Chapter Text
Wilson had always been a people person. In high school, he'd been elected to the student council without ever putting up a poster; in college, he'd been in a fraternity and the science club, and he'd floated easily between both groups with no problems. Even in the cutthroat world of med school, he'd managed to have his cake (number 1 in his class) and eat it, too - at the after graduation parties of five different classmates. And now, at Princeton-Plainsboro, he'd been voted Clinical Staff Member of the Month three times in the last three years - twice in January and once in February. Even the guy least likely to ever win that award liked him - hell, House was sleeping with him, that was beyond like. Wilson was, for lack of a better word, popular.
It wasn't that there weren't people who didn't like him. His ex-wives, for example, weren't his biggest fans, and he'd had to give his share of bad news to unsuspecting patients over the course of his career. He also sat on the hospital disciplinary committee - or he had, until his friendship with House had proven too much of a conflict of interest - so there were some bad feelings, there. That was all reasonable. Reasonable people could dislike his actions, but in general, Wilson was likeable. Liking Wilson seemed to be everyone's default starting position.
Which was why Karl Nathanson drove him nuts.
Nathanson had been the head of oncology before Wilson. He was a wry, intense, slick politician of a doctor with a very solid research portfolio, and he'd been perfectly friendly when he'd interviewed Wilson to join the oncology staff. After Wilson had accepted the position, though, things had changed very rapidly. For no reason that Wilson had ever been able to figure out, Nathanson had had it out for him. Wilson spent his first six months at Princeton doing grunt work, stuff that interns should have been doing, not work suited for a man who had just finished a prestigious fellowship at Sloan-Kettering. He'd tried to talk to Nathanson several times and heard nothing but bland platitudes about rookies needing to earn their place. When Wilson had finally complained to Grant Halloran, the hospital administrator, word had gotten back to Nathanson almost immediately - and Wilson had spent his second six months doing nothing more exciting than skin cancer check-ups.
After that, he'd had two options: keep his head down and look for another job, or try and get things fixed. The hiring of a new hospital administrator - one Lisa Cuddy - had given Wilson his opportunity. She'd already had an unpleasant run-in with Nathanson by the time Wilson talked with her, and so he'd been promoted very quickly to associate head of the department. A year later, just as Wilson's tenure was coming through, Nathanson had left for a job at the new M.D. Anderson satellite in Austin. The rest was history, which was exactly how Wilson wanted it all. He considered it a dark little chapter of his own life, but a chapter long since finished.
Which was true until he saw the message from Cuddy waiting for him on his desk that Monday.
"Fuck."
Princeton had a number of speaking series going on at any time. It wasn't really a surprise to see Nathanson on the program for the upcoming Caligento Human Studies Lecture; he'd done some interesting work at UT. What was surprising was the tidy note on the message sheet: will be here all week; wants to see you, Tuesday or Wednesday.
Wilson wanted nothing to do with meeting Karl Nathanson anywhere, for any reason. Just thinking about the guy made his skin twitch. He crumpled up the message but couldn't quite make himself throw it away; instead, he stuck it in his pocket and then went next door.
"I need an excuse," he said, walking into House's office.
House didn't even look up from his computer. "You were with me," he offered.
Wilson took a seat across from House. "Not an alibi, an excuse."
"Keep forgetting you're not married anymore."
"It's been a year," Wilson said. Cameron's presence in the conference room kept him from reminding House that it had been a year during which Wilson and House had been having some pretty decent, if somewhat casual, sex.
House glanced over, just for a second, before returning to his computer. "Keep forgetting you're not married again." He clicked his mouse furiously, and Wilson craned his neck to see what he was playing. Something with very small orange fish.
"Hey," he said, knocking on the surface of the desk, "I'm asking for your help, here. You have special powers for avoiding people. I need your expert, anti-social advice."
House scowled briefly at the screen, then lifted his hand from the mouse and turned to Wilson. "All right," he said. "Who are you avoiding?"
"Karl Nathanson."
House blinked. After a moment's pause, he pushed the mouse away. "Well, that shouldn't be too hard," he said, "seeing as though he's in Texas. I know it looks close on MapQuest, but there's a thing called 'scale' that we should discuss."
"He's giving the Caligento speech next week," Wilson said, leaning back in his chair. "Here."
"So just don't go to the speech," House said. "I can't imagine he's jumping at the chance to see you." House had been around during Nathanson's reign, too. They had, in fact, been neighbors. Wilson remained a little surprised that the hospital had survived such a concentration of antisocial behavior. "Unless you two have kissed and made up?"
"God, no," Wilson said. "At least, I didn't think so." He pulled out the crumpled message and tossed it to House.
House read it and looked surprised. "Maybe he's mellowed," he said. "Detente?"
"I didn't start the war," Wilson muttered.
"He was probably just jealous of your good looks," House said, grinning. "Now that you're older and uglier, you two will probably be the best of friends."
"That'll work, since I'm about to have an opening in that position." Wilson shook his head. "So no advice? No great words of wisdom, no foolproof plan for how to avoid him and/or make his life hell?"
"Hey, that's your battle, not mine," House said, reaching for his mouse again. "Make love not war, man. Speaking of which, you coming over tonight?"
"Classy," Wilson said, standing and taking the memo back. "And, yeah, if I get away from the transplant committee meeting on time."
"I'll get pizza." Wilson nodded and put the memo back in his pocket. As he reached the door, House called out. "Just blow Nathanson off," he said. "Tell him you have some major medical emergency to deal with. Have one of the other guys show him around. He probably just wants to see the building."
Wilson nodded and went back to his office. It was good advice. Tim Nelson had been around when Nathanson had been director; he probably wouldn't mind showing him around. Wilson could ask him. Hell, he was the boss, he could make Nelson do it.
He was the boss. He shook his head. This was ridiculous. There was no reason he couldn't be a professional about this. Karl Nathanson, dickhead or not, was a respected cancer researcher and oncologist. Wilson ran what was arguably one of the top five cancer treatment centers in the country. If Nathanson wanted to talk, professional to professional, Wilson could be an adult about it. What was past, after all, was past.
He called his assistant and told her to clear some time for Nathanson on Wednesday morning. And then he grabbed his case files and wondered what the chance of anyone having a major medical emergency that week was, and hoped - just for a second - that it was high.
Wilson spent the night at House's place on Tuesday but took his own car in. Though he'd been giving himself the I'm-a-professional speech all week, he needed fully-leaded Starbucks fortification before he could face Nathanson.
Nathanson was waiting at the oncology reception desk, talking to Anita, a big grin on his face. He looked a little different - close-shaven hair instead of the dark mess he'd had before (probably to cover up the gray, Wilson thought), and he was in better shape, with a Texas tan (clearly not spending enough time in the office), but his booming voice hadn't changed a bit. He laughed like thunder, and Anita's high giggle overtop sounded ridiculous and somehow made Wilson feel left out.
He took a sip of his quadruple-shot cappuccino and stepped forward. "Karl," he said, holding out his still-gloved hand.
"Jim," Nathanson said, the grin still on. He shook Wilson's hand, a good, firm shake. "Coffee still sucks here?"
Wilson smiled back. "Inconsistent at best," he said, and Nathanson actually laughed.
He followed Wilson back to his office, and on the way, they made pleasant, professional small talk: Wilson told him about the hospital's new lab, Nathanson talked about the research they were doing on GD2, they compared notes over the last issue of Cancer Research. There was a brief, awkward moment as they entered the office, when Wilson realized he was still using the same desk that Nathanson had had - it was a good desk, really, and had been pretty new when Wilson had moved in - but things were OK. Nathanson had, apparently, mellowed. He was attentive and maybe even impressed as they walked through the oncology wing; they even had a great discussion of the new PET scanners GE had been testing, while they stood outside of radiology, and Wilson was surprised to find himself enjoying the morning. He was so used to being the boss that he forgot, sometimes, what it was like to speak with someone who was an actual, level-on colleague, someone who didn't have an agenda to push with him.
Beyond that, taking Nathanson around afforded Wilson a little bit of celebrity. They ran into Nelson and Erica Blake, both of whom remembered Nathanson, and Wilson felt a little thrill of pride. His staff got to see him interacting with Big Bad Nathanson, and Nathanson got to see how the staff interacted with him. Win-win.
"Looks like you run a good ship here," Nathanson said as they waited on the elevator. "Blake was always sharp."
"She was published in Blood last spring," Wilson said.
"Yeah? That's excellent." Nathanson patted the wall of the elevator. "I can't say I miss the weather, here, but you've got a good set-up. I'd love to see that lab once it gets running. We've been looking into getting something like that at UT, but I'm in a war with the administration over what's necessary."
Wilson nodded. "I know how that goes," he said. He was feeling generous, and a little guilty about all of his earlier dread. "Say, if you're still around tomorrow - I don't know what your schedule is like, but I was going to have a walkthrough with Dr. Cuddy and the contractor tomorrow around nine. You're welcome to join us."
Nathanson smiled as they got out of the elevator. "That sounds good, actually. Let me check one thing." While he tapped on his Palm Pilot, Wilson spotted Chase coming down the hall and nodded in greeting. He walked over as Nathanson confirmed the time for the next day, and then Wilson introduced him to Nathanson.
"So, you work for House, huh?" Nathanson said, shaking his head. "How's he doing?"
"He's House. Can't imagine him being any different," Chase said, and Nathanson shook his head. Chase turned to Wilson. "Actually, he's being a bit of a bastard today. Think you could stop in and talk him down?"
Wilson rolled his eyes. "I can't promise miracles," he said. "I'll drop by after lunch."
"Uh-oh, who's going to feed him, then?" Chase asked, then laughed. "I'll tell him." He waved before turning toward diagnostics.
When Wilson turned to Nathanson, his face was, suddenly, blank. "I'm sorry to cut this short, Karl, but -"
"That's fine," Nathanson said. "I think I've seen enough."
His tone was the tone that Wilson had been waiting for all day: sharp and cold. Wilson nearly flinched. "Ah. OK," he said. He had walked a few feet down the hallway, and Nathanson hadn't followed. "Well then, it was, ah, good to see you."
"Sure," Nathanson said. He turned and hit the button for the elevator, and his back stayed turned.
Wilson, flabbergasted, stared at him for a minute before turning around and walking to his office. Inside, he closed the door. "What the fuck?" he whispered. Things had gone so well all morning. Maybe, Wilson thought, sitting at his desk, Nathanson had thought he was bragging when he'd talked about the meeting with Cuddy.
Or maybe the guy was just a jerk.
His phone rang, and Wilson answered it reflexively. "Yeah?"
"You survived?" House said.
Wilson rubbed his forehead. "Mostly," he said. He tried to shake it off. "That's why you're calling?"
"Lunch?"
"I have a meeting with Cuddy at noon."
"Great," House said, "who am I supposed to eat with?"
"Cameron?"
"Have you looked at her? I don't think she even eats. Food looks at her like cancer looks at you."
Wilson smiled, just a little. Nathanson wasn't a part of his world; why was he even worried about this? "If you can make it through the day, I'll bring Chinese tonight."
"I guess that will do," House grumbled, but Wilson could tell he was smiling. He ducked his head into House's office on his way to Cuddy's, though, just to make sure.
That night, they did have Chinese. Wednesdays were a slow television night, but they'd been working their way through "Footballers Wives" one DVD at a time. While Tanya Turner screeched on screen, being her usual bipolar conniving self, Wilson thought about Nathanson. He'd tried to tell House about the scene earlier that day, but House had blown the discussion off. Wilson wasn't ready to let it go.
"I wish you'd seen Nathanson today," he said. House didn't move, just kept his eyes on the television. "You don't get it." He set down his empty carton. "It was like a snap reaction. Like I said I was going to meet with Cuddy, and all of the sudden he just turned back into the monster."
House gave him a long, sideways look. "Brain problem?" he said.
"What? No," Wilson said. "House, I'm not asking you to diagnose him."
"Then could you shut up? I'm trying to watch the tee-vee."
Wilson groaned. "Fine," he said. He picked up his finished carton and House's empties and took them all to the trash in the kitchen, then got himself another beer from House's fridge.
As he walked back out, House said, "Hey, are you staying tonight?"
He shrugged, then realized House couldn't see that. "I don't know," he said. "I guess. I don't have to be in until 9 tomorrow."
"Lazy bastard," House said, and Wilson laughed.
It wasn't an every night thing, between them, and that wasn't Wilson's fault. This was what House was capable of - casual and easy. Wilson got that. The only serious relationship he'd had in his life had been five years with Stacy, and that was an anomaly. House hadn't ever said that explicitly, but Wilson was an excellent reader of people. He'd seen House after that breakup, and could, therefore, understand his reluctance to try anything that serious again.
Beyond that, House still seemed to be getting used to the guy thing. Wilson had experience in this area - part of his popularity in college and med school had been based on his equal-opportunity dating - but he could understand why House needed to take things kind of slow. So Wilson was waiting it out.
He sat on the couch again and looked over at House, who was, Wilson could tell, only barely watching the show. Maybe what Wilson needed was a distraction. "How well did you know Nathanson?"
House sighed. "Why?"
"Because there's got to be a reason," Wilson said.
"Please give up," House said.
"No," Wilson answered. "This guy seems to hate me. I want to know why."
"Because he's a dick. And he's always been unreasonable."
"I guess." Thing was, though, Nathanson had seemed perfecetly reasonable all morning. Maybe it was seeing Chase - maybe Nathanson just didn't like young doctors. That made Wilson feel a little better, and he turned to House. "That's twice today that you've said something nice about me, albeit backhandedly."
House huffed and paused the DVD. "What are you talking about?"
"One," Wilson said, ticking off a finger, "you said food looks at Cameron like cancer looks at me. Implying that I am, in fact, a good doctor."
"This is sad," House muttered, but he looked intrigued.
"Two, you just implied that everyone who doesn't like me is an unreasonable dick." Wilson grinned. "I think you may just like me after all."
House kept staring at him, and though his face looked completely blank, Wilson could see the slight twitch of a smile fighting to get through. House turned back to the television, and Wilson knew he'd won. He leaned closer. "So why don't you prove it?" he whispered.
The smile won out, then; House was smirking when he said, "Why don't you?"
So Wilson did.
The next morning, they rode into work together, though Wilson left House in the lobby to talk with Chase and Cameron about some new case. He rode the elevator up to his own office, practically whistling. Amazing how a good night's sleep and a little likeability-reaffirming sex could improve his whole outlook on the world.
Karl Nathanson was waiting inside his office. Outlook: damaged.
"Uh, Karl," Wilson said, taken aback.
"Anita let me in," Nathanson said. He was sitting in one of the consult chairs, dressed in a full suit, his hands folded over one knee. "Though I promised her I wouldn't tell you."
"Noted," Wilson said, hanging up his coat. He edged toward his desk, his eyes trained on Nathanson, expecting the monster at any moment despite his soft voice. Surely he wasn't here for the tour, still.
"Listen," Nathanson said, after Wilson had taken a seat. "I, ah, I owe you an apology."
"Oh," Wilson said, surprised. "Well. No, it's not -"
"Not just about yesterday," Nathanson said. "Back when I was - well, when I was you. I wasn't very kind." He rubbed his forehead, and looked ready to say something else for a moment, then put his hand down and looked at Wilson. After another pause, he said, "So, I'm sorry. You're a good doctor, you're obviously doing good work here."
"OK," Wilson said. He met Nathanson's eyes. "Well, thank you, Karl," he said. "I really - it's not a big deal."
Nathanson nodded. "OK." A heavy, awkward silence settled in, and Wilson knew that just within those few seconds, his chance to ask why had passed. Nathanson looked down, then up again. "Would you - could I still catch that tour this morning, do you think?"
"Sure," Wilson said. He stood up, not knowing quite what to do. At the very least, they should get out of the office, he decided. If they went where there were other people, maybe one of the other people would intervene and stop the awkwardness. "Listen, do you want some coffee?"
Nathanson smiled, the real smile, the non-monster smile. "That sounds good."
They went to the first-floor cafe, where Wilson could get a strong cappuccino. Wilson called Cuddy's assistant, en route, and found out Cuddy would be a little late for the tour, so he steered Nathanson to a seat at a small table. No one from oncology was anywhere nearby; just Wilson's luck.
"So, how long are you in town?" Wilson asked, casting around for something to break the silence.
"Through the weekend," Nathanson said.
"Catching up with old friends?"
"Actually," he said, "I'm here for a conference."
"Oh yeah? The genetics thing?"
Nathanson smiled, a thin, almost shy smile. "Actually, no," he said. "I'm giving a speech at the GLMA conference in Atlantic City on Saturday."
Wilson took a sip of his coffee to cover his surprise. GLMA. The Gay and Lesbian Medical Association. "Really?" he said. "Wow. I mean, that's great. I didn't even know that was going on." Nathanson nodded. "Have you, ah, been a member for long?" he asked, and then winced at his own question. "Never mind, you don't have to answer -"
"It's OK," Nathanson said. "This isn't going to make a lot of sense to you, but I actually owe you this explanation. I came out around the same time I moved to Austin. It was just time for me. Part of the reason I was such a jerk when you started was - well, it was a rough time for me. My first serious relationship with another man was breaking up around then, and - I was just going through a lot." He smiled, a sad but still friendly smile. "It's not an excuse, but - there it is. It wasn't you."
Wilson nodded. He didn't know what to say. Part of him wanted to give Nathanson some sign, to say, I get it, I do, and part of him wanted to say, What the fucking hell? Are you serious? How does this make any sense? He took another sip of his coffee as a compromise between the two. The cup was almost empty.
"So, what about you?" Nathanson said, his voice pleasantly casual. "Anita told me that things didn't work out with you and Christina."
Wilson almost choked on his last sip of coffee. He set the cup down. "That was three wives ago," he said, and Nathanson's eyebrows went up.
"Wow," he said. "Huh. So, uh, not married now?"
"No," Wilson said. It didn't feel too weird to say it, anymore.
"Seeing anyone?"
"Yeah," he said, thinking of House, then shrugged. He glanced around, out of habit.
"Office romance?"
"Something like that," Wilson said. "It's - complicated."
Nathanson grinned, a smile that was both collegial and friendly and maybe even a little bit teasing. "It always is," he said.
The tour went well. Wilson was pleased with the progress on the new wing, and Nathanson had been impressed with their projected equipment layout. They spent a half-hour afterwards talking through some of the alternate designs Wilson had been looking at, and then Nathanson glanced at his watch. "I've got to run - lunch with another old friend," he said. "But I'd love to talk more about this."
"Sure," Wilson said, shaking his hand. "Drop in later today, or any time, really. And - you've got my number, right?"
They exchanged information, and Wilson was glad to have Nathanson's contact info. He figured they could, actually, become friends now.
"Is it weird," he asked House, settling in at their table at lunch, "that I like him better now that I know he's gay?"
House coughed and bent over his tray. "Uh, he told you that?"
"Yeah," Wilson said. He explained about the conference.
House raised an eyebrow. "That's all he said?"
Wilson shrugged. "He mentioned that he was going through some kind of breakup when I first started, and he apologized for being a dick."
"He just - came out to you?"
"Yeah," Wilson said. He took a bite of his salad and thought back over his conversation with Nathanson. "It was a little weird. He actually said he owed me the explanation. That it had something to do with why he was such a jerk." As he said it, the pieces aligned in his head, and Wilson set his fork down. It all made sense, in a twisted sort of way. Nathanson had been difficult with him because Nathanson had been attracted to him. It explained almost everything. "Do you think he had a thing for me?" he asked.
House groaned. "No."
Wilson picked his fork up again. "That's it? Just no?" He took a bite of his salad, then shook his fork at House. "It explains everything," he said. "It's third grade romance logic. He wanted me, he couldn't have me, and so he was mean to me."
"Or not," House said. "You aren't irresistible."
Wilson grinned. "Or maybe I am," he said. "All the hot doctors want me."
House rolled his eyes. "Right now, all the hot doctors at this table want you to shut the hell up." House tossed his napkin over his own lunch and leaned back in his chair. "Maybe he actually was going through a breakup."
"And I'm sure I wasn't helping."
House snorted. "Yeah, on that I bet you're right," he said. He stood up. "I've gotta check on the new patient."
Wilson watched him go, smiling just a little to himself and feeling very wanted. He finished the rest of his salad and all of House's fries, then got a bottle of water - his nerves were shot after the caffeine from the morning - and headed back upstairs.
As he walked past House's office, he glanced in. Nathanson and House were standing in the middle of the room, talking, and Wilson grinned. Here was the perfect chance to prove his point to House. He swung open the door with a smile. "Hey, guys," he said.
When House looked up, it wasn't with his usual annoyance or amusement; it was alarm Wilson saw on his face, panic, something like an oh-shit-I'm-caught look. He didn't have time to study it before House's eyes narrowed and his expression snapped back to its normal, irritated mask.
"Don't you knock?" he asked, stepping away from Nathanson and toward his desk.
"That's usually my line," Wilson said, but he felt, suddenly, uneasy. Nathanson was looking between them with flat curiosity. "I thought you had to check on your patient?"
House shrugged. Normally, Wilson would have pressed him for more - letting House sit in a bad mood was like letting a steak marinate in a bad sauce. It would only get more bitter with time - but they had a visitor. He offered Nathanson an apologetic smile, and was surprised to see Nathanson giving him a similar smile in return. "OK," Wilson said. "Just wanted to check in."
He started out the door, and Nathanson followed him into the hall and then over to his office. Inside, before Wilson could open his mouth, Nathanson said, "Same old bastard, isn't he?"
Wilson started to reply, and then he looked up at Nathanson's face. He looked sympathetic, and a little bit... wistful.
Wilson sat down. "House," he said, shaking his head as the pieces fell into place. "House was the break-up."
Nathanson nodded, slowly, and took the chair across from Wilson. "No one knew about it. We met when he was working the renal unit." Nathanson shrugged, which gave Wilson the time to do that math. That meant they'd probably been together for a while. Years. He felt a little light-headed.
"We're - he and I -" Wilson started, but Nathanson cut him off.
"I know," he said. "I figured it out yesterday. It's part of why I told you, today."
Wilson looked up. "You said you owed me an explanation - is this why?"
Nathanson nodded. "I was jealous," he said. "You and Greg - you hit it off right away. By the time you joined the staff, everything was a fight between us, and when he clicked with you - it's funny, really, that you are together now, because I accused him of it ten years ago." He smiled, not his full, slick smile but something smaller, more genuine. "You have to understand, it was a whole different world, then. We didn't even talk at work. He kept a separate apartment just so no one would get suspicious."
"You lived together," Wilson said, and Nathanson nodded.
"I thought I was over it," he said. "I figured I'd come back and see that nothing had come of it - you were married, and I heard he'd been with a woman for a while - and it would be fine. But then yesterday, when that doctor asked you to go calm him down -"
"We're not out," Wilson said. "We're not - anywhere close to it. That's just how we've always operated."
"Yeah," Nathanson said, and he had that same wistfulness back in his voice. "Still, that's much more intimacy than we probably ever had."
He left, pretty quickly, after that. Wilson stayed in his office. He wasn't sure what to make of it all. House and Nathanson? Living together? It ruined all of his theories on why House wasn't ready to take the next step with him. It ruined a lot of the other things he'd thought he'd known, too.