Summary: The most thoughtful gifts are those from the heart, and yes, even House has a heart. Somehow he can welcome without words.

H.W Strong friendship, kind of slash. Oneshot.

Wilson's head jerked and the yank on his spinal cord woke him up. He rubbed at the muscle which ached from the same repetitive movement. He was sitting in his office, stoning and trying not to sleep. The day had been hard. Really hard. One of his youngest patients had taken a turn for the worse, and they hadn't realised why until House had figured out that her father was over-dosing her with some medicine which was fatal in her state of low immunity, and then it was too late. He had withdrawn to his office. He had kind of cried and been interrupted by the mother, and they'd cried together. He was exhausted.

House was working some hard case that night. Some guy had risked his life to get to House, and House was doing his best, in his usual scathing yeah-right-as-if-I-care way. The last he had seen House, he had been hobbling as fast as he could, following a gurney into the Op. Theatre. He had had lunch alone and hadn't seen a friendly face all day.

Sometimes he hated this job.

Following his thoughts he drifted into a deep sleep, which even a pulled muscle wouldn't have disturbed.

The door slammed open. Wilson blinked sleep out of his eyes as House strode in, mumbling to himself about where 'Wilson' might have kept spare Vicodin. He didn't seem to realise Wilson was in the office. "Hope he doesn't mind me raiding his office. My leg fucking hurts…" he continued rummaging through Wilson's drawers.

"Third drawer from the top, the one without a lock." House jumped and looked at Wilson, who was still rubbing his eyes and attempting to pat his hair into place. House clutched his heart with his free hand and slumped on the table. Wilson rolled his eyes, but House looked genuinely startled. He pulled the drawer open and grabbed the bottle of Vicodin, popped two and chucked the bottle carelessly back in.

"Why the heck are you still here? It must be," he squinted at his watch, "three in the morning, actually."

Wilson looked abashed, and House didn't know why. "Nevermind why I'm here, let's just head back."

"Why? Were you entertaining some interesting company in here?" he sniffed around, and wolf whistled. "I smell Cuddy!"

Wilson chucked and gave up on his hair. "Yeah, right. You wish, don't you?"

House grinned from ear to ear, "Yeah, then I'd have stepped into something soon to become a threesome!"

Wilson looked mock-revolted. He gave up his grimace and grinned right back.

"But why the heck were you here, really?"

Back to that, he thought. He should have known better than to think House would give it up that easily.

"It's really nothing," Wilson mumbled, tiredness back in his voice.

"Why didn't you go back to our place?" Wilson wasn't sure if he'd really heard the subtle change in the title of House's apartment.

"Because, you were busy," he lied. "I didn't want to disturb you while you had a case.

House scoffed, seeing right through it. "Yeah, right. You know where I keep the spare key, Jimmy. Why didn't you grab it and go to sleep, you're obviously lacking it…" It may have been the sleep talking, but Wilson could have sworn he heard a tinge of concern in House's voice. "So, why were you really here?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. Why on Earth couldn't House see he didn't want to deal with this right now? He was tired, and all he wanted to do was go to sleep. He didn't feel like discussing his deep dark issues with House, at least not right now.

House looked thoughtful, and he realised that he'd just said that out loud. Shit, he cursed, making sure to internalize it.

"So… you had a moral dilemma… about going into my place." House sounded like he very much wanted to laugh, but realised that this was probably not the time or place.

"Not about going to your place. About going to your place without you, using your spare key. I felt like I'm invading a private place, like I'm breaking and entering. It feels wrong. Okay? Happy? Now—"

"You've been living at my place for months!" House sounded outraged and was that… insult?

"Yeah, but it's still your place! I can't go into your home! It's—" he faltered, looking for words, then finished lamely, "wrong. It's just wrong."

House gave it up, for which Wilson was grateful, but he had a deeply thoughtful look in his eyes.

Wilson was too tired to consider it further. He consumed some leftover soup which House gave him and went to sleep. House sat on his bed, considering.

At Wilson's Birthday

House hadn't given him anything all day, but he wasn't disappointed. He hadn't been expecting anything, and still House had stayed around him the whole day, entertaining him and being relatively nice to him. Cuddy had given him a Pink Floyds Record, which he was overjoyed to own. It was a collector's item and he had reverted back to his childhood, whence his search had begun. Cameron had given his pretty silver cufflinks. Chase and Foreman had pitched together and gotten a massive card from all his patients and friends and they had written some of the nicest stuff he'd ever heard.

House had patiently bourn angry glances for not having bought him a gift, and somehow this gave Wilson the impression that there was something more. Normally House made loud and scorning comments about how birthdays sucked. He soon forgot it. It was a good day, overall. He was happy.

They reached back late after a giant bash they'd held in the hospital canteen, which had been converted into a pub-like thing with House's help. House was laughing at a smear of cream Wilson had on his face when they walked through the door. Wilson was so tired he thought he could collapse on the spot and go to sleep, but House had other ideas.

He sat Wilson down on the couch and tossed him a small gift-wrapped blue box. Wilson was shocked (House had never gotten him a sold gift before) and gently tugged at the ribbon. The paper came of easily and inside lay a pretty jewelry box. Wilson was even more surprised.

He pulled off the cover and inside, on a soft velveteen cushion, lay a shiny silver key. It was much more than a normal key. It was definitely some semi precious metal, with small crystals embedded along the edge. He inspected it closely and along the rim, something was written.

James Evan Wilson,

My heart's always open, and so is my home

Wilson didn't know what to say, and apparently neither did House. "It's platinum and it's a master key to my place, so you never need to take the spare key and you can come over anytime an—"

Wilson had hugged the older man, and was gratified to feel him hug back. It was the first solid contact in a long time, and Wilson felt like he was glowing. He had never received such a thoughtful gift, something so meaningful.

By the time he looked up to thank House, he was gone. Wilson shook his head, still smiling. It was difficult for House to do emotion, and then reciprocation was even harder. It was better this way.

He went to work, glowing, the next day. No one could figure out why, but they had some idea that something fantastic had happened. No one knew it was as simple as a key, especially not from House.

Well? How is it? Kind-of-fluff, very strong friendship. Hope you see it the same way I saw it in my head!

Love,

Lady Merlin