Disclaimer: Okay, duh, I borrowed the title idea from Definitely, Maybe, but it got stuck in my head and I liked it.

Summary: He knows he's being a selfish bastard, he's not stupid, and yet he's still trying to figure out a way he can get Wilson to stay. [HouseWilson

Author's Note: Hello, people! I know I mentioned to some of you reviewers that I was going to write a different fic next, one guest-starring Cate Milton and Cutthroat Bitch, but alas, it was giving me trouble and so I wrote this angsty little blurb in Geo one day to get it out of my system. I'll keep working on Obvious (the title I gave it) in the meantime. Have a good day!


"Oh, come on, it's not that shocking. It's not like I'm dying or anything," Wilson tries awkwardly to make a joke after six full minutes of dead silence. His brown eyes dart back and forth from House to the space between them, shifting in the chair in House's office.

House keeps staring blankly at him, like Wilson might as well be speaking Japanese, which, of course, he clearly isn't, but since House hasn't said or done anything other than stare at him blankly for the last six minutes, Wilson starts to fidget, growing more and more discomfited as each second ticks by. Eerily like a time bomb.

Wilson's attempted to read the expression on House's face, but he knows it's pointless, because House obviously doesn't want his expression read. So Wilson sighs, shifts in his chair again, and fights back the headache that's creeping up in the corners of his mind. He gets to his feet, patience disintegrating. "Fine. Call me if you ever decide to blink again, or, you know, try to give me one good reason why I shouldn't take the job. See you around." Angry footsteps carry him to the door and he lets it slam shut behind him.

And suddenly House can't breathe.


It's an hour later when Cuddy storms in, eyes flashing and mouth open, ready to chew him out for not being at the clinic, and her face abruptly softens when she sees him, looking for all the world like someone who had seen his puppy get kicked.

Or whose Wilson had just been stolen.

Cuddy stops in front of House's desk. Never, she thinks, has she seen such a palpable expression of distress or dejection on his face. "He finally told you, didn't he?"

He tears his eyes away from the spot Wilson recently vacated and forces a laugh. "Finally? How long has he known?"

"Just a few days." She reaches out to curl her fingers around his forearm. "Didn't go so well, huh?"

He smiles humourlessly. "You could say that."

She is silent for a moment, then looks unflinchingly into the icy indifference in his eyes. "You need to tell him, House."

"Tell him what." The deep tone of his voice is monotonous, giving her the not the faintest clue whether he's questioning her.

"How much he means to you, maybe?" She tightens her fingers. "Are you really willing to lose him forever just because you couldn't swallow your pride and tell him that- that he's your friend, that you care about him, that you need him?"

"I need him," he mutters into his hands. He raises his eyes to hers, no barriers obstructing his thoughts and emotions for her to see- uncertainty, hesitation, a sliver of hope and stubbornness… and something else.

Her brows draw together in a concentrated frown. "You love him, don't you." She says it more like a statement of fact than a question; he doesn't feel the need to reply. Because it's clear to her. "You need to tell him, or you'll end up regretting it for the rest of your life."


Wilson isn't particularly surprised when he hears the sound of his office door opening and closing with no sarcastic comment accompanying it. Doesn't look up. "Do you want something, House? I have work to do." Which isn't really true, but something in the back of his mind is niggling at him, telling him he really does want to have this conversation. He keeps his pen moving to distract himself, signing his name over and over on the paperwork covering his desk.


"I need you."

Words spoken so quietly, so heavily weighted with meaning, Wilson's not sure he heard correctly, so he lifts his head to see House leaning against the door, eyes closed, looking exhausted. As if sensing Wilson's appraisal, House opens his eyes to reveal everything and nothing all at once, and Wilson feels a pull in his stomach.

Not one doubt comes to mind. Not now. "Okay," he agrees slowly, pulse speeding just a little for reasons he can't explain, and is okay with not knowing… for now.

House looks vaguely surprised at this, and slightly uncomfortable. "Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay."

House smiles a little. "It's lunchtime," he says eventually, not looking quite at Wilson. "I'm buying."


Author's Note: I'm not sure if I like how that turned out. The detail is lacking and it feels incomplete, but I kinda did that on purpose- maybe that's just cause an writer's their own worst critic. Let me know. See that little purple button? I like that little purple button. It gives me better boosts than any drug could ever do…