Wilson waited to leave his office until he knew that Cuddy had already left for the day. He looked for her car in the parking lot, making sure that she had not lingered to watch him, before getting into his own car and heading for House's apartment.

Despite Cuddy's threats, despite his knowledge of what she had ordered House to do, Wilson still felt a surge of furious rage when he saw his suitcases and a couple of cardboard boxes stacked outside House's door. His eyes narrowed, his mouth tightening into a thin line as he closed the remaining distance between himself and the door, taking out his key and thrusting it toward the keyhole.

It did not fit.

Wilson knocked on the door, a burning, acidic bubble of fury swelling up in his chest when there was no response. He knocked again, harder, pounding the door with his fist and calling out in a voice that trembled with frustration and outrage.

No matter what she says, he can't just shut me out… can't just throw me out with the trash like what we have means nothing…

"House? Open the door!"

There was no response. A haze of red fury descended upon Wilson's visions, his thoughts, as he slammed his fist into the door again, then kicked it in frustration.

"House! Let me in! Open the damn door!"

******************************

House flinched as the door rattled dangerously against his back, closing his eyes and biting his lower lip, struggling against the almost irresistible impulse to get up and open the door. He didn't dare so much as answer, knowing very well that once he engaged in conversation with Wilson, it wouldn't be long before the other man convinced him to let him back into the apartment.

And when that happened, judging by the uncontrolled rage in Wilson's voice – Wilson would probably kill him. The violent rattling of the door behind him, the madness that tinged Wilson's shaking voice, were evidence of just how dangerous and destructive their relationship had become.

Cuddy's right. Stacy was right. I can't let him in again, can't let him keep doing this to me. If I do, one of these days… he will kill me.

"House, open this freaking door right now or I swear to God I will break it down myself!"

House knew that Wilson couldn't. The door was made of steel, and the locks were brand new and high quality. The only way Wilson could get into the apartment was if House decided to let him in.

And he wasn't going to – not this time.

***************************

Wilson eventually gave up – for the moment – and took his things to a hotel room.

By leaving early and going in late every day – which was very similar to his usual work routine, anyway – House managed to avoid Wilson for three whole days following their forced break-up. Wilson tried several times to track him down and talk to him, but every time House managed to avoid being alone with him; and Wilson was too wary of drawing Cuddy's wrath to push the issue in front of anyone who might report it back to her.

Despite his dubious success, however, House was under a great amount of stress during those long, precarious days – and his leg made its protest clear. His pain levels were higher than he had experienced in years… so bad, in fact, that he found himself seeking out Cuddy in her office, discreetly asking her to administer a shot of morphine to ease his suffering.

She reluctantly agreed and gave him the shot he'd asked for, but House was not surprised when she stopped him before he reached the door to her office.

"House?"

He froze in the doorway, his shoulders falling with resignation. If the price for the drugs he needed was listening to another lecture, he supposed he would have to bear it.

"Yes?"

Cuddy was silent as he turned halfway to face her, giving her an expectant look. Her lips were parted to speak, but no sound came out for a long moment. Finally, she closed her mouth and shook her head, turning away.

"Nothing. See you later."

Both relieved and confused, House made his way back toward his own office to continue working on his current case. His thoughts were thoroughly distracted by his personal issues, and he knew it would be a struggle to focus when he resumed the differential with his team. He stepped into the elevator, leaning back against the wall and drawing in a deep, shaky breath as he tried to steady himself.

He glared in irritation at the lighted numbers above the elevator doors when the elevator stopped on the second floor. He was in no hurry to reach his office, but he wasn't exactly pleased with the idea of sharing the elevator at the moment, either.

House's eyes widened with alarm when the doors opened, and he saw Wilson standing there. Before House could react, Wilson slipped into the elevator, swiftly pressing the door close button. He reached out and caught House's wrist when the older man reached for the control buttons, intending to open the doors again and escape.

"Let go of me," House muttered, trying to pull free of Wilson's grasp. "Wilson, you can't do this…"

Wilson held onto House's wrist, pushing it back against the wall beside his head, pressing in close to pin House to the wall, preventing his escape. With his free hand, Wilson reached back toward the control panel and pressed the "stop" button before placing his hand over House's mouth to prevent the frightened cry for help he tried to let out.

"Shh-shh-shh," Wilson soothed him in an urgent whisper. "House… don't. It's okay. Relax, I'm not going to hurt you…"

House struggled to pull free, but Wilson slammed him into the wall, hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs, then took advantage of his momentary weakness to grab his hands and pin his wrists together across his chest, returning his hand to House's mouth once he was done.

"It's okay… it's okay…" Wilson insisted, his voice trembling with his desperation. "House, I just want to talk to you, and I can't talk to you where she can see…"

House went still in Wilson's grasp as his panic began to subside, and his mind began racing to find an escape route. His entire body was trembling with fear, but with a great effort he managed to keep himself from resisting. Reassured by that, Wilson slowly, cautiously removed his hand from House's mouth, though keeping it near enough that he could replace it at a moment's notice.

"You're not gonna scream? Just gonna talk to me?"

House shook his head then nodded in response, swallowing hard, his head turned to the side and his eyes closed.

Wilson slowly lowered his hand, placing both his hands on House's arms and holding him in place against the wall. "Thank you," he gasped out, shaking slightly as he rested his head on House's shoulder, then raised it to press an intense, impulsive kiss to House's lips. He drew back, breathless as he repeated, "Thank you… thank you so much… I've wanted to talk to you so bad, House, I can't stand this… can't stand being away from you… I miss you so much…"

House bit his lower lip, fighting back his emotional reaction to Wilson's words and touch. He was so terribly confused, couldn't make sense of what he was thinking and feeling at the moment. He was scared and relieved at once, terrified of the violence of which he knew Wilson was capable, and yet desperately grateful for the tender affection, after three interminably lonely days without him.

A slow, knowing smile formed on Wilson's face as he studied House's shifting expression, which betrayed his conflict all too clearly. His voice was low and strangely seductive as he moved in closer to House, stroking one hand tenderly down the side of his face.

"And you miss me, too. You do… don't you, House?"

House didn't want to admit it, knew that it was the first step toward defeat – but Wilson already knew the truth. He nodded silently, reluctantly, letting out a heavy sigh.

"You want me to come home… don't you?"

House swallowed hard, his stomach doing a funny little flip at that suggestion. He missed Wilson, yes – desperately. But his bruises had not even healed from the last beating Wilson had given him, only four days earlier; and as much as he missed him, he knew that, forced or not, it had been the right thing to make him move out.

"Wilson," he attempted cautiously, a slight tremor in his voice, unable to meet the younger man's eyes. "You need to back off. You need to stop… trying to fight this… if you want to keep your job…"

Wilson's hands tightened on House's arms, and House flinched slightly at the sharp edge that crept into Wilson's soft voice. "Are you threatening me, House?"

"No, no," House insisted, shaking his head quickly. "I'm just… warning you. You know what Cuddy said. She's not going to just… let this go. And… I'm not sure she should…"

"What? Because I lost my temper a couple of times and hurt you?" Wilson scoffed, a slight smirk forming on his lips as he shook his head dismissively. He gestured downward toward House's leg as he pointed out, "I'm obviously hurting you worse by being away. Your leg's worse since I left – isn't it?"

"No," House lied. "It has nothing to do with you…"

"Crazy coincidence, then," Wilson laughed, his hands trailing slowly up and down House's arms, then moving to his sides, his touches becoming more and more intimate and suggestive. "But I don't think so, House. I don't think it's coincidence at all."

"Wilson… don't…"

Wilson ignored House's soft protest, sliding his hands up under House's shirt, leaving warm shivery trails in their wake. "You want this, House… you want me. She can't keep us apart, House. She can't tell us what to do…"

"Stop, Wilson. Take your hands off me…" House's hand tightened around the handle of his cane, his entire body tensed as Wilson's thumbs trailed just under the waist of his jeans. "You need to stop…"

Wilson smirked, meeting House's eyes with a defiant whisper. "No."

"Stop… don't…"

Still, Wilson persisted, bringing one of his legs in to pin House's thighs in place, holding him against the wall as his expert hands slid forward to begin to work the fastenings of House's jeans.

"Wilson, no… no!" House protested, a note of panic beginning in his voice.

Wilson was too distracted to notice as House extended his cane and pressed the "stop" button a second time to restart the elevator. Wilson drew back in alarm at the sudden sound and movement, staring at the buttons before giving House a disbelieving, accusing look – that swiftly turned dark and ugly.

"What do you think you're doing, House?"

There was clear menace in Wilson's voice as he reached toward the buttons again. He was completely caught off guard when House brought his cane toward the panel again, this time rapping it hard across Wilson's knuckles. Wilson let out a yelp of pain, gripping his injured hand in his good one for a moment as he glared at House in rage, cursing under his breath. He reached for House again, but House struck him in the shin with his cane, an expression of grim satisfaction on his face when Wilson stumbled back against the wall with a startled, angry cry.

"Now your leg hurts," House observed, shaken but mostly composed, as the doors opened on the third floor. "Think it's because you miss me?"

He stepped out of the elevator, leaving Wilson stunned and sputtering with outrage as he made his way to his own office and the safety of the company of his team.

************************

House went to Cuddy for another shot that night, not at all surprised that his leg was acting up worse than ever after the struggle with Wilson. He didn't tell her about it, unwilling to create any more trouble for Wilson or himself, but hoped that another dose of morphine would ease the pain enough to allow him to rest that night.

When Cuddy confessed that she had given him a placebo the first time, House was stunned… and more than a little embarrassed. He was grateful when she started to just leave, and leave him to his thoughts – but she stopped in the doorway, turning and coming back to face him again with a gentle, thoughtful expression on her face.

"I know you miss him," she stated softly, and he looked up at her through startled eyes. "I know you… you think you need him… but you don't."

House relaxed a little, his piercing gaze locked onto hers, reading no knowledge of his earlier encounter in her eyes. He watched her closely, silent and subdued, as she edged nearer to him, reaching out a tentative hand to rest on his arm. He suppressed the flinch that had become his natural reaction, swallowing hard and maintaining eye contact, unwilling to allow her to see how easily shaken he had become.

"You need real… friendship. Affection. Love," she shook her head with a little grimace as she sought the right word. "Someone who would do the things he did to you… hurt you like that… that's not real love, House. That's… obsession. Power madness. He's not worried about making you happy… he just wants to control you… and you don't have to let him."

House allowed an ironic smirk to cross his lips as he observed quietly, "But I do have to let you."

Cuddy smiled, not offended by his honest observation. "Yeah," she admitted with simple honesty. "You do." Her smile faded as she explained gently, "I'm just trying to protect you… to be there for you. And I will be… no matter what. I need you to know that."

House just watched her for a moment before nodding once, his gaze lowered to the floor at her feet. Because he was no longer looking at her, he was completely taken off guard when she impulsively leaned in to put her arms around him in a gentle hug. He froze completely for a moment, unsure how to react – before slowly allowing himself to relax into the unassuming embrace.

It felt good, just to be touched again, without being hurt.