For what he suspected was the third night in a row, House left Cuddy's in the middle of the night and drove to the hospital. He went to the MRI room and calibrated the machine to the specifications he'd used for the past two days. He called himself crazy as he changed into the gown, wondering what Wilson would say if he knew House actually thought he could go back and change things from his past.

Not that he actually thought this. It was most likely a brain tumour causing disorientation and false memories.

But the thought of Wilson gave House an idea of what to, as ludicrous as the idea was, try and change.

House's biggest regret from the last year was not telling Wilson his true feelings for him. He'd thought about it many times but hadn't been able to work up the courage—mostly because he didn't think his friend felt the same way and didn't want to ruin their friendship. But really, there was no way for him to know whether Wilson felt the same without asking him. The best opportunity to do that, House decided, would have been the night Wilson gave him the organ. When the two friends had looked at each other from across the room, House had felt something and could have sworn Wilson had felt it too. Then Wilson had turned and left the room, and House had wanted to follow him, go tell him how he felt...but he hadn't. He'd turned to the organ and played a song instead, because he'd been too afraid Wilson would hate him if he knew his true feelings.

Well not this time.

Feeling like an idiot because he knew there was no way this could possibly work and the fact that he was even trying it was just another indicator that there was something wrong with his brain, House lay back in the machine and focused on that night, on Wilson giving him the organ, on the look they shared across the room on...

March 15, 2010

Wilson stood near the hallway, giving him a tender smile that he knew he was returning.

Holy fuck! It had worked. That, or, more likely, House was hallucinating, but he couldn't know that until he returned to the present and had Cuddy (or, hopefully, Wilson) set him straight on what was happening, what had happened.

Still wearing the smile, Wilson turned, with a slight inclination of the head House hadn't noticed the first time around, and headed for his room.

House grabbed his cane from where he'd hooked it on the closet doorknob, got off the bench, and followed him, walking quickly to catch up. How to do this? He didn't want to just come right out and say it, he had to lead into it...

"That's a lot of money to spend on an instrument, considering you don't play," House commented.

Wilson glanced at him. "That thought did cross my mind. But somehow, I thought it belonged here."

Wilson was telling House he wanted him there permanently. He hadn't reunited with Sam yet, so he didn't foresee kicking House out. But he did foresee...or he wanted to foresee...House staying.

House smiled at him. Or maybe it was the leftover smile from getting the organ. Or something. "You know I can't stay here forever, Wilson."

He most certainly did not imagine the falter in his friend's face. No, Wilson definitely did not want House moving out, not at this point in time.

"I bought this condo for us," Wilson explained, looking at House carefully. "Remember, extra big fridge? Two bedrooms?"

"Now there's the problem," House responded, smirking slightly. "The fridge, fine, but the bedroom...it's too small, Wilson. You get this huge king-sized bed and I have to sleep on this little queen-sized bed, and my bathroom doesn't even have a tub." He put his hand to his chin in mock-thought. "Hmm, if only there were some way to remedy that..."

Wilson blushed and smiled shyly. "I'm not switching rooms with you, House," he said, but his expression gave away the fact that he knew perfectly well that wasn't what House was suggesting.

"Of course not," House agreed. "It's your condo. But I'm sure that if we put our heads together we can find a way for both of us to get the nice room with the king-sized bed and the fancy bathroom with a tub."

"Maybe...we could share," Wilson suggested, giving House a smile that was definitely flirty.

"We could give that a try," House decided. "See if there's room for both of us."

"Definitely," Wilson agreed. He stepped into the bedroom and House followed him. "It is a pretty big bed," Wilson pointed out.

House nodded. "Well, since it's your condo, you can go lay down first and then decide if there's enough space to share with me."

Wilson did as instructed, taking off his shoes before lying down flat on his back on top of the comforter. "Well it certainly seems like there's enough space," he said. "But just to be safe, you should get over here and make sure there's enough room for you."

House walked over to the bed, leaning his cane against the wall and sitting down. He kicked off his shoes and lay on his back beside his best friend. "Oh yeah," House agreed. "This could definitely work."

"There's just one thing though," Wilson said, and House turned to look at him. "Spread out your arms," the younger man said, and House complied. When Wilson copied him, his hand encountered House's forearm.

"I see," House said, turning over to face Wilson. "Well, I can see how that could potentially be a problem, but it doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you."

"No," Wilson shook his head, smiling at House. "It doesn't bother me."

"Oh, but there's something else," House said.

"What?"

"Do you ever move around in your sleep?"

"Sometimes," Wilson nodded.

"So do I," House explained. "So if...in the middle of the night...you move over..."

Getting the hint, Wilson shimmied himself closer to the centre of the bed.

"...and at the same time, I move over..." House also scooted in, lying back so his and Wilson's shoulders and the lengths of their arms were touching.

"I see what you mean," Wilson agreed. "But I'm okay with it if you are."

"I'm okay with it."

"That's good."

For a second they just lay, slightly touching, but then Wilson gasped. "Wait a minute."

House turned on his side to look at him. "What?"

Also turning, so they were lying on their sides facing each other, Wilson elaborated, "Well, sometimes...in my sleep, I might...without realising it...put my arm across the person sharing my bed." He demonstrated, sliding a hand across House's waist and up his back, where he let it rest.

"Oh," House said. "Well, I guess that's all right. I might...also without realising it...do a similar thing..." He snuck his hand down to Wilson's waist, sliding it down to grab his ass.

Wilson chuckled. "Well, I guess I can live with that."

They looked at each other for a second before House prompted, "Anything else?"

"There is another thing," Wilson admitted. "If...the both of us were to move this way in our sleep...you know...accidentally get this close...I might..."

Their eyes were locked together with a similar look from earlier, only more intense, as Wilson slowly moved forward, pressing on House's back to move him closer. House didn't close his eyes until just before Wilson's lips brushed his. He moved his hand from Wilson's ass to the back of his neck to pull him in closer, wanting, needing something deeper, something more.

The back of House's mind reminded him that this was most probably either a dream or a hallucination but he didn't care. It felt so real, Wilson kissing him felt so real that he wanted it, dream or hallucination or not. He smelled just like the real Wilson, and he tasted like...well, House wouldn't know whether he tasted like the real Wilson, but he tasted good. And god was he a good kisser!

House opened his mouth to give Wilson some tongue and Wilson copied him. He pulled their bodies closer, kissing more deeply, more frantically. Eventually he gave up and just pulled Wilson on top of him, because more of their bodies could touch that way.

It was everything House always thought it would be. New, imperfect, and all he'd ever wanted. After, he held Wilson close, afraid if he let go he would lose this moment. It was very possible. More than possible, it was probable. This probably wasn't even real. He would probably wake up the next morning in Cuddy's bed, he'd have to ask her what the date was and how many times they had sex, and she would insist on him getting a brain scan. And they would find something and he would lose not only this with Wilson, but his very mind. House squeezed Wilson against him tighter, watching him drift off to sleep. He didn't want to go to sleep. He was afraid of what would happen when he woke up.

House squinted his eyes open. All he could see was the off-white of the ceiling, which didn't tell him much. So he opened his eyes all the way and his heart dropped into his stomach.

Cuddy's bedroom.

It hadn't worked.

Well of course it hadn't worked! Had House ever seriously thought he could go back in time and change the past?

No, not really.

He had just hoped.

House gave a silent sigh. He would schedule an MRI—a supervised brain MRI, not these ridiculous leg MRIs he kept not giving himself—today, see if there was something there that would explain these ridiculous hallucinations. He grabbed his phone—6:42 a.m. on Friday the 12th. Well at least the date made sense. What didn't make sense was the fact that Cuddy was still in bed next to him; she usually woke up early in the mornings and worked out. Like House used to before his infarction. Well, since it was already kind of late for her, she wouldn't mind if he woke her up...

He leaned over her and started kissing her neck. Cuddy made a sleepy sound before turning from her side onto her back. "House, not now," she whined, sounding exasperated. "I'm trying to sleep."

"It's six forty-five," he pointed out, continuing to mouth at her.

"And I'd like to spend the next fifteen minutes sleeping," she said firmly, turning over to roll away from him.

He stared at her. This wasn't like her at all. Even when she did refuse him sex, which wasn't often at all, she was always playful about it. She loved it as much as he did and was usually willing for a morning romp if they were both awake. House decided she must not be feeling well or maybe didn't get much sleep and didn't press her. He laid himself back down on the bed and dozed until it was time to get up.

As House started to go about his morning, he realised something was very off. Cuddy was much quieter than usual, and the outfit she picked, instead of borderline-unprofessional-sexy, was completely unflattering on her. And she...hadn't smiled all morning.

"What's wrong?" House asked her, spoon-feeding himself cereal while watching his girlfriend spoon-feed Rachel cereal.

Cuddy stared at him. "What are you talking about?" It sounded defensive.

"You're not being yourself, that's all," House explained, watching her. "You weren't in the mood for sex, you've been giving me the silent treatment since I woke up, and that outfit makes you look like you've gained ten pounds."

She shocked him by tossing the spoon on the table. "You don't have to be such an asshole, House!" she said, picking up Rachel and taking her to the next room. He stared after her, openmouthed. What sort of Twilight Zone was this? Since when was Cuddy sensitive about her weight?—she had the best 44-year-old body House had ever seen on a non-celebrity. And in what universe would she swear in front of her two-year-old daughter?

Unless he was hallucinating. House's heart sank again. It really was getting bad. All right, as soon as he got to the hospital, he would get Wilson and ask him to give him an MRI...he knew Cuddy had asked him to tell her if his symptoms got worse, but since he wasn't even really sure the Cuddy he was seeing was real, he didn't want to do that. It scared him. He almost didn't trust himself to drive to the hospital, but he decided that was a better alternative than asking either pissed off Cuddy or hallucination Cuddy, if that was what she was, for a ride to work.