Suggestion

James Wilson was a doctor. A registered, practicing doctor. That being true, he had passed Psychology 101. He knew all about the power of suggestion.

And yet, he was still falling prey to it.

It had, as usual, been Cameron's fault, really. It was her squeals of "You two are so cute together!" which had started it.

Then Chase, the dumb one, with his innocent questioning. "Why do you walk so close together? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were a couple!"

Wilson had laughed nervously. Chase, seemingly satisfied with that, had wandered off.

Foreman had said nothing. But he was so similar to his boss, and Wilson knew him better than he knew himself, that when the black man gave him one of his puzzled frowns as he looked at them sitting together watching General Hospital and eating potato chips, Wilson could tell, just tell, that he was weighing up all possible answers and drawing the most logical conclusions, even if they were wrong...

Then House Himself, with all the gay jokes, those piercing blue eyes staring straight at him. Wilson wondered.

The nurses, giggling as they walked down corridors... Other doctors, giving him knowing looks as he walked into the building with House after his wife left him...

The problem was, that if an idea were repeated enough times, then even the people who would previously have sworn it to be false started to doubt, and wonder, and Wilson found himself, despite his inhibitions, considering it, what it would be like...

Wilson knew House better than Wilson knew Wilson, but Wilson still felt sometimes that his best friend was completely incomprehensible. House on the other hand, knew Wilson so well that he could predict his every move and counter it with a brilliance that took Wilson's breath away. God, he was going mad. When had he started talking like a crappy romance novel?

Cuddy had taken to giving House cases which involved him walking past the oncology wing more than usual. Or perhaps that was just Wilson's imagination. Every time his best friend looked at him, every time they had a crappy conversation about god-only-knows what, he wondered... When House took cases which he normally wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole, and Wilson was the one asking, he wondered whether there had been some unterior motive, whether maybe, just maybe...

The door opened; no knock. A head stretched round. It was unshaven and gaunt. "Lunch? You're buying."

Wilson gave a weak smile. The blue eyes in the door narrowed.

Fuck.