Chapter 1 – Wilson's House Away From Home

This story takes place following episode 2/14 "Sex Kills" in which Wilson moves in with House after discovering that his wife is cheating on him. House is still depressed over losing Stacy. I found this fic I wrote back when episode 2/14 first aired and decided it had potential... as all you Slashers probably know already. I added a lot to it but this is only the first chapter. If you like it and want to know what happens next, please review!

And it goes without saying (but I'll say it anyway) that I don't own House MD or any of the characters. If I did, I wouldn't be posting on a fanfiction website. I would be informing Hugh that his next episode 'contains mature content intended for an adult audience'.

James Wilson stepped into the dim, musty smelling apartment and dumped his luggage on the leather sofa. That was when he registered the state of the place. Every surface, the coffee table, piano top and even the fireplace mantle were littered with the remainders of his best friend's misery. It was an assortment of the worst kind; empty chip bags, empty liquor bottles, used dishes, empty pill bottles and what looked suspiciously like a few square wrappers littering the floor. It also seemed as if House had had some problems getting into a bottle of vicodin because the little white pills were now scattered everywhere about the living room. Wilson tried in vane not to imagine it happening.

"Been having fun without me?" he asked, almost smiling as he replaced some cushions to the couch.

"Oh yeah, the mess… been meaning to clean that up," House said as he glanced around the room. Wilson could have sworn there was a touch of pride on his face.

House limped over to his piano, pushed some glasses aside on the bench, and then promptly added the plate from his peanut butter sandwich to the clutter.

"What's the matter with the kitchen sink?" Wilson asked and then hearing the harsh tone in his voice, countered with a look of amusement and raised eyebrows.

"I have a kitchen sink?" House asked, giving Wilson a bewildered look, then peering sideways into the kitchen. When he couldn't see it from where he leaned, he shrugged and limped slowly over to Wilson.

The two of them sat down heavily on the sofa and then stared at the dark TV screen in silence for a depressing amount of time. Then House leaned forward and grabbed two glasses off the coffee table. He held one of them in front of Wilson and stared with a pouty look on his face until Wilson took it from him with a sigh. As House reached for the only bottle that still had a few inches of scotch left in it, Wilson frowned and glanced into the glass he was holding to see the remains of some scotch already in the glass. He held it in the light and saw that it had lip smudges on it. Wilson thought about getting up and going into the kitchen to wash it. But then he thought, what the hell, and decided he didn't feel like getting up from that couch for another century at least.

House poured a tiny amount of scotch out for Wilson and was about to go ahead and fill his own glass with the rest, but his arm froze midway between them. The look on Wilson's face was the look of a man who desperately needed to either drown himself in a ridiculous amount of alcohol, or have tons of mindless sex with the nearest sympathizer. House opted for the former because he just wasn't in the mood for pity sex.

"I would have invited you over last night, but the hooker I hired was opposed to threesomes for some reason…" he said as he poured out half a glass of scotch for himself after almost filling Wilson's glass.

Wilson didn't even give him a look. He just stared at his scotch.

"I guess I learned my lesson. Never use Yellowpages to find a good hooker agency."

Wilson continued to stare at his scotch. If the man didn't take a drink of it soon House was going to personally force the stuff down his throat. House glanced around at the poor state of his living room and then began counting his vicodin. Some were scattered over the coffee table and the floor, a couple were on the hearth, one was on the mantle, and, oh, what was this? One beside his head on the back of the couch. He twisted his head back, picked it up in his mouth, then tilted his head backward and swallowed.

Much better.

In truth, the mess had been building up for some time, ever since Stacy left. What a strange coincidence, he thought. He and Wilson.

"Well this is cool," House said a little too loudly when the silence was starting to get creepy.

"Yeah," Wilson said with an empty laugh. "Maybe we should start a club, for depressed middle-age men." Wilson suddenly tilted his head back and drank down the entire glass without even a breath in between. House watched in wide-eyed amusement. Then Wilson put the glass down and the sound of the glass hitting the wood made him cringe slightly. Instead of leaning back, he put his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees, and his eyes on the floor.

He didn't actually take his eyeballs out of his head and place them on the carpet. Just in case you were worried.

House was watching Wilson out of the corner of his eye as he sipped his scotch. For a moment a strange feeling that he was watching himself ran over him. He knew what Wilson was about to go through once he got past the denial stage, and it wasn't pretty.

House heaved a huge sigh then pushed himself up onto his feet. He swiveled on his good leg to grab his cane, then looked over his shoulder at the pathetic loser sitting on his couch.

"I'm just going to go order a pizza," he said, pointing with his left hand and his right cane in the direction of the kitchen. "I'll leave you to wallow in your misery and self loathing."

Wilson said nothing. Big surprise.

"And for the love of God, help yourself to a vicodin," House said in a raised voice filled with exasperation. "The little buggers can do wonders. Just look at me!"

House disappeared through the doorway. And oh look; he did own a kitchen sink.

GHJWGHJWGHJW

After House ordered a pizza topped with everything, (yes of course I want anchovies you idiot. When I said everything, I didn't mean, all but the tiny fishes you just ran out of. I meant everything, including Coolwhip if you've got any) he sat down in a kitchen chair and stretched his aching leg out in front of him. He propped his cane against the counter and absently rubbed the muscle as he tried to think.

'If you're not prepared to look stupid, then nothing great is ever going to happen.' Those words just wouldn't leave him alone. He knew how many times he chose to make others out to be the stupid ones. It was just one more reason why Stacy was better off without him, and why he was better off alone.

Then his eyes lifted to the doorway and a voice in his mind seemed to say, 'Maybe not entirely alone.'