That's How Strong My Love Is

by piscesmoon

Summary:

For once, Wilson doesn't fall into a relationship, much to House's irritation.

Notes:

The title is taken from Otis Redding.

Please click on the thumbnails to see these beautiful complete pieces of art:

Alone

by brynnamorgan

Void

by grelse

"James Wilson is never the safe choice. He always marries them in the end." - Gregory House

=o=

"There you are."

Wilson's voice cut through the fog in House's head.

The heat hadn't been on in the apartment last night, and there had been no one there to keep him warm in the sudden cold snap, so he'd been having a hard time moving this morning. His leg ached like a son of a bitch.

"Where else would I be?" House replied as he kept walking toward the elevators. His shoulders were hunched up in his wool coat, and his hat was at a rakish angle. He just wanted to make it to his office and collapse.

Wilson followed him. "I have a case –"

"Good for you!" If they were a normal couple they'd be having this conversation over breakfast, or maybe even post-coital, still in bed. Why the hell weren't they a normal couple? He poked the elevator button and looked up at the numbers, willing the elevator to move faster.

"I don't know what's wrong with him. I know you don't have any cases –"

He'd solved the last one a couple of days ago. "Jealous?"

"Yes."

House sneaked a glance at Wilson. He wasn't actually sure Wilson was capable of jealousy; he seemed to have shrugged off Julie's infidelity as his own fault. But Wilson thought everything was about him. "There was a mass on his liver, and I just can't –" Wilson shrugged. "He needs your talents."

"I didn't think you were sharing those." House leered at him. He poked the elevator button again. This time with his cane.

"I hadn't planned on it." Wilson rolled his eyes, and pushed the file toward House again. He let the back of his fingers brush over House's knuckles, pausing just a second, as the file was passed to him.

House looked down, no longer meeting Wilson's eyes. That wasn't playing fair. "It's one of your cases." He tried to give the file back, but Wilson wouldn't take it. "He's on chemo. What do you expect?"

"It's from the clinic. He isn't on chemo. He's in remission."

"And now he's not." House continued to hold the file out.

The elevator doors slid open.

"He has a nodule on his liver."

"Cancer. Case solved."

"I biopsied it; it isn't cancer."

Fine. It was an interesting case; he wasn't doing it just for Wilson. House took the file with him when he got into the elevator.

=o=

House pushed the glass door to the Diagnostics conference room open. Cameron was at the computer, probably answering his mail, Chase was working on a crossword puzzle, his pen in his mouth, and Foreman was reading a journal and taking notes. None of them was busy.

"New patient." House scattered the copies of the files on the table. Cameron came away from the computer, and the others put down what they were doing to pick up a file.

House walked into his office and retrieved his red mug to let them have some time to read. Staring at them was pointless. He should have sent them all to speed reading courses.

The case itself wasn't all that fascinating, but watching Wilson prostitute himself had been worth it. That hand touch – for someone who wouldn't commit, that was huge.

He went back in the conference room, rinsed his mug, and poured coffee. He looked out the window as he sipped, not really seeing anything.

He and Wilson had been together now for a couple months, but he wasn't sure what was on Wilson's mind. Wilson had taken him by surprise just when he was suspecting that there were no more secrets to uncover, and suddenly House had to know more about the amorous habits of the all-too-often-married Wilson. Whatever the wives had done, they'd done wrong, and Gregory House was not repeating those mistakes.

He'd considered calling the wives to help figure out what didn't work, but he barely knew the first one, Bonnie didn't much like him, and Julie hated him. They'd only lie, anyway. House was sure any one of them would take Wilson back in a heartbeat.

All he knew right now was that Wilson insisted on keeping the hotel room, and sleeping in it almost every night. And even when he didn't make it back to the hotel room, he always made it as far as House's couch. He hadn't spent a single night in House's bed.

Somehow that little commitment, spending the night, had taken on gigantic importance in House's mind. It was a simple commitment that Wilson wasn't making, as if House were a fling between marriages, and that idea pissed House off. People might lie, but their actions didn't. Wilson was probably looking for a new wife already. He had to be stopped, both for his own good, and for House's. What would it take to get Wilson to spend the night in his bed, or better yet, move into it permanently?

House turned around, and put the mug down on the table.

"So." He hooked his cane over the white board and picked up the marker. He tried to balance on his left leg to give his right a break. As soon as the deferential was done, there was a comfy chair with his name on it. "What do we have?"

"Forty-five-year-old man in remission from cancer, with a liver nodule," Chase said, reading from the file.

"Right. He's Wilson's," House said. He turned that thought around in his mind. He'd never felt he belonged other than when he was playing lacrosse. He'd spent most of his life putting himself in a position where belonging didn't matter.

"Wilson only saw him in the clinic," Chase said. "Two days ago."

"For a cold. That was Wilson, too. But he was really Wilson's patient a few years ago." House waved his hands. "For – I don't know – some kind of cancer, maybe? Isn't Wilson a onk-something?"

"Hepatocellular carcinoma." Foreman threw the file across the table as House watched in amusement.

House wrote 'Cancer-free Man' along the top of the white board with 'non-malignant liver nodule' underneath. The marker squeaked with his irritation. He glared at Foreman until he retrieved the file and opened it.

"So, ideas?" House wheeled back around to the board, ready to take dictation. "I'm looking for something exotic – African Sleeping Sickness, Devergie Syndrome, Katayama Fever –" All of which were possible, if not probable – they'd certainly be fun.

"Lymphoma," Foreman said. House underlined, 'non-malignant liver nodule,' and turned back to them again.

"Besnier-Boeck-Schaumann disease," Chase said, and House wrote it on the board. Not likely, but certainly interesting. Chase always came through.

"Mr. Stevens also has a rash on his legs," Cameron said, still poring over the file.

Chase straightened up and took the pen out of his mouth. "Could be from his cancer treatments."

"Those were three years ago," Cameron said. "He's been in remission since then."

"Stills," Foreman said, and he was back in the game. House wrote 'Stills' on the board.

"It could be autoimmune," Cameron said, and House added that to the growing list.

House continued to write down their suggestions, adding Lupus and shingles, but his attention wandered to the pain in his leg. It was pretty clear that they didn't have enough information yet to narrow down the diagnosis. Nothing too pressing either; the patient wasn't going to die in the next 30 minutes from a liver nodule.

"Let's get a more thorough history and physical workup. And by 'let's' I mean you guys get a more thorough history and physical workup."

He watched them file out, then grabbed his coffee and cane, and went to sit down to plan Wilson's downfall.

=o=

House took a couple more pills, and the pain rumbled down to bearable within the hour. The team checked in periodically with updates on the condition of their patient, and House settled into his desk to surf.

It passed the time, and finally it was late enough to have lunch, which was good, because he thought he might have forgotten breakfast altogether. His leg wasn't any worse than usual right now, so he headed down the hall.

House stuck his head into Wilson's office. "Lunch?"

Wilson was writing in a file, probably perfect patient notes, but he looked up at House and smiled. "Yeah, fine."

House waited by the door as Wilson put on his white coat and joined him. They started toward the elevators.

"How is Mark doing?"

House's brow furrowed. "Mark Warner? Stacy's husband?"

"No, your patient. Mark Stevens. The guy whose file I gave you this morning."

"Oh, him." House relaxed. He so didn't want to be thinking of the Warners right now. "Need a more thorough workup. The kids are on it."

Wilson grunted, and bumped his shoulder as they got in the elevator. Some young thing who worked under Nurse Previn followed them in. She had brown hair and big blue eyes, and actually looked hot in scrubs.

"Hi, Natalie," Wilson said.

It figured that Wilson would know her first name. House glared at the woman. He didn't know how he had been going to molest Wilson, but the opportunity was totally lost with her in the elevator.

"What are you making us for dinner tonight?" House asked, smiling, holding his cane in both hands in front of him, and looking at Wilson.

"Dinner?" Wilson looked at him, then glanced at Scrubs-babe. "Er –"

House caught the girl's eye. "We're having an evening in, you know? New love." House swooned into Wilson. At least one woman would be avoiding him, and maybe she'd spread the word.

"House," Wilson said, rolling his eyes, but not shoving him off. "I'm sorry, Natalie. He's twelve."

"Don't be ashamed of our love."

"I'm not. Your behavior is another matter."

The elevator binged, opening up on the second floor.

"I'm getting off here," Natalie said as she started to leave, not looking at them.

"You wish!" House yelled after her. "He's mine!"

The elevator doors closed, leaving them alone.

"Wanna make out?" House asked.

"What is this all about?"

"Someone has to save you from another marriage," House said, straightening up. He'd have Wilson's ass tattooed if he had to, but anyone actually seeing the tattoo would have gone too far.

"She's a little young," Wilson said, peering at him. "Seriously. Are you okay? What was that about?"

"I'm fine." House pursed his lips together. At some point they'd have to talk, but House was afraid of what he'd hear right now. He needed to be more sure of Wilson before he asked what the hell they were doing and insisted on changes in Wilson's living arrangements.

They got lunch, and Wilson paid, and House wondered if that was over-stepping now. That Wilson paid for things like lunch and newspapers and gum. Before, it was mooching off a friend. It took on a kind of weird slant when he was sleeping with said best friend. Like he was the girl in the relationship.

They sat down in a booth, and House took a french fry from the communal (AKA Wilson's) plate. Wilson frowned at the plate, and took one himself.

"How long has Chase been with you?" Wilson asked.

"Little over three years." House took a bite of his roast beef sandwich; it didn't taste quite right. He looked over at Wilson's plate – what did he get?

"So, he's really done with his fellowship."

"I suppose," House said, not much interested. They could stay forever, as far as he was concerned. They fit him.

"Even Foreman's coming up on three years."

"Thanks, Mr. Stating-the-Obvious. They're fine, really. Don't know nearly enough yet."

"Just pointing out that the kids are growing up. Nothing lasts forever. I know you hate change, but with the fellowships up, you're going to need to replace them."

House was irritated, but Wilson was right. Nothing lasted forever. Chase, Cameron, and Foreman were growing up, and were about ready to leave him. They didn't realize that yet, but he'd have to shove them out of the nest soon if they didn't go on their own. Cuddy would probably insist. He wasn't looking forward to it, but they'd learned most of what he had to teach, and he'd given them the tools to figure out the rest. About the only thing they needed yet was trust in themselves. To know that they'd make mistakes, even stupid ones, but they'd save people, too.

He wasn't looking forward to losing them. He knew they'd be upset to be out on their own, but they'd get over it. For his own part – House liked to think he'd get used to new fellows quickly, that he was flexible, but that wasn't even true in a physical sense anymore. Wilson was going to have to help him, just like he had last time. More time spent with Wilson wasn't a downside.

This thing with Wilson. What was it, anyway? The easy answer was everything they'd always had plus sex. Not exactly just sex, not like what he'd paid for in the past to avoid the emotional aspect of human relationships – there was kissing and caressing, and for House, anyway, more feeling than he'd had for anyone other than Stacy. He had to keep Wilson away from women; he couldn't lose him.

Wilson smiled at Debbie from Accounting, who was standing in line. House glared at him. It should be easier to control one man than it was to control all of womankind, not to mention all the hot gay men.

House swooped in and grabbed the half of Wilson's sandwich that he wasn't eating yet, and took a bite. Turkey club. That was more like it. He continued to eat it, unwilling to put it down and leave it vulnerable to rescue by its original owner.

"Mmm..." House smacked his lips.

Wilson frowned at him, and picked up the other half of House's sandwich. "It's like eating with a selfish five-year-old," Wilson said.

House took a french fry. "I'm sharing. But you like it, anyway."

"Yeah, I do." Wilson chuckled.

That was an admission of a sort, although it had already been implied by the fact that Wilson kept letting him do it.

"You want to do something tonight?" Wilson asked.

"Is that code?" House asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It could be. You figure it out, and let me know." Wilson took another bite of House's sandwich. "I have to go; got an appointment."

"I'll get back to you," House said as he watched Wilson leave.

=o=

What did Bonnie want here?

Wilson's ex-wife was pacing the hallway outside the conference room, and not coincidentally, Wilson's office. She was a scrawny small-boned woman with big eyes and a tiny voice. House had met her about the same time Wilson had, but he'd always avoided her if he could. Wilson managed to keep his married life and the rest of his life separate, for the most part. He'd done it through two marriages and several relationships that House only found out about after the fact. This tendency made House uneasy, given current circumstances.

House watched as Wilson met Bonnie. They exchanged a few words, and House's eyes narrowed as Bonnie touched Wilson's sleeve. He couldn't see Wilson's face, but Bonnie looked like she felt sorry for him and she kept her hand on his sleeve. House's eyes were slits by the time Wilson gave Bonnie a good-bye hug and she pecked his cheek. She started toward the elevators.

"Ah, House? Do you want us to get started?"

House jerked back to the conference room and the fellows. Cameron looked at him expectantly. "Yeah, sure. Get on it." He wasn't sure what he'd told them to do, but they were smart kids; they'd figure it out.

He grabbed his cane, and was out the door after them. Wilson was already gone from the hallway, and his office door was closed. Despite the change in their interactions, especially the spectacular sex, Wilson was as much a puzzle as he'd ever been. Somehow, Wilson managed to have sex with him and still keep his distance, just like he'd avoided his wives until they weren't his wives anymore.

Finding out that Wilson was amenable to sex with men was another piece of the Wilson puzzle. Things previously pondered fell into place, the sprints through his serial marriages made sense, and House wondered why he hadn't thought of it before.

House's own sexuality had always been rather fluid. He'd never seen a reason to limit himself; he did what felt good with whomever seemed right at the time. But it was personal, too, so he wasn't particularly surprised that neither of them had talked about it. He was a little irritated with himself for not figuring it out without Wilson's hand on his crotch.

House's greatest fear was that if it didn't work, he'd be screwed in more than a physical sense. Wilson might be able to stay friends with all his exes, but House knew he couldn't do that, and Wilson was his only friend. He didn't want to lose him, so he had to make sure of him.

He pushed open the door, only to find that Wilson wasn't in the room. He hadn't disappeared into thin air, so House walked farther into the room and saw movement outside on the balcony, and moved to join him there. It was cold and damp, all concrete and deep shadows at this time of the day. He shivered in his blazer, pulling up his collar and sticking his hands in his pockets.

"What did she want?"

"Who?" Wilson said. He was staring out into space, looking cold and alone, and he didn't turn around to look at House. "Oh, Bonnie?"

House managed not to roll his eyes, even though Wilson wouldn't see. "I saw you talking to her in the hall."

"She was just keeping in touch." Wilson leaned forward, his elbows on the balcony wall. He'd rolled his sleeves up, despite the temperature, which was one of his better public looks, in House's opinion.

House wanted to call him on his answer, but instead, "She couldn't just call?"

Wilson shrugged. "Maybe she had an appointment with someone in the hospital? I didn't ask."

Wilson was one of the few people who could lie to him and get away with it, but this time he wasn't even trying to cover up the lie. Something was going on. Did Wilson want him to press for the truth? As a friend, he didn't have that responsibility; it was on Wilson to choose friends for that kind of thing. But as a lover, a partner maybe, House thought he should be talking about things like this, looking for the things that Wilson needed from him. There were new rules now, and House wasn't sure what they were.

It wasn't as if he hadn't had a relationship before. He'd known how to make Stacy feel better, until the end when he didn't want her to feel better. Wilson was more of a challenge. The elusiveness that attracted him to Wilson made Wilson more difficult to figure out.

"Are you coming over for dinner tonight? I got some new porn."

"I have to work late."

House wished that Wilson would face him; he wanted to figure out what was going on. Wilson had wanted to get together at lunch; he was the one who brought it up. "Okay, I have your case, anyway. They're testing now, and there should be some results by this evening."

"Great." Wilson sounded upset, but House wasn't any good handling that kind of thing. He couldn't deal with his own emotions; how the hell did that qualify him to help anyone else? He'd just make things worse. There should be an instruction manual that came with people so that you could give them what they needed. It was awkward standing there and leaning on his cane, and House couldn't think of anything to say, so he left.

=o=

He dodged the team for a while, letting them work things out for themselves. Cuddy paged him, but he ignored that as usual.

"Bonnie Wilson?" House shifted the phone uncomfortably. Why hadn't she gone back to her maiden name? Didn't she have any pride?

"Yes! How can I help you?" It came out breathless, like she'd run for the phone. Or fumbled for it in her purse.

"This is House." No need to be coy; they had always been polite enemies.

"Oh."

"I was wondering what you came to the hospital for earlier."

"I just needed to talk to James."

"Why?"

There was a pause before she answered.

"His grandparents' anniversary is coming up, and I was wondering if there was going to be a party."

"Huh." House didn't even know Wilson had grandparents that were living. He didn't mention his family much, and House wasn't the kind of person to push for details that didn't interest him. "Well, thanks. That explains things." Why would his grandparents' anniversary upset Wilson – did he want them to split up or something?

"Why didn't you ask James yourself? Is he okay?"

"Have to go – doctor things." He hung up before she could protest.

Bonnie seemed to be lying, and once again, House didn't know how Wilson managed to stay friends with his ex-wives. He'd have to find out from Wilson what he and Bonnie had been talking about, but he hadn't wanted to alert Wilson that he was suspicious. He checked his watch and started down to talk to Cuddy.

He walked past Cuddy's secretary, despite the sputtering, and into Cuddy's office.

"You called?" he said in his best spooky evil henchman voice, stopping just inside the door. He'd waited long enough to respond that she'd know she wasn't really in charge of his every action.

Cuddy looked up from the papers she'd been studying. "And you actually showed up on the first page?"

Apparently, he hadn't waited long enough. He motioned toward the door. "Only because you didn't try again. I could go back out, have some coffee, save a life or two, and get back to you."

For a change she was dressed business-like, in a soft blue suit that brought out her eyes. He wondered if that meant she had donors coming or that she didn't have donors coming. He was never sure why Cuddy dressed the way she did other than that she liked to be looked at. House was more than willing to oblige.

"No." Cuddy shuffled papers on her desk, finally pulling one out of a folder. "I need your signature, right here." She pointed to a line on the form.

"I'm missing clinic duty, you know." He walked over to her, hooked his cane on its edge, and leaned against the desk.

Cuddy flushed, a rosy glow that spread up her chest to her face. She always pretended that she wasn't flustered by him, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. "You're not missing clinic duty; you aren't scheduled again until tomorrow."

"What I meant was I'll sign if I get out of two hours of clinic duty."

She smiled at him with that irritating smile of hers. "You don't even know what I'm asking you to sign."

House picked the form up, and read over it to make sure he wasn't being tricked into resigning. He wasn't falling for that one again. He frowned as he read.

"We're resurrecting this guy?"

"It's a woman. She was one of your patients."

House shrugged. "So, we're resurrecting this woman?"

"She's fine; it's just paperwork. You actually did treat her and cure her."

"Maybe my staff did –"

"More than likely." Cuddy looked at him impatiently. "Someone got the wrong person identification or maybe caught her on a bad day before you figured out what was wrong with her, and sent a computerized death certificate to New Jersey's vital stats system. Which now thinks she's dead."

"She's dead to the government?"

"Yes."

"Cool." That was way cool. No government interference – no taxes, no speed limits, no clinic duty.

"Until we do this paperwork and fax it to Vital Statistics. Once someone's dead in the computer, they want something in writing by a real person to reverse the record."

"Man over machine." House put the paper down on the desk, and signed it. "There we go – snatched her from the jaws of death again. Not quite as literally this time."

"I'll get these faxed, and she shouldn't have any more trouble with her credit."

"Her credit?"

"She didn't find out about her death until her credit card account had been closed." Cuddy snatched the form before he could hold it back, and slipped it into a folder. She clasped her hands over the folder, and looked up at him. "I've noticed that girl hanging around here again. You have to stop encouraging her."

House wrinkled his forehead. "What girl?"

"That seventeen-year-old stalker."

His concern about the possibility of Wilson's infidelity had totally shaken out of his mind the possibility of his own infidelity with a seventeen-year-old. Wow, there was a missed opportunity.

"The one with cocci. She had the mildest form, and she's been treated. I haven't seen her since then – maybe she has a legitimate reason for being at a hospital."

Cuddy sighed. "Maybe she's stalking someone else. Fine. I'll get the security guards on it. If I see you with her –"

House put his hands up in surrender. "I swear; I have not seen or talked to her. I've been busy with a patient."

"Okay. Keep it that way." Cuddy leaned back in her chair. "Now, get out of here. And, in case there's any doubt, you're working all your clinic hours this week, and every week. And your team's been trying to find you all afternoon – go find them. You might want to actually see the patient who's keeping you so busy."

=o=

There was a single rap on the apartment door, and House waited a minute to see if he really had to get up. The key sounded in the lock, and he slid back into the General Hospital plot line. Part of the new routine was that Wilson didn't make him get up or even yell at him to come in when he came over.

The afternoon had gone quickly, with more discussion over the patient who shared the name of Stacy's husband. They narrowed down options, and opened up a few more. The patient didn't seem to be getting any worse, but he wasn't getting any better, either.

"All caught up?" House asked from the couch, not even looking toward the door. He hadn't been expecting Wilson, but never minded when he showed up; he never had.

House wanted Wilson to move into the apartment, but he hadn't said so yet, and wasn't going to anytime soon. He wished he knew what was going on in Wilson's head. Wilson kept putting distance between them. He'd do crap like tonight – say they were doing something and then say he couldn't come over – and then show up. House had no doubt that he'd be back in his hotel bed before morning. It had taken a week before he'd convinced Stacy to move in; Wilson was proving more of a challenge.

"Yeah, as much as I can be for now."

House tilted his head back and looked at him, upside down, as Wilson took off his jacket and threw it across a chair. "There's food, if you're hungry."

"I'm fine," Wilson said. "What are you watching?"

Wilson sat down next to House, leaning against him a little. He felt solid and warm, despite coming in from the cold air. There was a stillness about him, solemn Wilson meditating on some sin that he wouldn't share. House had been more aware lately that Wilson didn't share everything with him, and he'd been thinking more about the reasons. Wilson might not be the only one who had changing to do to make this work for both of them.

"GH," House said.

"I'll never understand why you watch that stuff." Wilson readjusted his position so that he could put an arm across House's waist, his chest against his side.

"It's not so much the show," House said as he snaked his arm behind Wilson. "It's the writers."

"The writers?" Wilson relaxed for a moment, his body losing some of its tautness. It felt good that Wilson could do that around him. "Why the writers?"

"Actors just do what they're told – but the writers... Do they think we believe this stuff? Are they sharing a joke with us or laughing at us, thinking we're taken in?"

Wilson drew back for a moment, and House pulled him closer again. "Maybe they're just trying to make a buck, but wouldn't it be easier to tell by reading interviews with the writers themselves?"

"Sure, but what fun would that be? It's not like I'll explode and die if I don't find the answer fast enough. I'm willing to watch for the clues to enjoy the game."

Wilson chuckled as he closed in for a kiss.

House let him in immediately. Sex was something he could pay for, but there was no paying for kissing like this with someone he genuinely liked. Loved, really.

He still didn't know what had driven Wilson that first night, but he'd gone along when House hadn't been satisfied with only sex, and had started kissing him. Wilson kissed back. The knowledge that Wilson really was attracted to men, and to House in particular, was cooler than diagnostic revelations.

They parted for breath, and House looked at Wilson with hooded eyes. Wilson smiled. House loved that smile, the confidence of it. Wilson stood, reaching out his hand. Given the goal, House accepted the help willingly.

Once House was standing, Wilson headed for the bedroom, pulling his shirt off as he went. House followed, scuffing in socked feet along the dark wood floor, and watching as Wilson's smooth back was revealed.

He sat down on the bed, watching as Wilson almost overbalanced while toeing off his shoes. So suave, the panty peeler was. House started unbuttoning his shirt, but Wilson walked toward him, and he leaned back on his elbows as Wilson crawled over him on the bed and took over the buttons himself.

In just a few minutes, Wilson had them both undressed and under the covers and pressed together.

They hadn't been too inventive when it came to sex, which was fine with House. He liked to get off, and Wilson was pretty damned good at getting him off. A little too good at times.

"Wilson," House said as he pushed against his shoulders, trying to slow things down a little. It wasn't like they were on the clock. They had all night, and the morning, too, as far as he was concerned, and slow was almost always better. At least until someone was screaming.

"Mmm?" Wilson's lips were occupied in kissing his hip bone.

"Let me –" House lost his ability to speak as Wilson engulfed him. He closed his eyes and savored the smoothness of Wilson's lips and the rougher scratch of his tongue. Like a cat. House shivered.

He pulled at Wilson's hair, not wanting it all to end so quickly. "Wilson?"

"Sorry, sorry," Wilson said, and he moved up, rasping skin against skin, to kiss him, and that didn't slow things down at all. House thrust up into him, and Wilson pushed back, and it wasn't long before it was all over, and House was trying to get his breath back.

House played with Wilson's hair, stroking it, using the rhythm to calm himself. He wished he knew what went on in Wilson's head, although at the same time he realized that would destroy some of the Wilson puzzle. He wouldn't explode in any but a figurative sense if he didn't know. At least not yet.

House drowsed, only rousing when Wilson slid off the bed in what seemed like moments later. He watched with slitted eyes as Wilson shook out his clothes and got dressed.

"Wilson?" House felt the insistent tug of sleep, but his arm trailed across the bed to Wilson as if he could pull him back in.

"Yeah, I'm just leaving," Wilson whispered, still holding his socks and shoes.

"Stay." It was what House wanted most right now, and he had to say something.

"I'll see you at the hospital in the morning. Good night, House."

"Good night, Wilson." That came out in automatic response, but House was too sleepy to take it back or correct it.

He heard the front door close as he fell asleep.

=o=

House started the ball in the air, caught it, and sent it back up again.

House had all but written last evening off when Wilson had finally shown up.

The sex had been great as usual, although he wished Wilson would slow down instead of treating every encounter as if it were their last. And what did he keep apologising for?

The only thing House needed that he didn't have was Wilson in his bed when he woke up in the morning. Why wouldn't Wilson spend the night? It didn't make sense for Wilson to get in a car after midnight to drive to a hotel when he had a perfectly good bed that he was more than welcome to spend the rest of the night in. Including possible fringe benefits upon waking.

"We have some of the test results back," Cameron's voice pierced the hypnotic state House had worked himself into with the gray and red ball. He caught it one final time, and put it on the desk, turning his head to her so she knew she had his attention. He was perfectly capable of listening while throwing the ball, but people tended to be unable to talk while he threw it. Weird neurological problem.

She raised her eyebrows and looked over at Foreman and Chase sitting expectantly at the conference room table. Maybe not expectantly, Foreman was reading a journal and Chase was doing a crossword, but House got up with a sigh and followed Cameron through the glass door.

House made his way to the white board and knocked his cane against it to get their attention before hooking the cane over the board.

"So, what did you find?"

"His temp is 99.4, and he's complaining of body aches, including headache," Chase said, looking up from the crossword. "He's wheezing."

Cameron leaned forward where she was now sitting at the table. "His knees are swollen and painful."

"The rash on his legs," House dismissed that easily enough. "The blood counts?"

"The rash has turned brown; I think it's healing," Cameron said.

"White count is elevated," Foreman answered at almost the same time.

"So, infection," House said, considering. Other than the liver nodules and the rash, he had a bad cold. That wasn't it. "Primary or secondary?"

Cameron shrugged. "Could be a cold. He said he had one a few weeks ago, and his complaints when Dr. Wilson saw him were still respiratory."

"Allergies? How's his liver holding up?"

"Function is a little low, but not clinical – about the same as when Dr. Wilson tested it a few days ago. We don't have a baseline other than normal function, so we don't know how long it's taken to get there."

House looked over the white board, and crossed off shingles, Crohn's, and Lupus. He swung back around to them.

A redhead in scrubs was walking toward Wilson's office. She was pretty, and House frowned.

"Who's that?" he asked, pointing with the marker.

Chase craned his neck around to look. "Leah Ryder, the new oncology nurse."

"Dr. Wilson had dinner with her last night," Cameron added. "I saw them in the cafeteria when I wanted to talk to him about that conference this weekend in Boston. I'm going to it, by the way," she said to Chase and Foreman.

That wasn't good news. Not the part about the Cameron's conference going, but the part about Wilson blowing off their pizza and porn plans for dinner with a new nurse. He frowned some more. Was last night consolation sex after a failed date? "Start treatment with a broad spectrum, and do a culture."

"But –"

"Go! Shoo!"

House watched them leave, retrieved his cane, and went back to his office. He picked up the ball and started the cycle again – ball up, ball down.

What did Wilson loving him really mean when Wilson loved everyone? Wilson committed to people because he fell into it out of his love. That meant his love was pretty meaningless.

Underneath all House's rationalization was the fear that if he just asked outright for Wilson to move in and commit, that Wilson would refuse. Or that he'd dodge the question by finding someone else, like he had with Grace, just to get away.

Maybe not wanting to ask Wilson had less to do with not fatally exploding because of not knowing, as exploding if he didn't like the answer. No answer might be better, but he still had to do something, or he was going to lose Wilson. Losing him from inaction would be hell.

=o=

Half the walls had some hideous flocked paper on them, and the other half had been stripped bare to drywall and adhesive. The hallway smelled like some chemical that no one should be inhaling. How did Wilson live in this? The hotel wasn't exactly low rent, but it was in the process of renovation and had been as long as Wilson had lived in it.

House worried at problems until they resolved and made sense to him. So it wasn't surprising that he found himself knocking on Wilson's hotel room door after work. There was a sudden surge of unpleasantness as he wondered if Wilson was out with someone else, but then he heard footsteps, and let go of his held breath.

Until he realized that Wilson could be in with someone else.

Wilson had been avoiding him all day. No interest in his ex-patient, invisible for lunch, not even in his office or on the balcony. His assistant had said he was 'around,' and waved her hands to indicate some area that included Saturn and Jupiter. As far as House could tell, Wilson moved like the wind and left less of a trace. He was a Zen master.

House couldn't exactly put his finger on the problem. Wilson wasn't avoiding him entirely, as last night's visit showed. But talking – every time House tried to talk to him, Wilson shut him down, or kept his mouth busy.

"Who is it?" Wilson called through the hotel room door.

"Who are you expecting?" House sing-songed back.

There was a pause, and then Wilson opened the door. His eyes were a little red, as if he'd been crying, but House politely ignored that. If Wilson had been a woman, House would be scoring points noticing, but he was pretty sure the guy-rules prevailed at the moment. They were vertical, after all. Wilson was wearing khakis and his feet were bare – a look that House found moderately endearing, at least on Wilson.

Wilson didn't move from where he was holding the door.

"Are you going to let me in?"

"Sorry." Wilson stepped aside so House could walk past him. "I wasn't expecting you."

"As long as you weren't expecting anyone else." House hooked his cane on the chair and took off his coat and hat and threw them on the chair as well. "Unless it's someone delivering food."

He threw out his arms. "Oh, yeah! Honey, I'm home!"

Wilson smirked and closed the door. "Hail the conquering hero. Where's the bacon?"

"You're Jewish. I'll bring bread next time. Not sure how you win it, though. I always end up paying."

"Ha! You never pay."

House looked around the room, but it was the same as it always was. He'd only been here a time or two; mostly they got together at House's place. The size of the tiny room drew attention to the ginormous bed, and House had a hard time keeping his eyes out off it. His eyes narrowed a moment as he thought of what might have gone on in that bed.

"Where do you sit when you have company?" No point in mentioning the armchair. There was only one, and it didn't have much of a view of the television.

"I don't entertain much. Try the bed."

House waggled his eyebrows, but he obligingly sat back down, leaning against the headboard. "Not sure I like the idea that the only way you can entertain is on the bed. Good thing Bonnie didn't come here, or I'd have to start a cat fight or something. Fight for my man. Are you going to feed me? I know you don't have a kitchen here." He picked the room service menu up off the night stand.

"Don't even think it. We can get delivery." Wilson pulled a file from the bedside table drawer and tossed it on the bed. Menus slid out. "Room service costs a fortune."

"I'm not worth a $39 taco salad? I could stay for the $12 orange juice tomorrow morning." House put the room service menu back and started going through the delivery menus.

They argued good-naturedly and decided on pizza. Wilson ordered it and sat next to House, who turned up the television volume.

"To what do I owe this visit?" Wilson asked. "Not enough pizza on your side of town?"

"I have to have ulterior motives to visit you now?"

"You don't have to, but I'm sure you do. So, why did you come over?"

"Couldn't withstand your charms?"

"House –"

"So much for romance." House threw the remote on the bed. "I'm here because you've been avoiding me all day."

"I haven't been avoiding you!"

House stared at him. Wilson had turned a bright shade of red; he looked flustered.

Wilson put his hands up and shook his head. "Fine, I've been avoiding you."

"Why?" House asked, playing with the seam of his jeans. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. It might work in differential diagnoses, but in his personal life, asking a question that he didn't already know the answer to had the potential for biting the big one.

"I think I'm getting a cold." Wilson coughed. "Didn't want you to catch it."

House rolled his eyes. Wilson could definitely lie better. "Why are you deflecting? Do you have something you need to tell me?"

There was a knock on the door, and Wilson scrambled off the bed to get the pizza. There was no way he was that hungry. Wilson accepted the box and the bag of sodas they'd ordered and paid the guy with a credit card, no doubt giving him a huge tip for the inconvenience of doing his job. He put everything on the bed, and went into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door.

House took the sodas out of the bag, and inspected the label. "There's beer in the mini-bar," House called toward the bathroom.

"It's 20 bucks a bottle."

"Another reason hotels suck," House said.

Wilson came back from the bathroom carrying cellophane-wrapped plastic cups. "I don't know what they really cost. Probably not that much, but too much. Have a soda." Wilson offered him one of the cups, unwrapped.

House shook his head, but he opened a can and poured some cola into a cup. He suspected that Wilson wanted him sober enough to kick him out of bed later and send him home. He took a piece of pizza and stared at the toppings before picking off a mushroom. There were a few others, but they looked okay.

House waited for Wilson to settle himself with a cup of cola and a piece of pizza beside him before continuing. "I'm not forgetting," House said, chewing. "Why have you been avoiding me?"

"House."

"I'm asking so that we can have a decent relationship." House swallowed and looked at him more closely. "Wait. Am I'm off base here? This is a relationship, isn't it?"

"Yes! Of course, it is!"

They could agree on the word 'relationship,' but that didn't mean that it meant the same thing to both of them. House wondered how often Wilson had insisted everything was fine to his wives.

"Then, damn it, let me support you!" House looked away again, and took another bite of pizza. "I thought you'd be the one wanting to get all touchy-feely and talk about our feelings. Why is it me? What's up with that?"

"I don't want to talk because it's not about our relationship. It's personal, nothing to do with anything between the two of us. Talking never does any good, anyway. You'll just make one of your remarks that totally negates my feelings, and I'll be mad and avoid you even more. And you'll do something that I'll regret, and I'll be forced to retaliate. Leave it alone. You're the one who always says what people do is more important than what they say. Everyone lies."

He hated when people used things he said to argue against him.

"Is it something I've done? I'm pretty sure the last thing I did was okay with you. Last night."

"No! You haven't done anything wrong and I'm not mad at you. It's just me and it's personal."

House turned back to the television, and started eating pizza. His pain, both the physical pain and the pain of betrayal, had been personal when he'd been with Stacy, and look where that had gotten them. Both miserable, and then the big anti-climatic break-up. Everyone had seen it coming, but no one had been able to stop it. It was different when the pain belonged to someone else, wasn't it? Time for a change in tactics.

"How do you live like this?" House asked, indicating the room.

"Like what?" He picked out a piece of pizza and took a bite before putting it back on the box lid.

House flicked a finger at the plastic cup. "Not the best crystal. Not even glass."

"No dishwashing, either."

House muttered "no life" under his breath, but he didn't want Wilson to hear that. "You like to cook," House said aloud.

"Sure, but I can cook at your place."

"And your stuff is all in storage."

"I don't have that much. I let Julie have most of it; I didn't need the memories."

"Wuss."

House had a hard time expressing himself about feelings and personal things, much preferring that people just figure out what he was trying to say so he didn't have to actually say it. Everything had logic to him, and he didn't understand why other people didn't understand the logic themselves.

House put his piece of pizza down on the open lid of the box, at an angle to Wilson's. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the words. He needed to ask without demanding or belittling. "Look. I want to know why you always come back here when you're at my place. Why don't you stay the night? Is there something wrong?"

"No! Everything's great," Wilson said. House opened his eyes at the feel of the bed moving, but Wilson wasn't getting up. "Why do you think something's wrong?"

"Do you listen at all?"

"I listen! I'm not the stubborn one!"

"Then why have you been avoiding me all day?" He was back to that, and it sounded bad even to his ears. He was blowing this, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Just like with Stacy.

"What do you expect me to say? That I'm cheating on you?"

"Are you?" House's voice was quiet and low. He didn't want to believe it, but it was inevitable, wasn't it? Wilson always cheated. Julie had only beaten him to it, physically. Wilson had been cheating emotionally with House himself all along. Only, neither of them had realized it at the time.

That new nurse, Leah what's-her-name. Wilson had blown him off last night to have dinner with her; Cameron had seen them. And Wilson had been acting weird. He always acted weird when he was feeling guilty. House had thought it was just work, but if Wilson was feeling guilty –

"Are you cheating on me?" he repeated.

Wilson blinked. "No! No, I'm not!"

"Then why did you say it?" People didn't say things they didn't mean at some level, even when they lied.

"To get you to stop talking." Wilson put his hands up. "What's bothering me is personal. You don't need to know everything. I can't stand –"

"Oh, stop!" House had had enough. He wanted something different. He thought they could withstand the kind of things that had shot him and Stacy down, but not if Wilson wasn't even going to talk. He needed to know what was going on, needed to know if Wilson just plain couldn't be faithful for more time than it took for a honeymoon. Not that he and Wilson had been having a honeymoon.

"House –"

"Grow up, get your sorry ass out of this hotel, and move in with me! This place – the room, the lack of responsibility – reminds me of a college dorm. Grow up."

"I can't." Wilson ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry."

House didn't know what to say. He couldn't eat anything more, and he certainly wasn't in the mood for anything else. He'd thrown his heart out there, and Wilson hadn't picked it up. Words to actions hadn't happened. It was all words.

"Grow up," he repeated as he left.

"House!" Wilson called.

House didn't even bother to close the door before he stalked down the hallway.

=o=

House hadn't slept, his mind churning through what had happened with Wilson in the hotel the night before.

He went into work before 10:00, still tired and out of sorts. Nothing going on with the patient right now, and the kids were either looking in on him or working somewhere else. At least he'd taught them enough to make themselves scarce if they didn't want to be sent on grunt work. Wilson he'd be avoiding today in favor of scheming against him. See how he liked that.

Sure, Wilson was quick enough to move in with House when he needed a place to stay after being tossed out by a wife. Then it didn't matter that he was crowding House's closets and dirtying up his kitchen with his disgusting-smelling food. But when House finally wanted him to move in, all he got was a horrified 'no.'

Well, that was going to change. He'd bring Wilson to his knees.

Okay, maybe that wasn't the image he wanted in his head right now.

He checked the conference room to make sure nothing had happened that they'd forgotten to pester him about, and then went down to the clinic. As mindless a place as any to do some thinking of how he was going to get Wilson to make a commitment to him.

He'd worked his way through two colds and a case of crotch rot when there was a tap on the exam room door, and it opened.

"This room is occupado," House said without looking up from the current patient's throat.

"House."

"Patient," he called. He was avoiding Wilson, right?

"I just want a word."

"You had plenty of time for words last night, and you didn't do much talking. Maybe Nurse Leah has time to listen."

"Leah Ryder?" Wilson sounded genuinely puzzled, but House wasn't buying that.

House wheeled around on the chair, looked at Wilson. "Yes. Her. The one you had dinner with the other night. Now, if you don't mind? I have a patient."

"House, it wasn't –" Wilson's hand was at the back of his neck, a sure sign that House was being difficult.

House turned to the guy on the examining table. "Patient!" The guy jumped, but kept looking straight ahead, ignoring the doctors.

House scooted over to get some antibiotic samples. "Here, take these, and I'll give you a script for the rest."

He listened for the sound of the door closing, and didn't relax until it did.

"You'll be fine; go now."

The patient hopped off the table and left, not looking back.

House swung back and forth on the examining stool. He felt a driving need to be sure of Wilson, that what was between them would continue. He'd broken it down into work and home. He had to keep women, well, men, too, now, from Wilson at work, and he had to get him to move into the apartment.

The moving in part first. Much as it irritated hell out of him to see hospital staff all over Wilson, he'd worry about outing them once Wilson was firmly installed in his apartment.

Wilson didn't have any close friends in the area to move in with. House didn't think he'd try that stunt with a patient again after Grace, although the idea of Wilson even trying was kind of amusing. House wouldn't let him get away so easily now. Of course, he wouldn't report him to the Board, but Wilson would be paying forever personally.

If he could get Wilson out of his hotel room, Wilson would just move into another hotel, so that wasn't enough. But if his credit cards were maxed out, Wilson would get kicked out of the hotel, and he wouldn't be able to find another place without credit. He'd have to come to House.

Wilson would definitely get the message that he wasn't accepting that this 'personal' issue didn't affect House, too.

=o=

House spent the afternoon buying things with Wilson's credit card.

He started out ordering things that he thought Wilson would like – porn, sex aids, Hitchcock DVDs. He had them all sent to his apartment. Those he'd keep for Wilson, maybe give them to him for his birthday or some other couple kind of occasion. Wilson deserved something out of this besides a new place to live.

Most of what he ordered was more for laughs than anything. A table saw, a lawn mower, a few big items that could be returned later for a small restocking fee. Those all went to the hotel, along with a few things purchased locally that would be delivered this afternoon just to get the ball rolling.

It took remarkably little time to max out the card. Well, more than max it out, because the company so trusted Wilson that they let him go way over the limit. Finally, the card was declined, and House could rest on his laurels.

Wilson would have no other choice but to move in with him, even if it meant he was going to be out on the couch every night. Eventually he'd slip up and spend the night in House's bed, and there would be no looking back. House would make sure of that.

His pager buzzed. The team.

The patient was having a heart attack. He pondered that for a few moments, bouncing his cane on the floor between his feet.

It was unlikely that someone who had been healthy until the last few days, and who now presented with rashes and a fever, would suddenly have a heart attack. Unluckiest guy in the world. What was the differential for that?

'Not really an MI, right?' he texted to the fellows. One of them would answer eventually, hopefully after the crisis was over.

The answer came from Cameron in five minutes. 'EKG inconclusive. Need you.'

Meaning that the EKG didn't indicate an MI, but that hospital protocol was to do all the tests despite the evidence of the EKG. Administration covering their asses, like usual. They didn't need him; they were just lonesome. Foreman, Chase, and Cameron would be fine doing all that, but it would bore House to tears. But didn't he have a warm fuzzy feeling that they needed him?

He texted back, 'Busy.'

In the next hour or so, both Foreman and Chase had also expressed their need for him, but no one mentioned the MI again. He ignored them entirely. House spent his time thinking about Wilson until it was time to do something about Wilson.

After 5:00 he got a text from Cameron confirming that it was unlikely the patient had had a heart attack, but they'd continue with the standard testing, and try to find out what had caused chest pain so severe that they'd suspected heart attack. Good for them.

Finally, he was free to look for Wilson.

He hadn't seen him since the interruption in the clinic, and that had been fine. House knew he could be caustic when he was irritated, and he'd been pretty irritated after last night. Maxing out Wilson's credit took some of the sting out of Wilson not wanting to move in together. Now he wanted to get invited out to dinner so he could see Wilson's expression when his credit card was declined and the waiter told Wilson he was dead.

He surprised Wilson's assistant in his office. He couldn't help but smile when she jumped.

"Stealing the silver?" he asked.

"He isn't here," she said, straightening from where she was arranging folders and papers on Wilson's desk.

House rolled his eyes. "I can see that. Where is he?"

"He had a dinner engagement." She made to escape, and he let her.

Dinner engagement? Like the other night? Maybe with the same nurse. House felt numb at the thought. He made his way over to the desk to check Wilson's appointment book. There it was – 7:00pm, Leah. Tonight. He flipped to the next page to find that Wilson was having dinner tomorrow with someone named Samantha. Wilson was playing the field again, and House was just one of many.

Was this how it started with him? He had one dinner, then another, and pretty soon he was in their beds. With Grace all it had taken was worsening cancer, and a need for a ride home and groceries. The man would have sex at the drop of a hat.

House wasn't going to let it happen like that, not without more of a fight.

His thoughts turned to his ex-patient and her make-believe death. Her credit had been ruined, Cuddy had said. That had to be way more serious than over-stretched credit limits that could be increased or paid down. At least it would show Wilson how important this was; how hard he'd fight for them.

He limped back to his office, and got back on the computer. He had a little trouble finding the proper website, he usually let Cameron do this the few times they lost a patient, but he finally found it buried in the bookmarks. That was probably Cameron's doing, too – not the burying, but the bookmarking. Her ID number popped up automatically on the logon page, and he considered using her password so that she'd get the credit for this, but he'd have to look it up where he'd stashed it, and he had to get Wilson to move in right now. Besides, he wanted Wilson to know who'd done it.

House paused for a moment once he'd filled out the form. And then he clicked the submit button. Wilson was dead to the State of New Jersey.

=o=

House rode the bike over to the hotel and parked in the back in case Wilson showed up. He took the side entrance into the hotel, avoiding notice by the front desk. He jabbed at the elevator button, and retreated behind a potted fern to await its arrival.

After he'd sent the death record to the vital stats computer, he'd started wondering how long it took the computers to talk to each other. He'd hastened things along a bit by calling the credit card company to report the death.

Having a credit card declined in a restaurant wasn't going to be enough. He had to precipitate a crisis so that Wilson would have to move out of the hotel and into his apartment tonight.

He got in the elevator just before the door closed, and pushed the button to Wilson's floor. Once there, he looked up and down the hallway, and found what he was looking for. The maid who belonged to the housekeeping cart only spoke Spanish, but he remembered House from the few times he'd come to see Wilson, and didn't require much of a bribe to let House into the room.

House bounced on the bed, contemplating how best to proceed. He'd maxed out Wilson's credit card, so anything House spent would be out of his own pocket, which wasn't cool at all. It was late, and Wilson would probably be back soon from his dinner with Nurse Leah, so House had to move fast.

The hotel probably wasn't aware of the credit issue that had followed the dead issue, so Wilson should still have credit with them. Until they actually ran his card.

House picked up the phone and ordered enough room service for a party. He called an escort service, one that had a legitimate business license, and asked for generic party guests to fill in at a party.

Just to make it interesting, he used Wilson's laptop to make fliers and left them on the doors of all of Wilson's neighbors, inviting them to come to the party.

House crowned the first professional to show up The Host so that he'd be freed from that responsibility. He could sit in the chair, which he'd relocated near the door, sipping scotch and bouncing his cane. People trickled in slowly at first. It was kind of like being in the middle of a play; he didn't know exactly who worked for the escort service, and who was a hotel guest, but they all interacted in the way civil people do at a party of strangers. Most of them were there for the money or the free booze. It was a tight squeeze in the tiny hotel room, but the party was in full swing by 9:00pm.

House started turning up the stereo every ten minutes. Someone from the floor had to call the desk to complain about the music.

He had been hoping that Wilson would be here by now. At one point he thought the phone might be ringing, but no one picked it up, so maybe not. Overall, he was pretty bored with the party and the lack of Wilson when the fire alarm rang, and they all had to evacuate.

House was first out of the room because of his position watching for Wilson. He pushed the elevator button, and waited as the others wandered toward the stairs without much impetus. He wondered if there really was an emergency or if this was a drill. Did hotels have fire drills?

"Use the stairs," someone said, and House ignored them, looking up to see where the elevator was.

"No elevator during an alarm," another voice said, and House turned around to see who they were.

Security guards, rent-a-cops. No one he really had to listen to. He pushed the elevator button again.

"Seriously, sir, you have to go down the stairs."

House swung his hand to indicate the cane. "Can't. Crippled."

Instant concern on their faces. "We can help you down, sir."

House sighed. "Fine, you two can cushion my fall on the stairs."

=o=

The security guards abandoned him at his urging when they were still on the stairs and the all-clear was sounded. House turned around, making his way up to the previous floor, and used the elevator to go the rest of the way to the main floor.

The party was over with the fire alarm because no one had a key to Wilson's room, so they weren't going to be able to get back in, which was fine with House. He hoped that someone had called to complain about the party, but couldn't be sure.

House looked for Wilson in the parking lot. He wanted to see his reaction to his room, and particularly to the news that he was dead, but House finally had to give up, and go home. He expected Wilson would call or come by to lecture him, but he fell asleep on the couch with no contact.

There was still no news by the time House left for work the next morning, and he puzzled what might have happened as he showered and dressed and drove to work. Maybe Wilson slept in his office last night. He couldn't think of a better reason for not hearing from him, although why that would stop Wilson from yelling at him he didn't know. Wilson might not even know about his credit problem, or about the party in his hotel room. If House worked it right, he could go with Wilson after work and see his expression first hand. Or maybe Wilson had found out about everything, and chosen to sleep in his office over sleeping at House's place. House hadn't thought of that. Were there other solutions that House hadn't thought of?

Curiosity had him calling the hotel as he sat in the PPTH parking lot.

"I'd like to speak to Dr. Wilson."

"I'm sorry. He's checked out," came the reply.

That froze House for a moment. "He checked out?"

"This morning. He's no longer a resident," the feminine voice said.

House hung up. He had to get to Wilson's office and talk to him.

The entire walk through the lobby, the ride in the elevator to the fourth floor, and the walk to the conference room, all House could think was that he couldn't be gone. Wilson had to be there. If he didn't know where he lived, if Wilson had figured out some other way out that House hadn't thought of, and he'd quit – how would House ever find him again? And what would he do then?

What could he do? He loved Wilson; he knew that. Wilson knew that, didn't he? House was certain that he did. They'd stuck with each other through everything. The thing was, saying it meant nothing. Everyone could say the words. It was what you did that mattered.

Stacy hadn't been able to get beyond the words. As soon as he was in a coma, she'd asked his doctor, not just let him, but asked him, to cut into his leg. Wilson might have done the same thing, House had no illusions about anyone, but he would have told House he was going to do it. Probably would have held him down and put him under himself for the surgery.

Wilson wasn't in his office, but his things were all still there, so House could breathe easier. He checked in the conference room, but Wilson wasn't there either. It took him an hour, but House ran down Wilson's assistant, and found out that Wilson had taken a day off.

Probably to find a new place to live, although House didn't know how with no credit. Why the hell didn't he just come to House's place? He always turned to House.

House walked back to the conference room.

"How's the testing going?" House asked the team sitting around the table.

Foreman sighed. "I don't think it was an MI," he said.

House nodded. "I don't think it was either."

"The tests are standard protocol for the chest pain."

"Right," House said. "Troponin, CK-MB, myoglobin, go for it. Maybe he was just falling in love and his heart ached."

"He was screaming from the pain," Chase said.

"So, what? Falling out of love? His heart was breaking, so it hurt?"

"His daughter had to leave the room; she couldn't take it."

"That says more about her than it does about him." There was silence around the table until House went over to the white board and picked up the marker. He sighed, starting again. "Anything?"

"Chest pain," Chase pointed out the obvious, but House wrote it down.

"Extreme chest pain," Cameron said. "Bad enough that he thought he was having a heart attack."

House dutifully wrote 'extreme' after 'chest pain,' the only place there was room for it.

"Get him scheduled for an MRI," House said.

"We did – it'll be Monday."

House frowned at that. They needed answers, and he was starting to think that everyone on his team was an idiot. He was going to have to step in to get things done.

They tossed around a few more ideas, but without inspiration. He sent them off to finish the heart tests so that they could go back to their own tests.

He wondered where Wilson was.

=o=

By late afternoon, House still hadn't heard from Wilson.

Everyone thought Wilson was the nice guy, but House knew him better. After all, they'd met after Wilson had broken a mirror in a bar and landed himself in jail. Wilson had intrigued him before that, wandering around with that envelope, but to get that angry over Billy Joel, well, House had to bail him out and figure him out. And he was still figuring him out. Wilson went along, all suits and ties and genuine concern, and then he'd do something like put his hand down House's pants. After almost twenty years.

House wasn't letting him take it back, either.

For the first time, he wondered if Wilson was really angry, like he'd been that first day they'd met. Everything House had done was fixable. Mostly.

To keep his mind off his personal life for a while, House went down to the MRI lab to see about getting some time for his patient. Luckily, there seemed to be a brief lull in its use, Simpson was always running late, so he texted the team to get the patient down here immediately.

He stood watch in the hallway, ready to bullshit Simpson if he showed up before the team and his patient, but they ran past him with the gurney just as Simpson and one of his flunkies showed up with his patient in a wheelchair.

"House!"

"What?" House asked, leaning against the door jamb, and using his cane to block the way in.

"I'm scheduled to use the MRI!"

"Possession is nine-tenths of the law?"

"You're being selfish. You aren't the only doctor in this hospital with sick patients."

"I'm the only one in this hospital using the machine right now." House looked back where the team was starting the scan. "Well, my team is. At least your patient can sit up." House had no idea if his own patient could sit up or not.

"House!"

The flunky pulled Simpson away. "Let's go and see if we can salvage the procedure. It's just House being House."

"I'm talking to Cuddy about this!" Simpson said as his parting shot. The patient was wheeled away.

House stuck his tongue out at their backs as they left.

'House being House.' God, he hated hearing those words. He cared about his patients. Maybe not in the sappy way a doctor like Wilson cared, but he cared about what was wrong with them, and treating it if that were possible. He was interested in learning all he could about how different diseases presented themselves so that he could figure things out in time to save the next person. Most specialists came up with easy diagnoses and treatment, but his patients were more at risk because no one knew what to treat them for yet.

He was doing what he needed to do so that his patient survived. If the other doctors couldn't fight as hard as he did for their patients they sucked at being doctors.

Wilson fought for his patients, and had the skill to make them feel good about it as well. House didn't have that, but he was glad Wilson did. Wilson was the one person who knew how much he really cared for his patients.

House had to find him.

Cuddy would know where he was. Or maybe Wilson's assistant hadn't given it all up.

=o=

"Dr. Cuddy! He won't leave me alone!"

House followed Wilson's assistant into Cuddy's office. Cuddy looked up from the papers she was reading over. House would have sworn she had a French school girl motif going on. He looked around for the beret.

"What?" She looked irritated, but she usually did. "House!"

House leaned against the wall by the door. He shrugged and looked at Wilson's assistant.

"What's the problem, Sandy?"

"He won't leave me alone to do my job. I told him that with Dr. Wilson gone, it's my responsibility to keep things moving smoothly in Oncology, and he keeps on insisting I have Dr. Wilson locked in a closet or something!"

Interesting choice of words, but House shrugged at Cuddy's look. "It was just a theory."

"I'll take care of him," Cuddy said, and Wilson's assistant huffed and left. Cuddy turned to House. "What is your problem today? What's this about Wilson?"

"He's missing. I haven't seen him since yesterday."

"He's not missing. He's just not in the hospital. If you're so close you can't stand not seeing him for a day, you should just move in together and spare the rest of us."

That wasn't worth commenting on. "Where is he?"

"He's attending a conference in Boston. Some doctors go to conferences, even present papers. Much to the credit of this hospital. And when I talk about some doctors, I'm not talking about you."

"No, you're not," House agreed. "Well, if he's at some lame-ass conference, I guess it's okay."

"I'm sure he'll be glad you approved. Now –"

House's pager went off. "Sorry, have to go."

=o=

"What do you have?" House asked as he swung through the door of the conference room. They'd paged him to the room without details, the idiots.

They were seated around the table, and they started talking immediately.

"His fever's up, he has a headache that we can't touch, and he's vomiting," Cameron said.

"Meningitis?"

"Looks like it," Chase said.

"So, we're going to –" he left that dangling to be picked up.

"Do the cultures, but start to treat." Foreman said. "We've already done that. Who else feels like we're just chasing symptoms? We need to get ahead of this."

"Okay, let's start over." House walked to the white board. "What are we missing?"

They went over the progress of the illness. Liver nodule, rash, chest pain, meningitis.

"How are all these things related?" House asked.

He let them talk, discussing the patient and what could be wrong with him. But House's mind was on Wilson.

He'd been worried that he'd gone too far. He probably shouldn't have let the momentum carry him into registering Wilson's death with New Jersey. And calling the credit card company to report it had probably been going too far, too. And the party in Wilson's room to get him kicked out that he wasn't even sure Wilson knew about, but how could he not?

The worry had been festering ever since that fire alarm had sounded before Wilson had been able to see what had happened. House couldn't be sure that Wilson knew about his credit and his death. He probably had found out by now, but House had wanted to see it himself. The exasperation on Wilson's face, the hand at the back of his neck, maybe scrubbing across his face. The hands on his hips as Wilson told him how he wasn't behaving correctly. Things House lived for, now more than ever. He wanted Wilson to see how he reacted to his reaction.

If Wilson knew, and he probably did know, he hadn't contacted House to tell him off. Did that mean Wilson didn't care? That he'd given up on them? That he was just so pissed that he wasn't going to say anything more?

Where was Wilson going to live now?

And with that, fear and irritation washed over House. He'd pushed too hard, hadn't he? He couldn't help himself. When he knew Wilson was going to go out with a woman, he had to do something to stop it all, to get more control over Wilson, and the only way to do that was to get him to move into House's apartment.

But underneath that, where House wasn't lying to himself about his ability to control anyone, even himself, he knew he wanted Wilson to move in because he loved Wilson. House liked being in love, and despite his misanthropy, he didn't mind telling anyone about it either. He didn't want to ruin Wilson's life; he wanted to be a part of it.

He hated it when he acted like he was an eight-year-old. He deserved 'House being House.' He was an idiot. The only thing, the only person who redeemed him, was Wilson. Not in a romantic fluffy way. But Wilson made him remember he was connected to the rest of the human race.

He wanted to be angry at himself for having been so trusting as to become attached to another person, but one of the things that he'd learned from Wilson was that being attached wasn't bad. Sex was one thing, but this feeling of love which was some weird chemical thing that was still real, that was something else. It had been something else with Stacy, and here it was again. How lucky was he that it happened twice in one lifetime with such intensity? Especially to a bastard like him who hardly had more than one friend at a time.

He'd thought that Wilson's only option was to move in with him. Instead he'd gone to a conference. A conference that he hadn't told House about...

=o=

"Listen, Bonnie, I'm sorry for bothering you." House used the smoothest voice he had, trying to project calm that he didn't feel. The fellows had gone home for the night. The patient was in intensive care, and Chase had volunteered to check him every few hours.

"Greg? Is something wrong with James?"

"No, no, he's fine." At least House thought he was. He hadn't wanted to call Bonnie again, but Bonnie was the last one Wilson had seen before he'd started to withdraw. He'd been fine before Bonnie had kissed him. Girl cooties. House was sure that she'd lied when she said she didn't know what was going on with Wilson. She'd caused it to begin with.

"Oh, good," she said in that perky voice that made House want to strangle her.

"Yeah, well, hmm..." House realized he'd back himself into a corner. "Well, not that fine. I can't find him... Do you know where he is?"

"Did you try his cell phone?"

Duh. "Yes."

"I don't know – You know about his brother?"

She couldn't be talking about the one that Wilson dragged himself to see at least once a year for family occasions, the one with the kids. Wilson never saw him outside the family occasions, and House heard about the impending doom of them for weeks before they happened. It had to be the other one, the homeless one that House didn't ask about because Wilson didn't want to talk about him.

"Yeah," he said as if he knew everything, hoping she still babbled like she used to when he first knew her and actually spent more than five minutes with her at a time.

"You remember my cousin, Jeff?"

House was getting tired of the trip down memory lane, but he thought back to that summer fifteen or so years ago. The last time he'd seen that twerp, Jeff.

He and Wilson spent some vacation time in Boston with Mike, a friend of Wilson's from medical school. Mike was a cheap jackass; Wilson had paid for everything when they were in Boston. It was House's first indication of how little judgment Wilson had when it came to choosing friends.

Mike had introduced them to Bonnie, a friend of his. House hadn't noticed anything between Bonnie and Wilson, not at first. Wilson had taken Bonnie out for food and movies because she was feeling down, and that seemed to be that. Wilson was a nice guy.

Jeff was Bonnie's cousin, and he'd been like a little puppy, yapping around Wilson, hoping for some attention. Wilson hadn't even noticed him, but House had. He'd slapped him down a few times. It was fine to be out and proud, but if anyone was having gay sex with Wilson, it was going to be House, not some horny nineteen-year-old.

Bonnie was the one who had been successful distracting Wilson from Jeff, much to House's chagrin.

House had always been interested in as much as Wilson wanted from him; Wilson just hadn't expressed an interest in anything other than friendship until recently. House wasn't usually so circumspect, but he'd liked Wilson from the moment he'd first seen him. Yeah, liked him, liked him, as Cameron would say. He could restrain himself if he had to, and Wilson had turned out to be a great friend, too. House had quickly discovered that he liked all of Wilson, even if they remained only friends.

House hadn't been sure how Bonnie had done it, but the outings turned to dates, and by the end of the two weeks of vacation, she and Wilson were engaged. Jeff had snickered at House, like he knew everything, when they'd announced the engagement.

"Yeah, I remember him."

"He called me last week, and said that Mike had seen Danny up there."

House had to do some quick connecting, but Danny must be Wilson's missing brother. "Really?"

"That's what he said. I went to tell James in person. He needed to hear about it, and not over the phone. He was upset, but I told him to talk to Mike."

House rubbed a hand over his face. Wilson was so weird about his missing brother that he hadn't told House about his existence until recently.

"Did you two fight?" Bonnie asked.

"What?"

"You usually know exactly how to reach him."

"I don't –"

"You always knew where to find him when we were married. Even on our honeymoon, you were calling him. Jeff said that James was having an affair with you."

"We never –"

"Oh, I know. I watched you two. James didn't know, did he? That you –"

"No, he's not too observant," House interrupted her, not wanting her to say those words. It was a violation that he couldn't tolerate. "You totally blind-sided him."

Bonnie laughed a little, and House hated her all the more. "Yeah, I did. It wasn't good for either of us. He really wanted you."

House had a hard time believing that, but he let it slide because he didn't want to have that discussion with Wilson's ex-wife. "I just need to know where he is."

"Are you going to make him happy? Stop being a selfish bastard, and give him what he wants? He loves you."

"I don't know what he wants." House was starting to see no way around over-sharing with Bonnie. "Look. I asked him to move in with me, and he took off."

"At least you finally did something! But for a smart guy, you're an idiot. So is James! I just want him to be happy, and I may not understand it, but you make him happy. He's up in Boston, visiting Jeff and Mike. They're together now – Jeff and Mike. James said that he's moved out of the hotel finally."

House made a few more noises, irritated that Bonnie had gotten as much out of him as she had. He wasn't ashamed of being in love with Wilson, but it wasn't any of her business. Especially when he wasn't too sure, anymore, that Wilson realized it.

=o=

House had envisioned a Mission: Impossible kind of foray into Cuddy's office to leave the resurrection paperwork on her desk without having to talk to her about it, but both Cuddy and her assistant were gone, so he just dropped the papers in her in box for her signature. Wilson would soon be alive again.

Now he needed to get up to Boston and talk to Wilson about what Bonnie had told him. Without actually admitting that he'd been desperate enough to talk to Wilson's ex-wife. Oh, hell, he was beyond that, wasn't he? He'd tell Wilson whatever he had to tell him.

"Hi, Dr. House!"

He turned around to see who was calling his name, and groaned. "Dr. Cuddy said I wasn't supposed to talk to you. Besides, I thought I diagnosed and cured you. You shouldn't be stalking me."

"I'm not stalking you," Ali, the seventeen-year-old stalker, said. "My dad's in the hospital in ICU. You're his doctor, but I haven't seen you up there."

"Your dad is my patient?" House hated repeating things like that, but he couldn't believe it.

"Yeah, they don't know what's wrong with him, but I told my mom you'd figure it out."

And he just had. Coccidioidomycosis was an infection caused by breathing in the spores of a fungus, Coccidioides immitis. The disease was relatively common in the Southwest; anyone who had even an airport layover could be exposed and catch it. Ali had a less severe form of the disease, but cocci could disseminate throughout the body, causing the kinds of problems his patient had been having. People died from disseminated cocci. Ali had said there'd been an earthquake while she was in California, but windstorms and gardening were just as common a reason for the fungus to get into the air and breathed in by people and animals.

House remembered seeing Ali's father in the clinic, and he wondered why the team never mentioned that to him. He might have put it all together faster if they had. The patient had been showing signs of cocci even then, although they were also the signs of any respiratory illness, so cocci would never have been his first guess.

House pulled out his phone, and called the team. "Okay, who forgot to tell me that our patient was in Fresno last month?"

=o=

House left the team doing a KOH to confirm the cocci. They'd be calling with the results. House had checked the patient's file before leaving. The clinic visit was logged in Previn's neat script, but there were no doctor notes after it. Oops. His bad.

The drive up to Boston was even longer than he'd remembered it. He wished Wilson had run away somewhere closer. Mike and Jeff had better not be introducing Wilson to the local gay nightlife.

House took a deep breath, and hit the steering wheel to relieve some of his frustration. He remembered Mike and Jeff, but they hadn't been together back then. Mike was Wilson's age, although a couple years behind him in med school. The slow top. Jeff had been between his freshman and sophomore year in college that summer.

House hadn't known Mike was gay back then; he was barely a blip on House's radar. But Jeff was a constant flighty irritant.

House had hired a private investigator today to get Mike and Jeff's address and some basic information. Apparently, they were married, had been for a couple years, and lived in a townhouse in Back Bay. House wondered how the boring Mike had hooked up with the flamboyant, younger, Jeff.

His cell phone rang; it was Chase's tone. "Yeah," House said.

"We found Coccidioides spherules in his sputum."

It wasn't any surprise, although House could have kicked himself for not at least going by the patient's room and realizing that he was Ali's father.

"So, get the meningitis under control, and start him on IV amphotericin. Most people get mild cases of cocci, like his daughter did, and recover, barely knowing that they've been sick. People with the disseminated version deal with it their entire lives, and may eventually die of it. You have to get it under control. There's a doctor out in Bakersfield you might want to call, too."

They worked out a few details of treatment as House turned onto the street Mike and Jeff lived on. He looked for the address – it turned out to be a very nice townhouse. Mike and Jeff were, after all, both doctors, and could afford it. There were toys out in the front yard, and he wondered for a moment if it was the wrong address, but it was the one that the P.I. had given him, and Wilson's car was parked nearby.

He thought about going up to the door and knocking. Wilson was either in there now, or he was out with Jeff or Mike in one of their vehicles. But now that he was here, House wasn't looking forward to the confrontation. He needed to talk to Wilson, but he was afraid of how Wilson might be feeling about being killed, even if only figuratively.

"I have to go, Chase." House ended the call without waiting for an answer. He took a sip of the coffee he'd picked up on the way here, but it was cold. He was a coward, a selfish coward. House being House.

About forty-five minutes later, the door opened, and a tall woman came out, followed by Wilson.

What had the gay guys been doing with a woman in there? More to the point, Wilson wasn't always so gay – what had he been doing with her?

The woman looked familiar. He thought back to fifteen years ago. The group hadn't been that big – Mike and Bonnie, Jeff. Samantha, Bonnie's best friend. Samantha. Tall and blonde, and not Wilson's type at all. But here he was with her.

Wilson opened the passenger door of his car and helped her in, and walked around to the driver side. House crouched down in his seat and pulled his cap over his face to avoid being seen.

He heard Wilson start the car, and pull away from the curb. House sat up, started his own car, and followed him at a distance.

They didn't go far, soon pulling into a mid-price chain restaurant. Wilson parked, and helped Samantha out of the car.

House wondered what Samantha's problem was. Because she must have a problem if Wilson was taking her out like this. Wilson was drawn to people's problems and concerns the way House was drawn to their puzzles. Wilson wasn't involved, and suddenly he was. And House was afraid it might already be too late.

House waited until they were in the restaurant and gave them another ten minutes to be seated by the hostess.

When he stepped into the restaurant he spotted them immediately, and sat down at a table in a corner near them where he could watch. He wasn't close enough to hear what they were saying, but he knew Wilson's body language.

They were already ordering. Wilson looked somber. He was wearing his serious helper expression. Which was good; it meant that he wasn't already hopelessly in love.

House ordered coffee and pie as quickly as the waitress would let him, and sent her away. Wilson was laughing, but only politely, apparently at something Samantha had said. Samantha seemed to hang on his every word, but who wouldn't?

House knew that deep inside Wilson was as messed up as he was, but Wilson could pass for a normal person. He could manage to have a life with a wife and family, and no one would question how the hell that happened. House had always, sometimes knowingly, sometimes unknowingly, kept Wilson from that.

Samantha's hand reached out to touch Wilson's arm at one point, and he didn't shrug it off. Wilson didn't really like to be touched casually, especially in public. House wondered if Samantha was an exception, or if Wilson was anxious for her to stop.

Wilson picked up his water glass, and took a long swallow. House watched his throat, smooth and supple. He knew the pulse that beat there, had licked the saltiness.

The waitress interrupted him with his pie and coffee. He didn't want them, but he poked at both so that he wouldn't seem out of place here.

Mid-way through the meal, Samantha stood up. Wilson followed suit as his mom had no doubt taught him, and Samantha went to the back of the restaurant. Freshening up, or whatever euphemism she'd used when she'd excused herself from the table. House turned away slightly so that Wilson wouldn't see him now that he didn't have the blonde to look at.

Wilson looked somber suddenly, and House wondered what he was thinking of. House was pretty sure that Wilson still had credit problems, and wondered if Samantha was liberated enough to pay for their dinner. The waitress came by Wilson's table and chatted with him, and Wilson smiled a little at what she had to say. The waitress left when Wilson stood up for Samantha's return.

Samantha hugged Wilson, and kissed him. House closed his eyes, and put down the fork he'd been using to tear apart the pie. He really couldn't see any more of this.

He put a ten dollar bill under his plate, and left the restaurant, not sure what to do.

=o=

He drove around for a while, but ended up driving back to Jeff and Mike's because he didn't know where else to go in Boston, and he wasn't up to driving back to Princeton tonight. And who better to commiserate with gay gone wrong than a married gay couple? They couldn't be having an easy time of it.

Wilson was bound to come back here eventually, even if it wasn't until tomorrow morning after a night with Samantha. Maybe Jeff and Mike would take pity on him and tell him where Samantha lived. He knocked on the townhouse door because he felt just that pathetic.

"House," Mike said. He'd put on more weight than Wilson had, and wasn't any better looking than he used to be. Didn't have nearly as much hair as Wilson, either. "Come on in. I was wondering if you'd show up."

House shrugged as Mike let him in. "I'm looking for Wilson," he said. No need to tell him that he knew exactly where Wilson was and who was with him. Bonnie was right; for a smart guy, he was an idiot. But not knowing, not having things settled, was worse than knowing right now.

"Jeff, look who's here!"

House cringed. He hoped that Jeff wasn't as irritating as he'd been when he was nineteen, but most people weren't.

"James just went out to dinner with Samantha," Mike was continuing. "You remember Samantha, right? They'll be back any time now."

"Dr. House!" Jeff had always called him that, as if to point out that he was older than the rest of them. Jeff was more mature and settled-looking than he'd been that summer, although his tee-shirt was a little on the skimpy side, as if he were still nineteen. He was wiping his hands on a kitchen towel and smiling, not at House, but at Mike.

"I was just cleaning up the kitchen," Jeff turned his gaze to House, "but I could warm something up for you. If you drove up here, you haven't had dinner, have you?"

"Not hungry," House said. "Look, I'm sorry for bothering you after all this time." He wasn't, but Wilson always said that he needed people to help him, and to get them to help him, he needed to be nice. Or at least some version of nice.

"At least have some coffee with us. It's already on."

House nodded. He didn't have anywhere else to go. He'd have to get a hotel, or he'd have to drive back home, but neither appealed. He wanted to talk to Wilson before he did anything else.

Mike took House into what looked like a living room, formal and decorated enough to do any gay man proud. "Are you all-right?" he asked.

"What?" House asked as he sat down. He rubbed his thigh; it suddenly felt like fire. He took out his prescription bottle, and swallowed a pill.

"I can get you some water," Mike said, motioning in the direction of the kitchen.

"That's okay. I can take them dry."

"So," Jeff said, grinning like the idiot he was. "You and James. Finally."

He kind of figured that Wilson would have sobbed his story out to these guys. "It's not the way you think."

"You finally made a move on him, he was fine with it, and crazy gay sex ensued."

"Okay, so it's the way you think." It wasn't, but close enough for the consumption of others. No one needed to know that Wilson was the one to figure it out first.

There were some odd noises coming from the kitchen.

"Jeff, sounds like the coffee's done," Mike said.

"Oh, I'll just be a minute. Don't say anything I'd want to hear?" He hurried off.

"He hasn't changed, has he?" House said, shaking his head.

"No, not fundamentally." Mike sat down in a chair across the coffee table from House. "But I like to think we've all learned things and maybe grown a little wiser, grown up in the last fifteen years."

Wasn't that what House had screamed to Wilson, that he needed to grow up? Just before House had legally killed Wilson. Yeah, that was the act of an adult.

"It would be nice to think that," House said diplomatically. "But people don't change."

Mike smiled, nodding. "Not in any major way. Jeff's always been a good guy. He was just young, and he had a crush on James back then."

"Didn't we all?" House said.

Mike laughed. "I didn't, and still don't, but you did. See? No big change there."

House frowned.

"Here's the coffee," Jeff said as he put a tray on the table in front of House. "There's sugar. There's cream. Help yourself."

Everyone doctored their coffee, and House settled back in his seat and took a sip and sighed. Jeff could make decent coffee.

"All kidding aside," Jeff said, "I hope you're here to patch things up with James. Even back when I was in college, I could see that you two were perfect together. You were always looking at him, watching him. I couldn't understand how he and Bonnie got engaged when you felt like that about him. Bonnie did not thank me for that observation."

Okay, maybe he had more substance than House had given him credit for. There really wasn't any point in not being somewhat honest with them.

"I'm not sure Wilson's really interested, long-term."

"We all feel that way sometimes," Jeff said, looking at Mike.

Mike took Jeff's hand. "It's just human nature. James wouldn't have stuck around so long if he didn't get something positive out of your relationship."

"Daddy!" The shrill voice startled House, and he almost dropped his coffee cup.

"I'll get her," Jeff said. He put his cup on the table and hurried down a hall that House had ignored earlier.

House raised his eyebrows at Mike. "A kid? Samantha's?"

"She's Jeff's. He always wanted a child."

House was surprised. "He cheated on you?"

Mike laughed. "No! There are other ways to get a child, Dr. House. She's his biologically, and I adopted her last year after we got married. I like kids, and I wanted to give Jeff what he wanted – a legally-sanctioned family."

House could hear the front door open in the foyer, and Mike left his cup on the tray and stood up. Wilson came into the room, followed by Samantha. They were both smiling, and House was struck by how young Wilson looked. Young and happy. He stopped in the doorway to the living room. His expression didn't exactly change, but House could see some of the pleasure drain out of it, and it made him sick.

"House."

"Who?" Samantha said from behind Wilson. "Let me –" A blonde head popped out. "Dr. House! James said you were in Princeton."

"Yeah, I'm irritating that way; I just don't stay put."

"If you were dead, you wouldn't have that problem," Wilson said, not smiling at all now.

"James!" Samantha punched him on the arm. "Stop that."

"Yeah, well," House started, not wanting to have this conversation in front of anyone else, least of all his competition. But she wasn't competition if he was conceding the race, was she?

"Jeff is in the bedroom with Alice," Mike said. "Why don't we go back and help him, Sam?"

Mike and Samantha left, but not before House saw Mike exchanging a look with Wilson. House frowned at that; he hated the idea that someone else was giving Wilson support against him, that someone else felt they had to.

"You want to talk?" Wilson asked, his hand going to the back of his neck.

"Nothing further from my mind," House said.

"Then –"

"We have to. I told you that days ago. I guess we just have more to talk about now."

Wilson glanced toward the hallway that everyone else had disappeared down. "Let's get out of here."

=o=

House hadn't wanted to have this discussion in a public place, and he didn't trust Jeff not to listen, so they ended up on the cold back patio which was lit up brightly enough that House felt as if he were on stage. There was a built-in barbecue and counters, lounge chairs, and a dining set.

House poked at a chair with his cane, not really wanted to sit down, not really wanting to look at Wilson.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry."

They both spoke at once, making House even more uncomfortable. He shrugged to relieve some of the tension in his shoulders. An even brighter light flickered from a window, and House wondered if Mike and Jeff were keeping an eye on them, making sure Wilson was safe. After all, last time Wilson had been around him, House had killed him.

House sneaked a glance at Wilson. His hand was at the back of his neck, and he was looking down at the cobbled stone under their feet. He looked worried and frazzled, and House was sorry he'd put that look there when Wilson had looked so happy with Samantha.

He'd been strong enough to push Stacy back to Mark. He frowned, not wanting to think of pushing Wilson into Samantha's arms.

"Why are you staying with them?" House blurted out. It really bothered him that Wilson hadn't come to him.

"You didn't leave me any choice, remember? I'm dead and, apparently, they don't let dead people have credit."

"You didn't have to come all the way up here to Boston. I told you to move in with me."

"Why did you do it?" Wilson asked.

"I just wanted you to move back in with me." He hated to admit that he'd done anything wrong because he was still having a hard time believing that he had been wrong. He had to do whatever it took to get Wilson into his apartment. "I guess I shouldn't have done that."

"Damn right, you shouldn't have. You're the one who's always talking about everyone lying and how actions mean more than words – and, on a whim, you sent in my death notice. You killed me!"

It seemed out and out silly now. That anything would stop Wilson from finding a woman and settling down to a normal family. Maybe this time House would just let him have what he wanted, and leave them alone. Maybe that's what Wilson had been trying to tell him all along by his refusal to move in.

"I – couldn't think of anything else to do."

"Why am I surprised anymore?"

"I just wanted you to move in. I asked –"

"You told me to move out of the hotel and into your apartment! I can't. I'm being too selfish and – "

"Stop. Just, stop it."

Wilson was never selfish. He always thought of the other person, and put their happiness before his own. It made him the perfect friend for House, but maybe not so great a romantic partner. That tie was too intense for one of the people to be so selfish and the other so selfless. It also made Wilson crazy when there was more than one person he was trying to please – in the past Wilson had both a wife and House vying for his attention.

"There's nothing wrong with being selfish. You should be selfish," House said quietly, his shoulders slumped. It was like letting Stacy go back to Mark, only worse, because Wilson was his best friend, his only friend. With Stacy he was only losing something that hadn't been his for five years. "The truth is that you deserve to be selfish."

"You're all about the truth when it comes to other people. You killed me. Where's the truth in that?"

"There's no truth, you idiot." House glared at him. "You should be as selfish as you can be, and do exactly what you want to do. It's been what I've done all my life; you should try it to see how it works for you."

"House –"

"No." House raised his hands. "Just do what you want to do. I've already done the paperwork to bring you back from the dead. You should be able to start your new life anytime now."

He left before Wilson could say anything more.

=o=

House made it half way back to Princeton before pulling into a motel. The bed was okay, but he didn't sleep, just drifted in and out of consciousness in exhaustion and pain.

Wilson would be happy now. He'd be with Samantha, and have a family. Even if Samantha wasn't who he wanted, Wilson would find someone else. Maybe he'd invite House to the wedding if it weren't too much of an embarrassment. He didn't want to be best man again.

He got up late the next morning, and drove the rest of the way to Princeton. There was no time to stop at his apartment, and he didn't want to, anyway. He changed into the spare clothes he kept in the bag under his desk, and went into the conference room, looking for coffee.

"Wow, you look –"

House cut Chase short with a glare, and went on to the coffeepot, which was empty. He turned it upside down, his eyebrows shooting up.

"– great. You look great." Chase sounded as sure about that as House felt.

"Where are Cameron and Foreman?"

"Foreman's in neurology, and Cameron's supposed to be in this afternoon. She went to a conference, remember?"

"Why are you still here?" House asked. Why were they still here when they could be on their own?

"Just waiting for you to let you know where we are." Chase stood up. "The patient is doing better; he's in ICU and I handed him off to Infectious Disease. I'm going to NICU until there's a case for us."

House let him go without a fight because he wasn't in the mood to fight anyone. He needed coffee, and considered going to the Oncology lounge, but there was a reason Wilson always came to Diagnostics for coffee. He went back to his office to go through his e-mail; caffeine wasn't enough to help how he felt.

House couldn't find Wilson when he went to look before lunch. He didn't think they'd be eating lunch together anymore, but he was hoping that Wilson was at least willing to be friends with him. He always stayed friends with his exes, didn't he? Cuddy had said he'd be back, but maybe that was before he and Samantha had gotten together. Maybe Wilson was never coming back to Princeton. Maybe House really needed some sleep.

He stretched out on his chair and slept fitfully. He went to his clinic hours, and they dragged on while he tried to find something interesting in them. He hoped the fellows would find a new patient, but not until he'd had a day or two to sleep. Sucked that it was only Monday, and he should be rested already, but there were days to go yet before the weekend.

He leaned against the clinic counter, trying to write something that someone else might be able to read in the future. Previn was looking at him the way she always did, but she was keeping the mouth to herself, so that was fine.

Cuddy walked out of her office in a suit that reminded him of the prim clothing that one of his fourth grade teachers used to wear, other than how low-cut it was. Those high heels weren't anything Miss Abercrombie would have worn, either.

"I thought Wilson was supposed to be in today," he said.

"You look – great," she said as she put a file in a wire basket.

"Wilson?" House couldn't keep the impatience out of his voice, and he didn't try.

"So he isn't really dead?" Cuddy asked.

House rolled his eyes. "Would I have given you that paperwork if he were dead? You did get it taken care of, didn't you?"

Cuddy sighed and nodded. "He called and he's taking another vacation day. He'll be back in tomorrow. Stop involving me in your pranks." She clicked off to her lair.

House was relieved that Wilson had called Cuddy and was going to be back. Would Samantha be moving down here? Maybe House should just let Wilson go. He might be able to have a decent marriage without House calling him all the time. On the other hand, there was that gayness that was hard to stomp down. And the fact that House loved Wilson. House wasn't sure he could really let go. It was going to be more struggle and more irritation, and maybe he could keep their relationship going under a wife's nose because who would be looking for their new husband to be doing it with his male best friend?

House was exhausted after the afternoon of clinic patients. At the end of the day, House wasn't convinced that Wilson was going to show up at work tomorrow. Wilson would be handing in his resignation, taking vacation in lieu of notice, and moving back up to Boston to be with Samantha. He tried to feel good for his friend, but he could only feel like crap for himself. He'd let his opportunity to keep Wilson slip through his fingers. No, worse. He'd driven Wilson right into a woman's arms. There wasn't going to be a second chance for House, and he'd torched his only friendship while he was at it. Just as he always suspected he would.

He got a page from the fellows, and forced himself up to the fourth floor. They looked at him hopefully when he swung the door open.

"ER had a case," Cameron said, waving the files.

House limped over to the white board, and picked up the marker. "New game, new rules. Chase is going to be the leader first – he's going to run the differential. I'll be listening in, but it's all you."

He threw the marker to Chase, and sat down at the table, rubbing his leg. He'd get through this weaning process himself if he had to. Chase looked surprised and then thoughtful, but he took the marker to the board, and turned to them.

"What do we have?" he asked and wrote down key symptoms as Cameron presented the patient's history and what had brought him to the ER today.

House leaned back and observed as Foreman joined in.

=o=

The neighborhood was quiet, but that might be because of the late hour. He'd stayed at the hospital as long as he could, hoping that Wilson would show up to get a jump on tomorrow. He'd finally steeled himself to face the empty apartment. He parked the bike on the sidewalk, not caring if he got a ticket. He didn't want to walk; he didn't want to search for a spot. He needed to get to the couch and the scotch, and not necessarily in that order.

He unlocked the outside door and the one to his apartment.

The lights were on. He'd been so preoccupied outside that he hadn't noticed from the sidewalk, but all the lights in the living room were on, and the brighter light of the kitchen shone yellow on the dark floor of the living room. He checked the door for evidence of a break-in, and then closed it quietly. He set his backpack down, and took a step toward the kitchen doorway.

Warmth and the scent of garlic and tomato and peppers assailed him, as if they were suddenly in the air with the realization of light. It smelled like the home he'd never realized he was missing.

"Wilson?" His voice cracked, and the name didn't come out as loudly as he'd hoped, so he tried again. "Wilson?"

Wilson came out of the kitchen, taking off an apron, his hair frizzed from the humidity of the kitchen and cooking. It looked like a halo against the kitchen light, and House knew he was lost if he was having sappy thoughts like that.

"You're late," Wilson said, and he looked uncomfortable and awkward, and House was glad he wasn't the only one.

"New case," House responded, and found his voice had gone deeper that usual. He was still trying to process Wilson, here in his apartment, cooking dinner. In a more normal tone, he said, "I thought –"

Wilson smiled and threw the apron back into the kitchen, presumably onto the island. He came forward at an easy pace, looking more confident. "What did you think?"

"I told you –" and he stopped when Wilson's hand came up to his cheek and rubbed against the stubble.

"You told me to be selfish, and that's what I'm being, right now."

Wilson pulled him closer, and kissed him. House may have started the kissing originally, but Wilson knew exactly what to do. House opened his mouth, and tried to push back, but Wilson had him, and he let that be because it felt damn good after thinking he'd lost Wilson completely.

Wilson pulled away from the kiss, but held them close together.

"I wasn't expecting you back," House said. He blew out a breath, and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Why not? Could it be because you weren't listening to me? You walked out before I could say anything. I know you're all about actions, but sometimes words are important."

"But Samantha –"

"Wanted to catch up with an old friend. And I was fine with that. She's going through a rough patch just now –"

House opened his mouth to argue because Wilson thrived in rough patches, Wilson fell in love with rough patches, and Wilson kissed him into silence.

"Stop thinking, for once. Her father has been diagnosed with carcinoma, and she wanted my opinion on his treatment. That was the end of it. I don't even know where she lives."

House huffed.

"Seriously. I don't know."

"I believe you. But what's to keep you fr –"

"At first, I was angry that you'd killed me. You could have just maxed out my card, or even canceled it. Instead you killed me."

House didn't mention that he had canceled a couple of cards; let Wilson find that out later.

Wilson's eyes crinkled at the corner. "I finally decided that it was endearing, in a megalomaniac way – if you couldn't have me, no one could."

"Why wouldn't you move in with me?" House was willing to admit that he'd missed something.

"I was being selfish."

"What does that have to do with you moving in with me?"

"All my life I've thought that being selfish is bad –"

"It isn't bad; it's human. I -"

"My turn to talk, remember? You're assuming that being selfish means I'd be with Samantha. I told you I was just answering some medical questions for her."

"But –"

"Being selfish means I'm with you. I've never done exactly what I wanted until that night I kissed you."

"I kissed you!"

"We kissed each other. Fine, I've never done what I wanted until I put my hand down your pants. Happy? I've always done what my family wanted of me, and at least tried to have a typical family – wife, children, dog. I'd rather be with you."

House wasn't sure how to take that, but he was winning, so why argue?

"Can we be done talking now?" House asked, pulling away a little.

"I'm all for that. Let's eat dinner."

=o=

Dinner went well, neither of them disrupting the calm by even talking. Wilson had done something with the spaghetti that made it not as bad as his food usually was. House had seconds. They watched The New Yankee Workshop. Disappointingly, no blood was spilled.

It was pleasant, but it wasn't getting House what he wanted. He felt as if he didn't have the right to ask Wilson to move in again. If Wilson was being selfish by being with House, and being selfish was okay now, why wouldn't he move in with House?

"I'm thinking of getting a bigger place," House said, as he walked back to the bedroom to change. He didn't want to see the expression on Wilson's face, but maybe Wilson would be more comfortable moving in if he had more space, a room of his own that he could sleep in – occasionally. House would be willing to wrap some cups in plastic for him, and even charge him for a stocked minibar.

House poked around his bedroom after he'd put on the sleep pants and tee shirt that were hanging on a hook in the closet. He opened one of his drawers, looking for socks. He stopped a moment – his manly socks were gone, replaced by what he recognized as Wilson's frilly things that went with French shoes.

House opened a couple more drawers and examined the closet more closely. Then sat down on the bed. Rather suddenly.

There was a lot they hadn't talked about during dinner.

When House got back to the living room, the dishes had been cleaned up, and Wilson's shirtsleeves were back down and Wilson was sitting on the couch, watching 'Mi Problema con las Mujeres.'

Your problem with the women, muchacho, is that you want to be with men.

"We don't need more room," Wilson said, looking at the couch. "I got a bigger storage unit. Lady's going to be coming by twice a week. And I'm in negotiations with a chef service so I don't have to slave in the kitchen when I don't want to."

"Good. I wouldn't want to eat your crap all the time." Did this mean Wilson was moving in? That was at least half the battle, Wilson in his apartment, if only on the couch for now.

House sat down next to Wilson and they wrestled for the remote. He ended up half sprawled across Wilson, pressing buttons to change to anything else. He really wasn't in the mood to listen to some idiot discussing his relationship problems in Spanish. "Where are my socks?"

Wilson was still watching the television, but he smiled slightly. "Sacrifices had to be made."

House glanced at him, and Wilson let out a chuckle. House sighed. Both of them being selfish might end up in all out war.

=o=

"Why did you go to Boston?" House knew most of the answer, or thought he did, but if Wilson answered House wouldn't be in trouble if he slipped with the information that Bonnie had given him. It was still possible that his conversations with Bonnie were lies; she'd never liked him.

"Bonnie said that Mike had seen my brother, the one I haven't seen in ten years, in Boston. I finally talked to Mike that night, just before you came to my hotel room. He said the guy looked like Danny, but wasn't Danny. He invited me to Boston so we could all catch up."

"So you decided to visit for the weekend?"

Wilson frowned. "Not until I had nowhere else to go."

"You could have come here; that was the plan."

"Let's just say I wasn't in the frame of mind to go along with your plans after getting kicked out of the hotel because I was dead."

"Will you get over that?"

"Only because you came after me to Boston. I wasn't sure about anything after you ki – well, I wasn't sure of anything. That just seemed to come out of a very angry place, and I thought maybe that was the end between us, like with Stacy. I know you're you, but why couldn't you wait for me to think it through?"

He didn't mind it when Wilson was the one to say he was acting like himself, but that was because Wilson knew all of him, and liked him – loved him – anyway. "You weren't thinking fast enough. You were being an idiot."

"You came after me to Boston." Wilson said. "Who's the idiot?"

"What were you expecting?"

"Not that you'd subject yourself to Jeff again, not even for me."

"He's not that bad."

"And you must have talked to Bonnie, too. And the drive up there –"

House squirmed. "Can we just move on from this conversation?"

"I thought us being together was all about me." Wilson looked smug and relaxed. "But I'm not a total selfish bastard, because you're getting something out of this – you're being selfish, too."

"Yeah?" House said, looking Wilson in the eye. "What am I getting out of this?

Wilson chuckled, but he stood up and pulled House off the couch. "Let's go find out."

=o=

House woke up to the light streaming in through the curtains they'd forgotten to draw last night.

He'd fallen asleep with the warmth of Wilson against him, and he couldn't feel it now. He was afraid to look, although Wilson admitting he wanted him and moving in was progress enough, wasn't it?

House felt the bed shift, and a bare arm draped over his chest to pull him onto his back. House reached up to run a hand through Wilson's sleep-tousled hair, trying to make sense of him still being here, in his bed, in the sunlight.

"You stayed."

"Yeah." Wilson leaned against him, and kissed him. "Hope you don't mind. I had to have somewhere to sleep, and your bed came to mind."

House smiled. "You should be selfish more often," he said.

"I plan to be."

=o=