A/N1: Unbetaed, unedited because I'm about to fall asleep at the computer.
A/N2: Courtship is NOT dead. Just a slow work in progress.

Disclaimer: Own nothing. Not even a deck of cards.

Four Times Wilson Didn't Tell House That He Loves Him
(and the one time he did)

1.

It's a late Saturday night that she shows up at his door. It doesn't matter that he's had zero contact with Sam since the divorce five months ago, or that he's in a relationship with someone new- with her standing in front of him he feels a rush of emotions he can't identify. She's holding a large brown packing box that she drops unceremoniously in front of him.

"It's your stuff," she tells him, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. It's longer than he remembers.

"Thanks," he says quietly. He shuffles his feet, unable to meet her eyes.

She nods. "No problem." Then she turns away. "I should go."

"Sam," he blurts out. She pauses, her hand resting on the doorknob. For a long moment neither dares to speak. Then he sighs and she's out the door.

She's barely been gone ten minutes when the sound of knocking meets his ears again, and he wonders bizarrely if he'll open the door to a fair-haired beauty. But instead it's House, carrying a six pack in one hand and a pizza in the other. He can't remember the last time his best friend bought dinner.

He knows that he must look a little off because House peers at him through narrowed eyes. "You… okay," the diagnostician asks.

It doesn't even occur to him to lie. "Just had a surprise visit from Sam."

House frowns and drops the pizza and beer on the counter. Wilson watches his lips purse, watches House step back towards the door. "Let's go."

"Where are we going," the oncologist demands as he takes a seat in the passenger seat of the car.

His best friend refuses to answer, putting the car in drive.

They're silent the entire time House directs the car through lights and down streets that Wilson doesn't recognize. Finally House slows the car to a stop and parks beside an SUV he does recognize.

"Is that…?" His voice trails away in wonder.

"Your ex-wife's car? Yeah."

He nervously clears his throat and stares up at the building, wondering which apartment holds Sam. "How did you know where she lives? I didn't even know."

House shrugs nonchalantly, but doesn't meet his gaze. "I found out a while ago. Just in case." He gives Wilson an appraising look. "Don't tell me you're surprised."

"Definitely not. But I still don't know why we're here. I don't want to see her."

The diagnostician rolls his eyes. "Yeah, and that's at the top of my to-do list," he answers sarcastically. He pulls something out of his pocket and passes it to Wilson.

Wilson holds it up to examine it more closely. "Oh my god."

"Don't overreact."

"This is a…knife. Okay, I can't kill Sam."

"You aren't kidding. You'd definitely get caught. Probably confess." House pauses. "But I do think you should slash one of that bitch's tires."

"Absolutely not. No way." But his eyes convey a different response entirely. The desire to cause her pain, to make her feel even a fraction of the misery that he had felt when he was served the divorce papers at the conference, flares up in him so strong that he almost does it right then and there. But in the end he just can't. He sighs deeply and hands the blade back to House.

Who spins around with lightening speed and punctures the rubber himself. There's a whoosh of air and then silence.

"A little anticlimactic," House eventually says, visibly deflating. Wilson almost laughs at the look of disappointment on the older doctor's face, then is struck by a rush of affection so strong for the man that it nearly knocks him over. Three words dart into his mind, seize him and refuse to relinquish their hold.

2.

He walks into the department and instantly knows that something is very wrong. His assistant, Amy, is standing outside his office, shifting from foot to foot, staring at him in sad silence. She holds a dark blue folder in her hands that she wordlessly passes him when he's within arm's length. He glances at the name and feels his stomach bubble up in fear.

"Jane Bradley." He says the name and can see from Amy's expression that she must have died some time during the night. He supposes he should be better at taking patient deaths in stride (House definitely thinks so) but he knows he'll never get used to losing kids. Especially six-year-olds as sunny and optimistic as Jane.

"I'm sorry Dr. Wilson," Amy says quietly. He steps into his office, closing the door behind him, knowing his assistant will hold his calls.

With a heavy sigh he collapses into his desk chair. His head drops into his hands, and he lets himself release the flood of tears in his eyes. He really cared about her. She was his favorite patient, possibly ever. And she'd lost the battle.

He's so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn't realize he has an audience until the familiar voice makes him jump.

"They run out of gelato in the cafeteria?"

Wilson shoots House an angry glare, becoming even more annoyed when his heart does that little jumpy thing because his eyes have met his friend's riveting blue. "House, please leave."

Ignoring him completely, the diagnostician takes the seat across from him and hands him a cup of coffee. "Drink up, Jimmy."

Wilson swats the other man's hands away and repeats, "Go away."

House rolls his eyes and pulls a deck of cards out of his pocket. "You're going to need your strength if you're you going win some money."

The oncologist stares back, really taking in the scene, asking himself what he sees. "How did you know to bring the cards," he asks.

House shrugs, but Wilson is pretty sure he catches the fleeting embarrassment on his face. "I called. I asked for you. That girl, Amy, needs to be reminded about patient confidentiality. She may have mentioned that the dear Ms. Bradley departed the world last night."

Wilson considers this information, then peers more closely at his friend. "So you're saying that you're here… because you want to be a good friend?"

"Not what I said."

"Oh my god. I think I'm going to cry." He feels the corners of his lips turn up, and it suddenly occurs to him that he's happy, sort of. Not today, but overall, and he can't ignore the nagging feeling it might, maybe, possibly be because of House.

3.

It starts out as a joke. Both men are caught under the hanging greenery at the hospital's front door and Cuddy calls out, "Okay, you guys know the rules."

Wilson shoots the hospital administrator a death-glare before returning his attention to his best friend, who's standing over him, the smile on his lips mocking, daring. It's clear from the expression on his face that he doesn't think there's any way in hell that Wilson is going to follow through with the instructions. Somehow the oncologist is annoyed-he's done daring things before! So he tells himself that he's simply doing this to wipe the smug grin off the other man's face, and does the only thing he can think of.

Which is grab a hold of the diagnostician's blazer, and pull him down so that their lips meet.

He half-expects House to jerk away, but instead the wet lips move searchingly against his own. Rough skin burns his mouth, but he doesn't care, is past caring. Instinctively, his hands move to the older man's waist and he pulls him closer. Suddenly he knows that he's in some pretty deep trouble, that he's never loved House as a friend, that this moment right here is exactly how he wants to spend the rest of his life.

It's House that finally pulls away (honestly, at this point, it would have to be) and when Wilson is finally able to move without trembling he chances a look into his friend's eyes. There's blank shock there, of course, and something else? But maybe that's just what he wants to see.

Swallowing hard he turns away.

4.

"Buy some furniture."

House's request seems easy enough the first time he hears it. After all, he has been on the planet for… well, a few years now. So, yeah, he's expecting to go to the store, lay his eyes on some antique lamp, and fall instantly in love. He's not expecting to spend two hours looking at tables that, quite frankly, all appear to be the same. As he sits in the chair that's in the shape of a giant O, he feels a little like Alice, smack-dab in the middle of Wonderland.

Hiring the decorator is money well spent.

But once she's gone, the furniture has been delivered, and the room arranged, he stares out into the living room in disappointment. There's something missing, though he's not sure what. He goes to find it.

The moment he lays his eyes on the organ he knows without a shadow of a doubt how perfect the damn thing is. It's beautiful, as if he conjured it out of thin air, and in mind's eye he can see House's thin frame bent over the keys. He pays the asking price without a second thought.

When House walks in the door that evening, Wilson feels a flutter of nervousness. He had been completely confident when he handed the sales associate his credit card, but now his purchase seems hasty. There's no way around it. The organ could be playing the opening cords to "When I Fall In Love" and not be any more obvious. It's a blatant declaration of love.

Maybe he should have gone with the stripper pole.

Then House pulls off the tarp and his fingers find the keys. The wide smile that spreads across the older man's face is exactly what Wilson is hoping for, and he exhales the breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"I like what this says about you, Wilson."

To Infinity

He practices in front of the mirror for a week. Nearly every moment that House isn't in the loft, he rehearses the words out loud. Different versions, but every one meaning the exact same thing.

I love you. I've always loved you.

He's risking everything-he knows that. He could put it all out on the line, and his best friend could mock him or, worse, push him away. He could lose the only thing that means anything, but the truth is that he just can't do it anymore. He can't watch House date women that he knows aren't good enough for him; he can't look at his best friend without feeling like a raw nerve. He has to do this if he ever wants to feel normal again.

He's finally prepared when he arrives home that Friday and finds his friend lying on the couch, both hands gripping his injured leg in unexpressed pain. He's beside the older man in an instant, concern for House overriding every other emotion inside him.

"What can I do," he asks quietly, determined not to panic. He reminds himself that they always knew there would be days like this, even years after the infarction.

"Just… sit here," House replies through tight lips. "Don't go anywhere."

Wilson immediately sits on the loveseat, the irony not lost on him.

"Distract me. Please. Talk about something."

He could bring up the weather. It's been pouring for three days. He could talk about House's last patient, the one with the pirate leg. He could talk about theater, art, monster trucks, but, really, that's not his way.

"So, I'm in love with you."

House's head snaps up so fast Wilson is surprised that it doesn't make a noise. The oncologist goes on.

"I'm in love with you and I think you should be my boyfriend because I'm pretty sure you love me back." He pauses to give his friend time to absorb the information and then asks, "What do you think?"

And he waits until House finally answers. "Does this mean that you're done with the serial marriages?"

He's too stunned to speak.

"Because I can go ahead and tell you, it's going to be a while before I want to settle down," House goes on. "I mean, of course, it's fine if you want to move into my bedroom-we both know it's bigger than yours. I'll have to clear off some of my bookshelves. You have so many fucking Agatha Christie books it could fill a library. You might have to weed some of them out. Sorry, but I'm not getting rid of any of my Sherlock Holmes-"

"Wait," Wilson interrupts. "What… What are you saying?" Can this be happening? Is he really hearing what he thinks he's hearing?

House shrugs. "You said it yourself. I love you back. Seems like a good start to move into the same room. How else are we going to fornicate every waking hour?"

And just like that the euphoria hits him full on, and he realizes that he's grinning from ear to ear. "You don't have to get rid of the Sherlock Holmes. But you could cut down the number of your Stephen King books. I mean, you do have four copies of The Shining. Is that really necessary?"

"Don't question my book collection."

"Or you could move the Twilight series."

"What did you just say?"

"Hey, it's only a suggestion."

"I can't discuss this with you when you're talking crazy."

"Are you sure, House," Wilson suddenly asks, his face serious again.

His best friend meets his eyes with his own and their hearts flip over simultaneously. "Absolutely."