The two men lay next to each other for a few minutes. The atmosphere was not uncomfortable, but neither was it cozy. Finally, James Wilson tried to withdraw his hand from the clutches of the other man. When that effort failed, Wilson decided to go on the attack.

"Why did you lie to me about what Cruikshank said?"

"How could I tell you the truth?"

"Well, now that's logical since I don't even know what it was he said."

"He said that he didn't know why you put up with me. He figured that the only reason must be that you had the hots for me - - only he used a different word."

"And . . . and that offended you so much that you hit him?"

Wilson could hear a brief snort before the older man replied, "Hell, no. I don't care if you're ready to strip me naked and have your wicked way with me."

Wilson's eyes blinked several times. He felt like he had just swallowed his Adam's apple. Managing to gasp out, "So why'd you hit him?" he waited.

"Nobody talks about you like that . . . except me, and, of course, your wives."

Wilson grimaced slightly; he knew how House felt about his wives. The acerbic sarcasm had spared none of them. Wilson kept telling himself that he had loved his wives, but he knew who he loved more . . . but that was ended now, or was it? If it was ended, why was he in bed with the man?

"House, why don't you go back to Princeton; I'm sure if you apologize Cuddy'll remove the suspension."

"You tryin' to get rid of me?"

"Well . . . yes. I'm not sure that this is a good idea. You need to draw back into your fortress and think about what you're doing."

House leaned forward his chest almost touching Wilson's. Their faces were very close to each other and even though it was dark in the room, House could see the handsome face. "It won't work, Jimmy."

Suddenly, Wilson looked nervous. "What . . . what won't work?"

House leered; looking like Wilson was going to be his next meal. "You're not foolin' me. I'm not leavin' here until you tell me why you slept with Ben Jefferson."

Wilson closed his eyes; then whispered, "Leave it alone, House; you won't like it."

"I don't like the idea of you sleepin' with Shore or Jefferson, but I can accept anything as long as I know what's goin' on."

Wilson sat up; threw back the covers, suddenly realizing that House had taken off his clothes. His voice pitched high, he demanded, "What'd you take your clothes off for?"

"I've had 'em on all day and they smell; 'sides I had a wedgie and it was uncomfortable."

Wilson wrinkled his adorable nose, but said no more. Trying to free himself from the clutched hand, he failed. "House, will you let me go? I got to go pee."

House grinned slightly, "Oh, no you don't, unless your bladder is the size of a pea. You just went; now tell ME why you slept with Jefferson."

James Wilson had dreaded this moment for twenty years. He had hoped that he would never have to face it. He had once told House that there were two things that mattered to him: his work at PPTH and their crazy friendship; he was now about to lose one of them, and his time in Boston showed that he could survive without Princeton.

Trying one more time, Wilson stalled, "What do I get in return for this?"

"I won't smack you with my cane."

Once again, Wilson turned away from House as he positioned himself on the side of the bed. It would be easier if he didn't have to look at House.

In a quiet, but not quite controlled voice, Wilson began:

"That year in Med School was like no other. I told you how my father was always on my case, and you were so different from other people. I kept telling myself, you'd graduate and that would be it. I just couldn't get over you being gone.

For a couple of weeks, I thought I was handling it, but my grade point was slipping; I wasn't getting work done. Then one night . . . I don't know I was so tired so I took a couple of pills . . . then a couple of more. You know how they're always around? Well, I started feeling really rotten, so in my own mind, I knew I was going to be sick so I headed for the showers. Everything was hazy and I was so out of it. I don't know if I meant to do it or not, but I eventually passed out. Guess I must have vomited 'cause when I woke up I was a mess.

Wilson stopped to take a deep breath; he was afraid to look behind him to see House's reaction. It was like déjà vu when he had found House lying on the floor. Then he continued,

"Ben Jefferson was there. He had come in to use the shower and found me. He got Dave and they got me walking around. After . . . I don't know how long . . . they put me to bed. I was freezing; I guess from the water they threw on me. Ben lay down with me . . . and just held on. I must have dozed, but I woke a couple of times and groped Ben or something."

Wilson hesitated again; the absolute silence from House worried him, but he wasn't able to look. "I guess I rubbed up against him or something. Anyway, I had semen all over me and him. I guess I thought it was you."

Wilson stopped, horrified at what he had just said . . . what he had implied. In his misery he had revealed what he had hoped to keep secret forever. Now he could never go back to Princeton.

Hearing House's zipper closing, Wilson closed his eyes, knowing where this was going. House was walking out on him. Wilson tried to find his voice but failed. What could be said . . . it wasn't just lust - - he had loved the irritating House for twenty years, even through three marriages. Sighing, Wilson let the man leave the bedroom without saying a word.

Strangely though, Wilson didn't hear the outside door slamming. He didn't hear anything. After several minutes, feeling his world shatter, Wilson pulled himself together and went to look in the living room - - there was House sitting forward on the sofa, twirling his cane much as a baton twirler does. Wilson stood there astonished - - why hadn't the man walked out?

What can I say to him? Is he waiting for a taxi or what?

Suddenly, House stood up, his rage obvious as he moved into Wilson's personal space. "Don't you ever do that again, do you hear me?"

Confusion swamped the younger man. "What are you talking about? You asked me to tell you the truth."

Now fury mutated the scruffy face into a mask of rage, "I mean, you moron; don't you ever risk your life because of me, ever again!!! Do – you – understand? I'm not worth it."

For a moment time stood still as the two men confronted each other then James Wilson . . . smiled. "I think you are."

For once, in the two decades that James Wilson had known Greg House, the oncologist had managed to stun his friend into speechlessness. The older man didn't know what to say in the face of such utter idiocy. Then he cleared his throat and began, "I knew you were an idiot: three wives, sleeping with a patient, lying to Tritter, romancing Cuddy, and hanging around with me, but this really shows your lack of judgment. No wonder you're on those pills for depression."

Once again, Wilson smiled. It was so good to hear House and his sarcasm. Those months when House was beginning to recover from the infarction were some of the worst the two men had ever suffered, but they had done it. Could House really feel something for the man who had enabled him in his drug addiction for so long?

Wilson turned to walk to the window looking out over the balcony. The wind and rain were still beating down on the city. Wrapping his arms around his shivering body, Wilson whispered, "I thought you had left . . . I've been reluctant to tell you the truth about Ben Jefferson. I never dreamed you'd find out. When you wrote that note to me six months after you graduated, asking about what I was doing, I wanted to tell you then, but I just couldn't. The years just sort of passed by and then you met the love of your life, and I just left it."

Wilson stood there in silence, thinking about the hurt that he felt when he heard that House was living with Stacy. By that time, Wilson was already in a failing marriage. He had just wanted to have a "normal" life with a successful practice and a distant friendship with the man he loved . . . and then the infarction occurred - - Stacy was out; Bonnie, wife number 2, was raging against the man who was demanding more and more of her husband's time, and then the job in Oncology opened up at Princeton.

How many times had Wilson told himself that he was an idiot to linger so close to the flame that was Greg House? When House had told him that he had slept with the very much married Stacy Warner, the younger doctor felt something wither inside. His third marriage, like the others, could not survive the competition of his relationship with Greg House. It was strange that it took the devious, smug face of Alison Cameron to wake Wilson up. Contempt, and the feeling of betrayal that Wilson held onto after talking to Tritter, managed to eat away at any confidence Wilson had that the friendship meant something to House.

Wilson was so deep in reverie that he had not realized that the crippled man had moved closer to him, as well as giving off some of the warmth, the thin body possessed. When he realized House's near presence, Wilson commented, "I can't promise you anything, House. Why don't you just go, before I fail you again?"

House's warm breath was gently waving Wilson's hair. He could hear the strangely gentle voice speak so clearly, but what it said made no sense whatsoever. "Stacy isn't the love of my life."

Had House learned to speak Martian or some other foreign tongue? What did he mean that Stacy wasn't the love of his life? Wilson remained facing the large window, but he said what was on his mind, "Of course, Stacy is the love of your life. How many times did you claim that she loves you and not Mark?"

"Read my lips, you idiot. Stacy is not the love of my life, and even she knows that. I . . . loved her, yes, but why do you think I told her that I could never make her happy?"

For a moment, Wilson failed to answer then he replied, "'Cause you are so dysfunctional that no one could live with you."

If Wilson had been looking, he would have seen the affection that crossed the tired face, but as it was, the younger doctor only heard the words, "No, I could never make her happy because there's only one person in my life that makes me totally satisfied."

Cameron! Wilson's mind was totally repulsed by the idea that a woman two decades younger than House could have earned his love . . . his trust. Wilson licked his lips, not wanting to voice his fears.

Suddenly House grabbed the younger man's arms at the shoulders and whirled him around so that they were facing each other. "Do you hear me, Wilson? Stacy was fine to live with, but there's only one person that I would marry; only one person that I could live with permanently."

Marry? God, he's gone that far that he would even marry Cameron?

Seeing the confusion and unbearable sadness in the chocolate brown eyes, House closed his eyes, trying to figure out what guilt was blocking Wilson's thought processes this time. "What are you thinking, you idiot? I just told you that there's only one person; are you saying that you don't want me?"

Don't want Greg House? What is he talking about? I've wanted him for twenty years.

Wilson felt as if his entire skeletal structure was crumbling. Instead of hitting the floor, however, he was pulled into the safety of Greg House's arms. Wilson laid his head on House's chest and just hung on. In a muffled voice, since his mouth was cuddled up against House's shirt, Wilson whispered, "This is not a good idea; any second now, Stacy or Cameron will come roaring in here, grab you and whisk you away."

"You idiot." A quick kiss was placed on the brown hair then both men, arm in arm made their way to the nearby sofa. House's awkwardness quickly reminded them that his right leg could not do everything it once did, but they gave it their best shot.

Cuddled together on the sofa, the early morning seemed less bleak than before, but reality was still there and could not be ignored. Wilson sat up; his brown eyes pools of fear and hope, "Are you sayin' you want me and not Stacy or Cameron?"

House's callused hand gently caressed Wilson's cheek, "How did you ever graduate with honors?"

"I mean it, House. I can't . . . I can't just forget all the things that have happened. They could eventually destroy us. You're the one who's scared of change and this is just about the biggest change we've ever had."

"Wilson, I've waited almost twenty years for you to be free of a wife; I can't keep putting it off. I want to marry you."

Wilson shook his head, "I . . . couldn't stand to mess up this marriage. I've wrecked three others; if something happened to this one, it'd destroy me."

House sighed, his deep blue eyes rolling back in his head. "Nothing is going to destroy this one; besides, I was the cause of you breaking up your other marriages so how can this go wrong?"

The words made sense, but Wilson was determined to tread warily. "I've watched you die twice already: the infarction and the gunshot. I can't watch you killing yourself with the vicodin. I want to be with you, but don't ask that. I see enough loss of life in my job."

Sadness, crossed the blue eyes. "Okay, we can take it slow; see how it works out. How about we live together and then get hitched later?"

Wilson rubbed his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose, "I think it's called a Civil Union in New Jersey. I'm not sure that's the way to go, but when I get back we can look into it."

"Great, what am I going to do while you cavort with Dave Stevens and the minions in your lab?"

"You've still got two weeks to go on your suspension. You could go back to Princeton and clean up your apartment, or you could apologize to Cuddy and maybe start on looking for new assistants."

"And leave you alone in a state with same-sex marriage and Alan Shore on the loose? Forget that. I'm here for the duration. Now why don't you take me to bed and maybe we can find some things to do."

Wilson stood slowly, almost dragging his body back into the other room. He wasn't sure this was a good idea, but he was so sick of acting "like Wilson", and he had waited for this for twenty years. Why not give it a try?

House's naked body was cuddled up close as Wilson woke to find his head on House. Surprisingly, House was an enthusiastic but gentle lover. He seemed to almost cherish Wilson as he had taken the man's cock in his mouth. Everything seemed to go so well. Their orgasms were cataclysmic. It was a wonderful night, but as everything does, it came to an end and now Wilson had to face the light of day. Would House revert back to the cynical, sarcastic man who would refuse to remember what had happened? If that occurred, Wilson vowed to remove himself from House's presence forever. No more, like Wilson, forgiving and forgetting would be gone.

Wilson carefully opened his right eye since his left eye was covered by the abdomen of Greg House. At least the man seemed to still be there. It was with great surprise then that when Wilson looked up, he saw the affectionate blue eyes of House looking directly at him. "Did you expect a disappearin' act?"

Wilson rose up and was promptly pulled into House's arms. "I wasn't sure; you sure this is what you want?"

Sadness crossed the blue eyes, "Of course, but trust has taken a battering lately, hasn't it? It might take awhile." Wilson noticed right away that House didn't mention whose trust he was referring to.

The whiskered face began to nibble at Wilson's face as House gently rubbed the silky, sensitive nubs of the younger man's nipples. Wilson was in ecstasy, but he didn't want to get lost - - lost in the warmth of Greg House. He needed to think. If he got it wrong this time, there would be no going back.

Pulling away gently, Wilson asked, "What's going on? What do you expect? Why did you take Hector? Why did you almost kill Hector? Why did you call me a coward? If you think like that about me, why are you giving me the best frottage, I've ever had?"

With that question, Wilson's mind was gone for a few minutes and when he came to the surface again, he could barely remember his name, but he made the effort. "Answer my questions or this goes no further."

House pulled away and sighed, throwing himself back on the opposite site of the bed and bundling up the pillows so he could recline. "All right, all right, we talk . . . but then you have to promise two things."

"What's going on is: I've realized how much I missed you while you were gone. What do I expect: we'll live together and eventually get civil unioned - - although that certainly doesn't sound too great. I took Hector because you needed me to. I almost killed Hector because: he ate my slippers, chewed my cane and other things, was too stupid to die of an overdose of vicodin and wouldn't run away. I called you a coward because you knew what needed to be done, but you couldn't face the decision; just as you've hopefully loved me for twenty years, but let me go away and then you married, over and over, and left me so miserable that even that whiny . . . err Judge-It-All looked good until she latched onto Chase. AND FINALLY, FINALLY, I wanted you to wake up: I wanted you to realize how I feel about you. THAT'S why I told you about me and Stacy sleeping together, I thought you'd roar with jealousy and instead you wimped out on me.

As House wound down, he looked exhausted, emotionally drained - - not from love- making but from strain, "I get so frustrated with you sometimes. You're the only one who cares, well, except for my mom, but she doesn't count. I need you, but I like you just like the Wilson I've known, except more . . . affectionate. Do you get me?"

A small shining light came into Wilson's eyes as he nodded, "I guess I've been blind, but you sure haven't given me much encouragement or anything to hope for. I just know that I'd rather be with you than anybody else."

House nodded, hesitantly getting up. Wilson could see the difficulty he was having with his obviously stiff leg, but did nothing to help, just watched the man head to the bathroom. Turning at the door, blue eyes pierced into the gloom, "You stay here; you got two promises to make."

Wilson opened and shut his mouth, waiting on tenterhooks for what he was supposed to promise. He felt the wetness on the sheets so he quickly got up and changed the sheets. It was a good thing that he had today off because this might take awhile. When House returned, he noticed the changed linen, but said nothing.

Returning to the bed, he replicated Wilson's actions by sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to his lover. He sat, slightly hunched over as if lost in thought; then he sat up, turned slightly, and held out his hand for Wilson to take. The oncologist took it and held on tight, a haunting thought sliding through his mind that this might be the last time he would be able to touch House.

"I want you to promise that you'll never try to harm yourself ever again . . . not over me."

Wilson started to open his mouth to speak, but House halted him. "No wait, these kind of go together. Wilson nodded again and waited. "I also want you to promise that if you ever get tired of me; you'll tell me and not do what you did to your wives. I don't want you sneaking around with one of those bimbos you used to see on the side or even worse: Alan Shore."

Wilson smiled slightly; his heart a 100 lighter. He leaned over and kissed the roughened hand. "Why are you so jealous of Alan Shore?"

"YOU SLEPT WITH HIM, WHAT DO YA THINK?"

"I did not sleep with him . . . well, I did, but we didn't have sex. Sometimes, House, I just needed you so bad, but I couldn't tell you that . . . so I used substitutes: Ben and Alan were there. Besides, you slept with Stacy and I didn't have a conniption fit.

House peered at his lover through his scruffy stubble, "I mean it, Wilson. No, Ben and Alan; God, that sounds like some ice cream."

House squeezed the captured hand then started again. "Stacy was cover. I wanted you to grab me, shove me in a closet, strip me naked, and do me. What did I get - - understanding!!! You even encouraged me to make a decision. From now on, it's you and me. We'll start slow and by the end of the month, we'll run away to Atlantic City; get a license, and get civil unioned." Here House stopped, sticking his tongue out and running his teeth over it like he had tasted something from a garbage can. "That really flows off the tongue, doesn't it?"

Wilson laughed then grew serious, "House, we can't do it that fast and you know it. 'Sides, how do I know you won't wake up tomorrow and regret whatever. You're feeling down right now because of your suspension and that Foreman and the others have left. Let's take a few weeks and think about this."

House waggled his eyebrows then asked, "You plannin' on makin' all of Cuddy's plans come true before you shack up with me?"

Wilson turned over quickly so that he was facing away from the man he loved. "More likely, she'll ask you. In fact, I think she already would have except for . . . you know."

House frowned, looking puzzled, "What . . . cause I'm cripple. You can't inherit this," lightly rubbing his leg.

Wilson sighed, "No, I mean; she knows that you still blame her for her part in your infarction surgery."

There was silence. House didn't deny it. How well Wilson understood him on so many levels. For the past five years, he had had a tendency to judge on the basis of those who had been involved with his infarction and those who hadn't. Only Wilson had survived the judgment. Even his family had really failed him in those moments.

"When did you start loving me?"

"A long time ago, a very long time ago, but we don't have to take it any further, House. I won't watch you kill yourself with vicodin. I'll be your friend, and your bed mate, but I won't watch you kill yourself. I won't be your enabler anymore."

A look of terrible sadness entered the man's blue eyes as he stood up. Nodding, he whispered, "That's your decision."

With those words, Greg House got dressed and left the apartment.

TWO WEEKS LATER

James Wilson had been in hell for the past two weeks. The seminars had continued to go well. Dave Stevens had even offered him a permanent job on the Oncology staff. He had talked to Alan Shore, but there had been no "sleep-overs."

He was now approaching the entrance to Princeton Plainsboro. What was he going to say to House? Was House still there? What should he have done? Should he have given in and called the man in the last two weeks.

Waiting at the door to the hospital was Lisa Cuddy, looking hopeful and yet worried, "Thank goodness, you got here. I was going to call you, but I agreed that I wouldn't. This is for you." Handing Wilson an envelope, the small woman stood and waited. Looking deep into the dark brown eyes of James Wilson, she mumbled, "He must love you an awful lot."

Wilson's mouth dropped open, but he didn't stop his boss from walking away; he opened the envelope instead. It was a copy of House's admission to the PPTH drug rehabilitation program. House had signed himself in almost two weeks ago. There was a small personal note attached.

Wilson

Maybe after I get through this . . . for real . . . we can talk. You've enabled me: to love. See you soon.

House

Stunned, Wilson stood standing in the entrance corridor to the great hospital. A small smile covered his lips; then with a haste, unbecoming to the Head of Oncology at Princeton-Plainsboro, he made his way to the upper floors to check on the most adorable, irascible rehab patient known to mankind.

The End