Summary: This is it! The final chapter! After the conclusion, let's all go to the local Starbuck's together and chat. Thank you all for reading and commenting!

Wednesday – House and Wilson face off. Are there explosions or fireworks? A 1960's style bromantic comedy. Why not take a break and join the rest of us in House's conference room while we eavesdrop on the two doctors. Free milk and Oreos for all.

Rating: PG17 for a word or two. Fluff.

Disclaimer: So not mine, and never will be sigh

A/N: I want to thank the reviewers of my other stories. It encouraged me to try a long story this time. My betas, triedunture and bookfan85 deserve a round of applause for their many wonderful suggestions. They are the best, and I don't deserve them. Clapping I'm responsible for all remaining errors.

Chapter 8: The Top of Mt. Rushmore

Wednesday begins like any ordinary day.

House once again is in charge of Wilson's sartorial splendor as he selects the royal blue tie to go with Wilson's blue and white striped shirt and dark brown suit before the oncologist goes to work.

Wilson is stumped for the third day in a row that medical and administrative staffers are unfazed by his boyish charm. Even test results and radiology reports aren't arriving in his inbox with the usual rapidity. He hides his puzzlement under his professional demeanor.

It is only a matter of time before Wilson explodes, and House is ready and waiting to pick up the pieces.

As late afternoon deepens the shadows in his office, House looks up in surprise as Wilson, overcoat over arm, and brief case in hand, rockets through his door.

Voice shaking, Wilson launches, "House, I bumped into Debbie in the lobby as I was leaving, and she's upset. Seems she heard that I'm - I'm in a relationship with . . . You!"

It's all over the hospital that the ties you gave me for my birthday are a message to all the women here to lay off me. That I'm your property!"

Wilson is working himself into a fine snit as he paces back and forth in front of House's desk. A slight sheen of sweat pops up on his forehead as he drops his satchel on the chair near the glass wall. He strikes a slightly off-kilter superhero pose due to the injured hand, "And what's more shocking is that you used me to deliver the message! How could you, House?! Just . . . how could you?!"

The wrath of Wilson is an unholy sight, and if House wants to be honest, the blazing brown eyes are setting him on fire. He grabs the desk edge, and shoves the chair he's on under his work area to avoid Wilson's incendiary gaze. He squares his shoulders and bolsters for Wilson's next reaction. House deliberately turns his attention to his monitor before growling, "Someone needs to audit Debbie's books for accuracy. She's wrong. The message isn't only for the women, but all the men and trannys too."

Wilson's hands leave his hips. The right hand massages the back of his neck as he tries to take it all in. He inhales a deep breath and wags his index finger in the direction of the serious man sitting at the desk. "Let me get this straight. You aren't joking? You want everyone to know you're . . . interested in me?"


"And, how does that translate between you and me?"

"In terms that you would understand? Let me frame it like a Hitchcock movie: We take a journey of discovery together. Romantic train rides sometimes end with us eating dust from the road of life, or laughing our asses off from the top of George Washington's head on Mt. Rushmore. I can't offer you guarantees Wilson, because I'm who I am, and you're who you are, but I've thought about this . . ."


The safe word. It is now up to House to put up or shut up. House turns and stares directly into Wilson's unbelieving eyes, leaving no doubt regarding his intentions, "I repeat, there are no guarantees where this will lead, but we can stick it out together. Yes, seriously."

"Well!" Wilson pivots toward the office door and back again, releasing the long breath that he was holding, his voice rumbling in a soft purr, "It's about time! This bandage was becoming a nuisance, and I'm tired of acting the clueless idiot."

A knowing smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he drops his brown eyes to focus on the bandage he wore for the last 8 days, and unwinds the last of the snowy white constraints from his hand, tossing it into the trash. He curls his fingers into a fist, and splays them out again. He does this several times. "I am a fast healer, you know. The bandage could have come off days ago."

House stands up and limps around the desk, using it for support instead of his cane until he reaches Wilson, and gently takes hold of the hand, flipping it palm up and palm down until he is assured that any traces of the wretched raw skin are gone.

There's that feeling of déjà vu again. House let's go of Wilson's hand and searches the face before him. "You played me like you played the nurses didn't you? Manipulating me into fitting the ties around your neck?"

Wilson is beaming.

"Have I told you lately, that you are not an idiot?"

"Not lately, no."

The two barely contain their excitement. Both hearts race to the same tempo. Passion blazes like blue lightening from one, colliding with the smoldering embers of the other. The room's temperature rises several degrees from their combined body heat. Neither can take a deep breath.

One whispers, "Not, here." The other nods in agreement, "Not now."

This time when brown eyes meet blue, the communication between them is flawless. Questions answered, feelings shared, and senses sizzle with anticipation.

Eventually, willpower overtakes impulse. Heartbeats slow. Breathing returns to normal.

Wilson touches down to earth first, "How about I pick up some Thai food on the way to your place? Bushy eyebrows wiggle, "To close the deal."

"Appropriate Wilson, but your bubbe's bubbe's matzoh ball soup would be better."

"It takes preparation time, and then there's a long simmering period, if you don't mind . . . waiting?" There's a hopeful wicked light dancing in Wilson's eyes as he looks into the amazing face in front of him.

House's mouth softens into an easy smile, and returns the mischievous expression with one of his own, "We squeezed all the metaphors we can out of 'North by Northwest,' so while we wait for your soup tonight, how about we move on to another Hitchcock classic . . . "

Wilson's voice chimes in with House's. Both are laughing as they speak in unison . . . "Rear Window!"


Fireworks explode in the night sky. Rockets roar into space. Trains plunge into tunnels. And, green ties . . . oh, Oh Yesss!

It is the beginning for House and Wilson, but not . . .

The end.

A/N: Thank you all for reading. Hope it was as much fun for you as it was for me. And, thanks for all the great comments! I appreciated every last one of them. One more thank you to my beta's, triedunture, and bookfan85.

This is dedicated to my father who appreciated the intricacies of tying a Windsor knot.