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House waking up before Wilson was no longer the rare occurrence it once was. The months and months of poison being pumped into his body had him sleeping most of the day. Even now, after the treatment was over, he still dealt with lingering fatigue. Healing was hard, tiring work. House was always more than happy to let him sleep in. It gave him a chance to do something he would never do otherwise.
House propped himself up in bed on his elbows to get a better view of his partner. His hair was a mess. It was still shorter than before, but it had grown back enough to give him his signature bedhead. Strands of his warm brown hair stuck out in all directions. It brought a slight smile to House’s lips. Golden morning sunlight is streaming in through the window, highlighting his beautiful hair, and making it almost glow. The light especially highlighted the patches of grey at his temples. Those patches had grown since they left New Jersey, but House was okay with that. Seeing Wilson live to age was the best thing he could ask for. His grey hairs were proof that he was alive.
Bluebirds chattered away happily outside the window, but no bird song beat the sound of Wilson’s peaceful, even, sleepy breathing to House. When things had gotten really bad, House would stay up all night, sometimes going days without sleep, just watching and listening to him breathe. It was labored, uneven, and sounded painful at times. When Wilson would go just a bit too long without drawing in a breath, House’s blood would always turn to ice. “Was this it?” he’d wonder until he finally sucked in the next painful breath. The rhythmic rise and fall of Wilson’s chest was soothing. Up, down, up, down. One smooth breath after another.
House traced the outline of Wilson’s body under the blanket with his eyes. He was thinner than he once was, but not as thin as when he was in full swing of the chemo. Some days, he couldn’t stomach anything. Between the nausea and the mouth sores, eating was torture. It made House so angry to see something Wilson enjoyed so much ripped from him, cooking and enjoying delicious food. Who he was angry at, he couldn't say. But whenever Wilson would throw his favorite meals right back up, House would break inside just a little more. Watching Wilson waste away, seeing him become a shell of what he once was, had destroyed House. He had been so thin and his skin was so papery that House feared he’d break him at the slightest touch.
And being able to touch Wilson again- god, he couldn’t describe how it felt. Though he’d never admit it out loud, being able to hold Wilson, hug him, kiss him, feel him, made him feel alive again. Since Wilson had uttered those words, those three horrid words, House hadn’t truly felt all there. Wilson’s life being on the line made him feel as if he were on that line, too. And in a way, he was. Without Wilson, there was no House. Wilson is what gave him life. Wilson completed him. He would not be whole without him.
This morning ritual of observing Wilson was not uncommon. Some days when he woke first, he’d snuggle into his sleeping partner, and others, like today, he’d take in the sight of him. Watch him just exist.
“What are you doing?” Came Wilson’s groggy morning voice.
House quickly shuffled back into a laying position. “I was just, uh.. Just-” He attempted to stutter out an excuse.
“I know,” Wilson responded and turned over to plant a soft kiss on House’s lips.
House faked a shudder as he pulled away. “You have morning breath.”
“You’re not so fresh, either,” Wilson smiled at him.
House leaned back in to kiss Wilson again, this time deeper, longer. When they broke apart this time, Wilson moved to cuddle him. It was still new to House, letting himself be loved so softly, but he was learning to love it. Wilson’s body on his made him feel safe. The two lay there until they decided they really should get up. Though their days were mostly spent just enjoying each other’s company now, it felt like a waste to just laze in bed all day. They’d had too much of that during the thick of Wilson’s illness.
After getting up and brushing their teeth, the pair made their way into the main room. Wilson sat himself at the kitchen’s island, while House went rummaging through the cabinets.
“What are we thinking this morning, oatmeal maybe?” House asked.
Wilson nearly gagged at the thought. Plain oatmeal was one of the only things he could manage most days. I’d be happy if I never touched another bowl of oatmeal in my life, thank you very much.” He huffed out a laugh. “You know what to make.”
And he did. House was already pulling out ingredients for macadamia nut pancakes. It was a common enough breakfast in their household that the supplies needed were usually in the cabinets. Wilson moved to help prepare their meal. House enjoyed watching Wilson once again bustle around the kitchen. It seemed to come naturally to him.
“You know, this isn’t a cooking show. Come and help me,” Wilson said, cracking an egg into a bowl.
He was staring again. It was hard not to. The amount of times he thought he was about to truly lose Wilson had changed him. It made him think about all he had- and all he had was Wilson. His entire world was standing right in front of him. So sue him if he wanted to stare a little bit.
Though it was even better to do things with him, rather than just stare. House unfroze himself and continued helping Wilson prepare their breakfast. Once finished, they took their plates outside to dine on the porch. It was a mild spring day. Plants were beginning to bloom again, and creatures were coming out of hibernation. The world was humming with life. However, all of it paled in comparison to the man sitting next to House.
“Are you alright, House?” Wilson asked between bites. “You’ve been staring a lot this morning.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” House replies.
And it’s true. Sitting here, on the porch of an isolated cabin in upstate New York with the most important person in his world, he feels perfect. There was not a thing he would change. As he steals a bite off of Wilson’s plate (even though his own is plenty full), and Wilson glares playfully at him, all is right with the world.