Wilson leaned back in his chair.

That song…

It seemed to follow him everywhere these days. Whenever he walked into a room. Whenever he turned on the radio. He always heard that song… My Immortal… But never did he hear it in the singer's soprano. No. He always heard it in that baritone that enraptured him that night.

The chorus started up and Wilson felt his lips parting to sing with the imagined voice of Gregory House. There was so much emotion packed into that chorus…

"James, you still here?"

Wilson cracked an eye open and saw House leaning in his doorway.

Copper eyes blinked for a moment and then he turned off the radio that was sitting on his desk. He picked up his briefcase, opening it for a moment to make sure all of his papers were there, and then made his way to the coat rack.

"Yeah. I was just thinking."

"You're addicted to the song now, aren't you?" House said, an impish grin pulling at his mouth.

"No, I am not." Wilson said as he turned the lights out and shut the office door. "The song is stalking me. It won't leave me alone. Everywhere I go, it is playing."

"Hmm. Interesting thing, that."

Wilson turned around to look House in the eye. Those blue eyes were dancing madly and Wilson didn't like it. House's eyes only danced like that when they were up to something completely and disturbingly deviant.

"House, what did you do?"

"What? Moi? I have done nothing." House replied, trying to hide his grin as he began to limp down the hall.

"Oh? Then why do you look like the cat that caught the canary? The kid with his hand in the cookie jar? The-"

"Enough of the proverbial this and that!" House said, turning around swiftly. He looked Wilson in the eye for a moment and then let out a huff, "I just thought that you liked the song, that's all. Thought that you were reminiscing over our first kiss. One would think that it would be special for you. I thought it was." He added in a sniff and a hurt child expression for effect, his blue eyes looking wide and watery.

Wilson's eyebrows furrowed slightly before he let out a laugh. "Grow up, House."

"Aw, now that isn't any fun. All those taxes and having to abide by the rules."

"Yeah, right. And when have you done any of that?"

"My point exactly."

Wilson let out an exasperated sigh.

"Can we just go home? I just want to go to bed…"

"Being suggestive now?" House asked, raising an eyebrow and quirking it.

Wilson knew he was fighting a losing battle. "House. Just… just shut up and take me home."

The two stared at one another for a few more moments until the older man turned around once again and started for the parking garage.

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two during the drive home. Wilson moved to turn on the car radio, but House slapped his hand away from the knob.

"My car, my rules. And I say that oncologists don't get to play with the radio." House said, his usual sarcastic tone laced with mild anger.

Wilson pulled back and resumed watching the so called scenery zoom past the windows. Dirty, black and yellow snow was caked at the ends of the sidewalks, turning to slush. Such a contrast from when it had fallen just that morning. Once pure and white, it was now tainted…

The car stopped and House got out. Wilson quickly followed suit.

Once he had entered the apartment, Wilson noticed that something was off. Something that didn't feel right or quite sit well in his stomach…

"What's wrong, Jimmy? Expecting the song to just start up or something?" House asked as he entered the kitchen. He flicked on the lights and began to take things out of the fridge.

Wilson's eyes widened when he realized that it was actual food. Ready and prepared food that had not been made by him and eaten by House.

"Uh, House, did you fix that? Because, no offense, but I wouldn't even feed Steve McQueen your cooking." Wilson said, eyeing the contents of the containers warily.

"Oh, come now. Do you really think that I would stoop so low as to actually cook for myself? No, dear Jimmy, this is take out!" House said as he shoved a plate with chicken topped with mushrooms, cheese and bacon bits with fries on the side into the microwave and punched in a random time.

"That stuff is going to give you a heart attack, you know." Wilson said, watching from the kitchen doorway, his arms folded across his chest.

"Nope. That's yours, Jimmy. I have a salad." House smiled as he showed the oncologist said item. It looked somewhat wilted.

Wilson shook his head. "House, you have really lost it."

"I think that happened a long time ago…"

"House-"

"Do you want to eat at the table or in the living room? I hear that Fox is starting this new show about a team of doctors. Sounds interesting. Shall we scrutinize their pathetic attempts at sounding like real medical personnel?"

"I don't think so."

"The kitchen table it is then." House said, moving towards the microwave as it beeped, signaling that the food inside was ready to be eaten. He took the plate out and then placed it on the table. "Soup's on."

Wilson shook his head once again but said nothing as he took his seat next to House.

"Could I have a fry?" House asked about five minutes into the meal, "Or should I say what is left of one?"

Wilson blinked at his plate. He had cut everything that was on his plate into very small pieces, much like how a mother would cut up her child's steak so that it could fit in the child's mouth.

"Sure, knock yourself out." Wilson replied, giving the entire plate to House. He just didn't feel all that hungry.

He got up and wandered into the living room. He turned on the television for a moment before turning it off. The new show's medical team was dealing with a guy with an infarction. Interesting how ironic life was sometimes… Or simply had really bad taste.

Wilson wandered over to the stereo and he turned on the radio. He heard the end of one song, a beat that was a sort of mix between punk, rock and guitar solos. The DJ then came on and began to introduce the next song.

"Now, this song is dedicated to J.W. from G.H. Now, time for My Immortal."

The song began and Wilson listened for a few moments before the initials sank in.

"House?"

He went back into the kitchen and looked at House curiously.

"What?" House asked, digging at the wreck that Wilson had made out of his fries.

"The song, you idiot. They said that it is dedicated to a J.W. from a G.H.?"

"Coincidence." House said, "Mere coincidence."

"Uh-huh…" Wilson said and returned to the other room, just in time to hear the song end.

"And now for a commercial break. We'll be giving you more great music after these quick messages."

Wilson sat on the couch for a moment until he heard a quiet humming coming from the kitchen. There was something about that humming that felt so comforting and ethereal. Like it came from an angel that suddenly decided that a lonely man needed consoling. But when Wilson looked into the kitchen, it was no angel. No… It was simply House, humming as he shoveled the fries into a little mountain, then taking leaves of lettuce from his salad and placing them around the fries, as if they were moats.

"You really are a piece of work…" Wilson muttered as he got up and went back into the kitchen.

He leaned forward so that his and House's noses were only an inch apart.

"House." Wilson said softly.

The blue-eyed man looked up, his nose brushing with Wilson's and stared into those copper eyes opposite him.

"Yes?"

Wilson leaned forward, closing the gap between them and kissed House's lips gently, tenderly. He pulled back and then gazed upon House with a look of affection.

"Thank you, Greg."

A smile tugged at House's lips as he grabbed Wilson by the tie and pulled him down for another kiss. Taken by surprise, Wilson fell forward, his hands landing in the mess of fries and lettuce, but he didn't care. House's teeth were biting lightly at Wilson's bottom lip, seeking entrance. Once granted, House's tongue roamed around, darting over every surface of Wilson's mouth, memorizing it, mapping it out for future explorations.

Finally the two pulled away, Wilson laying on the table and House sitting at his place, an amused smirk playing across his lips.

"I guess paying off all of the music stations really worked."

Wilson opened his mouth as he was about to say something, but then decided it was better not to. How exactly he paid off the stations, Wilson never really wanted to know.

Hell, it was the thought that counts, not the price, right?