A/N: They showed my favorite episode of 'House' today on USA (Failure to Communicate, which is a little ironic considering the limited Hilson interaction, but, still, it is funny). Thus, I decided to post this chapter as a celebration. I might even post the next one tonight too. I dunno. Read and review!

Wilson: My whole life is one big compromise. I tiptoe around everyone like they're made of china. I spend all my time analyzing what the effect will be if I say this. Then there's you, you're a reality junkie. If I offered you a comforting lie, you'd smack me over the head with it. Let's not change that.
House: Okay.

It's a Saturday evening that House collapses on the love seat at Wilson and Bonnie's apartment. He gets lucky, because it turns out that his best friend's fiancée is out of town visiting family so it's just the two of them.

"I'm in love," he announces before Wilson even has time to shut the door.

"You're in love?"

"Isn't that what I just said? Wilson, try to keep up."

"Sorry," he replies. He takes a seat on the coffee table so that he's facing his friend. "I just didn't realize you were seeing someone." Actually, though he doesn't say this part out loud, he's certain he was still single this morning, because when House is getting laid he can't hide an omnipresent, self-satisfied smirk.

"We just met," House elaborates. Ahh. Some puzzle pieces fall into place.

Wilson arranges his face into what is hopefully an expression of understanding. "Uh huh."

"She was at that paintball thing. She killed me."

"Already she's starting to earn my approval."

"You're hilarious today," House snaps.

Wilson nods and tries to think more seriously. "So, where is she? Am I going to meet her?"

House sighs. "I'm not sure. She doesn't really agree with my assessment of our relationship. She claims she never wants to see me again."

"And so you, naturally, have taken this to mean that you're a match made in heaven?"

"Naturally."

"You're a strange person," Wilson comments, standing and moving to the kitchen. "You want spaghetti for dinner?"

"I can't eat," House moans in despair. "I can only think of my love."

"This is going to be a long night."

So they get drunk and lay out in front of the television.

House rolls over onto his back and says, "I'll bet you $20.00 that she's going to call." He cocks his head to the side, which is quite a feat, considering he's lying on the couch. "Did I tell you that I gave her your number? I knew I was coming over and I'm telling you she won't last 24 hours."

Wilson considers the likelihood and decides not to risk it. "Can you reach the remote," he asks instead. Even in his alcohol laden state he recognizes that something is suddenly making a lot of noise.

"Your phone is ringing," House tells him a little joyfully, and answers the cordless. "Hello?"

Wilson knows immediately that it's the girl because House is shooting him a look victory. "Depends on what you have in mind," he's telling her. "Stacy! Not on a first date!"

Wilson rolls his eyes. "Could you be more pleased with yourself?" he asks his friend when he hangs up.

"I'm seeing her tomorrow."

"Dinner at Hooters? Drinks at The Red Door?"

"I like to leave strip joints until the third date."

"Wise." Wilson shifts so that he can eye House. "So, what's she like?"

House ponders the question while pouring vodka into a glass. "She's… You know those cheetahs you see in the wild? The ones that eat their prey only after they tear them into pieces? That's her."

"Maybe it is a match made in heaven."

House has to laugh. "Told you."

"So, what's the deal with your dad?"

The question takes House completely off-guard, a rarity. "I'm supposed to be the King of the Non Sequiturs," he hedges.

Wilson struggles to sit up, then settles for propping his head on a pillow. "I've heard stories about your mom, about your teachers, people you went to school with. The only reason I know he's still alive is because your mom mentioned him. So. Talk."

House is silent while he reflects on the best story to describe his relationship with his father. "When I was ten," he eventually begins, "my parents and I lived in Ohio. We had these big oak trees in the backyard that were perfect for climbing. My dad always had reservations about letting me climb up there, but my mom said that it was a right of passage for a growing boy. And one weekend when my mom was out of town visiting a family friend, I fell and broke my arm." House pauses here, his eyes lose focus. It's clear that he's reliving the day in mind's eye. "My dad stood over me for a half hour before he took me to the hospital. It was important, he said, that I learn the hard way. He told the doctors and my mom that he didn't hear me yelling."

"And your mom never knew? You never told her?"

"The punishment of that would have been much worse." A quiet fills the room until Wilson stumbles to his feet, retrieves something small from his room, and returns, concealing it in his hands. "I was saving this for your birthday," he begins. "But you're off tomorrow, I'm off tomorrow. There's' really no reason to wait." He opens his hands, and House's eyebrows shoot up in amazement. He reaches out and takes his present.

"A joint," he states.

"Of the best stuff I could find. If anyone asks, your name is Steven Malloy. There's a lighter in the drawer right there."

House opens the coffee table drawer and pulls out a small black lighter. He lights the joint, inhales, then says, "I have more stories if you have more hidden away somewhere." He hits it again, then passes it to his friend.

"Sorry," Wilson answers. "Just the one."

"Still good though." House watches his friend hit the joint and is struck by the oddness of the situation. That he should have an established connection with someone who fits so perfectly into his strange life.

"Happy birthday, House."

"Thanks."