A/N: This fic contains MAJOR spoilers for Season 6 Episode 11 "The Down Low". It won't make sense without seeing the scene, anyway. Any House/Wilson fan should watch it first- in fact, every single House M.D. fan should. It's a classic.

It also contains the beginnings of mild slash, so back away slowly if that's not your thing.

I thought that there was a fairly significant chuck of House/Wilson interaction missing, so I thought I'd try my hand at what went down!

Hope you enjoy, and reviews are always appreciated!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you see here; not House, not Wilson, not Michael Buble. When I do, I'll shout it from the rooftops.

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DOWN LOW: THE MISSING SCENE

Entitled: THE GAMES PEOPLE PLAY

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"I'm here because..."

"Nothing you say is going to change anything."

A warning... back off, Wilson. She's hooked.

A challenge. Wilson could rise to it; hell, he could even beat it. He silently asked for Amber's tolerance as he began to speak. House's eyebrows shot up, like he was asking Wilson, what's your next move? Where could you possibly go from here?

"I love this man. And I am not wasting another moment of my life denying that." He ws intentionally over-dramatic, just the way House loathed. He got down on his knees, hands outstretched, like he had been the few occasions before—but not quite like this. "Gregory House... Will you marry me?"

House knew exactly what was happening since his declaration of love, but he managed a look of shock before it went back to its unreadably sarcastic norm. "Wow. This is unexpected."

"Say yes!" One lady encouraged, to House's annoyance.

Nora was getting uncomfortable with the current of tension, and decided to cut and run while she still could. "I'm gonna go... you two obviously have some talking to do."

Wilson was extremely conscious of the curious glances of the other restaurant patrons as he sat in the chair that Nora had vacated, still staring at House. He'd dropped the ring-box back in his pocket as soon as he could, feeling his neck flame with public humiliation. The music playing in the background only made the scene a whole lot worse.

Other dancers may be on the floor
Dear, but my eyes will see only you
Only you have that magic technique
When we sway I go weak!

He needed alcohol. He took a swig of the white wine, trying to look nonchalant but failing miserably. House was still giving him that look, the one that he usually directed at secretive patients without the wisdom to tell him every aspect of their pathetic lives. When he drank from his own glass, it seemed to be a silent toast to the courage that he had just displayed. Either that or he was revelling in the idiocy that Wilson had resorted to.

"That was drastic, Wilson." House grumbled. "I was this close-"

"To what? She wouldn't have done anything, and you know it." Wilson snapped. They returned to the silence, which was a welcome change. Wilson continued to stew over what House had driven him to, time and time again. He would have said that this was the last straw, but he knew that he would only be lying to himself. They would always be like this, he thought wryly; the last refuge of two lonely men.

"You actually bought a ring?" House said incredulously.

"It's from a gumball machine," Wilson lied. He'd spent a considerable sum on the discreet band of engraved metal, but he wasn't about to admit that. The truth was he had grabbed the opportunity to propose falsely to House for two reasons.

One: So that he could see if he actually had the guts to go through with it—just in case he was completely serious one day.

Two: So that he could gauge House's reaction. In this, at least, he was moderately successful. House hadn't bought it for a minute, and recognised it for what it was; another play in their elaborate web of tricks and lies that poor Nora was unwittingly caught up in. Neither of them cared nearly as much for her as they did for their games with each other; women came and went, but their mutual antagonism was of epic proportions.

"It's getting late," Wilson sighed. "I'm guessing that she was going to pay?"

"How astute of you, but I'm not leaving. We've ordered dessert, and you ought to get your money's worth." House's eyes glinted with his usual malicious glee as Wilson shook his head in despair.

Dessert sounded like a good idea, however, since Wilson had been out since his shift ended looking for the damned ring. Once again he wondered what had possessed him to try such a stunt, and once again his brain supplied the answers.

Because you care for him more than you're willing to admit to yourself. Because Nora was fairly close to the mark. Because you know what culottes are.

"Shut up." He muttered under his breath, cursing his sabotaging subconscious. Realising that kind of truth was never pretty; it was a life-changing and utterly terrifying prospect.

"You know, this was never about the girl—despite her attributes." House said, digging into his tiramisu with gusto. "I just wanted to see you squirm."

Wilson sighed. "Congratulations. Consider me utterly horrified."

"We even fooled the restaurant," House said. "Do you think we look gay?"

"I think that awful lilac shirt you're giving them might be an indication." Wilson grinned. "Where'd you drag that from, anyway? Gone to any art gallery openings lately?"

"Stole it from a patient," House shrugged. "And that's beside the point. It shouldn't be so easy to judge the straight from the crooked, is all I'm trying to say."

Wilson didn't reply, wondering why this was even coming up. Ah, right... maybe because you just offered to marry him, for God's sake.

Wilson got the (rather hefty) bill, grabbed his coat and went outside without waiting for House. It wasn't long before he heard the thus of House's cane behind him as the exited into the cool night air.

"So, what do you say?" Wilson said tentatively as they trudged to his car.

"What do I say?" House said with a snort. "Come to me again when I've forgotten about your meddling."

Promises, promises. Wilson thought with stubborn determination. Just you wait, Gregory House. I fully intend to.