Archive of Our Own

“You really need to stop that.”

When Wilson begins his daily lecture about House’s Vicodin usage, House is walking from his office to the clinic to do his hours. His team hasn’t had a case for a couple days, so they’ve disbanded to work other stations in the hospital. He had spent most of his time sleeping, watching his soaps, or reading up; but Cuddy threatened to cut his cable access again, so he doesn’t have much of a choice. 

He had hoped Wilson would bring up his spirits or save him from the clinic, but maybe not this time. 

House sighs. “Again?”

“‘Again’? Obviously! You keep taking it!”

“Why don’t you stop taking your antidepressants then?”

Wilson bristles. “That’s different.”

“Sure they are,” House says dismissively. He’ll return to that another time. “Why don’t you make the deal more interesting at least? Make it worth my time?”

“What?”

“I have an idea. How about I lessen my usage if you give me a massage each time I need it?” House jokes. 

“What?” Wilson laughs incredulously. “No, no way.”

House gives Wilson puppy-dog eyes. “How will I manage otherwise?” 

“You can manage just fine with the masseuse that Cuddy gets for you.”

“But she’s not the same as you, James.” 

Wilson shudders in disgust and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Fine! Whatever.”

Wilson storms off, leaving House behind, smiling to himself in the hall. Still not boring.

— 

“I’ve been coughing and having to blow my nose all the time recently. I think I must’ve gotten it from my son’s daycare.”

Male, mid 20s, and perfectly healthy except for a too-tight watch and a common cold. Seriously? He should have traded away clinic duty again instead, honestly. 

“Sounds serious.”

“Does it? I was worried it could be. My wife was telling me that I’d be fine, but you can’t be too sure, you know? I really wouldn’t want to get any of them sick. They really mean the world to me. Like the other day…” he continues on.

As he speaks, the dulled pain in House’s leg begins to burn, like an electric current running through his thigh. He isn’t sure when the Vicodin began to wear off, but he sure can feel it now. He takes out his Vicodin bottle and shakes out two. Before taking them, he stops. He slips one back into the bottle, dry-swallowing the other. Enough to take the edge off, while still being convincing enough for Wilson.

“Um…” The patient doesn’t look as comfortable talking about his family anymore. Thank God.

“Never seen pills before? Sometimes they’re prescribed and people have to take them.”

“Sorry, it was just…surprising, is all.”

Whatever. He has an oncologist to humiliate. House gets up from his seat and reaches for the door. 

The patient starts. “Hey, where are you going?”

“Consulting another doctor.” Like a secret, he whispers, “I’m new here. I think you’d want a more experienced doctor.”

“...Should I stay or come back later?”

House thinks that he shouldn’t have come here to waste everyone’s time to begin with, but he responds, “You can stay, why not. Loosen the watch, though. It’s suffocating your hand.”

“Huh? Okay.”

House leaves, planning to avoid that exam room for the rest of the day. If he’s feeling good, he might actually tell a student to drop by before the clinic closes. 

—

House didn’t think Wilson would agree at all. It was a joke—he was expecting Wilson to drop the subject altogether—but he’d be a fool not to take advantage of the opportunity given to him. His years-long attraction towards Wilson doesn’t have to get in the way of his plan. He’s humiliating Wilson here, not the other way around. Not that Wilson could, anyway. 

He also never told Wilson how much less he’d be taking, so he figures one or two less Vicodin a day suffices. If his massages are particularly healing, maybe even three. No matter how skilled Wilson may be, the fact that his muscle is missing doesn’t change. He should probably ask his fellows for refills every now and then rather than asking Wilson. 

He can worry about that later. He swings open the door to Wilson’s office, finding him there with a patient (17 year old male, not crying, has clearly been here multiple times). They both look at him—the patient, startled, and Wilson, annoyed. That’s fine. Wilson can do his handholding later; he promised House premium service, after all, and if he doesn’t help with House’s leg now, House might die. 

“Oh, sorry!” House says, not sorry. “Am I interrupting?” 

Wilson doesn’t answer that. “Anthony, this is Dr. House. He works here.”

Ouch. Wilson’s coldness doesn’t hurt as much as his leg, though, so House presses on. 

“Hi, Anthony. I’m really sorry, but I have to borrow Dr. Wilson for a consult. Would that be alright?” House puts his best polite act on, but it’s more for Wilson than it is for Anthony.

“Oh, um. I suppose that’s okay?”

“Thank you.” House looks to Wilson for his response.

Wilson gets up from his chair, walks past House into the hall, and closes the door behind them.

He crosses his arms. “What was so important that you needed to interrupt an appointment for? You don’t even have a patient.”

House gasps in mock offense. “You didn’t forget our deal already, did you?”

Wilson flushes with anger and embarrassment. “Seriously? That’s what you interrupted me for?” 

“If you don’t want me on my meds, then how else am I supposed to deal with my pain?”

Wilson scrunches up his face and gestures in frustration. He breathes in, then out. “Okay, how about this: you sit in your office for a few minutes, let me finish up my appointment, then I can give you your…whatever.”

“Okay.”

“You’re an ass.” Wilson returns to his office, closing the door behind him.

House, having gotten what he wanted, is content to follow Wilson’s directions. He sits back in his Eames chair, massaging his thigh himself as he waits. Only Taub is in the fishbowl, getting himself a coffee. They nod to each other. 

After what feels like forever, Wilson appears—still annoyed, but less so. “I’m here now. How are you feeling?”

“Lovely. Absolutely wonderful,” he drawls. “Thank you for asking, Dr. Wilson.” 

Wilson rolls his eyes, then just…stands there. He makes the movement to kneel down next to House, but aborts halfway through and stands back up. He also awkwardly grabs the air with his hands, not knowing what to do with them. He doesn’t know how to start. Truthfully, House doesn’t know how either. 

House doesn’t really want Wilson, or anyone, to touch his leg, but he: A) can’t admit defeat now and B) wants to see Wilson squirm. 

“My leg won’t hurt any less if you’re just looking at it, you know,” House hisses. Watching Wilson fumble is amusing, but he would appreciate it if he got a move on.

Wilson glances at his surroundings. “Um…we should close the blinds.”

“Then, do that.”

Wilson quickly closes the blinds in the office, his movements evening out with motion and decreased surveillance. He hesitantly kneels down next to the chair, reaching out to his thigh and finally massaging it. 

At first, he goes too light, making House yelp as pain shoots up his thigh. House covers his face in embarrassment, considering dropping this idea completely; but Wilson looks so eager to please that House gets over it quickly enough. He has the opportunity of a lifetime to create leverage against Wilson; he shouldn’t waste it. House gruffly tells Wilson that it’s fine and that he just needs to rub harder. The phrasing doesn’t go over their heads, but neither address it. 

Wilson listens, applying the instructions immediately. To House’s relief, he’s actually damn good at it. It doesn’t make the pain disappear—very few things can—but it helps. He’s certainly not as good as the masseuse Cuddy hired for him, but he sure isn’t going to complain about Wilson doing this for him. Wilson’s tension and nervousness slowly eases out of his body as he continues. Of course, House can’t enjoy a good thing for too long, and speaks up.

“The practice you had on your ex-wives really paid off.” 

Wilson rolls his eyes, but continues. “I really don’t know why I try.”

“Because you can’t handle not being there to fix people.”

“Just shut up and enjoy the massage, House.”

House smiles. “What a charmer.” 

They both stop speaking. Wilson is focusing to avoid having to think about the situation too hard, and House closes his eyes, enjoying it. He should’ve put a record on before Wilson came in, but he didn’t want to walk that far earlier. House instead listens to the drone and whirr of the building under conversations and echoing footsteps outside the room. He also hears a door open. 

Wait.

“Hou–oh.”

It’s Kutner. Fuck.

Wilson jumps away like House is on fire, falling on his butt in the process. His face reddens considerably as his mouth flaps open like a fish gulping for food. The scene would be funnier if House weren’t also caught off guard. 

“Um.” Kutner awkwardly stands in the doorway. “I’m just going to…go.” 

House sighs. The moment has already been ruined anyway. “Come back. What is it?”

“Cameron gave us a patient from the ER.” Kutner hands him the file. “Forty year old female—vomiting, muscle paralysis, and a history of tremors.”

House really just wants Kutner gone right now. “Fine. Start treating her for the symptoms. Then, get started on blood and urine tests. And a chest x-ray.”

Kutner raises an eyebrow. “What about the others?”

“Yeah, you can tell them too.” House knows that Kutner is referring to his assigning only Kutner tasks, but he feels especially vengeful for no reason in particular.

“You’re just mad that I interrupted you two.” 

“Yes, Wilson was giving me a blowjob and I would like it if he could go back to it,” he deadpans, intentionally crude. “Do you care about the patient or not?”

Kutner smiles. “I’ll get started.”

Kutner leaves them behind, giving a small nod to Wilson, who had gotten up during the conversation. He’s still flushed, maybe two shades less red than a minute ago. House is dreading the prying questions he’s going to receive from his team for the next several days. 

Wilson stammers. “I’m just. I’m going back to work.”

House doesn’t respond. After Wilson leaves, he takes another Vicodin and reads over the file again. 

—

“Taub, guess what I saw in House’s office?”

Taub turns to see Kutner catching up to him in the hall. He thinks about it. He did see Wilson enter House’s office before closing all of the blinds earlier. It also has to be interesting enough to get Kutner this excited. 

“Were they making out?”

“Almost. Wilson was massaging House’s leg.”

Taub raises his eyebrow. “I didn’t think he let anyone except paid women do that.”

“It’s interesting, right?” Kutner looks way too eager for this. “How much do you bet they’re together?”

“They probably aren’t. You’ve seen Wilson. He has three ex-wives. He doesn’t like House.”

“Yeah, ex-wives. I’ll bet twenty they’re together.”

“Have fun losing, then.”

—

House is bouncing a ball in his office when Cuddy barges in. “House, tell me why I found a patient in Exam Room A waiting for hours, saying he was waiting for you to come back?” 

Ah, House had completely forgotten. Whoops. 

“Well, when you enter a hospital, it’s common to find some patients.”

“House.”

“Sorry, remind me who he was?” 

Cuddy puts her hands on her hips. “He had to go pick up his son!”

“Ah, is that why you’re empathizing?” 

“I seriously don’t know why I bother.” She leaves before he can form a reply. 

—

“Drug test revealed marijuana,” Kutner says, lightly tossing the paper on the table for the other fellows. “X-ray shows a developing smoker’s lung.” 

“So, she’s an addict,” Thirteen states.

“Could be medicinal,” Kutner responds. 

Foreman looks doubtful. “Well, it’s not on her chart if so.”

“So? Self-medication. Maybe she’s trying to deal with whatever’s causing her tremors, which also isn’t formally diagnosed on her chart.”

Foreman shrugs. 

“Do we know if she buys or grows?” Taub asks. “It could be in the weed.” 

“I didn’t ask yet. Her friend is visiting, could be her source.” 

Taub hesitates. “Does that mean…”

“Thank you for volunteering to go get us some, Taub.” House says. 

Taub sighs. 

Thirteen is the first to give a guess. “Guillain-Barré?” 

“No, wouldn’t fit vomiting,” Foreman says. 

“Cameron would’ve caught that,” Taub interjects. “Maybe the vomiting is a separate problem from the weed that exacerbated the other symptoms.”

“Guillain-Barré and some sort of infection or poisoning then?” 

House considers it. “Kutner, do a lumbar puncture as Foreman starts her on plasmapheresis and antibiotics. Thirteen and Taub, search the home and get us the goods.”

Taub sighs as the team splits up. 

In the meantime, House has an oncologist to annoy.

—

Wilson is absently reading over his emails when he hears a knock on his balcony window. There is only one person who would do that.

House. 

Wilson…doesn’t really know how to feel about the situation earlier. Putting himself in that position was humiliating, sure, but it didn’t mean anything; they’re both straight. He just liked being able to help House. He only wishes Kutner didn’t have to appear. As a result, he doesn’t really know how to interact with House. Wilson does what he does best: ignore the problem. 

Wilson looks back at his computer, but House lets himself in anyway. Of course. 

“What, no warm welcome?” 

“You’re the one entering without my permission,” Wilson deadpans. “What do you want, House?” 

“Can’t I visit my best friend just ‘cause?”

“With you?” Wilson chuckles. “No.” 

“Anyway, lunch? I see you’re not doing anything important other than checking your emails.”

Wilson supposes House isn’t mentioning it yet. That’s…not a great sign. Whatever, he won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. 

“Sure.”

Wilson puts his computer to sleep and gets up, following House out of his office. They fall back into their regular routine: House explains his most recent case, Wilson gives some ideas, Wilson pays for House’s food, and House steals Wilson’s food as they sit down in an available booth. 

As much as House annoys him, he really does enjoy their time together (most of the time, at least). He can act in a way that he can’t act with anyone else. He should really expect the worst with him, though, because House speaks up. 

“Ouch! Wilson, my leg hurts.” House rests his leg on Wilson’s chair, his shin touching Wilson’s thigh. Wilson doesn’t doubt that House is feeling pain, but he’s obviously playing it up. 

Wilson does not like where this is going. He blushes as he whispers, “House, we’re in public right now.”

House stage-gasps, putting his hand to his chest. “Wilson! What are you thinking of?” 

“House…”

“You agreed to the deal.”

“Not—not all this!”

“I can’t control if I feel pain or not. That’s the whole point.”

“I…”

Wilson hears a telltale rattle as House begins to shake out two Vicodin from an orange bottle. 

“House, stop that,” he says, not unlike scolding a dog with something inedible in its mouth.

House pauses, pills in hand, as he watches Wilson’s next move. Wilson really doesn’t want to give House a massage in public, so he figures out a compromise. 

“You can take one. Finish your lunch, then we can head back up to my office.”

“Last time you did this, you were kidnapping me to attend a funeral.”

“I wasn’t—What do you even mean by that?”

“But my leg hurts now, Dr. Wilson. Won’t you please help a needy, helpless patient?” 

Wilson shudders. “I’ll make it hurt more if you keep talking.”

House shrugs and drops a Vicodin back in the bottle, only taking one. They finish their lunch (read: House finishes his lunch and half of Wilson’s) and make their way back to Wilson’s office. Their conversation has gone back to regular topics, but Wilson can’t stop thinking about the massage. Why can’t he stop thinking about it? 

House lays down on Wilson’s couch. Wilson shuffles around the room awkwardly again, stalling. At least this time, Wilson can bring a chair next to the couch to sit on instead of kneeling down. 

“Any day now, Wilson.”

The tips of his fingers lightly hold onto the sides of House’s thigh for stability as his thumbs rub into his thigh. The lack of muscle threw him off previously, but he adapted quickly, massaging into the muscle that is there.

Doing this in his office feels strange. Like he’s doing something he’s not meant to be doing. Wilson needs to focus. It’s not like he’s doing anything wrong. He’s helping a friend, like a friend should. 

So when House groans, Wilson is normal about it. Like a friend is. He doesn’t lose his rhythm at all. Nor does he shift in his chair or have to do breathing exercises to calm down. 

He’s normal about it like a friend is. Thank God House has his eyes closed. Wilson continues, and eventually, he does successfully calm down. 

Wilson doesn’t actually know when to stop the massage. Kutner interrupted them last time, so he didn’t have to think about it then. He’s thinking about it now instead. 

“So…” Wilson starts, breaking the silence. “Are you feeling better now?”

Eyes still closed, House mumbles a “Yes.”

“Great.” Wilson stops the massage. “I have a patient in a few minutes, so you should go back to your office now.”

Wilson does not have a patient until another half hour. Thankfully for him, House is satiated enough to fall for his bluff. 

“This patient will see you again.” 

Wilson doesn’t trust that. “Bye, House.” 

“Bye, Wilson.”

—

“The patient is seizing! Get a cart in here, now!”

“Is she okay? What’s happening?”

“You should wait outside.” 

—

“New symptoms. Go.”

The whiteboard now lists:

• VOMITING
• LOW BP HIGH BP?
• PARALYSIS
• LOW HEART RATE HIGH HEART RATE
• SHALLOW BREATHING HYPERPNEA
• SEIZURE
• SWEATING

Thirteen speaks first. “I don’t understand. She was getting better.”

“It can’t be Guillan-Barré, anyway. Lumbar puncture was clear,” Kutner says. “Could be poisoning. Since BP, heart rate, and breathing all changed, we could be seeing different stages.”

Taub responds, “We found nothing in the weed or in her home. We tested some things, and nothing would cause anything like this.”

“It would’ve flushed out with the dialysis, too.” Thirteen points out. 

“What about her friend who’s always in her room?” Foreman asks. “Is she feeding her anything?” 

“Not that I’ve seen. It’s possible, though.” Kutner shrugs.

House nods. “I’ll go drop by the patient’s room.”

—

When House enters, he sees the patient, and the woman who must be her friend. Her friend looks a little older than she is. He quickly scans over the file for the patient’s name: Jane Edwards. 

Jane is shaking as she looks over to House. Her other condition must’ve been worsened by whatever she has now. House almost considers mercury poisoning, but eliminates the possibility. They would’ve noticed the other symptoms. 

From his pocket, House pulls out a box of cigarettes. It’s not his; he borrowed it from one of the ER patients while Cameron was distracting them. She was just doing her job, but that distracted them well enough for House to pickpocket them. It’s not like they’ll be needing the pack for the next five minutes, anyway.

The patient starts. “Are you Dr. House?”

House shrugs as he knocks out a cigarette. “You could say that. Want one?” 

The friend responds first. “No thanks, I don’t smoke those.” 

Following after, Jane answers, “I don’t smoke them either.”

“Fine by me.” House sits down next to the patient, opposite from the friend, as he lights his cigarette. He wants to see if she’ll react to it—test the rare chance that it’s some sort of allergy or lung infection. …It’s also just for his own enjoyment.

“I’m surprised they let you smoke in a hospital,” the friend says. 

“Doctor perks. There’s a cancer doctor I’m interested in, anyway.” House taps the ash onto the floor. He can’t wait for Cuddy to find this. 

They look like they want to ask a follow-up question to that, but House cuts in before they can. 

“I was joking. What do you two smoke? Since cigarettes are off the table.”

“I vape. Jane smokes weed.”

“I take edibles too. It’s, um. It’s mostly to help with the tremors, but it’s also for fun sometimes.”

Kutner was right, then. 

“We smoke together, so I’m sure there’s some overlap. Jane can’t handle the taste of my vapes, though.”

Jane nods. House doesn’t miss how her friend speaks for her, or how eager Jane seems to please. The situation reminds him of something, but he’s not sure who’s who. 

Either way, this discussion hasn’t helped. She hasn’t reacted, so it can’t be allergens or lung infection. It might be nicotine poisoning, but how? Or why? Nicotine poisoning matches the symptoms to a T, but the story isn’t complete. They seem to be on the verge of getting together, so he doubts foul play; but everyone lies. Maybe she isn’t to be trusted. 

House puts the cigarette out in a metal tray on the crash cart before throwing the cigarette away. “She has nicotine poisoning. I’ll get her started on activated charcoal. You can vape alone for a while.”

With that, House leaves. 

—

What the fuck. What is wrong with him? 

Wilson doesn’t know what’s happening to him. He feels funny when he’s around House, and he can’t stop thinking about him. Wilson loved Amber, so he knows what that feels like; and those feelings are awfully similar to how he feels now, if not stronger. The worst part is that he isn’t even sure these feelings are new. Has it always been like this? Does he like men? 

Wilson needs an outside opinion. He has maybe three people he can properly call friends: House, Cuddy, and Stacy. House is completely out of the question, and Stacy…probably shouldn’t be called for this. Cuddy is his best option if she has the time. 

Wilson enters Cuddy’s office as she’s on a call with someone. She doesn’t look like she wants to be, so Wilson feels a little less guilty. 

“Cuddy, I need to talk to you about something.”

Cuddy lowers the phone, covering the microphone with her hand. “Can it wait? I’m on a call with a patient right now.”

“Please.” He comes off more desperate than he meant to. 

Cuddy raises an eyebrow as she speaks back into the phone. “I’ll have to call you back.”

She looks at Wilson expectantly. “So?” 

Instinctively, Wilson looks around for any signs of House before speaking. “I might…like House.”

To her credit, Cuddy tries not to look surprised. 

“You see, we’ve been having this deal where if House lowers his Vicodin intake, I’ll give him a massage when he needs it.” Wilson’s eyes dart around the room, anywhere where Cuddy isn’t. “And it’s been making me…think.”  

“Thank you for telling me, Wilson. I’m surprised he agreed to that, actually.” Then she adds, “I’m proud of you for figuring it out.”

Huh?

Wilson laughs, caught off-guard. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’ve clearly been in love with him for years. The new intimacy just made it more clear for you.” 

“What do you mean, ‘clearly’?”

Cuddy gives him a Look. “You can figure that out when you talk to House about it.”

Wilson flusters. “No. No way.”

Even if Wilson isn’t straight, that doesn’t mean House isn’t either. Maybe he could hope that House has been having the same revelations as him, but he can’t possibly count on that. 

“Why not?”

“I just…I don’t know. He’s still my best friend. I don’t want to weird him out.”

Cuddy laughs. “I don’t think he would be.” Whatever that means. 

Wilson decides he’ll think on it some more.

—

It’s night at the hospital, and House is the only remaining member of the diagnostics team. House bounces his ball against the wall as he sits at his desk, thinking. The cause of the tremor may only be essential tremor, but it’s difficult to tell while she’s still recovering from the poisoning. 

He needs a change of pace, so he does what he does best. He pages Wilson.

Wilson appears quickly, even though they both know that House only ever pages him for unimportant matters. “What’s going on?”

“Let’s say that you’re a young woman trying to impress your friend that you get high with. How would you come into contact with enough nicotine for poisoning when you smoke weed and she vapes?” 

“Maybe I try to vape too to keep up with her?”

“Supposedly you can’t handle the taste.”

Wilson thinks. “Vapes use liquid nicotine. It’s possible I could have ingested it or got it on my skin somehow.”

House has an epiphany. 

“Her friend wasn’t poisoning her on purpose. When she was refilling her friend’s vape with liquid nicotine, her tremors made her spill it.” 

“Oh, shit.”

“She should get better while she’s with us. I already started her on activated charcoal, and her friend went home earlier.”

Wilson nods. “That’s good.”

While House has Wilson here, he might as well make the most of it. He knows Wilson doesn’t have any appointments or meetings for the rest of the night, anyway. He checked.

“I think I deserve a reward for this, don’t you think?”

Wilson blushes. “Another massage?”

“No.” House wants to push it. He isn’t even in that much pain at the moment, having taken his regular dose of Vicodin earlier. 

“…No?”

“I need full-body pressure.”

Wilson looks confused. “I’m not sure how you want me to do that for you. Just buy a weighted blanket.”

That might be a good idea actually. He should make Wilson buy one for him sometime in the future. 

“I was thinking that you could lay down on top of me.”

Wilson flushes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Are you refusing to help a patient?”

“It’s not even part of the deal!” 

“You’re just afraid of the contact.” A pause. “Or are you afraid of how you’ll feel?”

Wilson freezes for a moment before it passes. “I’m not. I’ll do it. Get on your Eames.”

House is always surprised at how far Wilson calls his raise. He limps over to the Eames chair without his cane, and brings the ottoman closer to lie down. Unfortunately, because of how the chair is built, he can’t fully lie down, the top half of his torso leaning against the back of the chair.

Wilson hesitantly climbs on top of him, and they lock eye contact for a moment before looking away. House feels his heart hammering out of his chest. This was a mistake. He should not have done this. He hopes Wilson doesn’t notice. 

Wilson lies down, his head on House’s chest, and his body on top of his legs. It is nice, actually. If he ignores the fact that his body is going haywire from the person he’s in love with being on top of him. 

“Is this good?” Wilson asks. He sounds level, but House can clearly see his flush. 

House starts thinking. He knows Wilson loves him more than anything, but is he in love with him? He’s been making him do more intimate acts, and he’s been meeting him each time. House isn’t stupid enough to miss Wilson’s blush either, but that could be from embarrassment as well. 

Should he continue this? He doesn’t want to reveal his own hand before he discovers Wilson’s.

House begins to unconsciously brush his hand through Wilson’s hair when Wilson jumps up and exclaims, “Okay! That’s—that’s enough. Good night, House.”

Wilson is out of the door before any more words are said. 

—

The next day, they don’t speak during work. Wilson isn’t necessarily avoiding House on purpose, but he did book a full schedule on purpose, so. As he’s leaving to go home for the day, House catches up with him with the offer of takeout and TV at his place. Wilson, unwisely drawn in by the familiarity, accepts. 

Now, they’ve been eating Chinese takeout and watching monster trucks on the TV in House’s home. It’s like how it’s always been: they watch in relative silence with some conversation, enjoying the other’s company, in a completely platonic and normal fashion. They’re halfway done eating when Wilson notices that House has been rubbing his leg more than usual today. It must be flaring up.

Wilson says, still eating and eyes glued to the screen, “House, you know I can just do a massage for you. Or get a heat compress. Or anything at all.”

“It’s fine.”

Wilson glances over. “I clearly see you rubbing your leg already. I could help you.” 

House considers it. He must be uncomfortable because he’s being asked instead of initiating it. 

Finally. House props up his leg onto Wilson’s lap, eyes still on the show. Wilson kneads into House’s thigh, more confident through practice. House relaxes. He could get used to doing this. What. No. Roll that back. 

Wilson tries to focus on the TV. Captain’s Curse just passed the finish line, beating King Krunch in the semifinal. He’s about to comment on it, when House speaks.

“You’re in love with me.”

Wilson freezes. “…What makes you say that?”

“Your reaction. And the way that you meet every demand I ask of you for no reason other than to please me. You’re in love with me.”

He’s right, but Wilson feels defensive. He isn’t sure why. “I don’t understand your incessant need to analyze everything I do. Am I not allowed to help my best friend?”

“That’s the thing. You want to be more.”

How the hell is he doing this. “You can’t prove that.”

“Sure I can.”

One of House’s hands grabs the front of Wilson’s shirt, pulling him closer. “Push me away.”

Wilson doesn’t. He should. 

“Admit it.”

They both stare at each other, egging the other to break first. 

Wilson leans in and kisses him. 

Wait. No. That’s not—

As soon as they disconnect, Wilson panics. “I didn’t mean to do that! I—“

House cups Wilson’s face and cuts off his rambling with a kiss. Wilson relaxes. Where House kisses softly, Wilson kisses with a fervor. House meets it. 

When they disconnect a second time, Wilson stares at House. He’s a little startled at the open adoration on his face. He wonders how he looks to House, his walls down. 

“Coming on a little strong there, Wilson.” He smiles, speaking softly. “I might begin to believe that you like me.”

Wilson groans. “I hate you.”

“Usually that happens to you instead of the other way around.”

“Yeah.”

“Because, unlike any of your ex-wives or patients, you want me.”

“…Do you have to bring them up right now?” 

House kisses Wilson again. The feeling is novel, leaving Wilson hungry for more. 

“Am I better than them?”

“Wait…are you jealous?” Wilson laughs. “You’re jealous of them!”

“I’ve only been in love with you since the day we met as I’ve watched you chase after every woman you talk to for more than two minutes,” House says. “So, no.” 

Ah. Whoops. …Wait, hold on.

“Wait, you’ve been? Why didn’t you tell me anything?” 

House looks at him funny. “For what reason? You would’ve been uncomfortable, and we wouldn’t have stayed close friends.” 

“I’m not homophobic! I would’ve accepted you!”

“You were so repressed, you were basically homophobic,” House says flippantly. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is. You could’ve saved me three alimonies.” 

House laughs. The conversation continues to flow like usual. 

Wilson is surprised by how much he wants. Amber was the only other person who he could feel comfortable wanting with. Despite everything, he trusts House too. Seeing as they haven’t killed each other by now, surely they’ll be okay, whatever they’ll be. For now, he’ll focus on what they have now. 

He kisses him again.

—

After seeing Wilson talk to House in his office, Taub silently hands Kutner a twenty later that day.

—

Wilson walks with House through the hospital, House’s backpack on his shoulder. Being without a case, House is leaving an hour before he’s actually meant to clock out. Unfortunately, Wilson still has to work. For now, Wilson is skipping out on reading emails and looking at files to listen to House’s recounting his case.  

“The patient and her friend got together? Really?” 

“Really,” House confirms. “Surprising since trying to impress her now-girlfriend caused her to get sick, but it’s not uncommon.”

“The nicotine poisoning or the impressing?”

“The nicotine poisoning, obviously.” House jokes. “That’s the one that you do.”

Wilson smiles. “My poisoning doesn’t seem very effective, then, if my target is standing in front of me. It’s a good thing I’m a doctor and not an assassin.” 

“If anything, your patient has a higher likelihood of poisoning himself than you doing it.”

Alarms ring in Wilson's head. “Hey, what do you mean by that?”

“Relax, you’re with me. I’ll be fine.” It would almost be romantic if it weren’t still concerning. 

House shakes out two pills before dry-swallowing them. Wilson pauses. 

“...You’re taking the same amount of Vicodin as before, aren’t you?” 

House freezes like he’s caught before taking mock offense. “Who do you take me for?”

“House. You’ve been making me do all–” Wilson gestures as he fumbles for words, “this! And you haven’t even been holding up your end of the deal?” 

“One or two less is still less.”

“House!”

House speaks dramatically. “‘I could not love thee, Dear, so much, loved I not Vicodin more.’”

Wilson recognizes the poem, but he refuses to acknowledge it. House continues talking.

“You wouldn’t have realized you love me without the deal, anyway. I was doing you a favor if you really think about it.”

Wilson petulantly crosses his arms. That doesn’t mean anything.

House takes his silence as a victory and changes the subject. “You should skip the rest of your work and join me in laying on the couch. Your patients can hold their own hands.”

Wilson actually considers it for a moment. It would be nice, but no. His work comes first. House can understand that. “You know I can’t.”

House nods, but he’s not pleased about it. “I’ll see you later tonight, then.” 

Wilson smiles. “See you then.” 

When House walks out of the hospital, he smiles to himself. For the moment, he’s content.