Summary, disclaimer, etc. in Chapter 1.

Chapter 2: Sailor, Take Warning

House was asleep before they were out of the city. With the seat as far back and down as it could go, his sprawling form stretched stem to stern in Wilson's four-door. He snored lightly.

Wilson glanced over at him and smiled a little to himself. The out-bound lanes had received lower priority than the in-bound lanes and he was stuck in traffic while last night's snow was being cleared away. He'd been lucky to make it to Baltimore in three hours. How long the trip back would take he didn't know. But he was dying to know what had happened between House and Stacy last night. He knew something had happened: the timbre of House's bitching about Medicaid, airports, and snow storms hadn't been right. House was preoccupied. He wasn't gloating, so Wilson knew that hadn't happened, but he wasn't complaining either. Whatever had happened, House had mixed feelings about it.

Wilson went over the events that led him to the conclusion that something had happened: Stacy was on an airplane—probably back home by now—with House's bag in her possession; House had used her phone all night (and still had it: Wilson had seen him slip it into his coat pocket); she'd called him on House's behalf this morning and she'd sounded oddly coy and satisfied, despite the fact that the every time Wilson had seen the two of them together lately, they'd been fighting like cats and dogs—they hadn't even driven to the airport in Newark together; and House was reticent. Okay, House wasn't reticent, he was asleep, but he'd taken the time to mention a single hotel room and if it had happened, he wouldn't have let sleep overtake him before taking time to gloat properly.

So what was it?

Wilson didn't know.

But, he mused as he tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel waiting for traffic to clear, he was damn sure going to find out.

"Hey," Wilson said in a nudging voice, "we're almost to Newark."

He heard House wake.

"Want to stop for coffee?"

He heard House blinking and orienting himself.

"No."

House flipped the seat up and Wilson heard the rattle he'd been expecting. His grip on the steering wheel tightened ever so slightly; he hated this. Couldn't ask if House felt up to driving himself home, couldn't volunteer to follow him, couldn't stop himself from worrying that House would wrap his car around a telephone pole if he drove right now. Wilson didn't mind seven hours in the car on a work day; this was what bothered him.

Shouldn't even have asked about the coffee.

"I'm gonna stop for coffee," he said and put on the turn signal.

"You can get some at the airport," House griped, "we're almost there."

"I need a bathroom break," Wilson lied.

House mumbled to himself and Wilson ignored him.

Twenty minutes later Wilson passed House a cup of coffee and a bag of peanuts before settling into his seat. They were back on the turnpike before either said anything.

"So what happened last night?" Wilson asked.

House looked blankly at him.

"You got a hotel room and…" Wilson prompted.

"She got a hotel room," House corrected, "and nothing happened. My inept staff kept me up all night because they were too busy playing House to look at the patient's blood."

Wilson turned his head and narrowed an eye at House. "She's got your knapsack and you've got her phone," he said. "Something happened."

"Yeah, she went down on me in the men's room while the Ravens' left guard watched," House said. "I got his autograph. Wanna see?"

"She sounded very pleased with herself and you're avoiding the question," Wilson said. "Something happened."

"Did you know curry is addictive?"

Wilson's eyebrows furrowed. "No," he said slowly.

"She thinks it is," House said.

"I thought you were trapped in the airport all night," Wilson said. "Last time I was there, Baltimore Liberty didn't have an Indian restaurant."

House shrugged slightly and with only a fraction of suggestion in his voice said, "She got some curry."

"House," Wilson said with exasperation. "I want details. Concrete details."

"You're such a gossip," House said.

"I'm going to wring your neck if you don't give me details."

"With those scrawny little hands?"

"Were you two just discussing Indian food or were you kissing? necking? oral?"

"When did your mind become so dirty?"

"Intercourse?"

"You're going to miss the exit."

"House—"

"Seriously, you're going to miss the exit."

Wilson swerved just in time.

"Don't look at me like it's my fault," House said defensively.

"If you would just tell me," Wilson said.

House looked down. "I kissed her," he said after a moment. "She kissed me back. That was it."

"That was it?" Wilson said. "That wasn't it. C'mon. That wasn't it."

"Nothing else happened."

"You two have been acting like you just slept together," Wilson said.

"You'd know it if that happened," House mumbled.

"All right, I would," Wilson conceded. "But that's not all."

House sighed. "She wanted to," he said. "She would have…if Cameron hadn't called me."

"Cameron?"

"Foreman. Whatever."

Wilson took a moment to digest this information.

"So did you want to…?"

"I'm in lot C," House said.

Wilson turned and House pointed out his car.

"Are you going to answer me?" Wilson asked.

"What do you think?"

House got out and slammed the door before Wilson could say anything else.