This is the sequel to Prompt 077. Hate - One Mistake. I couldn't just leave it there after all!

078. Alarm

A Penitent Man

Wilson stared at the clock on the bedside table as the alarm shrilled through the room. He'd hardly slept a wink, something that was starting to become a pattern in the last few days. He could blame the unfamiliar and uncomfortable hotel bed but he knew that wasn't right. Guilt and despair were keeping him awake, loneliness was keeping him awake, the stretch of cold unfamiliar bed was keeping him awake.

It had been five days since his monumental fuck-up, since he'd spent the night with some nameless little brunette, cheating on House. House hadn't even let him back into the apartment since their confrontation in his office. He'd gone back there after work that night to find all of his things shoved into two suitcases and a couple of boxes in the small foyer between 221A and 221B. He'd felt some small shred of relief that House hadn't simply turfed everything out onto the street and had picked his things up and piled them in his car before heading for the nearest hotel.

But as bad as things were in this cold, impersonal hotel room, they were even worse during the day at the hospital. He had definitely been cast as the bad guy in this production. The one time he'd gone near the Diagnostic Medicine offices, he'd been glared at by Cameron, Chase and, much to his surprise, Foreman. He'd heard that House was in a particularly vicious mood but he had a feeling that House's mood wasn't the reason that the three young doctors weren't happy to see him. Cuddy was giving him looks of mingled disappointment and disapproval and damn if that didn't make him feel like he was being reprimanded by the principal. Even the nurses had turned on him and he'd inadvertently discovered why the previous day when he'd overheard a group of them gossiping together. Apparently in the time that he and House had been lovers, House's mood had been…well, not nice, none of the women would admit to nice but they did admit his mood had mellowed. Oh, if you made a mistake he'd still rip your head off and shove it up your arse but the rest of the time he'd apparently been positively pleasant…for House anyway. But now House was back to his absolute worst and everyone was blaming Wilson…and not without reason.

Wilson slowly crawled out of bed and stumbled towards the bathroom with a great deal of reluctance. He was starting to hate getting up, to hate going to work, hate going to bed alone, hate being alone. But the problem was he didn't know how to fix this, especially if House wasn't going to let him speak to him ever again. Normally he'd contemplate working through Cameron or Chase, maybe even Foreman, but as they weren't speaking to him either at the moment, he honestly didn't know which way to turn.

Wilson showered, shaved and dressed without much enthusiasm and drove into the hospital, grabbing a coffee and a bagel on the way. Once there he quickly retreating to his office, hiding until it was time to see his patients. He pulled as much of his normal manner around himself as he could before he stepped into the first room. His patients had enough problems of their own, they certainly didn't care about his nor would they want to be burdened with them. He finished his rounds as quickly as he could then once again retreated to his office. He ducked inside without looking and closed the door, resting his forehead on the cool wood.

"Guilt has never been your best look."

Wilson spun around at the harsh comment and his jaw dropped when he saw House lounging in his chair behind the desk, idly twirling his cane.

"House," he said weakly, unable to find anything else to say.

He struggled to meet House's cool gaze but did so, knowing he deserved anything and everything his lover dished out. For a long moment House just stared at him then he scowled and looked away. He glanced back and swept Wilson's body with his gaze.

"You look like shit."

"You don't look much better," Wilson countered defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. He was right too; House looked drawn and tired with enormous bags under his eyes and his stubble was longer than he normally allowed it to grow.

House scowled again but just seemed to be waiting for something. Wilson stared at him in the heavy silence until he suddenly realised what House wanted.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I don't know why I…it was stupid, I wasn't thinking…I didn't want to ruin this, what we have." He hesitated then decided that he might as well say it. "I…I love you."

House's expression remained neutral throughout all of this. But once Wilson was finished, it settled into an angry sneer.

"You have a funny way of showing it but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," he snarled. "You loved your wives and did the same thing to them."

Wilson winced and swallowed hard; there was no way he could refute that. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, sure that he looked just as miserable as he felt.

"House…Greg, I…please, will you give me a second chance?"

He was almost begging by the end but he didn't care. He knew there was a saying that you don't know what you've got until it's gone and for the first time he truly understood what that meant. He spared a moment of shame that he'd never felt this way about his wives.

House stared at him in an unfriendly manner then he slumped in the seat, the end of his cane hitting the floor with a thud. For a moment he looked as weary and miserable as Wilson then he recovered somewhat.

"I want to," House admitted reluctantly and Wilson brightened a little in spite of the tone of voice then House continued. "But can I trust you?"

Wilson closed his eyes, wishing briefly for a time machine so he could go back to the bar and slap himself up the side of the head. He walked around his desk and crouched down in front of House, who had turned the chair to face him. Wilson reached out and placed one hand on House's knee, revelling in the warmth that bled through the denim.

"Yes," he said plainly, looking House in the eyes and hiding nothing. "Yes, you can trust me. If the last five days have taught me anything, it's that I…don't want to lose you. Not as a friend and definitely not as a lover." He gave a ragged sigh. "I've been lonely. I've missed you, sarcasm, personal abuse and all. I hate that hotel and I want to come home."

A hint of uncertainty crawled across House's face then he slowly nodded.

"I've…missed you," House admitted with a brief scowl that made Wilson smile. "Come home. But if you…"

His voice trailed off but Wilson didn't need him to finish the sentence. He nodded and squeezed House's leg.

"I won't," he said firmly.

House gave him a long considering look then nodded. Wilson made the first move to stand up then gave a start as a hand wrapped itself around his tie and pulled him forward. He gave a yelp and caught himself on the chair in time to avoid falling on House's leg then he was being kissed. It was a harsh kiss, full of desperation and want, nipping teeth and bruised lips and, oh god, how he loved it. He leaned into the kiss and moaned, letting House deepen it, letting House take what he wanted, giving House everything.

The kiss finally ended with both of them panting for breath and Wilson let his forehead come to rest lightly against House's as one hand curled around the back of his lover's neck. House's hands were gripping his shirt and tie and neither of them seemed inclined to move in a hurry. Neither heard the tentative knock on the door or the sound of the door opening but they did hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. They separated slightly and looked over to the door to see Foreman standing there with an expression of mixed impatience, concern and, when he looked at Wilson, disapproval.

"We've got the test results back," he said awkwardly to House.

House nodded and shoved Wilson back lightly. "Move. You're standing in my light."

Wilson stepped back with a small smile. "Far be it for me to stand in the way of your vanity."

House pushed himself to his feet and Wilson stepped a bit further back. Before he could go too far, House grabbed him around the waist and pulled him close, staring at him soberly for a long moment then kissing him one more time. Wilson leaned into his lover and felt a large amount of the stress of the last few days melt away. They stayed like for a few minutes then House pushed him away again rather unceremoniously and started limping towards the door. Foreman was still standing there, his face neutral. He stepped aside to let his boss go through the door then waited for a moment as House walked away. The moment House was more or less out of earshot, Foreman glared at Wilson.

"Don't ever fucking do that again," he hissed.

He didn't wait for Wilson to reply, just turned and stalked after House, slamming the door behind him. Wilson sank down into his chair and buried his face in his hands, hiding the tears of relief that may or may not have been welling in his eyes, Foreman's threat…for that was what it had been…ringing in his ears. He gave a laugh that was just on the verge of being hysterical. There was no chance of him repeating this mistake but he doubted Foreman would listen to him right now. Still, House had and that was all that mattered to him. Now he could go home.