Hey all! How do ya do? I'm Jeni V and this is the first story I've posted on in three years! (don't go looking for the other one, it's under a different penname and it's CRAP). So yeah...just so ya know, most of this story was written in hours after midnight so if things sound a little off...well, you know why.

Title: Everybody Lies. Nobody Cares.

Author: Jeni V

Rating: I said M, for language, sexual talk, and because I don't know where this is heading wink

Pairing: House/Wilson

Summary: At that moment, he didn't even care why House always lied. All he wanted to know is why he couldn't bring himself to lie back. When House seems to believe Cuddy is hitting on him, he realizes something shocking. But he won't tell Wilson the truth. After all, everybody lies. But does anyone care? House/Wilson

Disclaimer: I don't own House M.D. or its characters but I'd like to think that if I did, the show would still be awesome.

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Greg House sat inside his glass office on a Monday afternoon. Jazz poured out of his stereo and his foot tapped absentmindedly to the rhythm. Pressing his fingers together and resting his elbows on the armrests, he pondered heavily over a quite dramatic issue.

Was Cuddy coming onto him?

She definitely seemed to be coming onto him. House was positive what with her obviously flirtatious, "Do you like me, House?" and her obviously flirtatious headshaking and her obviously flirtatious…well, er, breasts. House shook his head, physically attempting to get rid off those tantalizing yet judgment-skewing thoughts.

House had always thought Cuddy to be attractive, of course. The way his aqua blue eyes followed her ass and the line of her cleavage made it all too obvious. But still, something didn't quite feel right about the whole situation. She was definitely insinuating something. House knew that quite well. But…now that she made that obvious, he suddenly found her a little less attractive. After all, Greg House wanted to chase his whores before submitting them to his will.

As images of brothel houses began to litter his mind, House's stereo stopped playing music. He forgot to put the CD on repeat. Sighing, he stood up, using his cane to press the OFF button. Having nothing to do since he was running away from Cuddy's evil, clinic duty-delivering twin, he wandered out of his office and down the hall.

Letting his feet and cane guide him, he let his mind run off somewhere else. To the land of dramatic, Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital issues. Sigh, House was beginning to believe his life could be a television show. He took a deep breath and was about to ask himself more Cuddy-related questions when suddenly, his feet stopped. House looked up and focused on the name upon the wooden office door.

James Wilson, M.D.

Doctor of Oncology

House stared. Something clicked within some insignificant part of his mind at the sight of the frosted white name directly before him. But, House being House he disregarded it and barged through the door, quelling the hopeful feeling he got knowing Wilson kept his door unlocked.

James Wilson looked up from his lunch with a slightly surprised look. Upon realizing it was no other than his supposed best friend (he still asked himself how that came to be), his brow furrowed and a spicy insult shot to the tip of his tongue. But before he could open his mouth, the voice of his current annoyance rang out.

"If a woman with tits big enough to stop you in your tracks practically gives you bedroom eyes and you're not entirely aroused, does that make you gay?" The venomous sarcasm in House's attitude hid his need to get a serious answer.

It was Wilson's turn to stare. House looked practically comical in the way he stood; his cane making him look dignified and yet his overly contemplative expression as he stared at the ceiling stole his urbane appearance. Wilson gave him a look that purely said, "What the f-?"

"Uh. Uh, what?" Wilson asked, stuttering in confusion. House walked over to the front of Wilson's desk and grabbed the fork that lay against his salad tray. Wilson opened his mouth to retort but House had already begun savagely stabbing his lunch and eating everything he got onto the fork. Wilson sighed, noting to lock his door next time he ate lunch. House dropped the fork and stood up, making a slight look of disgust.

"Get ranch dressing next time, you deprived fool." He said, smacking his lips in annoyance at the oil dressing glossing them. Wilson glared at the man before him before changing the subject.

"Where is this coming from?" he said. House raised an eyebrow at the oncologist.

"Well see, both dressings will kill you but ranch tastes better."