Wilson lay stretched out on the couch in the dark living room listening with eyes closed to the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. House was having a shower. Wilson was drunk.

Thud.

Wilson's eyebrows furrowed but his eyes stayed closed.

Thud.

Wilson decided to look up. The bathroom door was open a crack and a sliver of yellow light fell on the hardwood floor. There was something about the fact that the door wasn't completely shut that...

Thud.

Wilson rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and then slowly sat up. What the hell was he doing?

"House?" his voice sounded feeble to his ears. There was no way House had heard him over the spray of the water.

Thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud!

Wilson got up. "House? Are you alright?" he asked as he walked hesitantly towards the slightly open door. There was no reply.

Wilson stood just outside the door feeling dizzy. He leaned up against the wall and tightly shut his eyes, trying to regain a level head.

THUD!

House groaned.

Wilson shivered. "House? What the hell are you doing in there?"

There was a pause and then he heard a muffled word. It sounded like, 'showering'. Wilson sighed. He thought about how easy it would be to swing the door open and get a real answer. Then he remembered how drunk he was and pushed the thought aside.

***

House was showering. He was leaning his forehead against the cool tile wall with his eyes shut tightly, repeatedly banging his fist against it. He wondered if fracturing one of his metacarpals would make him feel better. He was trying to concentrate on the sensation of the icy cold spray. It was making his leg throb in that stiff, unhappy way. He wanted to forget the concept of temperature and just imagine being jabbed endlessly with thousands of tiny needles. Suddenly he heard Wilson's voice asking if he was alright. House opened his eyes and stared down at the drain, not really seeing it.

No. He was not alright. He was far from alright. He felt like he was being consumed by something monstrous and unrelenting. The vicodin was suppose to be making the pain in his leg bearable, but for some reason it was hurting worse than usual. He felt cold and it wasn't because of the shower. He felt internally cold. It was a feeling that originated in the pit of his stomach and was spreading. He felt like yelling, or breaking something, or...

House slammed his fist against the cold tile with all his might. White pain shot up his arm, making him groan as he felt something in his hand give out. He smiled through clenched teeth. It felt so good. He closed his eyes and upturned his face into the spray, basking in this brand new pain.

Then he heard Wilson's raised voice from what sounded like right outside the door asking him what he was doing. House's breath caught in his throat and he moved out of the spray. He held his left hand under it so that it wouldn't decide to swell. At first he didn't trust himself to open his mouth and not yell at the pain. Eventually he managed to grunt out a single word.

"Showering." But he wasn't sure if Wilson heard him.

***

Wilson decided that whatever House was doing, he didn't want to know. Except that he did.

He stood leaning against the wall by the door in silence for another moment until the need to crawl into something warm and comforting overcame him. The floor was cold on his bare feet and the air on his neck and arms made him want to shiver. He glanced toward the couch, but even just looking at it made him sigh. Then his eyes moved toward House's bedroom and he couldn't look away. The utter darkness seemed to be drawing him in. Maybe House wouldn't mind if he slept there. House had been strangely generous all evening. Wilson made his way carefully down the hallway in the near darkness, reaching out to the wall for support because he felt like he was going keel over. When he got to the doorway he stopped. Maybe he should just go back to the couch, he thought. But he knew he couldn't. Soon the thought of lying encircled in House's warm blankets and familiar scent was too much for Wilson to resist in his intoxicated and exhausted state.

He went in and gave a little grunt as he let the dead weight of his body collapse on the unmade bed. Already feeling half asleep, he groped blindly for the covers and pulled them over himself up to his nose. He breathed in deeply the soothing scent of the blankets and was pleasantly surprised by his body's reaction. A warm tingle ran through him, making his chest feel light and his stomach ache slightly, but in a good way. He rolled onto his side and was asleep within minutes.

***

House stood half under the spray of freezing water for a bit longer until the numb ache made him long for his bed and his vicodin. He shut off the water and stepped out onto the mat, water dripping from his shivering form. He only made half an effort to dry off with the nearest towel, which must have been Wilson's because House kept his towels on the floor. He grabbed his cane, flipped the light off and had his good hand on the doorknob about to step into the hall, naked and still dripping, when he remembered about the Wilson that was staying on his couch. One of the advantages of living alone was that he could go around naked, maybe even sit down at the piano and play something fancy while he was at it. But now there were restrictions. House hated restrictions. He decided, without giving it too much thought because he was really cold and a little light headed, that he wasn't going to bother with the towel. Wilson was probably passed out on the couch again and if he wasn't, House doubted he would remember much about the evening by morning after the amount of scotch he drank.