Hoorah! Finally: I give you chapter three! Sorry it took so long. But I promise it's worth the wait. Hopefully.

Disclaimer: I am aware of the fact that I stole actual dialogue from the show. I apologize if it bugs anyone, and I lay no claim to it. I do not write for the show. If I did, Hugh and Robert would be all up-ons. However, I wanted to analyze the dialogue in my creepy-fan-girl way, and I felt that for this fic, it worked. So nyah. :-P

Spoilers through Babies and Bathwater.

The first time Gregory House admitted to himself that he wanted James Wilson was on the tenth Christmas he'd spent in the oncologist's company. Their tenth Christmas together… that thought was so sentimental that it nearly made Greg gag. While they had never really celebrated the day, Greg was struck by the fact that they'd always managed to spend at least part of it together. Ten years and the bastard had never gotten him a gift. He should totally cash in on it, except that Wilson would then try to cash in on all the Christmas presents Greg had never given him, and what was the point of getting a gift if you had to give one to get it? Plus, Wilson could always play the Jew card.

While he thought, he leaned back and started tossing candies in the air. That was the only good thing about Christmas. Free candy. Not that he ever ate a lot, but it was fun to have tiny projectiles stocked on every desk and table in the entire hospital. Easy access annoyance. He really needed to work on his aim, though. Cuddy's shirts were cut so low he was appalled he'd still missed.

He continued tossing as his thoughts took a darker turn. It was his fifth Christmas without Stacy. He really should be used to the fact that she was gone by now. For the most part, he felt like he was over her At least as over her as an obsessive, slightly eccentric genius could be over anything. Still, there were short moments when he missed her, a small gnawing in the back of his mind that drove him crazy. He wasn't sure whether he really missed her or the idea of her. Five years without her might have made his admittedly fantastic memory glazed over, the ugliness of their relationship replaced by nostalgia. Maybe he missed her because he felt like things had been left…unfinished between them.

Greg and Stacy had had a few good Christmases together. That's probably why he was feeling so melancholy. She'd always managed to charm his secular and cynical heart into the spirit of things. Hell, she'd even gotten him to watch that Charlie Brown Christmas special with her one year. Even if he had scoffed and bitched through the entire thing, that was damn near close to a miracle. Without her, Christmas just wasn't the same. And if he ever voiced that thought aloud he'd slit his wrists with a butter knife.

He kept tossing the candy rhythmically even when he noticed Wilson walking up with the coffee he'd gone to get several minutes ago. He must've stopped by his office on the way back to grab his coat. Greg almost made some snippy comment about Wilson taking too long, but Wilson spoke before he could.

"The sixth circle of hell," he stated, apropos nothing. Greg took his coffee.

"Confined in a sweat box with a bloody nose and all the tissues are soggy," he answered.

"I think that's the seventh."

"Nope. The seventh is when–"

"God, you must be fun at parties," Wilson cut him off, propping his feet up on the desk.

"I think we both know the flaw in that theory."

Wilson let out a sigh, completely ignoring Greg's self-depreciating comment.

"How's the Sister?" he asked.

"Kidneys functioning, heart rate is normal. You know how it is with nuns: you take out their IUDs and they bounce right back." And wasn't it fantastic that he was being so irreverent on Christmas? Wilson wasn't surprised by his comment at all.

"Great."

"Told you I didn't screw up," Greg pointed out smugly. Wilson gave a slight head shake of disagreement.

"You screwed up," he corrected.

"I gave her point one CC of epinephrine," Greg protested.

"Yeah, and if Cuddy hadn't taken you off the case, you would have killed her."

Greg shot him a glance that he tried to make look more annoyed than it was doleful. After a few seconds he looked away. They both knew that Wilson was right, but Greg wasn't the type to admit it, and Wilson wasn't the type to push the issue. It was one of the things that made their friendship work out so well.

"You want to come over for Christmas dinner?" Wilson asked after a moment of silence. Greg looked up in surprise.

"You're Jewish," he stated incredulously.

"Yeah…Hanukkah dinner," Wilson looked like he was holding back an eye-roll. "What do you care? It's food; it's people."

"No thanks."

He ignored the disappointment that flashed over Wilson's face. Greg's reply had been automatic. He didn't want a pity dinner, and he didn't want to see Julie. He'd never liked her, and she'd never liked him. That seemed to be the pattern with Wilson's wives. They had a good thing going, actually. Mutual hatred was oh-so-satisfying. If Greg's reasons for hating her stemmed from an illogical sense of betrayal then that was his own business. He knew that Wilson had every right to get re-married as many times as he damn-well pleased. Greg would never tell Wilson that his marriage to Julie had left him feeling inexplicably more alone than when Stacy had gone, left him with confused anger articulated in the back of his head by a tiny voice that labeled Wilson as mine!

Besides, he was good at stewing in his own misery. What better night for that than Christmas? He'd certainly take pouting over having to watch Julie plant empty kisses on Wilson's cheek, her thinly veiled blue eyes glaring at Greg in disapproval. He hated sitting there without being able to announce to the room at large what a bitch she was. At least not as often as he wanted to. Even his deference to Wilson couldn't hold him back completely.

"Maybe I'll come to your place." Wilson's quiet and slightly hesitant comment caught him off guard. Surprise was the only reason his heart had jumped for a second.

"Your wife doesn't mind being alone at Christmas?" he asked. He was proud to note that only a hint of bitterness had crept into his voice.

"I'm a doctor, she's used to being alone."

That was interesting. Good news, even, though he doubted Wilson would see it that way. He raised his eyebrows.

"I don't want to talk about it," Wilson stated firmly.

"Neither do I." Damn. That had come out a little too rushed and nervous for his taste. Luckily Cuddy walked up, effectively changing the focus.

"You did good with the nun. Congratulations."

Aw, hell. She was in one of those 'make-nice-with-the-asshole' moods. Greg took the path that would get her out of his hair the fastest.

"Thank you."

"Merry Christmas Dr. House, Dr. Wilson," she said. Then she was gone, Wilson wishing her a goodnight before she got out of ear-shot.

"That was sweet," he observed after a moment. Greg bit back a snort.

"Come on, let's get the hell out of here. Nice-Cuddy is creepy. Besides, Hunan House closes in an hour." Greg stood up and led the way, Wilson following behind him.

"Chinese for Christmas dinner?" Wilson asked with a smirk. "Surprisingly, I've always kind of wanted to do that."

"Freak."

"You're the one who suggested it."

"You're the one who tries to act normal. At least I embrace my freakishness."

"Some would argue that trying to act within the acceptable parameters of society is just a healthy response to coping with life."

"Or that it's an unhealthy denial of your true nature. Which leads me back to the fact that you are, irrefutably, a freak."

"So if I deny it or not, I'm still a freak? That doesn't seem fair."

"And I'm sure your parents told you that life seldom is."

They took Greg's car and within the hour they'd stocked up on enough Chinese food to rupture the stomach of a small elephant. After a few more hours of laughing, lo mein and scotch, Wilson fell into a deep alcohol-induced sleep on Greg's couch. He'd managed it even with Greg plunking out Christmas carols on the piano. Greg felt a little put-out since Wilson had bullied him into playing them in the first place. He stopped and turned around on the bench.

The low lighting was just enough to highlight the slight flush that had risen on Wilson's cheeks. Greg hadn't drank as much as Wilson had, but it had been enough to pull down his defenses a little and leave him with a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach that he wasn't sure was entirely because of the alcohol. It had felt good sharing Christmas and Chinese with Wilson. He'd laughed harder and longer than he had in weeks. Was it wrong that it seemed Wilson was the only one able to wring those laughs out of him anymore?

Watching Wilson sprawled on the couch, his hair falling into his face, clothes rumpled, Greg was nearly knocked over by a wave of lust so strong he felt like he was going to pass out. Jesus! What was up with his friend inducing all the fucking cliché reactions? Wilson was not some Goddamn heroine in a romance novel, features soft and gentle in sleep causing the hero to fall head-over-heels. Greg could hardly believe himself. He must be much, much, much drunker than he thought he was.

But he couldn't deny how right it felt; to have Wilson lying on his couch like that, to have Wilson here instead of home with his wife. He could barely ignore that little voice in the back of his head that was screaming at him to go over to the couch and wake Wilson up in ways that would be highly unacceptable considering his friend was not only straight, but married. Shit.

Maybe it was the depression he'd been feeling earlier causing him to grab onto the first source of comfort he saw. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was a combination of both, or something else. But in that moment, Greg finally admitted to himself that he wanted James Wilson as more than a friend. It was also in that moment that Greg decided that he wouldn't let things go that far. Acknowledging the attraction didn't mean he had to act on it.

Besides, this was precisely the reason why God made hookers.

The first time James Wilson realized there was something dark about his relationship with Gregory House was also the first time he deliberately manipulated him. If he thought about it he couldn't quite pinpoint the moment that he'd decided Something Needed To Be Done. House had been depressed for years, so the fact that House was suffering couldn't be it. House made misery into an art form. Actually, James couldn't think of a time he'd seen House one hundred percent happy. Even while in love House had managed to find something wrong with the world. Hell, when they were getting along House and Stacy had fought. 'Bastard' was just House's default setting.

He was sure that House had been happy before, if not ecstatic. Maybe… content was the better term? Content brought undertones of peace though, and peaceful was something House had never been. Happy, then. Before the infarction House had been happy. At least as happy as House could manage.

So the moment James decided to act hadn't been because of any huge epiphany, any overt sign that something was tipping the scale from bad to worse. It had been a slow build-up. Longer pauses between the times House would smile. Minutes between doses of vicodin. Days between laughs. James had started to get uneasy. Even after the infarction he'd always been able to make House laugh. It had chipped away at James' composure piece by piece until he'd felt compelled to do something. Where that urge had come from… he just wasn't sure of yet.

James was good at manipulating people. It might not always look that way, but somewhere deep inside of himself James admitted that's what it was. House said he had a silver tongue, an innate ability to force people to see his side of the argument, make them listen to him. It wasn't that he didn't care about his patients. God knew he did too much of that, but there was a darker side to it. Something that got off on getting his way. Control. Sometimes it scared him, but for the most part he could manage it.

He'd never tried it with House before. There'd never really been a reason to. House could normally call him on his bull shit before anyone else had even noticed. House could fight back; he wasn't a predictable factor. But this time James hadn't been able to help but interfere, couldn't watch his friend walk down that path of self-destruction without trying to trip him up. In order to stop House from reading him and recognizing the ploy for what it was, he'd gotten Cuddy involved. Manipulating two people for the price of one.

Over the next week, James wondered whether he'd done the right thing. He didn't like seeing people he cared about in pain. Which was ironic really, considering the profession he'd chosen. There were so many moments when he wanted to confess what he'd done, call the whole thing off. But then he'd remember the deadness of House's eyes when he sat in his office twirling his cane, thinking no one was looking. He'd remember the more and more frequent winces of pain. The comments that were meant to wound instead of tease.

So he watched as House detoxed, watched as the shadows under his eyes got deeper, watched as the pain dug into every line on his face. He did what he could to help, kept conversation light, hired a masseuse, wrapped House's hand when he broke it himself. But James never tried to end it, no matter how serious it got. He wondered what that said about him. He could only thank God House had made it through.

"You made it a week," he commented to a freshly drugged-up and much more lively-looking House.

"And won my prize," House pointed out.

"Congratulations."

"Cuddy's a sucker. I would have done it for two weeks off."

"Yeah, it was a piece of cake," he said sarcastically. They paused at the entrance to House's office. "You learn anything?"

"Yeah. I'm an addict." House dropped the bomb, then turned and walked into his office. Acting completely unconcerned. Son of a bitch.

James was thrown. Even though he'd known he was right about the drugs he hadn't really expected House to admit to anything. It took him a moment or two to snap out of it and follow House in.

"Uh… okay," he offered lamely. Still not completely composed. He put his hands on his hips, almost to try and steady himself.

"I'm not stopping."

"There are programs," he suggested tentatively. "Cuddy would give you the time. You could get on a different pain regimen—"

"I don't need to stop," House cut him off.

James nearly shivered as something inside him growled at that denial, made him want to reach out and shake House until he saw reason.

"You just said—"

"I said I was an addict. I didn't say I had a problem." But you do. We both know you do. "I pay my bills, I make my meals. I function."

Something about that stung. The anger inside James kept building.

"Is that all you want? You have no relationships."

"I don't want any relationships."

There was that feeling again. That feeling that had prompted James to start this whole thing.

"You alienate people."

"I've been alienating people since I was three."

And you haven't matured much since then, either, James thought. His face snapped up, and so did the tension.

"Oh, come on! Drop it! You don't think you've changed in the last few years?"

"Well, of course I have. I've- I've gotten older. My hair's gotten thinner. Sometimes I'm bored, sometimes I'm lonely, sometimes I wonder what it all means."

And he was still hiding behind the sarcasm. James couldn't stand it, and even though all the signs were warning him off he plowed on. He wanted some sort of reaction, instead of the stand-offish snark that was so typical of House.

"No, I was there! You are not just a regular guy who's getting older, you've changed! You're miserable, and you're afraid to face yourself—"

James jumped when House slammed his cane down on the table. Well, he'd wanted a reaction.

"Of course I've changed!" House shouted. There was a pause. An awkward silence. He'd thought their friendship was past those.

"And everything's the leg?" he finally ventured. "Nothing's the pills? They haven't done a thing to you?" James still couldn't put a name on it, but that damn… something was closing up his throat, making his voice slightly shaky.

"They let me do my job. And they take away my pain," House stated resolutely. They stared blankly at each other for a moment. Something about the way House was looking at him…

He wants me to leave. He's pushing me away.

The thought came unbidden, but as soon as it did, James knew that that was it. That feeling that had been bothering him… it was the feeling that House was trying to distance himself. To get away from him. When everything in James wanted to control it, to fix it, to help…

Stop. You don't have to do this alone. Let me… Let me…

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? This really wasn't about House at all. It was about James. He didn't want to lose House, couldn't bear the thought of never seeing a genuine smile from him again, never hearing him laugh, never falling asleep in the middle of a movie-marathon with their thighs touching, their breathing synchronized. He knew he could never really have House the way he wanted, that he was only taunting himself with the unattainable… but for some reason that was enough for him. Enough for him to keep everything together. To pretend it was all okay.

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his neck, defeated. After one last look he turned around and left. Maybe he should listen to House on this one. James had no right to pass judgment. That clinging, grasping possessiveness inside of James was screaming at him to do something, but he feared he'd already done too much. It was an ugliness about him he'd never really paid attention to before. He'd crossed the line with both eyes open, completely aware of what he was doing. Now that he had it felt like the dam had burst. The scariest part was knowing it would probably get the better of him again someday, that he'd lost some of the control he'd had over that part of himself.

At least a few things had been made clear.

For all that he liked to think he knew House, he didn't really understand him. And for all that he liked to feel in control, feel wanted, needed, that was something he wasn't ever going to get here. House had never needed him at all.

With time, he hoped he would be okay with that.

The first time Gregory House regretted the fact that he was an asshole was when James Wilson lost everything for him. The most annoying part was that he really hadn't seen it coming. He'd known there would be some sort of reparation from Vogler, but there was no way in a million years he'd thought the rich jerk could be just as diabolical as Greg could be. Vogler had almost trumped that time Greg had nearly convinced Cameron that those kitten-in-a-jar things were real.

There were a few things in the world that Greg was certain of, and one of them was that they'd never be smart enough to figure out a way to get his crippled ass out of Princeton Plainsboro. It wasn't the best place to be, but it was his place. And they let him get away with more here than he would anywhere else… at least at first. Greg didn't feel like breaking in a new hospital.

He'd been so sure of himself, striding into Wilson's office. Getting a favor from Wilson was as easy as getting a tail-wag from a needy puppy. He was expecting a short conversation, maybe a couple sniping remarks, and then he'd be gone, popping a vicodin and waiting while all the hard work was done for him.

"Listen, Vogler's all about clinical trials. The hospital's chock full of them. There's got to be something for small-cell lung cancer…"

What he didn't expect was to find Wilson packing his admittedly work-centered and pathetic life into boxes. He paused for a moment.

"What are you doing?" Greg asked in a slightly rushed tone. It was a stupid question, but for once he couldn't come up with anything better. Wilson put his hands on his hips.

"I got sacked."

A cold feeling started to churn in Greg's gut. He almost shivered, but he ignored it and fell back onto his favored form of defense.

"Did you make a pass at Cuddy? Told you, she only has thighs for me."

Something like disgust flashed in Wilson's eyes as he turned back from grabbing another book off the shelf.

"I voted to keep you," he explained.

"So he's getting rid of every board member who votes to keep me around," Greg concluded. A slightly hysterical, self-depreciating grin twisted Wilson's face.

"Yeah, every one of us."

"Just you?" He couldn't say he was surprised. Still, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed in Cuddy.

"Yeah," Wilson said.

"But you're only off the board, right? They couldn't have got unanimous approval for you." Greg tried to ignore the sudden clench of panic. Shit. Not good, not good, not good. Wilson let out a puff of air and brought a hand up to rub at his eyes.

"Brown from Oncology voted no. So did Cuddy, Taylor and Peevey."

"Eh, so you're off the board, big deal. Frees up Wednesday nights for bowling," Greg said. Why did it feel like he was grasping at straws? "You're still a doctor–"

"Yeah, getting dumped looks great in Who's Who," Wilson said, pulling a book out of Greg's hands and throwing it in a box. "Vogler gave me the option of resigning, and I took it." Greg could see the barely held back anger in the tenseness of Wilson's shoulders. This was the closest he'd seen his friend to breaking in a while.

"Big of him," Greg muttered, almost afraid to meet Wilson's eyes. And Wilson finally lost it.

"I've got no kids, my marriage sucks," he bit out. "I've only got two things that work for me: this job and this stupid, screwed-up friendship, and neither mattered enough to you to give one lousy speech!" He threw a handful of pencils on top of the books, then leaned back slightly. His eyes searched Greg's, accusing, demanding an explanation.

Greg didn't really have one. He'd just… been himself. That had never really been a problem before. But looking into Wilson's eyes, seeing the hurt swimming in them… Greg felt two things he wasn't accustomed to feeling. Regret. Guilt. There was also a good dose of anger and awe. That Wilson cared about him that much… All the conflicting emotions made him want to either go hide in his office or try to make it better before it was too late, push Wilson against the wall and – he cut the thought off before it could be fully formed. He couldn't give Wilson the explanation he deserved, but maybe he could try to do some damage control.

"They matter," he said quietly. Greg was struck by the fact that it was the first time he'd ever really told Wilson he gave a crap. And he did care. More than was probably healthy, even though he'd never admit it. Something like relief and exasperation swept over Wilson's face. "If I could do it all again…"

"You'd do the same thing," Wilson finished on a sigh. The guilt almost choked him, but he knew Wilson was right. He nodded. "Well, you'll be gone soon too…"

Wilson turned away from him, and they stood there in silence for a while. Greg knew he was a bastard for asking after all that, but he really did need…

"Those clinical trials?" Wilson looked at him. For a moment, Greg thought he was going to tell him where he could stick his clinical trial. He had every right to. But Wilson just looked tired and held a hand out for the file.

"I'll make some calls," he said.

"Thanks."

And then Greg had left, not wanting to have to deal with the emotional minefield. He'd only had the experience of seeing Wilson that upset once or twice before. It always made him want to get back at whoever had caused it. He wanted to punch someone, but since the person responsible for the whole thing was himself he decided that wasn't the wisest course of action. He redirected his anger onto Cuddy since she was safer. If he'd gone to chew out Vogler he knew he'd end up caning the guy in the head. He didn't need a law suit on top of everything else. Depressingly, the only thing he got out of his confrontation with Cuddy were burning ears and an even more pissed off mood.

He threw himself into the case, trying not to think about what it all meant. Wilson and Greg had both admitted some pretty heavy things back there. He'd always known they had some sort of weird, slightly unhealthy codependency thing going on, but he'd never realized how deeply it ran.

Wilson was important. He hadn't understood how important Wilson was before, but he couldn't ignore it now. Wilson was the only person he could care about anymore, the only person he really understood, the only person who really understood him. The thought of losing that made something black and empty rip at his stomach.

He'd just always assumed that Wilson had more going for him than Greg and his job. It freaked him out to see just how similar they were. And now both of them were going to lose the two things that mattered most. Sure, he could still see Wilson after they both got fired, but it wouldn't be the same. He wondered if they'd ever recover from this. He almost couldn't believe it was actually happening.

Beyond all the panic and denial Greg tried to do what he did best. It was probably the last time he'd get to do it, anyway.

The first time James Wilson knew that Gregory House mattered to him more than anything man, God or Vogler could offer him was also the day he almost lost his job. Bless Cuddy for pulling a miracle in the eleventh hour, because James honestly didn't know what he would have done with himself otherwise. He'd been contemplating something along the lines of massive amounts of anti-depressants or a very tall building. Besides the whole holy-shit-I-lost-everything-and-now-it's-back-again factor, the experience had been surprising for a couple reasons.

First it had been surprising because James had honestly thought that his job came before House. The bastard had snuck into first place without James noticing. It was so like him. It freaked James out a little that House was the most important thing in his life. It probably shouldn't, though. He'd been willing to do pretty-much anything for House before. Of course, House would only take what had happened as another indication that he could walk all over James and get away with it. Which he could. Shit. James was totally screwed.

The second surprising event had been that House had actually admitted to giving a damn. So what if he'd only done it after screwing James' life up almost irrevocably? It was a step in the right direction. Even if it was kind of pathetic that James had still felt relieved at hearing some sort of affirmation that their friendship wasn't completely one-way. Sure, he'd known that House had cared, but knowing something and hearing someone say it were two different things altogether. And now he sounded like a 13-year-old girl.

He sighed and slumped back into his chair. Chase and Foreman had gone shortly after Cuddy, leaving James and House to lounge around and finish off the rest of the champagne. They'd fallen silent after House had pulled out his i-Pod and hooked it up to the speakers. It was halfway through the second verse of Piano Man.

Wilson noticed House shoot him a searching look out of the corner of his eye. He'd been doing that occasionally ever since they'd been left alone. Something was really bugging him. James suspected what it was about, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to broach the subject. They'd both made some admissions they would've rather not made, and now they had to deal with the shift. For someone as blunt and obnoxious as House, he could be kind of skittish when it came to dealing with the serious or emotional stuff. James didn't want to scare him off. But when House shot him another look James decided enough was enough.

"What is it?" he asked. House glanced up, then looked away.

"Shouldn't you be getting back home?" he asked gruffly. Diverting. Okay, this was going to be a little tricky.

"Didn't we already go over this? Does the whole, 'my marriage sucks,' thing ring a bell?" James asked. "What's bothering you?"

House didn't answer for a long time.

"What you did today was supremely idiotic, even for you," he finally said. James let out a surprised laugh.

"What? How do you figure that?"

"You nearly lost your job and ended up losing the hospital a hundred million dollars. That's gotta be a record of some sort. Remind me to call the Guinness people."

James' eyes widened.

"Yeah, and don't forget to tell them about the man with the ego so large they had to knock down walls so he could fit into the building." James paused and got in a good glare. "Losing that hundred million dollars was your screw-up, House! Or did you miss the fact that Vogler hated you so much he was willing to do anything to fire you?"

"Aw, now you're just being mean. Eddie and I had a connection that you wouldn't understand."

"True. I'm not one to indulge in immature, petty grudges just because I refuse to play along, and the other kid can buy more expensive toys."

"He stole all the prettiest strippers and wouldn't share, then he cut off my Internet porn," House said with an exaggerated pout. "But it is your fault about the one hundred million."

James nearly threw up his hands in exasperation.

"How is it my fault?" he asked.

"If you'd just gone along with Cuddy and the rest of the morons on the board, you'd still have your job and a bunch of shiny new drugs and research equipment that might've bought your bald kids another few months."

James felt like he'd been sucker-punched.

"So… you wanted to lose your job? Are you completely insane? You live for this job! Sometimes I think it's the only thing that keeps you going."

House glared at him.

"So pity the cripple, get fired? Is that what it is?" House asked. "I'm sick of your self-sacrificing act. It's stupid, illogical and misguided. I don't need you to stick up for me, Wilson," House said. "I'm a big boy. I can even tie my own shoes."

"House, you made it perfectly clear that you were depending on me to defend you in that board meeting!" James protested.

"That's because I didn't realize how far that asshole would go!" House snapped back at him. "If I'd known–" He cut himself off. They stared at each other in silence for a few moments before House looked away.

"I just… don't like you trying to protect me when I don't need it. Not when it could cost you that much," House finally said, his voice just above a whisper.

James knew that House hated feeling helpless. The only thing he hated more than that was feeling pitied. Right now he was dealing with both. On top of that, House cared which was something he generally avoided at all costs. He also avoided talking about these kind of things. If it weren't for the half-bottle of champagne House probably wouldn't have said this much.

"It wasn't pity," James said finally. House snorted in disbelief. "It wasn't. And honestly, I didn't know that if I voted to keep you I'd lose my job. But even if I had…" he trailed off, and House looked up expectantly.

"Even if I had, I'd have done the same thing," James concluded.

"Why?" House asked. And for the first time since James had known him, House looked genuinely confused.

"Besides the abusive conversation, getting part of my lunch stolen everyday and being dragged into cases that often quickly turn unethical? I don't know. I suppose it would've gotten boring around here."

"And you think that's a good enough reason?" House asked, his face covered in disbelief. "You're dumber than I thought."

They looked at each other for a moment, small smiles creeping onto both their faces. It seemed that the silence spoke all the things they couldn't or wouldn't ever say. It was rare, but at times like this they occasionally came to a true understanding. House sighed and turned away.

"Okay," he said.

It would have to be enough.

A.N: Awwwwwws! I love the fluffy-disfunctional moments! Review for me, or the glow of joy shall fade... TT