Title: Jagged Little Pill

Rating: T

Disclaimer: If Wilson were mine, I'm sure House would fight me for him and of course I'd lose!

Summary: Wilson considers his relationship with House's Vicodin.

A/N: Could be set during the whole Tritter-arc in season 3, but no direct references made. The title of the fic is taken from the Alanis Morrisette album. Inspiration for a bit of the fic was taken from The Daily Show. (I ♥ Jon Stewart!)

Also any comments or reviews will be gratefully received. Thanks!

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Wilson eyed the single white pill resting on House's living room coffee table with wary suspicion. He wondered how a small, inanimate object could possibly have the ability to gleefully taunt and mock him with its mere existence.

He is jealous of House's Vicodin. He knew it was a ridiculous thing to admit, but it was the absolute truth. However, what had actually turned his world upside down was admitting the jealousy to House.

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Their arguments often started in the same way. House was bored after solving yet another case so he needed a distraction to occupy his mind and of course Wilson had been summoned to provide him with suitable entertainment. But Wilson had stupidly let that particular argument escalate and he had brought up the topic of House's addiction in retaliation to one of House's pointed retorts. The fight finally ended with Wilson yelling at House at full volume across House's fishbowl-like office.

"You chose Vicodin over me! You always choose it over me!" Wilson had been shocked to find himself shaking with pent-up anger and resentment. He remained in there just long enough to see the expression of stunned incredulity on House's face before fleeing to the sanctuary of his own office.

Wilson sat down behind his desk, his fists clenched in a desperate attempt to control his spiralling emotions. His face burned with embarrassment. He didn't know why he had let House blatantly goad him into the confession, but it had been his fault for bringing up the subject in the first place. He hoped that the next time they saw each other, they would both use their usual tactic, pretending it had never been mentioned. However, that plan was ruined when a few seconds later House rushed into the room via their shared balcony. Wilson couldn't cope with the idea of a fresh round of insults and was about to shout at House to leave him alone when he was yanked out of his chair by his arm.

"I need you too." House managed to say breathlessly, still gripping his arm tightly. Wilson was only able to stare back at him in disbelief; it felt as if his mind was playing tricks. It was the last thing he had ever expected House to say to him. But something clicked in Wilson's mind as he realised the enormity of House's admission and the result was the same as if House had declared his feelings for him in front of all the staff in the hospital. Wilson pulled House closer and kissed him as if his life depended on it. He was overjoyed to realise that House returned the kiss with the equal fervour, showing Wilson exactly how much he meant to him.

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So Wilson's confession had changed their relationship irrevocably. Even though, now he had managed to keep the jealousy to a controlled simmer, it was still there in his life, an unwanted presence very much like the Vicodin itself. Wilson couldn't help but wonder if House's Vicodin deserved some kind of alias or nickname worthy of the position it had in their life. He felt as if it was almost a third person in their relationship, an acknowledged mistress of sorts that possessed a piece of House's heart that would never belong to him.

Wilson hated for feeling that way about it, but he knew House also needed it to combat his pain. He couldn't even begin to imagine the pain House felt every day and he would never be able to empathise. So, he mused, if the saying 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend', was true, maybe he should regard the Vicodin with less animosity and the implacable, insidious pain should be the real target instead. After all it was a constant in House's life and if the war could never be won, Wilson had no choice, but to be a soldier and help House fight the unrelenting battle. That was why he had first prescribed the Vicodin; to simply provide a weapon against the pain to the one person he would always love.

Wilson willingly gave himself to House, heart and soul, but he knew that House was unable to reciprocate to the same extent. Once he could begin to live with that, the poisonous jealousy could be downgraded and pushed to the periphery of their beautifully intricate relationship.

Wilson had been so deep in thought; he barely registered the sound of the Vicodin bottle rattling as it joined the lone pill on the coffee table. House however could easily command his attention. He pulled Wilson out of his reverie with a brief but passionate kiss and drew Wilson off the couch by hooking the crook of his cane around his arm. Wilson then stood up and House wrapped his arms around his waist.

"Bed." House murmured seductively against Wilson's lips to leaving him in no doubt of his intentions. Wilson couldn't help smiling as he nodded in agreement. It was moments like this one that Wilson valued the most. It was just the two of them; there was no overwhelming pain to cloud House's sky blue eyes or to beat House's emotions into submission. Wilson could simply gaze into his eyes and see the love he felt mirrored there.

"Bed." Wilson echoed, returning the kiss with a hint of what was to follow before leading the way to their bedroom.

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The End