F

orman wandered into House's office, nursing half a mug of coffee.

"I thought I asked for a fake scandal." House looked up from his magazine.

"I'm sure you did... what the hell are you talking about?"

"Seriously? Everyone on this floor's talking about you and Wilson."

"Ah." Well, this conversation wasn't going to improve anytime soon; House resumed his place in the magazine, propping a leg against the edge of the desk as he did so. Watching out of the corner of his eye, though, he saw Forman raise an eyebrow.

"Just thought you'd like to know, if you didn't already... seriously, though, why the hell'd you tell the truth?"

"Oh, come on, would I lie to you?" Forman wasn't falling for it. "Alright, because Cameron and Chase would instantly go into denial at the mere thought of my spurning them, so there'd be no questions, and you have the sense not to believe me in the first place. Either that, or your ghetto homophobia would conflict with the Hippocratic Oath and you'd have exploded, which would have been fascinating."

"What... so it's not true?"

"What do you care? I'm not going to make a pass at you... well, unless that's what you want, of course..."

"It is true, then." House ignored him.

"But I draw the line at bondage – I know your type, and I'm all for modern relationships, but there is nothing natural about trussing people to their own beds..." Forman sighed, and bean to turn away.

"Fine. I'll go find Wilson."

"You think he'll tell you anything? That'd ruin the surprise when you find his video diaries." House turned the page, "You seen this article? 'Atom Heart Mother'." He gestured towards the page in question. "Apparently, they can put a little electronic pulse in people's hearts to make them work now." Momentarily distracted, Forman glanced at the article being presented to him.

"That's an album review from... the 1970s. How old is that magazine?"

"Old enough to know better." Again ignoring Forman, but this time because he found the bafflement plastered across his face as he desperately tried to figure out if that phrase actually meant anything highly amusing. House made a show of discarding the pages in a flurry of glossy paper across his desk.

"Right... anyway, maybe Wilson won't say anything, but the rumour got out somehow. Cuddy's my bet."

"Well then, you'd better go find her." Forman nodded and headed toward the door, but stopped short.

"Hang on, why am I running all over the hospital to confirm some rumour when you could just say?"

"Because... I'm hideously embarrassed by the whole thing, or because I've booby-trapped Cuddy's office and need someone to test it on, or because I'm teaching you an important moral lesson in trying to meddle in things that are completely irrelevant. Take your pick."

"Great..." Forman glanced behind him, then stepped away from the door to admit Cameron.

"There are rumours all over the place-" She began.

"Yes, everything's true; video evidence can be found on Wilson's blog. Go and make out with Cuddy, and have Forman film it – we're thinking of setting up a sister site, to avoid all the gyp about sexism. Forman, if you could get hold of Chase sometime, too, we can cover the whole racial angle too... this is an equal-opportunities exploitative co-operative-" Forman held up a hand in remonstrance, and House piped down, reluctantly.

"OK, there's no point in going to Cuddy, because you've more or less confirmed it..." Cameron still appeared slightly bewildered, and after a second, she tentatively ventured,

"So... you and Wilson...?"

""I've just been through this entire conversation with Forman, and I'm sure he'll be happy to fill you in on the way to Cuddy's office with a film camera, won't you, Forman?" Not particularly paying attention, Forman nodded.

"Excellent. Now, the 'Greg House Reveals all' show scheduled to finish five minutes ago. Begone."

As Forman and Cameron finally turned to leave, Wilson burst in through the diagnostics office door, slightly flushed, tie askew.

"God, House, they're talking about it all over the floor. How did word get out...?" He stopped, suddenly noticing the other two, and looked down, reddening further. "Sorry... didn't realise... I'll be back later..." he had departed again before House had the chance to formulate a sentence. His mouth opened briefly, then closed again, as he glared at the other two.

"See, this is why you and Cuddy making out is a good idea – if you'd left half a minute after receiving my instructions, instead of procrastinating about the possibility of my telling you that Wilson and I are screwing each other... the film would be on my desk by now." He 

did his best to rein in his annoyance; it was clear enough that the rumours had been proved right, but there was no need to show them that he actually cared – start that sort of behaviour, and he'd be a walkover by Christmas.

Obligingly, Forman and Cameron left, the latter throwing a quizzical look in his direction, and House, after waiting a few minute s to be sure that the coast was clear, got to his feet to seek out Wilson.

He didn't have to go far: Wilson had retreated to his office, but had left the door ajar, so that House could see through the crack that the younger man out on the balcony, leaning against the wall. For a minute, he considered going to him through the office, but quickly discounted it: it would give people less to speculate about if they were seen just to be chatting across the wall from their own respective balconies.

Going back to his own office, he took a moment - to think, and more importantly, to give Wilson a little more breathing space.

After he judged that enough time had passed, he breezed out of his door.

" I don't know who let on..." Wilson whipped around, startled, but after recognising House, turned back to gaze out onto the street below.

"Don't suppose it matters – rumours pass, anyway."

"What, you expect to keep it a secret forever?" When Wilson looked up, House gestured for him to come closer. Wilson did so, slowly, and House reached out to straighten his collar and tie, with a grimace. "It was bugging me."

"You haven't brushed your hair in a week, and a wonky tie bugs you?" Wilson shrugged. "Fair enough... and honestly, I haven't given it a lot of thought."

"Well, you didn't think twice about marrying any of your wives. What's the difference?"

"Marriage is... well, just look where that ended up. And this... I dunno, it's going to take some getting used to."

"I can rest easy in the knowledge that it's not commitment that's the problem?"

"you're fine there... come on, I'm Jewish. Contravention doesn't come easy..."

"You don't keep Kosher, you don't observe Shabbat, you eat Chinese on Christmas day. It's a fair guess that, whatever your doubts, they aren't religious."

"No..." Wilson shook his head, "You're right. But still... don't you need to – want to – think things over?"

"Since when do I 'think things over'?" Hous propped his cane against the dividing wall, then hauled himself onto it, stretching his legs out on Wilson's side. "You know that sort of thing doesn't bother me."

"Oh, I dunno... you wanted to change, didn't you, for Stacey, but you realised – more than once – that you couldn't. But, with... this...you have changed."

"Whereas you're the same limp, quasi-womanising, boy wonder oncologist that you always were?"

He had to admit, though, that it was true. To begin with, House had thought over every action he was going to make that would involve physical contact with Wilson, but now – for instance, when he straightened the tie – he acted on impulse. And strangely, it worked. He liked it; Wilson liked it. The only drawback being... yes. As he had 

satdown, Wilson had begun to edge towards him, and had finally sat down beside him. Somebody could walk in (or out, as the case may be) on them at any moment.

Shaking his head, he took a moment to think over the logic he had employed there. He had told Wilson that it didn't matter; that it didn't bother him, but now he thought about it, perhapshe had the same hang-ups. After all, he didn't care who knew about the hookers and the pornos in the bottom drawe, and yet... what did it matter who knw, really? If other people coulsn't deal with it, that was their problem. He lifted an arm to Wilson's shoulder, running a thumb along the edge of his shoulder blade, just discernible through the shirt and jacket he was wearing. Wilson looked round reproachfully.

"House... what if...?"

"Screw 'em." He responded shortly. "They don't like it, they can deal with it themselves."

As if on cue, House's door squeaked open, and heheard Chase's faltering footsteps.

"Erm... I'll come back later..." He feltWilson stiffen under his hand, and turned languidly to face Chase, resisting that same urge to stand up and get over the other side of the wall, which proved how much of a hypocrite he was.

"Not at all. What's happened?"

"Erm... nothing. Just checking for... for permission to run... to run a CT..." He was stammering; Househad no intention of helping him out.

"What for?" Chase shook his head.

"Doesn't matter... I think the machine's booked anyway." He was beginning to back into the office again. House turned back round.

"Right. Inspiring visit." Chase had gone. House looked at Wilson, "See?"

"See what? He was more awkward than Cameron."

"And you didn't jump to your feet the second you heard him and compensate by dropping your trousers at the nearest female, did you?"

"Because our hand was so tight on my shoulder I thought you'd rip it off if I tried to move."

"Yeah... well, we all have our issues."

"Maybe." Wilson spoke cautiously; non-commitally. House grined.

"Oh, what a saucerful of secrets we have to unleash on an admiring public."

"Like they need to know."

House shrugged. Need to know or not, they were going to want to find out, though why people could be the slightest bit interested, he could not fathom. But still, people held a perturbing fascination with the ins and outs of... unusual relationships.

He drew Wilson closer to him, and followed his gaze out across the roads and paving below them.