Disclaimer: I do not own House in any way... Or else this would have happened already.


Chapter 3

"One of you is going to confess!"

Taub blinked, stopping with the cane pointed in his face, just an inch from his nose.

"I wasn't expecting the Spanish Inquisition."

House rolled his eyes, but lowered the cane.

"More flowers, eh?" Chase spied the white roses in the vase on House's desk. "That's how many days in a row now?"

"Eighteen," Thirteen declared, going to make a tick mark on the board. "Eighteen flowers, too, I bet?"

"You still haven't figured it out," Foreman laughed, shaking his head. "You solve medical mysteries every other day - but you can't find someone who's been sneaking into your office every night, just to leave you flowers."

"You know something?" House accused, staring at Foreman.

"If I did, I sure wouldn't tell you," Foreman shrugged.

They all knew it was true. Foreman just liked to see House pissed off.

"Fine." House scowled. "One of you get me a bloody case!"

They jumped up and hurried out.

House practically fell into his chair, and sighed deeply. He couldn't stop thinking about this… problem. Because that's what it was - a problem. Whoever it was, there was no chance of anything happening. House had been hung up on one person for almost nineteen years.

He was going to have to humiliate whoever it was, if he ever hoped for them to lose their ridiculous crush. It always worked like magic. Still, whoever sent him these had some serious feelings - and House felt bad for what he'd have to do.

Until he found out though… He wondered how many days were going to go by before they stopped. Thirty? Fifty? A hundred?

He laughed suddenly at the image of hundreds of flowers flooding the hallways… Patients in wheelchairs slipping every which way, Cuddy falling on her ass, Wilson smiling, picking one up, and sniffing it.

Maybe if he faked a fall when Wilson was nearby, he'd try to catch him, House's eyes shone with the fantasy.

He sighed and closed his eyes, imagining a much less clothed Wilson laying back in a field of flowers, waiting to be made love to -

"House."

His eyes jolted open.

"W - Wilson," House stammered, cursing his imagination for distracting him so.

"I'm not interrupting something, am I?" the oncologist teased.

"Nope," House said brightly, as he stood and walked over to his friend. "Let's get lunch."

"I'm paying?" Wilson asked drily.

"Rhetorical question," House murmured as he led the way.


The next day, just like every morning, House walked into his office with anticipation.

And stopped dead.

Where were his flowers? They were sometimes on his desk, but as their numbers increased each day, they were usually placed on the table.

"Looking for something?"

House nodded, not looking over at Wilson. Finally, he gave up, and walked over to his friend, who was still in the doorway.

"For those?" Wilson suggested, nodding upwards.

House glanced up, and was startled to see a wreath of mistletoe - with many fresh flowers around it - he'd bet good money that there were nineteen of them.

"Some - "

Whatever House was going to say was cut off as a pair of warm lips covered his own. For a moment, Wilson just stood still, letting House process what was happening.

He'd frozen up, completely unsure of himself.

Then slowly, those soft lips were moving, embracing his own, gently coaxing House's mouth open.

House opened to breathe, hoping he wasn't going to hyperventilate…

Then the tip of Wilson's tongue was flicking across his lips, and god this was Wilson kissing him - House groaned, and Wilson's courage filled him as well, and he was kissing back, unable to go slow.

He'd waited too fucking long - nineteen fucking years. Wilson sighed happily before opening his mouth, and licking again, inviting House into that hot passageway. He needed no further suggestion, but took Wilson's face in his hands as he took possession of his mouth - exploring it to his full content.

Wilson should have known that House was going to take charge as soon as they got started - but it worked out, because it was certainly working out. He was being kissed expertly, pushed back against the frame, feeling rather weak in House's firm grip.

It could have been minutes, or hours, when House deigned to pull away.

He looked sharply at Wilson, who was panting - lips red and swollen, face flushed, and eyes rather glassy.

"It was you? The flowers?" House asked lowly, and Wilson nodded. "Why?"

"I - I wanted you to know that I had thought this out," Wilson explained. "That it wasn't a split second decision. It took me too long to get to this point - but I'm here now, House."

He leaned forward, lips almost touching House's.

"I love you."

The way his words curved around his lips, that soft tone - House had been reading Wilson for years. He was being completely truthful, and there was no way to misinterpret what he'd said.

Wilson waited expectantly, but then House was kissing him, desperately, roughly, as if he could lose Wilson any second.

Some time later, they stood still, foreheads pressed together, arms twined around each other.

House said nothing, but Wilson already knew. House didn't need to say anything.

"Thank you for waiting," Wilson whispered.

House just smiled, and for one ridiculously sentimental moment, rubbed their noses together.

"You're worth waiting a thousand years for."

Someone's pager went off. After a few more seconds of looking into each other's eyes, they glanced down. It was Wilson's pager.

"I have to go," he said regretfully.

"All right," House replied easily.

"See you at home?" Wilson whispered.

"In our bedroom," House said, not a trace of humor in his voice.

Wilson shivered in anticipation. If House could do that to him with kisses on their own, what could he do to him in bed…

"Tonight," he promised.

House squeezed his hand, and let him go.

After a minute, Wilson was out of sight, and House's gaze began to focus on other things for the first time since he'd noticed the mistletoe.

Things - like all the nurses staring. A woman on crutches, looking at him rather… lustfully. Chase, his eyebrows at the roof. And Thirteen, who was taking pictures on her camera phone.

The diagnostician shook his head, but none of it mattered.

House just couldn't stop smiling.

And that scared the onlookers more than anything else could.