House accepted his latte from the waitress and sat back in the booth. The pain in his leg gnawed away at the back of his mind. He pushed it aside rudely and fixed his eyes on his companion, who was regarding him silently. "You're looking at me."

"It's what I do." Horatio stirred the cappuccino and leaned forward, forearms on the table. "So when do you get back to New Jersey?"

"I have two weeks off. I could conceivably spend all of it here."

"Meaning?"

House shrugged. "Give me a reason to stay."

Horatio picked up the cappuccino and took a sip. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but House didn't need to see eyes to read people. "Miami can be a nice place," he said at last. "If you have the right guide."

Amusement kindled. "Is that an offer?"

"You have to admit that I know Miami a lot better than you do. I've been to clubs you've probably never even heard of."

"Like?"

Horatio toyed with the spoon for a moment. "There's a place downtown called Club Liquid. It's a big night tonight. Do you want to go?"

House wanted to smile. And eventually, he did. "No point. The way my leg's behaving, I'll be on my ass all night. But, if you want, you can come back to the hotel and we can have a few drinks. My bar is stocked."

"No problem. Listen, I gotta run. Can you take a cab back?"

"Believe it or not, I can use public transportation," House replied dryly. "Give me a warning before you get there."

"I'll call you." Horatio drained the cappuccino. "See you later."

"Definitely."

Horatio tilted his head back and let the water rinse a day's worth of sweat and dirt from his hair. He eschewed the soap in favour of some new cocoa butter body wash that was supposed to be good for his skin, and settled on all black again. Couldn't go wrong with all black. He shaved, cleaned his shoes, took a look at himself in the mirror.

He put on his sunglasses. "Here we go."

House was entirely unsurprised to see that Horatio, who was standing in the corridor, was wearing sunglasses. "It's night," he remarked, holding the door open.

"Didn't you ever hear that song?"

House ignored the comment. "You smell like...something."

"Something good, I hope."

"You had another shower," House said accusingly.

Horatio's lips twitched ever so slightly in what might have been a smile. "So did you."

House flushed, and he figured he was probably turning a colour that was a shade closer to Horatio's hair than he would have liked. "Are you going to come in or are you content to stand in the corridor and scare the guests?"

Horatio stepped past House without further ado, and wandered into the living room. "You've got a nice view."

House moved to stand behind Horatio, and looked over the redhead's shoulder at the sprinkler-green grass and, about a mile off, the shockingly blue sea. "Yeah, Miami has a lot of nice views. Perry Ellis, right? 360?"

Horatio took off his sunglasses and turned to give House a startled look. "You are unnerving."

"You're not the first to express that opinion." House turned and headed for the kitchen. "Drink? I have..." He squinted into the bottles of alcohol. "Never mind, I'll make you a cosmopolitan."

"Thank you." Horatio slid onto a stool and watched as House put the drink together. Vodka, Triple Sec, cranberry juice and a twist of lime. Ice and a few shakes later, Horatio had an interesting-looking pink drink sitting before him. He took a sip. "Nice."

"Never had one?"

"No."

"First time for everything," House commented, and picked up his own glass. "Is he going to be charged with murder?"

"He'll probably plead guilty to involuntary manslaughter. That carries six years."

"Shame." House swiveled on the stool to look through the glass doors at the water. "Leo was a nice kid. I didn't know him well, but he always remembered me. He had this...smile. Something about him, you know? I know the guy probably didn't mean to kill him, and liking it that rough always comes with a certain element of danger, but still."

"He deserved better."

"We all deserve better." House shook his head. "This is a shitty life."

"It's up to us to make it better where we can," Horatio said simply. "You save lives. I help the dead. We're in the front lines, Greg. We fight the good fight. It's all that matters."

House glanced at his companion. His hair had a glow in the afternoon sun that made House want to run for the fire extinguisher. "What drives you?"

Horatio lowered his head and stared into his cosmopolitan. "The promise of redemption," he said softly. "There are things in my past...terrible things...that I have to atone for. I've been trying for years, but I'm not there yet."

"When will you know when you've done enough?"

"I don't know." Horatio looked up at him, and a tiny shiver crept up House's spine. There was something in those blue eyes, something tortured, something that reminded him uncomfortably of himself. Like looking into a mirror. "I don't know if it'll ever be enough."

House looked out across the ocean, at the vast expanse of water that was just beginning to turn to gold, and slid his left hand over the counter until his fingers collided with Horatio's. He felt his way over the other man's hand, fingertips just barely brushing skin, then took the hand tentatively in his. The light pressure he felt in answer told him it was okay. "It's going to be all right," he said quietly. "You'll make it."

From the corner of his eye, he thought Horatio smiled. "Yes," came the reply. "We both will."

"It's getting late. I should be going."

They had been on the porch for the last two hours, watching the sun set and making light conversation. Miami lay beneath them, the lights glittering like a thousand diamonds.

"It's not that late," House said unconvincingly.

Horatio smiled and drained his coffee. "It's late enough." He stood up, and House rose as well. They walked silently to the door. "Look," he began awkwardly. "This was...it was nice. I'd like to see you again." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how needy they sounded. But it was too late to go back now.

House's eyes, more grey now in the darkness, looked steadily at him. "Tomorrow," he said. "Come by after work."

"Okay." Horatio was suddenly aware of his heartbeat. "I'll call you."

"You do that." And before he could protest, House leaned forward and kissed him, just the lightest touch of lips to lips, so light it could almost not be called a kiss. "Goodnight, Horatio."

Horatio put on his sunglasses in the hopes that it would somehow mask his confusion, which of course it didn't. "Good...goodnight, Greg."

House sank into the couch. Well, that went well. What had he been thinking? Not only did he agree to see Horatio again - considering Horatio had an odd effect on him, that was not necessarily an intelligent thing to do - but he had kissed the man. Kissed him.

"Jesus Christ," he said aloud, and decided that it was about time he found another messiah to blaspheme.

What the hell was he doing? He'd come from New Jersey to Miami entirely devoid of any intention to do anything more serious than heavy flirting or perhaps a one-night stand or two. And what was this? Gregory House was entering the dating scene? He'd have to hide this from the ducklings when he got back - not to mention Wilson.

House got up, headed for the bedroom, and popped a Vicodin. He couldn't think. Sleep would have to do for now.

"H." Delko knocked on the door. "You mind if I go home early? I caught up on my backlog, I just got a couple more things to do."

"Sure, Eric." Horatio smiled. "You and Calleigh have fun."

Delko's boyish face flushed, and he ducked his head. A small smile curved his lips. "How'd you know?"

"Because it's obvious."

"You've been acting kind of funny lately." Delko was watching him. "If I didn't know better I'd say you got yourself a girlfriend."

"Maybe I have," Horatio said with deliberate mysteriousness, and smiled. "Go on, Eric. Take care."

Once Delko was gone, Horatio stood up and paced the length of the small room with measured strides. He paused by the glass door, looking out across the manicured lawns of the lab, and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. The voice that answered was rough, like Horatio had just woken him from sleep. "Greg. Can I come over?"

House sounded surprised but agreeable. "Sure."

"Great. I'll be there in ten minutes."

Horatio leaned his forehead lightly against the door and knocked softly before gripping the back of his neck with his hand. His muscles were tense, and it was only half past six, but he was tired. The door opened, and he looked up into blue eyes. "Greg."

House appraised him and delivered the verdict frankly. "You look like hell."

"That's how I feel."

"Coffee?"

Horatio shut the door behind himself and took a seat on the same bar stool he'd occupied the day before. "Yes, coffee would be nice." He slid off his sunglasses and leaned his forehead into his hands.

"Long day?"

"Something like that." Horatio didn't volunteer any information. He didn't know how to. How was he supposed to explain that his shoulders were tight because he'd been thinking about House all day? He couldn't even justify it to himself. "How was your day?"

House snorted, and the sudden smell of coffee made Horatio open his eyes to see a cup of it in front of him. "I took some pills and slept. Then I woke up. Then I took some more pills and slept a little more. Then you called. Not a bad day, in the scheme of things." He sat down on a stool on the other side of the counter and wrapped his hands around the cup. "I'm out of coffee," he explained. "Only had enough for one cup, so...I guess we're sharing."

"That's fine," Horatio said, his voice sounding a little too dry for his liking, and cleared his throat. "What kind of doctor are you?"

"What kinds would be the more accurate question," House replied. "I'm a diagnostician with a double specialty of infectious disease and nephrology."

The word 'nephrology' wandered through Horatio's mind in search of something to connect with. "Kidneys."

"Yep, kidneys." House took a sip of the coffee and promptly winced. "Way too hot."

Horatio looked into the strangely spellbinding blue eyes with no idea what to say. He settled for chewing meditatively on a thumbnail and directing his gaze back down into the coffee.

Fingers settled on his wrist. "Hey."

Horatio glanced up, unsettled by the touch. "Hmm?"

House gently pulled Horatio's hand from his mouth. "Don't bite your fingernails. Bad for your health and your teeth."

Horatio looked at House's hand, which was still holding his. "Greg -"

"I'm not psychic," House said intently, leaning forward across the counter until their heads were almost touching. "You have to tell me what you want. Do you want purely platonic friendship, a listening ear, a civil union, a quick climb up Mount Gregory? I'm going to need something to go on."

Horatio's mind flooded. He didn't know what to think or say. He could barely move. He turned his wrist and gripped House's hand. "I want something beautiful," he said quietly. "Something real. It doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to be right. Someone to hold." House was opening his mouth to say something, but Horatio held up his free hand and finished softly, "Everybody needs somebody."

"I don't know if I'm any good for anyone," House said straightforwardly. "I can be a righteous pain in the ass."

"That doesn't mean you don't deserve to be happy."

"You think you can do that?" House tilted his head and eyed Horatio shrewdly in a way that made the blood rush to his face. "You think we can make each other happy?"

Horatio searched for the words to rectify the huge mistake he'd just made. "We're both searching for something. Maybe we can find what we need in each other. Look, I don't know. Forget it. Forget I said anything."

"Would you shut up and listen?" House yanked Horatio's hand back when he tried to move it. "What I'm trying to tell you is that I'm willing to give it a shot."

Horatio was so taken aback he didn't move for a few moments. "You are?"

"I know we've only known each other for two days, but...yeah. Why not?"

Horatio stared at House. Slowly, like a man in a dream, he reached out and touched House's face, fingers sliding down the tortuous curve of one cheekbone. "This is crazy."

House smirked. "Why be sane?" he whispered, leaning forward. He might as well have leapt into Horatio's lap, so much did Horatio notice the invasion of space. "Sanity is overrated."

"I'll second that," Horatio murmured, and then their mouths collided in a sweet, awkward kiss that set off fireworks behind his eyelids. His fingers searched the soft hair at the base of House's head, and only the edge of the counter digging into his chest reminded him of their uncomfortable position. "Greg."

House opened his eyes and made a noise of irritation. "Couch."

Horatio sat obediently on the couch, and his breath caught as House slid onto his lap, one hand on his thigh like he was in pain. "You all right?" Horatio asked, carefully adjusting his position so that it made things easier for the other man.

"I'll be fine," House grunted, and then his hands were in Horatio's hair, tilting his head upward. "Am I too heavy?"

Too heavy? Horatio couldn't remember when he'd felt more comfortable. "No," he said. "You're fine." He rested his hands on House's waist, ran one down to the right thigh. "Where is it?"

House stiffened ever so slightly. "Here," he said, and laid his hand on Horatio's, shifting it until Horatio could feel an irregularity in the muscle through the aged denim. "Part of the quadriceps muscle died, so we had to remove it. A lot more could have been done if they'd made the right diagnosis - or if I had - but the only symptom was pain. Not many people get to experience muscle death."

Horatio pressed lightly with his fingertips, exploring the area. He had never experienced muscle death himself, but he thought he could nonetheless imagine how much pain House was in. "I was stabbed once," he said softly. "Ten years ago. It was pretty bad."

"Well, fair's fair." House raised an eyebrow. "You know where mine are. Where are yours?"

Horatio bit his lip. Showing his scars was not something to which he ever looked forward. Ten years might have passed, but he didn't like them any more than he had when they were still gaping wounds. He took House's hand in his and moved it to the lower left side of his chest, where he manipulated House's fingertips until they slid over the first of the two raised scars.

House's face closed in concentration as he touched the scars through Horatio's shirt. "This was a big knife. The scars are wide."

"It was a combat knife."

House looked up at Horatio. The man's face was unreadable. "A combat knife," he repeated. "You were stabbed twice with a combat knife. And you lived?"

"Barely." Horatio shifted a little, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. "I only bled for about five minutes before someone got the paramedics. It could have been worse."

House shook his head. "You're a walking miracle." He paused for a moment, weighing the words he was about to say. "I want to see them."

Horatio's eyes rested on him. "Show me yours, I'll show you mine."

House smiled slightly. "You take off your shirt, then I'll take off my pants." He watched in amusement as the lieutenant's face turned a colour that did not at all go with his hair. "Come on," he said, and heaved himself up off of Horatio, falling into the couch next to him. "We'll have a pissing match as to whose are cooler."

Horatio stood up, hands on hips, and walked to the end of the living room, looking out through the glass at the darkening city beneath them. "Okay," he said, and turned back to House. With a graceful shrug of his shoulders he slipped out of the jacket, and tossed it onto the couch. Fingers rose to the first button of his shirt, and that was when House pushed himself to his feet.

"I'll do it," he said, moving towards the man. He brushed Horatio's fingers aside and set to unbuttoning the shirt himself. Every inch of skin revealed looked to be both perfectly smooth and heavily freckled. Once the shirt was unbuttoned, House pulled it out of Horatio's pants and drew back the left side. "Ooh."

The first scar was positioned between the seventh and eighth ribs. It was clean; the knife had been driven straight in and pulled straight out without complication. House reasoned that Horatio had probably been too stunned to react. The strike would surely have punctured the lung, which would no doubt have led to all sorts of wonderful medical things.

"Pneumothorax," House murmured, tracing the scar with his finger, and shifted his hand upwards until he laid it flat in the middle of Horatio's chest. "Hemothorax." He slid his hand around, feeling along Horatio's side until his fingers brushed a small scar beneath his arm. "Chest tube."

The second scar was lower, and more ragged than the first. Either Horatio had been fighting, or his assailant had become desperate to kill him. House pressed his hand to the scar. "This would have penetrated the splenic flexure of your colon." He glanced up at Horatio, who stared back blankly. "It must've hurt like a bitch," House clarified.

"It did." Horatio gave a half-smile. "I forgot for a moment that you're a doctor."

"Did you know I was shot?" House turned his head and fingered the small scar on the right side of his neck. "One here, that severed the jugular..." He pulled up his T-shirt to reveal the matching scar on his abdomen. "...and this one. Pierced the stomach, nicked the bowel, lodged in a posterior rib."

"I think you win."

House smiled despite himself. "You haven't seen the fun one." He started unbuckling his belt. Horatio looked mildly surprised but said nothing right up until House pushed his jeans down to his knees. The expression he saw on Horatio's face was priceless and exactly what he'd been expecting.

"Greg..."

House glanced down and followed the edges of the large, dented scar with one fingertip. "I vaguely remember a thigh muscle being here," he said lightly. "But then, it was so long ago I could be wrong."

"How long ago?"

House didn't miss how transfixed Horatio's eyes were. "Six and a half years. Seven in November." He pulled his jeans back up. "Not too nice, is it?"

"Were you like this before your leg?" Horatio asked him.

House thought he would have felt irritated by the question, but instead he didn't mind at all. "Pretty much." He took a step that closed the distance between them and reached out to put his hands on Horatio's hips as though he were steadying himself. "Were you like this before the stabbing?"

"Pretty much." The redhead's voice was soft. "It's a long story."

"And one day there will be a time for it, but that time is not now." House moved his hands so that they rested on the warm skin of Horatio's waist, and took another step forward that brought him to only inches away. He could feel the heat radiating from the other man's body.

House didn't know entirely what he was intending to do, but he figured that the best thing for it was probably just to go with the flow. And the flow led him to slide his arms around Horatio and pull him close. Horatio was stiff, but only for a moment. His body relaxed, and he leaned into the embrace, his forehead coming down on House's shoulder.

House leaned his cheek against Horatio's hair and inhaled. The subtle, comfortable scent of his cologne drifted up to his nose, mingled with the light tang of sweat. House tightened his grip ever so slightly. He hadn't felt this kind of simple contentment in a long time, and he didn't know when he was going to feel it again.

Horatio lifted his head and his hands rose to House's face, cradling it. "I should go," he whispered.

"Bullshit," House growled, linking his fingers behind Horatio's back. "You're staying here tonight. You're in no shape to be alone."

One eyebrow arched. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Neither of us is in any shape to be alone. Ever. So maybe it's about time we listened to the little voice in our heads telling us to get out there and get a life, hmm?" House put his nose against Horatio's. "You. Are. Not. Leaving."

Dark blue eyes looked back into his with curiosity and no small measure of amusement. "Fine. I'm not leaving. But that means you make us dinner."

"If that's what it takes." House pulled back, eyed Horatio up and down. "Pasta?"

"Pasta sounds great."

Horatio, drinking the rest of the cold coffee, studied House's face carefully and thought to himself that the man had no idea how beautiful he was. And he was beautiful; his face was gaunt and vulnerable and tender and sweet and strangely haunted. Horatio wanted nothing more than to smooth the creases from the wide brow with his fingertips, to trace the contours of the jaw. But he knew better than to push his luck. He was already getting dinner.

House wiped his hands on a towel and tossed it onto the counter. "That should be ready in ten minutes. I have a bottle of wine chilling..." He raised his eyebrows in a questioning way.

"Sure." Horatio smiled. "Do you always keep wine in the refrigerator in the hopes that some nubile young thing will accidentally stumble through your door?"

House rolled his eyes. "You are not a nubile young thing."

"Well, you were at Edge. It has a young crowd. You tell me."

"Teenagers are nice. Pretty to look at, delightful to hold, but unfortunately they have a nasty way of either getting too emotionally attached or doing the reverse. Young people also come with a blinding proliferation of STDs that I have no earthly desire to contract." House pulled up a stool. "Elderly gentlemen like yourself have a significantly smaller risk of having AIDS or some other such fun thing."

Horatio snorted despite himself. "How old are you?"

"Forty-five. You?"

"Forty-eight."

"See? My point exactly." House folded his arms across his chest and did a wonderful job of looking smug. Horatio had to wonder how many tries in front of a mirror it had taken to perfect that expression. "Oh, do you have any objection to cheddar on the sauce? I wasn't exactly expecting to play chef."

"Cheddar is fine." Horatio drained the coffee and set the cup on the counter. "What?"

"You look happy."

"I apologize."

House smothered a laugh. "Why are you happy?"

"I'm basking in the glow of your wonderful presence," Horatio replied mildly, unsettled by the fact that that was absolutely the truth.

"Okay, Lieutenant Wise-Ass. I get it, I get it." House gave an evil grin as he turned to the stove. God, the man was unpredictable. Horatio thought he was definitely a little frightened of this one. "You like me."

He'd come this far. Why not stick his neck out all the way? What did he have to lose - except pretty much everything? "I wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"Well, you're in luck." House unceremoniously dumped the pasta into a colander, and glanced back at Horatio, steam rising around his face. "I like you too."

Horatio bit down on his tongue to stop himself from reacting inanely. "I think you burned the pasta."

House's features twisted themselves into a caricature of alarm. He had the most expressive face Horatio had ever seen. "Oh my God, I burned the pasta," he said in the dry, toneless voice of a bored telemarketer. "What are we going to do. Oh, wait, I know. We'll just have the sauce." And just as abruptly, his face changed again, his eyebrows shooting up. "Oh shit."

So that was what was burning. Horatio edged around the counter and peered into the pan. Yep, there was definitely some charring tomato sauce going on. House cursed and thrust the pan into the sink, turning the water on full blast and sending steam throughout the kitchen. He turned, leaning casually against the counter, and suggested nonchalantly, "Macaroni and cheese?"

Horatio laughed. It felt like the first time in years. "Next time I cook."

"Deal," House vowed, and went to the fridge to get the cheese.

Dinner was an informal affair, the two of them on the couch with bowls of macaroni and cheese and matching glasses of white wine. The television was muted, and periodically Horatio would glance at it and raise his eyebrows. "Is that porn?" he had asked once.

"Just as good," House had replied happily. "It's 'The L Word'. I always watch it on mute."

And Horatio had not asked again.

House watched the light from the television flicker patterns on Horatio's face and glow in his red hair. "Irish, obviously," he said.

"Half and half."

"What's the other half?"

"Italian." Horatio smiled. "I know, I know..."

"What part of you is Italian, exactly?" House squinted at him. With that colouring, House would have bet a good chunk of his paycheck that Horatio had not a speck of anything but leprechaun in him. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"My father was Italian. His name was originally Cannavaro, but he anglicized it to Caine. My mother was Irish."

"Only child?"

"Yes. You?"

"Yep." House shifted in discomfort. He didn't like to talk about his childhood. Instead, he took a sip of the wine, knowing it probably wouldn't react well with all the Vicodin he was taking and not caring. He stretched his leg out carefully, and swung it up onto the couch. His foot landed squarely in Horatio's lap.

An eyebrow arched in his direction. "Yes?"

"My leg cramps being tensed all the time," House said. "I just need to stretch it." Horatio's eyebrow descended slowly, and he resumed eating without further comment. House smirked to himself. "So how was your day?"

"Not while we're eating."

House whistled. "That bad, huh?"

Horatio set aside the empty bowl and adjusted his position so that his torso more or less faced House. "We got a floater. She'd been in the water about thirty-six hours, been dead for forty-eight. COD was blunt force trauma to the head. We ID'd her by DNA. That amount of time in the water, she could have been anyone, and dental records weren't any help because she didn't have a whole lot of teeth left." He paused for breath. "Her father did it when he discovered the girl was seeing a black guy."

House blinked. He didn't know what to say. "What did you do?"

"Once I got the confession, I told them to book the son of a bitch." Horatio shook his head. "It's a crazy world. Your average citizen has no idea how it is and what we protect them from."

"Horatio Caine, avenging angel," House mused. "It does have a ring to it." He winced as the dull throbbing in his leg turned into sharper pain, and began massaging it. "What time is it?"

Horatio checked his watch. "After eleven. I have work tomorrow."

"Yeah." House retracted his leg from off of Horatio's lap and got to his feet. His thigh didn't feel any better for the vertical position. "Are we okay with splitting the bed or are you going to insist on the pull-out?"

House thought he saw a slight blush. "I learned to share."

"Good boy." House limped into the bathroom and dug around for the small toothbrush the hotel provided. He always brought his own. He turned and saw Horatio wandering around the bedroom, touching the bedspread, running his fingers over the bristles of the hairbrush House always walked with but never used. He smiled to himself and tossed the toothbrush onto the bed. "Here. That's yours."

They took turns brushing teeth, and House swapped his jeans for soft flannel pajama pants. "I have more of these, if you want," he said, emerging from the bathroom. "And a T-shirt. You wouldn't want to sleep in that."

"I had no intention of sleeping in this," Horatio said casually. "And sure, there's absolutely nothing fundamentally wrong with sleeping in your clothes."

"Of course not." House began to ferret through his bag. His clothes weren't exactly packed neatly, but eventually he managed to extricate a worn old T-shirt and a pair of pants like the ones he was wearing. "Here. Get changed. I'm going to sleep."

Horatio opened his eyes at exactly five o'clock and found himself in an interesting position. He was on his back, as he always slept, and House was curled next to him, one hand with a death grip on a fistful of Horatio's T-shirt. House's head was buried in his side, and he was making a soft continuous growling noise that seemed to be his version of snoring.

Experimentally, Horatio brought his hand down on House's head. No movement to indicate that he had stirred. He stroked House's hair. Here was a fragile man who seemed intent on denying his vulnerability all the while proclaiming to the world that he was a broken thing. A paradox, thought Horatio. A beautiful contradiction.

Horatio let his fingers drift down the side of House's face. Perhaps this was a bad idea, perhaps it was the stupidest thing he'd done in a long, long time, but...he was in love. He was in love with House.

"I have to go," he whispered. Getting no response, he sat up and tried to pry House's fingers from his shirt, an effort which failed miserably. House grunted, shifted, slapped Horatio's hand away and then put his head on his thigh.

Horatio chuckled. "You're not sleeping, are you?"

One blue eye opened. "What gave me away?"

"Sleeping people don't slap." Horatio gave his shirt an experimental tug. House still downright refused to let it go. "Believe it or not, I have to go to work."

"Who said I wanted you here?" An eyebrow rose. "I'm holding onto the shirt, not you."

Horatio sighed and lay flat on the bed. He was too tired to argue, and besides, he hadn't convinced himself that he could win an argument with House. He didn't think there was anyone who could.

House propped himself up on one elbow, looking inordinately smug. "Now that that's settled." He edged closer to Horatio, draped an arm over him and laid his head on his chest.

Horatio could not help but stare. "What are you doing?"

"Listening to your heartbeat," came the answer. "Which sounds good, except of course for the fact that it's way too fast for a man who just woke up from sleep."

Horatio searched for an answer that did not involve having to explain having a physiological reaction to House's proximity. "I need to get to work," he finally said. "I'm worried I'll be late."

House gave a wonderful snort. "Not bad."

"Can't blame a guy for trying." Horatio rested his hand on House's head, fingers feeling through the hair to rub gently against his scalp.

"That's nice."

"What?"

"The perfect alignment of Jupiter and Mars. What you're doing with your hand, you idiot."

Horatio smiled despite himself. "Ah."

"Crap. Did I just give you some sort of key to unraveling my entire personality?" House rolled on top of Horatio and placed his chin on Horatio's chest. The position somehow seemed to clarify a lot of things to Horatio's mind. House as blanket, House as protector, House as child desperately seeking something he didn't know how to ask for. Horatio thought his heart would break.

"We probably shouldn't get too involved," he said reluctantly. "You're going to go back to New Jersey in less than two weeks."

Something flickered behind House's eyes. "And?"

"And I'll be here. And you'll be there."

House's face tightened. "Yeah. Story of my life." He got off of Horatio and sat down hard at the edge of the bed, one hand on his thigh with a muffled curse. Hissing breath and the stiff posture of House's back told Horatio that he was in pain. A lot of pain.

Horatio sat up and laid both hands on House's shoulders. "Greg. It's not that I don't care. Believe me, I do. More than you have any idea. But the distance...look, if you want to try, I'm up for it. I'm just saying it's not going to be easy."

"You think anything with me is ever easy?" House was kneading his thigh forcefully. His voice was bitter. "It's not like I have anyone else offering themselves to me. I want sex, I get a hooker. Those are all my options right there."

Horatio had so many possible things to say that nothing came out. He gathered House in his arms, cradling him, back against chest, and lightly kissed his neck. He was warm, and had a salty, masculine smell that Horatio could only define as Housian. "I care about you," he said quietly into House's hair. "I'm willing if you are."

House was still. "What if I'm not worth it?" he asked at last.

Horatio touched his lips to House's stubbled cheek. "Never gonna happen."

Slowly, as though it were against his will, House gave a lopsided smile. "Okay." He turned his head and kissed Horatio softly on the mouth. "Thank you."

Horatio was blindsided, once by the kiss and again by the gratitude. "I still need to go to work," he pointed out. "That hasn't changed."

House rolled his eyes and twisted his way out of the embrace. "Come on," he said, pushing to his feet. "Get your clothes on. I'll make breakfast."

House put together a toasted cheese sandwich, and Horatio ate it on his feet in front of the mirror while House buttoned his shirt for him. He wondered what kind of flak Horatio would get if he went in late, and decided he probably didn't want to know. Horatio brushed his own hair (House had never been any good at that whole hair brushing thing), checked his reflection in the mirror and was halfway out the door before he remembered to say goodbye.

House was leaning against the doorframe. He raised an eyebrow. "Going somewhere?"

Horatio flushed an entertaining shade of fuchsia. "I may have forgotten something." One arm snaked around House's waist, and he was pulled against Horatio's sleep-warm body. A heartstopping kiss followed, and a barely audible thank you was whispered into his mouth.

House touched Horatio's face. "You're welcome."

"I'll call you," came the reply, and Horatio was off down the corridor again.

The rest of the next two weeks passed in a blur. Horatio was never sure whether he was coming or going, dreaming or awake. It seemed that House's flawed psyche was the perfect foil for his unshakeable calm, and it was more than that too. They didn't just complement each other; they completed each other. Horatio couldn't believe he was just going to have to leave all that behind when House left for New Jersey.

He didn't for a moment think that House was going to have it any easier. He didn't need verbal expressions of love to know that emotions were involved. House may have been trying to deny it to himself, but Horatio knew better. He wasn't on a one-way street. Nobody was that good, not even House.

House took one last look around his hotel room and dialed the number that came so easily to his fingertips. "Horatio?"

"I'm outside. Hang on a moment, I'll come up and give you a hand."

House glanced down at his one bag and tried not to laugh. "Okay, the bag's big, but really. I can manage one bag. There's an elevator. I'll see you in the lobby."

The elevator ride down was short, and he found Horatio waiting in the lobby, dressed as per usual in all black. House couldn't help but smile. "Do you own any other colour?"

Horatio tilted his head and regarded House over his sunglasses. "Do you want help with that bag or not?"

House held out the bag and managed to keep his mouth shut all the way to the door. "Seriously, what is your obsession with black?" he asked, holding it open for Horatio. "I've never seen you wear anything else. In fact, it might even be the same suit and the same shirt for all I know. Do you at least wash your clothes?"

"It might surprise you, but I actually bathe as well." Horatio heaved the bag onto the backseat floor of the Hummer. "When was the last time you brushed your hair?"

"What does brushing hair have to do with hygiene?" House asked quizzically as he got into the passenger seat. "I wash it, that should be good enough. Anyway, can we not spend our last hour together discussing our respective states of cleanliness?"

Horatio smiled. "You make a compelling argument."

House watched Miami glide by through the window and waited until he felt a long enough period of time had passed for him to ask the question. "Horatio," he said. His throat felt like there was gravel in it. So this was what nervousness felt like. He pushed the feeling aside, keeping his eyes fixed on the passing view. "Have you ever thought of coming to New Jersey?"

There was an excruciating silence. Then Horatio replied quietly, "Yes."

House looked at him. "You gonna keep me in suspense?"

The question was answered with a question. "How often can you come to Miami?"

"Not often. Twice a year at best, and not even that guaranteed. I get days off one at a time. Being head of diagnostics...it's a full-time job. I have to be there to ensure my team doesn't kill anyone in my absence."

"You say that as though they're allowed to kill someone in your presence."

House cracked a smile. "They try."

"I have no problems with coming to New Jersey. But our jobs have similar responsibilities, so I can't do it any more often than you can. So, as I said...things are going to be difficult."

"What about something more permanent?" House raised an eyebrow at Horatio's expression. "What? I'm curious. Since I'm not a cat, that's not dangerous."

"I don't think that metaphor was actually designed to warn cats." His tone was light, but House noticed Horatio's grip tighten on the steering wheel. "I've considered that too. That's a tricky one. I have a life in Miami, a job that's very important to me. You have the same thing in New Jersey. For either of us to transplant ourselves...that's going to take something major."

"This could be major," House pointed out.

"I was talking about exclusive commitment."

House winced inwardly at the choice of words, but he knew and understood the concept very well indeed. He could do exclusive commitment. He wasn't Wilson.

"Give it a few months. I'm not scared of commitment."

"Neither am I," Horatio said softly. "Neither am I.

Horatio walked with House to the checkpoint, which was as far as he could go, and handed over the bag. House stood there in silence, just looking at him, and dropped the bag on the floor. "Come with me."

Horatio's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

House caught his hand. "Come with me. Come to New Jersey. Come on, it'll be fun."

"Greg..." Horatio took hold of House's shoulders. "You know I can't do that."

"Yeah." House sighed. "I figured it might have been worth a shot. Look...for what it's worth...I wish I didn't have to go. I wish you could come. I wish that for once in my life something nice could happen that didn't involve the use of psychotropic drugs."

"It will," Horatio said. "Like you said, give it a few months. We'll see how things go. And maybe...who knows? Maybe something will happen. I'll get a post in New York, you'll find a hospital in Miami." He paused. "I just...I don't want you to leave without knowing how I feel."

House gave a sad smile. "I do," he said gently. "I do know how you feel. And I'm trusting that you know I feel the same way."

Horatio's breath caught. "I do." He swallowed. His chest tightened until he thought his ribs would break. "So this is goodbye."

"It had better be, or I'm going to miss the plane." Without further ado, House leaned into Horatio and hugged him tight. Horatio clenched his hands in House's shirt, biting his tongue and feeling the sting of tears in his eyes. "Dammit. I'm actually going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss you too." Horatio turned his head a little and swiftly kissed House's temple before pulling back. "Now go before you miss your flight."

The blue eyes locked with his. House's face was grave, almost pained. "Okay," he said, and nodded. "Goodbye, Horatio." One last searching look, and he turned, cane digging into the ground as he disappeared through the metal detector.

"I love you," Horatio whispered, but House was already gone.