He wants him.

This helpless version of his friend appeals to Wilson like House in his right mind never has. Wilson ignores the guilt he feels to know that House is only like this because of him.

Gradually, he fights the guilt until finally, what he wants overcomes what is right – and in a locked room, in a deserted hallway, he covers House's mouth and sternly orders him to be still, forces him down beneath him and takes advantage of his very special patient.

It's okay, he tells himself. Right and wrong don't matter when you want something this bad.


At first it didn't matter.

It was just a sign of friendship that House felt comfortable enough to help himself to Wilson's food. Affection – something to appreciate, rather than to be irritated by.

Yeah. Right.

Wilson reins in his irritation with ever-increasing difficulty, until he can take it no more. They're walking down the hallway when House casually takes a chip from the bag in Wilson's hand.

The next few minutes are a blank.

Next thing Wilson knows, he's in his office, alone, with his chips intact – wondering where House went.

Oh, well. He'll find me when he gets hungry.


He knows it's not fair.

He has his wife, and occasionally more.

House has only him.

Therefore, he should be happy – relieved, even – when House makes things official with Cuddy.

He isn't.

Despite the fact he has no claim on House – not now, when he's refused to claim him for so long, when House so desperately wanted him to – Wilson finds that he bitterly resents Cuddy.

House is his.

Wilson reassures himself with the knowledge that it's doomed to failure – if he has anything to say about it.

In competition with him for House's affections, Cuddy doesn't stand a chance.


He could stay here, with House, all day.

He has to work, but lately, all he wants to do is… well… House.

He leans over to kiss House, who murmurs something in his sleep and turns his head away. Wilson pursues him, physically insisting that he submit to the kiss.

With a resigned sigh, Wilson gets up and gets dressed.

Before leaving, he checks the restraints that bind House to the bed, then administers a dose of the sedative he's been using for weeks.

It doesn't matter. He can play more later. They have all the time in the world.


He keeps his anger controlled most of the time – sometimes even for months.

Eventually, however, the inevitable occurs.

He lashes out, enraged, striking when House has grown secure in his safety and let down his guard – and not stopping until he's on the floor, unable even to crawl away – a pathetic victim of Wilson's rage.

"You know better than to make me angry," Wilson reminds him, his voice frighteningly soft in the wake of his violence. "This wouldn't happen if you were more careful."

"I'm sorry," House whispers, scared of incurring Wilson's wrath again.

Eventually, he will.

He always does.


He's jealous.

He doesn't know why he is.

He's had many relatively healthy relationships, and House is just now experiencing his first, as far as Wilson knows. He shouldn't begrudge his friend his happiness – and yet, he does.

Every time House and Cuddy enter the cafeteria together, or leave together well-dressed and on their way to an evening out together, Wilson fights back a surge of vicious jealousy that makes him want it to be over for them – for the whole thing to fall apart around them.

It isn't real, anyway.

Happiness never lasts.

It's never real. He should know.


He draws the blinds before stalking across the room, glaring down at House's infuriating grin.

"You told them."

"Yeah, so what?"

House's carelessness only infuriates Wilson more.

He sidesteps the desk, slapping House and nearly knocking him from his chair. House looks up at Wilson through wounded eyes.

"So," Wilson retorts, out of control, "everyone knowing I've lowered myself so far is humiliating to me. So… it's over. You blew it, House. We're done."

He storms out, too angry to stop, though he can already feel regret seeping in.

He doesn't want to leave House – but what would everyone think?