James had gotten dressed and both he and House were coming down the stairs together, making it two against one, which, in Julie's mind, was completely unfair. She glowered at them and got the expected contrite response from her husband. House, however, seemed unfazed by the whole situation, and that pissed her off even more. She couldn't believe he had the nerve to show his face at all.

In the few minutes she'd had alone since her discovery, Julie had made a decision. James was no longer her husband, and as soon as she possibly could, she would obtain the paperwork to make it official. In a way, she was relieved. She'd been miserable for well over a year, watching the man she loved gradually lose interest in her. It hurt, and she'd become bitter, and she hated what he'd reduced her to.

From the way James was looking at her, she knew he was expecting another yelling match. She just didn't have the energy for it. And she honestly didn't care enough anymore.

"Coffee?" she asked them, getting surprised looks out of both of them. Good, she thought, for once she'd managed to catch the unflappable House off guard.

"Julie, I know what you saw must have looked pretty bad, but..."

Julie and House both turned to look at him expectantly, waiting to hear what kind of excuse he could possibly come up with.

"Oh, hell," he mumbled. "It looked like what it was. Julie, I'm so sorry." There was no way those words were going to be enough to put things right this time, and they all knew it.

"I could go for a coffee about now," said House, getting scowls from the other two. "Right. I'll just help myself then, shall I?"

Julie couldn't bear it any longer. "I want you out," she said.

"Who? Me?" asked House, busy filling the coffee carafe with water from the sink.

Julie ignored him and addressed James. "Go pack whatever you need for tonight. You can come back for the rest when I'm at work tomorrow."

"Actually, I already have everything I need at Greg's place," said Wilson.

Julie felt another stab in her heart, and she wondered just how long this had been going on right in front of her. She'd thought she was pretty astute, but all this time she'd been expecting 'the other woman'. She'd never once suspected House as a threat. Now, not only was she in pain, but she also felt like a fool. She turned her back on James, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

She was aware of movement behind her. James was trying to make his escape before she turned around again. She had no problem with that; but from the sounds of it, he was having a problem with it.

"House!" Wilson said in a stage whisper, "leave the bloody coffee. I'll buy you one on the way to work."

They took Wilson's car, even though House's Corvette was blocking the driveway and Wilson had to move it. Remembering the last conversation they'd had on the subject, Wilson knew better than to ask why.

They had to go to House's place, even though neither of them wanted to deal with whatever was waiting for them there. House needed his clothes, his cane, and most importantly (to House, at least), his Vicodin. A dark mood had descended upon both of them as they drove, each consumed by their own personal pain.

Somehow, over the course of a single week, Wilson had managed to destroy his third marriage. He suddenly found himself despised and homeless, and for what? What was it between him and House, exactly? Had he ruined things with Julie over a friend's misplaced affection? Wilson had no idea what was going on inside House's head. Looking at him now, there was no indication that he felt any differently towards him today than he had the day before. And Wilson really didn't want to confront his own feelings. He'd never been more confused and off balance in his life.

Wilson pulled up in front of House's condo. It was intact and unburned, which was a good sign, but appearances could be deceiving, and Wilson had no intention of letting House walk in there alone. He got out of the car, went around to the passenger side and helped House get to his feet.

"Looks safe enough," said House with a hint of reservation in his voice. "You go first."

"Thanks," said Wilson wryly. The door was unlocked, and he pushed it open apprehensively. No bombs exploded in his face. No guns were aimed at his head. No knife-wielding Ninjas came screaming at him from the dark recesses of the condo. He let out the breath he'd been holding and proceeded to go in, with House sticking close behind him.

House had been expecting...something. But everything was exactly as he'd left it, right down to the broken glass on the kitchen floor. Nothing had been moved, let alone stolen or vandalized.

"Of course, your better burglars will clean up after themselves," said Wilson.

House cocked his head, eyeing his living room suspiciously. Something was off...he just couldn't put his finger on what it was. Still, he knew someone had been there. He could feel it; it was like his home had been violated. He found his cane leaning up against the piano where he'd left it, and he grabbed it, making a beeline for his bedroom. Wilson followed, watching from the doorway as his friend went through the room looking for some indication that intruders had been there.

"Nothing," said House, frustrated.

"Maybe you were wrong-maybe the reason he called was just to rattle your nerves," said Wilson.

"Huh," House grunted, monosyllabically acknowledging the possibility that his friend might be right.

"You'd better get dressed-we're already late for work," said Wilson.

"Yes, dear," said House with mock servility.

Wilson rolled his eyes at him and ducked out of the room, leaving him to get ready for the day. House relaxed a little and gathered his clothes-t-shirt, socks, underwear, jeans and jacket-and laid them out on his bed. He desperately wanted a shower, but Wilson was right; they were already woefully late for work, even by House's standards. He quickly changed, grimacing at the ache in his leg and from the fresh bruises on his ass as he pulled on his jeans.

The Vicodin in his medicine cabinet was calling out to him, and a close encounter of the toothbrush kind couldn't hurt either. So House headed to the bathroom. Closing himself in, his thoughts turned to Wilson, and he actually started to hum-something he hadn't done in a long time. As he washed his hands and face, he felt warmed by those thoughts.

Wilson.

It was unexpected, but he had to admit that his feelings for the man had definitely changed. He was not the kind of person to invest his emotions lightly. Until now, Stacy had been the only one he'd ever felt this deeply for. And what astounded him even more, was that Wilson had welcomed the attention. But, then, it might be that Wilson had reacted out of sheer big-heartedness-unable to turn down his advances because he couldn't bear to hurt his feelings.

That thought put a stop to his humming, and suddenly that Vicodin was calling really loudly. He yanked open the medicine cabinet to get at the fresh bottle he knew was in there, and found a photograph taped to the little glass shelf inside. It was grainy, but he could clearly make out the image of Wilson, sleeping peacefully in his bed. It had to have been taken the night before, sometime between the phone call and the time House arrived at Wilson's place.

House ripped the photo off the shelf and flipped it over. There was a message in block print on the back: "YOU CAN'T WATCH OVER HIM ALL THE TIME".

"Like hell I can't," said House out loud and crumpled the picture into a tight ball, tossing it into the trash. "Wilson!" he shouted. "Wilson!"

Wilson burst into the bathroom, his eyes wild with alarm. "House, what's wrong?" he asked, quickly glancing over his friend before scanning the little room for any indications of trouble.

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong," said House. "I missed you." Wilson shook his head and turned to leave. "Where are you going? Stay here and keep me company."

"You're serious?" asked Wilson.

"Humour me," said House.

Wilson shrugged and got comfortable, leaning against the wall as House proceeded to take his pill and brush his teeth. But when House unzipped to go for a pee, Wilson felt a blush rise up and heat his cheeks. It was silly-there was nothing even remotely sexual about the situation, but after their encounter the previous night, he couldn't help it. He turned his back, giving House his privacy, and hopefully hiding the fact that he's suddenly turned into a self-conscious thirteen-year-old girl.

House noticed, of course, and smirked to himself. How could a man who's been through three marriage and a third of the nursing staff be so shy? Or was it just him he was shy with? It was something House would have to look into later.

"You can look now," said House. "I'm decent...relatively speaking."

"Good. Can I leave now?" asked Wilson. "This hanging out in the bathroom thing is a little weird."

"My bad," said House. "I thought watching me urinate might be a turn-on." Wilson's face turned a hotter shade of pink and House smirked in triumph.

Wilson squirmed. "Don't flatter yourself," he said. "I'd sooner watch my toothless Aunt Nan eat macaroni and cheese. Now hurry it up-we're late for work."

"Or, if you think about it, we're early for lunch," said House. "I'm a 'glass is half full' kind of guy."

"Well I'm an 'avoid getting chewed out by Cuddy' kind of guy, so let's go."

House cast one last, anxious glance at he crumpled photo in the wastebasket. He could almost hear if mocking him, threatening the one thing in his life he actually gave a damn about. On his way out, he closed the door, as if that might silence the offending picture.

Foreman leaned forward in his chair, attempting to pay attention to what Chase was saying. He was finding it difficult, though, because House was pacing incessantly behind the young Aussie, staring distractedly out through the windows the whole time. The part of Wilson's brain that had tuned out Chase was busy trying to figure out what had so thoroughly captured House's attention. As far as he could tell, the only thing visible through those windows was the balcony...and, at certain angles, Wilson's office.

His dark eyes latched on to his boss, carefully observing his movements and behaviour. He soon picked up on the fact that House was visibly more at ease whenever Wilson's office was within his sights. Foreman leaned forward a little more, trying to adjust his angle so he could see what House was seeing. He'd completely given up any pretence of listening to Chase.

Then he realised that Chase had stopped speaking and was waiting for someone to answer him. But since Foreman hadn't heard a word, he tossed the ball to House, waiting to see if he'd been paying attention at all.

"Why should I care?" asked House, who, apparently, had no trouble listening to Chase and spying on Wilson at the same time. "Talk to her or don't talk to her. If you want to waste your time, go ahead, but the only thing that's come out of her mouth since she got here has been lies. And vomit...ohhh yes...lots of vomit. If you want my opinion, you'll get better answers out of the vomit."

Chase raised his eyebrows at him. "You think it was something she ingested?"

House gave him his patented 'duh!' look and continued pacing.

Chase didn't wait around for a verbal affirmation, but gathered up his charts and left to run more tests on his patient.

And that left Foreman alone with the distracted diagnostician. "Either take a picture or go over there and apologise," he said, his arms crossed, leaning back in his chair smugly, as if he'd just solved the riddle of the sphinx.

House drilled him with a piercing glare. "Just F.Y.I., when you talk to people, it's always a good idea to start at the beginning of the conversation."

"You've spent the entire morning staring at Wilson through those windows. So, either you've had a fight, or you're in love with the guy," said Foreman sarcastically. "Now go over there and apologise; your pacing is getting on my nerves."

"There's nothing to apologise about-we weren't fighting," said House. He grinned a leering grin and let Foreman draw his own conclusions, feeling safe that they would undoubtedly be erroneous. When he looked back outside and in through Wilson's window, the oncologist was gone. He'd only looked away for a minute.

"Dammit!" House grumbled and bolted for the door. He looked both ways down the hall and caught a glimpse of Wilson's dark head and white lab coat disappearing into the men's room at the end of the hall. He followed as quickly as he could and burst in just as Wilson was entering one of the stalls. Wilson stood there, staring at his friend in astonishment.

"Don't hold it in on my account," said House, leaning up against the counter and trying his best to look like he hadn't just mowed down three hospital staff members to get there so quickly.

"What're you doing?" Wilson asked, his hands on his hips like he was addressing a misbehaving four-year-old.

"Hanging out in the men's room," House stated matter-of-factly. "I'm hoping to score with the handsome young doctor that just came in. You didn't happen to see which way he went?"

Wilson tried to hide his smile-House did not need encouraging. And besides, he was still a little annoyed with him for being a pest all morning. The man hadn't let him out of his sight all day, and Wilson was starting to feel like a guppy in a fishbowl. The odd glance now and then he could understand, especially in light of what they'd been through, but House was watching him obsessively. It was as if he thought he might suddenly drop off the face of the Earth if he looked away. It was more than a little unnerving.

"I'd rather not have an audience for this," said Wilson, hinting for House to take his leave.

"Then I'll make sure no one comes in," he replied stubbornly.

"House, you know I have a shy bladder-unlike you. I can't...perform...under pressure."

"That's a very interesting tidbit of information," said House, but at Wilson's look of pained exasperation, he gave in. "Alright, I'm leaving... Wuss."

Wilson shook his head at House's retreating back and went about his business, but he wasn't at all surprised to find House standing sentinel out in the hall when he came out.

"You wanna grab some lunch?" asked House.

Wilson hesitated. He had a lot of paperwork to catch up on, but he had a feeling if he didn't have lunch with him, House would keep spying on him for the rest of the day, and he wouldn't get any work done anyway.

They went down to the cafeteria and loaded up their trays-Wilson paying for both...as usual-and sat down for a very ordinary lunch. House made no attempt to explain his behaviour, and Wilson pretended it wasn't bugging him. To anyone watching, it was just another ordinary day. House made comments about the hygienic ineptitude of the cafeteria staff and stole chips off Wilson's plate. It was routine and comfortable, and by the end of the meal, Wilson was feeling silly for overreacting the way he had.

Unfortunately, after lunch, the staring started all over again.

Every time he looked up from his desk, House was watching him. Every time he set foot out the door, House was there, tagging along. By the end of the day, Wilson was about ready to scream. He was really starting to wonder if their encounter the night before had thrown his friend into a fit of paranoia. One thing was certain-he couldn't handle another day like this. If House kept this up tomorrow, he'd have to do something about it.

He looked at the clock on his desk. It was only four o'clock. There was no way his bladder was going to hold until quitting time. He peeked into House's office and saw House staring back at him while talking to Chase. He would have found the attention sweet if it wasn't so...creepy.

Then, bless her nicely rounded bottom, Cuddy walked into House's office, and distracted him long enough for Wilson to make a break for it. He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice-if he wanted to go to the bathroom in peace, he would have to sneak off to a different floor. Somewhere quiet. Wilson smiled to himself...the bathroom in the morgue-you couldn't get any quieter than that.

Keeping an eye out for limping, obsessive maniacs, Wilson waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive. As soon as the door opened, he slipped inside and pressed the button for the basement. He breathed a sigh of relief as the door began to slide closed, then groaned when the end of a cane jammed the door open again.

"House, would you give it a rest..." Wilson burst out before he realised the man on the other side of the door wasn't his friend. A big, blond, square-jawed man pushed his way into the elevator before the door could close again. At first Wilson was embarrassed by his mistake, and he was about to apologise to the man for snapping at him, when he noticed that the cane in the man's hand was actually only half a cane. It ended in splinters, a deep fissure snaking down the black-painted wood towards the rubber foot.

Wilson's eyes shot up to the stranger's face and he felt his stomach twist. The man's hazel eyes glared down at him with cold, calculating appraisal. The elevator lurched as it began its descent, and Wilson broke eye contact to see if he could reach the emergency call button.

He heard a metallic click and felt something hard dig into his ribs. At that moment, when his life should have been flashing before his eyes, all Wilson could think was that he wasn't ready-that this had to be a mistake.

"You and me are going for a little ride," said the stranger, his voice rasping and nasal. It was the same voice, Wilson knew, that had been haunting House for days.