Cross your fingers... I'm sad to see this wrap up, but all things must end. Hope it's the one you were looking for...

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The apartment didn't have a clock. Judging by the stretching shadows through the window, though, it was leaning further into the evening.

House glanced over across the couch at Wilson. The younger man's hair was completely disheveled, having been pushed back and stroked through so his forehead was now exposed. A faint gleam of sweat still caught light on his skin, though the flushed color had faded a few hours ago. A pool of sheets gathered demurely around his waist.

"What was your first impression of me?"

House groaned good-naturedly, keeping his eyes closed. "You're one of those people who like to talk and reflect afterwards, aren't you?"

"I just asked a question, House. I didn't ask you to cuddle."

A rolling chuckle emerged from House's sated drowsiness. "Well, that's reassuring." He quirked an eyebrow, to which Wilson grinned back. After a sigh and pause, House opened his eyes and examined the ceiling, recalling. "When I taught you back in med school… you needed to be liked."

Wilson waited for more but nothing else came. The expectant confusion that scrawled across Wilson's face prompted House to continue.

"You knew you were smart. You were thorough in your research. You had a great rapport with teachers and students…particularly the women."

"Funny, House. That's why I went to med school. For the women."

"Can't blame you. They have a tendency to be a bit too smart, though. They should come with a Surgeon General's warning or something."

Wilson laughed. "Smart women are dangerous to your health?"

"So are smart men."

"Well," retorted Wilson cryptically, "you made the decision to smoke."

"It's not my fault it's addictive."

Wilson let the thought drift idly around in his head, weaving patterns of contentment. "'Hold you in his armchair…'" He sighed. "You know what my first impression of you was?"

"If I wanted to know, I'd ask." House paused, waiting for a conservative expression to flicker across Wilson's face before changing his mind. "What was it?"

"Nothing."

"What?"

Wilson grinned, closing his eyes momentarily to fondly recall the memory. "I didn't have one. I was so intent on trying to figure you out, and I never could."

"Well." House raised his eyebrows, not sure if he wanted an answer. "Have you?"

The younger man shrugged a shoulder, then leaned over to place a chaste kiss on House's forehead. "No. I don't think I ever can. And I don't think I want to. It's what I love about you."

House wrinkled his nose, but he returned a kiss to Wilson's lips. "You know, Jimmy, we're going to have to put a restraining order on that word. No sense in overusing it."

Pick your battles, Wilson thought to himself. He stretched out his legs, sighing, making sure House had enough room alongside him. He felt like he was forgetting something.

"You know we're going to have to get your job back."

"Oh, that was it." Wilson frowned. "I don't know how I'm going to explain this to Cuddy…"

House smiled. "But I'm a step ahead of you. I already told her I might be able to convince you to stay. I told her not to start taking applications until she heard back from me."

"Overconfident as usual." Wilson eyed him carefully. "You were really that sure you'd get me back?"

"Oh, maybe not get you back. But get you, yes. I've always been sure about that."

Wilson rolled his eyes, as if merely humoring House's antics sapped his energy. Meanwhile, the latter had picked himself up from the couch and started retreiving his clothes.

The younger man tried to hide the disappointment in his voice. "Where are you going?"

"We're going back to my apartment. Our apartment." House tossed him his t-shirt and jeans as he went along. Wilson grinned. "And then we're calling up whoever you rented this disaster from and saying you've found a permanent home and will not be needing this place anymore."

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Hey, House.

What the—Jimmy? Is that you?

I thought I'd drop in for a visit. God, it's a mess up here in your head. You sure have a lot to think about.

You've given me a lot to think about.

Is everything all right? You've been awake for a while now.

I like watching you sleep. You look… I don't know. Content.

I feel it. And you?

I feel… It's strange. I can't put my finger on it.

It's called not-being-miserable. It's perfectly normal. Healthy, even. You'll adjust to the feeling soon enough.

You're the expert, Jimmy. Hey, by the way, are we going to work tomorrow?

Probably should. Don't want rumors to start already.

All in good time. I wonder what Cameron would say if she saw me kiss you?

Let's save that for another day, shall we?

Fine, fine. If you insist. Did you happen to see where I put my Vicodin?

In your coat pocket, I think. Hey… House? While you're up…?

Yes?

Do you think you could play something on the piano? Just even a quick interlude, I don't care.

Ooh, "interlude." Somebody's been studying up on their music.

I know nothing about music. I can learn, though.

How about this…?

I remember that piece. I've heard it a few times before. Bach? Mozart?

You're just throwing names out there now, aren't you, Jimmy?

Ha-ha, caught me. Seriously, House, what is it? Something you wrote?

I guess. It's just some rendition of something.

My favorite.

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END