Disclaimer: Just playing with my House and Wilson dolls. Can't tell if they are anatomically correct.

A/N: This is what happens when I down a donut with Starbuck's coffee.

Please enjoy!

House stood at Wilson's door for a good five minutes. The shadows of footsteps and unending bustle echoed from the other side. Wiping his sweaty palms onto his jeans, House took the plunge. Instead of knocking he thrust the key into the lock.

Moist heat and cooking odors rolled over him.

"Hey, Wilson! Alien reject here! I flunked the anal probe."

Wilson stopped fussing over a gurgling pot, swiped at his forehead with his forearm and strode into the living room with a bubble gum smile about to burst over his face.

"Why didn't you ask for a reference? Everyone knows you're more of a dick than an asshole." Wilson's eyes stared at House's shirt, his finger drew a circle in the air. "What's with the smiley face? A souvenir from space camp?"

"I stole it off of my bunkmate."

"No bloodstains." Wilson sagely nodded. "Simple theft with no assault? You're interpersonal skills did improve while you were away." The same arm swept toward the couch. "Dinner won't be ready for an hour, why don't you make yourself comfortable. Tonight you're my guest."

Wilson turned back toward the kitchen. House followed right behind.

"That's not how Nolan laid out the ground rules. Su casa es mi casa, Amigo. And whatever you're making needs more garlic."

"More? It's chicken Florentine. I got the recipe in my cooking class." Wilson's brows quirked over his eyes. "I'm at the legal limit."

"Live dangerously."

A cutting board, large knife, and a bulb of garlic appeared in front of House. "In su casa, if you want more garlic. Prepare it yourself."

Idly breaking off cloves from the bulb, House asked, "You trust me with sharp instruments?" He wrapped his insecurity in an old joke and peered into the dark brown eyes. His stomach clenched when Wilson massaged his neck and didn't answer.

The hand came down and snatched away the bulb and all but two cloves.

"Sure. I trust you with knives." Wilson's voice became husky. "Except the pocket variety, and definitely not with garlic. Not until I stock up with anti-acids." Wilson's smile clicked into place. "Once in a while, you can trust me to trust you, House. And by the way, welcome back."

House scratched his stomach and belched contentedly. The sound disappeared under the assault of running water from the kitchen. The evening had gone smoothly. He and Wilson ate in front of the television, keeping comments limited to what they observed on the set. All other topics were scrupulously avoided. Wilson did not ask about Mayfield and House did not inquire about Cuddy or his team.

Wilson looked beat as he shuffled out of the kitchen. "Ready for bed?"

Where do I sleep?" House eyed the sofa, it wasn't long enough to accommodate him. "The bathtub?"

"You're sleeping with me." Almost before the last word escaped Wilson's lips, his hands shot up into a defensive pose. "What I meant was… I prepared an air mattress for you in the bedroom."

"Oh, boy! Camping! I get it. I'm the good little scout and you're the scoutmaster. Great. Tomorrow I pick the fantasy." House stood up, grabbed his suitcase, and turned toward the bedroom. He was curious to see this new arrangement.

A warm, sure hand gently steered him down the hall. "Fine, indulge in any fantasy you want, but keep it to yourself." Wilson answered.

At first glance, the twin wedged between Wilson's bed and the wall made a great first impression. One of those space age mattresses nearly as tall as a normal one, with new ivory sheets imprinted with checkerboard creases. A green comforter floated over the top and plunged into the tight crevices on the sides. Both beds faced out, pillows at the far end.

"Wall-to-wall bed. Cozy. Got any hints how a cripple crawls under the covers?"

"Oh." Wilson studied his handiwork with sleepy, crossed eyes. "Why don't you drop and roll? Get on my bed and roll onto yours. Tomorrow, I'll remake everything so the head is at the foot."

House bit back a reply about taking a foot to Wilson's head. After all, he was the new and Mayfield approved model. "Don't go to any bother." He tugged at the sheets and coverlet, pulling everything loose, dislodging even the pillow. "I'll wormhole my way from this end." To reassure his tired host, House sat down with a thump…and POP! The hiss of escaping air filled the room. He could feel the firm surface give way under him. He couldn't resist, "That was some chicken dish, Bro. You were right about the garlic."

Wilson's face couldn't look more shocked than if he were the captain of the Titanic. "Oh Shit! Off! Get off, now!"

The mattress was losing air quickly and was clumsy as hell to scramble off of. "Thanks, but I'll ride the elevator down to "Women's Lingerie."

Wilson's frantic fingers scrabbled at House in an effort to pull him off the bed.

House resisted. "Dude, what's the hurry?"

"No! You don't understand. The scissor. I lost the scissor when I made up the bed with the new sheets. Unless you want to be circumsized—"

One adrenaline rush later, and House stood next to Wilson. They silently watched as the bed collapsed into a puddle of cloth and flocked plastic. One sharp peak thrust up from the shallows—a blade poked out right where House had sat.

"Holy crap!" They said in unison.

"How's your scalpel count in OR?" House asked dryly.

"Shit! House, I was in a hurry, I wanted everything to go righ…I'm sorry."

"Sorry enough to share your bed?"

Wilson stared back a full minute before shrugging his assent.

***

In the pitch black of the bedroom, House felt the bed vibrate. The vibration came from Wilson's legs. House diagnosed the cause as restless Wilson syndrome.

"Wilson."

Silence

"Wilson, are you awake?"

"No."

The shaking stopped, but House could hear Wilson thinking. He waited. It was only a matter of time before Wilson spoke. The man wasn't equipped with a mute button.

"House, I'm sure Nolan didn't have this in mind when he said you shouldn't be alone."

"You're worried about Nolan? Leave him to me. I know exactly what to tell him. I have a plan."

The bed started vibrating again. "Plan? What plan? No plans, House. I'll get another bed first thing tomorrow."

"You feeling hemmed in on your side of the bed? Not enough room?"

"There's…enough"

"You're fine and I'm fine. Why bother going out and buying another?"

No other sounds emanated from Wilson's side of the bed, except the steady jiggling continued. House was almost asleep when he heard Wilson.

"You really know what to say to Nolan?"

"My goodness! Another 'trust me' moment. Don't talk to Nolan until my next session. I'll explain to him then."

The bed temblor subsided.

"Night, House."

"Goodnight, Wilson.

~fin~

Thank you for reading. All comments welcome.