Archive of Our Own

“What’s it like? Being paid a doctor's salary to stare at your patients in silent judgment?” House asked, losing the silent staring contest between himself and Dr. Nolan.

Dr. Nolan casually shrugged. “I imagine it’s not much different than how you look at your clinic patients. You’ve been keeping this from me because you thought I would disapprove, but you don’t need my approval, Greg.”

“Well, maybe I’ve got daddy issues and you’re a calming, authoritative presence in my life and I’m desperate to make you proud of me.”

Dr. Nolan crossed his legs and removed his glasses, sighing. “You’ve been with Dr. Wilson for nearly two months, and you’ve just decided to tell me. What’s different now?”

House fought the smile pulling at his lips, looking down at his hands where they were clasped between his knees. “I’m…happy. Deliriously happy. Is that bad?”

Dr. Nolan smiled at him, genuine but smug. “Why would that be bad?”

“Being miserable makes me good at my job, and my job happens to save people’s lives.” Quieter, House said, “I lost a patient last week. It was avoidable, but I didn’t see it. Didn’t catch it in time.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

House looked up at Dr. Nolan, frowning at him. “Is this some new method you’re using? What happened to good, old-fashioned CBT?”

“How many languages do you speak, Greg?”

House blinked. “I don’t know. Proficiently, probably about 15. Conversationally, maybe 20.”

“How many instruments do you play?”

“Seven.”

Dr. Nolan leaned forward, set his notebook aside. “How many articles cite you? How many medical publications quote you? How many new diseases have you discovered and treated?”

“I haven’t discovered a new diagnosis in eight years.”

Dr. Nolan huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Four. You’ve discovered four new diagnoses. Seven-hundred twenty-two people all over the world have been correctly diagnosed and saved because of your discoveries. It’s unheard of. And you’re telling me you have to be miserable to be successful? That your mind is not enough?”

House didn’t answer right away. Despite his ego, he didn’t like being reminded of his successes. They felt too far in the past, a person he used to be, and he wondered if he was losing his edge as he got older. “My happiness may come at the expense of people’s lives. Is that really worth it?”

“Dr. Wilson is a man of integrity that cares deeply about his patients, almost to a fault, according to you. If he believed people would die if he stayed with you, do you think he would leave you?”

House shook his head, instinctively certain. “He would pick me. Being with me. He couldn’t even follow your advice for very long, even though it meant I might backslide.” House smiled affectionately, ducking his chin to hide it from his shrink. “He’s a selfish bastard when it comes to me.”

“And you love that about him.”

“Fine, yeah. You got me! He and I make each other worse, and I don’t care.”

Dr. Nolan let the admission hang in the air for a minute, dutifully taking notes in the silence. “You didn’t backslide, though. Despite the change in your relationship with him.”

House scrubbed a hand down his face. “Had a patient on Vicodin recently. I didn’t think about it. Didn’t want it.”

Dr. Nolan said nothing.

House rolled his eyes. “Yeah, fine. I’m happy, I don’t need it, and even if I did want it, the thought of his sad puppy-dog eyes being disappointed in me is enough to keep me clean. So can I stay with him, pretty please?”

“You don’t need my permission. I hope, though, that you’ll feel comfortable telling me about your relationship with Dr. Wilson in the future.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” House said, adding a salute for emphasis. 

It was fine, really. House had avoided mentioning his changed relationship with Wilson for the past few sessions with his shrink, mostly because he didn’t want to be chastised for tricking his best friend into becoming his lover, and didn’t want to consider the consequences of creating a tenuous living situation and possibly blowing up the most stable relationship of his life.

But nothing had felt more natural than falling into bed with Wilson. House was so gone on him that he found himself daydreaming at work, to the point that he might as well scribble “Dr. Gregory House-Wilson” in the corners of his notebook. Maybe one day gay marriage would be legal and then House could be Wilson’s fourth and final wife. Maybe House could get into politics for the sole purpose of making gay marriage legal. Maybe he was going insane and completely losing his mind over Wilson. Whatever.

His team knew he didn’t answer his phone during his sessions with Nolan, but he still had five missed calls when he turned his phone back on during his drive to work. When he called back, he got Chase and Foreman, thank god, because they knew how to keep a conversation brief. Still, he was pulling into the parking deck before hanging up. He had his usual text from Wilson asking how his appointment with Nolan went, which he responded to with,

Told him about us. He’s not mad.

Then he added, Although he wasn’t thrilled about the level of detail I provided about the rim job you gave me last week.

Wilson texted back right away, Good for you. For telling him. Not about the RJ. Please don’t traumatize your psychiatrist. He already has to deal with so much from you.

House smiled and pocketed his phone. He had to kill a couple of clinic hours while his team ran the tests he just ordered them to do, so he stopped by his office to drop off his stuff and trade out his blazer for his white coat. On his way to the elevator, he popped his head into Wilson’s office and was happy to find him sitting at his desk doing paperwork. 

Wilson briefly looked up then back down at what he was writing, then immediately back up, setting his pen down. His eyes raked over House in that unsubtle way House used to watch Wilson unknowingly do to any handsomely disheveled man caught in his closeted line of sight. Except, of course, now Wilson knew exactly what he was doing.

“You know I had a meeting with Cuddy this morning,” Wilson said in a low tone as House came around the side of his desk.

Wilson turned his chair toward House and reached for his coat, tugging him closer. House bent down and kissed him, both of them sighing into it. Wilson’s tongue slid between House’s lips, and House made a delightfully surprised noise and let himself be manipulated, gently shoved until he was sitting on the edge of Wilson’s desk with Wilson standing between his knees, a strong hand pressed to his mangled thigh.

“I had a meeting with Cuddy,” Wilson repeated, a little breathless between kisses. “She gave me a raise.” Another kiss, another hand on House’s other thigh. “God. Fuck.”

House moved his lips in a slow rhythm with his tongue, a surefire way to make Wilson lose his mind, and then slowly pulled away and brushed a lock of Wilson’s hair out of his face. “Why’d she give you a raise?”

“She, uh…”

House put his mouth on Wilson’s neck, pressing his tongue flat and then sucking his lips around it in a repeated motion. 

“She.” Wilson cleared his throat and fisted a hand into the back of House’s coat, tilting his head back to give House better access. “She said. Fuck.”

Unbothered, House pulled away and looked at Wilson. He moved his right hand to the front of Wilson’s slacks and palmed him through the fabric, a teasing touch. “Tell me what she said, sweetheart.”

Calling Wilson “sweetheart” was not a joke, had never been a joke, and House didn’t understand why his team snickered whenever he used the term of endearment in front of them. Wilson was a sweetheart, there was no better word to describe him, to fully encompass the essence of him, and House wasn’t going to be put on trial about this and lose, so everybody could just fuck off about it as far as he was concerned. 

Wilson was hard against House’s hand. “She said—she said your paperwork was in on time,” Wilson said, his voice strained. He rocked forward and kissed House’s jaw. “You haven’t sexually harassed her in weeks. And…Christ. Please.”

Because of his leg, an office blowjob was really out of the question, but House had gotten pretty good at giving Wilson a handy at work without making a mess. While House had not wasted a precious orgasm on a handjob since his 20s, Wilson’s libido was pretty much satisfied with anything. Yes, House knew Wilson was younger than him, but still, the way Wilson could get it up multiple times per day and could come from the most vanilla of sex acts went into the list of evidence that Wilson was actually a girl. 

Not that House was complaining. 

Wilson shimmied his pants out of the way and jerked his hips into House’s hand while biting and sucking ridiculous hickeys into House’s neck. Maybe Wilson acted like a teenager about sex because he never got to have gay sex as a teenager, and maybe House was glad he could indulge a middle-aged man trying to capture a youth he never had. 

After just a few minutes, Wilson gasped and came in the circle of House’s hand, his come hitting the front of his desk. House pulled a couple of tissues out of a pocket of his coat and cleaned up while making eye contact with Wilson. 

“Can you finish a sentence now?” House asked with a smile.

His breathing labored, hands frantically pulling his pants back up, Wilson replied, “You wear that coat because you know it drives me insane.”

House fluttered his eyelashes. “I’ve been told it brings out my eyes.”

“You haven’t gotten a complaint from a clinic patient in over a month, and you’re keeping up with your hours.” Wilson pecked House on the lips and then stayed in his personal space, their faces just inches apart. “So Cuddy gave me a not-insignificant raise.”

House pursed his lips. “Hmm. I do well at my job, and you get a raise? I failed math in elementary school, can you explain to me how that adds up?”

Wilson smiled at him and scratched his beard before helping him get down from the desk. “For fuck’s sake, House, she’s been trying to get you to wear a lab coat for a decade. I get turned on whenever I see you in it, and now you’re a model doctor for Princeton Plainsboro. A poster boy. So yeah, I get a raise.”

“Well, you don’t have to be so smug about it,” House complained as he headed for the door, Wilson following. “You make it sound like I’m your little bitch.”

Wilson smiled at him, genuine this time, and fixed the lapels of House’s coat as they stood together at the door. “I’m sorry, I thought that’s what you were? Isn’t that what I’m paying you for?”

House licked his lips and swayed forward, ducked his head down to kiss Wilson again. He didn’t put his hands on him, because if he did, he would never leave. When he tore himself away, he meant to just say bye and instead said, “Love you,” because Wilson made him stupid.

Wilson huffed a surprised laugh and said easily, “Love you, too,” and then smacked House on the ass before booting him from his office. 

Cuddy was on the other side of the door, one eyebrow raised as she looked up at House. “You know you guys live together, right?” she asked, annoyed. “You don’t have to have sex at work.”

“Cut my clinic hours and I’ll have more time to satisfy my man at home,” House said as he and Cuddy walked to the elevator.

“Ugh,” Cuddy complained. “You can’t book the O.R. for this afternoon when you don’t even know yet if your patient needs surgery.”

House threw his head back and dramatically groaned as they got on the elevator. 

“Have you ever heard of this concept called triage?” Cuddy asked.

“Fine, I’ll blame you if the patient dies. Can I have a raise?”

“I just gave you a raise.” The door opened, and Cuddy stepped out as she said, “Don’t you two have a joint bank account yet?”

“We’re not lesbians!” House shouted as the doors shut, leaving him with a bored-looking CNA on the elevator. “Although we do already live together, so I guess that means we U-hauled even faster than lesbians typically do.”

The CNA snorted a laugh and said, “Sure.”

At the clinic, House saw runny noses, fevers, coughs, boring, boring, boring, until Taub intercepted him between patients to let him know they really needed that O.R. by the afternoon so could House please go bother Cuddy about it again.

After that, the day got away from him. It wasn’t until House was sitting at his desk, rubbing his eyes beneath his reading glasses as he stared at test results, that he realized his stomach ached with hunger. There was a light knock at his door, and, without looking up, he gestured for Wilson to come in.

Wilson sighed and flicked the light switch on, causing House to squint and finally tear his eyes away from the paperwork. The only light in the room had been from his desk lamp, as apparently the sun had gone down at some point.

Wilson dropped a bag of takeout on the desk and said, “Up. Come on.”

Obediently, House unfolded himself from the chair, wincing at the pain in his thigh as he stretched out, joints popping. “Time is it?”

“Nearly 8. Eat. You haven’t had anything since breakfast.”

House wanted to joke that he had managed to survive this long without Wilson bossing him around, but that actually wasn’t true. Wilson had been tending to him for years, but now he did it with a command in his tone that House enjoyed just a little too much.

“There’s something I’m missing, I just can’t figure out what it is,” House said as he took the bag of food over to his recliner in the corner. He ate quickly. 

Wilson sat on the footrest, leaned forward and rubbed House’s thigh, his left hand perfect and strong against the pain. “Is the patient stable?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know. I don’t have a good feeling about it.”

“House,” Wilson said, urging House to make eye contact with him. “You’ve been obsessing lately. What’s going on?”

“I already lost a patient this month. I can’t let another one die, because then I’ll have to admit that being with you makes me a shitty doctor, and I can’t do that.”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous. Can you just let yourself be happy without making a moral quandary about it?”

House glared at him. “You’re supposed to be my conscience, and now you’re compromised, too.”

Wilson removed his hand from House’s thigh and scrubbed it down his face, sighing. “Fine. In a few years we’ll do a statistical analysis of how many patients you saved pre-being with me and how many you saved post-being with me, and then we’ll objectively determine if you’re a worse doctor. Until then, can we go home please?”

“Post-being with you? There’s going to be a post? You’re planning on breaking up with me?”

“Yes, if you keep moping around over stupid shit. Come on, I’m beat.”

They took Wilson’s car home and pretty much fell onto the couch together, both exhausted. House clicked through the DVR and picked a show at random, then he pulled Wilson over to him, both of them adjusting until Wilson’s back pressed to House’s front, his body slotted between House’s legs. House wrapped his arms around his waist and propped his chin on Wilson’s shoulder.

“Mm, don’t let me fall asleep like this,” House mumbled.

Through a yawn, Wilson replied, “Then you probably should’ve picked something a little more exciting than Pawn Stars.”

House folded his arms tighter around Wilson and kissed his shoulder, then his neck, nosing at him delicately. 

“Mmm,” Wilson hummed. "Are you feeling horny or just affectionate?"

"You're well aware that I'm always both," House mumbled against his skin. “Maybe I’d be able to keep my hands off you if you weren’t so damn pliable.”

As if to prove his point, Wilson shifted closer to him and rubbed his hand across House’s forearm.

House moved his hand south, palming at Wilson through his pants.

“You’re obsessed with my dick,” Wilson said, already a bit breathless as he grew hard under House’s touch. 

“It’s so good to me. I’m just giving it my thanks.”

House started to unclasp Wilson’s belt one-handed, but Wilson stopped him.

“I want to try something. Let’s go to bed.”

House groaned his annoyance but trusted that Wilson wouldn’t blue-ball him. 

Wilson walked ahead of House through the hall and said, “Give me a minute,” and then disappeared into the master bath.

House tapped his cane on the floor of their bedroom, thinking. He was still distracted, wondering if his phone would ring any minute with an update about his patient, but he also wanted to know what Wilson had in store for him. He wanted to be present.

“Take your clothes off,” Wilson called from the bathroom. “Lie on the bed.”

Not one to be told twice, House stripped down to his boxer briefs and gingerly sat on the side of the bed, angled eagerly toward the bathroom door. 

When Wilson emerged, though, he was still mostly clothed. His button down was open, a white t-shirt underneath. His pants were undone, and he held them up at his waist with one hand. He smiled at House and closed the distance between them, putting his hands around House’s neck and looking down at him.

While maintaining eye contact, House pushed Wilson’s pants down then latched his hands to his hips, drawing him even closer between his legs.

“You trust me?” Wilson asked sweetly.

House thought of several sarcastic answers, but what he actually did was smile serenely up at the love of his life and whisper, “Yeah.”

Then, Wilson shoved House back, hard, and climbed on top of him, sealing their mouths together as they lay across the foot of the bed. In a frenzy, Wilson shimmied out of his pants and pushed House’s boxer briefs down without breaking the kiss. He wrapped his perfect fingers around House’s cock but then immediately pulled back, concern knitting his eyebrows together.

“Wait, let’s turn the right way,” Wilson said as he sat up and scooted so he was facing the head of the bed. “Your leg will hurt otherwise.”

House’s leg was already in agony where it hung off the side of the bed, so he easily complied, adjusting so he could spread out the correct direction in bed. He stayed on his back, because that seemed to be what Wilson wanted him to do, and House had an idea of what was about to happen but he kept his mouth shut for fear of Wilson getting mad at him for being an insufferable know-it-all. 

“You know what I’m about to do, don’t you?” Wilson asked, hovering over House.

“Mm-hmm,” House replied smugly.

Wilson rolled his eyes and took House in his hand again, pumping up and down. House reached for him, tried to sneak a hand around, but Wilson swatted him away.

“Nuh-uh, you just watch,” Wilson said, then, insanely, he closed his eyes and tilted his head back as he moved his right hand behind himself. 

The effect was well-constructed, obviously planned out by a meticulous self-diagnosed obsessive compulsive freak: Wilson sitting up in House’s lap, one hand on House and the other inside himself, still wearing his shirts from work. The primal part of House’s brain desperately wanted to rip off Wilson’s clothes, to ravage him, but that was the point. Wilson wanted House to be helpless beneath him.

“Thought about tying your hands to the bed, too,” Wilson said, apparently reading House’s mind. “Figured we’d save that for next time.”

The idea of there being a next time for this sent a thrill down House’s spine. He put his hands on Wilson’s thighs, attempted to slide them up toward his hips, but Wilson shook his head and said, “Off.”

House made a frustrated noise that was definitely not a whimper as he obediently put his hands by his sides on the bed. 

In less time than should’ve been possible, Wilson lifted up onto his knees and lined himself up like he had done this before.

“Oh my god, it’s happening,” House said quickly right as Wilson’s hole touched the tip of House’s cock.

Wilson smiled, eyes still closed, and said, “We’re using a gag next time, too.”

It took a little bit of patience, absolute stillness from House, but then Wilson was fully seated on his lap, split open on his cock, and if House didn’t get to touch him and take those stupid fucking shirts off soon he was going to—

“You can touch now,” Wilson ordered.

And House growled and dug his fingers into Wilson’s thighs before yanking at the button down, pulling it off and gasping as Wilson rocked in his lap. House shoved his hands up under the hem of the t-shirt and squeezed Wilson’s hips, incoherently pleading with him as Wilson rode him.

“Please. Fuck. Oh, fuck, please,” House said stupidly, bucking his hips up and eliciting a surprised gasp out of Wilson. He tugged at the t-shirt some more, and Wilson finally took it off and threw it aside.

Wilson was gorgeous naked; all soft, porcelain skin and almost no body hair. There was still evidence of the lithe tennis player he had been in college, but now he had perfect love handles to grip and a delightfully feminine softness to him. House always wondered if Wilson was exactly his type—pretty, devastatingly kind-looking, delicately masculine—or if his type was curated 20 years ago when he met Dr. James Wilson.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Wilson asked, a teasing smile on his face as he slowed the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re gorgeous. I always want to stare at you.”

Wilson shook his head, biting his lip and laughing. “Shut up, Greg.”

House moved his hands around to Wilson’s ass, squeezed hard as he bucked his hips up again. Wilson only ever used his first name when House was being ridiculous, or when Wilson thought he was being cute. Or when he was frustrated with him.

Both of them shut up, though, as Wilson picked up the pace. He was breathless, one hand at the center of House’s chest and the other wrapped around his own cock as he rode him. House couldn’t do much but hold on and take it, trying his best to hold out for as long as possible. He wanted to see Wilson glistening, sweat sliding down his chest, House’s name on his lips in desperation. 

“Oh, fuck,” Wilson said on an exhale, then he clenched and rolled his hips in a tantalizing new rhythm. “Shit. This is…honestly…way better than I…thought it would be.”

House pushed down on Wilson’s hips and drove up into him, willing himself to get deeper. He was so turned on he was seeing stars. “Please. Fuck, please.”

Wilson sped up again, his breathing stilted, obviously close. “Come inside me. C’mon.”

House moved his hand to Wilson’s cock, tangling their hands messily together and pushing down on his balls. Wilson shuddered and gasped, clenching around House and lifting up on his knees then slamming back down.

“Fuck, please, Wilson, please—oh.” House blacked out for a second as he came, pleasure rippling over his whole body. He jerked, his right leg spasmed, but he didn’t care, he didn’t fucking care. 

“Oh, House,” Wilson said, so softly, so sweetly, that House melted beneath him. 

House rubbed his thumb over the tip of Wilson’s cock and said, “Come on, sweetheart.”

“Oh.” Wilson tensed, squeezed his eyes shut, then jerked up into both their hands. “Fuck, Gr—House, fuck.”

Perfect bastard, he had hardly broken a sweat. He collapsed on top of House, lazily kissing a line up House’s jaw before finding his mouth. They kissed languidly for a minute, then Wilson carefully rolled off of him and limped his way to the bathroom.

“Aw come on, I’m not that big,” House called after him.

“First time! It was my first time, you jackass,” Wilson called back.

After they both did a cursory cleanup job, they fell naked into bed together. House lay on his back, Wilson tucked against his side.

“God, I wish you could do that,” Wilson complained. “Your bum leg has become such an inconvenience to me.”

“Yeah, now you actually have to do work during sex. What a heavy cross to bear.” House turned his head to bury his face in Wilson’s hair, breathing him in.

“You had me coming so hard I almost called you Greg.”

“Yeah, that was weird. Nearly killed the mood.”

Wilson snorted a laugh and gently tweaked House’s nipple. “No it didn’t. I can’t believe this is the thanks I get after having a butt plug in my ass most of the day.”

“False! Liar! I call lie,” House said dramatically as he shook Wilson against him.

“Ugh, alright, I just spent some time prepping while you were dissociating at work late.”

“That’s so sweet you were thinking about me, shoving your fingers in your ass for me.”

Wilson rolled on top of House and looked down at him with his beautiful brown eyes. “There is quite literally nobody else on earth I would do that for.”

House cupped Wilson’s face in his hand and stroked his thumb along his cheek. “Did you have a good time, though?”

“Of course I did.” Wilson buried his face in House’s neck and mumbled, “Always have a good time with you.”

A smile tugged at House’s lips as he hugged Wilson even closer to him, his arms wrapped low around Wilson’s back. Wilson kissed House’s neck, burrowing ever deeper. House knew through empirical evidence that Wilson loved his scruff and was rather obsessed with it, so House existed in a near-constant itchy middle ground between a 5 o’clock shadow and beard, and meticulously monitored the hair on his face and neck, often with Wilson standing next to him at the sink in their bathroom offering forced-casual opinions like, “It would look good if you let it grow one more day.”

“I wonder if I could ride you,” House said pensively, making Wilson pop his head up, the area around his mouth adorably red and irritated.

“I’ve thought about it. There’s got to be some type of adaptive equipment we could use for—”

“Adaptive equipment? What are you, a physical ther—oh my god, you’ve talked to Byron about this.”

“No! No, I haven’t.” Wilson glared at him then added, “That’s not really in the scope of practice for PTs anyway. So I talked to Byron’s occupational therapist friend about it.”

“You’re insane. I’m dating a lunatic.”

“You knew that already, though.”

They stayed up way too late, huddled together naked in bed looking up disability sex ed on their phones until they inevitably started watching some not-so-great porn that put both of them to sleep.

And so House was sufficiently distracted from worrying about his patient.

House was not above elbowing a child to get ahead of them in Mario Kart.

He was considering it, especially as Nora’s daughter Zoe was trash talking him from her very comfortable lead in Yoshi Valley. 

Whenever House got off work early (or in this case, sitting on his hands while he waited for his team to call him with test results), Zoe would come over and play video games with him until Nora got home from work. The routine started when Zoe was sitting on the floor of the hallway one afternoon with her head in her hands as she stared at her Spanish homework. 

“If you’re locked out of your condo, there are more interesting things to do than homework,” House had said, looking down at her as he leaned on his cane. 

Zoe looked up at him, looked at his cane, frowned at him. “You’re the gay neighbor. Are you the nice one or the asshole?”

House raised an eyebrow at her and held his hand out.

She passed her homework over, a workbook open on a page about the subjunctive tense of verbs ending in “ar.”

“Do you like video games?” House asked.

“Yeah.”

House gestured his head toward his door and said, “C’mon.”

“I can’t just go into a random old man’s house,” Zoe said, like House was an idiot.

House rolled his eyes and pulled his phone out of his pocket. As he called Nora, he said to Zoe, “You must suck at being a latchkey kid if you lost your keys.”

Luckily, Nora answered after the second ring. House confirmed with her that it was fine for Zoe to do her homework in his condo.

“I’m not locked out,” Zoe said as she followed House inside, backpack looking enormous on her gangly frame. “I just like doing my homework in the hallway.”

House slipped on his reading glasses, set her Spanish workbook on the kitchen counter and quickly filled it out, then slid it over to her. “Finally, somebody to play Mario Kart with. My husband thinks racing games are juvenile. Or at least, that’s his excuse for why he’s so bad at them.”

“Gay marriage isn’t legal,” Zoe said as she peered at her homework. “Do you speak Spanish?”

“Sí.”

“You’re not going to teach me? I can’t turn in your work.”

House sighed and reluctantly sat on a barstool next to her. It took half an hour to explain subjunctive tense, followed by half an hour of questioning about his leg, his relationship with Wilson, how he knew he was queer, and any other invasive topic middle schoolers had a habit of exploiting.

Zoe had gotten better at Spanish, and math, and social studies since hanging out with House after school, and House was still getting his ass handed to him in Mario Kart. 

“Maybe you need to pick a faster character,” Zoe teased as she whipped fucking Bowser around a tight curve with a perfect drift.

“Peach is plenty fast enough,” House argued. “It’s me that’s the problem, not her.”

“Taking responsibility for your actions is the first step to recovery.”

House scoffed. “OK, well, telling you I was a drug addict was the biggest mistake of my life.”

As House strategically placed a row of banana peels along the track, the door opened. He immediately paused the game.

“Aw, come on!” Zoe complained, slouching angrily back against the couch cushions.

House tilted his head back and accepted a kiss from Wilson.

“Hey, hon,” Wilson said softly. Then, “Hey, Zoe. Kicking his ass?”

“Don’t I always?” she replied.

Byron followed Wilson in and went straight for the fridge, announcing he needed some water. He and Wilson were both sweaty and flushed in their workout clothes, as they met up after work some days and went running together. Wilson had his McGill sweatshirt on and gym shorts that were just on the skanky side of too short.

House whistled lewdly at him. 

“Gross,” Zoe said.

“Homophobia,” House shot back.

“Greg, you’re terrible,” Byron commented from behind the couch as House and Zoe resumed the game.

Wilson’s hands pressed to House’s shoulders, massaging as he said patronizingly, “Take it easy on him, guys. He’s doing the best he can.”

Peach fell off a bridge. Zoe snorted a laugh.

There was a knock on the door, which Byron took as his cue to leave. He said to House, “I’ll see you for therapy Friday, love,” and then said to Wilson, “Bye, girl,” followed by the unmistakable sound of him and Wilson simultaneously kissing each other on the cheek.

Byron let Nora in as he left, and Zoe called out, “Just one more race, Mom!”

“You’re fine, sweetie,” Nora replied. Then she said to Wilson, “You guys always have a revolving crew of gay people coming and going from your house.”

Wilson huffed a laugh. “We don’t really have that many friends.”

“Definitely more than Mom,” Zoe muttered.

House launched a shell right at Bowser and loudly cheered when it landed.

House’s phone rang with his team’s ringtone, so he paused the game again and stalked off to his room as he answered.

They were still getting nowhere with the patient, his team getting frustrated and arguing with each other as House paced around the bedroom, his leg screaming at him to stop. 

Wilson came in after a few minutes and whispered that Nora and Zoe had left. He went to the closet and stripped off his McGill sweatshirt, and as he bent over to grab the laundry basket, he winced and grabbed his left asscheek.

House narrowed his eyes at him and pulled the phone away from his ear. “Are you sore from last night, or from jogging?”

“Please tell me your phone is on mute,” Wilson said as he straightened up, putting his hands on his bare hips in chastisement. Quieter, he said, “Last night.”

Into the phone, House said, “Find out if any of her habits have changed. Any new hobbies, especially exercise, and sex. Any changes in her sex life.” Making eye contact with Wilson, House continued, “And yes, I had this epiphany because I popped Wilson’s cherry last night.”

Wilson, blushing furiously, flipped House the bird and headed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. 

“Pay up, pay up,” Thirteen said over the phone, to the sound of grumbling from the rest of House’s team. 

“How do we know you didn’t just ask House and Wilson?” Chase argued.

“Or you just knew,” Taub added. “Because of some gaydar thing.”

House said, “Hold on, did all of you idiots bet against Thirteen? She was the only one who thought Wilson topped? Et tu, Foreman?”

Foreman sighed, obviously the farthest away from the speaker as he loudly said, “You’ve made too many jokes about taking it up the ass, I thought you were compensating for something.”

“Yeah, compensating for enjoying taking it up the ass,” House said.

“The important thing is that I just won $300,” Thirteen said.

The shower turned on. House said to his team, “Got to go. Call me after you talk to the patient. I’ll be in the shower, getting a blowjob.”

Before hanging up, House heard Taub say, “He doesn’t even make jokes anymore, just true statements to try to make us uncomf—”

The bathroom was already full of steam from Wilson’s shower. As House stripped naked, he said over the spray, “Zoe is hiding something, I’m guessing boyfriend. She was wearing lipgloss and some awful perfume, and her hair was down even though I know she had gym class today.”

House opened the glass door to the shower and held onto the grab bar as he carefully stepped in. Wilson was facing away from him, washing his hair, so House pressed his front to Wilson’s back and snaked an arm across his lower belly.

Something was off. House nosed at Wilson’s collarbone and mumbled, “What’s the matter?”

Wilson sighed. “Nothing. I’m OK.”

“No, you’re not.”

Another, heavier sigh. “Greg.”

“James.”

“Can you drop it? For once in your life, can you please drop it?”

Of course House couldn’t drop it, but he could lie. He kissed Wilson’s shoulder and squeezed him. “OK,” he said.

“Thank you,” Wilson whispered, obviously surprised.

House didn’t get that shower blowjob. With Wilson stuck in his melancholy, House cooked dinner for them, put something inane on the TV for them to watch, and did his best to keep his mouth shut for most of the evening. When his team called him around 10 p.m. with news that House had been right, he offered a prognosis and told them to start her on treatment before they went home. 

A weight fell from House’s shoulders. He still had it. Even though he was blissfully happy and now had a fulfilling life, he could still see what nobody else could, do what nobody else could do.

Wilson was already tucked into bed, curled onto his side as usual, when House got off the phone. House quickly got ready for bed and lay down behind Wilson, spooning him.

Wilson sniffled.

“Sweetheart,” House whispered. It was hard for him, truly, to take things seriously and deal with other people’s vulnerability in a way that was appropriate. He tried, though. He really fucking tried with Wilson. He thought of several things to say, none of them quite fitting, before settling on, “I love you. I hope you’re alright.”

Wilson wiped at his face and muttered, “I know, and I love you, too. Can you, um…Can you just give me some space tonight?”

“Sure.”

That was easy. House liked his space, too, and he was glad Wilson felt comfortable asking for it. House rolled over and turned on the lamp on his nightstand. He put on his reading glasses, grabbed a book, and settled in to fall asleep in the middle of a chapter.

The next day, Wilson left for work at an ungodly hour, and House didn’t even pretend like he was going to get up early with him. He knew Wilson; this was another way he was asking for space without having to actually ask for it. 

When House did eventually get to work, Cuddy had a new patient for him. He was caught up on his clinic hours, and he skipped lunch so he could leave early again. He stopped by Wilson’s office before heading out for the day, feeling weirdly tentative as he opened his door.

Wilson looked up from his laptop and smiled softly at House. “Hey.”

“Hey.” House leaned across his desk, shutting the laptop so he could kiss Wilson lightly on the lips. “Feeling any better?”

Wilson nodded and shrugged. “A little. You heading out?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you at home?”

Wilson ran a hand through his hair, messing it up. “I have to work a little late, but yeah. I’ll be home for dinner.”

They kissed again, House trying his damnedest to push everything he felt into the gesture. Wish I could help, let me know if you need anything, I love you, I love you, I love you.

Zoe was already in the condo when House got home, her homework spread out around her on the couch and coffee table and a look of concentration on her face. 

They said nothing to each other as House set his coat on the rack, went to the fridge, got himself a soda. He stood at the kitchen island and studied Zoe as she fumbled with her calculator.

“Why do they even make us use a TI-83? When am I ever going to use this in real life?” Zoe complained.

“Is there something you want to tell me, kid?” House asked. 

Zoe looked up at him, her brown eyes wide. “What?”

House limped over to the living room and shoved Zoe’s books out of the way so he could sit on the opposite end of the couch. “Is it a boyfriend? Is it that jerk Sean from homeroom you’re always complaining about?”

“Ugh, god, no,” Zoe said, sticking out her tongue in disgust. “Why are you asking me this?”

“I can tell something’s going on, and I’d rather you just tell me than for me to keep trying to figure it out.”

“I thought figuring things out was, like, your whole thing.”

“Sure, but you’re a child and I’m closer to the salty side of salt-and-pepper. It’s creepy if I pry into your personal life without you knowing about it.”

Zoe set her calculator and math homework on the coffee table and leaned back against the arm of the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. “So you’re asking because you care? Isn’t your whole thing that you care about nothing and no one except for James?”

“I thought my whole thing was figuring things out.”

“Your other whole thing.”

House looked up at the ceiling and rolled his cane between his hands. “I care about you. There. Now tell me if it’s Sean, because if it is, I’m—”

“It’s not Sean.”

House looked at her, made eye contact with her. “So then it’s…?”

Zoe shifted and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, a nervous habit. “Ella.”

A smile pulled at House’s lips. “Oh.”

“Please don’t tell my mom. It’s not like we’re dating or anything. We’re just…you know, we’re just friends. We haven’t talked about, you know, like…”

“Lesbo stuff?”

Zoe groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “I spend all of my time with her at school, and I think she’s just so great and fun and I can’t stop fu—freaking thinking about her. Does that mean I’m gay? Am I gay?”

“How should I know? I’m not a teenage girl. I was expecting to have a stern discussion about your poor taste in boys, not help you figure out your sexuality. Wilson would be better at that one.”

“You and James have been together a really long time, haven’t you? How did you know? Wasn’t it a million years ago, when being gay was, like, bad?”

House winced. “Yeah, uh, Wilson and I lied to your mom when we first met her. It was easier to say we’d been together 20 years than to admit that I was a recovering drug addict that needed to stay with a friend and we were accidentally falling into a relationship.”

“What the hell? But you guys—you two act like you’ve been together forever.”

“How did this become about me? You’re the one figuring out your sexuality because Ella’s got cute bangs or whatever.”

“How did you know you were gay?” Zoe asked, laser-focused.

“Not gay.”

Zoe smoothed out her hair. “You’re incredibly frustrating, you know that? When does James get home? I’d rather talk to him.”

Strangely, House felt a pang in his chest. He was actually hurt, his feelings fragile at the hands of a pre-teen. It was ridiculous. “I’ve already told you about this. I knew around your age that it made no difference to me what gender someone was if I thought they were hot.”

Zoe frowned and didn’t say anything for a minute. Then she looked down at her lap and asked, “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“I don’t have feelings. Just tell Ella you like her. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Is that what you did? Did you tell James you liked him?”

“Yeah, of course.” House made an apologetic face. “After we’d been friends for about two decades.”

Zoe’s mouth dropped open. “And you liked him? Like, you had a crush on him all that time?”

Nonchalantly, House answered, “From before I even met him, yeah. Fell in love with him within, oh, probably a week, then suffered for most of my adult life.”

“Why? Why would you do that? You guys seem so happy now. You could’ve been happy for so many more years.”

“Again, how is this about me now? I’m telling you to tell Ella you like her. Don’t do what I did. Don’t be like me, kid.”

“OK, and what if I tell her, and then she likes me back, and then I realize I’m not actually gay? What do I do then?”

“Ah, so this is a worst-case-scenario exercise.” House’s phone rang; he ignored it. “So then you’re not gay. So what? You learn something about yourself, move on. This is the time of your life where you’re expected to change your mind hundreds of times and make all kinds of stupid mistakes, so you might as well lean into it while you can.”

Zoe blinked at him. “Lean into making as many mistakes as I can? You, a drug addict, are giving me that advice?”

House pursed his lips and reached for her homework. He pulled his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket and told her to explain what the problem with her TI-83 was. 

When Nora arrived about a half hour later, House was on the phone with his team in the kitchen while Zoe finished her math homework. Zoe let Nora in, and House waved an apologetic hand and gestured at his phone, a kind of common courtesy that had been anathema to him until Wilson’s boundless politeness had rubbed off on him like a sexually transmitted infection. For most of their friendship House had avoided picking up character traits from Wilson, but now that they were having sex regularly, all bets were off. He was one good blowjob away from wearing a sweater vest to work.

Nora helped Zoe pack up her backpack then waved at House and mouthed, “Thank you,” on her way out the door. Zoe followed behind her, but then she turned and jogged over to the kitchen, and before House knew what hit him, she had her arms wrapped around his waist and her head pressed near his chest. He huffed a surprised laugh, lost track of whatever Foreman was saying on the phone, and put his arm around Zoe’s back, patting her awkwardly with his cane still in his hand. 

“Alright, get out of here, kid,” House said affectionately, shoving her away. 

Nora smiled at House then wrapped her arm around Zoe as they left together, and House heard her say to her daughter, “Of course you would bond with the guy who hates everybody, you silly goose.”

House got enough information from his team to tell them to start their new patient on broad-spectrum antibiotics, then he went to his room to draw himself a bath. His leg was hurting him enough to go through the mental exercise of whether he should just get it amputated, which always ended with him deciding the phantom limb pain would be worse because then he couldn’t soak it in the tub or have Wilson massage it or go to Byron for pain management, and so he might as well just live with his useless, painful leg until he died. 

House was playing a game on his phone, lounging peacefully in the bath when he got a text from Wilson. 

Going out with 13 after work. Don’t wait up for me.

House swallowed his disappointment as he stared at the text. He hated this, all the feelings he had been experiencing lately, so foreign and overwhelming. He missed his callousness, his carefully-constructed shield he had spent years cultivating to avoid any kind of negative emotion besides misery. He should tell Wilson to fuck off, do whatever he wanted, he didn’t care.

Instead, he texted, Alright. Have fun.

House set his phone aside and then slid down in the tub until his head was underwater, legs folded awkwardly for his whole body to fit in the small space. He held his breath for as long as he could and then came up gasping, his thigh spasming. 

He stayed in a bit of a pain-induced haze for the rest of the night, unable to focus on anything as he ate a frozen meal and got ready for bed. For the first time in a long time, he craved the relief Vicodin provided him, not just from his pain but from his misery and his aching loneliness. He was pathetic, obviously, and he mentally punished himself for it as he got in bed.

It felt like no time had passed before House jolted awake to the weight of another body in the bed. In the pitch black, he heard Wilson grumble and sigh, the stench of cheap beer on his breath and cigarette smoke on his clothes. 

“What the fuck?” House asked, feeling irrationally angry at being woken up by a very drunk Wilson.

“‘M fine,” Wilson mumbled, turning onto his side away from House.

“Like hell you are, since when are you drinking again?”

Wilson giggled like a lunatic. “I’m usually the one nagging.”

“You smell like an ashtray. If you’re not going to shower, at least take your clothes off.”

Wilson was suddenly on House, sloppily attempting to straddle him as he said, “You want me naked, huh?”

“Wilson, for fuck’s sake,” House nearly shouted, shoving at his stupid boyfriend.

“What? What, House? What’s your fucking problem?” 

“Alright, shower. Now.” 

Wilson laughed derisively and pressed harder against House, not allowing him up. “You can’t take care of me. You don’t know how. You don’t even know how to take care of yourself.”

“Sweetheart, if you’re trying to hurt my feelings, you’ll have to do better than that. Off. Come on.”

Wilson made a frustrated noise and kissed House hard, knocking their teeth together. House, being a weak man, fell for it for three seconds. Then, he picked his heart over his dick and manhandled Wilson off the bed. 

“Shower,” House demanded again.

“No! Fuck off! I’m not—I’m not—” Wilson choked off on a sob and fell to his knees on the floor, crying into his hands.

“Hey, hey, hey,” House said, feeling helpless as he lowered himself to the floor to fold Wilson into his arms. He pulled him back against the side of their bed frame so he could stretch his legs out, give his thigh some relief so he could focus on Wilson. “You’re alright. Got you.”

Wilson cried for a few minutes, his shoulders racking with sobs. House rubbed his back soothingly and said nothing. Eventually, Wilson sniffled and wiped at his face, then pulled away from House.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Wilson mumbled as he stumbled up and out of the room. 

House tried to get up, tried to protest, but his stupid fucking leg—

Whatever. Wilson could sleep on the couch. House crawled his way back up the bed and spent a long time staring up at the ceiling in agonizing pain. 

The next morning, House woke with a note taped to his forehead. He pulled it off and held it far enough away to read it without his glasses.

I’m sorry. 

House huffed a laugh and crumpled up the note as he got out of bed. In the bathroom, he found the bags under his eyes looking even baggier than usual. He had two cups of coffee before he left and was still yawning on his drive into work.

He tried to make the DDX as quick as possible with his team, brewing yet another pot of coffee as they all discussed the case. As he sent them off with various tasks, he asked Thirteen to stay behind. 

“What time did you and Wilson leave the bar?” he asked without preamble. 

Thirteen blinked and looked away from him like she was thinking about it. “Uh, a little after 9. I had a couple drinks, so he drove me home.”

“Oh.” House frowned, put the pieces together. “Good. I was going to have to fire you if you let my man stay out half the night getting blackout drunk.”

“What?”

“I’m sure he dropped you off then immediately went to some shithole.” House nodded, feeling reassured. “At least if he’s making a mess of himself, it’s on his own terms and he’s not dragging anybody else into it. One good thing he’s picked up from me.”

Thirteen barked a sarcastic laugh. “Right, because you would never do anything reckless to yourself if it negatively affected someone else. Sure.”

“Alright, didn’t I give you labs to run or a stool sample to collect or something? Get out of here.”

House watched Thirteen leave, then he stood in contemplation, tapping his cane on the floor as he decided whether to go to Wilson’s office. After a minute, he walked into his own office and sat at his desk.

It was lunchtime before Wilson showed up, looking sheepish as he came into House’s office.

House glanced up at him and then continued his paperwork.

“So I guess I’ll be on the couch again tonight?” Wilson asked drily. 

“Excellent deduction,” House responded a little meanly. 

House expected Wilson to argue, to apologize, to beg. Instead, Wilson sighed, nodded, and left. 

Well, fuck. That’s not what House wanted.

The day dragged as House perseverated on Wilson’s behavior. He couldn’t even feign interest in his patient, which frustrated his team to no end. Foreman came up with a good idea long before House would have, so he trusted his judgment and let him take lead.

At House’s physical therapy appointment with Byron after work, he spent the majority of the session lying on the mat table talking shit about Wilson while Byron worked on his leg. 

Byron of course told House that he should “just talk to James and try to meet him where he’s at” because Byron was way too nice. 

House picked up takeout from one of Wilson’s favorite restaurants on his way home. At their condo, House heard Wilson talking on the phone in their room so he plated his own food and left Wilson’s on the counter for him. House then sat in front of the TV and zoned out during Real Housewives. He was halfway done with his food when Wilson emerged from the bedroom.

“My mom says hi,” he said as he went into the kitchen. “Is this for me?”

“Yeah,” House replied without looking away from the TV.

“Thank you.”

House grunted a response.

Wilson didn’t come over to join House on the couch, opting instead to sit at the kitchen island. After a few minutes, he asked, “How long do you think you’re going to stay mad at me?”

“I’m not mad.”

“OK, sure.”

Another few minutes passed. Wilson made his way over to the living room and stood off to the side of the TV with his hands on his hips. “I am sorry about last night. I won’t do that again.”

House made eye contact with him and then looked back at the TV. “OK. Are you going to tell me what it was that made you want to drink yourself stupid?”

Wilson’s eyebrows pulled together; he blinked.

House knew, of course he knew, what was bothering Wilson. And it seemed like Wilson knew that House knew. But House wanted him to say it.

“You know what, maybe I should just go visit my parents for the weekend,” Wilson said definitively. He turned and walked toward their room.

House pushed himself up from the couch and pressed hard into his cane as he followed after Wilson. “Oh, really? You’re just running away? You’re supposed to be the mature one!”

Wilson turned angrily and shoved a finger in House’s face. “You know I’ve been having trouble lately, and you don’t even give a shit! You always fucking do this, for our entire fucking friendship, you can’t handle anything real or hard. You just—you just—”

“What, run away? Like you’re doing?” House threw his arm out to the side helplessly. “I’m trying. I’m trying really fucking hard not to let it bother me that you’d rather go out and get shitfaced and run off to your parents’ house than to just tell me what’s going on with you. I’m trying, Wilson! So what the fuck are you doing?”

Wilson laughed derisively and shook his head, then he turned away from House to continue down the hall to their room as he said, “You don’t get rewarded for trying to act like a human being.”

House grabbed his arm and made him spin around and look at him. “Tell me. Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Wilson’s face crumpled. “I can’t,” he whispered.

Wilson didn’t make it to his parents’ house. 

Early on Saturday morning, House woke alone in bed to a text from Thirteen.

Wilson’s here at my place. He’s not doing too well.

Strangely, House was glad that Wilson hadn’t made it to his parents’ place. Wilson and House were supposed to visit Wilson’s parents in a couple of weeks, their first time visiting them as a couple, and House didn’t want this hiccup to affect that trip. He actually cared about making a good impression on Wilson’s parents, an absolutely mortifying realization. 

When House arrived at Thirteen’s apartment an hour later, he came with three coffees and a box of donuts. He gave Thirteen an apologetic look as he handed off the donuts, and she grabbed one of the coffees and gestured to the guest room where Wilson was staying.

Wilson was curled up in bed, crying quietly. Not that Wilson was the type to hide any of his emotions, but House was pretty sure he had seen him cry more often in the past few days than in the entire course of their friendship. House set the coffee down on the nightstand and lay on the bed, wrapping himself gently around Wilson.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Wilson asked, but the crying made his voice lack venom.

“Come home with me,” House said against the back of his neck.

“Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

“Point to any evidence in the past 20 years that I’m capable of leaving you alone.”

Wilson tried to hold back a laugh and failed.

House pressed his face in the crook of Wilson’s neck and shoulder and squeezed him tighter. “Come on, let’s go home.”

“I’m going to mope around for at least another 24 hours.”

“So what? I’ll make you soup. Wait, that’s what you do when someone’s sick. What do you do when someone’s sad?”

“House.”

“I’ll keep bothering you until you come home with me, so you might as well cave.”

Wilson scooted himself out of House’s hold and got up from the bed. “Can you drop it? I know you’re not—it’s not like you’re the best at this stuff, so just let me be until I’m in a better mood for your pleasure.”

“What?" House shot up from the bed, his leg be damned. He loomed over Wilson. “You still think that of me? Really.”

Wilson shoved past him, heading for the door. “People don’t change, House.”

“I know why you’re upset.”

Wilson turned and frowned at him, his brow furrowed.

House continued, “Let me take care of you. Please.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

House stepped toward him, feeling furious. “I want to do this, you bastard. I want all of you, not just when it’s easy. Do you understand that? I love you, even when you’re being an obtuse, depressed baby. I’m not going anywhere, so you might as well suck it up and deal with me.”

Wilson looked at the floor. “I’m so used to you being a coward, pulling away when things are hard.”

“Can’t help but notice I’m being really nice here and you’re the one acting like an asshole. I can handle you, Wilson. I want to.”

Wilson scrubbed a hand down his face. “You need to give me some time.”

“Done. I’ll wait for you at home.”

“What, that easy?”

House shrugged and walked closer. “I’ll take what I can get. See you at home later.” House kissed him on the forehead.

Wilson tilted forward, leaning into the kiss. House smiled at him, knowing he had won. 

On the way out, House said to Thirteen, “Do whatever you have to do to make him come home by this afternoon.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and said, “Do you know what’s—”

“Yeah, I know what’s bothering him. No, I’m not telling you.”

“Can you at least tell me if it was something you did? Like, scale of one to 10 how badly did you fuck up?”

House blinked in surprise. “Zero. I’ve been a perfect angel.”

Thirteen made a face like she was impressed. She herded House toward the door and said, “Well, good for you. Wilson must have a magic dick for how good your behavior has been lately.”

“I’d argue with you, but yeah, that about sums it up.”

Back at home, House passed Zoe in the hallway typing away on her phone, a smile on her face. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going with those heart-eyes?” House asked.

Zoe popped her head up like she was in trouble. “Nowhere. Nothing. Mom’s waiting for me in the car, I just forgot my—”

“You told the cute bangs girl? Ella?”

“I never said she had cute bangs. I don’t know why you keep saying that.”

“Does she have cute bangs?”

Zoe threw her hands up. “Well, yeah.”

House raised a pointed eyebrow at her.

Zoe rolled her eyes. “I’m not telling you anything, you weirdo. Where’s James, anyway?”

“We’re going through a divorce. I’m paying a fake divorce lawyer fake money to end our illegal marriage because Chris Christie commanded it.”

“OK, so you’re not telling me anything either. Sounds like a deal. I’ve got to go, House.”

“Hey,” House said as Zoe passed him.

She looked up at him, her expression so open and trusting.

He said seriously, “Proud of you, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. See you later, House.”

While he waited for Wilson to get home, House read a book and played some video games and read another book. It was times like these he not only regretted the pain in his leg but missed running. He used to run all the time: to clear his head, to work out a problem, to run away from his problems. If he could run today, he would have run the length of a marathon.

House was pulling homemade chocolate fudge brownies out of the oven when Wilson got home.

“Fuck, that smells good,” Wilson said.

House smiled gently at him then gestured his head toward the hall. “Go get ready. Wear something nice.”

Wilson came into the kitchen and tried to reach for the pan of brownies, but House swatted his hand away. 

“They’re too hot,” House explained. 

“Where are you taking me?” Wilson asked.

“On a date.” House grabbed a plate and knife. “No more questions.”

Wilson scoffed. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve had a pretty bad couple of days and I’d really like to just—”

“Don’t care. Made a reservation.” House kept his focus on the brownies, cutting them into lines.

“Greg.”

With a smile, House turned his face to Wilson and kissed him on the cheek. “Which one of us is more stubborn, do you think?”

Wilson sighed and headed out of the kitchen as he said, “I’m going to take a shower.”

An hour later, Wilson came out of the bathroom in a forest green button down tucked into form-fitting gray slacks. House had bought him the shirt and had nudged Wilson’s taste in pants more toward the realm of showing off his butt and was thanking his past self for his vision.

House, meanwhile, had just begun putting on a dark violet button down and stopped in his half-dressed state to stare at Wilson.

Wilson ducked his chin and laughed lightly. “It’s just me, House. You’ve looked at me every day for most of our adult lives.”

“And? Does the sunrise stop being beautiful just because it comes up every day? Does a painting stop being beautiful just because—”

“Fine, Jesus, you’re annoying.”

House raked his eyes over Wilson. “You continue to be handsome every day, is my point.”

Wilson, obviously embarrassed, rubbed the back of his neck. 

House put on his own shirt but left it unbuttoned as he limped across the room to Wilson. “Come here,” he said softly.

Wilson allowed himself to come forward, to be folded into House’s arms. House dropped his chin to Wilson’s shoulder and rubbed his back soothingly, and Wilson clung to him like a lifeline.

“Sorry I’ve been so awful,” Wilson mumbled against House’s shirt. 

“Oh, shut up.”

They were both quiet on the drive, House with his left hand on the steering wheel and his right on Wilson’s thigh. As they neared the restaurant, Wilson shifted in the passenger seat.

“Oh, House,” he said quietly.

House squeezed his knee.

Once they were seated at their table, Wilson’s eyes were shiny, a soft smile on his face. He said, “Amber’s favorite restaurant.”

“You thought I didn’t remember,” House said. 

Wilson let out a strangled laugh and wiped his eye. “It’s been a year. Tomorrow. She’s—she’s been…”

The server came by, and House ordered both their drinks while Wilson hid his face.

“I ordered flowers,” House said in a low tone. “To take to her grave tomorrow. If you want.”

“Stop. I can’t—I don’t want to cry in this restaurant, you bastard,” Wilson said affectionately, grabbing his napkin to dab at his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I thought you didn’t—that you wouldn’t give a shit.”

“I know. Don’t tell anyone I’m capable of sentimentality.” 

The server came back; House once again ordered for both of them. The server smirked at him before she walked away, like they were in on some secret together.

House leaned his elbows on the table and studied Wilson. “You got upset sooner than I thought you would. What triggered it?”

“Just…I lost a patient. She was the same age as Amber. Her husband, uh, called me. Couple days ago when you were on the phone with your team and I was getting in the shower.”

House looked at him for another few seconds, considering. He then leaned back in his chair and reached in the inside pocket of his blazer.

Wilson blinked as House set the small notebook on the table. 

“You keep notes,” House said. “Whenever I write you a stupid little note, you put it in a drawer or in your pocket instead of throwing it away. I know you have Amber’s notes in a hidden shrine somewhere, so I thought I might add to your collection.”

Wilson sniffled and flipped through the book. It was Amber’s notes from her time applying to be on House’s team, which House found in a cabinet in his office one day when he was looking for coffee filters. Tucked in the pages he put the handful of notes Amber had written to him, mostly updates on cases with the distinct signature “CTB.” 

One of the notes, though, was from when Amber and Wilson were dating. It said, Wilson’s looking for you. He wants to get lunch. Give him a BJ from me. -CTB

Wilson smiled and laughed, cried some more. He shook his head and pressed his hand to the book reverently. “I’m sorry,” he said without looking up at House. “I’m sorry I thought…”

“You thought I’d be a jackass and tell you to suck it up, so you got blackout drunk and pushed me away to avoid disappointment? It’s OK. Fair assumption, based on my track record.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? You didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yeah, I did. I’m sorry.” House looked down at the table. “I know the last note she wrote you was about me, about coming to pick me up at the bar that night. I’m just—I’m sorry.”

Wilson looked at him with his pretty brown eyes. “You’re forgiven.” 

Finally, finally, Wilson started acting like himself as they had dinner. They sat together well after they were done eating, just talking and laughing like they’d been doing for most of their lives.

As the server handed House the bill, she asked, “How long have you two been together?”

Without missing a beat, House said, “Twenty years.”

She told them they were cute, and House sarcastically told her, “Oh, stop,” as he winked at Wilson.

They held hands as they left the restaurant, House leading the way.

Wilson stopped him in the parking lot right outside of the car, tugging House by the hand until he had him in his personal space. House nearly tripped as he adjusted his cane, but Wilson steadied him with strong arms.

“Thank you,” Wilson said as he looked up at him. “It’s been unsettling how good of a partner you are. I’m still adjusting.”

House snorted a laugh and leaned down to kiss Wilson. Both of them sighed into it, like coming home after being away for too long. House put his left hand on Wilson’s hip and tugged him closer, slipped his tongue between his lips.

Wilson groaned and shoved House back against the side of the car, deepening the kiss. 

“Wilson,” House said between their mouths. “This is getting too dirty for a parking lot.”

“What do you care?” Wilson asked, his voice rough before he pressed his lips to House’s neck.

“I can’t get arrested for public indecency again.”

Wilson pulled away and laughed, then asked for the keys so he could drive. He sped on the way home and impatiently tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.

In the parking lot of their condo building, they passed by Nora, Zoe and an Asian girl with bangs.

Zoe’s eyes widened when she saw House, her face obviously mortified. House smirked at her.

“Well, well, well,” he said.

“Hey, boys,” Nora greeted, like she always did when she saw them together. “Doing alright?”

“Doing just fine,” House said, fake smile plastered on his face as he looked between Zoe and Ella. “What are you girls up to this evening?”

“Just taking Zoe and her friend to the movies.”

“This is Ella,” Zoe said quickly. “Ella, that’s House and James. We have to go now. Bye.”

Ella narrowed her eyes at House and then silently said “oh.” House winked at her then gave Zoe a thumbs up.

“Nice to meet you, Ella,” Wilson said suspiciously.

House grabbed his hand and led him inside. 

Wilson asked, “Does Zoe have a girlfriend?”

House glared at him. “You figured that out? How?”

Wilson shrugged. “I guess I have gaydar now.”

Once at their condo, Wilson manhandled House again, picking up where they left off in the parking lot. They stumbled to the bedroom together, stopping to make out against the wall in the hallway a couple of times. It had been days since they touched like this, but it might as well have been a lifetime for how enthusiastic they both were. 

House pulled away from a kiss and smiled at Wilson as he studied his face. He brushed a lock of his hair off his forehead then rubbed the pad of his thumb against his cheek, suspending them in a moment together.

Wilson huffed a laugh and said quietly, “I love you, too, House.”

House kissed him then said, “Come on,” gesturing with his head toward their bedroom. “Let’s honor Cutthroat Bitch’s memory with that blowjob she wanted me to give you on her behalf.”