SPOILERS: House's Head / Wilson's Heart.

I do not own House/Wilson. Contains slash.

Wilson rolled over and into Amber. Usually he revelled in the smell of her, but in the early hours of this morning the smell was all wrong. It was too sweet, too...feminine.

What the hell? He rubbed his eyes and, taking care not to wake her, stumbled out of bed and through to the kitchen.

He poured himself a glass of water, missing the tap twice with tiredness, and then plunked himself down on the sofa and took big deep gulps.

It must have been his dream – but it all seemed so hazy now. He sat back and tried to think.

There had been hands, he remembered; hands all over him. It was like they had known every inch of him, and had moved with expertise over his skin.

And the heat. It had all been so damn hot; he had sweated from every pore as he had moved in tandem with...

With whom?

It obviously wasn't Amber, or he would have remembered straight away. The smell had been too unfamiliar for any of his wives, and yet?

He had known that smell.

In his dream it had come crashing down over him, pouring into him, and he'd become ravenous for it.

And there had been lips, wet lips, hot lips, moving against his own. Wanting him.

And then there had been the stubble across cheek.

Wilson froze, the glass halfway to his mouth. He ran his finger down his jaw; clean shaven as ever. It hadn't been his stubble.

He downed the rest of the water and tried to stop shaking.

It had been House. He had dreamt he was having sex with House.

"Bloody hell." Wilson breathed, wondering what it could all mean.

On the surface, and he panicked at this thought, it could just mean that he wanted to have sex with House. But he was sure a dream analyst would suggest something different. It being a status for their ever growing friendship, a metaphor for the trust he held in House or...

It was like he could still taste him on his tongue. Shit.

As much as his mind was trying to tell him it was just a fucked up dream, his body was not responding. At just the thought of what House had been doing to him, his loins began to ache and his head began to spin.

He glanced at his watch. 4:03

He knew he should go back to bed. He knew he should curl up next to his girlfriend and listen to her breathing. He knew he should sleep.

He was scared to sleep. He was scared to dream.

What if he dreamt the same thing again? He groaned in despair – what if he didn't and was disappointed?

For god's sake James! Pull yourself together; it was only a dream!

A completely insane, totally blissful dream.

He made himself a coffee.

Tiptoeing round the flat so as not to wake his girlfriend, he collected his papers together and began to read through his notes; updating them where necessary.

When that wasn't enough, he stuck his headphones in and blasted out the heavy rock as loud as it would go. Anything to stop him thinking.

It was about 7 am when he felt hands encircle his shoulders, and he jumped yanking the phones from his ears, relaxing when he saw it was Amber.

He looked down at her hands on his chest, and went to grasp them. They were too small; they were too soft.

"I need to take a shower." He said, going to stand up.

"I could join you." She suggested teasingly, turning him round to face her and nibbling his earlobe. He pushed her away.

Then, of course, being Wilson, he panicked.

"I'm sorry." He apologised, planting a warm kiss on her cheek, "I'm just really tired and I thought I would just blast myself with cold water until I fully wake up. I didn't sleep very well" He added.

"You're not kidding are you?" She laughed; looking at the state of her living room, now buried beneath papers and used mugs. She smiled and gently tapped his ass, "Go on then."

When he was in the shower, he turned it down until his body was laden with goose bumps. If Amber had touched his ass like that a week ago he would have turned around and ravished her on the spot. Hell, if she had done it yesterday...

He shivered. He knew this wasn't sensible – he could catch pneumonia or something worse, but right now it was too cold for him to think clearly; too cold for him to remember.

House poked his head into Wilson's office. It was 12:30. He was hungry, ergo he needed Wilson.

Wilson wasn't there.

House hobbled in and inspected the room. There was no big ugly beige coat, there was no briefcase and, checking under the desk for good measure, definitely no Wilson.

Two minutes later he flung open the door to Cuddy's office.

"Where's Wilson?"

"What, that's it?" Cuddy asked, from behind her desk, "You're not going to jump around the question, with sarcasm and obnoxious comments about my breasts?"

"To be honest I kind of thought they spoke for themselves in that top." He indicated at her cleavage with his cane.

"He's in the clinic."

"You Judas!"

"I didn't realise it was a secret." Cuddy said, exasperated with the whole situation.

"Whenever I don't know where Wilson is, it means he is purposefully trying to hide from me. As I always know where Wilson is." He added smugly.

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Laters!" He called and limped back out of the office and across into the clinic.

He flew open the door to exam room one. Wilson wasn't there, but the doctor who was gave him a look normally associated with having dog muck on the bottom of your shoe.

"Oh, I am sorry," House said, giving all his attention to the slightly attractive young female, "There's a lunatic posing as a doctor loose in the hospital – I just wanted to ensure you were perfectly safe and that you're doctor did not in any way resemble the escaped inmate." He grinned at the now suspicious patient and tried the next room.

Still no Wilson.

He hobbled over to the desk, "Can you please page Dr. Wilson to let him know he is needed for a consult in room 3?"

He then checked the third room was in fact empty – booting a girl out, telling her it was only period pain and to get used to it already – and lay down on the bed.

Wilson was in a cupboard. Technically he was hiding in a cupboard, but he wasn't about to admit to this.

The best place to get away from House was of course the clinic, but because he knew House wasn't exactly stupid, he had piled himself and his paperwork into the nearest janitor's closet. And was trying desperately to concentrate. It didn't help that his eyelids kept closing.

His pager went off.

"Damn."

Had no one else in this hospital done a medical degree? Why was it always him who had to go do consults? He tripped over a mop on his way out, hastily checked that no one noticed as he fell out of the cupboard, and headed over to the nurse's station.

"I was paged?"

"Room 3." She responded with an overly large smile and a flick of her red hair that obviously said ask me out for dinner. He wondered what her name was. Not that it mattered now, his mind chastised; he had Amber.

He opened the door. And then fought the urge to run the hell back out of it.

"House, you do know the bed is for patients, right?"

"A patient is just a person with a medical problem." Stated House, brandishing his cane.

"House, your problems don't exactly stop at medical."

"Hey! Cripple here! Be nice."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

I am not looking at House. At least not like that I'm not...Oh shit. I'm remembering.

"As much as it pains me to say it, are you ok?" House asked, swinging his legs off the bed. "You have that my life is fucked look."

"I have you for a best friend – that look is permanent." Then suddenly remembering where he was he added, "Why did you call me in here, I was working."

"Where?"

"Sorry?"

"Where exactly were you working? I checked nearly everywhere, unless you had locked yourself in a cupboard."

A rapid blush flew up Wilson's face involuntarily.

"Oh my god! You were in a cupboard? Who is she, and can I please break the news to Cutthroat Bitch?" House looked far too happy about this prospect.

"I needed somewhere quiet! And I'm not cheating on Amber." He quickly pointed out. At least not physically. He wished his brain would shut up.

"So where are we going for lunch?" House asked, now back on his feet.

"I don't know where you are going for lunch, but I am going back to work." He turned and walked out of the door, automatically smiling at the nurse at the station, then getting mad at himself for doing so.

House was hobbling after him.

"Then it must be me."

"Of course it must. What must?" Wilson asked, stopping in the corridor and turning to face his friend.

"Why you are hiding in a cupboard – you must be avoiding me. Why?"

"Do I need any more reasons than the usual?" Wilson asked, spying the staircase.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" House asked sarcastically, feigning innocence.

"Enjoy your lunch House" Wilson called before sprinting up the stairs. Far from being annoyed, House smirked. This is what he liked to call a puzzle.

The only sound was that of lips smacking lips, tongues sliding against one another, and finally the friction of skin on skin.

Wilson pulled House closer to him, losing himself in the other man's mouth; responding to the touch of his tongue on his own. He ran his hands along the stubbled jaw line and nibbled the diagnostician's bottom lip.

Then he flung his head back as House began to trail kisses down his chest, and across his stomach and finally let his lips hover over the tip of Wilson's penis.

"I want you." House simply stated, before engulfing him.

Wilson woke with a start. It was cliché, but it happened. He also awoke with a painful erection, but was trying desperately to ignore it. It wasn't working.

Quietly, so as not to wake Amber, he stole from the bed and through to the bathroom. In an uncharacteristic manner he flicked across the lock on the door.

Oh God. Oh fucking hell. Fuck fuck fuck.

Now spent, he crashed his forehead down on the wall tiles in front of him.

I'm hiding from my girlfriend so I can jerk off over my best-friend. What the hell is wrong with me?

He jumped in the shower, scrubbing hard at his skin with the exfoliator – as if he could erase the imaginary touch. Red raw and slightly bleeding, he sank to the bottom of the shower and finally allowed himself to cry.

There was no way their friendship could survive this.

House was having a good day.

Owing to the amount he had drunk last night, he should have been suffering from a major hangover. As he hadn't bothered going to sleep, however, it was more the lingering remains of alcohol induced euphoria that was spurring him on.

As always his leg was trying to get his attention, but he silenced it with a large helping of Vicodin.

His team were also vying for his attention, but he found them much easier to ignore, instead focussing all his attention on the portable TV screen Cuddy had tried to ban on numerous occasions.

"Auto-immune does seem most likely."

"Always does – and it never is." Said House, displaying his swooning face as the couple on the screen grew closer to the sound of sappy music.

"What about...?" Taub began.

"Shh!" Yelled House; "Sidney's sister is about to declare her true love for Declan's second cousin who is also Trudy's secret love child and Brendan's half brother! So shut up!"

Kutner was about to interrupt with something that would make him sound special and interested but at that moment was distracted by a pretty nurse walking by the window. The fact this nurse would later turn out to be male has nothing to do with this story.

Wilson was sitting in his office, surrounded by his comforting pile of up-to-date paperwork. Despite this obvious status, he was still finding notes to add and diagrams to analyse.

Anything to stop lingering on his dreams.

They were getting worse; two or three a night. He'd had to make love to Amber this morning – she was getting too suspicious – and now he felt guilty. Amber was his once in a lifetime. Being with her should be enough.

He hated that right now it wasn't.

He hadn't even been able to look at her afterwards; ashamed that his face would betray what he felt. So he had wangled a late shift and left a message on their machine explaining he would be working.

He would just have to avoid both her and House until this whole thing blew over.

Avoiding Amber became a permanent feature in his life soon after that; she was dead and it was all his fault.

If he hadn't had those stupid dreams he would have never had to avoid her. He wouldn't have been working that night. He would have been the one who answered the phone and picked up House – and he sure as hell would not have got onto that bus.

He was so mad at House; he just couldn't form the words to tell him

He stood at the end of the diagnostician's hospital bed, arms folded, waiting for him to come round.

He would never be able to touch her again, never inhale her scent or taste her mouth on his. He shook on the spot, not able to form any more tears; just a sore throat.

House opened his eyes and looked past Cuddy straight at Wilson.

He was alive. It wasn't fair, but it was enough. Wilson turned and left the room.

He hated House right now.

He hated the fact that he still wanted him.

"Wilson! Open the door."

The oncologist just sat at Amber's dining table and watched the wood as it shook, House hammering on the other side.

"I'm not here to say I'm sorry, 'cause it wasn't exactly my fault, but I'm here because I don't want you to do something stupid."

Wilson stood up, walked over and wrenched the door open.

"The only stupid thing I ever did House, was becoming friends with you." But looking up at his best friend for the first time in weeks brought a familiar comfort to his heart and he burst into tears.

Uncharacteristically, House hobbled forward and wrapped his arms around the shorter man, flinging his cane onto the sofa and pushing the door closed behind him.

Wilson's sobs were belting into House's chest, causing the two of them to rock on the spot. House patted Wilson awkwardly on the back.

"There there, comfort and all that." Despite his tears, Wilson managed to smile. He looked up and wiped his eyes. House let go of him and stepped back to lean against the door frame.

"I would ask how you are doing, but being a doctor with an advanced medical degree – I can tell you are not doing so well."

Wilson shrugged. "My girlfriend's dead. I'm living in her flat, exactly the way she left it; I can't even bring myself to wash her coffee mug." He collapsed on the sofa.

"Well that's just pathetic." House commented, hobbling over to join him. "Keeping dirty crockery is hardly going to bring her back."

"What if washing it makes her go?"

"She's gone, Jimmy." House said gently, and stretched his hand over to squeeze Wilson's. When he tried to take it away again, Wilson squeezed back then laced his fingers through House's. The oncologist sat looking down at the entwining fingers, running his thumb along the side of House's palm. Then he turned and looked at House.

"I want to hate you, and I can't."

"Of course you can't. You love everybody."

"I love you."

"I'm flattered."

"I'm serious." Wilson said, still not leaving House's eyes, his hand beginning to shake in its grip.

"Even when she was still here, it was always you. Always."

House pulled his hand firmly away.

"You don't know what you are talking about."

Wilson went to say something, but House threw his hand over the other man's mouth to stop him.

"You are upset, you are vulnerable and I happen to be here giving a damn. Surprisingly." He added. "But mostly you are insane. So I am going to get up and make a coffee and when I get back we are going to watch monster truck reruns and discuss the benefits of having Cuddy as a boss. Admittedly that comes down to her breasts, but it will fill at least ten minutes of daydreaming."

Wilson stayed seated on the sofa, closing his eyes to savour the feel of House's hand as it had slid across his lips and up his face as he had got up and walked away.

He knew he wasn't confused. He knew with absolute clarity that this was what he wanted; this was what felt right. He had lost Amber, he was at absolute rock bottom; nothing could make him feel worse now. He looked back down at his empty hands and made his choice.

He walked determinedly into the kitchen and up to House.

"I am capable of making a coffee." House said, without turning round.

"I don't want a coffee." Said Wilson.

"Well that's alright then," House spun round to face the other doctor, "Because I wasn't making you one."

Then before House had the chance to object, Wilson grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him down to plant a kiss on his shocked lips.

"What the-" House began, but Wilson just kissed him harder, pressing him up against the cupboards, lacing his fingers though the short hair and sliding his tongue along House's bottom lip.

House pressed his palms to Wilson's chest and pushed him firmly away to the other side of the kitchen.

"When I said I wanted to stop you doing something stupid, that wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

Finally defeated, Wilson let the tears flow freely again and he collapsed to the floor. He had been wrong; he could feel worse. House pressed a hot cup of coffee into his shaking hands and, without his cane, leant against the kitchen surface to watch him.

House was trying very hard not to be freaked out. His best friend had just kissed him. True, said friend was emotionally compromised and therefore not acting like himself, but the fact still remained that not two minutes before Wilson had pressed his lips to House's.

Wilson had held his hand. Wilson had said he loved him.

Undoubtedly Wilson was having a major breakdown.

House hobbled through to the living room and sat down on the couch to pull off his trainers.

"What are you doing?" Wilson sniffed, now standing under the arch to the kitchen.

"Staying."

"House..."

"Shut up. I don't care why you did it. You are obviously very fucked up right now and I am not leaving you here to kill yourself, so fetch me a blanket goddamn it."

Wilson lay looking up at the ceiling, nowhere near to sleep.

He had kissed House. After all those crazy, obsessive dreams, he had expected the real thing to be a disappointment. And, although House had pushed him away, for those few seconds it hadn't been. It had been wonderful. The diagnostician had tasted better than Wilson's head had ever thought up.

House had rejected him. Of course he had; House wasn't a stupid idiot. House didn't love him.

Wilson rolled over to one side and cried into the pillow.

Forever an insomniac, House wasn't sleeping either. The fact his brain wouldn't switch off sure wasn't helping.

He slipped one of his hands into the other, and then cursed himself for being sentimental. It had been a crazy moment that was all. Wilson had needed someone and House had been there. That was logical.

It was disappointing.

What if Wilson had meant it, what if he really did love House more than as a friend? House closed his eyes and Wilson's image swam behind the lids. Wilson crying, Wilson laughing, Wilson pulling him down on top of his mouth.

House snapped his eyes open.

Fuck this.

He grabbed his cane and hauled himself off the sofa before heading through to the bedroom. In the light of the window he could see that Wilson had fallen asleep, crushed into a pillow, and was snoring gently. House hooked his cane over his arm and leant against the frame, watching his best friend sleep.

A slow smile spread across his face. Yes he loved Wilson. He adored Wilson, everything about him – but did he want him? You could love someone without sexual attraction and vice versa, but was it there for them?

Wilson wriggled in his sleep and stuck one leg out of the covers. Smirking instinctively, House leant his cane down by the door and stepped forward to run a solitary finger along the bottom of Wilson's foot.

"Stop it." The oncologist murmured into the pillow. House did it again. Wilson whipped himself over and faced House. In that split second House made a decision.

He crawled onto the bed, one leg either side of Wilson, his hand dragging the duvet away and onto the floor. Then he cupped Wilson's chin in his hand and kissed him.

It wasn't fair. Wilson thought. No matter how much I fuck things up I still have these stupid, stupid dreams.

Automatically he kissed back, and then pulled House down closer to him.

"Ow!" House grimaced, and grabbed his leg.

House's leg had never bothered them before. Wilson took some deep breaths.

He was awake.

"What are you...what are you doing?" He asked, shaking from head to foot.

"I would have thought that was obvious?" House said, raising one eyebrow.

"You mean-"

"Are you ever gonna shut up so we can finally do this or have I got to listen to your surprise reaction all night?"

Wilson just stared at him.

House's eyes softened and he reached down to lace his fingers through Wilson's.

"I don't know what this is, I don't know how long it has been there; but I am rather fond of you. More than fond, it would appear." He added, glancing down at his crotch. "If you meant what you said, then I want to give it a chance."

Wilson's brown eyes glistened with something other than tears, and he slipped his hands into House's waist band and pulled the other man's shirt up over his head. Naked torso to torso, they moved closer and kissed again, slowly, breaking off every few seconds to check the other was ok. It was as if the kisses wouldn't count if they were over quickly enough – they could still turn round and claim it never happened.

House lost his fingers in Wilson's hair and gently slid his tongue in between the smaller man's gasping lips, running it along his teeth and gently, then desperately, massaging Wilson's tongue.

Wilson let his body take over and gave in to the rhythm of his best friend as they began to explore further.

This was for real. He thought.

This was forever.