A/N - Right, so on we go, with just the beginnings of UST that, since I'm breaking free of my usual plans and writing without an outline, will hopefully become resolved within the next three or so chapters. I'm hoping to wrap this up in less than twenty.

House fought the urge to sigh at the words he hated. 'We need to talk' was always a portent of something horrible about to happen, and he knew that this would be no different. But he felt it was a good idea to point out to Wilson that this was entirely because he was a selfish, greedy bastard and not at all because he happened to enjoy something behind closed doors.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Is the first question asked before he can gather himself together.

"Didn't think it was important." It was true, after all. It wasn't important.

"You didn't think that my knowing my friend slept with men was important?"

"Would it have mattered?" Wilson sighed, because he knew it was a good point.

"No." He admitted, as he tried to think up another avenue of questions. "It wouldn't have. But it's a part of your identity, you didn't think to share with anyone?"

"It's not any part of my identity any more than any of your affairs are a part of yours." House knew he'd hit a sore spot, but he didn't care. "I didn't tell you exactly because of this. Because you'd make a big deal over something that doesn't even matter, and it'd make things all weird."

Wilson stared at the ground dejectedly. "It's just-" He paused, realizing that there was no point in talking about it anymore.

"What?"

"Nothing." House looked at him, and he felt like he was six years old being chewed out by the principal again. If anything, Wilson had to admit, the vicodin made House look all that more intimidating. There was something about the wide expanse of cold, icy blue with just the smallest pinprick of pupil in the middle that gave him perhaps the most terrifying gaze Wilson had ever seen.

"You brought it up, it's not nothing."

"It's just-it makes me wonder what else I don't know after knowing you for twenty years, spending months of my life on this couch, and just being your friend." House rolled his eyes, Wilson was starting to get maudlin.

"Alright, you want to know what else you don't know about me? I had a dog when I was little, my dad shot it in front of me when it kept digging up the yard. Never had a pet again until Steve" That was something he'd never told anyone else. He saw the small look of horror cross Wilson's face. "My first crush was my German teacher when we were living at Ramstein. I didn't see my first movie until I was fifteen, and it was Goldfinger. I wasn't even supposed to go, but had nothing else to do. Happy?"

Wilson merely sat there, stunned. He was used to the outbursts, they weren't much different from anything else House did on a regular basis, but always when someone pressed him for personal information it was usually the same few facts over and over again. Occasionally with some variation with what was told, but it was never something really personal-it was always something that never went deep. Then again, first crushes and first movies weren't exactly deep either.

"It's-" He paused, searching for something, anything to say in response. "Why?"

"That's a very broad question there."

"Why did you decide to do this? Why on earth did you think this was a good idea? Why me?"

"I decided to do this because it's A) extremely amusing, b) because it pads the coffers just that much more, and c) because I knew you wouldn't say no." It had been something that he knew would happen. It was Wilson, Wilson never turned him down, no matter what the scheme was. No matter what happened, Wilson was always there. Even when Wilson had betrayed him, even when Wilson had walked out of his life, he'd always come back. He always was there.

"What if I had said no?"

"You wouldn't. You'd say no, I'd let it drop, and a few days later you'd come around, and decide that yes, you did want to partake in my little scheme. Because that's what you do." Wilson attempted to glare, but found himself unable. "You are simply unable to not join in on anything I suggest."

"I am too."

"Fine, what's one thing you would never, ever do?"

"Not call my mother on her birthday." House pondered that for a second, before realizing that that was not something he could connive his friend into not doing.

"Fine. Name something else."

"I'm not going to let you trick me into doing something I don't want to do."

"That's the thing. You always decide you want to do whatever I tell you. Why, I don't know. Like a little abused dog that keeps coming back, knowing they'll be mistreated but still so desperately hoping for a little bit of love and attention from their master." House had left a rather large amount out about the dog. It was intended as a hunting dog, but was pitifully afraid of loud noises, and took refuge in his closet whenever there was the faintest boom of thunder, much less a gunshot. And his father had tried everything to get the damn dog to hunt. Digging up the yard had just been the final straw.

He always wondered why it was that not only Wilson had stuck by him-he knew why his friend was always there, but why he stuck by Wilson. The same way he had stuck by that damn dog up until the end. Defending it, hiding it, giving it the attention that it craved but couldn't find elsewhere in the house. But he didn't want to analyze his motives. He was no Frasier Crane, he hated foppish pretenses and acting as though he was living well. And most of all, he hated the idea of psychoanalysis.

"I do not desperately hope for love and attention from you. Or any of my ex wives before you get into that." Wilson knew where this conversation took the abrupt left into his own life, they'd had it before. And it always ended with House telling him what he already knew-he went for those who would give him the attention and the want he craved. Who'd always make time for him, because he was the one thing they had. It was why he picked the needy girls, because they'd be there to shower him in affection.

"Why did you agree to this?"

"I told you, I was curious."

"Bullshit. We've acted like an old married couple since we've met, you don't need to sign your name to a damn sheet of paper to figure out what it'd be like to be in a-how did you put it? Sexless relationship where we only vaguely circle one another, but wind up in the same house having the same boring conversation every night?"

"I didn't put it quite like that, but-" House was right. Then again, House was always right. It was one of the more damnable qualities of his best friend.

"It was exactly what it was when you were sleeping right about there." He pointed to Wilson's spot on the couch. "And if you wanted that, you could have just packed up your hotel room and moved back onto the couch."

"Oh yes, because you so enjoyed my taking over your house, and commandeering your bathroom for an hour every morning."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say that the roles in this would be reversed. What straight man spends time to blow-dry his hair and actually moisturize?"

"One who cares about his appearance, unlike you who wouldn't care if he showed up in his pajamas." House found himself considering it. It would be even more comfortable than jeans, he had to admit that. "Don't think about that, Cuddy will kill you."

"You still haven't given a real answer to my question."

"Maybe because I don't know. You think I haven't asked myself the same thing?" House hadn't even thought of that. He was a man who thought things through before doing them. Although he often took the path that contradicted what logic and reason told him he should follow, he at least knew which path was the just and proper course to take.

To know that Wilson had just replied without actually considering things, that had surprised him. He was used to himself being an oddity in his thought patterns, but this was Wilson, he knew how Wilson thought, at least he thought he did. "Well there's obviously a reason why."

"Does there always have to be a reason for everything? Is there always a reason why people do things?"

"Yes."

"Well maybe this time there is no reason. Maybe this just happened because of some cruel twist of fate that decided that two miserable old men should at least have someone to have the same old boring conversation with every night over the same boring dinner." House briefly considered if that could be called a reason, but to call it a reason meant trusting that fate was real. And House believed in free will, and the ability of people to make horribly stupid decisions. So therefore, fate could not be a reason, even though it was the only one presented.