The replacement car is a manual. Silver, well kept, filled with the sterile smell of nothing. Uncomfortable, really, is the word. Still, Wilson lives in a hotel and works in a hospital - uncomfortable is far from foreign to him.

His foot presses down on the clutch and his right hand wrestles the stick into 3rd; not even one day and he's already missing his good old automatic.

At least he can still change gears somewhat smoothly.

The steering wheel turns pretty effortlessly round a turn and Wilson's suddenly driving on autopilot. He knows the hotel well - not his hotel, that would be foolish, but it's a nice one nonetheless. Perfect, really, for this kind of thing. Just far enough away, but not too close either.

She said she'd be there at 7.

He parks - it's an easy parallel park just round the corner from the hotel. He would never go into the car park. Even when he's operating with a different license plate, he doesn't want to take the risk.

Quickly, he drowns the thought of any risk that meetings such as this could entail. If there's no risk, he's doing nothing wrong. Even if he is.

Wilson tries - he does. But just `trying' often doesn't cut it. So instead, he takes the easy way out - sticks with strong, unrelenting denial. He promised himself that with House, things would be different - he would be different. They were and he was, to a point, but House isn't easy, House doesn't like to make space for people. Even for Wilson, who already had a space in House's life. Asking for that little bit extra was, apparently, too much. And of course, House tries too, but there's only so much rejection one person can take before he has to find affirmation elsewhere.

They love each other. He's sure of it. But sometimes, sometimes House just can't let Wilson in like he used to and sometimes Wilson needs more than what he's getting. Loneliness can get terribly habitual and Wilson remembers that particular practice all too well. He has no desire to return to it.

So yes, he doesn't like who he was in his marriages and yes, he loves House. But for all his trying, Wilson has discovered that he still needs more.

And what House doesn't know can't hurt him.

Oh yes - he is buried so deep in denial that he's almost convinced himself. Denial works for him - it stops the guilt, the emptiness, the reality from affecting him. Keeps him somewhat satisfied.

And really, if that's not the most selfish thing he's ever heard... but he figures that if that's the only way to keep going, that's how it's got to be.

She's pretty, the woman he's meeting. Back in the bar where he picked her up, she mentioned her name was Andrea. He introduced himself as James. First names only. Nice and simple.

And now they're in the hotel room and they're kissing - rough and impatient kisses that mean nothing but feel oh so good. Wilson tries to forget House's kisses and concentrates on sliding his hand up one of her long, hose-clad thighs.

It never gets any easier. No matter how many times he cheats (and he cheats a lot), none of it ever gets any easier to do. But still, he does it. For House.

He does it for House.

Because if he didn't, if Wilson couldn't get what he needed, where would that leave them? Wilson knows that using these women (never men - too complicated) to get some sort of affirmation means that he doesn't have to rely on House for it. He can stay with House, can take everything that's thrown at him, can live with all of the rejection, because he knows that at least he'll never be lonely.

And now they're lying on the bed and the friction is incredible. The need pulsates through the white linen sheets and the heat - oh god, the heat. She's writhing underneath him, removing that last item of clothing and Wilson knows he's doing the right thing.

House would never try to make Wilson feel good about himself, but that's ok. Wilson has that covered. He has to do this, because House needs Wilson. Wilson needs House.

If this is the only way that Wilson can stay with House, then so be it. At least then he knows that they'll be ok.