TITLE: Treatment; House
AUTHOR: commodoresexual
FANDOM: House, MD
PAIRING: House/Wilson
RATING PG-13 for language and violence
SUMMARY: You can't always get what you want, but sometimes, you get what you need.
NOTES: Do you think I own this? Please. I wouldn't be working at a crappy job if I had rights to House. Mostly there would be staring. Maybe some drool.

This is the THIRD and final part of this ...story arc that has no name. I should really name it, and not be lazy. Any ideas, gang?

Also, again I thank and love on my Slybaby for editting, the new fandom I'm in for squealing for more, all my friends who read this and told me, 'No, it doesn't suck, post it!'

And to our boys. Yeah, we know who they are.

Diagnosis
Patient Write-Up



Dr. Gregory House was many things.

He was a brilliant diagnostician, and he never let anyone forget that.

He was an intellectual that valued thought over emotion, reason over rhyme, brains over brawn -and- beauty, and thought stupid people should be required by law to have their tubes tied so they couldn't breed and further the idiocy of the masses.

He was a lover of music - jazz, modern rock, classic rock, classical period.

He was a soap opera fan - General Hospital, The O.C., As The World Turns. He used to watch Passions, but they got rid of Timmy and to House, Timmy made the show. Him and his Mar-Timmys. House didn't like puns, but watching a dwarf knock back those big drinks always gave him a smile. It was good to know whatever the disability, everyone had their poison of choice to make it just a little more tolerable.

He was not a Vicodin 'junkie', but sometimes it felt like he was one of pain, because he pushed his limits to the point where the little white pills spelled salvation. He needed the pills, he knew that, but he was still up every day, moving and breathing and most importantly, -diagnosing-. The -real- addiction, he had found though, was his job.

He was a man with a wicked sense of humor, having the scathing wit and the lack of sensitivity needed to be a really good mocker. He felt that if he was born in a medieval age, he would have been snapped up as a court jester like that.

But above all these things, the one thing that House would admit to anyone who asked, was he liked when things went according to plan. When he figured out the solution to a problem, the rest of it fell into place like puzzle pieces. Yes, there was always the thrill of complications, what else could he could divine from a case, but in the end he liked it when he could tie together everything neatly in a little package.

He liked successes, what could he say? He liked them best from a safe distance, of course, so no one could see him silently gleeful that he had beaten the system again. Beat time, beat illnesses that no one thought you could. He could tap his bad thigh, smirk to himself, and throw a big 'fuck you' out to the Universe. It made his day just a little brighter.

Of course, that could also be the Vicodin.

He liked to win.

Today, he was determined to.

So, he sat in the lounge just outside the cafeteria, brown paper bag beside him, humming softly as he turned up his Gameboy and adjusted his leg to the ultimately most comfortable position. He leaned over the cushy sofa arm, making sure he had a clear view all the way in to the grouped tables. Perfect.

It wasn't unlike a chess game, really. He just had to wait for his pawns to arrive.

"...all I'm saying is, we’ve shelled out a lot of money ..."

"He'll come through. Trust the former criminal mastermind."

"You got arrested, Foreman. Criminal masterminds usually manage to get away."

"Which is why I became a doctor, Chase. Less prison bars and humiliating calls to my parents."

Ah, and here came three of them now.

"Are you sure this is the best place to do this?" Cameron's voice muttered nervously. House grinned. He always thought it an amusing sign of how apt Wilson's 'duckling' nickname was for the trio when one of the ways he could always recognize them is the way their footfalls sounded coming up from behind him.

"Listen, it's a public forum. We can make sure nothing funny is going to happen." Foreman responded as they sidestepped around his spot, completely oblivious of his presence.

Well, that wouldn't do. "Nothing funny at all? But I was so looking forward to the pre-requisite pie fight. They've got banana cream in today, special."

If the three of them had jerked around any faster, House felt fairly certain he'd be prescribing them a healthy bottle of his old friend Vicodin for whiplash. He put on his most innocent smile, waggling his fingers in greeting.

"Doc - Doctor House!" Chase nearly squeaked, as Foreman immediately went on 'Code Red Foreman' behavior and Cameron clutched her clipboard like a shield.

"You know, Chase, I never realized how high your voice register really is. Have you ever considered opera? They're always looking for a few good tenors." House smiled, hefting up his Gameboy. "Just look out for those green room hijinks. Pretty boy like you could get himself in trouble."

Hmmm, he loved the smell of fear before lunch. Practically made him carnivorous. He double-clicked to get his game started, carefully keeping his eyes on the screen as he queried lightly, "So, what have you three been up to today? Find anything interesting?"

Out of the top of his vision he saw the three have a completely silent exchange, before Cameron was elected by ballot vote to go forth. "Not really. We were, ah, just going to go over case histories this afternoon. After lunch, that is."

"Oooh, sounds exciting and yet fun filled enough to be a trip to the dentist for a full-on root canal. Well, I'll page you if I need you. I thought I'd hang around the lab - see if something completely unexpected pops up." He looked up, and smiled, baring his teeth as evil-like as he could. "The lab's a good place to discover things, don't you think?"

Oh, no wonder sharks loved blood on the water. The looks of terror on their faces were like music for his eyes. Huh, now that was a creepy analogy. Chase and Cameron finally shot a weak head nod in agreement, while Foreman's expression went from 'Code Red' to 'Code Suspicious Fuchsia'. They mumbled off quick goodbyes before hurrying into the cafeteria itself, heads close together and muttering to one another. They reminded him of his maiden aunts at family holidays.

Except of course, with less flowered print and the smell of gin on Aunt Agatha was missing.

"Dr. House."

Speaking of wicked witches... "Dr. Cuddy." House jerked his head up, but not too far, to look up into Lisa Cuddy's frowning face. Which was rather hard considering that today she wore a blouse that made her breasts look like giant pink ...snow covered mountainous globes. Again, with the strange analogy. His blood sugar had to be low.

Cuddy lifted one elegant eyebrow at him, folding her arms under Mt. Left and Mt. Right. "Soooo, enjoying the hospital's fine lounging areas again, I see. Any particular reason why?"

House tilted his head thoughtfully, before returning his attention to his poorly played game. "I wanted some fresh air?"

"House. We're in a hospital. The air here is processed and cleansed within an inch of its life for health and safety standards." Cuddy said dryly.

"Aaah, you assume I meant anything but freshly canned air. I know very well the air out here is good for another seven to ten days before it needs to be tossed for getting moldy." House cocked his head to one side. "Moldy air. I wonder if it has a slightest greenish tinge..."

Excellent, Cuddy looked somewhere between suspicious and confused, her perfectly liplined mouth parting to say something that was, luckily cut off by a cheerful, "Hello - I didn't realize the cafeteria food was so toxic we had to sit around outside to be able to stomach it."

Ah, and the White King came into play at last. House craned his head, drawling out his words in a faux British accent, "I thought I would take lunch out on the verandah today, James. The weather is pipping good, what?"

Wilson's eyebrows rose as he slipped into place besides Cuddy, his hands stuffed casually into his lab coat pockets. "Sure, for ass-cold March."

"Eh, probably, but I still brought my lunch." House dug into the paper bag, pulling out a package of marshmallow peeps, in violent purple. Ripping open the cellophane, he breathed in the sugary aroma. "Aaaaaah. Just like Mom used to make."

"That's your entire lunch. Marshmallow peeps." Cuddy's eyebrow raised. "Not exactly nutritional."

"Cuddy, Cuddy, Cuddy. You're just looking at the outside sparkling sugar layer! Peeps are filled with goodness, and light. I see a peep and I see a representation of what a child is, all innocence and beauty." House nodded his head slowly, before he sank his teeth down and ripped the peep's head clean off, much to the chagrined horror of his watchers. He made a face, "...Don't like the purple ones, though. They leave a funny aftertaste."

"Could it be the taste of shame?" Cuddy said darkly. "Just what are you doing out here, anyways - I thought you had duty today in the - "

"Dr. Cuddy, didn't you want to speak to me?" Wilson said hurriedly, cutting her off before she had even gotten the word 'clinic' anywhere near the sentence. House raised both eyebrows, amused, while Wilson shot him a look that said clearly, 'The things I do for you'.

However, the sudden intent, concerned look that passed from Cuddy to Wilson captured his interest a lot more quickly than his brief fling with amusement. "Ye-es, Dr, Wilson. We can discuss it over lunch, since I understand we won't be disturbed?" The look that she shot him told him if he made that a lie, she'd make his next rotation of clinic duty hell on earth.

Which was silly, as far as he was concerned. The clinic WAS Hell.

House stretched his out his bad leg a little more, slumping down a more on the sofa as he feigned disinterest. "You kids have fun now. Have her back by 12, and make sure you put gas in the Lincoln, son."

Cuddy snorted and marched into the cafeteria, and how she managed to do that on her four-inch heels was a wonder of physics. Wilson lingered, with a very a wry, "Yes 'Dad' ... and I'll pick you up something less like a child and more like a food for lunch. No, wait. Don't tell me. Reuben dry, no pickles, ruffled chips, not the flat ones, and Pepsi, half ice, half soda."

House's thumb hit pause on his game as he raised his scruffy face, blue eyes intent as he said with hints at softness, stabs of snark, "You know me too well."

He always admired the range of emotions Wilson could go through, just with his expression. Surprise, followed by a hint of wariness, before it melted before him into that quiet smile, a flicker in his eyes of something House had never been able to read before. Now he focused on it, and watched it flare ... yes, there it was.

Repression only worked if you could manage to actually control it, and Wilson wasn't even trying.

Heat. With a smoky aftertaste of desire.

Wilson was obviously more hungry that he thought.

Of course, so was House.

"Dr. Wilson?" Cuddy's voice cut through the moment like a well placed scalpel, her voice sounding irritated and just a touch more curious than usual. Wilson jerked his head towards her, thoroughly slashing it apart.

"Coming." Wilson replied distantly, turning towards her, walking away with an aborted glance backwards. His steps sped up until he had reached the diminutive woman's side, and they both disappeared within.

House let himself slump back against the sofa, then realized belatedly he hadn't known he had been leaning forward to begin with. Well, that was an interesting reaction. Apparently Wilson wasn't the only one with a contracted disease, here. Or rather, House's infection was a lot deeper than he thought. Did he think infection? He meant affection.

Maybe both were true.

He was so lost in pondering the differences and similarities between infection/affection that he nearly missed the arrival of the Black Knight. Who gave him a cursory glance, then sniffed as he turned his well-groomed head away. House found Chase's logic flawed on the choice of Jonathan Snow - yes, the man was attractive, but in the same way an Extra Value meal at McDonald's was attractive. Quick, easy, looks tasty but is just filled with empty calories. Not to mention an empty head.

He smirked to himself as he looked back down at his game, calling out just as Snow reached the door. "Mr. Snow."

Snow stopped, warily. As a member of the hospital administration, he had gotten his fair share of House-snark at one time or another. The man was practically posed for battle as he turned on one well shod heel and said curtly, "Dr. House."

House's lips twisted demonically as he killed another orc-like creature. "Have a nice lunch."

He didn't have to look up to know that whatever expression Snow had on his face was probably half baffled and the other half annoyed, which was proven corrected with the irritated huff the other man gave before he too, disappeared into the busy hub of a lunch room.

He concentrated on his game, waiting patiently as he ignored the flow of doctors, nurses, families and hospital workers that passed through the double doors. He didn't have to wait long, for a moment later there came the jingle of chains, then the sofa indented beside him as White Knight climbed over the back, and flopped down next to him. The spiky haired youth flashed him a grin, showing off the glint of metal at his eyebrow and the tongue stud that he sucked on a little as he made his lanky frame comfortable, "Hey, hey, Doctor H."

House's eyebrow climbed, and he clicked off his video game. "...Is my full name that hard to pronounce, Marcus, or are you just being flippantly youthful?"

Marcus smirked, looking for all the world like a skate punker kid gone mad scientist in his tight-black shirt that showed off his slender chest, and plaid chain-ridden pants under his lab coat. His tie featured one of the Looney Tunes gang - Marvin the Martian. He wanted to be a pediatrician. House thought he'd fit right in if people could forget he looked more like his patients than their physician. He couldn't help liking Marcus, though. The kid thought for himself and that was something he himself always respected.

Beyond that, he was easily bribable. "Your 97.87 is in the bag. Along with your peeps. I bought a package for myself, just to see what the hype was about. Do the purple ones always leave an aftertaste?"

"Always. Which is half the reason why I like 'em." Marcus said, grinning as he peered into the paper bag before carefully stuffing it into one of his broad white pockets. "Did you get a chance to talk to Dr. Yu, too?"

"I did. He said you'd have to show some high levels of emotional distress to retake that exam, though." House said, picking up his cane from where it rested beneath his feet.

"Huh. Really." Marcus flickered his tongue stud again thoughtfully, the glint of metal glittering in the low-watt hospital lighting, before rolling to his feet. "Well then, I'd better go get myself distressed."

"Hey, Marcus..." House couldn't help his curiosity - any more now than he had in the past. As the boy turned, jingling like he just got caught shoplifting from a hardware store, he jerked his head out a little. "Stick your tongue out." The boy blinked, doing so. House got his cane up, leaning his chin on it a little as he stared at the metal stud, "That hurt?"

Marcus grinned as he flicked his tongue, snakelike, before slipping it between his lips once more. "Not as much as the one down here." He thrust his hips slightly forward in emphasis, giving House a keen glance. "Wanna see that one too?"

House's mouth quirked. "I'm not that intrigued."

"Shame. I'm practically a medical marvel, I'm so bendy." Marcus winked, before hip-swaggering his way towards the doors. "Off I go to earn my well versed bribe."

"Have fun storming the castle." House called out after him, leaning his chin against his cane for a moment longer. What was it with the variety of people having crushes on him? First Cameron, now Marcus. Of course, it really wasn't too hard to figure out the both of them - obviously they were masochists.

Wilson, however...

House shook himself out of his thoughts, and gathered up his things as quickly as possible, grimacing a little as he got to his feet. As much as he'd love to watch the fallout - well. This was one of those moments where it might just be best to be somewhere that was ....elsewhere.

Considering his situation, it would be best to be elsewhere as soon as possible. Not like he could run from the scene of the crime. A nice dignified stagger, maybe, but not much else.

He had gotten about three-quarters to the elevator before he heard the first shout. "GET AWAY FROM HIM, YOU MANWHORE! HE'S MINE!"

A vicious smile crossed House's face as he kept moving, resisting the temptation to look behind him, even as the first set of crashes happened. Marcus's lungs were certainly up to the task, as House heard the young med student bellow, "HE'S MINE! MINE! KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OF HIM! JAMES, TELL HIM WE'RE MEANT TO BEEEEEE!"

Must. Not. Look. Behind. Him. Must make it to elevator. Only then could collapse into helpless fits of laughter.

Snow's voice. "ARE YOU INSANE!? I never even TOUCHED your boyfri -AAAAH! COLD COLD!"

"THAT WILL TEACH YOU TO KEEP YOUR WILLIE IN THE GARAGE!" Marcus thundered. "HE'S MY JIMMY-POO!"

Oooh. Jimmy-poo. Nice touch, Marcus. By the end of his tirade, House was fairly sure not only would Marcus own the 'emotional distress' he needed to retake his mid-term in virology, but probably an Oscar for 'Best Weepy-Emo Kid' performance.

Ah, finally, the safety of the elevator. He hobbled inside, trying not to grin as he heard Foreman and Chase's voices mixing in with the din of Marcus's howls of outrage and Snow's panicked screams of, "Help, Help, he's trying to BUTTER me up the ass!"

Oh, god, he was going to the clinic of all free clinics for this one. He leaned against one wall, jabbing at the button to his floor with his cane, his smile jittering across his face like a kid who's just gotten away with lighting a cherry bomb in the school bathroom. Which, technically, hah, he had.

The door, just starting to close, was suddenly thrust open by one manicured hand, and House found himself staring at a slightly mussed and clearly pissed Cuddy. He blinked for a moment before saying mildly, "What's up, Doc?"

Blue eyes flashed dangerously, as Cuddy let go of the door and stepped all the way inside, cornering him. "You ... you ..."

"Is ... there a problem, Dr. Cuddy?" House just barely resisted the urge to flutter his eyelashes. "I was just on my way back to my office. You know, gotta get that charting done before my clinic hours. Wouldn't want to fall behind. That would be irresponsible."

"Bull. Shit." Cuddy ground out her teeth together, looking all the world like Xena, Warrior Princess, on an ass-kicking mission in high heels and Chanel No. 5 wafting off her instead of womanly sweat. She jabbed a finger at him, nearly gutting him in the process. "You just put Marcus Coleman up to causing a scene in the cafeteria, didn't you?"

"Are you serious? Have you seen how Marcus dresses? He could cause a seizure with his ties." House quirked an eyebrow, smirking. "Besides, I heard he's been under a lot of stress lately. Probably just a break down in conjunction with his latest test scores on his midterms. You know them crazy medical students - always ODing on coffee, ginseng and early emotional trauma."

"And just how would you know that?" Cuddy crossed her arms under her chest, glowering. "You don't even go near the teaching part of the hospital."

House looked towards the ceiling as the elevator doors finally closed, and the elevator itself started to rise. "Well, you know how it is with gossip. You should see some of the things they write on the boy's bathroom walls. By the way, expect a lot of phone calls soon."

Cuddy nodded her head slowly, "Right. I'm sure you've got the tracks to your little crime covered carefully, so I won't ever be able to prove it was you. I just want to know, House, just what exactly did Dr. Wilson do to deserve that kind of humiliation in front of half the hospital staff? I would think being your only friend would be considered torture enough."

That got his attention. He snorted, hissing out a soft, "Nice" before straightening a little. "Well, there's a current laundry list of outstanding crimes - such as lying to me about dinners with certain women in our acquaintance instead of monster trucking with me, lying to me about patients, having you lie to me about the 'bet' ..." He took a malicious stab of enjoyment at Cuddy's sharp inward breath, adding sardonically, "...or did you honestly expect me to believe that you were that concerned about my mental health? Please. Our legal funds couldn't handle me going through that much pain on a daily basis. That had James written all over it. However, we'll skip the past, because it bores me, and focus on the present, which is less likely to send me into a coma as I shoot an accusing question across your bow. Just how long have you known that Wilson has been living out of his office?"

It was a risky gauntlet, but the sudden paleness of Cuddy's face was all the answer he needed. She stared at him for a moment before saying curtly, "Two days. I just noticed that he's had all his calls forwarded to his office, or his cell phone. Not to mention his secretary ratted him out when she came to my office. She was worried."

House sighed, feeling a great deal of the venom leave him at that point. "She should be. Divorce number three cometh."

Cuddy's answering frown was followed by a quiet, "How did you know? He asked specifically that you not be told..."

He felt his smile go crooked and bitter, "We've known each other nine years, five months, eleven days and some odd hours. What I don't know about James Wilson might fill up a trashy touchy feely Lifetime movie, but what I do know fills up a nine hour, special edition Peter Jackson trilogy, with DVD extras." He paused, adding quietly to stem Cuddy's expression of confusion, "He only does crossword puzzles when he's looking at want ads ... and since I know his car is only two years old and the house is in Julie's name, apartment hunting was my next best guess."

Cuddy looked at him, discerningly, before asking softly, "Did you know about him?"

He closed his eyes in a brief moment of pain, that she would know this and not him, before snapping them open abruptly. "That's the special Easter egg. I had to have someone show me the cheater code." He felt the awkward pause, because it seemed so strange to ask someone else about Wilson, "Am I the reason ..."

"Behind the third divorce? The second and the first? I don't know. He didn't want to tell me." Cuddy sighed softly, leaning against the other wall. Off his raised eyebrow, she smirked, "Oh, c'mon, House. Just because he's your only friend, doesn't mean you're his. Even harpies like me need a Wilson."

House couldn't help but smile at that, as the elevator dinged open. He looked out at the hallway, then back at Cuddy, thumping his cane once against the floor. "You told me not long ago to ruin your day...I need off from clinic." He gave her a bland look, "I need to do my newspaper route."

"You must be the slowest paperboy on the block - but the answer is 'yes'." Cuddy's own smile was wry, before she fixated her face in a glower, "If you make this situation worse, House, I swear ..."

"What, you'll make me do clinic duty on 'O.C' nights?" House limped out of the elevator, raising one eyebrow sardonically.

"Nope. I'll just tell Marcus you really do have the hots for him." She smiled sweetly at him as the elevator doors started to close. "Good luck."

"Thanks." He nodded his head once, looking at the closing door thoughtfully, before turning towards his office, his steps measured and careful.

The office was empty when he arrived - his team must have been still busy working on the clean-up of Marcus-bomb. He angled himself over to the table, moving his cane through day-old newspaper. The marks on it were clear. Foreman had rifled through the sports page, while Chase had plucked up the entertainment section at some point - he could tell by the differing folding styles. Everyone had a go at the front page.

Wilson's were the only noticeable marks on the crossword puzzle, which was of course an interesting study within itself. No one, apparently, had touched the comics. House couldn't help but smile. He plucked up both, folding them and tucking them under his arm, before making his way back to the elevator.

He was skimming over the crossword puzzle again when the doors dinged open, and he found himself staring at a clearly irate Foreman, an upset Cameron, and a frowning Chase.

At moments like this, he loved his life.

He stepped inside, ignoring the variety of looks he got, and hit the button for the oncology floor, all while fishing up his papers to read. "Sooooo, how was lunch?"

Weighty silences were always the ones interrupted by outbursts. He was putting his money on Foreman.

"You knew, didn't you? You overheard us talking in the lab." Foreman shot out, his fists clenched at his sides.

Always trust a sure thing. He glanced up to look at that infuriated gaze blandly. "Boy, Foreman, you make eavesdropping sound like it's a bad thing."

Foreman made a frustrated noise, jerking around to look at Cameron, who had her arms crossed firmly across her chest, defensive and offensive all at once, her voice a quiet knife, "How could you do that to him? You outed him in front of everyone."

Oh, already he felt like he was on the defensive. Nice, kids. "Now how exactly did I make Wilson say he was gay? I don't remember anything about shotguns or holding them to his temple." He snipped, rustling the paper, "If he didn't stand up on a table and announce it wearing a big, rainbow flag, I don't see how anyone could have known it wasn't just a stupid prank."

"Anyone knew by his reaction - brought on unprompted by sideswiping attack." Foreman said, jabbing a finger in his direction. "Only someone who knew how he reacted under pressure and surprise would know his face would give it away. And even if it wasn't true, no one would believe it otherwise. Not after the scene you generated."

House looked up, sharply, "I'm not the one who was dropping fifty bucks to have him visually eyeraped by that jackass Snow."

A moment of silence, heavy with shame, before Cameron cleared her throat and spoke up, "It was seventy-five, actually."

"You were robbed." House answered shortly.

"How much did you pay for Marcus, then?" She lifted her chin a little. Her unspoken reply was a smirk, as the three of them stood in a semi-triangle, glowering back and forth.

"What was the point?" Foreman breathed out, dark eyes flashing. "What was the goddamned point of making Dr. Wilson look like he was cheating on his wife with Marcus, boy most likely to pierce an internal organ if he could? Can you at least tell me that?"

They all jerked in surprise when a clearly amused Australian accent answered him, "There was no point."

House leveled a blank look in Chase's direction; curiosity, his driving companion, pushing him ever forward. "And you're backing up this theory of 'nothing means nothing' how, Emo-Chase?"

"Don't need to. The symptoms are clear, the diagnosis isn't much more than your proverbial cakewalk." Chase said simply, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the elevator wall. "To quote the master, 'it's boring'." House's eyes narrowed speculatively as Foreman and Cameron stared at their companion in confusion. Chase's grin just widened, as he gestured to the paper in House's hand. "Or, do you always enjoy reviewing a finished crossword puzzle, Dr. House?"

Foreman and Cameron whipped back around to stare at the paper in House's hand, realization stealing over them. House tilted his head, meeting Chase gaze to gaze. "Maybe I'm just reading the funny papers."

"Any reason why you're reading them on the way to the oncology department?" Chase shot back, arms folded over his chest. One blonde eyebrow arched.

"The oncology department has TiVo." House answered, eyes boring into the other doctor's.

Chase cocked his head, bemused, while Foreman gave him his patented 'Oh Please' look, with a touch of 'You're not fooling me, beeyouch'. House added the 'beeyouch', just to annoy Foreman mentally.

Cameron spoke, that quiet firmness that was becoming more a trait than a habit, "You publicly humiliated him, and you're going to blithely walk in and enjoy his cable? Pardon me if we don't think you're that demented."

"Or that stupid." Foreman added, leaning one hand on his hip. The elevator stopped as the four of them measuredly stared back and forth. House wondered dimly if in a moment he'd be required to draw his cane and blast them to whatever God they believed in. All this moment needed was a tumbleweed.

Chase's voice was soft, "Now, you could stand here and lie to us about why you're here, or ..." The elevator 'dinged' and opened to the oncology floor. "Your choice, Dr. House. Just let it be known that a man in your condition shouldn't be deluding himself about treatment. Wilson-phoma is considered a highly dangerous disease."

House was silently thoughtful as he tucked the paper back under his arm, half turning to leave, glancing back at his team. Who ranged from smugness personified Chase, to shocked relief from Cameron, and in Foreman's case, a look of silent glee.

He sighed dramatically as he limped out. "Wilson was right. You're all just too damned smart." He arched an eyebrow at them as he turned to face the elevators again. "So just imagine what I'll have to come up with to keep ahead of the game now."

The jubilation in the elevator fell abruptly as all three stared at each other worriedly, then back at him, as the door began to slide shut. He let his face curve into the most sadistically evil smile he had, just for emphasis, as trepidation fled all the way to full on terror. Hah. Let them diagnosis on that one for awhile.

Then the doors were closed, and he was alone with his thoughts. Well, as alone as someone could be in a hospital hallway. He looked down the direction to Wilson's office, and after a moment stepped off with his good leg. Building up a little speed, he moved, if not quickly, more quickly than he usually did. It just went to figure, if you built up enough momentum, you couldn't stop. Not even if you wanted to.

He did slow, however, when he heard the slow measured notes of a guitar being played with a great deal of care. The kind of care that meant the owner was trying not to smash the instrument in a fit of pique. House moved forward, peering around the corner into the sheer glass window of Wilson's office.

Wilson had always preferred comfort to coolness, which was why his office had large, soft chairs for his patients, not to mention a sofa and a coffee table with varying books and magazines spread on it. In the corner there was a large plastic crate with toys in it - always updated with new blocks and the like. The medical tomes and the desk itself seemed secondary - this was an office constructed for the caring of other people, not the occupant.

Offices said a lot about people - House liked to think his said 'Keep the hell away from me, sick people'.

Wilson's said, 'Here, let me comfort. Let me heal. Let your children feel safe to play here while I try to save your life, or theirs. I am Boy Wonder Oncologist, and I can save the world.'

Man, his office was verbose.

Of course, if you took in the office, you'd notice the large gym bag that wasn't normally there, filled with clothes and toiletries. You'd see the garbage can filled with food paper wrappers. Hell, you'd see the damned guitar case that normally held a place of honor in Wilson's den, that only came out to play tunes with House's piano when they were both feeling particularly maudlin.

Right now, Wilson had decided it needed to be maudlin all on its lonesome, as he sat on the couch, plucking a song out of it, face quietly intent. House edged forward, leaning on the doorway as he watched slender fingers playing, dark hair dropping over dark eyes, and a set pale jaw, while lips curved to sing softly.

If I could turn the page
The time I that I'd rearrange
Just a day or two
Close my eyes ... close my eyes
But I couldn't find the way
So I'll settle for one day
To believe in you
Tell me, tell me
Tell me lies

Right. There was only so much self pity House could take. "You know, if you play that backwards, it says, 'Wilson is a big gay doctor'."

Wilson jerked his head up then, and let an exasperated breath, "I was wondering when you'd show up. What, you didn't bring a drag queen and a pride parade along with you?"

"I don't like going for the obvious metaphors." House said, arching an eyebrow.

"No, but you like the obvious hits." Wilson retorted. "I hope we're even now."

"Even for what, Jimmy?" House asked mildly, arching an eyebrow.

Wilson leaned back against the sofa, keeping his voice dry, "Take your pick, Greg."

"...Okay!" House started counting off with his one hand, "There was Rachel, or was her name Rebecca..."

"GOD, I didn't mean literally." Wilson sighed, his expression fighting between irritation and amusement.

"There was the fact that you have two brothers, not one, but TWO. Count them, TWO." House wiggled two fingers in emphasis.

"That was a personal evasion, and it doesn't count." Wilson stopped playing abruptly to jab a finger back at House.

"There was of course, the infamous bet. I really liked how you trained Cuddy to be your personal ventriloquist dummy. You must be great at kid's parties." House arched an eyebrow. "Just how personal was that one?"

Wilson's jaw set. "It's not a lie if you never confronted me, and I never denied it."

"I'm confronting you now." House asked point-blank, looking not at Wilson but at the window beyond. The sky was a dirty grey.

"Well, I'm not denying it now, of all times." Wilson's voice lost its edge of anger, now there was tired ring and a sense of sadness.

House looked back at that, looking at how Wilson's head was bowed, his fingers curled around the neck of his guitar tightly. He cleared his throat, before saying quietly, "And of course, who could forget the Monster Truck debacle? An out and out lie, right there."

"You know, you act as if I was having fun, but trust me, it was anything but." Wilson shook his head slightly. "Besides, you took Cameron instead."

"Jealous?" And there it was, all the weight of the world to one simple question. He silently held his breath, waiting for the answer.

Wilson swallowed, his fingers convulsing for a moment, before he sighed and slumped back against the sofa cushions. "Like you wouldn't believe."

Questions, millions of questions, ran through House's head, but one stuck, so he plucked it out and asked bluntly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Wilson looked at the wall opposite, as if steeling himself, before lifting his eyes to House's. "Because it's easier committing to the little lies - I'm happily married, I'm straight, I really did have sex with all those women - than telling your best friend you're in love with him."

"Why?" House said sharply, stepping inside to slam the door shut behind him. He took two long, staggering steps inwards, glaring down at Wilson.

"Because you're not in love with me!" Wilson's voice lowered with every word after that, his dark eyes glowering as he rose to his feet.

"And what the hell gave you that idea?" House yelled back, slamming his cane down into the floor.

"Well... I ...ah..." Wilson stuttered to an abrupt halt, frustrated anger being swept away by complete confusion. "Wait, what?"

House glared at him, stalking towards him, still looming despite his bad leg. "Tell me, when you got circumcised as a baby, did they chop off a few inches of brain matter while they were at it?"

"The cutting goes below the waistline." Wilson put his hands on his hips, standing his ground, emotions warring over his face, finally settling on frustrated aggravation. "Now what the hell are you talking about?"

"Could have fooled me." House growled, leaning forward so that they were standing perhaps three to four inches apart, at most. "Maybe it's true about you only thinking with your dick then, except I don't appreciate it when it has to do directly with me."

It was a pleasure watching Wilson take that apart, add it with the other snips House had thrown at him, then put them with the other bit over there, all in the matter of a moment, and all in the space of facial expressions. "But ... you're straight.." House raised an eyebrow, and Wilson jabbed a finger in his direction. "You are! You hired Cameron because she's pretty. You stare at Cuddy's breasts. You brought me into an exam room to look at complete stranger's, for Godsakes!"

"You got married three times." House pointed out, lifting both eyebrows. "I'll assume you had sex with them because they weren't all pissed off with you when you started out. I've never heard any of the -male- nurses talking, so I'll also assume you haven't been getting any on the distaff end. Hell, quite frankly I could be more gay than you. All I did was live with a woman."

"Being homosexual is more than just having sex with men." Wilson retorted quietly, stuffing his hands into his pockets, as if he was afraid of what he were going to do with them. "It's ... it's a state of mind. It's a personal identity ...thingie. One that I've been denying in myself all my life."

"So you're gay. So you've been lying to yourself, your family, me, and everyone else." House sighed, holding up a hand as Wilson looked like he was going to speak. "And no, you don't have to explain away this lie. I live in the real world too. I know what kind of pressures a doctor who's different has to go through. Trust me."

"I do." Wilson's own sigh was soft, and he canted his head to the side. "I might be scared for you, I might argue with you. Sometimes, hell, as much as I love you, I don't like you very much. But I always trust you."

"Theeeeen explain to me again how I can't love you and be straight?" House let his smile quirk on lopsided by Wilson's sudden flush, the hand rubbing the back of his neck, the hopeful slash terrified side glance he got. "Like you said, it's all a state of mind, and I, luckily, don't have the problem of thinking only below my waistline. I love your mind, you dumbass. I love how you can keep up with me. I love that it doesn't bother you when you can't. I love how you've got your own way of doing things and sometimes it's smarter than mine. I love how sneaky you are. I love how you hate that about yourself. I love how you lie only to protect, never to promote. I love how that eats you up." He shrugged, tearing his gaze away to look through the glass window, which seemed so much clearer now. "I love your complexities, and I love how there's always more."

There was a peaceful silence, broken by Wilson's soft laugh. "You know, most love poetry has something to do with how incredible the other person is."

"Yeah, but that would be boring. And we're not that." House shifted, looking at him steadily. "You should know. You love me, and I'm a complete bastard. I'm still trying to figure that one out. Unless, of course, you love the man I was ...before, and you're falling out of love with me now."

Wilson's snort eased the tension that had been squeezing at House's chest. "Oh, please. You think some drug addiction and bad leg is going to get you out of this? Screw you, Super Diagnostician. You're not taking over the world without me. Through sickness and health, good times and bad, until death do us part. I've got that part memorized."

"And to no avail, either." House nodded towards the bag. "So when did she kick you out - and should I expect an angry Julie in my office, spitting venom like that little dinosaur in 'Jurassic Park'?"

"No, you shouldn't. For once I decided the lie was not the way to go. So I told her everything." Wilson let out a short laugh. "Probably the best talk of our marriage is when we both decided to end it. We're separating first - divorce will come later, after I tell my parents." Wilson moved back to the sofa, reaching for his guitar, his back to House. "It's funny. That 'bet' ... watching you struggle facing with lying to yourself... it made me wonder about myself. Made me wonder if I was so angry with you because I was angry at myself for doing the same thing. Lying all the time ... so much that it just became second nature. Poison is poison, no matter how you're ingesting it."

"The difference between us is, I can take it. I'm a lot meaner." House said softly.

"Stronger. You're stronger, too." Wilson looked over his shoulder. "Meaner, stronger, unwilling to bend, always resolute, charging ahead where others don't dare. Fearless, in a word. Which are many of the reasons I love you."

"Well look at that, folks. Blood flow does go up." House's mouth quirked around the edges, before he plunged in again. "I suck at relationships."

"By my track record, I clearly suck more. You, after all, only lived with a woman." Wilson pointed out gently. "So where do we go from here?"

"I think the question is, the true question is, where do we want to go?" House queried, leaning on his cane, keeping his face still and quiet. "I, frankly, don't care. Just as long as you're there. Here. Wherever."

Wilson's mouth quirked, "So, just ...together. No matter the road."

"Agreed." House let his mouth melt into a warm smile, before he limped towards the door. "We can discuss the 'together' part over dinner, later. As you still owe me a sandwich and I can't discuss apartment-sharing on a stomach running slowly on peep innocence. Damn your rightness, by the way."

"Well, I have my moments -- apartment sharing? You're going to let me move into your place ... with, ah, this?" Wilson gestured broadly, eyebrows raised.

"I don't see why not. You have before, and all the same rules apply. Hang up your towels, no stealing the remote, and you make your girly coffee drinks away from my manly coffee maker." House snorted as he threw open the door. "What? You honestly think you're going to get laid because we'll be sharing floor space? You aren't that sexy, and I'm sure as hell not that easy."

"I wasn't even talking about sex - but now that you bring it up ... I'm glad to know that while I'm not that sexy, I am sexy enough to make you worry about your virtue." Wilson grinned, and there was the hint of that sneaky to it. House found it hard not to give a little shiver. "Or are you starting to think with your dick, too?"

He managed a fairly decent glare at Wilson, even if the region between his legs was suddenly starting to cause his brain to flash imagery he hadn't had in his head since his days in college. "Screw you, Boy Wonder Oncologist."

Wilson's smile grew almost devilish, dark eyes alight. "Give me time."

House suddenly realized how easy it was to just think with your cock, because all your blood seemed to rush right down there without any thought to the consequences of losing higher brain function that fast. He felt himself smile in turn, as he moved out the door. "Flirt."

"Tease." Wilson shot back, and House could feel his eyes on him all the way out the door.

He half-turned to deliver his last shot. "See, what did I tell you?" He let his eyebrows waggle. "Never boring."