A/N: Slashfan54 asked that I bring up House's leg getting worse. I think for the most part he's down to his baseline pain because being with Wilson is the closest he's been to happy since the infarction, but I will bring up his leg issues. Thanks for the suggestion.

7.7—"Happy Birthday"

House was sitting at his desk, playing with his big red ball and sending inappropriate text messages to Wilson.

He sensed a disturbance in the office and looked up to see Thirteen standing there. Her hands were in the pockets of her lab coat, which was good because it meant she didn't have a file for him. After he was done harassing Wilson his plan was to play his PSP for an hour before another round of Wilson-harassing. Having to do a differential would throw off his schedule for the entire afternoon.

Silently he assessed her. They didn't have a patient, so it had to be something personal. She was smiling, which meant she wasn't here to resign or complain about Chase. Her smile was slightly smug, so she knew something he didn't, or she knew something he didn't think she knew. Which meant she'd been talking to Wilson. This was going to be about Wilson.

"What?" he decided was the quickest and easiest path to her knowledge.

"Your birthday is on Thursday," she stated, giving him a superior look.

Great. She'd been working for him for two years and had never acknowledged his birthday before, so she only knew now because Wilson had told her, and the only reason for that would be...

"Wilson sent you to find out what I want."

For about a second she looked surprised and impressed at his powers of deduction, but she recovered quickly.

"All right," she agreed. "So what do you want?"

"Morning sex and macadamia nut pancakes," House replied without missing a beat. "And for him not to mention the fact that it's my birthday."

Thirteen rolled her eyes and sat down in the chair in front of his desk. "Come on, you must want something."

"Yeah," House said, looking at her. "Sex and pancakes."

"He knows you usually prefer that everyone ignore your birthday, but he doesn't want to do that now that you're...together," she explained. "And he doesn't want to just ask you himself because it makes him feel cheap, but he wants to get you something you'll actually enjoy and appreciate, and face it, House, you're not an easy person to shop for."

"No one needs to shop for anything," House insisted, getting up and grabbing his cane to show he was bored with the conversation. "Now that he's my boy toy, the sex is free, and I know for a fact we have all the ingredients for pancakes stocked. Now go away. Do my clinic hours or something."

She rolled her eyes and left the room.

[]

Wilson approached Thirteen as soon as he saw her in the hallway. "What did he say?" he asked anxiously.

Thirteen sighed. "Morning sex, macadamia pancakes, and to act like it's not his birthday. I tried, Wilson, but that's all he'd give me."

Wilson sighed, too.

"Come on, you've known him longer than anyone," Thirteen encouraged. "You've got to know what he likes."

Wilson chuckled. "He likes sex and pancakes. And he hates his birthday."

"So don't get him anything special," she suggested. "Just...give him what he wants."

"I can't do that!" Wilson answered, mortified. "He'd hate me. It's his birthday, I can't just ignore it. Sure, he may act like he doesn't actually care, but inside he'd be secretly hurt and disappointed if I don't acknowledge it."

"You sure about that?" Thirteen asked, crossing her arms and examining him.

"Well..." Wilson shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."

Thirteen smirked. "I'll tell you what. Chase is having a guys' night with some of his friends. If House won't be totally suspicious of you going out for a couple hours after work, I'll go to the mall with you and we'll find something for him."

"I shouldn't have bought that organ just because," Wilson murmured to himself. "I knew he'd love that. I felt so proud of myself for thinking of it. I should have saved it for a special occasion."

"No, you shouldn't have," Thirteen contradicted. "It wouldn't have meant as much to him. This way you did it because you wanted to, because you loved him. You didn't need his birthday as an excuse."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. "You really don't think I should get him anything?"

"It's up to you, Wilson," she sighed.

"I mean, it's the first birthday he's had since we've been together, and I want to show him that that means something to me."

"So we'll pick out something nice," Thirteen said, smiling encouragingly. "I'm sure he'll love whatever you get him simply because it comes from you."

Wilson groaned into his hands. "I'm doomed."

[]

House woke up to the sound of the hair dryer going in the next room. So unless Wilson was tricking House or something, he had already bathed and was getting ready for the day. No chance of ambushing him in the shower.

The sound of the hair dryer ceased as House rolled out of bed, reaching for his cane. Wilson greeted him with a "Hey," as they passed each other, him on his way out of the bathroom, House on his way in.

Definitely no chance of morning sex. He was already clean and fresh and ready for the day. His hair was styled to perfection, his shirt was pressed, all that was missing was the tie, which he was on his way to the closet for right now.

House grumpily went through his own morning routine, splashing water on his face, taking his medications, running a wet hand through his hair to get it just right in a way that was completely different from Wilson.

Once dressed, he thumped moodily down the hall. He already knew he wasn't getting his second birthday wish either. He'd have been able to smell Wilson's pancakes from a mile away. Not in the mood for eggs, House grabbed a box of sugared cereal from the top of the fridge and wondered for a second if he had the date wrong. But no, of course he didn't. It was the eleventh, it was definitely his birthday. Every year he wanted it to go by without acknowledging it. He wished he could pretend it was just another day. But around the time of the ninth or the tenth, it always occurred to him, and when the day came he couldn't look at the date written on a piece of paper without thinking, Today's my birthday.

Well at least he was getting one thing he wanted. Wilson hadn't said a word to him about it. Congratulations, Greg, House thought to himself. Just like any other day. Just like you always want.

Wilson had ignored his birthdays before, and he'd never cared. Genuinely hadn't cared. It wasn't like House acknowledged Wilson's birthday. He frowned to himself. Did he even know when Wilson's birthday was? Something was telling him November. He should probably ask sometime. Well, not ask. Snoop through his stuff for a birth certificate. He knew the man's blood type, for god's sakes. They'd known each other for twenty years, they'd been dating for two months. How could he not know Wilson's birthday?

"You riding to work with me?" Wilson asked, grabbing his jacket and briefcase.

House shook his head. "Taking the bike. I'll see you there."

Wilson shrugged. "Suit yourself." He hesitated for a moment, leaning forward as though considering walking up to House from the doorway instead of turning around and going out, but the moment passed and he gave House a quick smile before leaving.

They sometimes rode together, but not always. It wasn't convenient if they needed to leave at different times. House knew Wilson had been debating whether to kiss him goodbye. House never minded as long as he could sneak some tongue in, but that didn't stop him from mocking him about his domesticity later. Eventually Wilson learned to refrain such gestures when that's all they were—gestures. They kissed all the time. It was their new foosball. But they didn't kiss as a way of saying hello or goodbye. They kissed to, well, kiss.

[]

An exception came later that day. House decided to forgive the transgression because for the most part Wilson had been good lately, and within minutes a much larger transgression occurred, driving any kissing completely from House's mind.

It was late morning. House had just dismissed his team from a differential and was making his way from the conference room to his office when Wilson sidled through the door.

Before House could say anything, Wilson had pecked him quickly on the cheek and whispered, "Happy birthday, House," before slipping him a small package and then leaving the room. House watched him hurry down the hallway, his shadow Monica at his heels, and then limped over to his chair. Wilson was now oh-for-three in the presents-House-had-asked-for category, but he had gotten him something. And for some reason he didn't want to be present when this something was unwrapped. It couldn't just be that he was too busy or he would have given it to him at home. Which meant he was ashamed of it. Which meant he either didn't think House would like it or it was something entirely inappropriate. House wanted to believe the latter but the former was more likely. It wasn't that Wilson was incapable of inappropriate, he just probably wouldn't want the first-birthday-as-a-couple present to be inappropriate and even if he did, he'd probably be curious enough to watch his reaction.

Well, with the team off running tests, if House wanted to open his present without being interrupted, it was now or never. He sat down in his chair and inspected the box. It was about six inches by three inches, wrapped expertly in white and gold wrapping paper and tied with a translucent gold ribbon. It might have been gift-wrapped at the store, but House wouldn't put it past Wilson to possess perfect wrapping skills all on his own. He untied the ribbon and placed it gently on the desk. The lid was wrapped separately from the box, allowing House to open it without tearing the wrapping paper. It crossed his mind for a moment that Wilson took all the fun parts out of opening presents.

In the box, on a bed of padded silk, lay a watch. House inhaled sharply when he saw it. He picked up out of the box gently, tenderly, inspecting. It was made of steel and white gold, varying shades of silver in color except for the numbers, which were a complementary blue. House immediately thought of his eyes. The second hand moved elegantly around the clock's face as he stared at it. There was a little crown where the number twelve should have been. A Rolex. The man had bought him a Rolex.

A sudden throb in House's leg caused him to gasp out in surprise and pain and grab his thigh. Hand shaking, House dropped the watch quickly into a drawer before grimacing and using both hands to massage the muscles and lack thereof in his leg.

He looked up at the sound of the door opening to see Thirteen standing there.

"What?" he snapped, squeezing his leg.

Thirteen's eyes got wide. "I just wanted to tell you she has a fever. It's not autoimmune." Then she stepped forward cautiously. "Are...are you all right?"

"Do I look all right?" He griped, glaring at her.

"Do you want me to get someone? Do you want me to get Wilson?"

"No." His glare was so severe Thirteen decided to let him be. She turned around and left the way she came.

House got up and, grabbing his thigh, began pacing around his office. He looked down at his desk, saw the two pieces of the box, and pushed them over so they fell off the desk into the garbage. A flutter of paper caught House's eye as the lid fell, and he picked it up.

Taped to the wrapping paper and matching it so perfectly House hadn't noticed it before was a two inch square "card" with gold embellishments. He ripped it off the box lid, tearing the wrapping paper, and opened it. On the left side of the card was a printed 'To' and 'From' that Wilson had left blank. The right side of the card read simply, 'I love you. –J.W.'

House felt something warm in his abdomen. He squeezed the paper in his hand and then shoved it into his jeans pocket.

[]

Wilson pushed the door open and walked into the office, but its occupant didn't look up from his computer. He was wearing his reading glasses—it crossed Wilson's mind that House always looked cute with his glasses on; maybe that was why he only wore them when strictly necessary.

"Hey," Wilson announced his presence, not bothering to sit down in front of the desk because he'd just have to get up again. "Ready to go to lunch?"

House shrugged without looking at him.

Wilson was immediately on his guard. Something was wrong. No smartass comment, no sarcasm, no sex talk meant something was wrong.

Not necessarily, Wilson told himself. Maybe he's just busy. He's got a case he hasn't solved yet.

"What are you working on?" Wilson asked, hoping to get a sense of what made House so indifferent to him all of a sudden.

House shut his computer with a snap and removed his glasses. "Nothing. All right, we can go."

Yes. Something was wrong. There were a million different ways he could have answered that question. Most of them would have made Wilson smile, some might have even earned a chuckle. House wasn't even bothering to deflect. He was upset. Wilson snuck a surreptitious glance at his wrists. No watch. Oh. That's what this was about?

Wilson looked at House. "You hate it," he deduced.

House leaned his head back and sighed. "It's not the damn watch, Wilson."

"Why aren't you wearing it, then?" Wilson asked, not demandingly, but curiously. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing. It's just my leg. It's fine. It'll go away."

Wilson shook his head. "No, there's something else bothering you. I can tell there's something bothering you. Did I do something wrong? I need you to tell me, House, because that's the only way I can make it better."

"You didn't do anything wrong," House insisted, rubbing his leg and not looking at him. "I'm fine. Are you gonna buy me lunch or not? It is m–" he cut himself off and fell silent.

Wilson frowned at him. "No."

House looked up at Wilson. "You always buy me lunch."

"I'm not buying you anything unless you tell me why you're upset."

"I'm upset because my supposed boyfriend won't even buy me lunch on my birthday."

"A deflection. What a surprise," Wilson said sarcastically. "Fine. I'll be in my office if you change your mind." He turned around and left.

House watched him leave the room. He massaged his thigh with one hand and then reopened his laptop and replaced his glasses with the other.

[]

The team left the diagnostic room in different directions, Taub and Foreman to check the patient's home and Thirteen and Chase to do a lung biopsy. Thirteen pulled Chase aside down the hallway and whispered something in his ear.

He stared at her for a second. "Do I have to?"

"Please?" she asked, looking up at him.

Chase nodded and she smiled. He leaned forward to give her a quick peck on the lips before turning back to the conference room.

House was still there, staring at the messy list of symptoms on the white board. He looked up when Chase entered.

"Thought I sent you to remove a piece of lung from a dying woman."

"Remy said she could handle it."

House groaned. "You call her by her first name now? Pathetic. You disgust me."

Ignoring that, Chase sat down in a chair next to House. "She said your leg's been getting worse. We're concerned."

"It's nothing," House said, eyes still on the white board.

"Or it's something," Chase contradicted. "We should run some tests. I could do it under a false name if you don't want Wilson or Cuddy to know. You've had problems before, you don't want to risk it being something serious that ends up undetected. Maybe it's even something treatable. We won't know without tests. And you're the one who always says it's better to know than not know."

"I already know," House pointed out, still rubbing his leg, seemingly unconsciously. "It's nothing. Go...make sure Thirteen doesn't kill our patient."

Chase furrowed his brow. "You've had the test already? When?"

"I don't need the test," House insisted. "It's just a damn...conversion disorder. It's been fine...for weeks."

"That's not completely true," Chase said, "It got bad again a few weeks ago–"

"–Yeah, when Wilson and I were fighting, it got bad again. You think he's got a secret opiate addiction and the drugs get transferred to me through exchange of bodily fluids, giving me worse pain and withdrawal symptoms whenever we stop?"

Chase made a face at the mental image of House and Wilson exchanging bodily fluids.

House had finally looked at him with the last thing he said, but now he turned away again. "Just go. I'll forgive him and my leg will heal itself." He snapped his fingers. "Like magic."

Chase was watching him. "You know it doesn't actually work that way."

"Close enough."

"House, you don't do 'close enough.'"

"You are aware that I've fired you once and I'm not afraid to do it again. Leave. It's not a request."

Chase sighed heavily, but obeyed. House continued to stare at the white board. He stuck his left hand, the one that wasn't rubbing the thigh, into his pocket.

[]

House let the door slam behind him as he entered the condo.

"Good, you're home," Wilson said, smiling. "I made a reservation at Lahiere's."

"Great," House said sarcastically, letting his backpack fall the floor and easing himself onto the couch so he wouldn't hurt his leg. He dug his heel into the skin and rubbed.

Wilson frowned at him. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know. A seven?"

"Do you want me to cancel the reservation?"

"I don't care, Wilson. Whatever you want."

Wilson's look of concern was painful. House looked away. Wilson went back to the kitchen and found a phone. House massaged his thigh as he heard Wilson dialing.

"Yes, I'd like to order a pizza. Large, with mushrooms, steak, and bacon. For delivery, please."

House actually did smile as Wilson gave them the address. Then he joined House on the couch.

"Thanks," House said, and Wilson could tell he sincerely meant it.

"Listen," Wilson said, scooting closer on the couch. "I'm sorry I didn't know what to get you for your birthday. We can take the watch back if you want."

"It's not the watch, Wilson," House said, sighing.

"What is it, then?" Wilson pressed.

"Nothing," House answered, looking at the floors. "You didn't do anything. It's just me being pathetic and stupid."

"House–"

"–Don't."

Wilson sighed, frustrated. "House, you've got to listen to me. This...you, me. This is not going to work unless we tell each other things. I understand that there are some things you want to keep to yourself, but when something really upsets you, you have to tell me. This can't work if you don't."

"Oh, so either I tell you or you dump me?"

"No!" Wilson said, massaging his temple. "No, either you tell me and we fix the problem, or you silently resent me until things build up and explode and we're both miserable. This might be hard for you to believe, but I actually do want this to work, House. I'll do whatever I can to make this last, but you need to help me. Please, House, just tell me."

House stared at him for a moment before looking down toward the ground. "I hate the watch," House admitted.

Wilson's shoulders sagged but he didn't say anything.

"It's the male version of something you'd give to a wife. You'd buy fine jewelry for Bonnie and Julie, you would have for Sam if you'd been able to afford it back then. Every birthday, every Christmas, something pretty and shiny. Something they can squeal to their girlfriends about. Oh, he loves me so much, look how much he spent on me. It's a pattern, Wilson. Something I thought you were trying to break."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. "Because I bought you a nice watch, you put yourself into a category with my ex wives, a category which includes a cheating-and-ending-in-disaster clause."

"It's paranoid, I know. It's...ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous," Wilson contradicted. "That certainly wasn't my intention, House, but I see where you're coming from. I'm sorry that I hurt you, House. I didn't think of it that way."

"I know," House admitted, looking at the floor. They sat in silence for a minute before House spoke up again. "I wasn't lying to Thirteen. I wasn't evading the question. Seriously, Wilson. The only things I really wanted were macadamia nut pancakes and morning sex."

Wilson smiled at House, who looked up toward him cautiously. "I can make it up to you tomorrow," Wilson suggested.

House leaned toward him and Wilson kissed his lips.

"You know," Wilson said, pulling back. "I never gave any of my wives morning sex or macadamia pancakes for their birthdays." He let House kiss him again. "So I can return the watch if you really hate it, but since you're getting these extra gifts, you'll really be in your own category..."

They looked at each other for a moment.

"It wasn't the watch I hated," House clarified. "I'll keep the watch, Wilson."

Wilson smiled.

"It'll make me look sexy," House explained. "The blue numbers complement my eyes."

A/N: I know the ending seems kind of abrupt, so if you prefer you can imagine the camera panning out so you see them on the couch in the condo, then it goes out and you see them through the window of the building, and then it goes farther away from the building and they get smaller until you can't see them anymore, and at the same time there's some calm pretty music playing. Let's say Pink's "Glitter in the Air" just because it's stuck in my head.