Pairing: House/Wilson

Timeline: Sometime after Lucky Thirteen but before Kutner's suicide/all the

House/Cuddy centric events at the end of season 5

Wilson's fingers wrapped around the pill bottle, gently tugging it from House's defeated hand. House was sitting against the wall in his apartment, wondering how Wilson had known he was there. He hadn't told anyone he was leaving early, not even Cuddy. It was difficult to hide from Wilson for too long though, he always knew where to look. What a pain.

"House." Wilson looked at him, the empty pill bottle in his hand.

"Look, could you save me the pity and the lecture? My leg is killing me."

He should have figured it out. He could have saved that patient. The last piece of the puzzle had eluded him, eluded them all. But House was supposed to catch what others did not. That's what set him apart from everyone else. It was his gift. He had done the autopsy himself. No more doubts about the diagnosis. But what had really killed her was his inability to find the answer.

Wilson glared at him. Good, House thought. Yelling would be faster than trying to get him to talk about his feelings.

"Do you think I want to hunt you down every time something goes wrong to make sure you haven't choked on your own vomit?" Wilson yelled, throwing the pill bottle across the room.

House sighed, praying the drugs would work faster. He needed this to end.

"Well, you haven't missed a day yet! I think you get off on thinking that you're needed. Why else would you hold the hands of dying children for a living?"

House had crossed a line, which was entirely the point. Wilson was furious now, one hand pointing at him, the other balled in a fist.

"Don't you- don't you act like you don't need me. In case you've forgotten, I'm the only idiot who willingly puts up with you! But that's gonna stop the next time you decide to take this many pills!"

"Oh, really." House cocked his head sarcastically. "I could have the whole pharmacy in my apartment and you still wouldn't leave. I'm not another wife you can just divorce when things get too complicated."

That was it. Wilson grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him off the ground, with no regard for House's leg in the process, and made it so they were face to face.

"Don't do this House." Wilson spat. "Stop deflecting. You know I'm right, you're screwed up and something has to change."

He paused, the grip on House's shirt tightening. House could only stare, wide eyed, at his best friend.

"Don't even pretend that you don't need me, House. And don't test me into walking away, because I know you're terrified that someday, I actually will!"

Wilson's face was flushed red with anger. He scanned House's face for any sort of reaction.

He could blame it on the drugs. Or the drinks he'd had before them. There were plenty of ways to rationalize it, House told himself. To rationalize wanting to kiss Wilson. He could do it, right now. Wilson's face, flooded with anger, was only inches away. He knew Wilson was right, of course. About everything. House was screwed up, he did need to change and he was scared. The last thing he wanted was for the only person that cared about him to leave. House knew that somewhere in the smallest part of his brain that logic and rational thought could not touch, he wanted him closer. Closer than he should. But he couldn't ruin everything. He looked into Wilson's eyes as they searched him, looking for a sign that he was even listening. In the past 20 years of their friendship, House could not remember the last time he had made Wilson this angry. It seemed he had ruined enough already. Why not push it all the way?

House steadied himself, standing against the wall. Wilson's hand was still on his collar. He glanced down at it before looking his enraged friend in the eye. He put his hand over Wilson's, and lowered it slowly from his collar to Wilson's side. But, much to Wilson's surprise, he did not let go. House's long fingers held onto Wilson's wrist, shaking slightly. Wilson eyed him uncertainly.

"Hou- ?"

He couldn't let him finish his sentence, could not give himself the chance to remember why this was such a horrible idea.

"You're right." He whispered.

House leaned down, and kissed him. Briefly. Faintly. Wilson's eyes flew open and he staggered backwards, his arms raised as though someone had pointed a gun at him.

"I-I, " Wilson's words were not forming.

House only stared at the ground, massaging his leg. It's over now, he thought, heart racing. Now he'll definitely leave.

Wilson took half a step backwards, unsure of whether to bolt out of the apartment or to check on House's mental stability. House smiled at this. He'd never seen Wilson so flustered before.

"I-if this is some kind of game. Some kind of strategy so that I'll stop being mad." Wilson stammered.

Interesting. He'd said "if". As though there was another option. A more favorable one. House continued to look at the ground and Wilson gave up waiting for an answer. He turned around swiftly, fists clenching and unclenching as he headed for the door. House put one foot forward, the beginning of an attempt to go after him, but stopped. After all, it was over. His heart clenched. Over? Damnit, what had he done?

"Wilson." House said plainly.

No pleading, just a statement. A statement that he was real, that what had just happened was real. The room lurched back and forth and House felt seasick. Wilson froze on his way to the door. His stomach was tight, his face was hot and he swore he might throw up. His heart pounded and his was overwhelmed with-what? Anger? Fear? There was something else too. Something he had stowed away so deep there had never been an instance of it reaching the surface. Until now.

"Damnit, House." Wilson swore as he turned around and marched back into the room.

His hands grabbed the sides of House's face and he kissed him hard. They broke away momentarily and stared at each other over the impossibility of what was currently happening. Then Wilson's arms grabbed House's shoulders and House wrapped his around Wilson's back, clinging desperately as he pulled his friend closer.

Wilson stopped and whispered with the most anger he could muster.

"You're such an ass."

House responded by kissing his neck, and Wilson exhaled deeply. He looked at House, taking in the reality of the moment. Then, seeing him closer, remembered just how many pills House had taken. He stepped away as House moved in for another kiss.

House stared at him, confused.

"Don't worry, I'll say no homo when we're done and you'll have a clean slate."

"You're stoned, House." Wilson took another step back, but his hand remained on House's cheek.

"You're stoned and I…" He shook his head.

House's stomach dropped. Why couldn't they have evaded logic for a bit longer? Wilson looked at him with a torn and slightly fearful expression.

"See you tomorrow."

House continued to look at the door long after it shut behind Wilson. Then he limped to the kitchen and poured himself some whiskey, taking a long swig. Just like that, he had changed everything.

(A/N): Me..write House fanfiction…in the year 2015? Ha ha .. of course not…..anyways…

Originally I wrote this as a one shot sorta thing but then ended up writing a fuckton so there will be more chapters of this nonsense.