The clinic had closed at five o'clock, so the police had their pick of empty rooms in which to question House, Wilson, Cuddy, and anyone else who seemed even remotely linked to the "incident" in the basement. House had spent more than two hours in an exam room answering the same questions over and over, and much to his humiliation, they'd insisted on photographing his bruises. He couldn't help feeling like they were treating him like he was the bad guy in all this. Meanwhile, their own ER was tending to House's "victim"-a fact that didn't sit very well with House.

The man, whose name, it turned out, was Karl Victor Polski, had regained consciousness shortly after his transfer to the emergency room. Since then, the tiny, curtained-off cubicle had been a veritable hive of activity, with nurses and cops buzzing around the blond man constantly.

It was nearing seven-thirty when House, Cuddy and Wilson were herded into Dr. Cuddy's office to wait for Captain Barnes to come in and give them a debriefing. They were all worn out and tired of talking, and the silence in the room was a blessed relief. And although none of them said a word, it was obvious from the doom and gloom atmosphere in the office that they were all thinking along the same lines-whatever this debriefing was about, it was most likely going to be bad news for House.

House and Wilson sat side by side on Cuddy's couch, studiously avoiding touching each other, and Cuddy, sitting at her desk, found the tangible restraint maddening. She kept waiting for them to say or do something; to give some sort of sign that what she'd witnessed between them that afternoon had actually happened.

She never got her proof.

Captain Barnes arrived, and she was not what any of them had expected. The matronly blonde woman looked like she would feel more at home in a PTA meeting than in a police station, and the second she stepped inside the office, Cuddy and Wilson cast worrying glances in House's direction, certain that he would make some derogatory comment and get himself into even more trouble. Although it was clear from the sparkle in House's eyes that he had, indeed, come up with a few real zingers, he wisely held his tongue.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," said Captain Barnes, her voice as light and wispy as her bleach-blonde hair. House cringed as the urge to say something became downright painful. Still, he kept quiet, much to Wilson's surprise. "I just wanted to meet with you and let you know that I've been put in charge of this case. So if you have any questions about anything, or if you think of anything you might want to add to your statements, I want you to give me a call." She handed each of them her card with a warm smile. "Okay then. We'll be in touch."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," said House. Barnes stopped with her hand on the door handle and turned to look at him, puzzled. "What? That's it?" asked House. "Two and a half hours of interrogation and all you have to say is 'we'll be in touch'?"

"House," Cuddy warned.

"I'm sorry," said Captain Barnes, honestly confused. "Was there something else?"

House looked at her like he thought the bleach in her hair had fried her brain. "Yeah. For starters, are you letting this Karl creep go? Should Wilson be hiring a fulltime bodyguard? Am I under arrest? I realise it may not be all that important to you, but I, personally, want to know if I'm about to spend the next ten years of my life in a tiny cell with a six foot five lifer named Skanks."

Captain Barnes frowned at him. "Didn't Lieutenant Richards talk to you?" she asked. When three sets of blank faces stared back at her, she shook her head and mumbled a string of curses that were definitely better suited for a police station than a PTA meeting. "Then I guess I'd better fill you in on the latest news," she said. "Karl Polski signed a full confession about an hour ago. Apparently he thinks he can cut a deal if he brings Edward Vogler down with him. He's admitted to the attack on Dr. Wilson, and he also admitted he sexually assaulted Dr. House, but he's claiming that he was under direct orders from Mr. Vogler. In any case, Polski's been placed under arrest, and you're all free to go home." The heavy silence that followed was not what Captain Barnes was expecting, and, sensing that she was no longer a welcome presence in the room, she quickly excused herself and took her leave.

House sat staring down at his cane, feeling Cuddy's eyes drilling into him, and waiting for the inevitable questions to begin.

"When?" Cuddy asked, cutting right to the chase.

"Four nights ago," House answered reluctantly, still staring down at his cane as he thumped it repetitively against the floor.

Cuddy did the math and realized that it had happened the night before Vogler and House had faced off in front of the clinic. Then she remembered how odd Wilson had been acting that day and the pieces started falling into place. "You knew about this?" she asked Wilson accusingly.

"I asked him to keep it to himself," said House, finally lifting his eyes to look at her.

Cuddy saw the pain lurking behind his carefully neutral expression, and she had to look away. "Did you at least get yourself checked out?" she asked, suddenly very interested in the files on her desktop.

"I'm clean," said House, abruptly getting to his feet. "Don't worry, I'm not contagious."

"I'm sorry," said Cuddy, making herself look him in the eye again.

"This is exactly why I didn't want anyone else to know," said House, and he limped his way out of her office with as much dignity as he could muster.

Cuddy looked to Wilson, not knowing what to do. "I really messed that up, didn't I?" she asked him.

"No," said Wilson, shaking his head sadly. "You reacted the same way everyone else will." With a deep sigh, he got up off the couch and went out to find his friend.

Wilson found House sitting in his dark office, rolling his red and white rubber ball between the palms of his hands, as he stared out the window. Wilson entered, not bothering to knock, and stood in front of his friend, hands on his hips, trying to think of something to say.

"How long?" asked House, his eyes hidden in the striped shadows cast by the vertical blinds.

"How long until what?" asked Wilson.

"How long until everyone in the hospital finds out?" said House. "Cuddy will keep quiet about it, but how many ER nurses got wind of Polski's confession? I figure even if only two of them heard it, it'll be common knowledge by the time the day shift comes in tomorrow morning. Then what? Another hour tops, before Chase and Foreman hear the rumours. Then it'll be non-stop questions. Or worse-pity silence."

"You could always take a sick day," Wilson suggested.

"And let the rumours fester unchecked? Never!" House scoffed as he spun his chair around to face him.

Wilson sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Well, there's no sense worrying about it tonight. C'mon. Let's go home," he said and held out his hand.

House looked at him, not sure what, if anything, he should infer by that statement. He decided it didn't really matter, and he took the offered hand up.

House drove Wilson's car home, giving his friend a chance to unwind after what must have been the longest day of his life. Occasionally he would cast a glance in Wilson's direction, only to find the younger man staring out the passenger window, lost in thought. God knew, they both had a lot to think about, but House was content to push everything aside for now and simply enjoy the mindless task of driving.

Wilson, on the other hand, couldn't turn off the maelstrom of thoughts in his head. The day's events whipped through his mind in a chaotic barrage of images. Over and over he kept seeing the dark, cavernous opening of the gun barrel pointed at his face. He kept seeing the murderous glint in House's eyes just before he took Karl down. And the broken end of House's cane prying open the elevator door. He wasn't even aware of the fact that they'd arrived at the condo until House gave him a good nudge. Shaking his head to clear the last of those images from his mind, Wilson followed House to the front doorstep of his condo.

And then he stopped.

He wasn't prepared for this. This wasn't like all the other times he'd been there. This time, when he crossed over the threshold, he wouldn't just be a friend coming over for an evening of Chinese food and video games. This time he'd be there as something more than a friend...he just didn't know how much more, and that made him nervous.

"Make up your mind," said House, snapping Wilson out of his reverie. "Are you in or out?"

That was the question, wasn't it, thought Wilson? If he was in, then he had to be in all the way. Anything less than a full commitment on his part could do more damage to House's psyche than the already-damaged man could handle. It was a hell of a responsibility to take on, especially since he hadn't had a chance to work out how he felt about it all. But this was House. He couldn't envision a life without him.

Wilson took a tentative step inside.

"That's it...one foot in front of the other," said House, and then he limped away as if he hadn't noticed Wilson's sudden bout of jitters. He returned a moment later with the phone in his hand. "So I was thinking...pizza and a movie. Sound good?" asked House, already dialling the number for delivery.

Wilson nodded numbly and hung up his jacket. He felt a little stupid for worrying-House didn't seem to have a problem with their new situation, so why should he? He decided to step back and stop analysing it so much. Tonight he would let House take the lead; if something happened, then...fine, he'd deal with it. If not...well, he'd deal with that, too. After all, two kisses that happened under emotionally charged circumstances didn't necessarily mean anything. He settled himself down on the couch, allowing the familiar surroundings to soothe his frazzled nerves. He could hear House puttering around in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, shuffling around in that peculiar way of his. He heard the soft tinkling of broken glass being swept up into a dustpan and dumped into the garbage. And then he heard the unmistakable sound of two beer bottles being opened. Wilson smiled. Some things would never change.

A minute later a cold bottle of beer appeared in front of him, and Wilson plucked it out of House's hand just as he had done countless times before. It would be so easy to pretend this was just another one of those times-but he couldn't fool himself. The beer sat untouched in his hands, dripping cold beads of sweat into his palms as flashes of the day's events dragged him back down into the maelstrom again.

"Uh-oh," said House as he took a seat next to Wilson on the couch. Wilson blinked back at him, waiting for the rest of it. "You look pensive."

"Does that surprise you?" asked Wilson.

"Not really," House answered. "I'm more concerned about what's got you thinking so much."

"Gee, where do I start?" Wilson snipped.

"You could start by not biting my head off," said House. "Just a suggestion."

"Sorry," said Wilson. He rubbed the back of his neck, his beer-chilled fingers digging into the bunched muscles there. "It's been a long day, and I really don't feel like talking about it."

"Okay then-we won't," said House, and he got up to turn on the TV and DVD player. "What you need is relaxation and distraction. The distraction for tonight is "Die Hard, With a Vengeance"...plenty of pretend violence to take your mind off the real-life stuff. Drink up-I'm already half a beer ahead of you in the relaxation department."

Wilson brought the bottle up to his lips and took a long pull on it. It felt good going down, and the rest of it went down very quickly.

"I didn't mean you had to chug it all in one go," said House. "Pace yourself a little-I've only got another ten bottles in the fridge."

Wilson plunked the empty bottle down on the coffee table and stood up. "Soon to be nine," he said, and went to the kitchen to help himself to another beer.

By the time he was on his fourth beer, and all but two slices of pizza were left in the delivery boxes, Wilson finally felt relaxed. Not a word had been said all evening about Karl Polski or Vogler. And House hadn't made any attempt to get closer to him.

Not that he would have minded. Pizza and a movie were nice enough...but he'd expected something to happen-found that he really wanted something to happen.

Wilson drained his fourth beer, set the empty bottle on the table next to the rest of the fallen soldiers already gathered there, and sat back down on the couch. Only, this time, he shifted close enough so that his leg rubbed up against House's, and he left his hand on his lap as an invitation.

House arched an eyebrow at him. "What are we-twelve years old?"

Wilson looked back at him, not sure how he was supposed to answer that.

"We're two grown men," said House. "Don't you think it's a bit silly to be flirting?"

"I...uh..." Wilson sputtered. He couldn't manage anything more coherent, reeling as he was from the sting of embarrassment.

House continued, seemingly oblivious of the confusion in Wilson's eyes. "We've known each other for eight years. I was the best man at your wedding-twice-and here we are dancing around each other as if we don't already know what we want." When Wilson simply blinked back at him in shocked silence, House went on: "I know you're as curious as I am about what's going on between us. If you weren't, you would never have slept in the same bed as me last night. We were curious. Things happened. And I don't think you'd be here flirting with me right now if you weren't at least subconsciously willing to take it to the next level."

An uncertain smile toyed at the corners of Wilson's mouth. "And all of that was your way of saying...what? You want to be my boyfriend?" He knew this was a precarious road he was on, and he was driving drunk.

"Again-what are we, twelve?" asked House.

"Okay, then...what? Sex? Marriage? We could move to Canada-it's legal there, and I hear the beer's good."

"Are you being intentionally dense?" asked House.

"Yes!" Wilson shot back, too tired and too drunk to be playing this game. "Because I'm not a mind-reader, Greg. I don't know what you want. I barely understand what I want, myself. So forgive me if I can't keep up with the all-knowing Greg House."

House dropped his gaze to his hands and sighed. This wasn't going the way he'd envisioned. By the time he looked up again, Wilson had clamed down, but had lapsed into a state of sullenness.

"Alright," said House. "How about this? I'll tell you what I want, and if it sounds like something you might want, too, then we'll run with it."

"Sounds...reasonable," said Wilson cautiously, wondering where his friend was going with this. House leaned back in his seat and peered at Wilson with such blatant affection that Wilson couldn't help but blush, confirming that he was, in fact, twelve.

"I want..." House started, then pretended like he really needed to think about it, "...you." His expression shifted slightly, some of the levity falling away to be replaced by something a little more real. "I want to take you into my bed at night and wake up with you in the morning. And then I want to spend as many hours in between with you as I can. And I want that for as long as I can have it. As for the physical stuff...I figure we can work that out as we go along. What do you think?" he asked, and he sat perfectly still, waiting for Wilson's answer.

Wilson knew that this was the moment everything would change. It wasn't a game, and it wasn't something to be taken lightly. House was talking long-term commitment, even though he hadn't said it in so many words. Wilson felt more nervous than he had when he'd proposed to his last two wives. But then, he'd known House longer and felt a stronger connection with him than he had with them.

Wilson took a deep, steadying breath and looked House in the eyes. "I want that, too," he said, his voice a little less steady than he'd hoped it would be.

House's eyes crinkled up in a slightly smug smile. "One foot in front of the other," he said.

Wilson shook his head with a dry chuckle, as he realized that House had orchestrated the whole evening from the moment he'd set foot through the door.