Chapter 2:

The next day House and Wilson were sitting in the hospital cafeteria eating in their usual manner, Wilson eating his own meal and House eating both of their meals, when Wilson tentatively brought up a subject he'd been debating over for the past three months. "Do you think we should move to a different apartment?"

House dropped his fork, the metal clattering to the ground and echoing around them. "What? Why?" He asked shocked that Wilson had even brought it up. He wasn't against moving but he wasn't sure if his friend was mentioning this because House wanted to move or he did. House wasn't going to move just because Wilson was incapable of turning his "people pleasing" persona off.

"Well, I think it would be nice to move to a new place and start over." Wilson supplied hesitantly. "But we don't have to if you don't want to." He quickly added still noting the shocked expression on his friend's face.

"It's fine. If you want, we can start looking for places." House answered off-handedly.

"Wha-, are you sure?" Wilson asked confused as to why he wasn't getting more resistance. House had been living in that apartment for years; Wilson had expected him to put up more of a fight.

House shrugged, "Yeah. Your logic is undeniable."

"Okay, I'll grab a newspaper and start looking." Wilson said before he finished the last bite on his plate.

"Great," House answered grabbing his now shrilling pager, "gotta go. My patient's refusing treatment." He got up and limped off huffily.

Wilson laughed to himself. If House's patients really knew what was good for them, they wouldn't refuse treatment ever.

He scooped up the trays of food after having piled the empty plates and dirty silverware neatly on top then dumped the items in their pre-ordained spots. He grabbed a paper and handed the cashier the change then went to his office to peruse the Classified Section for twenty minutes before he began his patient rounds. Apartment hunting with House was NOT going to be fun but if it meant they could start over without the past hunting them then so be it.

Three weeks later Wilson knows he was right. Apartment hunting with House wasn't fun but they did manage to find a place and the oncologist has been packing for the last three days. The more stuff he clears off the shelves and cupboards, the more boxes that pile up and the more he ends up having to move the heavy boxes around. It isn't fun nor easy on his back or hip but he knows that House would never do it and he doesn't want either one of them tripping over the mess that is their living room.

It's Thanksgiving Day and Wilson is preparing the feast. He was thoroughly exhausted from all the packing, moving the boxes and his own job so he was glad that it was just going to be the two of them for dinner; it meant that he didn't have to try too hard to cook a big meal, just something simple that they both would like.

A knock sounded at the door, startling him. Wilson heard the step thump of House so he ignored the door and kept cooking. Dinner was almost done so he grabbed a couple plates to put the food on, wincing when he put weight on his left leg.

"Greg!" a female voice called from the living room.

Wilson turned around after shutting off the burners and taking the two whole chickens out of the oven. He was surprised to see Blythe and John House standing in House's living room but didn't comment. Instead he turned his attention back to dinner and waited for the time when it was necessary to speak.

When they had first gotten together, House had been very reluctant to tell his parents about them and Wilson had respected his wishes. They both understood that neither one of their families would be happy to hear that their sons were dating another man instead of a woman so they decided that it wasn't anyone's business but their friends and true family (Cuddy and the ducklings).

"James," he heard Blythe call from the living room in surprise, "I didn't know you were going to be here."

Wilson turned around from carving up the chickens with an uncomfortable smile on his face, "Yeah, thought I'd make some dinner for us." He offered.

House gave him an 'Oh, please!' eye roll then strode over and pulled the oncologist in for a deep kiss earning shocked gasps from his parents.

House was tired of trying to hide. He'd spent his whole childhood hiding the fact that he found other boys attractive from his father. Not anymore.

"What happened to not telling them?" Wilson hissed in shock while their faces were still close enough so that only they would hear what was being said.

House shrugged, "Decided I didn't care if they knew or not." He let his blue eyes bore into Wilson's brown and finish the sentence for him - I'm not ashamed of us.

Wilson raised his left eyebrow then pulled House back down for another kiss, not caring about another shocked gasp that could be heard or that he saw House's father's face turn fourteen shades of red.

House pulled away and spun around to face his parents, "Wilson's here for much more than to make dinner, if you know what I mean." He told them crudely.

"Gregory!" John House objected harshly. Blythe House blushed but didn't make a comment. John took a few moments to calm down before he spoke to his son again, "Can I talk to you for a minute?" He ground out though it came out sounding more like a statement than a question.

"Nope." House answered lightly though he instinctively put himself between John and Wilson.

Wilson noticed the gesture with no little amount of awe and satisfaction. He hadn't seen House be protective of him like this before and he kind of liked it, though he didn't need the protection.

John wasn't taking that answer however and grabbed his son's forearm, dragging him into the hallway where both Wilson and Blythe could clearly hear him yelling.

They both blushed at John's demands to his son to "stop this foolishness and find someone he's supposed to be with" but for different reasons. Wilson felt shame creep into his heart at those words and for a minute he wondered if he really was good for House. He quickly pushed the thought out of his mind when he heard House snark that he is with that person.

Blythe felt shame and embarrassment color her cheeks at her husband's words. She didn't care WHO Gregory was with as long as that person made him happy and as far as she was concerned, that person was James. She didn't understand her husband's prejudice against gay people and she certainly didn't agree with it.

The two House men walked back into the kitchen, lending the air a feel of tension that a person could easily choke on. Wilson rolled up his sleeves and began to, once again, carve the chickens. He had a nice sweater on and didn't want it to get dirty plus it was getting VERY hot in there.

Blythe, having had years of practice with separating her boys when they were at odds with each other, stepped up. "Greg, would you help me with some things from the car? We brought some gifts for you, and James, because we won't be here for Christmas but I won't be able to get them all up here by myself."

House knew what his mother was doing and while he was normally grateful for it, it made him nervous to leave his father alone with his friend. He didn't think his father would do anything to Wilson but it wasn't a chance he really wanted to take. He stole a glance at Wilson who gave him an encouraging head nod before turning back to cutting chicken.

Blythe and House left while John came into the kitchen next to Wilson. They stood in uncomfortable silence while Wilson finished carving the chickens. He turned around and put the knife in the sink then returned for the cutting board.

He'd always insisted on using his own cutting board when cooking at House's place. House really didn't have one which only helped make it necessary that Wilson bring his own. It wasn't very big, a standard cutting board size, but it was made of thick, heavy marble. So when Wilson felt a strong, tight hand grab his left forearm and squeeze painfully, he dropped the cutting board.

It landed heavily on his left foot before it clattered thickly onto the floor. Wilson yelped but the strong hand did not withdraw, if anything it held on tighter.

"I don't know what kind of sick joke you two think you're playing but it needs to stop." John House growled in his ear.

"Mr. House, this is no joke – ah!" Wilson began, crying out quietly in pain as his arm was wrenched behind his back.

Before either of them had a chance to speak, the door clicked open and John's hand released Wilson's arm. Wilson gently rubbed his aching left arm then bent down to pick up the cutting board. He limped heavily over to the sink, inwardly wincing when he realized he'd have to lie to House and possibly make him feel guiltier because of it.

He rinsed the board off, wincing when it strained his arm then washed his hands. Nothing else he had to do tonight for dinner would involve him needing his sleeves rolled up so once he finished Wilson rolled his sweater sleeves back down, covering the already forming bruise on his forearm.

He turned around to see both House and Blythe trying to balance a few boxes and immediately went over to help, his upbringing overruling instincts. He began to feel sorry for himself when House's eyes slit in curiosity and concern. Wilson knew House wouldn't believe him when he'd lie and would continue to bug him until he got the truth; something he wasn't too keen on saying.

"Thank you James." Blythe said, grateful when Wilson took a couple of her boxes and placed them on top of a pile of moving boxes. "Well, we'd better be going. We have a plane to catch."

"Of course. It was nice to see you again." Wilson intoned politely though his eyes never met House's father.

Blythe gave him a gentle, motherly hug then turned on her son and did the same. She leaned back saying, "I'm glad that you've finally found someone who has made you happy."

House blushed, "Have a good flight." He wished as he limped over and opened the door. He allowed his mother to give him a kiss on the cheek before exiting and barely restrained himself from squeezing the hell out of his father's hand when he shook it good bye.

He was furious at his father for the things he said. He wasn't surprised but that didn't mean that he had wanted Wilson to hear every objection that his father had made. He wondered what his father had said to Wilson while he was gone.

He watched Wilson heavily limp into the kitchen with a diagnostician's concentration, frowning when his mind came close to the realm of a conclusion. Wilson hadn't been limping this badly when he'd left with his mom. Granted, standing for long periods of time in addition to all the moving, lifting and packing the oncologist has been doing could make his hip hurt worse but House didn't think that was it.

For one thing, House had seen Wilson after he'd overused his body too much and the limp still wasn't this pronounced. He knew Wilson hadn't bumped it into anything so that wasn't it. And the way the younger man seemed to favor his foot while limping made House think it was something else entirely.

House kept silent throughout dinner and their usual routine of TV watching. He made sure to keep Wilson in his peripheral vision while they watched so he could judge Wilson's physical state, hiding the frown when he often became unhappy with what he was seeing. Wilson was in pain and by the looks of it no little amount either, yet he wasn't saying anything or inclined to do anything about it. It worried House why his friend didn't want to acknowledge his own hurts but it also made the older man curious.

Wilson has never been a whiner when it comes to physical pain. Emotional, sure, you couldn't shut the man up if you wanted to once he got going but with anything physical, he kept it to himself hence why he was able to hide that his wife had been beating him for months.

House supposed it had something to do with the fact that the oncologist watched his friend and lover walk around in considerable pain all the time and therefore felt he had not right to complain when he hurt but in his opinion that was crap.

He let his mind wander through all the times he could remember Wilson being physically hurt in the past fifteen years and tried to think if he'd ever complained about it or mentioned it. He came up with a few instances. Like when Wilson had sprained his ankle back after they'd first met. Wilson hadn't had to worry about mentioning it because he was put on crutches but he had complained. Okay, okay, maybe it was more he mentioned semi-angrily that it hurt after House had nudged the sprained joint with his foot to get the oncologist's attention. Man had he been whiney then!

The more he thought about it, the more he noticed that the only times Wilson didn't complain, justly or unjustly, about whatever injury he had was when someone else had caused it. There'd been a couple times during the infarction that House had been unintentionally mean and had whacked his friend on the side or the leg with his cane often resulting in Wilson favoring that side or limping in order to favor the leg. Sure, he hadn't been able to actually use the cane yet, but it had come in handy when it came to things like drawing attention to him or taking his anger out.

The other times others have hurt Wilson and he never said a thing was when his wife was abusing him or House had done it himself. In both instances, the damage had been severe enough to leave the oncologist limping or moving as little as possible but he never said anything to anyone because he cared about the person who had done the hurting. House knew that he hadn't touched Wilson (and he never would) and that Julie was no where near in the picture which meant that the person who had done the hurting was close to someone that Wilson cared about. He felt his eyes turn ice blue at the only possible conclusion but kept his anger tempered until he got it out of Wilson.

They went to bed but instead of going to his side of the bed, House sat in a chair across from Wilson's side and watched the younger man undress, smirking when he noticed the blush cross his lover's face.

The first thing he noticed, with a frown, was that Wilson didn't seem to want to stand for too long. Instead of undressing while standing up, which is definitely much easier, he sat down on the bed to take off his socks (why the man always had to wear socks around the house was beyond the diagnostician!) then his pants.

House was distracted by his pleasurable and diagnostic watching by a flash of color on normally pale skin. After he pulled his chair forward, House pulled his friend's left leg gently onto his lap. With furrowed brows and gentle hands he inspected his friend's bruised and slightly swollen foot, "What happened?" He asked not caring that he let his concern show.

"I dropped the cutting board and it landed on my foot." Wilson explained wincing as his friend palpitated the bruise. He took off his sweater and placed it on the floor next to his pants.

"Why didn't you say anything? You could have had ice on this while we were watching TV." House asked knowing that the foot had to hurt. He looked up and soon found himself distracted from his concerned rant by a deep purpling bruise on Wilson's forearm. "When did that happen?" He asked accusingly pointing at the forearm. Wilson blushed but didn't answer, involuntarily telling the truth without saying a word. House felt anger surge through him, "My father did that?" He asked barely able to keep his voice above a growl. He knew the question should have come out incredulous but deep in the back of his mind, House had already guessed that so it came out sounding more like a statement than a question. Quickly his mind put things together and came up with an image, "Was the cutting board in your hand when he grabbed you?"

Wilson gave a small nod. He really didn't want to tell House – the man already didn't have the greatest relationship with his father and he didn't want to become another excuse for the two of them to shift further apart. "I'm sorry." He apologized, once again wondering why in the heck HE was the one apologizing.

"Don't." House objected with a raised, shaking hand. "Don't apologize. This wasn't your doing. I never should have left you alone with him." The diagnostician was furious with himself. He knew something like this would happen! Sure, he himself had done far worse things to Wilson but they'd worked through it and he'd gotten help. His father hurting his friend was a very different matter. He had no right and no pathetic excuse other than that's how he was. House had grown up with his father and knew what he was like around homosexuals. Why he thought it was a good idea to blatantly show his father that his son was one then leave the same homophobic father in a room with his lover was a good idea was beyond him!

"Stop," Wilson said softly, grabbing one of the shaking hands. He knew exactly what his friend was thinking right now and it wasn't necessary. "Stop blaming yourself. Minus a couple of bruises, I'm fine."

House returned his attention back to the injured foot making sure to hurt his friend as little as possible during his examination. "I don't think this is a simple bruise." He informed applying pressure to where the bruise seemed to be worse.

Wilson gasped and reflexively jerked away but House stilled the leg by holding on to Wilson's ankle. "Sorry," he apologized while looking into the beautiful yet pain filled brown eyes to let his friend know that he meant it. "Either you've bruised the bone, which I think is more than likely, or there's a fracture. We should get you to the hospital for an X-Ray to find out which."

Wilson scrubbed his hands over his face. He was extremely tired for the day's labor and really didn't feel like going anywhere. "If you think it's just a bruised bone then that's what I'm going with. I'll just try to stay off it as much as possible."

House offered a curt nod before standing up and placing Wilson's leg on the now vacated chair. He wasn't happy with his friend's decision but he understood it. Exhaustion rolled off Wilson like a ball rolling over a floor, bouncing into House with playful yet firm force.

When he returned it was to find Wilson lying on the bed with his eyes closed and his left hand rubbing his hip. House doubted that that's what was really hurting but he understood the need to physically do something when there was nothing that could be done. He was mad that his friend had been put in such pain by House's own father but he pushed it aside and focused on trying to help the younger man feel better.

Quickly, he stepped out into the hall closet and grabbed a spare pillow, grateful that Wilson hadn't packed those yet. He went back into the room and climbed onto his side of the bed, his back resting against the foot board as he placed the pillow below Wilson's left food and placed a towel wrapped bag of frozen peas on top. It was awkward considering Wilson's right leg was in the way but House managed with little difficulty and was even pleased to be able to watch the taught lines around the oncologist's eyes and mouth release.

Pleased that he was able to help ease some of Wilson's pain, House got off the bed and changed into pajama pants. He took his evening Ibuprofen then grabbed a blanket from the hallway closet then climbed onto bed, throwing the blanket over himself and his lover who, while relaxed, wasn't asleep yet.

Wilson cracked an eye open, watching House carefully as the scruffy doctor curled himself around the oncologist almost protectively. "Thanks." He offered, using his right hand to rub gentle, soothing circles on House's back.

Instead of saying, I'm sorry it was necessary, like his mind was screaming at him to, House pulled back slightly and gave Wilson a good night kiss before re-settling himself around the younger man. Just before he fell asleep, the right words to say came to him. He mumbled, "I love you." Then closed his eyes and allowed the steady beating of Wilson's heart to lull him into sleep.