VII.
They parted on a sad note, Wilson half-angry, half-sad, and Stacy still trying to reason with him. Wilson, instead of driving home to an empty house, changed direction and headed for House's, deciding to check if his friend was still out cold.
He slipped quietly in the door and spotted him sitting up, watching t.v. with a bottle of water beside him. "Hi."
House didn't even bother glancing at him. "What are you doing here?"
Wilson shrugged and plunked down in the couch across from him.
"How's Stacy?"
He should've known.
"Alright, I guess. When'd you wake up?"
"Ten minutes ago. Thanks for the ride," House mumbled quickly.
Wilson merely nodded, thinking it wouldn't be a good idea to respond, as a 'thank-you' from House was rare.
"Are you going to tell me what she said?"
Wilson shook his head. "Nothing important, really."
"I don't believe you, but I'm too tired to argue. I'll grill her about it in the morning," House yawned.
Wilson wisely chose to keep silent.
"You had coffee, didn't you?" House's tone was almost accusing, and Wilson's instincts went on alert.
"Admit it, House. You're still in love with her. I'm not going to tell anyone."
"Well, when you put it that way… no."
Wilson sighed.
"Ask her. She probably thinks she's got me figured out already," House sneered.
"She knows you, House. Better than you think she does."
House swore under his breath. "I hate that."
A small, incredibly sad smile touched the corners of Wilson's lips. "I know."