Note: This chapter is more from House's point of view, because… well, because. And if you aren't cool with male "life partners"… *ahem* might want to skip this one. Nothing explicit, though, just simple fluff.

Two months later

House stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. It was two in the morning, and he'd just been jolted awake by the beginnings of what looked to be severe breakthrough pain in his leg.


He listened to the outside world for a moment, trying to ignore the urge to fidget and stay still. Yep, it was raining heavily outside. The barometric pressure was wreaking havoc in his leg, and would do so until the rain stopped and the front moved on.

He bit his cheek as the pain ramped up a few more notches. Wilson was here, asleep on the couch. He didn't want to…

House slammed the breaks on that train of thought. What had Wilson been lecturing him about for the past few months? He knew he could trust the oncologist, at least rationally. But it was the elusive, undefined fear in his chest that tried to keep him from calling out; fear of being rejected, of being ignored.

House swallowed. This was the first time since that night that he'd had breakthrough pain, what with a wonderful combination of forecast cooperation and Wilson's meddling.

The oncologist had taken it upon himself to talk to Cuddy, something House was both surprised and pleased by. He'd been in Cuddy's office, being lectured for being late that day, as well as for missing work the next, when Wilson strode in.

House had looked up at the younger doctor, confused. "Wilson, I need your help," he half joked. "Satan's yelling at me."

Cuddy flared her nostrils to dangerous proportions, but Wilson held up a pacifying hand.

"Cuddy, House was late because he was dealing with severe breakthrough pain."

Cuddy blinked, frozen. "Huh?"

Ignoring House's infuriated glare, Wilson clarified. "It wasn't his fault. He could hardly get up, and I didn't give him a ride for various reasons."

Cuddy deflated like a popped balloon. "Wilson, if you're making this up to cover for him… it's a kind gesture, but House is a grown man who needs to take responsibility-"

House turned her fury on her, exploding like a dam that had just one too many drops of water behind it. "Cuddy, don't you dare lecture Wilson. That's my job; he didn't do anything."

"House, it's hard for me to believe you'd miss a chance to bitch."

House snarled. "Yeah, I can see why the queen of 'bitch' would find it hard to believe that I don't like admitting when I feel like a pile of dog shit!"

Cuddy pushed herself back in her chair, shocked to see House so worked up. He got mad, but he never lost control like this. He'd said some harsh things, but he was never this… cutting.

She examined him. He looked exhausted, and a bit under the weather. She spotted a small bandage on the crook of his elbow.

She swallowed. Wilson would never give House powerful drugs, like morphine unless he really felt it was necessary.

She stood, walking towards House. He actually shifted backwards; albeit less than an inch, he was being extra protective of his leg today. Like it'd been hurting more than usual. She'd recognized the motion from the early days of his infarction, where the slightest nudge would send his leg into spasms so painful they had been forced to put him under.

"So what did you do yesterday?"

House blinked. She'd accepted that so… easily. He'd expected much more of an argument.

"Uh… Wilson shoved me full of food all day long. And I helped him move back in."

Cuddy smiled. She was glad the oncologist was moving back in with House; the man needed some companionship. Not to mention a nanny and a personal chef.

"Fine. Next time, tell me when you're having issues. Now shoo."

Flabbergasted with the abrupt end of the argument, House fled the office, assuming Cuddy would stop him and tack on some other punishment.

At first he'd been angry with Wilson for exposing him like that, but as the day went on, he calmed down and saw the rationality of it. Things had defiantly improved since the little spat in her office, and none of the things he'd feared would happen happened. Cuddy didn't pity him; hell, she wasn't even nicer to him. But he did recognize a decrease in his assigned clinic hours that he and his leg very much appreciated.

House huffed out a sigh at the situation he was in. His leg felt like someone had dipped it in napalm then lit it on fire, and it was only going to get worse.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened his mouth.


Not a minute later, Wilson was in his room. "House? Did you call me?" he questioned groggily, his voice thick with sleep. His hair was sticking up comically, his white shirt half tucked into his boxers.

"Yeah," he choked in return. "I need you to… help me."

Wilson's eyes widened as he recognized the fetal position House was quickly adopting. Without any further questions, he briefly disappeared and came back with the morphine.

When he came in range, House gripped his shirt, vice-like. His arms were shaking, his breathing shallow. Wilson slowly injected the drug. House felt the relief like water on his burning leg, and he collapsed backwards into the bed with a sigh, his hand loosening, but not entirely letting go of Wilson's tee.

Wilson stared at him, his emotion's caught between pain for his friend and happiness that he'd finally let him help.

"Is it the rain?"

House opened one eye, pulling himself from his opiate induced haze. "Uh huh."

He paused, taking several deep breaths before breathing "Thank you."

Wilson's eyes softened. He gently removed House's hand from his shirt, taking it in his own and squeezing. "Thank you, House."

As House began to drift off, giving into the morphine, Wilson tired to get up quietly to let him sleep. However, House gripped his hand tighter, jerking his arm down.

"Wilson, it's about time you stopped sleeping on the couch," House murmured groggily.

Wilson stared at him, sure he'd misheard. "Huh?"

"Everyone thinks we're gay for each other anyway, might as well have you sleeping in my bed too."

Wilson's mouth flopped open. He couldn't deny that he had feelings for House. After three failed marriages, it was probably time to admit defeat. However, he'd never expected the emotion to be mutual.

Wilson swallowed, feeling warmth in his chest bloom as he slid into bed with House. The man lazily flopped an arm over him, tucking Wilson's head under his scruffy chin.

Instead of feeling awkward, as he'd expected, Wilson felt strangely… at home. Surrounded and engulfed by House's warmth and scent, he felt the most relaxed he had in years. House's light, growling snore slowly filled his ear, and Wilson smiled into the pillow.

This was where he was meant to be, right here. Next to House.

Excuse me while I go feel all warm inside...

This was sort of the Epilogue. However, the next, and final chapter, will be the Epi-Epilogue.

Sorry to suddenly go slash on yah, but it was requested quite a bit in reviews.