Disclaimer: They do not belong to me. Due to a lack of funding, I do not even own the goddamn DVDs. The title was stolen from The Killers.

Pairing: House/Wilson

Raiting: PG-13, might go up later.

oOo

House was sitting in Exam Room One tapping his cane angrily against the floor. His Game Boy was sitting on the counter, the batteries long ago used up. He hadn't had a case in over two weeks, so Cuddy had decided he had clinic duty full time until something came up. Chase was in Australia for the week, Cameron was helping Wilson and House hadn't the faintest idea where Foreman was, nor did he really care.

There was a knock. "Go away!" he shouted. "I'm with a patient!"

The door opened anyway, and Wilson walked in. "What are you up to?"

House slammed his cane against the ground. "I was about to go unleash the Ebola virus on Manhattan. What do you want?"

Wilson closed the door behind him. "Could I stay with you for a couple days?"

House raised an eyebrow. "You got kicked out? Again? That's, what, three times in the past two months?"

Wilson studied something very interesting on the ceiling. "Actually, I left her."

"Really."

"Look, I really don't want to talk about it. Can I stay with you or not?"

"Can you get me off clinic duty?"

"House, that's Cuddy's decision, not mine."

House sighed angrily. "Yeah, but she listens to you. Just tell her you need my help with a patient."

"I'll try, but-"

House stood up. "Deal. I'd help you with your stuff, but…" He brandished his cane at Wilson, who rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I know. I'll be over later today."

"I'll buy dinner!" House yelled at Wilson's retreating form.

A young woman poked her head in. "Are you a doctor?"

House glanced at her. "You have a sunburn. Go home."

She frowned. "Are you sure? Because it-"

"If you don't believe me, go talk to him," he said, pointing his cane at Wilson. "He's an oncologist."

The woman's eyes widened. "Y-you think I have cancer?"

House groaned. "No, I think you have a sunburn. Go away!" He slammed his cane against the ground again and stalked over to the window. The door closed behind him as he reached into his pocket and took out his bottle of Vicodin. He shook two tablets into his hand and swallowed them. House pounded his fist against the window. The last thing he needed was Wilson at his house again.

oOo

House was at the piano. His fingers were resting on the keys as he stared through the sheet music. Wilson would be there any minute, and he still didn't know why exactly he had said yes. Of all the times for him to come back…

The doorbell rang. "Use your key!" House shouted, and started playing Moonlight Sonata. It was the closest thing to comfort he could think of; his grandmother used to play it. He closed his eyes as the door opened. "There's Chinese food in the kitchen."

"You actually managed to accomplish something useful. Congratulations," Wilson said. He dragged two duffle bags into the apartment and left them by the couch. "Thanks again for letting me stay."

"I'm not letting you sleep until you tell me what went wrong this time," House threatened. In all honesty, he wasn't sure he even wanted to know, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to annoy Wilson.

Wilson chuckled. "Then I'm not going to be sleeping for a while." He paused, looking through the food. "Thanks for dinner."

"It's the least I could do, considering you'll be making all our meals from here on out." House flinched, his fingers slipping and missing a note. Our meals, he thought to himself. Fucking pronouns. "Why so secretive?"

"Because, amazingly enough, it's none of your business," Wilson said cheerily.

"I'm sorry; you're the one who's hijacked my house until further notice. All I ask for is a reason why."

"And all your meals cooked, your dishes done, the house cleaned…"

House pounded the keys. "Alright. Fine." He stood up and limped angrily into his bedroom, slamming the door behind. Wilson stared after him, torn between his friend and his dinner. He sighed, and knocked on the bedroom door.

"House, let me in." No response. "You're acting like an idiot." Still nothing. Wilson sighed again. "I'll leave you some dinner."

oOo

House sat on his bed, his cane still enclosed in a death grip in one hand. What on earth had possessed him to let Wilson stay at his apartment? What possible reason could have made him think this was a good idea? Wilson had been here for all of ten minutes, and House had already thrown one tantrum. He had to get Wilson out of his place, one way or another. He smirked, thinking of all the things he could do to Wilson. He barely even heard the knock on his door, or what his friend said. He was too busy plotting. Something with his underwear, maybe?

House got up and went into the kitchen. He sat down next to Wilson and grabbed a carton of food.

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "Decided to stop pouting?"

House grinned. "Nope. I've decided to plot revenge instead."

"Should I confiscate your water glasses, or should I just skip ahead and saw through your cane again?"

"Oh, no. I've got something better planned."

"Better than embarrassing you in front of your patients?" Wilson asked. "I'm so scared."

"You should be. Come on, let's go watch some TV," House said, grabbing the food and limping into the living room. He turned the TV on and flipped through the stations. "Look! It's Titanic. Let's stay up all night long holding each other and crying."

Wilson sat down next to him. "Right, or we could watch something worthwhile."

House put the remote down. "Oh, come on. It's a classic."

Wilson stared at him. "You're serious?"

"Sure. Why not? It'll be fun." House snuggled up against Wilson. "See? It's not that bad."

"Right…You can get up any time now."

"You just say that because you're afraid to admit your true feelings," House replied, rolling onto his back and looking up at Wilson. "Come on, you know you're secretly in love with me."

Wilson snorted. "You wish."

"Maybe I do."

Wilson blinked. "Wh-what?"

House sat up and grabbed some food. "I was joking, Wilson. Jeez, calm down."

"I…" Wilson trailed off.

House looked at him. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were blushing."

"You took me off guard, that's all."

"Really? I didn't think I could do that anymore."

"Shut up, House. I'm watching Titanic."

oOo

Wilson wasn't particularly happy about it, but he was teary-eyed by the end of the movie. He blinked a few times, and looked over at House. He smiled; House was fast asleep, snoring quietly. Probably had been for the past hour or two. He bit his lip and sighed. As much has he hated to admit it, House's comment had really gotten to him. He had been caught off guard, yes, but not by what House had said. There was something in his eyes, something that didn't seem like the usual sarcasm. He couldn't quite place it, but it made him nervous. He could usually read House like a book, but not this time.

Wilson stood up, stretching. He cleaned up slowly, hoping House would wake up. He didn't. By the time all the dishes were washed, the food cartons thrown away and the leftovers in the refrigerator, House had managed to shift so he was lying on the couch, completely covering the place where Wilson was supposed to be sleeping. He sighed.

"House," he said, gently shaking him. "House, come on. Get up."

House groaned. "I don't wanna," he mumbled, still mostly asleep.

"You're only making your leg worse," Wilson reminded him. "You have a nice, comfy bed for a reason."

"I don't care. I'm tired." He rolled over.

"You'll care tomorrow." House groaned again. "You know what? Fine. I don't care. I'm sleeping in your bed."

House sat straight up. "The hell you are," he snapped, limping off into his room and slamming the door behind him. He went over to his bed and sat down, rubbing his leg. Wilson was right; even the hour he slept on the couch had made it considerably worse. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the bottle of Vicodin and shook out two pills. He stared at them, rolling them around in his palm before swallowing them. He reached over to his alarm clock and set it for three in the morning: that was when he would wreak havoc on Wilson. He would drive him out of his apartment even if it killed him, damnit.

The thought of asking him to leave never even occurred to House.

oOo

"House!"

House groggily sat up in bed. "Whaddya want?" he mumbled, reaching for his Vicodin.

"What do I want?" Wilson roared. "How about a pair of underwear without any holes?"

House snorted. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"What did I do to deserve this? Honestly?"

"Just a little gift from me to you," House said, smiling.

Wilson threw a pair of underwear at him and left, slamming the door behind him.

House picked up the garment and examined it. He smiled; he was sure Wilson would see the funny side of it once he had a pair of underwear that didn't have a hole cut out in the crotch. He got dressed and limped into the living room where Wilson was furiously searching through his suitcases.

"You were thorough, I'll give you that," he said, sitting back against the couch.

"Yup. Thought you might want to borrow these," House replied, tossing something at Wilson, who deftly caught it. His eyes widened and he dropped it.

"A thong? Why do you have a thong?" Wilson exclaimed.

House grinned. "I've been saving it for someone special."

"Someone special? Am I supposed to be honored that you'd pull such a special prank on me?"

House shrugged. "Sure, why not?" He paused. "So, are you going to get back at me?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Your breakfast is on the table."

House limped into the kitchen. "Oh, goodie! Pancakes! Just what I always wanted, Wilson!" He grabbed one and took a huge bite. He had already swallowed most of it before he even registered that something was wrong with them. House started gagging and spit it out. "Salt? You put salt in my breakfast?" He limped back into the living room, where Wilson was already mostly dressed.

Wilson looked up at him innocently. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought that was the sugar…I must have gotten the two confused."

House was grinning insanely. "This is so great! You did that before you found out about your underwear! Congratulations Wilson, you're learning!" He stopped, suddenly realizing that his friend was fully dressed. "Did I miss a pair?"

"Nope."

"Then what are you wearing?"

Wilson locked eyes with him. "Your thong."

House's jaw dropped. "Y-you're serious?"

"Yup." Wilson went into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. "The coffee is okay, I promise."

House followed him. "I can't believe you're actually wearing it."

"Do you want to see? Would that make it easier to comprehend?"

Yes, House thought. "No."

"And before you announce that I'm wearing your thong on the P.A. system, you should realize that it will embarrass you far more than it would me."

"I wasn't planning on it, dimwit," House snapped. In all honesty, that was going to be the first thing he did at work. Damnit, why did Wilson always have to be right?

"Oh, I see. You just wanted to fantasize about it for the rest of the day," Wilson said lightly.

"Yes. That's exactly it," House replied, draining a cup of coffee. "I'm leaving."

Wilson was taken aback. "You're leaving early?"

"I smell a case," House replied, grinning as he limped as fast as possible to the door. He left, closing the door a little harder than absolutely necessary. Wilson stared at the door, confused as hell. Something was definitely afoot; the only question was what.