One Small Consequence

Part XVII (Final)

By GeeLady

Time-line: Post-season 6

Summary: Once is usually enough when cheating love. Relationship angst and a few other things, too.

Pairing: House/Wilson

Rating: NC-17, Adult, +18, Mature. Language. Sexual situations. SLASH.

Disclaimer: The guy with the cane and the hot a$$ doesn't belong to me, yadda, yadda...

A low, sonorous groan escaped his lips as he entered his lover. This was Wilson his favorite way - him face-down with his own body pressing down on his tight entrance. There was nothing like it in the world.

And Wilson was clearly enjoying it, too, writhing beneath him, his breaths ragged with lust. It had been a long time since Wilson had enjoyed this end of love-making, where he was being dominated by House, the heavier, more insistent partner.

Wilson moaned as his lover thrust deeply again and again, Wilson raising his ass to him, slamming back for every each forward movement. A rhythm of equal opportunity pleasure. For a man who was so reserved when it came to feelings and anything that smacked of sentiment, House was not shy in the bedroom at all. He told Wilson what he wanted or, better yet, simply showed him by often initiating and then taking him to the explosive end of burning pleasure.

House pushed in once more, spreading him and diving deep, and Wilson moaned with the feel of him. It was the greatest possible few seconds of pleasure and pain, a physical invasion of the first order. Wilson felt loved, desirable and worthy when he was here. House made him know he was adored and appreciated no matter what his disease did next, whether it made him sleep twelve hours a day, or what it made his face looked like that week.

House pumped, rolling forward and back into a frantic rush of pressure and release, groaning as he came and slamming into his lover as hard as possible to derive every sensation for as many extra seconds as flesh allowed.

Eventually he softened too much to do anything more than slip out. He rolled off, making sure he had a finger on the lip of the condom to bring it back into the outside cool air of the world with him. He panted for a minute or so, turning his head to look over at his partner.

Wilson was slumped, a boneless rag doll of post-coital delight. His own urgent back-thrusts had taken him to the heights of nerve-fired orgasm, and now he was deflating like a balloon. "That was great."

House's heart-rate slowly dropped back to normal and his breathing followed. "Glad you approve."

"Oh, I approve." Wilson said, rolling over onto his side to reduce the amount of after-sex fluids that inevitably got on the sheets, which they would have to change in any case. Then, on his hands and knees, he scooted off the bed. "I'm going to take a shower."

House nodded and watched Wilson walk out of the bedroom, disappear to the bathroom, closing the door. House heard the fan start and then the water. He rested for a few more seconds, then sat up himself. He was still wearing the condom and padded to the smaller en-suite to remove it. Rinsing it in the sink, he carefully checked to make sure it was intact. It was only at this moment he recalled Wilson's rule about double condoms. A good rule, but in the rush of scatter-brained desire, he had forgotten to put on the second one.

House went to the side table and sure enough, there sat the second condom that he'd forgotten and Wilson hadn't noticed. He had even torn it open in preparation. "Shit."

House returned to the washroom to examine the condom under the bright fluorescent lighting. The closed end was intact, and all along the shaft on all sides. Check.

House fingered the upper edges of the rubber, near the open ring at the top. He froze in place. There was a small tear. Just a few millimeters, but enough that it gave him shivers and made his heart re-visit the post-sex hammering. At the sight of the torn condom, it was leaping all over the place in his chest cavity. Double shit.

When he heard the shower stop, he quickly wrapped the thing up in a few sheets of toilet paper and flushed it.

Wilson passed by innocently, patting House on his left bum cheek as he did. "Everything good?"

House answered with a small nod. That seemed to satisfy Wilson and he stole a kiss from House's scratchy face. Wilson worked today. House didn't, deciding that he could slip in a trip to his own physician just before his regular weekly visit to Nolan.

House was glad his therapist worked an hour away, and had chosen his regular physician for precisely the same reason. Neither Nolan nor Ully worked at Plainsboro. Privacy was the word.

-

-

"You checked it thoroughly? No traces outside of the condom?"

House nodded. "There was nothing. It was clean."

House's specialist nodded. "That's a relief." The middle-aged Ully said. "We've checked your blood over the last six months and so far you're clean, but in the light of this, I think we ought to start that up again, just to be safe."

House sighed at his oversight. It was a stupid mistake.

"How's everything else going?"

"Fine."

She nodded again. When ever she did, her long salt and pepper ponytail bobbed around on the back of her head. "Okay, that's it, then. See you in two weeks."

House nodded and let the nurse take two vials of blood. The medical clerk made several appointments to take two more vials at two weeks, then at two months, then at three, four, five and six months. Safety was the word.

House started up his bike, revving the engine a little in the cold air. Pulling out of the parking lot, he rode to his next appointment, avoiding the icier streets. He wouldn't worry Wilson with this. Not unless it was revealed down the road that there was something to be worried about. Best to be hopeful. Nolan's advice.

Fuck-shit-fuck! House vowed never to be so careless again.

-

-

"I can't tell Wilson about this. He'll freak and that'll be the end of the relationship."

Nolan gave House one of his most patient looks. "You don't know that."

House hated the look. "You don't know him."

Nolan was regarding him in a most peculiar way. "Are you certain you forgot the second condom, or do you think you might have let it slip your mind?"

That gave House pause. "Why in the hell would I do that?"

"You have intimacy issues, Doctor House. You don't want to lose Wilson, yet in the past you have lost him - more than once. Maybe subconsciously you think the only sure way to keep him is to join him."

"I'm not an idiot."

"No, you're not, but you are subject to your imperfections just like everyone else. For ten years you convinced yourself that you had your drug addiction under control, and look how that turned out. Would you like to know how many other addicts have said that to me?"

He didn't much care. "More than one?"

"All of them. We all have it under control, don't we? We're all super men with the strength to quit whenever we want to, and hold onto those we love no matter what. But life isn't so simple. It's complicated, sometimes downright miserably so. Sometimes we have to swallow our pride and ask for help."

Nolan was right about that. "I'm desperate to keep Wilson, but not that desperate." House conceded to his own weakness where Wilson was concerned. "Not yet. And I did ask for help - I'm here."

"It was the very first time, though, wasn't it?"

House's silence was answer enough. "But you're here now. A marked improvement over pill and alcohol addiction. Is there anything else you'd like to talk about today? How's the stress at work?"

-

-

House was home before noon. To soothe his nerves, he took up his acoustic and started picking out tunes from his head. At twelve-forty-five he heard the front door open, and Wilson walked in.

"Why are you home so early?" House asked, suspending his playing.

"Tired. Not enough sleep last night I guess." He smile shyly at House.

"My bad." House said and returned to his guitar.

Wilson dropped his briefcase by the door and hooked his overcoat on the coat rack. Kicking off his shoes, he headed to the bedroom. "I'm going to take a nap."

House followed him with his eyes. "Okay." He looked back at the abandoned briefcase and the carelessly tossed coat. Wilson's shoes were sitting asymmetrically on the carpet by the door. One shoe, in fact, was resting it's wet heel on the polished hard wood. In Wilson's world, it was a sacrilege.

House leaned his guitar against the soft cushions of the couch, and walked to the bedroom using the wall for support rather than his cane, to lessen the noise.

Wilson was laying on top of the blankets, already asleep. He had shed his shirt and socks, but still had his work pants on. House regarded him thoughtfully, carefully covered his sleeping partner with a wool throw that Wilson's dear old babba had knitted, and closed the door to the bedroom.

He went back to his guitar but his mood for strumming relaxing tunes had been soured. A new worry crowded it out. Wilson hadn't come home just tired, he had looked beaten with fatigue. House tried not to think about what that could mean. There were plenty of years ahead for paranoia.

Wilson slept almost all day. House, not hardly believing that he was in the kitchen doing what he was doing, prepared a simple meal of sandwiches and soup, and went to wake up Wilson.

He stirred under the first touch and rolled over, rubbing his left shoulder. "O-o-o, my arm is sore."

House said, "That happens when you sleep in one position for over six hours." He looked down at the wool throw, fingering its softness. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

Wilson stared at the ceiling. "The fatigue's been worse lately."

"How how much worse and how lately?"

"I'm having trouble getting up. I don't have the energy to put in a full day at work. I've even lost a lot of my interest in cooking because it means being on my feet too long."

Welcome to my world. House nodded, himself having noticed all of the above about his partner. "So the med's need changing."

Wilson shook his head. "I don't know. He keeps altering them, and I keep getting the same degree of side-effects as before. Sometimes a new one, sometimes not, but always they're there."

"There'll still not all that bad." House said. "Most HIV positive patients hav-"

Wilson waved away the list of possible's. "I know, I know. I'm getting off pretty lucky." He sounded a little bitter.

"I was thinking of maybe a short vacation somewhere. A place where it's warm. Sun, surf, beer on the beach..."

"You don't surf."

"But I'm kick ass at beer on the beach."

Wilson thought it wasn't a half bad idea. Time away, warmth, relaxation, House with less clothing, and no need to get up, only the desire to. It sounded like heaven. "Cancun?"

"Too gay. I was thinking about Miami."

"Miami's not gay?"

"Sure it's gay but two gays planning a trip to Cancun is way gayer than two gays heading to Miami. Miami's teeming with gays. It's au-natural' gay, not point-blank flying to Mexico for a gay holiday gay."

Wilson frowned at House's often inexplicable reasoning. "A week?"

"At least. You must have some sick-leave coming and I've dodged my holidays for the last three years. Cuddy'll be happy to see us go. In fact, with us out of her hair, she'll be delirious sitting in her office, dotting her I's and crossing her T's. In her book, that's administrator heaven. See? Even our uptight boss will have a holiday."

House was a master at persuasion. "You don't have to convince me, though Cuddy won't be happy to see me go. I don't put live mice in her desk drawers and spread super-glue in her boots."

"Of course she'll be happy to see you go. You think I'm the only irritant in her life? You nurture the irritant in me. And actually it was super glue in her drawers and live mice in her boots."

Wilson smiled at that. "Did you really do that? Or is it another Plainsboro legend?"

"Scout's honor. I take my vow to irritate Cuddy very seriously."

"Live mice? That's nasty."

"Call it a gift."

"Okay. Let's go."

-

-

"Are you sure you're up to this?" House asked. They were ready to board and Wilson was looking a little pallid. "Because we can cancel."

"Everything's already paid for."

"That's not an answer."

Wilson hated to ruin their first vacation together ever. "I'm fine. Let's go soak up that sun."

House eyed him suspiciously for as moment and then handed the boarding passes over to the teller.

She examined the tickets. "Two first class seats. Four A and B." She punched the appropriate spaces with the appropriate stamps. Handing them back, she smiled briefly at House. At Wilson her smile widened. "Enjoy your flight."

House watched Wilson's ears turn bright pink. "Back off lady. He's mine."

Her smile faltered as Wilson's whole face went three shades of red.

Pushing House's wheelchair down the ramp from the terminal to the 747, Wilson said. "Do you have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Feel the need to claim your "territory" whenever we're in public?"

"I only indulge my obsessiveness when a cute girl or guy makes more than eyes at you. That one was eyeing you with her nipples."

"I'm not a fire hydrant, House, stop lifting your leg every time someone smiles at me."

"When ya gotta whiz to keep your gay man, ya gotta whiz."

Wilson settled in his seat and both men endured the standard pre-flight safety lecture. Ignoring the rail-thin flight attendant while she demonstrated the dubious looking oxygen mask with the rubber strap, Wilson glanced through the in-flight magazine while House amused himself with some private heckling.

"You'll notice," House said in a falsetto, leaning over so only Wilson and perhaps one or two nearby passengers could hear, "the exits to the front and rear of the plane. This is in case we have an explosion in one or both of the engines, or if several of the poorly maintained sections of the fuselage pop off and fall to earth. In an emergency, please remain in your seat, even if it is plummeting from the smoked-filled sky with you still strapped in it. If you're one of the lucky ones who realizes you are going to die on impact, please return your seats to their upright position and grab your ankles."

Wilson tried hard to laugh like he meant it.

House leaned in even closer to Wilson. "That grabbing of ankles bit sounds like fun. Think we'll be lucky enough to almost crash?"

"Would you shut-up." Wilson whispered fiercely when the annoyed flight attendant looked over at them and cleared her throat.

"Excuse me, sir, please pay attention. This is quite important."

Wilson, red-faced once more, clamped his mouth shut and sat back in his seat. There was no point in trying to explain House to the pretty flight attendant. To Wilson's relief, House finally succumbed to the woman's fierce glare and settled back in his seat.

-

-

House woke up an hour later. Wilson was not sitting next to him. One of the server's came by with a cart of beverages and snacks, and House choose coffee's, a cookie for himself and a cheese and cracker treat for Wilson.

Twenty minutes passed and no Wilson. House stopped an attendant. "Did you see where my friend went?"

"No, but he's probably in one of the washrooms."

House gestured to his leg. "Do you mind checking? I've got a bum leg, and he's missing his snack-time."

She nodded and went to see to his request. The forward Head turned up vacant. She tried the rear, and a moment later, House heard her knocking on the door and calling politely "Sir? Excuse me, sir?" to no avail.

House decided to risk the pain and hobbled to the rear of the plane, banging on the door himself. "Wilson!" There wasn't a sound. House said to the attendant. "Find the key to this thing."

She heard the tone of his voice. He spoke like a man of authority. House pounded again. "Come on, Wilson. I promise not to lift my leg anymore."

Another attendant, a young, polished fellow, appeared with a key and slid it into the lock.

The other passengers had begun to crane their necks around in curiosity about the goings-on at the rear of the plane.

When they tried to slide the door open, it was made difficult by something heavy leaning against it. House wrenched it aside, and Wilson's size twelve's tumbled out into the corridor attached to his long, slim legs. He was unconscious and pale.

House barked. "Someone help me get him in a seat."

The male attendant and House struggled for a moment and finally Wilson was sitting more-or-less upright in one of two unoccupied seats near the rear of the plane. House looked around. "I need my bag from the luggage compartment."

"We can't get to it. The luggage hold isn't pressurized."

House said. "Then I need a flash-light to check his eyes." At their questioning look, "I'm a doctor. My friend is unconscious..." He waited while someone scrambled to comply.

An ordinary, mid-sized torch was produced and House shined it in Wilson's eyes. "Equal and reactive." He switched it off. "Normal." He glanced around and spotted a small white box hanging on the wall. It had a red cross painted on it. "Hand me that first-aid kit."

Inside was a thermometer, the flat plastic type that one rested on a child's forehead. House unbuttoned Wilson's shirt half way down, reached inside and placed it beneath his right armpit. After a minute he removed it and checked. "Only slightly elevated."

Whatever was wrong with him was undoubtedly related to the cocktail of medications Wilson was on, their side-effects, low blood pressure possibly being one of them. A sudden drop of blood pressure can cause a person to faint, but usually they woke up almost immediately.

"Do you know what's wrong?" The first flight attendant asked.

House shook his head. "No." House went through the list of medications Wilson was on. Protease inhibitors an cause a person to lose consciousness. And they had both already witnessed what two or more of the drugs together could do, like Wilson's rash for starters that, after many weeks, had finally faded.

"Bring me a cool, wet cloth."

It was done and House placed it on his friend's face, trying to encourage wakefulness. Wilson did not respond. House handed the cloth back to the attendant who had been helpful thus far. "Keep doing that. Cold water. Repeat."

"Will that help?"

"It can't hurt." It was almost useless. "But there's nothing else I can do - unless you happen to have a shot of adrenalin on board?"

She shook her head.

House said to the male attendant. "We need to land. He needs a hospital."

"I'm not sure the captain can do that just because one passenger is unconscious." He had seen plenty of people pass out from too much drink. They were usually isolated, strapped into a seat and left to sleep the rest of the flight away.

House stared for a only a few seconds, sizing the guy up. "I'm a physician, so pay attention: When my friend boarded this plane, he was breathing well and conscious. Now he's not. Whatever the reason is, the longer my friend stays in this condition, the more chance there is that he might stop breathing and die." House had effectively stomped all over any more protests. "Now tell the captain to land the damn plane, unless he wants to have to explain a corpse to the ASAC, instead of just a sick passenger."

The very thin female attendant hurried to the cockpit and returned in under three minutes. "Captain says we'll be landing in Richmond. We'll be on the ground in about twenty minutes."

House nodded and strapped himself into the seat next to Wilson. He appeared to be asleep. Too bad he wasn't.

-

-

Wilson opened his eyes to a bright beam of light. "Am I dead?" He felt dead.

The light went away and in its place was House's long face, whiskers thicker than ever. "No, but I ought to kill you for scaring me like that."

Wilson turned his head and looked around the room. White walls, antiseptic smell. Hospital room. "Which hospital?"

"Bon Secours, in Richmond."

"Virginia? We're not in Miami?"

House lay a hand on Wilson's forehead for a few seconds. "You fainted in the bathroom while we were in the air." Then said - "Still no temperature. Can you tell me what happened?"

Wilson frowned, trying to remember. He recalled emptying his bladder and turning on the taps. Feeling a bit dizzy. "No. I was washing my hands and,..now I'm here."

"I booked a flight home." House explained as he sat back in his chair. "We can use the tickets anytime in the next few days. Whenever you're feeling better."

"I feel okay now."

House crinkled up his eyes. "I'll rephrase. We can fly home as soon as I tell you you're feeling better."

"Yes dear."

"Relax. Another day at most, only this time you pee before we get on board and hold any more the whole way, or I go to the bathroom with you."

Wilson smiled a bit. "That suggests some possibilities. Wanna' join the mile high club with me?"

House smiled, but he wasn't biting, his mind elsewhere. "When we get back, I want a complete blood work-up. And tell that specialist of yours I want to know every possible side-effect that he might have forgot to mention - like almost dying."

Wilson sighed. "I didn't almost die, House. and I know what to ask my doctor."

House nodded, but said. "You wanted us to share everything, good or bad. This is bad."

Wilson looked over at him. All he had to do is turn his head to the left to see House's face in the chair, and move his left hand to touch House's feet up on the bed next to his elbow. That face was pinched with worry. "I'll tell you everything. Promise." Then to make it lighter so they could both stop worrying. "So I've been thinking. Next vacation I'd like to try out the hospitals in Tahiti."

"Smart-ass." House lifted his right leg down, then swung the other to the floor. "There's about ten blocks away. I booked a room. You get some sleep and I'll be back in the morning to collect your smart-assed-ness."

"House, you're chicken soup for a smart-ass, gay doctor's soul." Wilson raised his eyebrows in an intriguing thought. "I ought to bottle and market you. I'd make a... dollar. Maybe two."

House looked down at him. Then, in a completely out of character move, he leaned over and planted a big one on Wilson's surprised mouth. "I'd like to see you market that."

-

-

Wilson's doctor adjusted his medications once more and sent Wilson home with instructions to rest, eat nutritiously, but to participate in no stressful work, no travel. Daily exercise like walking or swimming was also spoken of.

Wilson spent the next two weeks letting Taub and his intern dispense his patient's medications. If there were any complications serious enough to require his presence at the hospital, he went in and took care of it. He could feel House's worried eyes on him the whole time.

Almost every day he went swimming in a local gym facility. House would drop him off and pick him up.

One night, House turned to him after Wilson settled him in the passenger seat. "What's with the breathlessness?"

True. He felt congested. Too much time in the steam room. "Guess I over-did it."

House stared, trying to see a lie. Wilson frowned. Shivered. "Come on, House, let's go home - I'm freezing." It was mid-winter and his hair was still damp.

House put the car in gear and drove them home. By the time House parked the car, and Wilson entered their shared bungalow, and down the hall to the bathroom, he could hardly breath.

House, bless his heart, had followed him and noticed it right off. "You liar." He said. "You're not fine." House startled Wilson by suddenly pressing his right ear against the center of Wilson's chest. "Your bronch's sound like a gurgling brook. Of gelatin. You're going to the hospital."

"It's just a cold. No I'm not."

"There is no such thing as "just a cold" when you're HIV positive and on enough anti-viral med's to toxic-bomb Pittsburgh."

"I'll go to bed right now. Okay?" Wilson pushed passed him and headed straight for the bedroom, stripping off his clothes. He had already showered at the pool and was clean, though he still smelled like chlorine.

House followed, watching him until Wilson was crawling under the covers. House took an extra thick pillow from the top of the closet and stuffed it behind Wilson's head. "You should sleep elevated. Easier on the tubes."

Wilson studied his lover as House fussed with his pillow and then the blanket. "My god, House, you're turning into Cameron."

House glowered at him. "Cameron isn't hung like a German salami."

Wilson pulled the covers up to his chin and sighed. "I love you, Hans."

House's glower softened a little. "I know. Now shut-up and go to sleep."

House watched an hour of mindless TV. Then, turning off the kitchen and living room lights, took himself down the hall to the bedroom. He turned on the mirror light in the en suite so not to disturb Wilson, and got undressed.

Wilson was asleep, his neck crooked in an uncomfortable looking state. House tried to correct it by pulling the pillow down under his shoulders in fits and starts. It was not easy with just the one good leg for balance. Climbing onto the bed, he leaned over his partner to better get a grip on the downy thing, and only then did he notice that Wilson's respirations had significantly increased. House placed two fingers against the left side of Wilson's Adam's apple. His heart rate was elevated, too.

House shook him. "Wilson. Wake up."

Wilson tossed a little, mumbled, then fell back into his deep sleep.

House shook him harder. "Wilson. Wilson! Come on, pal, you're going to the hospital."

House snatched the phone from the bedside table and dialed 9-1-1, giving the address and other information to the emergency operator, all the while never taking his eyes of Wilson's face, or the rise and fall of his chest.

As House was hanging up the phone, that chest rose and fell one last time, then stopped moving altogether.

House felt his adrenaline kick in like a nitro-burner. "Oh, fuck..." He felt for a pulse again. It was there, but it wasn't regular. Arrhythmia. House started mouth-to-mouth respirations, breaking out into a terrified sweat. Even in medical school, even during rounds as an intern, this sort of thing had not caused him to panic. He would idly stroll to the bed, passed the white faces of the others students, and calmly bring the heart-beat or the oxygen back to into the lungs of a coding patient.

But this was different. House all but danced for the gods on Wilson's chest, desperate to keep up the exhausting rhythm of forcing air into his lungs until the ambulance arrived.

After a hopeless eternity, it finally did, and in minutes Wilson was being whisked away to emergency with House at his side.

-

-

"What happened?"

Cuddy's voice. House turned to see her enter the room. He didn't feel like twenty questions, but Wilson was her employee, not just his partner. "Lactic acidosis. From the protease inhibitors."

House sounded rough, his voice scratchy. Eye-bags like little half pirate patches. "Thought I'd educated myself on every possible..." He trailed off.

Cuddy watched him sitting there, his forehead resting on one palm, his eyes screwed up to the bed where Wilson lay intubated and with an IV line inserted into a vein on his left hand. "House, Wilson's been in contact with his HIV doctor every week, and even he wasn't prepared. You can't prepare for something like this - for every possibility."

House said. "He's being treated with thiamine, riboflavin, carnitine, and coenzyme Q." He sounded near the end of a very long, thin rope. "He's better. He's sleeping." He sat back in the padded chair, and stretched out his leg, rubbing it a few times. "His doctor - what-z-name's also going to reduce his d4T and ddI. That should ward off any more episodes."

"If he's responding that well, sounds like this was a mild side effect."

House didn't nod. "Yeah." Cuddy knew House had been sitting there for hours on end. He looked like absolute hell, and spoke like the night had been anything but mild.

Cuddy felt useless in this. There was nothing she could do beyond offer help, and she had already arranged all the help the hospital was able to provide, at least financially. "When was the last time you got some sleep?"

House wiped the weariness from his face with one hand, then rubbed his palms together back and forth, the haggard uncertainty in his manner and words palpable. "I don't think I can do this." He said quietly. He shook his head like he'd been asleep in his mind. "I knew the congestion could be potentially something life-threatening. Instead I listened to him."

"Stop this. Stop beating yourself up. You've done wonderfully well so far. Wilson couldn't have done this well alone, and you know it. So you did what you always do - manipulated him into agreeing with you."

House didn't look like he knew it. "And I failed to make the connection between the fainting and the respiratory distress. Mitochondrial malfunction. What happens the next time I fail to notice or consider what it might be?"

"I think your magical medical vision was impaired for a very simple reason - you love him."

"That's not a reason. It's not even an excuse. The next time I screw up he could die."

Cuddy walked over and placed one hand on his shoulder. "Everybody dies." From anyone else, it might have been spoken, and heard, as a heartless barb, but from Cuddy to the man who had coined the phrase, it was truth she knew he needed to be reminded of. Speaking the truth about dying might seem cruel, but it sat you up to take notice of what you might change and treasure now, while you were still kicking.

Cuddy leaned over and gave House a quick hug, one friend to another. "Hire a full time nurse, and make sure he or she is fully trained in the needs of HIV patients." Cuddy advised. It was good advice. "Then get some sleep. You can do this." She released him. "But nothing states that you have to do it alone."

House looked up at her, his expression, Cuddy thought, and perhaps his razor-sharp conscience just a little eased?

Sensibly, he nodded.

-

-

Once Wilson was home, House confessed his mistake with the condom. Wilson was at once fearful, gratified that House had confessed, and reassured that it would never happen again.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." House said.

Wilson knew that. Everyone makes mistakes. "I guess I'm too sexy for thinking straight."

House smiled a little at that. "Don't get above yourself. I'm only sleeping with you for the pancakes."

"Uh huh." Wilson was tired, but it was a good kind of tired. No one had let him even get tired at the hospital. It felt good to feel sleepy in a genuine way.

Wilson watched his lover surf the television. House was lifting his leg again, and it seemed he had marked Wilson's couch for good. He, Wilson, was also marked territory, and suddenly the HIV, the leg, the troubles and the trials of being friends, and then lovers in health, and then lovers in sickness, didn't much matter. What a difference commitment made. A home and a cherished man. What a promise of life deep love brought.

Without warning, Wilson leaned over and treated himself to a deep, lingering kiss. House's lips tasted like nachos and beer, and his tongue gave it up when Wilson dived deeper. Whatever he asked, House moaned in agreement. What a flavor of great living.

And what a mark!

XXXXXXXXX

END (Thanks for reading)