Wilson sat staring at House, processing what had just occurred. He could still taste the kiss they had been locked in before he was abruptly pushed away. He still craved the closeness they had held moments before.

Pain and frustration were written in the lines on House's face. Wilson read in them what had transpired. They must have moved the wrong way for House's abused body. And so he sat, cast aside, unsure how to approach, but knowing he had to.

"Oh good, we're back to the sulking silence," he said, testing the waters once House had gathered himself and shifted to stony silence.

"Not a good time to push," House said tightly. Between the pain and the exasperation that it left him unable to enjoy even these small pleasures, he wasn't sure he could take much more.

"You mean there's actually a good time? Please let me in on the schedule," Wilson said bitterly. He didn't take rejection from House well.

"Stop," House said angrily.

"No, you don't get to be mad here. You stole my prescriptions. You jeopardized my license. You were ready to throw away the only two things that work for me…again. You don't get to be mad here and I get to know why." Wilson could feel his anger and righteousness building as he spoke. He had gone through so many emotions tonight, he shifted among them with an ease and rapidity more characteristic of House.

"You've already gotten to know more than you deserve tonight," House replied tiredly still uncertain about the decision to share his pain with Wilson and Stacy.

"Look, we both know you rationalize even your emotions. So, why do you think you're entitled to be angry?" Wilson persisted more gently.

"You know, you tout this whole 'I only have two things that work for me' line like it's some damn badge of courage. How many things do you think I have?" House said hoping it would be enough.

"No, that's not all, that just makes you mad at the world. Why are you mad at me, House?"

"You laughed at me," House mumbled, knowing truth was the route he had to take tonight.

"What?" Wilson asked, unsure what he had heard.

"I came to you when the Ketamine started wearing off, when the damn pain started coming back and you laughed at me. You didn't even consider that I might have a clue about the difference between a sore muscle and the pain I've lived with for all these years." House said, resenting not only Wilson's past betrayal, but also his present demand that they talk about it. He didn't want to have to admit that Wilson's failure to support him, to protect him, had hurt as much as the failure of the Ketamine. He didn't want to admit that this was part of why Wilson finally knowing the truth about his pain and its management was so scary. Up until now, when Wilson didn't understand his pain, he could take solace in the fact that Wilson didn't have all the facts, but what was House going to do now if Wilson still didn't believe him? Still didn't support him?

Wilson felt his heart drop into his stomach. He remembered the day House had come to him. He had laughed and made a big show of putting away his prescription pad. He hadn't even tried to listen. He had wanted so badly for the Ketamine to be a permanent success that he ignored the reality of the situation. House had come to him, and he had failed him, again. He placed his hands on House's cheeks and held House's face inches from his own.

"I'm sorry House. I was wrong," he said sincerely.

"Whatever, it's fine," House said pulling away.

"Yeah, that's us, fine, fine, fine," Wilson said wishing things were different. He quickly halted this wishful thinking, still feeling the sting of just how much his penchant for denial had cost him, cost both of them. They sat in silence once more.

"Look, I admit it, I screwed up. I was wrong, but I didn't deserve this," Wilson said, growing frustrated by House's impenetrable fortress mode.

"We so rarely get what we deserve," House said at last. "I had no way of predicting psycho-cop was going to turn up," he continued, sounding at once casual and defensive.

"But he did. So, what do we do now?" Wilson asked, truly curious.

"Now? We go to bed," House answered matter-of-factly, because it was really all he wanted to do.

"Just like that?"

"Either what we've done tonight will be enough, and this will all resolve soon, or it won't and we'll have to come up with something else," House said.

Wilson found House's way of distilling even the most complicated situations into the simplest of terms simultaneously infuriating and endearing. He couldn't help but smile as he looked over at his friend. The ease with which House was now using the word we was hopeful. His levity quickly faded when he really took in House's appearance though. He was clearly exhausted and hurting. From falling, to revealing the struggle he tried so hard to keep hidden, to seeing Stacy, to having to talk about his feelings, the evening had left him deflated and weary.

He was also right though. There was nothing more they could accomplish tonight. Things seemed on their way to being better than they had been in a long time between the two of them, but they were much too raw to heal over night.

"Why don't you go ahead, I'm just going to clean up a little," Wilson said already heading toward the kitchen. He knew House would be craving space and privacy after feeling so exposed tonight. He didn't want to make any assumptions about where he'd be spending the night.

It was Wilson's willingness to give him space that made House want to keep him close. "Just remember to hit the lights when you come in," he said simply.

Part 7b

House was in bed, but tense and taught when Wilson entered the bedroom. He was so still Wilson wondered how he was even moving air into his lungs. Pain was etched into his face. Wilson wondered if sharing the bed was a good idea. He didn't want to cause House any more pain, and after reading the file he held in his hands, he was unsure of so many things. He needed time to digest.

He watched as House finally let out a long slow breath, seeming to relax.

"Hey," House said realizing Wilson was there. He was slightly embarrassed by his body's frailty. This had not been how he imagined Wilson's return to his bed, but he was too sore to fool around. He remembered the last time he and Wilson had been together. It had been too long, he thought to himself.

He noticed the binder in Wilson's hands and sighed. Wilson realized what he was looking at.

"Just wanted to go through this stuff some more, be ready when Stacy calls in the morning," he explained as he stripped down to his boxers.

House sighed unhappily again.

"What?" Wilson asked, climbing into bed.

"Nothing, I just wish things could have been different," House replied sounding disappointed.
"You mean you wish you didn't have to show me this," Wilson said, holding up the binder.
"Yeah," House admitted.

"Well, I wish I had seen this years ago, so I guess this is a fair middle ground," Wilson reasoned, inching a hand closer to House.
"There's nothing fair about it," House groused.
"Maybe not, but it's where we are."
"So it is."

"For what it's worth, while I wish you would have shown me this stuff sooner, I'm sorry for making it harder," Wilson said sincerely.

House just nodded.

"Well?" Wilson prompted.

"Well what?"

"You could have made things easier too," Wilson said, getting flustered.

"Hey, I already apologized once tonight. I'm good for a month at least. Besides, I'm the patient, it's not my job to make things easier," House said in his best petulant child tone.

"You're…impossible, difficult, awful, right. I should have listened. I should have made it my business to know this stuff even if you didn't want to tell me." Wilson knew he didn't need to add that that's what House would have done. They both knew it was true.

"Whatever."

"I'm serious," Wilson insisted.
"I know you are, and I'm sure you really mean it," House said, looking away.

"But?"

"But nothing," House replied, trying to sound convincing.

"Right," Wilson said in disbelief.

"What do you want me to say? I believe you genuinely think you are going to try to listen better when I tell you it hurts. I believe that you genuinely are sorry that you missed whatever you think you missed that you see now after reading that file. But, I also believe that if you're not living with it day in and day out, it's easily forgotten. We've done this before. This is how it was way back in the beginning. Every once in a while you or Cuddy or someone sees something and gets it in your heads that the pain is real and that it hurts, and you're sincere about it. I know you are, but it doesn't last. You don't have to remember that it's always there, always sucks, and really I don't want you to. You had no idea and it's all my fault, but tell me how much of an idea do you need to have when you know how many pills I take. It's much easier to think of House the addict than House the cripple, isn't it?" House said tiredly.

"Maybe, sometimes, yeah, but partly because it's the role you prefer," Wilson defended, unsettled by how calm House was. He wasn't arguing, or ranting, he was simply stating the way things were, which only made Wilson feel worse.
"Maybe so, but what would you have me do?" House wondered aloud.

"You don't have to put on an act all the time," Wilson said shifting towards House.

"Well, it must be working because no one would give me drugs today. Even Cuddy said she was only doing it because if she refused me it would give the cops evidence that I don't really need the meds. Like it was some forgone conclusion that I don't need them."

Wilson felt rage bubbling in his chest. Rage for House. He wanted to rage at Cuddy and himself for treating House the way they had.

"I wish it were different House, I really do."

"Well…everybody wishes something," House jested. He was done with the serious talk for tonight.

"You've gone from everybody lies to everybody wishes? Did you suddenly become an

optimist while I was in the bathroom?" Wilson replied easily with a smile. This felt good.

"I didn't say everybody gets what they wish. Hell, most of them are probably lying because they know they'll never get what they wish."

"Most of them or most of us?" Wilson questioned.

"I liked you better when you were anti-semantic."

"What are my chances of actually getting a straight answer?" Wilson asked.

"Probably similar to your chances of getting lucky tonight," House replied easily.

"Well, then I've got some reading to do," Wilson said turning back to the materials in his lap.

"Fine, read. Go ahead and agonize over things you've already read," House whined.

"At least it's still fresh, as opposed to the tired lines you insist on feeding me," Wilson countered.

"You're still mad," House stated impatiently.

"Hmm…learning you've been lying to my face for years, not exactly anger-quelling. And let's not forget the whole forging my prescriptions mess," Wilson maintained.

"I'd say I'm not the only one who offers a steady diet of tired lines. I'm going to sleep while the getting's good," House said letting his exhaustion sweep over him. Things weren't what passed for normal between him and Wilson yet, but they were on their way.

"Good night House," Wilson said, draping a few fingers across one of House's hands.

"Good night Wilson," House said, feeling more at peace than he had in a long time as he shut his eyes.