House signed the chart he was holding with a flourish.

"That's it!" he told Nurse Begay. "My last peds ward hour."

She patted House on the back and pretended not to notice when he twisted awkwardly away. "Congratulations, Dr. House."

If she had to be completely honest, she would actually miss the man a little. Sure, he was completely insane and never completed his paperwork, or followed any rules. But it turned out he was really good with the kids. For some reason they just seemed to instinctively trust him.

She took the chart from him and smiled. "What will you do with all your free time now?"

House grinned. "It's back to watching t.v. and playing video games for me. But hey – give me a call if anything…you know, if you need…well, you know…."

"Next time we're short a pediatrician, you'll be first on my sub list. Thanks, Dr. House."

House half-nodded without meeting her eyes, as if he was ashamed to be caught doing something nice. Then he grabbed his cane and headed back to his own office to collect his coat and bag. He was looking forward to getting home.

Over the last few weeks, he and Wilson had not tried to do anything else – except for one thing. Every evening, they would sit on the couch together in front of the t.v. They alternated who took what position, but one of them would lay on top of the other.

House didn't mind at all when Wilson laid down on him and kind of snuggled into his arms. And even though he was unsure at first, he was getting used to being held by Wilson as well.

When House got home, Wilson was indeed on the couch waiting for him. House settled in and smiled as Wilson wrapped his arm around him. Then he sniffed.

"I don't smell anything cooking. What's for dinner?"

"That depends. What are you making?" Wilson asked with a smile.

Ah. So Wilson was getting tired of making dinner every night. "Why don't we go out somewhere?" House suggested.

"You're buying," was Wilson's only response.

They ended up at a Mediterranean restaurant. House delicately flaked a piece of feta off of his chunk as they avoided conversation. Yes, they had become physically closer over the past few weeks, but their conversations had been limited to who controlled the remote, or whether the dishwasher was full enough to run. That was the way it had always been – they could talk about monster trucks or nurses' bra sizes, but nothing real. House wasn't sure if it was even possible to sustain real conversation.

Wilson was thinking the same thing. He knew that if they couldn't really address whatever issues they had – whether individual or stemming from their relationship – then they wouldn't be able to build anything strong enough to last. The problem was, he didn't know what to talk about, or how to bring anything up.

They both remained silent and finished their meals quietly, chalking one more night up to the relationship that wasn't quite there yet, and may never be.

~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~HW~~~

Wilson fixed a mug of Cafix and brought it with him to the couch, hoping to pick up where their snuggling had left off before they had gone to dinner. House wrinkled his nose.

"What is it with you and that stuff?"

Wilson shrugged. "I used to love Postum, but they stopped making it. So now I settle for this."

House rolled his eyes. "I think my grandfather used to drink Postum."

"I don't want to stay up all night. So what's wrong with that?"

"You're turning into an old man, Wilson." House honestly didn't know why he was trying to stir up trouble. Truthfully, Wilson's nightly cup of non-caffeinated beverage was comforting to House. Maybe it reminded him of the times he had spent overnight with his grandparents. Any time away from home had been welcome when he was younger, and staying with his grandparents had the added benefit that they spoiled him – took him on outings, worked crossword puzzles with him, and most importantly, let him play music without calling him a sissy.

No, he really had no problem with Wilson's 'old man drink.' He just wanted to break the routine; to talk about something, anything. Their life together had quickly become boring and fallen into a rut, well before they had ever gotten to any good parts.

Wilson sipped his Cafix delicately. He was enjoying it, and if it pissed House off a little, more was the better.

House rolled his eyes. He had not been able to get a rise out of Wilson. He decided it was time to break out the big guns.

"We need to talk," he told Wilson.

Wilson put his mug down and turned to face House, relieved. Finally, they might get some things out in the open.

"You're right. We've needed to talk for weeks now. Our lives have been reduced to meaningless drivel."

"Yeah," House agreed, hesitantly. He had counted on starting an even bigger argument – why was Wilson agreeing with him? He suddenly lost his nerve to talk about anything important. Wilson sensed this, and kept going.

"Tell me what you're worried about, House," he gently demanded.

House hesitated for a long moment. How had Wilson been able to skip through all of his deflection and reach the correct conclusion that House was worried? House would never understand how Wilson's insight managed to be right every time.

After a drawn-out moment of silence, House decided to just spit it out. If they couldn't be honest, then their relationship wouldn't last very long anyway.

"How long is it going to be before you get tired of me?" House asked quietly.

Wilson blinked as he realized that House was actually honestly expressing his concerns.

"Get tired of you?" Wilson repeated, stalling. That wasn't what he had expected at all. Where was this coming from? Why would House even think that?

House sighed. "It's already started. You have nothing to say to me anymore, so we just sit and stare at each other all night. And soon you're going to realize that all I am is a crippled, recovering addict. I'll do things you won't want me to do. I'll say things that will make you mad. And you're not even getting anything out of this relationship as it is, because who knows how long it will be before I can –" House broke off, too embarrassed to finish his thought.

"You think I'm not getting anything out of our relationship?" Wilson asked, appalled. House shrugged.

"House…" Wilson began, trying to organize his thoughts. "We've been friends for almost twenty years. And at no time in those twenty years have we ever had sex! But we're still friends."

"You think we should go back to just friends?" House asked, pained. Wilson rolled his eyes.

"You and your selective hearing. What I mean is, of course I'm getting something out of this relationship, something way more important than sex."

"But I'm stopping you from getting your rocks off with someone else by pretending to be in a relationship with you."

Wilson started to rub his temples. "How can I get this through your thick skull? You are an idiot, House. This relationship is not 'pretend.' Do you really think that the only things you have to offer are in bed?"

House shrugged again. "That's usually the only thing that doesn't piss someone off, at least in the end."

"Stop jumping to 'the end!' Enjoy the middle! Hell, enjoy the beginning, because that's where we are. I'm not tired of you. I'm not mad at you. But I will be, if you don't stop insulting my best friend."

House shook his head. "You're making a mistake, Wilson. I won't make you happy."

Wilson laughed. "You've already made me happy. Even when I want to strangle you, I still feel the most alive that I've ever felt."

"Okay," House whispered. He gave up the fight, looking away from Wilson. If Wilson wasn't going to heed his warnings, they would just have to go forward with the relationship until Wilson did realize what a crappy partner House would make. Then Wilson would break up with him – but at least he might get a few months of happiness before that happened.

Wilson watched House, trying to think of the right words to say. None came to him. If House didn't believe Wilson when he told the older man that he was worth it, that he was worth something, then he would just have to keep repeating himself until House got it.

House abruptly got up. "I'm going to bed," he mumbled.

"I'm coming with you," Wilson demanded. Up to this point, they had not tried sleeping in the same bed. Wilson had wanted to ever since he had suggested it weeks ago, and every night he regretted that he had chosen that particular day to allow his jealousy to cause a rift with House. But it was time to try again.

Watching carefully for any sign of disagreement, Wilson followed House into his bedroom. House didn't say anything or try to stop Wilson. He simply stripped to his boxer-briefs and a t-shirt, then found a pair of sleep pants and put them on. He refused to meet Wilson's eyes as he climbed into bed.

Wilson stripped down to just his underwear and climbed under the covers with House. House didn't comment, but as soon as Wilson settled in, House rolled onto his side, facing away from Wilson. Wilson scooted closer to House and delicately placed a hand on House's shoulder. House tensed, but didn't move away or make any kind of noise.

After a long while, Wilson dropped off to sleep. House debated whether to move away from Wilson's touch now that he was asleep. The hand was warm and soft. With Wilson not paying him any attention, House thought that he actually might be enjoying Wilson's hand where it was. It meant that Wilson was close-by, but not in his face or pressuring him. He decided to stay put.

As soon as House made his decision, he was out like a light.