Wilson wiped off the foggy mirror with a hand towel. Through the door he heard the sounds of House tromping around the apartment in the throes of the morning get-the-leg-working routine.

As he shaved he took note of his jaw line and the shape of his face, casting a judgmental eye over all. He looked at his neat nails as he cupped water to rinse his face, and rested his hands on stomach, letting out a long sigh.

"Wilson!" House called through the door.

Wilson gave himself another look in the mirror, running his hands through his wet hair.

"Wilson!" House repeated.

Wilson tightened the towel around his waist and left the bathroom. His bare feet padded on the floor and he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning in the bedroom doorframe.

House sat on the bed, tying his tennis shoes. On seeing Wilson, he quirked an eyebrow and dropped his foot to the floor.

"What are you doing?" he asked, picking his long sleeved shirt off the bed and pulling it on. "We're late."

"We could be a little later." Wilson said.

House shot him a confused look, picking up his cane. "You can," he said, rising off the bed and pushing past Wilson. "I'll take my car."

As he heard the front door slam, Wilson let out another sigh and fell backwards onto the bed.

--

"Wilson, three weeks is not that long."

Wilson lowered his eyes to his paper coffee cup and took a sip. "I shouldn't have said anything."

Cuddy laughed. "Look, I thought we were friends. If you think I've overstepped the whole employer/employee relationship, I won't say anything."

Wilson set the down the cup and gave her a smile. "We are friends. I'm just not used to talking about this sort of thing."

"Well, I am and I am telling you three weeks is not that long." She gave a self deprecating little chuckle. "There are some people who have to go a lot longer then that."

"People in relationships?"

"Yes, three weeks is not that long."

"It is for us." Wilson picked up the cup again but didn't sip, curling his hands around the warmth. He felt suddenly shy, but didn't want to look down and instead studied the airy patio and its other occupants. Most of them looked sad, and for a strange moment he wondered why, before remembering. "Look," he said, suddenly, examining a tree over Cuddy's shoulder. "It's not…it's not just that…it's nothing…I mean, nothing." He gave her a look.

She raised her eyebrow. "Are you saying he hasn't touched you at all?"

"In three weeks."

She plastered on a cheerful smile, but Wilson noticed the worried look. "It's perfectly normal, but maybe you should talk to him."

Wilson faked a laugh. "Yeah." He took a sip. "Maybe."

--

"I think you should just jump him."

Wilson jumped, eyes darting from his computer to the office door.

Chase gave him a smug smile.

"What?" Wilson asked, eyes still a little shifty.

"House. I think you should just jump him."

Wilson's hands remained hovering over his keyboard. "Um…thank you," he sputtered, before realizing that made no sense. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Chase stuck his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, and as he gestured the fabric flapped like wings. "Sure, you do," Chase said. "Look, usually I wouldn't get involved, but House's sex life has a direct effect on my general happiness. When he's frustrated, my life becomes hell. Therefore, I vote you jump him."

"House is frustrated?" Wilson asked, then cringed. "Wait, no! Don't say anything. Because, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Chase laughed. "Okay. I'm just saying. It'd be nice if you'd take one for the team." Chase glanced over his shoulder at the familiar footsteps coming down the hall.

"Chase!" House called from somewhere.

Chase raised an eyebrow meaningfully and left.

--

"You need to fire Chase." Wilson muttered as he dropped on the couch next to House. He kicked his shoes off and deftly took the remote from House's hand.

"Then who am I gonna stare at all day?"

"Cameron," Wilson said, flicking past channels faster than his brain could process the shows.

"Can't. She's the only one that works."

Wilson huffed. "Well, make Foreman do the work, stare at Cameron and fire Chase."

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Wilson said.

House raised an eyebrow. "You've been acting weird lately."

Wilson hit the power button. "No, actually, you've been acting weird lately. I've been acting perfectly normal." He threw the remote at House's lap. "I'm taking a shower."

"Didn't you take a shower this morning?"

"Good job. Now, can you tell me how many times I took a shower last week?"

--

Wilson leaned back in the tub, rubbing his eyes. He'd run too much water and watched the waves knock against the white porcelain every time he moved. The hot water forced his muscles to relax.

The bathroom door opened.

"Are you okay?" House asked.

Wilson heaved a sigh. "Yeah, fine," he said, pulling his hands into the water, causing it to slosh over the edge.

"You're not gonna slit your wrists or something, are you?"

Wilson slid a hand from the water and laid it over the hand that held House's cane. "You could get in."

House looked down into the water.

"Not enough room," he said, then walked away.

Wilson sank below the water, letting it blot out first hearing, then sight.

--

It was dark when Wilson slipped into bed. House had his back to him and as he settled into the mattress, pulling his half of the blankets out of House's grasp, he let out a long discontented sigh.

"It's not you," House said suddenly.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I'm not."

Wilson took a breath.

"So?" he asked carefully.

"So?"

"So, whose fault is it?"

"I dunno. But it's not yours."

Wilson rolled onto his side. "Right…great."

--

"It's the pills."

Wilson looked across the balcony. Cameron exited House's office with a cheerful smile. Wilson turned, propping himself against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What?" he asked.

Cameron stopped a few inches from the balcony divider and leaned against it. "You and House. Your problem. It's the pills."

Wilson convulsed in disgust. "Oh. My. God. Everyone needs to get new hobbies and stop discussing my sex life, right now," he declared, then turned on his heel and walked away.
--

Wilson fed some coins into the vending machine and selected some drink low on taste but heavy on caffeine.

The machine stoutly refused to live up to its side of the bargain.

Wilson kicked it.

The machine gurgled and thumped, but produced no soda.

"It's $1.25."

Wilson glanced over his shoulder. "What?"

"It's $1.25. They raised it again." Chase reached a hand across Wilson's space and dropped a quarter into the coin slot.

The machine dropped a can. Wilson fished it out gratefully, popped the top and took a long drink. "Thanks," he muttered, stepping out of Chase's way and leaning against a wall.

Chase just stood there. Wilson gestured to the machine. Chase laughed. "Well, I don't have enough quarters, now."

Wilson flushed slightly, holding out the can. "Sorry."

Chase accepted the can and took a long drink. "No problem." He passed the can back, taking a step closer. "How's it going?"

"Fine. You?"

Chase chuckled. "Aside from my boss's new level of evil, fine."

Wilson lowered his gaze.

Chase lowered his head to catch Wilson's eyes. "Hey, I didn't mean it like that."

Wilson forced a laugh. "Yeah, I know. It's just so damn public, you know? I'm not used to everybody knowing about my life."

Chase nodded. "Must be tough."

"Yeah. Stressful."

"I know stress," Chase said in a low voice. Wilson's face snapped up to stare at him, a questioning look in his eyes. Chase took the can from Wilson's hand and took another drink. "I know how it feels when you can't get what you want." Chase reached for and touched Wilson's wrist, his thumb against Wilson's pulse point, his fingers resting lightly on Wilson's arm. Slowly, he raised Wilson's hand to his face, and nonchalantly slid the tip of Wilson's middle finger into his mouth.

"Chase…" Wilson gasped.

"Yes, James?"

--

Wilson let the door slam shut reassuringly behind him.

"You're late," House called gruffly from the couch.

"I picked up dinner," Wilson said, crossing the room and going into the kitchen. He set the bag of Mexican food on the counter and searched for clean plates.

House appeared in the kitchen door. "Ooh, burritos," he said, grabbing one, pulling off the paper wrapping and taking a bite.

Wilson smiled, dumping some tortilla chips on each plate and dividing the food between them.

"Hey, you have more than me," House complained, following Wilson into the living room and deftly ignoring the burrito in his hand.

"We'll split the last one," Wilson said, still smiling.

They arranged themselves on the couch. House flipped channels, pausing at a Japanese cartoon to look at Wilson.

"You seem better," he said, confused.

Wilson tried to smother his smile, but it flared up again even wider. "I am better."

House gave him another confused look, then went back to flipping channels.

Slowly, as the food was eaten, House's right hand slid across the couch until it rested on top of Wilson's.

Wilson tightened the grip and laughed.

--

"Chase…"

"Yes, James?"

"…No."