Really Long Authors note: I don't do slash, friendship is my thing :)

This is my first House fic and I don't have a beta so I welcome any constructive criticism! Especially since I don't feel I got the characters quite right dang-it.

This fic is based on the idea that…what if what House told that girl in 'One Day, One Room' was just the tip of the iceberg? And really it was kinda creepy how House's dad is SO interested in House's personal life given that he really didn't treat his son that well…and why is it that when House has a patient he thinks was abused, he always seems to assume that the abuse was of a sexual nature? If these questions spark off your creativity too I'd be interested in reading about it.

WARNING: Be aware that this fic contains material that may offend some readers: Slight swearing and allusion to sexual abuse of a child. This was hard for me to write as I used some personal experience in writing this story.

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"You know there's this hilarious rumour going around that you and I are, you know, 'involved'." Wilson snickered derisively, not noticing that House had gone strangely pale, he did NOT want to picture Wilson like that.

"Heh…idiots." House muttered, knowing a response was expected.

Wilson glanced over at him and did a classic double take. "House? You ok? Oh man I knew we were pushing in with that many vodka shots. You gonna throw up?"

House swallowed hard and shook his head, although he did feel faintly nauseous he doubted it had anything to do with the liquor he had downed, he was normally quite able to drink Wilson…most people actually…under the table. It was an ability he was quite proud of really.

"You sure?"

Damn Wilson for being his normal overly caring self even when slightly drunk.

"Yes, Damnit! Now shut up and pour me another shot."

"Pour it yourself." Wilson stuck his tongue out petulantly at House.

House got his revenge by swiping his friend's newly filled glass out from under said friend's nose, downing the lot in one go.

"Hey!"

"Oh I'm sorry was that YOUR glass?"

"Yes!"

"Well technically, we are at my place…and that means it's my glass…so…" House stuck his tongue out triumphantly.

Wilson spent several seconds trying to think of a suitable retort for this before giving up with a greatly exaggerated show of resignation. He snickered and sat up straighter, waving his hands to get House's attention.

"Hey! I've got an idea! I swear I've been hanging around you far too much, but you know how you like to do those 'experiments' with people? Like how you tested to see how much I'd loan you? We could really mess with people's minds at the hospital if we made them think we WERE dating."

"Wilson…you're gay aren't you." House said derisively as he shuffled along the sofa until he had put a safe distance between them, deliberately overacting, mocking his own sudden need for space.

"What? No! And…what if I was? Would you still be my friend?" How deep was their friendship after all? Wilson looked curious.

"I don't give a flying fart so long as you don't hit on me." House snarked, he seemed uncomfortable with this conversation.

'Ooh…' The mischievous side of Wilson came to the fore, 'I could have some fun with this.'

He fluttered his eyelashes at House and moved along the couch, crowding House's personal space, throwing an arm over his friend's shoulders.

House remained immobile, frozen. Wilson drew back.

"House? I was just kidding, yanking your chain. Man! And you really fell for it too!...House?..."

House was pale, he was breathing too fast and Wilson reached out to take his pulse, only to be pushed violently away.

"Don't…don't touch me."

"House?"

'Oh God, I can feel his concern, it's suffocating, gotta get away from him before…before…'

"Get…out." He said between clenched teeth.

"House, come on, it was just a joke."

"Get the fuck out!" He was shaking so badly it was visible now, hopefully Wilson would figure it was anger.

"Fine…"

Wilson always gave in so easily, House let out a wobbly sigh of relief as his best friend left.

Avoidance was the key, he turned on the television but this time the soaps were not enough and there were no medical mysteries on offer at work. No escape.

The shaking increased. He stood, intending to leave, go to a bar, get plastered…forget, but in his state of panic he bumped his right leg into the coffee table and collapsed in a cascade of swear words and pain.

The memories attacked him while he was down and he was lost.

Hands. Big hands… bigger than his… he tried to push them away…

Hands…touching…feeling…groping…how could anyone feel comfortable with human touch after this?

"No…Dad…don't…" The words were desperate, but the memories still had him and he crawled to a corner of the room and shook, swore and, after a time, he cried.

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Author's Note: I would hate for anyone to think that it was anyone in my family who was responsible for my personal experience, it was however a close, trusted friend who I mostly only ever saw in a 'safe' place. Hah! Feels safe now people. mutters and goes off in search of chocolate

Hrm...should I continue or run away and hide?