A/N: Alternate scenario for end of 8x21. Wilson never went to House's apartment to say he'd agree to more treatment.

Pairing: House/Wilson

Warnings: Spoilers for end of season 8. M/M- not explicit

Rated: PG

Words: One shot- 2250

Written for Positively House/Wilson at LJ and AO3

Making a Difference

'I need you to tell me that you love me.' Said by a dying man. A desperate man.

He analyzes things. It's what he does. Sometimes until the harsh realty of the situation smacks him up side the head and he's left breathless with the agony of it. He's cold and callous. Social skills lacking on the best of days, but this man. His friend. A man so opposite on the surface but in reality, not really. They are similar. They are both scared and so very lonely and now one of them is checking out. By choice. Is it perhaps an escape from that loneliness? The never ending cycle of love lost? Or perhaps, love never found? Never ending games from the one companion that he has? 'That I allow him to have'. Is it easier to give in to the disease that is most certainly killing him, then to fight to stay? Does he feel he has no reason to fight?

Tell Me That you Love Me

It was 1:06 am when he opened his tired eyes. Something had disturbed his sleep. The little sleep he'd been getting since he made the decision to end treatment and die with a little grace and dignity. A small sad smile managed to spread across his lips at the mocking material he would hand his friend if he were to say as such out loud.

The knocking was insistent. Of course. That's what had woken him. Perhaps Sara made an escape in to the hallways again while he was bringing in his groceries. Maybe she thinks he's an idiot as well.

Making his way to the door with a polite apology on the tip of his tongue, it didn't even register in his tired and befuddled mind that Sara was eyeing him from the end of the bed as he left the room. It also took a moment to register that it wasn't one of his neighbors graciously returning his beloved animal to him. Instead, on the other side of his door stood the one person in the world that he wasn't sure he wanted to see, but yet needed oh so very much.

"House, it's the middle of the night. What the hell are you doing here?"

Knowing the man would stand there all night until his point was made, he gave into the inevitable and walked away from the open door. House would follow. Or not. A hand found it's way to scrub at his tired eyes as he sat down waiting for whatever was to come next.

"Would it make a difference?"

Wilson looked up at House with exasperation and puzzlement. Not sure what game or angle House was playing now, and just too mentally exhausted to figure it out. "House, I left my decoder ring in my other pants. If you're going to wake me at an ungodly hour, please give me a little more to work with than that."

He expected a snarky come back, or perhaps House whipping out a bottle of whiskey and trying to pretend their shitty lives hadn't gotten that much shittier in the last month. What he didn't expect was a stone still House, looking at a spot just beyond him, looking as if he might actually be sick.

"House...?"

"If I told you that I loved you, would it make a difference?"

Wilson prided himself in being able to, for the most part, follow his genius best friend's thought process. He figured it was one of the big reasons they stayed best friends. In this instance, it left him feeling a little befuddled that he really wasn't sure where House was going with this. He knew where he hoped it would go, but if after twenty years, it hasn't yet, he didn't think House would miraculously want to go there now. Being that with House, the best offense was usually going on a quick defense, he went with it as it was all his sleep deprived brain could come up with.

"What is this, some new ploy to get me to agree to a treatment I don't want just so you can get what you want? I'm sure you'd be lying anyway."

Wilson wasn't sure what possessed him to be so harsh; he didn't intend to be but he wasn't about to take it back. He wasn't going to let House, yet again, manipulate him into a decision that he didn't want.

Wilson noticed however, that his words in fact did affect his friend. If he didn't know House as well as he did, he would have been sure to miss it. But House was hurt by his statement. Very clearly so. House moved further into the room and stood before Wilson. He looked so very raw that the younger man wasn't sure what to make of him.

"Wilson, why don't you want to do any further treatment?"

God he was tired of this conversation. "As I've already told you, I don't want to be in pain. To die slowly in a hospital with nothing but platitudes from people I barely know, to see me through until the end! I don't want that!"

House now took a seat across from him and held his hands out. To Wilson, it looked like he was preparing to make a plea. Perhaps he was.

"You really think that you'd be alone? Or as you say, with people you barely know by your side? You think I wouldn't be here for you if you chose to fight?"

House had been there for him since he announced his diagnosis. More so than he wanted at times, but he was there. Wilson wanted something from House that he couldn't have though. Something that if he was honest with himself, had wanted for a very long time. Before Sam. Before Cuddy. Maybe even before Amber. Something he was sure that House wouldn't give.

"Look how you treated Cuddy when she thought she may be sick. You practically abandoned her!" He knew it was a low blow, but it was all he had right now.

House looked as if he had been physically hit. As if the metaphorical blow connected right to House's solar plexus.

He was expecting a scathing remark. Perhaps to call Wilson the ungrateful SOB that he knew he was being at the moment. That didn't happen though as House seemed to gather himself and take the high road. Something House rarely did when he was being attacked.

"You're different. I was never what Cuddy wanted or needed. I knew from the start where it was going to end. Minus the jail stay of course." A little hint of a self deprecating smile graced House's face and made Wilson's heart melt just a little bit. He let the lighthearted comment wash over him for a moment. Just a brief reprieve in the midst of the storm.

"Yeah. Probably didn't plan that one."

Thinking back to the rest of House's statement. 'You're different'. House said he was different from Cuddy. His breath caught for a moment and then gathered himself back in. Of course he was different from Cuddy. House had loved Cuddy. Couldn't stand to see her in pain. Couldn't handle if Cuddy was dying. Isn't that why House couldn't be there for her without the pleasant haze of Vicodin?

"In what way am I different?" Taking in House's confused look, "you said I'm different from Cuddy. In what way that makes any difference in the here and now?"

Though Wilson knew from experience and long association that House is for the most part very honest in what he says, he's also a master at deflection. He was expecting to hear House list the physical differences between himself and Cuddy, and then of course, the personality differences. He expected House to deflect and speak in circles until Wilson threw up his hands in surrender. He expected it to be like always! The frankness of what House did say skewed his whole understanding of his best friend.

"I love you."

It didn't mean anything. House was manipulating him again. The thought of House saying the same thing while lying in a hospital bed after yet another stunt to threaten his life. House was just manipulating more pills then.

Wasn't he?

Like he's manipulating now to get his way on the treatment.

Isn't he?

"W-what...?"

"I love you."

Hidden cameras. Yes that's what it had to be because the alternative was not possible!

"In w-what way?"

Apparently House's allotment of out of character behavior just reached it's limit. He rose on shaky legs to pace. House speak for 'I need to think. I need to make a damn point because your too much of an idiot to figure it out!'

"Jesus Wilson, I'm trying here! You really gonna make me go all out here? Get all mushy and emotional? That's your thing, not mine!"

Yes, that's exactly what Wilson needed! He needed to know what the hell House had woken him up in the middle of the night for! He had made his decision dammit and House was just playing him. Again!

Now it was his turn to stand and pace. He felt vulnerable with House towering over him. Not afraid of physical harm but of something else. Frustration and hurt radiating his entire being.

"You're the one who came here in the middle of the night! Yes, damn it, I want you, for once to tell me what the hell it is that you really feel! What you actually want!"

As quickly as his anger rose, it abated. Too worn out to continue to fuel his indignation. His weary countenance visible in every line of his body.

"I've made my decision House and whatever game you're trying to play now isn't going to change my mind. Please just go."

Wilson turned his back on his friend. Plans to retreat to the sanctuary, the loneliness of his bedroom. There was nothing more he could say, and obviously House was only there to mess with his mind again.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks. Wilson froze, not sure whether to turn around at the unexpected touch or to just brush it off. The warmth radiating from House's gentle touch was enough to break down his defenses. No matter how infuriating this man was to Wilson, he was his weakness. His life. He gave into his love for him and turned to face whatever was to come next.

The hand cupping his cheek was completely unexpected. Such tenderness that Wilson never knew House capable off. He just stood there, under the spell of his best friend's uncharacteristic behavior.

House's thumb gently stroked Wilson's cheek. The older man watched Wilson's face, transfixed and completely silent. Wilson wasn't sure what to make of it. He had a million thoughts swimming through his mind but couldn't voice any of them. As if afraid that if he did, House would realize what he was doing and bolt from the overtly tender moment.

"I promised myself I would never go there." Spoken no more than a whisper. If Wilson hadn't been standing so close, he would not have heard it.

Just as softly and with no small about of trepidation, "go where, House?"

There was a shine to the older man's eyes. Eyes that felt as if they were looking right into his soul. Perhaps they were. Perhaps this was the power that House held. The ability to see through the half truths and denials. The pain and the indifference. Perhaps House could see the need in Wilson. The love and desire that he had hidden so well. Perhaps it was that one small slip in his car outside of the restaurant when his need came through. His weakness in the desire to hear House say that he loved him. His friend solved mysteries with less information. This shouldn't be a surprise.

"Here"

One word spoken to answer Wilson's question. One word followed by a brush of lips that spoke more than a thousand words ever could. The action so tentative, it made Wilson's heart soar. The softness in stark contrast to the palpable emotions swirling around them. The need so obvious in that one small, yet so very overdue touch.

Foreheads came together to provide a temporary reprieve.

"I love you Wilson. Always have and I don't want to let you go."

The younger man stared into House's misty eyes. Eyes so insightful. A man so jaded, yet so willing to put himself out there to be hurt yet again.

House's words from a few moments ago flashing in his mind. 'Would it make a difference?'

Perhaps.

Perhaps hearing 'I love you' from the one person that matters the most makes all the difference in the world.

Perhaps now, he'd be willing to fight.

FIN