A day like any other for most people with a mindset over the age of ten, and therefore, a day of childish pranks and nervous anticipation for the diagnostics team of PPTH.

The April Fool's Day rules of engagement state that practical jokes can only be played before noon, and House spent the entire morning giving the would-be pranksters exactly what they were hoping for. He practically ripped apart his office and the conference room trying to `uncover' their prank.

Chase, Cameron and Foreman watched on in stifled amusement, thinking their plan was going along without a hitch. Noon would roll around and they would put House out of his misery--no harm done. And it was highly amusing watching their boss rampage through his office, growing more aggravated as the morning wore on.

The phone rang twice, and both times House made Foreman answer it in his place. Of course, both times it turned out to be legitimate hospital business, but House cranked up the crankiness, nonetheless, for the benefit of his audience.

At ten-thirty, Dr. Cuddy walked into diagnostics where House was carefully inspecting the cup of coffee he'd just poured for himself.

"We're short-staffed in the clinic, and guess what, House? You're short on clinic hours this week. It's a match made in Heaven."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's dangerous to play with matches?" House quipped.

"Just get down there," said Cuddy, quickly losing patience.

House gave her a sly grin. "Not a chance," he said. "You've probably got some freak of nature with boils on his penis waiting for me. No way. I'm not going anywhere until after twelve o'clock."

"Get down there now, or I'll add two more hours to what you already owe me," said Cuddy, her eyes blazing.

It was at this opportune moment that Wilson showed up. Dropping his satchel on the floor, he headed around the table to get himself a cup of coffee. "You need someone in the clinic? I've got some time before my next appointment," he said. "I can cover for him for a while."

House smiled smugly at Cuddy, whose frown deepened. "Fine. Thank-you Dr. Wilson," she said, but as she and Wilson were on their way out, she tossed back: "You still owe me two more hours, House." House's response was to make infantile faces at her retreating back.

"What are all of you sitting around for?" House asked the others. "Little Johnny needs a tox screen."

"For what?" asked Cameron, ignoring House's blatant refusal to use the kid's real name. "Both Mike and his parents swear he's never touched drugs."

"We talked to Mike alone--he's adamant about not taking drugs. Said his friend had some, but he didn't take any," said Chase.

"Okay, then," said House. "Test him for the usual suspects...and find out what heart meds his dad's on."

"Mike's father isn't on heart medication," said Foreman, flipping through the chart to make sure he hadn't missed something.

"It's drugs," said House. "Legal or illegal, something messed this kid up, and he's either too scared or too embarrassed to fess up. Now go forth and identify." House ushered his team out the door. He had a pretty good idea what the results of the tests would be, and he knew little Mikey was healthy enough to be discharged, but the kid was handy to have around. There was nothing like having a human pincushion around when you needed an excuse to get rid of your underlings.

Wilson's satchel sat propped up against the wall by the door where he'd dropped it. It was time to get down to work. The hunt was on.

Quarter to twelve.

They were cutting it close, thought Cameron, but that would only make the last fifteen minutes all the more fun. She knew it was wrong to be enjoying this as much as she was. It was a stupid little prank, but she'd managed to divest all of her pent up frustrations about House in it, and just this once, she wanted to see him lose at his own game.

But when they entered the conference room, Cameron took one look at the fiery-eyed Dr. House and the contents of Wilson's satchel scattered across the long glass table and got a very bad feeling. He was standing at the end of the table, shaking a small, leather-bound journal at them in victory.

"Oh, this is good," said House. "I don't know how you ever managed to talk Wilson into this, but this is good." Again he waggled the journal at them, and Cameron instinctively stepped forward to come out with the truth. She was stopped short by a warning look from Foreman, and against her better judgment, she held her tongue.

"It was a nice little set-up, I'll give you that," said House. "Get Wilson to come in for no apparent reason and `accidentally' leave his bag behind. Was Cuddy in on it too? Or was that just lucky timing?"

Cameron flashed a brief glance at Chase, who looked like he was as unsure about this as she was. He, too, must have sensed that their plan had somehow backfired. She looked over at Foreman, but he was clearly enjoying himself and had no intention of putting a stop to it.

"But the diary..." House continued his eyes bright with triumph. "Surely you could have come up with something a bit more original than that? I mean, come on! It sounds like something a fifteen year old girl would write." As House flipped through the journal to find the right passage, the door opened. Cameron, Foreman and Chase turned in unison to see Wilson walk in and then stop short at the sight before him.

"March 31st," House read, ignoring Wilson's sudden appearance. "I fell asleep in Greg's bed today. I knew he'd be pissed if he found out--he hates it when other people touch his stuff. But when he got home and found me in his bed, he didn't say anything. I think I was actually disappointed. I think, deep down, I was hoping he'd say something, yell at me, get angry--anything. Because then, just maybe, the truth might have come out. Maybe then, in the heat of the moment, I might have finally told him about my feelings for him. But he didn't say anything, and so neither did I. God help me, I don't know how much longer I can keep hiding it."

The silence after House stopped speaking was absolute. Wilson stood frozen in place, a look of shocked devastation on his face. The others looked on in awkward embarrassment, not really sure how to react. Foreman's smug enjoyment of the situation evaporated the instant he realized that this wasn't just House playing a joke on them--Wilson's pain was clearly very real... and it was at least partly his fault.

"Wow--such acting skills..." said House. "You almost had me convinced."

"You're a real son-of-a-bitch," said Wilson, his brown eyes glassy with the sheen of unshed tears.

"And yet you still love me, apparently," said House.

That was more than Wilson could take. Doing his best to tamp down his emotions, he walked out of the room, feeling four sets of eyes following him. Staring.

"I think I touched a nerve. What do you think?" asked House. His voice was flat and joyless, and he quickly retreated to his office, shutting the door behind him.

Cameron, Foreman and Chase stared through the glass dividing wall at House, whose mood had turned decidedly dark. He sat at his desk, turning Wilson's journal over and over in his hands.

"Maybe we should talk to him," Cameron suggested.

"And tell him what? Hey, guess what, House? Wilson wasn't in on the joke and you just outed your best friend in the most humiliating way possible?" said Chase. "I think he's already figured that out." Foreman and Cameron watched their sullen boss clutching the journal in his hands and knew Chase was right.

"Then maybe we should talk to Wilson," said Cameron.

"I think we've done enough damage for one day," said Foreman. "We should just stay out of this."

"Agreed," said Chase.

Cameron agreed, too, although she wasn't very happy about it. Only later, when she was walking past Wilson's office, did she think Foreman might be right. She peeked in through the window in his door to see Wilson sitting slouched in his chair, his hands splayed out flat on his desk. He had a far-away look in his eyes, and Cameron got the impression he would rather be left alone.

House spent the afternoon being generally miserable and sharing his misery with others. No one could say he wasn't a giver. His staff wisely kept their distance, but anyone not smart enough to give him a wide berth was taken down without mercy. He purposely avoided running into Wilson, knowing that if he did, it would mean a confrontation. And that was a confrontation he didn't want to have in public.

As for actual work, there was very little for him to do. Little Mikey's mystery illness turned out to be an unfortunate reaction to a very bad combination of recreational drugs and Viagra. It turned out his friend Tyler had access to all the cool stuff, and the Viagra...well, that explained why Mikey was too embarrassed to confess what he'd done. So, with no patients currently on the board, House was left with the whole afternoon to polish up the second stage of his plan.

When he got home, House wasn't surprised to find Wilson already there. What he hadn't expected was that he'd packed up his bags and was about to walk out the door. And House was pretty sure he was leaving in the very permanent sense.

"What are you doing?" House asked, blocking the door so Wilson couldn't get past.

"Did you really think I could stand to be around you after you humiliated me like that today?" said Wilson, barely keeping his emotions in check.

"What are you talking about? You agreed to go along with the plan--read your diary, freak out the kiddies. It worked like a charm."

"I agreed to let you read what I'd written--not to...to make up some ridiculous lie."

"What you wrote was boring," said House. "What I came up with was far more interesting...and not that ridiculous. Hell, half the hospital suspects it, and I happen to know it's true."

Wilson sputtered at him wordlessly for a moment, trying to think of some way to come back at that. "Why? What possible reason could you have to think that I have feelings for you?"

"I read you diary," House replied.

Wilson blinked at him. "Not once in my journal did I write anything like that."

"It was implied."

"Guh!" Wilson said, half-choking in his attempt to formulate coherent speech. "How? How did I imply it?"

"Simple. Out of the three hundred and fifteen entries, you mentioned me in two hundred and eighty-three. And of those entries, I was the sole focus of two hundred and nine. Julie, on the other hand, only managed to make guest appearances in your diary eighty-eight times. Add to that the fact that you'd rather sleep indefinitely on my lumpy, uncomfortable couch than in a nice, comfy hotel room, and I drew the obvious conclusion. Plus...when you stand like that, with your hands on your hips, you make Richard Simmons look like a he-man."

Wilson flushed hotly and dropped his hands from his hips where they'd been resting. He was furious at House, because the damned son-of-a-bitch simply assumed he was right. But, more than that, Wilson was afraid...because the twisting knots in his stomach told him that House might not be entirely wrong. It wasn't anything he was ready or able to deal with, though, so he picked up his luggage and barged past House to get to the door.

"You're insane, you know that?" Wilson said, his voice cracking, as he tried to open the door with the luggage still in his hands.

"And you're in denial," said House. With more force than was strictly necessary, he grabbed Wilson by the shoulder, spun him around and then shoved him back up against the door.

"What are you doing?" Wilson demanded, dropping the luggage so he could pry House's hand off his chest.

"Proving I'm right," House answered. In one swift move he dropped his cane, planted his hands on both sides of Wilson's face and kissed him. It was rough and quick--too quick for Wilson to react--but when House pulled away and saw the shiny-eyed look of betrayal and anger on his friend's face, he decided it was all or nothing.

Before Wilson could protest, House brought their lips together again. Only, this time, there was nothing rough or quick about it. Wilson fought it at first, struggling half-heartedly to pull away, but he was cornered and he knew it. In the end it was Wilson who deepened the kiss, opening his mouth just enough to let House know he was willing. House wasted no time in accepting the invitation, taking full advantage of the opportunity to explore Wilson in a way he'd never have thought possible.

When House finally let him go, Wilson quickly wiped away traces of the tears that had tracked down his cheeks, and hung his head. He was breathing hard, and to his utter embarrassment, House had raised firm, physical evidence that he was right. They stood there, inches apart, while House waited for him to say something. But what could he say? What good would it do to admit that House was right? At last Wilson managed to lift his watery eyes to look at him.

"So now what?" Wilson asked bitterly. "You've proved your point. What happens now?"

House cocked his head and stared at him like he was the biggest kid riding the short bus. "Well...once you're done blubbing and whining, I thought it might be fun to take this to the bedroom."

House didn't bother waiting for a response this time. Instead, he picked up his cane and one of Wilson's suitcases and headed off to the bedroom, leaving his stunned friend standing at the door. Either he'd get over the shock and join him, or he'd freak out and run for the hills. House wasn't overly worried--one way or the other, he figured he'd be better off. Wanting something that's just out of reach was worse than having no shot at it at all.