get something on House,” Wilson said with a determined look.

“Couldn’t you just... Ask the love nymphs for the secret?” Chase said.

“Don’t.” Wilson cut in before he’d fully finished the sentence. “My mission is to find something that House would not like to see made public, and make it public.”

“In.” Chase looked confused yet intrigued. “But you know him better than anyone. Why do you need my help?”

“House would never leave something secret around the condo. But you’ve worked in the same office with him, on and off, for years. Think back. Was there any odd phone calls or visitors from the past?”

“He openly brings prostitutes into the Hospital,” Chase cut in, “and he gambles with bookies 'cause he’s too lazy to go to the OTB. I don’t think there’s anything he’d want to keep hidden.”

Wilson leaned back slightly in his chair in defeat. Chase looked at him expectantly.

“We could at least try. Let’s just look around his office, see what we might find,” Wilson said. 

“Well, I don’t know of any place where he’d keep something hidden. Except his lupus book but we checked that after he sobered up,” Chase said.

Wilson thought for a moment. Then he furrowed his eyebrows as he focused on a thought.

“Then, we’ll just have to look everywhere except those places.”

Despite neither of them knowing what they were searching for, or where they should be looking, Chase still tried to help Wilson. He seemed intrigued enough by even the smallest chance of finding something on House.

They searched the office from top to bottom. It wasn't hard seeing as House spent most of his time avoiding the room either way. They searched every drawer, file and carny. Even the more obvious places weren’t left. When they hadn’t found anything Wilson checked the drawers and books for secret compartments but found nothing. 

Well… not nothing. They found plenty of things any normal human being might feel embarrassed about, but nothing that would even put a dent in House’s self-esteem or his (already rather beat up) image. 

Wilson had been ready to give up when Chase insisted they'd search the apartment too. Despite Wilson’s conviction that they’d find nothing there, he managed to persuade him to take the long shot. It wasn’t like they had anything to lose. Which led them to the condo where they dug through House’s half-unpacked things, hoping for a miracle.

“We're not going to find anything here,” Wilson said. “I already told you, I've looked. I would know if there was something here.”

“C’mon. He's got to have some secret. It's not at the office, so it must be here.” Chase flickered through a book looking over the pages as they flipped by.

Wilson sighed and lifted House's mattress to look under it. He dragged a hand over the underside, hoping to feel a cut made to cram something into.

“It wouldn't surprise me if House had some… secret bank box under a fake name somewhere where he kept all personal stuff,” Wilson said frustrated. “If he even has anything left to be embarrassed about.”

“We don't know until we try,” Chase argued.

He sighed and let down the mattress again, putting his hands on his hips. The room had been messy even before they began but he tried to return anything he'd touched to how it had been before. 

“I am trying!” Wilson said. He watched as Chase flickered through another book before putting it down in the cardboard box taking out the next one repeating the process. “Do you really think he'd hide something in a book?”

“He kept that extra bottle of Vicodin in a book,” Chase said. “Perhaps he keeps more secrets hidden that way.”

He put down a book and picked up another. House had an infinite amount of medical books. Chase could spend eternity flipping through them all and it would probably still lead to nothing. Wilson sighed and moved on to digging through an unpacked cardboard box of clothes instead. More fancy clothes, ones House rarely used and thus had neglected to unpack thus far. 

They kept at it for a while more. Chase had told Thirteen to send him a text if House left the hospital, as a warning, so they didn't have to fear House interrupting. Well, not overly much at least. 

“Ha!” Chase exclaimed sometime later, which made Wilson’s head snap up. “I was right. The golden ticket.”

Chase held up a small photograph between his thumb and forefinger. There was a proud grin on his face. His other hand held onto a book with its last page flipped open. 

Wilson rounded a few boxes to see what Chase had found more specifically. Chase held out the picture for Wilson to see. For a moment, he actually felt shocked by the motive. 

“That's House?”

“No doubt about it.”

There really was no mistaking it. He had very characteristic facial features, and with those big eyes, it could only be him or a doppelganger. But House in the picture looked little like the House Wilson knew. 

He was much younger. Quite a lot younger—younger than Wilson had ever seen him in real life—though a bit similar to how he'd looked the first time Wilson met him. 

House in the photo stood on a stage wearing a revealing outfit consisting of a corset-like black sparkly top, with matching underwear for pants. Additionally, he wore stockings, an astonishingly big pearl necklace and even a bit of a leather strap moment going on. His eyes were framed by eyeliner and his lips seemed darker than usual. He struck a rather strange pose too.

There was another boy in a similar outfit behind him to the right, but House was in focus at the centre of the photo with the stage lights shining right on him. 

“He was a theatre kid?” Wilson asked still shocked.

“So it would seem,” Chase said, looking at the picture with an amused glint in his eyes. “I know little in this world can embarrass House, but I’m sure even he can't withstand this.”

A collage of House’s most embarrassing situations flashed through Wilson's brain and purely from instinct alone he sceptically asked:

“Are you sure?”

“Why else would he hide it?” Chase said with a shrug. “Much less the back of a mediocre medical book from the eighties.”

Wilson nodded once. They had found what they were looking for. Now they only had to make sure House didn't find out about their snooping before they could finish putting their plan to work.

“Let’s use it.”

Chapter Text

House woke up to the familiar ache in his leg. His entire back and neck ached too, but the leg was the most profound.

Blindly, he reached for his pain meds—paracetamol. Some mornings he missed Vicodin more than others. He swallowed a couple dry then leaned back with a sigh and stared up at the ceiling.

He’d admit—if only to himself—that falling asleep on the sofa had been a bad choice. But he'd wanted to irritate Wilson some more just because he could. The fact that Wilson hadn't woken him and forced him to go sleep in his bed was odd. He took it as a sign that Wilson still held some resentment towards him for the whole forest nymph porno situation.

Despite the pain, he smiled to himself as he remembered that he had another day of mocking Wilson ahead of him. His leg wouldn't get much better either way, so he might as well take what he could have. He got off the couch with some difficulty and limped to the kitchen to find something of Wilson's to eat.

It took him some time to get ready for work because of occasional leg spasms, but he noticed on his way to work that he was still earlier than usual. It was a wonder what the promise to see Wilson blush at the whole hospital's mocking for another day could do. Sooner or later people would find something else to focus on, so House would have to savour it for as long as he could.

As he made his way through the front door he met the usual hustle of the entrance. Patients, nurses and doctors running around. He kept an eye out for Cuddy so he could avoid her if necessary.

Hopefully the fact that he actually had a case would keep her off his back, but he didn't want to risk her potentially sticking him to clinic duty. He also wasn't sure how she'd felt about a certain mass email that had reached most of the hospital’s employees which had included ‘sexual content’. Those were always the kind of things she'd shriek to him about for longer than he thought was necessary.

Luckily he’d managed to make his way all to the elevators without anyone interrupting him. Safe for now.

He got off on his office floor and walked as fast as he could through the hallway. It surprised him that no one in his team had called him to ask any stupid questions yet, but it also made him curious to hear how the case was progressing.

He flung open the door to the conference room with his usual whirlwind, threw his backpack into his office and shrugged off his coat.

“Alright, kids. Let’s see what we got,” he turned to look at his team and immediately sensed that something was off.

Everyone from the team was present and they all looked… amused. Foreman and Thirteen looked like they were trying to keep a smile in, while Taub wore a small pleased smile. Chase just outright grinned. That in itself wasn't too uncharacteristic, but combined with their flickering eyes, held breath and occasional nervous tick—House knew something was up. Something to do with him.

His eyes scanned the room looking for something. Something out of place. A tell. Anything to give him a hint.

Their clothes revealed nothing special so he moved on. His eyes flickered over the pantry, the window, the bookshelf in the middle of the floor and-

He stopped on that last one. Because on it stood a frame with a photograph. A photograph that was all too familiar for him. His brain just couldn't comprehend what it was doing there.

Someone cleared their throat to his left but he didn't look to see who it was.

“Thought we'd liven the place up a bit,” Chase said. “It's so dull in here. So impersonal.”

“Pictures really do help show someone’s character, don’t you think?” Foreman said his voice filled with fake positivism.

“It really helps tie the room together,” Taub said.

House eyes were still trained on the picture. It had been enlarged to fit the frame. He could see it more clearly than he ever had as a small Polaroid picture. His jaw locked as he just stared.

“I always thought I was the only one on the team with an interest in makeup,” Thirteen said to the others, then she turned to House. “I’ve been thinking of getting a new lip shade lately. Any suggestions House?”

A few amused huffs and giggles broke free from the group.

House felt like he was falling back into the present. He took notice of his tense jaw and how tight the grip on his cane had grown. He slowly turned his back to the picture, refusing to look at either it or the team.

“If you’re all done now, I believe we have patient? I assume he isn't dead, yet.”

They gave him a quick professional summary of the case and a few ideas which he sorted through. Though they did sound more amused than what the case itself called for. He looked at them eventually but made sure to keep the photo outside his field of vision.

Once they were done he waved them off to go do their job but all of them moved slowly, lingering to stay longer.

“Oh, c’mon! Are you not going to say something about it?” Chase said in a light tone. “Wilson and I didn't go through all this trouble just for you to act all indifferent.”

Wilson's name cut a bit in him.

So it was revenge. That made sense. He should've seen that coming. Probably would've made the connection himself if he hadn't used all his brain power to very firmly not think of the photo for the last few minutes, all while doing a deferential.

“I know I encourage breaking, entering and snooping around in other people’s business, but it's really more when it’s for the patient’s health,” House said. "Not so much to annoy your boss."

“Like you haven't snooped around in our lives, and homes, without reason,” Thirteen said.

“Without reason? How else would I know who works for me?” he asked.

With a few more teasing comments from his team, and a whole lot of deflecting jokes from his side, the team eventually left to go save gossip and spread patient’s (or was it the other way around?).

House made his way into his office—

Only to be greeted by several copies of the photograph. All framed. Some on the walls, others placed on his desk.

He closed his eyes for a moment rubbing his eyes and pinching his nose. It wasn't too bad. He'd looked at it enough times alone. This wasn't any different he told himself.

House took a big breath before opening his eyes again and limping over to sit in his desk chair. He noticed how most of the photos were of varying sizes. Then a thought struck him and he felt a ball of dread build inside of him. Where was the original? If anything had happened to it he'd-

He found it next to his computer screen. Chase had probably already gotten enough copies to last a lifetime, but House knew this was the original. He knew the texture of the back of the photo. The photo paper logo. The slight fray on the corners from years of wear.

Despite the time that had passed it was still in good condition. Surprisingly so, counting the amount of times for years he’d spent looking at it. He'd always tried to keep it safe, but there was only so much you could do against a little wear from pass of time.

He didn't look at the photo longer than he had to, to check that it was the original, before carefully placing it between the pages of a book he had in his backpack. It'd stay safe there without risk of tearing until he got home that evening.

“Dr. Frank-N-Furtner?”

The voice came paired with a knock on his open office door. Wilson stood there, grinning back at him.

“In the flesh,” House answered in a flat tone. “I thought you would’ve been here earlier.”

“I was held up. Emergency. Seems I was just too late,” Wilson said sounding slightly disappointed but still looking smug. “So were you ever going to tell me you also shared a ‘passion’ for acting?”

“Didn’t plan on it. But when you happen to go through my stuff in search of blackmail material, I guess I can’t deny it any longer,” he answered sarcastically. “Did you find it before or after you found my blow-up doll?”

“You don’t have one of those,” Wilson huffed.

House looked up giving his best ‘don’t I?’ look. Wilson's expression did falter for a moment. He was really too easy to mess with.

“Anyway…” Wilson said, nodding towards the pictures. “I think you look absolutely dashing. I mean, it’s no Freddie Mercury in drag, but the corset really ties it all together.”

House didn’t turn to look at them. Instead, he kept his eyes firmly trained on Wilson. It wasn’t too odd since he was known for staring at people to make them uncomfortable.

“Well, I had to leave some game for the other sweet transvestites.”

Wilson opened his mouth to answer, just as his pager went off. He glanced at it and sighed.

“Seems I’m needed. I’ll be back later,” he said. “Oh, but you might want to know that the picture somehow got leaked through the hospital’s internal mail. You know how it is these days. All these tech problems.”

Wilson smiled smugly before taking his leave.

House sat still by the desk for a moment after he’d left. Looking down at his shoes for a moment before taking a deep breath.

Wilson and Chase were playing a game.

That game entailed playing a joke on House. A joke they only knew half of, if even that.

Despite that, there was no way House was going to lose a game. If he showed anything more than mild irritation—if he seemed angry or upset—then he’d lose. It was all just a game. He had to play it like any other. As long as he didn’t crack they’d soon get bored and the hospital would soon have some new entertainment.

House put all the frames that stood on his desk face down on one side of the desk. The ones mounted on his walls were unhooked and placed in his lowest desk drawer.

Then he sat back in his chair and tried to distract himself with the case.

The rest of the morning he had to endure various comments—and even some Rocky horror references—thrown his way. If he so much went to take a leak he receive at minimum a couple of obvious snickers and glances. But he could stand the stares and the giggling. The gossip and the comments. He could even play along to some part.

What he had a hard time with was the pictures. He’d thought they’d merely be in his office and that he’d have to endure everyone else having seen it through email, but no.

He caught sight of one on the desk in the nurses’ area. Actually, he saw them popping up in several palaces. Always small, easy for a patient to overlook. Impossible for him to miss.

He tried to have lunch in the break room—to avoid a crowd—only to find that one of the big frames inside had its picture exchanged to a blown-up version of the photo he just couldn’t escape.

Sighing, he’d turned on the spot to find someplace else with food.

The cafeteria, where he eventually ended up, had surprisingly been more bearable. The comments were much more frequent, but he couldn’t spot a single actual photo.

One of the braver nurses, who had a habit of speaking out against him, slowed slightly as she passed him.

“I like the flamboyant streak,” she said, accompanied with a mocking smile.

“I’ve never been one to reject my feminine side,” House answered. “Unlike you, it’d seem.”

She huffed before walking down the hall at quick speed. He shrugged before continuing towards the food queue.

Wilson wasn’t there so he couldn’t steal his food. With a heavy put-upon sigh he took a plate and started with his usual ‘cover the protein with salad’ tactic.

After lunch, he headed back towards his office. Only, he slowed and came to a stop when he heard voices around a corner. Familiar voices. It sounded like his team and Wilson. That explained why Wilson hadn’t been at lunch. Probably too busy gossiping.

“He never comes in that early. I was sure I’d be there in time this morning,” Wilson said.

“You really missed something,” Thirteen said.

“Did you see his face when he spotted it?” Chase said. “He looked practically horrified.”

“I’m surprised there’s anything left in this world that can affect him like that,” Foreman spoke. “He sees patients bleeding out of new places each week and he rarely even so much as blinks.”

House swallowed and turned to go back the way he’d come. He made sure to keep the pressure of his cane light so it didn’t make a sound until he was far enough away that they wouldn’t hear.

Normally he would’ve had nothing against sneaking up on them and revealing he’d heard them talking about him behind his back. But in that moment, he preferred to just be alone.

He entered the elevator, just as he heard a sharp “House!” behind him. He turned around but did nothing to stop the doors that had started to close.

Cuddy managed to cram her hand in at the gap just the last second, making the doors open again. She sighed and gave him a disappointing look which he pretended not to see.

“House, I need you for clinic duty,” she said entering the elevator.

“And I need you for other reasons. More fun ones,” he said. “Can’t all get what we want.”

She gave him the look again.

“We’re short-staffed! I know you have a case, but I checked in with your team an hour ago and they said they’re running tests. I need you in the clinic for the next few hours more than I need you in your office watching TV.”

“You know, as far as compelling offers go, yours really isn’t one.”

“It’s not an argument or a request, it’s an order. I am still your boss.”

The elevator slowed down as they reached the floor.

“Well, that has certainly never stopped me before,” he said. “Is there anything else you want my help with, oh dear mistress?”

He leaned into her personal space and gave her big fake sincere eyes. Interestingly enough she didn’t roll her eyes. Instead, a smile settled on her lips. The doors to the elevator opened to the first floor.

“Actually, I have a pair of stockings with a run in them,” she said sounding close to laughter. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to fix them? With your experience and all.”

He gave her a strained big smile, but irritation lingered in his eyes. “I’ll get right on it after I cure a runny nose with some laxatives and constipation with some cough drops.”

With that he walked away, actually heading for the clinic. He didn’t plan on doing much work, but he’d (hopefully) at least be saved from photographs from his college days there.

Chapter Text

-September 1980, Baltimore-

House first met Tim in college. They’d been at the same dodgy introduction party in some small flat. It had been stuffed full with students; all buzzed with alcohol and drugs.

House had decided to celebrate starting his last year in pre-med and thus went to as many parties as he could. It had been just another night.

Tim always enjoyed partying. When House had gotten to know him better he found Tim preferred more underground places to spend the night to the mainstream parties. This party had been, something in between.

House had seen a couple of girls tongue-kissing on a couch in the middle of it all, so he wasn’t going to complain. Not one bit.

Then he’d spotted Tim.

He’d been dancing in the tiny pocket of the floor that had turned into a dance floor, his eyes closed as he jumped to the music. His dark blonde hair, three or four inches long, moved as he bobbed his head back and forth to the music. The loose, white, button-up he wore had thin black lines in a chequered pattern that moved in waves with him as he danced.

He was really nothing special, but House had found himself stuck looking at him. After a while, House downed the last of his drink and moved through the crowd to refill his cup.

The kitchen—where all the booze was—was small, much like the apartment. Still, it had quite a few people mingling around and a bit more smoke lingering. The music was slightly lower in there, but not by a lot. House could still hear the lyrics to Ashes to Ashes well enough from the other room.

He found a bottle, still half full of vodka, and poured some of it into his clear plastic cup. Soon after, something moved at the corner of his eye, and he turned to look to his side.

There he was again. The guy he’d seen dancing. Now looking over the bottles on the counter, seemingly deciding which one to pick. He dragged a hand through his hair and revealed a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. He smelled slightly of sweat mixed with cologne. For some reason, House found it more enticing than anything else.

“Don’t pick the bourbon, it tastes like cat piss,” House said in a loud voice over the music.

Tim turned towards him, looking startled. It had been the first time he’d seen House.

Then he’d given a quirked smile and nodded.

“Thanks for the warning,” he’d answered before picking up the gin and pouring it into a cup. He took a sip, before glancing at House again—his body shifting a little closer to him. “You a new student too?”

“No no, I’m just in town for the parties and wild, wild sex,” House answered with fake sincerity.

“That so,” Tim said, looking amused. “What’s your subject?”

“Pre-med. You?”

“Good to know we have a doctor-to-be when someone passes out,” Tim said with a playful smile. “I’m going to study film.”

“And you’ll be helping the world one tearjerker at a time I presume?” House said. Not with a mean tone per se, but he knew it was a comment that would’ve agitated most. Yet, Tim kept his smile. Amused. Intrigued.

“Something like that,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“House,” House said.

“That’s no name,” Tim said. “I bet your friends call you something else.”

“Gregory. Though no one calls me that,” House said. “Most people either call me asshole or moron.”

“Greg,” Tim said with a nod, ignoring all else that House had said. “I’m Tim.”

He’d held out his hand, and House only hesitated for a second before taking it.

They left the party that evening together. Not to sleep together, but to get some food from an open 24/7 diner near campus.

House learned that Tim had worked for a couple of years with his father before deciding what he wanted to study. Or rather, it had taken a year or so for him to convince his father to let him study film. He seemed glad to be there, even if his laugh came out a bit strained when he said that his father was still far from thrilled about his choice.

Tim was rather expressive when he spoke. House was too, though he relied more on sarcasm and making fun of people. Tim was more open. Why he found House to be a fitting partner to eat a midnight burger with, House would never understand.

Following that night, they somehow became friends. First from bumping into each other at parties and eventually Tim suggesting they have lunch together. House had no reason to say no since he preferred Timothy over most people he’d met on campus.

Tim would come by House’s small campus room and stay for hours. House spent some of the time studying while Tim read on the bed or listened to the radio. He stubbornly spent half of his time reading with squinted eyes instead of putting on his reading glasses.

With time, House learned that if he threw the pair on the bed next to Tim, he’d put them on without pausing in his reading.

He learned that Tim loved a greasy burger and would eat them any day over a healthy salad. He also spent half his time snacking on over-sugared fruit snacks claiming they were good for his health.

House never ceased to make fun of Tim’s major, but Tim was rarely offended by it. He seemed more amused if anything.

When Tim complained about an assignment, House would poke him with a rolled-up magazine and start rambling on about what he'd need to know for future medical exams. When he started listing medical terms Tim didn't know, Tim would just laugh and shake his head.

Occasionally, House hung out in the house Tim shared with about fifty other dudes (it wasn’t really that many but it sure felt like it). He only lasted there for so long. Surprisingly, most of Tim’s roommates didn’t like him as much as Tim did. Not that Tim seemed to mind as he said he preferred staying in House’s room either way.

Tim was always House’s friend, but pretty soon he became something more. Quite a few sexually charged moments, and a couple of drunk fucks later, they became somewhat of an item.

That was also when House learned that Timothy snored—even though he vehemently denied it whenever House brought it up.

The sex didn’t surprise him too much. Tim was gay and House had no preference when it came to bits, as long as he got off. The initial friendship had been more shocking.

But most shocking of it all, was when he realised he’d fallen for Tim.

It wasn’t just that Timothy was a good friend and an attractive man. House could only describe what he felt for Tim as love. It was the first time he’d ever experienced it, but there was no other explanation. Nothing else had ever felt quite the same.

It took him a long time to say it to Tim. Tim, who murmured his love against House’s lips as they lay together in bed at night. Who looked at him like he hung the stars. He was sure Tim understood it was mutual long before he said it back.

And when House finally did tell him, Tim just smiled and replied 'I know,' before giving him a most filthy kiss.

They were never open around campus. A few probably knew. Those who knew what to look for mostly. But to most, they were only friends. Close friends.

Some evenings they went to the clubs where they could be open. Tim, with his pretty face and enticing smile always had one or two guys eyeing him. A few tried to sway him from House’s side, but Tim never seemed too interested.

The one time House suggested that they could keep the relationship open and try new things Tim had been quiet for a while. He hadn’t said straight out no, but he’d explained how he had no need for that.

Any other time House tried to mention it, ever so casually, just to give Tim a way out if he wanted, Timothy would always just push it away. With a smile. A look, a kiss, a hand-job.

And House had to admit, that each and every time, he felt warm inside.

When he had Tim by his side at night, he knew he wanted no one else there. He smiled to himself since he knew Tim, for some unknown reason, felt the same for him.

-March 2010, Plainsboro Hospital-

“You never told me you liked musicals.” House turned to see Wilson who’d spoken to him. He stood in the door opening to House's office, hands casually resting in his pockets. “That time I tried to invite you to Grease, you said you disliked the combination of bad singing and dancing mixed with bad writing.”

“How’re you not sure I just don’t like Grease?”

“Because you also said, ‘I hate musicals’,” Wilson deadpanned, as he made his way inside. He looked around seemingly noticing how House had taken down all the pictures. His eyes lingered for a second on the pile of frames on the desk.

“Touché.”

“I must admit that it took a moment, but I eventually recognised the Rocky Horror outfit,” Wilson said.

“Really? Did the nymphs show it to you as a pre-game to the ‘erotic film’? Perhaps to teach you a few moves before the big day.”

Wilson sighed and glanced towards the ceiling.

“What? You didn’t seriously expect me to drop it that easily?” House asked.

Wilson shook his head before sitting down in the pale yellow armchair that stood in the corner of the room, ignoring House’s jabs.

“So,” Wilson said. “Why Rocky Horror? Did the fact that it has ‘horror’ in the title lure you in?”

“No, I was actually going to see ‘Rocky’, but ended up in the wrong theatre.”

“Dressed like that?” Wilson raised an eyebrow.

“A normal Friday night out. I certainly had the legs for it back then.”

“I’m sure all the ladies swooned,” Wilson said with a huff. “Also, I thought you were against religion. I didn’t realise it was because you were already in a pop culture cult.”

“Sorry to disappoint you. First rule of cult club, don’t talk about cult club. I’d invite you to the next meeting, but no outsiders,” House said. Then a bit more seriously. “We both gotta admit, I’ve done worse things.”

“True,” Wilson said. Then he leaned forward, resting his arms against his knees and squinted slightly. “Yet, you hid this picture in a book no one would ever think to look inside of. Why?”

“Everyone does weird stuff in college. Just look at you,” House said. “I did a lot of weird stuff for booze or a blow job. Or both.”

“Right,” Wilson said, standing up. “Except that’s no reason for you to hide this. Either you just forgot it—which it obviously isn’t—or you are, for some reason, embarrassed about this picture. More than every other awkward thing you’ve ever done.”

Wilson walked closer to House's desk. He reached for the first frame in the stack and held it so he could see the picture inside. House’s jaw tensed slightly. He should’ve hidden all of the frames in his desk drawer instead of leaving half of them on top of the desk.

House shrugged. “I don’t have a photo album. You know how light-sensitive old photographs are. Didn’t want to let this beauty fade away like Chase’s virginity after the puberty-fairy granted him his looks.”

“Only that’s not it either,” Wilson said. “Something about this reminds you of something. You kept it hidden, yet close enough to be able to be able to look at if you wanted to. You just don’t want anyone else to see it.”

House was about to snap something back, but Wilson turned the picture to face him just as he looked up.

The picture stared back at him. His eyes barely even saw himself in the picture. That wasn’t where he instinctively looked. Years of looking at it had made it second nature to ignore himself.

His jaw tensed as he looked away.

“Hey, whoa. Are you actually embarrassed about this?” Wilson said, sounding even more pleased. “I know it isn’t really a flattering picture, but I didn’t think it’d actually get to you.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” House said fully sincere. Wilson didn’t seem to believe him one bit.

“Sure. It’s not that you just can’t admit I got one over you.”

He rose, putting down the picture on the desk right in front of House’s eyes. House didn’t flinch. He did look away again though. He didn’t feel up to seeing him so close up while Wilson was in the room. Looking away from the picture was more instinct than anything else.

Wilson paused for a moment. Hovering. Eyes squinting as he looked at House. House knew that look and quickly rolled his eyes.

“I actually have a case to work on,” House said in a bitchy tone hoping Wilson would leave him be.

“Does the picture make you… uncomfortable?” Wilson asked slowly.

“You make me uncomfortable,” House said. “I can—and will—limp out of here.”

“You avoid it,” Wilson continued ignoring his trials to deflect. He was more thinking out loud than anything else. “It’s not just embarrassment.”

“If I tell you will you go away?” House asked. Wilson didn’t answer, probably doubting he’d tell the truth either way. “Fine. I am secretly transsexual, and looking at the picture just reminds me all too much of the boobs I can’t have. It also explains my fixation with Cuddy’s breast. I envy her.”

He spoke in a fake sincere voice, and even added a pout and big eyes, before turning back to his screen to ignore Wilson for real this time.

“Fine, don’t tell me,” Wilson said and turned to leave. “But I’m sure I’ll find out why this is bugging you more than usual. Sooner or later.”

He left House alone, who kept his eyes on his screen until he was sure Wilson had gone far away. House dragged another hand over his face, feeling tired.

He really needed to act better. Act more casual about it. He kept up the jokes, but they seemed to not fall quite as easily as usual. If he kept this up, Wilson would eventually go snooping around more. Not that he’d find anything, but he didn’t want to risk it.

Chapter Text

-April 1982, Baltimore-

"Let’s go to New York."

House turned to Tim, eyes trailing over his face. A few strands of Tim’s hair fell over his forehead.

It was a late evening and they lay in House’s bed together. The weak light from the streetlight down outside his dorm splayed over the room.

"Why?" House asked, leaning into the hand Tim was slowly dragging through his hair.

"It's a surprise."

That weekend, they let Baltimore fade in the rearview mirror.

They took turns driving up to New York in Tim’s old, beat-up ’68 Chevy Nova. He’d fixed it up before starting college with his dad in the car repair shop his father owned. It was far from a beauty, but it moved forward and that was all that mattered for a road trip.

Talking Heads roared from the stereo as they played the cassette tape for what was probably the third time. The other cassettes—Bowie, The Smiths, Rolling Stones, among others—either laid in the glove compartment (Tim’s) or were casually thrown on the floor by the passenger seat (House’s).

House tried to guess why they were going to New York. Despite his endless pestering, Tim stayed tight-lipped. He even seemed a little smug about the secret, especially when House couldn’t hide his curiosity.

Once they arrived at a theatre with the big letters Rocky Horror Picture Show outside, he had a suspicion. Not that that was enough to prepare him for what was next.

The whole thing was chaos. People threw rice, toast and cards onto the screen. People screamed unabashed at the screen. A lot were dressed up for the experience. It was the kind of thing House could appreciate. Utter chaos.

Tim seemed to enjoy it no less. Almost every time House glanced his way, he either caught him mid-laugh or with a big smile on his face.

One of the times Tim met his eyes House couldn't resist leaning in and placing a quick kiss on his lips. No one noticed or cared. The ruckus and dim light were enough distractions that probably no one even saw it. The few minutes after that, Tim's eyes had been more trained on House than the screen. That brilliant wide smile was only House’s accomplishment.

They didn't stay in New York and drove back that same night. Partly to save a buck. Partly because the excitement still lingered enough that they wouldn’t have fallen asleep even if they tried to.

Despite the fact that the car was Tim’s, House drove most of the way. He complained about it a bit but secretly liked to drive. Especially since Tim was a horrible driver, something House found ironic since his father fixed cars for a living.

They got back early in the morning, tired and worn out by then. The few stops on the way to rest, or grab a bite to eat, not nearly enough to weigh up for a night without sleep. They both passed out in House’s bed before their heads even hit the pillow.

Following the road trip college continued as usual.

On weekends, they sometimes went to a gay club to dance and drink. In the thick crowd, dim lights and loud music, it was almost necessary to dance as close to each other as possible. A few times, they got worked up enough to retire to the bathroom to let off some steam.

There was little House loved as much as watching with hazy eyes as Tim sucked him down. One hand tangled in his soft hair, one resting against the wall to stay upright. The only thing that came close was probably when he got to do the same to Tim.

Occasionally, House dragged Tim to a rock- or jazz-themed club. More often than not, it required them to act like friends. Though he loved going to them with Tim, his hands always itched to rest around Tim's shoulder or waist.

Sometimes House joined a few of his... he wouldn't call them friends, but acquaintances, from his class to a strip club or something alike. He invited Tim to join once or twice, but he always winced, saying that it wasn't really his thing. Eventually, House gave up on asking.

He couldn't have wished for a better last year of pre-med. He drank, partied, had wild sex with Tim (who wasn’t afraid to try something new). What more could a man in his early twenties need?

Tim made quite a lot of friends. Some of them House met relatively often. After a few months, Tim grew close to a few local actors through some classes he took. Or rather, aspiring actors who happened to occasionally put together something for the locals.

Tim loved theatre and movies. The whole bit. From the set design to writing to acting. House could understand it for some part. Mostly through his musical interest.

Still, he found it nice that Tim had people to share his niche of interest. People who understood him.

It seemed not many people understood House. Not that he needed them to. He was content alone in his interests. More so than Tim would've been. Yet, part of him understood how lonely it could be.

Few people in House’s classes regarded medicine the same way he did. They mixed up facts and probability with ethics and emotions. When he simply stated the blunt truth, he was often called a heartless bastard. And if he wasn't—it was left unspoken. But caring didn't save patients. Only actions mattered when it came to keeping a heart beating and lungs breathing. Only an uncompromised mind could see the whole picture.

Tim didn't have that problem. He didn’t struggle to explain his passion for storytelling to people he met. For embodying something human and twisting it in a trial to make sense of the odd world they lived in. Even people who didn't share his interest could understand after spending a short while talking with him.

Some thought House saw Tim's major as a joke. Something useless to spend time perusing and something to look down on. In reality, he admired Tim.

Okay, maybe he did think the subject was a little stupid. He studied medicine after all. But he didn't think Tim was stupid for choosing it. No, he never thought that.

It could've just been the love bug talking, but he really did think that no matter what Tim chose to do, it would always be something of importance. As long as he did it wholeheartedly.

One day during Tim's third semester, he told House that he was joining some friends in a local production. House perked up from where he was reading a medical textbook, interest caught. Tim had been involved in a few smaller happenings at the college before.

"What is it this time?" House asked.

Tim’s answering smile was almost devilish.

It turned out to be a local midnight screening of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. There'd be a few pre-selected actors to perform in front of the screen for effect. One of them being Tim.

"Of course, the audience can dress up if they want to," Tim said.

"And what are you going to wear?" House didn't hesitate to ask.

"You'll find out," Tim said, leaning in to place a kiss on House's cheek, "in time."

Intrigued, House had tried to snoop, but Tim was elusive. He'd learned quite a few of House's tricks and it was hard finding new ones when midterms kept him busy.

Either way, House got to see it eventually, and it was quite the experience. As a whole, the first show was a lot less chaotic than the one in New York had been. A few in the audience played along, but mostly people just laughed and had a good time.

They kept it up for quite a while, having screenings most weekends. Tim joined a lot of nights. House visited a few screenings when he had the time and felt up to it. Some were more tame, while others reminded him of that night in New York.

Quite quickly, House got into the habit of sneaking in backstage at the screenings he went to. The other people in the show were used to seeing him come by to see Tim.

There was often an aura of jitters and turmoil backstage before a show. At one of the later screenings House came to, he noticed the atmosphere seemed tenser than usual.

It turned out that one of the actors was a no-show and wouldn’t be there in time for the show. Tim had seemed about as worried as the rest when his head had suddenly snapped up. He’d walked up to House and pulled him aside.

Then Tim looked at House with that glint in his eyes. He already knew what Tim was going to ask even before he opened his mouth. If House was fully honest, he also knew what his answer was going to be.

Still, he let Tim squirm a little. When Tim asked him, he seemed to try a more seductive approach. It worked quite well, though House never knew if he felt more aroused or smitten from it.

"I promise to make it worth your while later," Tim added at the end in a low voice. "If you help me, I'll be in your dept."

House smiled wickedly. Tim knew House couldn't resist getting the upper hand like that.

And that was how he ended up in a local, midnight screening show. All dressed up in a corset, stockings and high heels which he—luckily—could walk in. He’d learned because of a dare once (so he was a bit wobbly at the start? Big deal).

At least the eyeliner had made him look quite cool. And Tim seemed equally amused and attracted to him, once he saw him all dressed up. He ran his hands through House's hair a couple of times, messing it up worse than it already was.

"You’re an odd knight in shining armour," Tim said, with a small laugh. "I guess glitter shines just as bright as steel."

“You’re just saying that to get into my pants,” House said making Tim’s smile grow.

“Oh, you know me so well,” he replied sarcastically. “C’mon, we have an audience waiting.”

“Kinky.”

Tim gently swatted House's arm, to which House stared back innocently for a moment before dropping the act.

“Come on. Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget.”

-March 2010, Plainsboro Hospital-

After clinic duty, House hid in a coma patient’s room for a while. Despite the way things were he’d rather not do any more clinic duty than necessary. His last patient had made him lose hope in humanity’s intelligence and continued survival. How over thirty-year-old men could get things stuck in their nose (sober!) was just depressing. At least if it was another hole it could be a sex thing. The nose was just… imbecilic.

At least the coma guy was chill. He seemed as unbothered as any sixty-eight-year-old coma patient. Didn’t argue with House over the remote control or complain about how he slurped when he drank his milkshake from a straw. His preferred company.

That was, until his pager went off. Then he sighed and looked down to see that it was Thirteen. It didn’t specify much but the conference room number was attached so he headed there.

Once he entered the conference room he saw Thirteen sitting with her back to him, turned towards the window, nursing a coffee. Opposite her, Chase sat casually reading a patient file.

“I have been summoned,” House said

“He used my pager,” Thirteen explained, nodding towards Chase.

“Did you lose your own?” House asked Chase.

“No,” he said. “I just didn’t think you’d come if I paged you.”

Using Thirteens pager was a smart idéa. If it had been Chase he would've been more hesitant because of the recent events.

“Really?” House said.

“Well…” Chase said and lowered the patient file as he spoke.

House didn’t hear much more of what came out of Chase’s mouth.

Chase was wearing a t-shirt with the dreaded picture that had haunted him all day. He stared at it, horrified. He felt anger build inside him. The pictures were one thing but this… This was just cruel. That they’d put his face on a t-shirt print for a cheap joke? He suddenly wanted to strangle Chase.

If he got angry—if he showed he was mad—they would win. Even worse, they would know this was something bigger and pressure him to explain. Irritation was allowed, even expected. Angry was not acceptable. It would be too much, too revealing.

House turned around so he didn’t have to see it.

Only to catch just as Thirteen leaned back in her chair. She had the same shirt peeking out from under her doctor's coat. House’s jaw tensed further.

“Brave of you to think Cuddy won’t flag that as inappropriate work attire?”

“Oh, I checked with her. She said it was alright as long as we buttoned up the coats when around patients. Luckily there aren’t too many of them on this floor,” Chase said with a smile that was much too proud of himself. “Don’t worry. I ordered enough for the whole team.”

House was pretty sure his eyes were trying to spear Chase’s head with a pole. Chase didn’t seem too scared, which only infuriated House further. Leaning more heavily on his cane he forcefully breathed out through his nose.

“Well, if the goddess herself has approved of it,” House said with distaste. “You seem to forget that I am your boss, and it is I who can fire you.”

“You already did that once,” Chase said.

“Last time you broke down like a girl and cried about it for a week,” House said. “Just because I thought Foreman and your little ex-wife were more competent than a bobblehead. Should I call Cameron and ask her to come back? Perhaps if I offered her another date she’d go for it. Maybe I’ll have to put out more than I did during the first one, but then again, that can’t be too much of a burden.”

As House spoke he still tried to hold back what he actually felt. Anger. Anguish. The memories he tried to keep locked away.

Tim probably would’ve liked the shirts. Probably would’ve laughed at them until he ran out of breath. After composing himself he would’ve insisted House and him get a pair. But Tim wasn’t there and House didn’t have to pretend to be nice. He never did.

Chase still didn’t seem bothered. Perhaps the Cameron jokes were overdone. He could’ve built enough tolerance for them. At least when they came from House, seeing how he was. Because Chase's smile barely even faltered.

“Really showing your hand there,” Chase said. “Before you didn’t seem too bothered, now…”

“And the patient?” he cut off Chase with a tense voice. “Have you found anything new?”

Both Chase and Thirteen stayed relaxed, almost casual about the situation.

“Taub and Foreman are running tests in the lab,” Chase said. “And I was just about to go check in on the patient. I was just-“

“Too busy starting a new fashion trend?” House exclaimed. “Well, I’d much prefer if you did that after hours and suggest you get off your ass right away.”

This time Chase actually looked a little startled at his words. Maybe it was House’s tone or his expression. Either way, Chase nodded before he stood to go check on the patient.

House stared at his back as he left the room, trying to set fire to his head instead of spearing it. Unfortunately, not even smoke appeared.

“Wow,” Thirteen said.

House turned to look at her but she didn’t say anything more. She did keep her lips shut holding back a smile.

He knew he’d regret it but couldn’t help but snap back a, “What?” either way.

“Well, you certainly have a bite today,” she said. “Just a small tip. Don’t dish it out if you can’t take the payback.”

“Oh, so I should encourage his trials of starting the new Dolce & Gabbana during work hours?”

“Like you don’t spend half your work hours playing games. Why do you even care so much?” she asked with an easy smile. “It’s just a silly joke.”

“I care about our patient who might be dying,” he said angrily.

She paused, the smile falling off her face. “You never care this much about a patient. And that would’ve been a bad lie even if it hadn’t come from you. What’s really going on?”

“Nothing. Except that I’d prefer it if my doctors did their jobs like they’re paid to,” House said before turning and walking away as quickly as his leg would let him.

He left the conference room altogether, not wanting to return to his office at the moment from fear in case someone had put up all the frames again.

At least no one he met sent stupid comments his way when he looked pissed.

Chapter Text

-May 1984, Baltimore-

Tim graduated on a warm cloudy day. House was there though he kept to the back rows, not wanting to drag too much attention to himself.

As much as he was excited for Tim, he worried that things would change. No, not if, he wondered how things would change.

He'd never particularly liked change, especially when he couldn’t control it. And he’d never been able to control Tim, even if he tried.

Tim had plenty of plans after college. Plenty of dreams.

To start, he wanted to move to New York. He promised to keep his Chevy and drive to Baltimore as often as he could, just as House promised to take the bus to New York. But how long would their wallets realistically survive that? How would Tim afford the gas on his first lousy paycheck?

Still, House helped Tim pack his car for the move. They loaded it as much as they could. He even went with Tim, driving the Chevy while Tim talked about how excited he was about a change. About starting life.

Tim's first job was shit. More of a janitor at a small studio than anything. The studio didn't even put out anything of value. But Tim was ready to work his way up. At least it was just enough to pay for his living cost.

Meanwhile, House’s last year of med school started and he continued rotations and tests like in his third year, only even more stressful. The press was on and you had to stay on your toes to be noticed. As if that wasn’t enough, there was worrying about residency and preparing for the future.

As House had feared, he and Tim saw much less of each other than before as soon as autumn arrived.

A handful of times he took a bus to New York, but it got harder and harder with time. All of a sudden it was almost Christmas and he’d barely even had time to miss Tim, much less consistently talk to and meet him.

When he lay awake on night's, following stressful days, he did miss Tim. A lot. But there wasn't much he could do about it. Even if he had had the money to travel and see Tim every other weekend—which he didn’t—he didn’t have the time.

So he turned around in his cold bed and tried to get some more sleep before his morning alarm would ring, all too early.

-March 1985, University of Michigan-

House had screwed up. Not because he acted on his instinct and technically cheated on an assignment. But because he let fucking Philip Weber notice it.

Of course, the bastard had turned him in.

And now, House was over five hundred miles from New York. From Tim. More than double the distance compared to when he lived in Baltimore.

Not that it mattered much.

Tim had seemed disappointed when House told him that he’d been expelled. At least the fact that he was accepted to Michigan’s on provision softened the blow.

But the disappointment about the cheating—no matter how necessary for educational purposes in House's opinion—was nothing compared to what came to follow.

That was—when House suggested they’d break up.

At first, Tim thought it was a joke. It took House some convincing to even get him to take him seriously.

It hurt that he had to do it. He knew where they were heading otherwise. He knew the risks. He still loved Tim, he did. But the long distance could very well ruin them in the long run. It was better for them to stay friends. At least until House finished his last year of med school. Just for now.

It was the worst decision of his life.

It took some time, but he eventually managed to convince a reluctant Tim. Mostly because they both cared about each other. They didn’t want it to end badly. Better stay friends than risk seeing them crash and burn as a couple five hundred miles apart.

Of course they kept in touch. They talked on the phone occasionally when they could afford, and sent letters. Tim sent more and longer letters than House's, since he often had less money these days. House saved some of them. The most special ones.

Otherwise, House’s life continued in Michigan. He got a job at the university bookstore to make an extra buck. He spent the money either on a phone call to Tim or a drink to temporarily forget about him.

After a while, House started seeing a few women. All briefly.

Occasionally he slept with a man, but he never felt quite satisfied from it. He was sure it had nothing to do with the dicks and everything to do with it being the wrong dick. With women, it was just different. That made it easier in a way.

He kept in touch with Tim. They talked on the phone, sent letters. Tim sent him more and longer letters since he often had it right with money. House kept some of them. The special ones.

House thought he wouldn't have to retake his last year since he'd been expelled so late in term. That and that he had continued his studies in Michigan. It wasn’t ideal, but half a year away wasn't too long. He’d be out soon enough and find a good internship for residency. Then he'd work hard to get out of it as soon as possible.

He contemplated trying to get a residency position closer to New York. With some luck, he'd have more time to see Tim. Life would never be not busy in his line of work, but if the travel time was shorter he was sure he could make do.

Then came the bad news. He would have to retake his last year of university studies. All because Philip Weber ratted him out. All because he was stupid enough to get caught.

House drowned his sorrows—his anger and frustration—with a bottle of cheap whiskey before going out.

Somehow, he got himself to Detroit. It was close enough and had a bigger scene of deviant clubs and bars. It wasn’t too hard to find one.

The night was a bit of a blur. Loud music. Sweaty bodies moving close together on the dance floor.

When someone offered him to come with them, he didn’t hesitate to follow.

That same someone tried to suck him off in a dark hallway. It was good enough, though he was a bit too drunk to really appreciate it. Instead, he eventually ended up on the floor himself. Kneeling beside an unmade bed as he tried his best not to let his teeth graze the man's cock. There was no finesse besides that. He was too drunk to focus further.

The next day he woke in a strange apartment with a killer headache. Luckily he found the bathroom before he threw up on the floor.

When he felt like he wouldn’t throw up as soon as he moved, he left without a word. Some guy was passed out in the bedroom. House had mind enough to check that he hadn’t died before leaving, but the guy was breathing slowly when House left.

He returned to Ann Arbor.

Slowly—reluctantly—he accepted his fate and continued his studies. It was just for another year after all.

What could happen in a year?

-October 1986, New York-

One day Tim had called him.

House had known right away that something was wrong. The tone of his voice. Beat down, a little shaky.

Scared.

“I got it,” Tim had said.

House’s heart had sunk.

Down to his stomach. Down his intestines, down, down all the way to the floor where it stopped beating.

That same weekend, House travelled to New York.

Tim still seemed healthy. He explained that he’d gotten tested because a friend had gotten bad recently. They'd insisted he got tested, despite his reluctance. He hadn’t ever expected to get a positive.

“I haven’t even been with that many,” he whispered into House’s shoulder as House held him. “I didn’t- I was careful. I never thought-”

House just held him tighter. There wasn’t much he could say. There wasn’t anything he could do.

He knew of it. Of course, he did. As a med student, one had to practically be a moron to miss it.

House had seen the AIDS ward in Detroit. He’d seen patients who had caught it. During his studies and internship, he'd been warned to wear masks or gloves to protect himself. He’d heard everything from pity to cold hardhearted indifference as people spoke of it. In some instances, even glee.

“They deserve it. What with the way they live.”

Somehow, it had still been distant. Maybe he’d kept it that way intentionally. It was easier not to let himself see himself—see Tim—in the sick people he’d met.

He and Tim had talked about it a few times. Only briefly, and not very often. It was a sensitive subject.

Partly because they knew they could be at risk. Mostly because it came with acknowledging that they were sleeping with others. It wasn’t something they wanted to discuss the few times they could get in contact.

House stayed with Tim that weekend. Held him when he cried. Listened to him when he was angry. Angry at himself, the world, the unfairness of it all. They still cared for each other.

House still loved Tim.

When House tried to kiss him for comfort Tim had stopped him. He was afraid.

House knew by now that the ilness didn’t spread that way. He had kept up with the research. It was mostly transmitted through blood. But Tim was too afraid. Too strung up and scared to risk it.

Eventually, House had to go back to his internship in Detroit. The contact with Tim was more frequent. House called him often, despite the dent it left in his wallet. If he had to cut down on nights out to hear Tim’s voice—to comfort or distract him—then so be it.

House got tested himself. Just in case. He knew he was careful—most of the time at least—but he couldn’t stop wondering.

When the result came back negative, he felt both relief and dread simultaneously wash over him.

He was safe.

-March 2010, Plainsboro Hospital-

House burst out on the roof. The cold air hitting his face didn’t stop his movement as he walked as quickly as he could out into the middle of the roof.

It was quiet and void.

The limp was more profound than it had been even that morning. His leg hurt but he didn’t care. He’d already downed two more paracetamol on the way up, despite the fact that he probably shouldn’t take them as often as he had that day.

His fingers itched and his skin crawled. If only he had another pill. The paracetamol was nothing like the one he wanted. Not even close.

Breathing in heavily, cold air filled his lungs. He held the breath until it burned just slightly and let it all out again.

He knew cravings all too well. Still, they felt stronger now than they had felt in a long time. It was something he knew he could withstand, but dearly wished he didn’t have to. If only he had one…

He dragged a shaky hand through his hair, letting his nails drag over his scalp. The sharp scratch barely even noticeable.

Hey, are you alright?

A ghost voice whispered in his head. Haunting him.

His eyes closed against it at once, trying to shut it out.

A smile flashed through his mind. A hazy memory. He couldn’t even be sure it was anything like the one he’d once seen. It had been so long. So many years had passed.

I know what will cheer you up.

That playful tone. So light. Not a worry in the world. So young and naive.

That young kid hadn’t known what would come. How fast the life he’d worked for would slip through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. Every grain of sand counting down the time he had left.

Then fate would hit the glass before it had even finished counting by itself.

House’s grip on his cane tightened again. The hard wood dug into his joints, muscles, finger pads.

He hadn’t thought of Tim this much in years. It made him feel both guilty and blessed.

Over the years life had grown around that hole inside him. Filling out the space around the grief had made it seem smaller. It was in no way smaller, but at least he had other things to focus on.

That was, until now.

Well, he knew it would pass quicker this time than it had initially. But the harsh reminders—the insistent nagging of old memories in the back of his mind—all kept his heart in his throat in a way he thought he’d gotten over a long time ago.

Sometimes he wished he’d gotten sick like Tim. That he would’ve been punished for that reckless one-night stand.

Perhaps then he and Tim could’ve laid next to each other in the hospital as their bodies slowly broke down. He knew it was a horrible way to go, but no one dies with dignity. At least they could’ve died without being lonely.

But no, House lived.

A grumpy doctor who intentionally treated everyone and anyone badly. Who only took the few cases that interested him. Who lived his life recklessly and selfishly.

While Tim, with dreams and hopes—who'd been kind and friendly—was barely even a memory anymore. With both his parents dead there were only distant relatives left. His friends had probably moved on or died much like him.

It was cruel to Tim that House was still there over twenty years later. One infarction and a few close-call drug overdoses later he was still alive and kicking.

It’s not your fault.

House took another deep breath. If it had been a little colder the air could’ve fogged.

He was a doctor. He’d always feel guilty. For not looking after Tim better. For not warning him, helping the research somehow or making sure he'd got even better care.

For leaving Tim in the first place.

You know I never blamed you.

He should’ve.

Chapter Text

-March 1987, New York-

It took months before Tim started to get worse.

At first, he tried to deny it. Both to House and to himself. Eventually, it became clear that something was off.

So House visited Tim again.

One didn’t have to be a doctor to see that he’d gotten worse. House had heard it over the phone, but denial was a hard thing to suppress. Hope just the same.

When it stared him right in his face, he couldn’t deny it any longer.

Tim had lost weight. There was a fine sheet of sweat on his forehead from a fever and he had a few sores at the corners of his mouth.

He tried his best to help Tim.

At first House acted like he did around any other patients (albeit a bit gentler). He tried to stay focused. Factual and professional.

All Tim had to do to break the act was lay a light hand on House's arm and look up at him with those blue eyes.

He smiled.

Despite it all, he smiled up at House who still stood in front of him holding a thermometer in a slack grip.

House swallowed trying to bite back the tears.

For how long would he be allowed to see that smile? For how long would Tim stay with him?

This time, it was Tim who held him as he cried. Tim, who was sick and might die. Tim—who he’d travelled all this way to comfort—instead had to comfort House.

He couldn’t complain.

Tim hugged him tight. Nuzzled his hair, murmuring that it’d all be alright.

-Summer 1987, New York-

As his internship year came to an end, House looked for ways to continue his residency closer to New York. Eventually, he got accepted to a position that would greatly lessen the miles between him and Tim. Additionaly, it gave him the opportunity to study infectious disease.

During the summer Tim took a turn for the worse. His immune system continued to weaken. He kept up a brave face and it hurt House knowing it was mostly for his sake.

When he finally got to New York for his continued residency it hurt to admit that Tim looked far from the man he’d met in college.

But he was still the same person. He forgot his reading glasses when he read. He dug his cold toes under House’s legs when they sat together at night.

He still looked at House with that same old warmth. The one he’d never seen in the eyes of anyone else. At least not directed towards himself.

When Tim continued to get worse, House insisted that he move from his apartment to live with House. That way he could help Tim and ease his struggles a little. The more selfish reason for it was that he got to see Tim more.

They only lived together for a short while. A couple of months, before Tim had to be moved to the hospital.

His breathing was heavy and his cough torture to hear. House’s own lungs burned as he watched Tim get worse.

When they could they took walks outside in a park near the hospital. They caught the last of summer, though Tim shivered despite the warm temperature.

House watched as Tim slowly and painfully faded.

Every time he came to visit, House walked through the ward filled with dying young men. Filled with men like him. Men like Timothy.

It was different when it was just a hospital House worked at. Where he was another doctor-to-be. But this was the same hospital—the same ward—that Tim was in.

He argued with Tim’s doctors and nurses. Plead that they do more. Try harder.

They didn’t take him seriously. Probably saw him as another desperate fag unable to accept fate.

On one of their walks, they stopped by a bench. When they sat down on it they could look out at the park.

Tim turned to House with a sad smile before he spoke.

“I always thought it’d be us again someday,” he said with a sombre voice. “That, one day, we’d be together again.”

“Technically we are together now,” House said sarcastically without the usual bite.

“I don’t mean like this,” Tim said, thumb stroking House's hand. “I mean a life together. A lifetime.”

House didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not without ruining it.

So he stayed quiet.

He was lucky that Tim wasn't bothered by it. Or perhaps he just silently agreed that there wasn't much more to say. There was nothing either of them could do but wait.

Tim passed away early autumn.

House found it ironic that he passed just as the flowers outside his condo began to wilt. As colder days were rolling in and sunny days getting shorter for each that passed.

It was only a few months after House had returned to New York.

Tim got sick quickly at the end. The pneumocystis pneumonia progressed too quickly. The complications made him worse.

He should’ve had a year or two more, but Tim wasn’t that lucky.

House came to the funeral as a friend. An old friend.

If he'd gone as anything else he wasn't sure he would've been welcome.

He didn’t hold a speech.

Tim’s mother had called beforehand and asked if he had a few words to share at the funeral as Tim's friend. He’d declined.

There was nothing about Tim worth saying that he could say in front of those people. Nothing he hadn’t told Tim already before he left.

Tim's mother accepted, despite her poorly hidden disappointment.

She continued talking to him for a bit. It hurt when she implied that House was a good man for staying friends with Tim "despite it all" as if she wouldn't have judged him if he'd chosen to abandon Tim.

Despite his anger, House didn't hang up on her. He just sat, defeated, next to the phone and waited until she was done talking.

House agreed to help carry the casket.

It felt like he buried a piece of himself as they lowered Tim into the cold dirt ground.

And I still see you

In a song on the radio

In a stranger's glasses

In a dream, a joke, a laugh

And I wished I could believe

They are crumbs of you

And not merely a distant memory

-March 2010, Plainsboro Hospital-

House had gone back inside after a while and returned to his office.

It seemed he’d temporarily scared away Chase and Thirteen since it was Kutner and Taub who came to tell him the test results. They must’ve heard something though since they acted oddly professional, if maybe a little stiff.

Kutner, as usual, looked like he wanted to ask all too personal questions. House didn't give him any chance to do so.

House also noticed that neither of them were wearing the custom t-shirts. Well, at least not yet.

The new test results gave him an idea for another treatment plan. One that would hopefully ease their patients struggles over night.

If he was right.

He'd sent them off to try the new treatment with a shooing motion before they could garther the courage to change topic.

At last, House had somehow made it to the end of the day. He even had most of his sanity intact. And he’d gotten his order for a huge custom banner to fit in the PPTH entrance confirmed.

As he read through the rest of his email inbox, he contemplated what he should order for dinner that night. Whatever it was he’d pair it with something alcoholic. Then he’d spend the night forgetting enough about the day to bear the next one. He expected the following day to be filled with continued teasing and probably newfound ways to feature an old Polaroid picture.

It was inevitable.

And from now on he’d have to act no more irritated than what would normally be warranted. He already had one strike, he couldn’t afford another.

“House?” An all too familiar and annoying voice spoke to him.

House grunted in answer.

“I heard from Thirteen and Chase that you seemed quite snappish earlier."

“Maybe because neither of them were doing their jobs,” House said, looking at Wilson over the edge of his reading glasses.

“You’ve been odd ever since this whole thing started,” Wilson said with a sigh. “What’s going on? I know you—if anyone—can take a joke. If you get mad you just have a good reason to get revenge.”

“I was a bit busy with the dying guy to focus on prank wars.”

Wilson gently shut the glass door behind him to let them have some privacy. House internally squirmed. He would’ve preferred it if Wilson just left him alone.

“Right. Except you’d never say that and mean it. Even your deflecting is offbeat,” Wilson said. “So what, you were in some theatre or something? Big deal. I was in a porno for god's sake!”

A small smile twitched on House’s lips. Wilson saw it and gave him a look. Then he pulled up the chair and sat down on the other side of the desk like he’d done earlier that day.

Wilson picked up one of the flipped over frames again. He sat looking at it for a while, as if trying to solve a riddle. He didn’t seem to be doing much solving though based on the wrinkle between his brows.

“If you hold it upside down it might turn into a forest nymph,” House said sarcastically after a while.

Wilson let out a small unamused laugh before looking up at House. The frame went a bit slack in his hand.

“Was it one of those late-night screening things?”

“Yes and no,” House said. The show he could talk about. At least somewhat. “It was more of a smaller screening. A few local actors just entertaining the crowd. And before you ask, I was just a stand-in one night when someone didn’t show.”

He shrugged leaning back slightly in his chair. He remembered how Tim had asked him to cover the spot. House had been young, and dumb, and in love, and never one to back down from a challenge.

It wasn’t even that he was all that embarrassed about it. He could certainly never regret anything that made Tim look at him the way he did after the show—eyes sparkling with love and admiration.

“Who’s the other guy? Did you know him?” Wilson asked.

House took a deep breath.

He could say he didn’t remember. Say that he didn’t know him. He could even use a fake name.

He didn’t do any of that.

Maybe it was the long day that had worn him down. Maybe the old memories had softened him up, reminded him of an easier time.

He’d never know why, but something made him open up just a little.

“Timothy Alden.” House nodded to the picture. “Went to the same college as me.”

“What does he do today?” Wilson asked curious, looking down at the young man.

The skeletons House had seen throughout the years flashed before his eyes for a second.

“Not much,” House said. “He’s dead.”

“Oh,” Wilson said.

Then his eyes said it once more. Any amusement they’d carried seemed to have disappeared.

“How?”

House paused for a moment before answering. “AIDS.”

Wilson downcast his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Why? It happened a long time ago. In a galaxy far far away.”

“Well…” Wilson said, looking almost a bit sheepish. “He was your friend.”

House kept his poker face.

He was sure he did.

He only looked down for a moment. His face didn’t move. If anything, it was barely a twitch.

But after having known him for so many years, Wilson had learned some of his tells. And he noticed the twitch. He saw the flickering eyes. He saw the tell.

“Wait, he- You and him, you-?“ he trailed off but the question still hung in the air.

“Believe it or not, I too had flings in college.” House ignored the pain he felt as he called Tim a fling. “I told you, I did almost anything for a blowjob. Someone had to rub off my hormone-filled dick in my youth. Guys have bigger… hands.”

He meant to provoke Wilson. Scare him so he wouldn’t ask more questions.

It rarely worked on him anymore.

Wilson seemed shocked, but not so much about what he said but rather what it meant.

“But- Wait, you’re gay? Since when?”

“Actually, I don’t really have a preference for a gender to get off with. As long as I—you know, get off.”

“But, you’re never with men!” Wilson exclaimed. “I would’ve noticed. I would’ve found out somehow.”

House paused. He hadn’t been with a man for a long time. Once or twice but… for some reason, it was still just ‘simpler’ with women.

He shrugged instead as if it was no big deal.

“No, you can’t just- You could have told me. You’ve certainly had the time to,” Wilson said.

House was actually a little surprised. Wilson was more angry that he hadn’t told him than he was about the whole ‘half-gay’ part.

“If you wanted me to ask you out you should’ve just said so,” House joked.

Wilson opened his mouth, then closed it. He had that ‘I’m disappointed’ expression.

“I know you like making everything a joke, but you really should’ve told me this before. I’m your friend.”

“And now you know,” House said.

He leaned over to pick up his ball before throwing it once into the air and catching it.

“So you and him, you were…” Wilson trailed off, staring down at Tim in the picture.

“Fuck buddies?” House asked.

“Involved?” Wilson finished instead.

“I guess if you want to be a prude about it,” House said absentmindedly. “Sure.”

Wilson was quiet for a moment. He had his ‘thinking face’ on. House hated it. It looked like he was in pain. There was a reason bimbos shouldn’t think after all.

“For how long?”

“Well, back then I had way more stamina-“

“I meant how long were you involved,” Wilson pressed.

House sighed like an annoyed child. He hoped Wilson would get bored of waiting as he stubbornly kept quiet, but his face just became more and more determined with time.

Eventually, House got bored enough to end it.

“A few years,” he said. “Give or take.”

“A few years?” Wilson seemed baffled.

“Well, it’s a little complicated,” House said. “Part of college and…” He trailed off but gestured his hand to vaguely show it continued beyond that.

“When did he pass away?”

It bugged House that Wilson had a hint of that sympathetic tone in his voice. That 'cancer news' voice. He hated that it was directed towards him, but didn’t have the energy to make a fuss about it.

“Don’t feel bad that you didn’t notice, it was before your time,” House said. “Late 80’s. I was in residency.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve already said that,” House said. “It was ages ago.”

“I don’t think that matters,” Wilson said seriously.

House was quiet. Neither confirming nor denying Wilson’s argument.

At least Wilson finally seemed satisfied enough with his answers. Well, at least for now.

Wilson stood up and placed the picture back on the desk carefully. The photo faced the ceiling, a light refelcting in the fram glass. His eyes lingering on it for a moment on it.

“Alright, I’ll just-“ he turned to walk away, but paused turning back again. “You, erm, you don’t have…?”

House looked up at Wilson through his brows. Then rolled his eyes.

“No, I don’t have HIV, Wilson. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be dying from it today,” House said. “Besides we’ve discussed STDs enough times I’m sure that would’ve eventually come up.”

Wilson said nodding once. “Right.”

Then he turned to leave—for real this time. Probably to go let the new information sink in.

House threw the ball twice more before putting it down on the desk.

The picture still lay there. He felt it pull him in slightly. Like there was an invisible magnet tugging at his attention.

Slowly, he reached out for the frame, picking it up. He looked at the second boy in the picture.

House wondered how he would’ve looked today, all grown up. Most likely, he would’ve been just as stunning—only older.

Maybe a bit of salt and pepper in his hair.

A few laugh lines too many.

He brushed his thumb over the boy's face once. Slow and tender.

Then he stood up to head home.

Chapter Text

House took a bit more time to get to work the following day.

Partly because he didn’t look forward to returning to what would probably be another day of pictures from the past (literally) staring him in the face. Partly because he hadn’t slept too well.

His leg had been acting up.

The previous night he’d returned the Polaroid picture to its old hiding place. Not because it needed to be hidden from others anymore, but it had worked for its safekeeping thus far and would work for years to come.

Eventually, he had to drive to work. If he hadn't, Cuddy would otherwise have called to yell at him.

Either that or his team would call instead to ask stupid questions. While he liked hanging up on them dramatically after telling them what to do, he also liked berating them in person. It was much more fun when he could see their facial expressions.

So he donned his leather jacket and drove his motorcycle to work.

He was lucky to catch an empty elevator up to his office floor.

Once he got out he caught sight of Wilson down the hall just exiting his office. He was already in his doctor's coat with a perfectly ironed shirt underneath. Not surprising, since he’d probably already been at work for several hours.

“House,” Wilson called out as he tried to catch up with him.

House didn’t turn around or slow his pace but Wilson eventually caught up either way.

He fell into step alongside House as soon as he was next to him. A slower pace than he used when walking alone.

“Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” House answered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, I just thought—“ Wilson said but House interrupted him.

“Oh, don’t act all concerned now. It's gross,” House said irritated. “Don’t you have some dying, cancer sick, child to go console?”

He glared at Wilson and walked through the door to the conference room before his friend could say anything more.

He got only a couple of steps inside before he paused. His eyes trailed over the gathered team, where they all sat like good little scouts boys looking at patient files.

As he turned around he noticed that there were no pictures today. No prints on mugs, or shirts, or a paper cutout. Nothing.

“What’s going on?” he asked, suspicion creeping over him.

“We have a new potential case,” Thirteen said. “Thirty-four-year-old man. Says he’s been struggling with—“

“Actually,” Chase said cutting her off. “I’d like to apologise for the mocking yesterday.”

He looked uncomfortable as he stared right back at House. His words uncharacteristic but sincere.

House’s eyes bugged for a moment. The others around the room didn’t speak but seemed to silently agree with Chase’s words.

House looked over his shoulder, staring at Wilson in betrayal.

"You told them?" House exclaimed turning fully back to Wilson who stood in the doorway behind him.

First Wilson looked horrified. Then he got that little frown he had when he felt guilty and confused at the same time.

"No- Well, I mean. Yes, I told them about your friend in the picture and that he’d passed. So that’s why you were— You know..." Wilson trailed off.

So Wilson at least hadn't outed him. He was the kind of guy who easily could've just dropped House's sexuality too, thinking it was 'no biggie' because his straight mind didn't know what consequences that could have.

The guy he definitely was though, was the type that apparently shared some private information packed into a half-baked lie, thinking that somehow made it okay to share.

"And you didn't think to ask me first?!"

Now Wilson just looked tired.

"Would you have approved?" He asked. "Look, I told them to not wear the t-shirts and to take down the pictures. I had to tell them!"

"Right. Because the action of simply doing nothing was just not possible," House answered with dripping sarcasm.

"Hey, we deserve to know!" Chase said. "You should've told us too. Instead, you let us flaunt a dead person in your face for a whole day making us look like assholes."

"I would've survived," House said and threw his bag into his office.

"Chase is right," Foreman said. "You should've told us."

Oh, he was wearing that sincere and disappointed look. House rolled his eyes.

"Well, now that you all know, can we move on with the case?"

"Wait a second," Thirteen said. "Wilson said 'no' first when you asked if he'd told us." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And you looked relieved after he told you specifically what he told us.” The others in the room seemed to grow more curious as they turned to look at House and Wilson. "That wasn't the whole truth. Was it?"

House looked to Wilson trying to say 'idiot’ with only his eyes. Wilson raised his hand in surrender, or an apology. Perhaps a bit of both.

"There is something more," Taub said slowly as he watched them.

"No, there isn't," House said firmly trying to leave no room for argument. In vain.

"No, there definitely is," Chase repeated like a parrot. "What is it? What more could there be?"

"Oh god, he didn't die on stage, did he?" Thirteen asked.

"No," House said.

"Maybe it has nothing to do with him. Something to do with the place?" Taub said.

House sent another 'you idiot' look towards Wilson who at least had the guts to look a bit guilty.

"No, it has to do with the guy. Wasn't he really your friend?"

"He was a friend," House answered Chase. "And that whole 'we won't bug you about him' plan is really going great."

"Wait," Foreman said, thinking he got an epiphany. "It wasn't like your brother or something?"

House looked at him with vague disgust and a lot of 'are you really that stupid'. "No!"

"No secret sibling then," Taub said disappointed.

House rolled his eyes before looking back to the conference table. And he saw Thirteen's eyes trained on him like a hawk. He knew that look and he did not want to see it right now.

"I knew it," she said with a small smirk.

"Actually you know quite a lot. Otherwise, you wouldn't be a doctor," House snarked back.

Taub, Chase and Foreman all looked confused.

"Know what?" Foreman asked.

Thirteen raised an eyebrow towards House. "Should you or I."

House just stared back. Not stopping her but not prompting anything either. Her smile grew.

"What? What could you have possibly figured out from that?" Chase asked leaning back in his chair like a tired teenager.

"They were together. Partners," Thirteen said.

Taub looked like he immediately believed her and stared at House in shock. Foreman seemed stuck between doubt and shock while Chase just snorted amused.

House gave no hint to show if she was right or not.

"Right. And what do you base that on?" Chase asked.

"He was too upset about the prank for it not to have been someone close to him. He tried to hide it but didn't succeed very well," she said. "When Foreman suggested it might've been a sibling he reacted strongly. Quickly. Seemingly disgusted by the idea. He never saw him as anything even remotely close to a brother. If he'd been a friend he probably wouldn't have reacted as quickly. If it was a lover though."

"And that's enough for your conclusion?" Chase asked though he seemed a bit less opposed to her theory now.

"That, combined with my previous suspicions, made me sure," she said.

Then she turned back to House awaiting his action. No matter how well he lied there was no fooling her now. The others he could maybe sway, but not Thirteen.

“Is she right?” Chase asked House.

“Let’s just say I walked with a limp before the infarction,” House said.

A few of them frowned in disgust at the mental picture that probably gave them. He felt slightly proud. Thirteen didn't twitch though and kept her amused smile.

“So. Patients. I assume we have them?” House said, heading for the pantry to get a cup of coffee. “Hit me.”