Disclaimer: I don't even own a house, let alone the House.

Author's Notes: Just a short little drabble, written years ago when I was still new to fandom. Updated May '12 for formatting.


Wilson was avoiding him. House was sure of it.

It wasn't just that he was harder to find when House needed a consult; his stays at House's apartment were becoming less and less frequent. He was going through a divorce: this was the time when his visits were supposed to be increasing exponentially in number.

What the hell was going on?

Gregory House rarely ever thought about things in advance; he operated on what felt right and left the thinking to when he had to convince Cuddy to let him carry out some not-quite-legal treatment. This time was fairly typical in that respect.

Wilson almost jumped when House limped into the elevator just as the doors were about to close.

"Long time no speaky, pardner."

His voice was a bit rougher than usual. Wilson tried not to let that voice get to him.

"Hmm, yeah. Been pretty busy."

"You been too busy to even say hello?"

The sarcasm reflex:

"Yeah, sorry about that…people dying and all that."

There was silence for a short while. Then House used the butt of his cane to jab the emergency stop. Wilson tried not to fidget nervously.

"Even more than usual? Wow. Diagnosing cancer can be so difficult." Despite the words, his tone betrayed a small amount of hurt. Wilson's stomach felt like it was trying to jump out of his nose. Guilt.

A hand rested lightly on his shoulder. Fuck, don't do that.

"Why have you been avoiding me, Wilson?"

His eyes flickered from the wall in front of him to the floor. He wanted to tell House. He also didn't want to be impaled on House's cane.

I can't trust myself around you any more, House. Whenever I see you I just want to shove you up against the nearest wall and kiss all of the oxygen out of you.

House's hand was still on his shoulder.

"Wilson…" His voice was soft. What was going on…?

A finger brushed the side of his neck and Wilson swallowed. He turned towards House.

"What are you…"

"I want you. Now."

Someone had cut off the elevator's air supply. "What…?" A hoarse whisper.

The finger moved to his mouth, and the tip pressed firmly against his lower lip.

The elevator jolted back into life and opened at the floor Wilson had intended to visit (which floor was it now?) before he realised that House must have released the emergency stop. House stepped out.

"Are you going to follow me?"

House's blue eyes were direct, but this time Wilson recognised the vulnerability.

A clear answer.