Work Text:
House wishes he could go back in time and smack himself on the head for deciding to listen to Cuddy and do his clinic hours. Even with his job, his dick and his bike in imminent danger, faking or actually dying was a smarter option than coming to the clinic at its busiest time.
"What do you think about me growing a fringe?" House asked in the direction of a startled nurse. Patty? Or was Sheila? "People always listen the anguish of emos and ignore old people. Maybe the emo force cancels out the force of my collagen falling out."
The nurse didn't answer. God, no one had a sense of humor in that hospital. He took the next file from her hands and limped over to the stretcher of the next idiot writhing with diarrhea. His hands were pressed to his stomach hard enough to pull at the fabric of the hospital linen. Maybe it would tear if they waited a few more hours. A man in his thirties or younger, black, with a fresh tattoo on his arm. No visible injuries. Intense abdominal pain and a dead stare.
"You look like a dead fish. What have you been eating? Hospital food or hospital waste? They're almost in the same space, I wouldn't judge you if you mixed them up."
"Porra, doutor. Tô morrendo aqui. Acho que vou explodir por algum buraco."
House felt his eyebrows go up, "How wonderful! We pretend you understood what I said and I pretend I understood what you said!" He shone his light into the patient's eyes, who didn't even blink in surprise. There was no dilated pupil - as expected. House was just killing time. He could go through a rectal examination if it prevented him from going on to another patient. His hands pressed on the clearly swollen abdomen, and the non-English speaker groaned in pain. "Appendicitis, what a surprise. Administer ceftriaxone. Two grams." House told the nurse gracelessly and started to leave. "Adiós! Sayonara! Goodbye! If I knew another generic goodbye, I'd say it!
"Valeu!" The man shouted. House raised his thumb and went to another patient.
***
A few hours later, his pager beeped while he was examining the throat of an old man who fished too much to not have a sore throat. House left the old man saying he'd be back soon (he wouldn't. And he left the file on Chase's desk with an angry post-it note to sound like Cuddy) and walked over to the same yellowed gurney as before.
The man was full of red lesions on his arms and neck, scratching them with long nails that made the allergies even worse. His breathing was also wheezing, and his hands were still wrapped around his stomach.
"I imagine today wasn't your top 10 best days. But congratulations. Such a strong allergy to ceftriaxone is quite rare." House tilted his head to the side as he hummed in thought. "We can administer Levofloxacin, but you could die. Or we administer Cefdinir, which has less chance of you dying. But it could make the allergic reactions worse."
"Eu odeio o sistema de saúde de vocês." The man said with a weary sigh. That, at least, was understandable. "Talvez morrer aqui seja mais barato que pagar as dívidas que essa porra vai me dar."
"I heard a do what you can, doctor? Yes. I think I heard. Administer Cefdinir orally. 600 milligrams."
The nurse nodded anxiously and started to prepare the medicine. House counted the steps out of the place, and was happy to beat his record of five steps.
***
The allergies got worse.
The man's face was now so swollen it looked like a basketball. There was blood in his urine and his abdominal pains worsened enough to cause him to faint. If he didn't administer the right medicine to deflate his appendicitis, he would die. If he administered another medicine that gave him an allergy, he would die.
House sighed and leaned his head on his crutch. What a horrible day. At least his vital signs were stable and continued to be stable as he beeped at the only man with eyes like melted chocolate who could give him an idea of what to do.
"This had better be urgent." Wilson spoke with a certain impatience, entering the room with his hands in the pockets of his lab coat and his hair a little messier than usual. Ugh. Always cute. How did he do that? "I was with a patient-"
"Luckily for you, my patient is dying. I have to choose between maybe killing him and maybe killing him. What do you think?"
James wrinkled his eyebrows and looked at the poor dying man. He was also breathing harder, and his eyes were closed. Sleeping, to help everyone there.
"There was nothing in his file about allergic reactions?"
"Nope." House shrugged. "And look at that! He doesn't speak English. So you can't blame me for not talking."
Wilson's gaze went wide. "You could have made him write."
"He'd shit himself before he could get his hands off his abdomen. I doubt he'd have the strength to hold a pen. Can you please help me choose the way I might kill this poor bastard?"
As if he had heard the insult directed at him, the patient slowly woke up - groaning in pain and clasping his hands to his stomach again. His eyes were duller than before, and there was sticky sweat on his forehead.
"Acho que vou morrer aqui... Espero que minha mãe consiga transportar meu corpo."
"See?" House waved his cane. "I recognize some words. Portuguese is similar to Spanish, but not the same. Unless I can get a translator for this guy in the next three hours, he's dead."
House was expecting Wilson to scold him for not having found a translator as soon as he went to administer the first drug. How was he supposed to know that the patient would have not one, but two rare allergic reactions? It was only supposed to be simple appendicitis. He still didn't have the clairvoyant powers to always know that an idiot with damaged immunity would show up at his clinic.
But the rude words didn't come. Wilson wasn't actually looking at House. He had approached the gurney and set his soft gaze to talking to the patients. House rolled his eyes. What was he expecting to do there? Speak English with a northern accent to make the guy understand?
"Desculpe pela confusão, senhor..." His eyes went to the file. "Carlos. O senhor tem alergia a ceftriaxone e cefdinir, correto? Não podíamos checar antes pela barreira linguística. O senhor pode nos informar se tem alguma alergia a metronidazol?"
What. Wait.
What?
Wilson's voice was soft, much thinner than usual. The words flew out of his mouth easily, not lingering for a second on any comma or word with a complicated pronunciation. He even changed the pronunciation of the name of the medication, and House was sure that if he walked into that room at that moment, he would think it was two foreign relatives talking normally. Not fucking Doctor Wilson and a foreign patient.
"Graças a Deus alguém civilizado por aqui." The man mumbled with difficulty and James laughed. Not a forced laugh, but natural enough to make the diagnostician's shoulders tense. With that silly feeling that they were laughing at him - which wasn't so silly, really. Quite possible. And not that it mattered. House's attention was one hundred percent focused on Wilson's mouth and what was coming out of it. "Não, só era alérgico aqueles dois e a dipirona. Você é da onde, doutor? São Paulo? Saudades de lá!"
Wilson nodded and they chatted for a few more minutes. The patient smiled for the first time since House had set foot there, and James didn't even have a wrinkle on his forehead as he continued to chat and spend his time on futility.
Okay. House's brain spun a little. Wilson was bilingual. Big fucking deal. Most of the doctors he knew spoke French to try and prove they were better than the poor miserable people around them. House was a polyglot for much better reasons: he liked to be sure that he was cursing a scientific paper or a professional's presentation for what it was presenting, not for its shoddy translation.
So it wasn't extraordinary that Wilson knew more than one language. In fact, it's kind of mediocre that he does. But there was something strange itching in his brain about Portuguese being the language of choice there. Xenophobia in the balance, considering all the Brazilian women and the good sun he could get from there and other countries in Africa, as well as being able to swear at two Europeans from a ridiculous island in their own language, it still didn't make sense that James would learn a language so fluently for these reasons alone.
Hypothesis: Wilson lived in Brazil when he was little. That alone would explain his level of Portuguese. Not even if he had a mother and was a fake Latin could explain him having such a fluid conversation with a patient like that.
"Apply 875 milligrams of metronidazole." Wilson said to the nurse, who sighed audibly, and turned to Carlos. "Esperamos que agora dê tudo certo. Qualquer coisa, pode pedir para me chamarem, tudo bem?"
"Tudo bem, doutor. Muito obrigado! Qualquer dia trago uns docinhos pro senhor! Você vai adorar o quitute da minha avó!"
Wilson laughed again, waved and left the room.
House followed him like a specter of evil. James was probably expecting that reaction, from the nervous glances over his shoulder and how he went straight to his office instead of his place in the clinic.
"So." House clucked his tongue and slumped in his chair. "When were going to tell me that you could act in Brazilian porn movies? It would increase my respect for you."
"It's not a topic that normally comes up in conversation." Wilson shrugged.
"How did you learn Portuguese?"
James shifted uncomfortably in his chair and stared at the computer screen for a few seconds. "Gee, look at the time! I have some patients-"
"Wilson, if you don't tell me, I'm going to call your mother."
"I'm Brazilian."
House winked. "And I'm Australian. Did I mention that Chase is my son? You must have noticed from our curls. Identical."
James took a deep breath and rubbed his face vigorously. "See, that's why I never told you. You wouldn't believe me."
"Your name is James Wilson. There's no name whiter than that."
"My name is Jaime Wellington." James laughed heartily at House's horrified face. "Officially. I haven't used that name for years, because even my parents realized it was horrible."
House tried to pronounce it silently. And then out loud. And then James laughed again and House slammed his crutch down on his head, his face burning with shame. "Shut up! Is almost the same as Jimmy!"
"Ow! Ouch! Okay!" James huffed and leaned back in his chair. "What else do you want to know so I can get to work?"
"Why didn't you ever tell me? And how did you hide it from your files? I checked. Many times."
"As I said, it never felt like the right time. And the other part is more complicated." Wilson smiled awkwardly. "I had gotten my green card by marrying Sam. But I got a two-year extension before my green card expired and I became an illegal immigrant after divorce, but the hospital wouldn't accept me if my documents weren't completely correct. So..." He glanced around not so subtly, as if there was a little spy under his desk. "I forged the documents until I was able to marry Bonnie."
"You little slut!" House's eyes were two wide blue orbs. "You married the three bitches - you're married Julie now for the green card?!"
Wilson's face flushed deeply, from his neck to his ears.
House felt his jaw drop to the floor and a laugh bubble up into his throat, only to be trapped in a smile that was a little too macabre for the situation.
"And it couldn't be a scholarship green card, because your parents and siblings came here too."
Wilson agreed, his shoulders slumping. "Now my parents are much more settled, there's almost no danger. But if anything happens to me, Danny will probably be deported."
House took a deep breath and let his head fall back in his chair. He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, realizing that James was asking for a vow of silence there. It was stupid. House would never risk leaking this delicious secret, not even for all the gratification of being able to cast recognizable glances at James' ass with Cuddy or the little ducklings. It would only be his glances now. But fuck it. He was going to enjoy it.
"Say something in Portuguese."
James snorted. "What do you want me to say? Que você é um ótimo diagnosticador e tem olhos azuis assustadoramente bonitos?"
House felt his face heat up slowly as the soft voice floated through the air. "You're calling me out."
Wilson's eyes darkened at that for some reason and returned to normal too quickly to be natural. Huh. His smile was falsely sweet when it returned, sending a shiver down House's back. "Why don't you translate what I said, then?"
The diagnostician narrowed his eyes. "Maybe I will, you evil Brazilian gargoyle."
Wilson laughed heartily. "Right. Then go. I've answered your questions, now I have patients to see."
"'This isn't over, Jimmy". House spoke like a (decidedly queerbaiting) Disney villain as he slowly rose from his chair. "'This has only started'."
***
The first prank was pretty harmless. House just filled James' room to the ceiling with soccer balls, which fell on the oncologist as soon as he opened the door - and rolled down the hospital corridors. A lot of kids got free balls that day, and Wilson's face didn't even turn that scarlet red it always did when he was really angry.
While playing this prank, House had a few crises. One of them involved him throwing himself on the floor while Cameron and Foreman tried to pull his arms away and Chase pulled his legs into the exam room while thinking that his best friend's failed marriages were fakes.
Sadness couldn't be faked. House shuddered at the thought of being in a relationship for what Wilson was doing. He couldn't love America. That was laughable. Why would a talented, middle-class oncologist leave his warm country full of hot people to deal with people dying in a place that hated at least ninety-nine percent of what he was? He could look after the dying where he was! And drinking coconut water and...
"Cameron, name a typical Brazilian food."
Cameron sighed, straining as he dragged his boss's arm across the floor. "I don't know? I've never been there."
"Where's your plural education, girl? I don't need to have lived in Kansas to know that their food sucks."
"Feijoada." Chase said, huffing to avoid knocking House's injured leg to the floor. "My cousin made it once. It's, uh, a mixture of meats in a thick bean broth. It's really good."
"Do you think anyone would give up eating feijoada for fast food and hot hospital salad?"
Foreman let go of his boss's arm and raised his hands to the sky. "What does this have to do with our patient having syphilis?!"
"Everything, Foreman." House sighed. "Everything."
***
House approached Wilson while he had one hand on his head, resting on his desk full of papers, and the other on a pen that kept writing. His brow was furrowed in deep concentration. It was a perfect moment for this.
"Why did you leave Brazil?"
"Because I'm an international criminal and I killed the president there. Did you know that at the time there was a guy whose name meant squid?" Wilson said all this without stopping writing. "Actually, it was his last name. But you get the idea."
"He's still the president there."
"You make your search, huh? Three terms." His hands spun the pen, starting to get distracted. " He was the best we've had in a long time, and he wasn't even all that. Why do you ask?"
"I'm just judging your choice to leave a tropical country to come and live in America. And having three marriages in which you didn't love any of your wives to keep that shit going. Speaking of that, how's Julie?"
"She's going to file for divorce soon. I can feel it in the hairs on my chest." James said wearily. And he finally dropped his pen. Plan completed. "It's hard to explain to an outsider."
"Try. I don't have so many white colonialist thoughts on Thursday."
"I think it has to do with ambition when you're young." Wilson shrugged. "I didn't want to be reduced to where I came from. And I would be, no matter how much I stood out. I'd be the Brazilian, Jewish, Latin doctor and-
James stopped. His mouth closed in an audible snap that made House raise an eyebrow.
"And?"
The oncologist let out a nervous laugh and leaned further back in his chair. "Well, another bomb to be dropped." He took a deep breath as his face heated up. "And gay."
Oh.
Fuck.
"It was also terrible growing up in the dictatorship in Brazil. I was afraid of staying there and something similar happening. Again." Her face turned somber, taking all the color from before. "I knew I wouldn't stand a chance if something like that happened, and what better place to preserve your own freedom by taking away the freedom of others than America?"
The air was silent for a few seconds. House was trying to convince his brain not to have a stroke. It was going a bit wrong at that point.
"You flirt with a lot of women."
"Yeah. It's better to have a reputation as a dick than gay when you've got a fake marriage and a fake citizenship to maintain." Wilson shrugged again. This was beginning to irritate House. "I didn't intend to do this forever. I hoped Danny would get better, and that I could have told Sam about my situation before we ended up divorced. But everything went wrong and I ended up here.
"On the third divorce."
"In a possible third divorce, with a questionable friendship and denying my origins." James sighed. "I miss the food from there."
House rubbed his forehead hard. "Jesus Christ. I've known you for years. And I feel like I'm only starting to get to know you."
"We Brazilians are mysterious creatures." Wilson said this with a serious face, and then laughed. Hiding the smile behind his mouth. "Sorry. Damn. I've gone almost ten years without talking about it outside the house. It's so weird."
House nodded, watching James' watery eyes flash even as he hid it behind his hand and a smile.
***
Brazilians are hot.
And House isn't thinking that just because his hot best friend turned out to be gay, Brazilian and on his third official divorce - and, consequently, was sleeping on his sofa again. No, no. It was just a reality very well discussed by all thinking societies.
His mind went back to a few names. Ayrton Senna had a pointy face that made his pants feel tight when he was younger. Gisele Bundchen could step on your ribs in high heels and House would probably thank her. There should still be a photo of Djavan in his living room that was the target of many a wank, by the way. A present from his ex-girlfriend from high school, who was Argentinian and a fan of the guy. With lots of reasons.
So, okay. Brazilians were gorgeous. And Wilson was handsome before House even suspected that these two things were correlated. But now that the diagnostician knew, he was looking. Staring. Picking up on things that once made sense because Wilson was Wilson. And now they made sense because Wilson was Wilson... And a hot Brazilian.
His wide thighs flexing whenever he bent down to pick something up from the apartment, or when he needed to talk to some small patient. His huge ass that everyone in the hospital had made a point of pointing out over the years, covered sadly by his lab coat and only revealed at lunchtime or when he was sleeping on his stomach on the sofa, forming a mountain of flesh that was very nice to admire.
His hair was always so well groomed, waving on his forehead and with a strong perfume that chased him down the corridors. He would have liked to push that hair to kiss her forehead, or pull angrily so that those thighs knelt in front of him.
His confused smiles, hidden behind his hand or because he ducked his head and turned away from curious looks. His mouth, forming them. Pink lips that were licked when the oncologist was too nervous or pretended to flirt. Bitten lightly when he started to get angry. Cussing softly in Portuguese, now that he was free to do so in House's apartment.
His hazel eyes, honeyed with compassion and malice in equal measure. Smart for everything that was happening around them, and yet playing innocent when necessary. House wants those eyes staring back at him. He wants those lips on his. He wants those thighs in his hands. He wants that hair between his fingers. He wants Wilson.
"I think I have a kinky for Brazilians." House whined as he played his gameboy in Cuddy's living room. The woman was in the same concentrated pose as Wilson had been the day before. Again, a great opportunity to talk about this kind of thing.
"Still watching a lot of porn lately?"
"That's so xenophobic of you, Cuddy." The diagnostician frowned. "Rude. Very rude."
"I'm not xenophobic, I just don't want your disgusting comments in my office." She tapped her fingers lightly on the table. "Did you know I have a Portuguese dictionary?"
"Give it to me."
"I think I got it from an ex. Or was it from a book club?"
"Jeez. Give it to me."
Cuddy raised an eyebrow. "Have you really met a Brazilian in the last few months? Is that why James' office was full of flags last week?"
House smiled. "Yup. We're betting on who can see her big yellow-green melons first. I think I'm going to win."
Cuddy groaned in disgust and walked over to one of her shelves, pulling out a large green book that House had never paid much attention to before. "Here you go, you rotten creature. Keep the talk of you and Wilson away from the hospital."
"Oh, don't worry, if we continue, you won't be able to understand."
***
"Eu quero afundar minha boca no seu pau e te chupar até sua alma sair."
Wilson almost tripped over his own feet, knocking some coffee down Chase's back - who had the decency not to scream. "Oh, fuck - I'm sorry! House!"
House slowly investigated James' burning hot face as he wiped Chase's shirt. His ears were on fire, and the diagnostician felt a burning pride in his own chest. He was worried that his accent wouldn't be understandable enough. But as it turned out, it was.
"What did you say?" Cameron asked curiously, before Wilson turned back to the two of them with a burning gaze.
"Just the truth." House shrugged and flashed a shark-like grin at the ducklings as James began to pull him out of the room. "Bye, kids! Don't wait up for us! Dad and Mom have a few years of sexual tension to sort out!"
"Você é um bosta." Wilson grumbled, pushing a hand up House's back until they ended up alone in an empty, closed room. His face is still red, and House is happy to stare. "Since when did you learn Portuguese?"
"I haven't learned much. Just a few phrases. I still haven't learned your swear words."
"I called you a piece of shit." Wilson crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly. "Where did you learn that phrase?"
"Brazilian Twitter. They're very creative." House was starting to get impatient. His hands rested on James' waist, getting used to the warmth there. "So? Can I give you a blowjob or not?"
Wilson opened his mouth and closed it. His eyes weren't meeting House's, and the red on his cheeks was getting worse. God, it didn't even look like the two of them were two old men with health problems like that. Sort of. Only someone as old as Wilson could have that puppy-dog look on his forehead.
That..." He swallowed. "Is this a good time for me to tell you that there was more than my secrets to hide where I came from?"
Sometimes he hated how his brain jumped to the conclusion before the final answer had even arrived. He closed his eyes and let Wilson lean his forehead against his. "Jimmy, I'm not sexualizing you. You handsome idiot. I wanted to suck you off before I found out. Finding out you're Brazilian is as strong a motivation as you being gay and single. Even though I've often thought about cuckolding Julie with you."
Wilson laughed a little choked. "Sorry, Eu-"
"Has anyone ever stayed with you just because you were Brazilian?"
Wilson nodded awkwardly. "Sam."
House hated that bitch so much. Well done for marrying a gay guy. "Look, that line of thinking doesn't make any sense. I want you. If you'd told me last week that you were, I don't know, Russian, I'd have imagined you implanting a communist revolution instead of playing soccer and I'd be just as horny about it. Would your strange shared hard-on for me change if I were Canadian? Would you hate me if my hair was red and I cut off all my curses, Jimmy?"
Wilson shook his head, his eyes a little dull. "No. But it wouldn't be you."
"Yes. I don't think so."
James kissed him first. His lips were a little trembling and hungry, biting and drowning in House - who began to run his hands under his clothes. He did what he'd wanted to do all those years ago. He pulled that ugly tie to bring Jimmy closer, and moved his hands down to that huge ass. Wilson laughed and kissed his neck, tracing his lips across his stubble.
"Eu te amo." James whispered and House smiled, stealing another even stronger kiss.
"Yeah. I've reached that part of the dictionary."