Spoilers: for 7x7 "A Pox on Our House" and 7x8 "Small Sacrifices" This is a post-ep fic for "Small Sacrifices."

More Important

She's kissing you and you feel nothing.

She's straddling your lap, her arms are around your neck and she kissing you like you've had no intimate contact in more then a week….you haven't, but that doesn't seem to matter. You realize that lying to her and trying to get her forgiveness without actually apologizing was the most satisfying thing you've done since this whole mess of a relationship started.

Even the memory of the marathon sex the two of you had when she came to your apartment that very first night can't even be considered as satisfying as realizing that you had her with your "leap of faith."

She notices before long that you're no longer participating and she breaks away from your mouth.

"House?"

You look her in the eyes and put your hands on her upper arms, moving her off your lap and onto the couch before standing up and grabbing your cane.

"House, what the hell-"

You look back at her, she's sitting on your couch and you can't help the fleeting thought that the person on that couch right now shouldn't be there.

You grab your jacket and shove your arms through it. As you open the door, you look at her one more time and say, quietly but firmly, "I can't do this."

The door closes behind you with a click.

He's sitting in a bar, the closest one to your apartment when you find him. You can only assume that he picked whichever one he came across first.

He slants a glance at you before gulping whatever's in his glass and slamming the empty glass onto the counter.

"What're you doing here?"

You hook the cane on the lip of the bar and pull the stool out, motioning to the bartender to bring two of what he's having. Smells like scotch and that sounds just fine to you.

"Came to find you."

He turns to look at you, incredulity written all over his face. "I thought Cuddy was coming over so you could finally have sex after all the marathon lies."

He sounds just a tad bitter and you come to a quick realization.

"This is the first actual negative thing you've said about my relationship with her."

The bartender sets your drinks in front of you and he swallows some of his before saying, "Not true. I've told you that you were being an idiot for lying to her. But the constant deceptions aren't solely what I was talking about."

You're confused and have decided to take a gulp of your scotch and blame it on that. "And that means…."

He sighs and you notice how tired he looks. "I meant that…Sam said once that your relationship is based on lies. I agreed with her at the time…it is for the most part. But, House, all you've talked about in relation to how things are with Cuddy is sex. So between the sex and the lies…"

He trails off and takes another drink, but you don't need him to continue to elaborate. You get it and you look down at your half full glass of scotch, then back at your best friend. Wilson, the person who, for the most part, accepts who you are and doesn't try to change you. This person who just had his heart stomped on and trampled over. Again. You're still right, when you called him a moron earlier. He got himself into this. But he wouldn't be Wilson if he didn't try so hard.

You bring a hand up as he finishes his drink and squeeze his shoulder before motioning to the bartender for another drink. "I'm sorry about soul-sucking-I mean, I'm sorry about Sam."

He laughs a little, and brings his hand up to rub at his eyes in a gesture that you've watched him do for years. "No, you're not."

You shrug. "Trying to be supportive."

He doesn't saying anything for a moment, just looks speculatively at his drink. "I think I loved the idea of her."

You're a little shocked at this announcement. "You love the idea of a woman who sucks the life force out of you and leave shells of naiveté behind?"

"No," He shakes his head. "I loved the idea of her being the person who accepts me and doesn't run at the first sign of trouble…or commitment."

"She married you the first time."

"That was a long time ago. And that turned out great, too."

"Do you think the mention of kids turned her off?"

Wilson shrugs and sips again. "Could be. Probably. At the heart of it, she wanted to believe that she'd changed. She could have stayed and talked me about it, about the files about the…the kids thing, if that was part of the problem, too. But she did tonight exactly what she did to me a decade ago. I guess I didn't really lose anything beyond the idea that she could actually have changed."

You shake your head. "Wilson, people…people don't change. That's the problem with me and Cuddy. She wanted me to be the guy who goes to weddings and does the right thing for the right reasons and doesn't lie and-"

"Doesn't take enjoyment out of manipulating other people?"

"That too. I'm never going to be that person. I wanted to be that person, for awhile because the sex was good. That's your problem with Sam. I know it wasn't just sex for you two, but….you wanted her to accept you and what your relationship could be."

Wilson looks at you as though you've grown breasts and brown hair, then shakes his head and drains the last of his drink. "I think I've had enough."

You're sure he means more then just the alcohol. You pull your wallet out (there's that look from him again) and toss a fifty on the bar before grabbing his arm as he stands up (he's looking a little wobbly) and steer him out of the bar and to his car. You'll get the bike in the morning.

"Come on, moron," you say as you buckle him in, like he's a two year old. "We'll go to your place and you can crash on your couch."

He grabs your arm and looks at you. "Thanks, House."

You slam the door to the Volvo and walk around the other side, open and get in. "Yeah yeah. Just don't puke all over the place. Actually, on second thought go ahead. This is your car."

He doesn't say anything and you look over to see he's asleep against the window. Grinning a little, you pull into traffic.

Your grin fades as you realize you're going to have to get him out of the car and into the loft. Crap.

End.