There was no pain in the dream; just a tormenting loop of sounds and images that seemed to repeat in slow motion. The hard, rhythmic grunting; his own splayed hand on the cherry-red hood of his car; the harsh, rasping voice counting off each lash of the cane; back to the hard grunting again, and the way the cherry-red hood rocked under their weight as his splayed hand grasped at the shiny, smooth surface, desperate for purchase.

He heard someone calling his name, and he heard a pathetic whimpering-felt it emanating from his own throat-but he couldn't escape the dream.

"Greg! Greg!" Wilson would have shaken House awake, but he didn't want to frighten him. He saw his friend's eyes rolling beneath their lids and his body twitching as he tried to wake up. "Greg!" he repeated more loudly. He risked putting a hand on his friend's shoulder.

House jerked away from the touch and bolted upright. He had a panicked look in his eyes, and he was breathing like he'd just sprinted a mile full tilt. It took him a moment to realize where he was and who was with him. Slowly his breathing returned to normal, and the cold sweat that covered his whole body started to make him shiver.

Wilson wrapped his arm around House's shoulders, absorbing some of the chill. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

"It was just a dream," said House.

"Okay...but it was one hell of a dream," Wilson argued. "It might help if you talked about it."

"What's to talk about? It happened. It's over, and there's nothing you can do to fix it. Unless you've been holding out on me and you've got a time machine tucked away in your attic."

"No time machine-unless a trunk full of bell-bottoms and a stack of 8-track tapes counts." Wilson was rewarded with a tenuous half-smile. "You're right," said Wilson, seriously. "I can't change what happened to you. I wish to God I could."

House stared down at his clasped hands. "I wish you could, too," he said quietly and flashed a sidelong glance at Wilson.

After a moment's awkwardness, House suggested that there was no sense trying to go back to sleep since they only had a couple of hours until they had to get up anyway. So, with a blanket stolen from House's bed, the two of them spent the remainder of the night huddled together on the couch, playing some of the more aggressively violent games on House's Playstation.

Seven-thirty finally rolled around and Wilson put down his controller, indulging in a good, long stretch before getting up off the couch.

"You can't just abandon me in the middle of a fight," said House. "Sit your ass back down and take out the guy in the alley."

"It's time to get ready for work," said Wilson. "You don't want me to be late my first day back, do you?"

"You make it sound like you've been gone for years," said House, but Wilson fixed him with one of his softly scolding looks. "Fine. I'll get ready, but this means I'll have to sneak into my office-you know I can't have people seeing me come in early; it might set an unwanted precedent."

"I take it that means I'm giving you a ride?" asked Wilson.

"Unless you want me to walk," House answered, his eyes glued to the violence on the screen as his fingers madly worked the controller.

"...Or you could take the 'vette," Wilson suggested.

A flash of cherry-red hood invaded House's thoughts, and his on-screen persona suffered a mortal blow. "Can't," he said. "It depreciates every time I drive it."

Wilson scoffed. "That's the lamest excuse for bumming a ride I've ever heard. If I had a car like that..."

"Let it drop, Wilson," House warned, and there was something in his voice that instantly silenced his friend.

Wilson didn't know what had just happened, but he knew he'd somehow touched a nerve and he backed off. "All right, I'll drive," he said. "But I can't stay here tonight-at least not if I want to stay married."

House mumbled something under his breath, and although Wilson couldn't hear what it was, he knew that somewhere out there Julie's ears were burning.

Wilson spent his first few hours at work unpacking all the boxes he had packed only two days earlier. His back was turned to the door as he started to hang Julie's photo on the wall, and when a not-so-subtle throat clearing came from his doorway he was startled enough to drop the picture. It fell face-first onto the floor and he heard the muffled sound of glass shattering.

"Sorry, Wilson," said Dr. Cuddy from the doorway. She thought she heard him mutter the words 'only appropriate', but since he obviously hadn't intended for her to hear him, she ignored it. "Can I give you a hand cleaning that up?" she asked.

"You know...it's no big deal. Really," he said and swivelled his chair around so he could sit down.

Cuddy tilted her head at him, taking in the drawn expression on his face and the rumpled clothes. She chewed the inside of her cheek, putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

"Was there something I can do for you?" asked Wilson, working hard at being polite, despite his exhaustion. Two nights of sleep deprivation and emotional strain were taking their toll on him.

"I was going to ask you about the strange message you left on my voicemail, but I think I just figured it out," she said, a knowing look on her face as she crossed her arms and studied his reaction.

Wilson leaned back in his chair and looked up at her warily. "And what was it you figured out?" he asked.

"You were out somewhere or with someone last night and you were using me as your alibi," said Cuddy. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. But if I'm going to be an accomplice, then I want to know what it is I'm helping you cover up."

Wilson squirmed slightly in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck as he attempted to think of a plausible explanation for his behaviour that didn't involve infidelity on his part.

Thankfully, Foreman chose that moment to peek his head into Wilson's office. "Dr. Wilson, House said he needs to see you. It's urgent."

Wilson's relief at being interrupted was instantly replaced with a sharp pang of fear. "Excuse me," he said to Cuddy, and followed Foreman down the hall to House's office.

Although he wasn't sure what he was expecting to see when he got there, it certainly wasn't the sight that met his eyes as he entered House's office. House was leaning back against his desk looking vastly relaxed-a double-vicodin smile gracing his lean features. Chase was there, looking equally jovial, and the reason soon became clear as House pulled out a nearly empty bottle of champagne and poured the dregs into two mugs sitting on his desk. He and Chase held similar mugs in their hands, and it was obvious they were a few drinks ahead of them already.

"...And there's more where that came from," said House, nodding to a full bottle on the table by the window.

"What's the occasion?" asked Wilson.

"How about... 'Ding dong, the witch is dead'?" asked House. He saw the worry in Wilson's expressive brown eyes and had the sudden urge to hug the stuffing out of him. "Come on, Wilson-raise a glass...to a Vogler-free work environment."

"To a Vogler-free work environment," Chase and Foreman echoed, raising their mugs.

Wilson gave in to the peer pressure and lifted his own mug. "To a Vogler-free work environment," he toasted, and saw a look of thanks flash briefly in House's eyes. What the hell, he thought; one drink wouldn't kill him. He allowed himself to relax and enjoy the moment for what it was-the celebration of a minor victory. Although the war still raged on, they'd at least won the battle, and that had to be worth something.

Wilson gained a new respect for House's skills in avoiding Cuddy. It was not as easy as it looked. Still, he managed to avoid her until it was time to go home. He had no choice but to go into his office to get his jacket and keys, and she was there waiting for him, sitting at his desk like she owned the place. Which, he supposed, was partly true, in that she paid his salary.

His shoulders sagged in defeat, and he must have looked pretty pathetic, because Dr. Cuddy relented. "Alright. You don't have to tell me who it is you're seeing. But do me a favour...if it's someone at the hospital, try and keep it discreet." Her grey eyes pierced his, ensuring that he got her message-'don't make me look bad'. Wilson nodded, relieved to be getting off so easily.

When she was gone, he slipped out of his lab coat and into his jacket, and headed over to House's office. His team had already gone home for the day, but House was still there, poring over the MRI scans of his latest medical mystery.

"Are you almost ready to head home?" asked Wilson, coming up to stand next to his friend.

"Any time you are," House replied.

Wilson studied the MRI for a minute. "Encephalitis?" he asked.

House gave him the same look he often gave Foreman or Chase. "Would I be bothering if it was something so boring?" asked House.

"Only you would find encephalitis boring," said Wilson, casually resting a hand on House's shoulder. He heard House take in a sharp breath at the touch, but he didn't pull away, and Wilson took that as a good sign. "Did you get any phone calls today?" he asked.

"Nada," said House.

"Maybe it was just a scare tactic," said Wilson.

"Maybe," House agreed, although neither of them believed it.

They spent the ride back to House's place discussing Cuddy and the various creative ways House had managed to evade her over the years. But as they drew closer to his home, House became quiet. Wilson pulled up in front of the condo and looked over at his friend who was staring blankly out the windshield.

"We're here," said Wilson. Still, House stared straight ahead, refusing to budge. "You're home," Wilson said, trying to get his attention.

"Come in with me," said House.

"House..."

"Just for a minute," House added, turning the full force of his large blue eyes on Wilson.

Wilson nodded; how could he refuse? He followed House inside, trailing behind him as he searched every room and every closet, turned on every light. And they ended up where they'd started, at the front door.

"Well, I guess this is goodnight," said Wilson, making a move for the door.

"Don't go," said House. "Stay here tonight."

Wilson sighed; he hated turning down the request. "I told you this morning I couldn't stay."

"I didn't think you were serious."

"I can't stay, House. If I don't go home tonight I'll be signing divorce papers in the morning."

"Maybe that would be for the best," said House, his blue eyes snapping up defiantly to meet Wilson's.

Wilson checked his temper, reminding himself that his friend was under a great deal of stress. "I know you didn't mean that," he said. "And you knew I'd have to go home sooner or later. Julie..."

"There you go bringing Julie into this again. It's always about Julie," House said bitterly.

"She's my wife," Wilson argued.

"Yeah, but she doesn't need you as much as I do!" House shouted tempestuously, bringing his cane down onto the hardwood floor with a loud thump. "She doesn't love you as much as I do!"

Wilson stood there, dumbfounded at the explosive declaration, and watched as his wildly breathing friend did some emotional back-pedalling. Within seconds House had composed himself, his shield dropped solidly in place once more. Without a word, he limped over to the door and held it open.

"House..." Wilson began. But, in truth, he had no idea what to say, and the word hung in the air uselessly.

Finally, House took pity on his speechless friend. "Go on. Go see Julie," he said with a childish scoff in his voice. "Go on; I'll be fine," he added softly, coming as close to giving an apology as he would ever get.

Wilson reluctantly obeyed, taking leave of his friend. He felt shell-shocked-House's words replaying in his mind like a skipping record. He knew he shouldn't read too much into it; House was upset-you say things you don't mean when you're upset. But then, you also say things that have been on your mind, too, thought Wilson, and that made him wonder all the more.

House was lying in bed, but he wasn't sleeping. The red, digital readout on his alarm clock told him that he'd been lying there for almost three hours. He watched the little red colon flash out the seconds until the clock read an even 1:30. Deciding that sleep would not be forthcoming any time soon, he got out of bed and hobbled down to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

He ran the tap, letting the water get nice and icy cold, then filled a tall glass to the top. He was just about to take his first sip when the phone rang, the shock of it making him lose his grip on the glass. It slipped out of his hand, smashing on the tile floor at his feet.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, flinching as the phone continued to ring in the other room. He carefully stepped around the shards of broken glass, his bare feet wet and cold from the spilled water. In the living room the answering machine had picked up. House inched closer to it, not wanting to hear the message, but needing to nonetheless.

It was the static again, and for a moment he thought that might be all there was going to be. But after a long pause the familiar and dreaded voice spoke: "It's sweet that your buddy Wilson is trying to help. But he'll never understand what you're going through unless he's gone through the same thing. I can help him understand, if you want."

Furious, House snatched up the phone. "So help me, if you go near him I'll kill you, you son of a bitch!" he yelled into the receiver. But the line had already gone dead.

Without another thought, House dropped the phone, grabbed his car keys from the phone table and headed out the door. His heart slammed against his ribs as he neared the red corvette. The memories it stirred up made him want to vomit-made him want to run. But the thought of that man touching Wilson gave him more than enough incentive to overcome his fear and get in the car.

As he raced through the streets at dangerous speeds, House realised that he should have called Wilson to warn him, and he cursed himself for making such a stupid mistake. But he was more than halfway there, now, so there was no sense in turning back. He could only hope he wasn't too late.

He braked hard in front of Wilson's house and was relieved to see that everything looked normal. House got out of the car and limped painfully to the front door, wishing he'd thought to grab his cane in his mad rush to leave his place. Not only would it have made walking faster, but it would also make a damn fine weapon-something he knew from personal experience.

House rummaged through the potted plants by the door for a key, because even though he knew Wilson was too smart to hide a key there, Julie seemed the type... House smiled grimly as his long fingers closed around a plastic-feeling rock, wondering briefly how she thought a fake rock in a flowerpot was going to fool anybody. He let himself in quietly and locked the door behind him.

Everything was still. There was no sign that anyone (aside from himself) had broken in, and it appeared that Wilson wasn't in any immediate danger. Still, he figured it wouldn't hurt to give the place a once-over just in case.

Getting through the place without his cane was slow work, but he made a thorough job of it, checking every hiding place and possible entrance from the basement up, until the only room left was Wilson's bedroom. House held his breath as he opened the door, bracing himself in case his psycho stalker was in there ready to pounce.

All was quiet in the dark room. In the bed he could see Julie's blonde head, and the lump on the side of the bed nearest the window was definitely Wilson. Neither of them had woken up from the sounds of his search, and it made House irrationally angry. Couldn't they sense that they were in danger? He had half a mind to yell at them to wake up. Then a horrible thought struck him-what if they hadn't woken up because they couldn't? What if he'd been too late after all?

House's mouth went instantly dry as little jolts of panic shot through him. He limped with trepidation around to the other side of the room, where the moonlight streaming in through the window threw its cold white light on the figure in the bed. House drew closer, until he could see the gentle rise and fall of Wilson's chest as he slept. He sighed in relief as he watched his blissfully somnolent friend.

He had no idea how long he'd been standing there staring at Wilson, but it was long enough to come to two important conclusions. The first was that Wilson had never been in danger. Vogler was too smart to do anything to Wilson-if the hospital's golden boy of oncology came under attack even Vogler's vast sums of money might not be enough to keep his name clean. No, the phone call had been a diversion to get him out of his condo. The second conclusion was that the diversion wouldn't have worked if his feelings for Wilson hadn't been so strong.

Even though he was pretty sure his condo was being ransacked at that very moment (hell, he'd even left the door unlocked for them), he couldn't leave Wilson's side. He also couldn't just stand there and watch him sleep. He needed company. What he wanted was for Wilson to wake up, but he didn't want the Ice Queen to wake up with him.

House leaned in close to Wilson's face and blew into his hair, ruffling it. Wilson twitched, but he didn't wake up, so House blew harder. This time Wilson's hand came up to shoo away whatever was bugging him, but he slept on. House kept at it until Wilson finally cracked an eye open. Luckily, House reacted fast enough to clamp a hand over Wilson's mouth before he could shout out.

"Shh," House hissed, frowning.

Wilson's heart eventually climbed down from his throat where it had lodged itself, and he hissed back: "House! What are you doing here?"

House didn't answer; he simply nodded towards the door and hobbled away, knowing with absolute certainty that Wilson would follow him. Out in the hall, he waited, and a few minutes later his friend appeared, his nerves in as ruffled a state as his hair.

"What's going on?" asked Wilson, still whispering. "How did you get in?"

"There was a plastic rock in the planter with my name all over it," said House.

"You didn't answer my question," said Wilson.

"That's not entirely true-I answered one of your questions," said House. "And I would have answered the other one if you'd given me a chance."

"Alright...so what's going on, then?"

"I got another phone call."

Wilson was suddenly very awake. "What did he say?"

"What he said isn't important. What is important is that he was trying to get me out of my house, and it worked," said House, his eyes shifted away from Wilson's as he spoke.

"Why would he want you out of your house?" asked Wilson.

"I don't know-burglary? Vandalism? Bomb? Or maybe he's decided to redo the place in spring colours."

"House, this is serious."

"Which is why I'm not laughing," House replied. "Can I stay here tonight?"

Wilson briefly glanced back towards his bedroom before answering. "Of course you can stay. I'll make up the guest room." He'd already envisioned the blowout he and Julie would have about this in the morning, and it wasn't going to be pretty. As it was, she'd come close to kicking him out when he came home from work. Their precarious truce wouldn't hold up against another 'incident'.

House watched as his friend fretted over sheets and pillowcases, basically going out of his way to make his unexpected guest comfortable for the night. When he was done, they both stood back and admired his work.

"Looks wonderful," said House. "Now let's get in and mess it up."

Wilson's mouth dropped open. "House, I can't..."

"What if I have another nightmare?" said House, with just the right mix of sincerity and mischief in his eyes for Wilson to realize he was being manipulated. Normally Wilson would have at least put up a token fight before giving in to House, but under the circumstances he didn't have the heart.

House knew he'd won even before Wilson conceded defeat. "I get the right side," he called out and started for that side of the bed.

That was when Wilson noticed his friend's bare feet. They were dirty, and the right one looked like it had been bleeding. "What were you doing running around barefoot?" asked Wilson.

"I'm going through a hippie phase," said House. Wilson raised an eyebrow at him. "I was in a bit of a hurry to get here," House admitted grudgingly. "Now can we get some sleep? It's way past my bedtime."

Wilson shook his head-he wanted to know what had happened to make House drop everything and come running to him, but he wouldn't be getting any more information out of him tonight. Resignedly, Wilson wandered over to the other side of the bed and got under the covers. He lay staring up at the ceiling, pretending not to notice his friend shifting closer to him in the bed. He wasn't really all that surprised when House manhandled him into the same position they'd slept in the night before, clutching him against his chest for all he was worth.

House nestled up against Wilson's back, his arm wrapped tightly around the other man's waist. He realized a psychologist would probably have a field day with his behaviour, but he couldn't give a rat's ass. Wilson was here, and he was safe. He nudged a little bit closer until his nose was less than an inch from the back of Wilson's neck. As he breathed in, he could smell the warm, slightly musky scent of Wilson's skin. It was, without a doubt, the most comforting thing he'd ever smelled. He lay there breathing him in for a long while, until he felt compelled to get just a little bit closer.

Wilson felt House's hot breath stirring the hairs at the back of his neck. It tickled, but it wasn't entirely...unpleasant. Then suddenly it wasn't just hot breath any more-he felt the brush of stubble, and then the press of soft lips against his skin. A surge of fear-or was it excitement-pulsed through him, setting every nerve on fire.

He didn't know what to do...or, rather, he knew what he should do, but he wasn't sure what he wanted to do. He lay there, virtually paralysed, as House's thumb started tracing random circles across his belly, sparking a new fire a little further south of that location. He could still feel House's lips kissing the back of his neck, not demanding, but exploring.

Wilson's breath hitched in his throat as he wondered what would happen if he were to turn around. Would House back away? Or would those soft, exploring lips continue to set him on fire?

House's hand was getting bolder, straying under Wilson's pyjama top to touch bare skin. Wilson knew he should put a stop to it-House was in a bad place, and it would be wrong to take advantage of him. But he also knew that he'd let it go too far already. It was no longer a simple matter of pulling away and pretending nothing had happened.

Taking a deep breath for courage, Wilson twisted around within the confines of House's embrace. He had planned to say something, but the look in House's eyes took his breath away. He'd never seen that look before-not on House, anyway-and it left him speechless. The shield was gone. Completely gone. And Greg House was laid bare before him.

House lay there, losing himself in Wilson's eyes, until he felt the moment was right. Then he brought his hand up to stroke his friend's cheek, and as Wilson's eyes fluttered shut, House was struck by how incredibly beautiful he was. He let his fingers linger, memorizing the different textures with his fingertips-the roughness of stubble along the jaw, the smooth contours of the cheek, the silky landscape of the lips. And then he slid his hand around to cradle the back of his friend's neck, slowly drawing him closer.

There was a moment's shocked hesitation as their lips touched for the first time-a moment when things could have gone either way. But the need and curiosity they shared won out, and soon the timid pressing of lips graduated into a real kiss.

Wilson had no idea where this was coming from. He'd never so much as looked at another man, yet he couldn't deny the aching need he was feeling for House. And the kiss just felt right, somehow. The way they seemed to fit together, the way they already seemed to know each other's moves, their tongues playing off each other as if the kiss was simply an extension of the casual banter they exchanged on a daily basis.

Wilson couldn't deny that kissing his best friend felt good-better than good; it felt incredible. But his body was starting to cry out for more. He wasn't really thinking as he allowed his hands to roam over his friend's body. Shoulder, arm, neck and chest...he mapped the contours of House's body with tender urgency, chasing up his t-shirt to get at the flesh beneath. Neck and back, thigh and rump... And that was when everything came to a crashing halt.

House pushed him away sharply, more out a knee-jerk reaction than from anger or fear. Wilson was confused for a second, until he realized what he'd done.

"God! House, I'm s..."

"Say you're sorry and I'll kick you," House warned. He was pretty sure Wilson was more upset about it than he was. "I'm the one who started it. I'm just not ready...for that. Not yet."

Wilson still looked like he wanted to burst into apology, so House silenced him by pulling him in close, nestling the younger man's head under his chin.

"Relax," House grumbled deep in his throat. "I'm okay." He rubbed the back of Wilson's neck, and felt him gradually relax against him. House let out a soft, dry chuckle, and Wilson craned his neck to look up at him.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I was just thinking that it's probably for the best; for tonight, I mean. You need your beauty sleep-you look like hell."

"Uh...thanks?" said Wilson.

"Don't mention it," House replied and planted a kiss on Wilson's forehead.

Sleep came quickly for Wilson. He was worn raw by the events of the last few days, and even the eye-opening revelations of the last half-hour couldn't combat his need for rest. For the first time in days, he got a good, sound night's sleep, and in the morning, as consciousness slowly crept up on him, he felt House's arm around him and he smiled.

His smile quickly vanished when he heard a gasp, and he opened his eyes to see Julie standing in the doorway. She had an odd expression on her face-a peculiar mix of dismay, shock, and righteous superiority.

"You'd better get up," she said mechanically. "You'll be late for work."

Before Wilson could say anything, she was gone.

"Good morning, sunshine," he heard House say from behind him, and he groaned. It was going to be one hell of a day.