The phone rang.

Wilson took a turn to fast, barreling down a country road.

The phone rang again.

"Come one. Pick up." Wilson muttered. The bright headlights of his car flittered across the trees, creating shadows that flickered in his peripheral vision. He was driving to fast and recognized that it was dangerous. It didn't stop him.

The phone rang again.

An answering machine picked up. A neutral feminine voice instructed him to leave a message and the owner of this number would call back.

"House. House pick up right now. I need to talk. House! Pick up. I told her, my mother, I told her everything."

The phone picked up.

"Hey?"

"You were screening?"

"No, I was asleep. It's 11:30." House didn't sound tired and Wilson had a suddenly pang of empathy. He had undoubtedly been lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and rubbing his leg. "What's going on?"

"My mother. I told my mother."

"You told your mother about what?" Wilson heard the click of House turning on his bedside light.

"About you!"

House, well the only word for it was, brayed.

"At Thanksgiving? That's so cliché!"

"I know. I wanted to smack myself. I just opened my mouth and these words started coming out."

"Please, tell me you waited until after dinner."

"Yes."

"Tell me exactly what happened."

"We were loading up the dishwasher and she just kept needling me. 'Who was that on the phone? Why won't you tell me? Why didn't you bring her to dinner? Why won't you say anything? Is she married? Is she Catholic? Is she black?'"

"They asked if your girlfriend was black?"

"Yeah. 'We'll understand. We've always understood.' And I said, 'Ma, do you really want to know?'"

"She said, yes, of course."

"And I said, 'It was Greg.'"

"You didn't!"

"I did. And she of course had no idea who you were."

"So you said I was that guy with the cane."

"No, I said you were the man I worked with that she had lunch with once."

"And then she said, 'Oh, the one with the cane.'"

"Well…yes. And then she realized what just happened…"

"And?" House was entirely too excited by this.

"And she screamed. Really, really loud. And then started praying."

That was too much. House burst into more loud obnoxious laughs.

"Kinda freaking out here!" Wilson yelled, his voice pitching high.

"She started praying!" House said between laughs. "That's so good! What did your Dad do?"

"Turned up the ballgame."

House laughed again. "I meant after your mother screamed."

"Like I said, turned up the ballgame. I don't even know if he figured out what was going on."

"Okay, okay, what did your brother do?"

"He took it fine. Less concerned about being me being gay; more concerned that you're an asshole."

"Never liked him." House's voice betrayed his smug look. "Oh my god, what did Katie do?"

"I'm not telling." Wilson said. He was fully aware he sounded childish. He didn't care.

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm freaking out and you don't care."

"Okay, okay. Are you all right?"

"I guess."

"No permanent damage? Your mom, I mean. She's just upset right, she'll get over it, she's not…what's that thing where they rip their clothes and say your dead?"

"Sitting shivah? No, they're not doing that. Not that my mother would rip her good dress if I chocked to death right in front of her."

"Is it about the grandchildren?"

"Maybe. And having to shell out for three wedding presents and…I don't know. I'm a doctor, you know. I'm supposed to be the good Jewish son. And now it turns out I've been lying to her."

"Not really. I mean did she ever ask specifically if you've been…"

"Do not finish that metaphor. No, she didn't. Yes, I was still lying."

To Wilson's relief he found the onramp to the highway. Drumming the car up to 70 was enough to waylay some of the panic.

"I'm coming home." He informed House.

"I guessed that. What did Katie do?"

"She cried."

"Figures."

"Then she hit me."

House ineffectually smothered a laugh. "Little bitty Katie?"

"Punched me right in the face. Then she said, 'Well, I guess that explains everything.' and started defending me to my mother."

"Really?"

"Yeah, said, 'I'm upset too, but don't we just want him to be happy?"

"So…" House said slowly. "She…flubbled you."

"The word is frubble. And shut up."

"So…"

"So?"

"So how does it feel?"

"How does what feel?"

"You're out of the closet."

"Oh God. I don't know! What the hell is it supposed to feel like?"

"I don't know. I've never been."

Wilson realized he was going entirely to fast. "Hang on." He muttered and set the phone on the passenger seat. He took a breath. He took another. The speedometer coasted slowly down from its extreme edge. He reminded himself to keep breathing, slowly and in rhythm no matter what. He picked up the phone again. "Okay." He said. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I just…wow…you know? I told my Mom. Ball is in her court. I don't have to worry anymore."

"I told Stacey once." House threw in.

"Really?"

"Well, she didn't believe me."

"Was this before or after you slept with her in an attempt to break up her marriage?"

"Well…before. I'm just saying, it was good, even though she thought I was joking. Was it good?"

"Yeah…it was good." Wilson said. He sighed. "I want to be home."

"So come home."

"I am. Will you wait up for me?"

"You want me to wait three hours so you can come home and go to bed."

Wilson allowed himself ten more miles an hour. "Two and a half and yes."

There was a pause. "Yeah…" House said. "I'll wait up."

"Thanks."

Dial tone.