House Fic: Warning Signs (2/2)

[out_there]

Title: Warning Signs
Fandom: House
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Promised to researchgrrrl and it only took me a year to finish. Let's pretend it occurs towards the end of S3 but before Chase, Cameron and Foreman left. Thanks to nestra for betaing (and catching my many misused apostrophes. Isn't it lovely to know there's always a new part of English grammar that you start screwing up?).


Warning signs can indicate any potential hazard, obstacle or condition requiring special attention.


Continued from Part One

***

"Are you avoiding me?"

Wilson looked up and found House standing on his -- Wilson's -- balcony, holding the glass door open. "Yes."

"You don't call, you don't write, you don't visit," House said, pulling out a whiteboard marker. "A sensitive soul, like mine, could be a little hurt by that."

"Go talk to Cameron. I'm sure she'd have a cure for that," Wilson said, turning back to his patient's file, "like puppies or rainbows."

"Or a gallon of vanilla ice-cream," House replied with a quick grin. "Actually, that sounds pretty good. You want some?"

"If I say yes, that means I'm the one who's going to have to trek to the cafeteria, pay for both of them and then have the joy of delivering one to you, right?"

"Right." House nodded and slipped the whiteboard marker back into his pocket. He hadn't written anything on the glass door but he'd probably been distracted by the thought of ice-cream. Wilson wouldn't be surprised if there was a message waiting for him tomorrow. "Or I could send Chase to do it. If I'm paying the wages, I deserve service."

"You're paying their wages as doctors, not as waiters." After a moment, Wilson added, "And not as movers, either."

"I'm improving their life-skills. You think they'll spend their whole lives being the young hot-shot medico? Someday, when they're old and tired, and the medical jargon doesn't flow as easily as it once did, they'll need a stable job to fall back on."

Wilson snorted in amusement and House's answering smirk spoke of victory. Wilson really didn't want to know why. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll survive the afternoon without ice-cream."

***

As it turned out, apartment hunting sucked.

It wasn't the cost. Paying a higher rent wasn't going to make any real difference. It was the inconvenience.

He didn't want to move further from the hospital. He didn't want to have to take busy roads to work. He didn't want to live next door to Mormons or upstairs from a new rock band or across the hall from the fitness instructor. (The fitness instructor would have been welcome a few months ago, pre-House. He had no objections to sharing an elevator with someone well-toned and wearing lycra, but House would make it into a thing. Even if he did nothing other than nod at her in the corridor, House would make something of it.) He didn't want to have to learn new routes and new security passes and make sure that the elevators were reliable.

More than that, he didn't want to have to introduce House to an entirely new building of tenants.

Most of the time, he didn't want to have to introduce House to a patient. Luckily, most times he could simply throw a case file at House and trust that the patient would never, ever have to meet House face-to-face.

"I want to meet her," House said, after Wilson dropped Penelope Mizzi's file notes on his desk.

"House," Wilson said, collapsing into House's couch, "you never want to meet them."

"Her parents' named her Penelope Mizzi. That's downright cruel. Imagine the teasing she'd get through school."

"You want to meet her to commiserate?" Wilson asked skeptically.

"A kid with a name like that is bound to grow into a twisted, warped individual. I might like her." House shrugged. "I guess it could have been worse."

"How so?"

House grinned, but kept flicking through her file. It was a good sign. "Her parents could have named her Elizabeth. She could have been Lizzy Mizzi all her life."

Wilson winced. "House, please, do not meet my patient. I am asking you nicely, as one colleague to another, please don't take the time out of your busy schedule of harassing Cuddy and watching soap operas to tease her about her name."

"You don't think she'd get the joke?"

"I don't think I want someone who's been my patient for four years to have to suffer you as well as a mystery fever."

House gave a huge sigh. "Your cancer patients have no sense of humour. Just because they're dying doesn't mean they need to be completely lifeless." House paused. "Well, maybe they do, but you'd think they'd enjoy a good joke."

"Not a bad joke about their name," Wilson replied as Cameron, Chase and Foreman walked into House's office.

"And here are Donald's three nephews," House said.

Cameron and Foreman exchanged quizzical glances. They look at Chase, who shrugged and said, "You know, Huey, Dewey, and Louie? Donald Duck's nephews?"

"Points to the New Zealander," said House. "He knows his Disney."

Chase scowled. "And you know that Australia and New Zealand are separate countries, right?"

"Yeah."

"You're just saying that to be annoying?"

"I'm going to assume that was a rhetorical question." House threw the case file at Cameron, who fumbled to catch it. "Meet Lizzy, our newest patient."

Cameron blinked down at patient history, her lipstick highlighting her frown. "Her name's Penelope."

"Her nickname's Lizzy," House said, a little too earnestly. "She'd like you all to use it."

"Lizzy... Mizzi?" Chase wondered aloud, reading the file over Cameron's shoulder. "Why would anyone want to be known by that?"

"Because she's an aspiring poet." House waved a hand towards the door and the conference table beyond. "Now, shoo. Go in there, read the file, run some pointless tests."

Foreman raised an eyebrow. "You're not coming?"

"You guys can go ten minutes without me telling you you're idiots. You've been working under me for years. You should be able to call each other idiots by now." House made the shooing motion again and Chase was the first to move towards the door. "It's Wilson's patient. I want to discuss her past treatment with him. And I want you three to start running tests."

Wilson watched the three file out of the room. Foreman and Cameron sat down beside each other, laying the file open on the table and studying it. Chase headed straight for the coffee maker. "You really want to discuss her treatment?"

House snorted. "No. I've got your file notes, which record all treatments and reactions down to every obsessive-compulsive detail."

Shooting a worried glance at the very clear and transparent wall of glass that separated them from House's three employees, Wilson fervently hoped that sex did not come up in this conversation. "What did you want?"

House opened his top drawer and started rifling through it. Then he said, a little quieter and faster than usual, "I need you to look at a house."

"That's not a bad pun, is it?"

House's expression was incredulous. "You're lucky that you're a good-looking moron."

"It's a valid question!"

"No, it's not. It's a moronic question." House went back to fishing through his drawer and lifted out a business card. He scowled at it. "I need you to call this...woman and agree to see the place on Johanneson Drive."

Wilson walked over and took the card from House's outstretched hand. It looked like a genuine realtor business card and had a phone number and address written on the back. Wilson was confused. "Why?"

"Because Cuddy's friend is a real estate agent," House recited, staring at the wall, "and she has a place that would be perfect for you."

Wilson indulged in a wide grin. "And this is Cuddy's idea of making you bow to her authority?"

"And this is--" House started, hands waving in the air, and then stopped. He took a breath and placed his hands back on the desktop. "This is because I need to be able to do tests to diagnose patients, and Cuddy is an evil demoness spawned by the Father of Lies."

"I thought you liked that in a woman."

"Normally, yes, but not when she's my boss." House looked up at him, the light catching his very blue eyes, and his expression made it clear that he'd rather have root canal therapy without painkillers than ask for help. "You'll do it?"
Wilson pocketed the card, knowing that he was ten types of sucker. Not for agreeing to see some place to help House out, but for the extra giddy little heartbeat caused by House actually asking. He focused on smirking, only to control the goofy smile that threatened to appear. "Fine, but only because I don't want Cuddy double-checking that every test I run is for one of my patients."

House rolled his eyes. Wilson wasn't sure whether House had seen through him or not.

***

Despite Wilson's initial misgivings, regardless of the fact that it was merely a point-scoring exercise between House and Cuddy, the house was perfect.

It was a shorter commute, an easier drive; it was a quiet street with space from the neighbours but not an overwhelmingly huge garden. The main bathroom was modern and had a corner spa; the ensuite had a double shower. Both the gas fireplace and the air conditioning worked (he'd learned to test both of them during the first inspection, otherwise you froze all winter and boiled all summer). It was single-storey, so no stairs and no worrying about elevators.

There was a decked patio out the back with wide glass doors that opened fully and would be perfect for entertaining. There were four bedrooms, with one already set up as an office, and the master bedroom had a walk-in closet so large you'd need a compass to find your way out.

It even had a double garage and double-width driveway.

It was perfect.

***

Timing was everything. For patients, the right diagnosis and the right treatment at the right time saved lives. For Wilson, he was hoping the right timing would mean he could have his incredibly perfect house without endless trouble from House.

He waited until the start of The Bold and The Beautiful, then went to New Coma Guy's room. House had his feet up on the end of the bed and was eating a bag of microwave popcorn. Wilson let himself into the room quietly and didn't speak until the commercials started. "So..."

"You have about three minutes before my show's back on," House said around a mouthful of popcorn. "Don't waste time with unnecessary words."

Wilson took a deep breath. "I saw the house, I like the house, I want the house."

"Think you could say house one more time?"

"House!"

"There you go," House said, rummaging in the bag. "Want some?"

"I want the house," Wilson said earnestly. "I really, really want it."

House huffed. "Don't stare at me like a constipated puppy."

"The point-scoring is worthless, you know that. You both know that. Give it two weeks and you'll be doing it all over again. And the house is perfect. Perfect location, fantastic layout and it even has a spa. I shouldn't have to lose that because you don't want to give Cuddy the satisfaction." House barely looked interested, so Wilson tried the guilt card. "You've already made me lose an apartment that I rather liked. Don't make me lose my perfect house."

House made a shushing gesture and pointed at the screen. Some overly made-up forty-something was threatening some overly made-up twenty-something, and they both took a long moment to stare meaningfully off-camera.

Wilson helped himself to the popcorn.

There were a few more threats, and then some couple anxiously reuniting and talking of marriage plans, and then a few more threats, and then a commercial break.

"So?" Wilson asked hopefully.

House slowly chewed a handful of popcorn, glaring sideways at Wilson. "Fine. You can take the house, but you don't get to tell Cuddy about it. No overwhelming gratitude, no polite little thank-you gift. In fact, you don't talk to her about it ever. Understood?"

Wilson didn't react quickly enough to hide the goofy smile, but since House was going to mock him for this anyway, it didn't really matter. "Understood. Cuddy will probably find out about it, though."

"Of course she'll find out about it. I'll tell her. But she doesn't need you and your blindingly white Hollywood smile being all charm and gratitude about it." House scowled into the popcorn bag and lifted out a few kernels. "Now, are we done? Can I be left in peace to watch my show?"

"Certainly," Wilson said gracefully, walking towards the door.

"See," House called out loudly, "that's exactly the type of charm that nobody needs!"

***

Wilson got back to his office to find "Bald chicks are hot" written across the glass door. He wasn't at all surprised to see it there.

***

Wilson stepped into the room and then winced at the volume playing on the stereo. It was something from the 70's, at his best guess. The type of rock that House loved playing as loud as he possibly could.

"David Bowie?" Wilson guessed after a moment.

House rolled his eyes. "You have no musical taste."

"I have musical taste," Wilson bit back. "It's just that my taste veers more towards the classics. And a reasonable volume."

"'Rebel Rebel' *is* a classic."

"Tchaikovsky is a classic. David Bowie is outdated pop music," Wilson said, and House gasped. In a way that was completely theatrical, over-the-top and unnecessary. Any sane person would find it annoying; Wilson found it endearing.

"Take that back!" House demanded. Then Cameron, Chase and Foreman walked into the room. He turned on them. "Tell Wilson to take that back."

To Wilson's moderate surprise, it was Cameron who jumped in. "Whatever it was you said that House doesn't agree with, take it back. Because House and his godlike intellect are always right and we are mere mortals who are always, always wrong."

House looked a little surprised. "I was expecting the back-up," he said, "but not from you. What happened, Chase? Did you already meet your daily sycophant quota?"

"I have plans after work," Cameron said with a bit of a shrug. "I don't want to wait around wasting time while he agrees and you tease him, then he defends himself and you tease him some more. We actually have something we're supposed to be doing right now."

"Well," Wilson said, amused despite himself, "as long as you're not wasting time indulging House."

Cameron glared at him. Wilson took that as his cue to leave.

He happily left the four of them to discuss symptoms and headed straight back to his apartment. He had an idea. No, not an idea; a moment of clarity. Complete and utter clarity.

House liked rock music. House liked loud rock music. And even better than that, he liked playing it loud enough to split an eardrum. Wilson had a feeling that he'd suddenly cracked the mystery of his eviction.

His first stop was Mrs Murchensen's door, but she didn't answer. He had a suspicion that she was home and refusing to answer, but the distinction didn't matter.

He headed over to Jenny's. She answered after the fifth knock, opening the door just a fraction. She was wearing a roomy blue shirt and her dark hair was pulled back into a rough ponytail. "Um, yes?"

"Jenny," Wilson said, smiling as sweetly as he could. "I was hoping you could help satisfy my curiosity. I have a feeling I know what the eviction was about. I just wanted to check."

"Really?" she said, looking both uncomfortable and quite embarrassed.

Wilson paused for a moment. Generally, people listened to you more if you gave them a little bit of time to get curious. "Was it a noise complaint?"

She gave a nervous half-smile and he was already congratulating himself on how brilliant he'd been to deduct the answer when she said, "Um, sort of."

"See, I have a friend who sometimes stays over," Wilson said cautiously, "a few nights a week. And he can be very inconsiderate when it comes to neighbours and reasonable levels of noise."

"Oh," she said. She opened the door a little wider, pushing a strand of her dark hair back from her forehead. "Well, um, yeah."

"I'm really sorry if that was the case." Wilson tried to look as sincere as he could. House judged his level of sincerity on a sliding cancer scale; he would've declared this a five lymphoma attempt. "I didn't realise--"

"Look," she said, interrupting him. "It's not, I mean, it's not that I object. You know? I mean, to whatever-- A person's got a right to enjoy what they like, right?"

Wilson nodded encouragingly. "Exactly."

She shifted her weight from bare foot to bare foot. "And it's not that I mind it. During the daytime. I mean, it would be far more disturbing at night."

"Okay," Wilson said slowly, a twitch of confusion itching the back of his mind.

She seemed to debate with herself for a moment -- leaving Wilson a little wary -- then she took a breath and continued, "But I was babysitting for my sister, you know? And those aren't the type of noises you want to have to explain to a five year old. And there are other people with families, too. It's not that I object," she added, holding up her hands, palms out, "I really don't. I just… I don't think it's suitable for an apartment building with kids."

"Excuse me?" Wilson asked in surprise.

"Well, you know," Jenny said, shrugging.

Wilson took a moment to review the conversation in his head. He was still confused. "I know my friend's musical tastes. There's lots of coded references to drugs, sure, but it's not anything explicit. You wouldn't think a five year old would be able to pick up on that."

Jenny's eyebrows jumped. "Music? It wasn't the music that was the problem."

Behind her, a phone started to ring.

"I've got to get this. I'm waiting on a call," she said, half-apologetic, half-relieved. Wilson started to nod and she closed the door.

Wilson felt more confused than ever. At least he knew now that it was a noise complaint -- not music, but definitely noise -- but it still didn't make sense.

***

The move was easy enough. He gave the forwarding address to the Tenants' Committee (Mrs Murchensen took it with two rigid fingers and promised that any unwelcome mail would be sent to him at the earliest opportunity) and Cameron, Chase and Foreman all pitched in to pay for professional movers. Nothing got accidentally broken and no furniture disappeared. It all got packed and arrived safely, boxed up neatly and marked 'Kitchen' or 'Living Room' or 'Bedroom 1'.

He even found an extra box amongst the bedroom ones. He was surprised, until he opened it up and realised it had to be House. Not because it was House's stuff, per se, but because Wilson knew he had never – in his entire life! – bought a DVD called "Fort Dix Dicks" and sporting half a dozen men barely dressed in a military-theme. Wilson pulled it out, and then realised that the whole box was filled with gay porn.

It had to be House's handiwork.

***

Since he wasn't going to bring a box of porn to work, regardless of how much he wanted to dump it on House's desk, Wilson was forced to invite House over. House didn't ask for directions but he showed up the next night, parking his motorbike frighteningly close to Wilson's BMW.

Wilson opened the door silently, then turned and walked back to the living room.

House followed him, asking, "What, no guided tour of your perfect place?"

Wilson spun around, and then pointed to the Box o' Porn now sitting on his coffee table. "That's yours, right?"

Wilson hadn't expected contrition. It was just as well because House only looked amused at his own devious scheming. "Yeah."

"Why would you do that? Why did-- No, I know why. To embarrass me," Wilson said, cutting himself off. No point asking House stupid questions. "When did you get time to weasel a box full of dirty DVDs into my place?"

"Last time you went away for the weekend, I got a copy of your keys made up."

Wilson snorted. He was a lot of things, but he'd never been that stupid when it came to tempting House. "I never gave you my keys when I went out of the city."

"You're right." House thought for a moment, frowning as if concentrating. "Last time I stole your keys, I got a spare set made."

"To carry a box of porn into my apartment?"

"It wouldn't have been any fun if I just carried a box up. I brought over a couple 'dirty DVDs every time I stayed the night and then put them behind your wedding albums."

"Behind my--" Wilson buried his head in his hands, picturing the movers' reactions to finding that particular surprise. "Why would you do that? More importantly, why would you need spare keys if you were sneaking the DVDs in every time I took you home?"

House looked to the left, staring down at the open box. Wilson knew that expression on his face: House was torn between denying it all and gleefully acknowledging his schemes. Normally, his ego won out and, like a comic super villain, he'd explain all. Wilson just needed to stay quiet and wait.

Long moment of silence, then House huffed out a sigh. "I had the keys so I didn't have to break and enter every time I wanted to play them."

"Why sneak into my--" There was a moment – a pure moment of horror – where Wilson understood. Understood Mrs Murchensen's reaction, understood Jenny's embarrassment ('those aren't the type of noises you want to have to explain to a five year old'), understood the eviction. For that moment, he was amazed at the new levels House would sink to simply to amuse himself. Then the anger kicked in. "You snuck into my apartment and played porn loud enough for my neighbours to complain and kick me out of my own home! Are you clinically insane?"

"Oh, Jimmy, don't be like that," House cooed. "You haven't seen the real brilliance of this plan yet."

"It gets worse?" Wilson demanded as House grabbed one of the DVDs and went to put it on. "Of course it gets worse. I'm involved with you so it couldn't be as simple and mortifying as my neighbours only thinking that I'm addicted to gay porn."

"Considering how much you enjoy the man-on-man sex, I don't think the gay part should be important," House said, picking up remotes and turning the TV on. He went straight to the chapter selection screen and picked chapter four. Then he paused in on an image of a guy sitting – thankfully clothed – at a kitchen table. "This might work best if you close your eyes and listen to the wonderful dialogue."

Wilson rolled his eyes, but House wouldn't press play until he closed them. The voice-over was nothing special but then there was a knock and a new voice. A voice that sounded familiar, something he'd heard before. A hospital employee, maybe?

Wilson focused, trying to place it.

His answering machine. His own recorded message. That was what it sounded like.

He opened his eyes and glared at House. "You found a porn star that sounds like me?"

"Technically, I found an adult entertainer that sounds like you," House said happily. "And then I found a whole pile of adult films he'd made with a few friends or four."

"So instead of thinking I'm addicted to porn, my neighbours thought..."

"That you had a very varied and surprisingly kinky sex life. Or maybe that you were filming porn in your apartment. I really couldn't say."

Wilson collapsed onto the couch. He could have asked House to leave, spent the night fuming, the next day avoiding and the next night yelling at House. It wouldn't make House regret his actions or stop him from doing something even more embarrassing next time. And now that it was done and Wilson was sure that nothing short of WWIII could make him ever show his face around his old apartment building again, there wasn't too much point to sulking about it.

So he didn't yell at House, didn't throw him out on the street. But when House started digging through the box saying, "There's one in here set in a hospital that's actually pretty hot," he took satisfaction in cuffing House over the back of the head.

***

In retaliation, he told Cuddy about the house.

They were talking about the experience of moving from an apartment to a house, and Cuddy mentioned talked how helpful the real estate agent had been when she got her place, and one thing led to another. Wilson said that his agent had been a great help and that the firm was good at what they did and Cuddy asked which firm he used.

So he told her. It was a harmless remark -- he could claim it accidentally slipped out -- but it would give her bragging rights over House for a while.

Cuddy looked interested. "I've never used them but a friend of mine--"

"Works there?" Wilson supplied helpfully.

"No, she's looking for a place to buy," Cuddy corrected and Wilson let the conversation drop.

***

Wilson wanted to figure it out before he discussed it with House. That was harder than it sounded because House had taken to Wilson's new place like it was his own. For the last week, he'd spent every night at Wilson's. He'd blared horrible punk-rock from Wilson's stereo system and raved about the acoustics; he'd got a spare garage key cut and claimed one half for his bike; he'd worked out how to use the spa in the bathroom and his soap had appeared in the shower.

"You do have a place of your own, you know," Wilson reminded House as House started unpacking a pile of CDs from his backpack. "You don't have to spend every night here."

"It's closer to the hospital," House replied, flicking through covers.

"Doesn't mean you have to clutter up my living room floor with your junk."

"You've got two spare bedrooms." House leaned back against the couch, tilting his head to look up at Wilson. Then he reached up, sliding long fingers up the inseam of Wilson's pants. "One has a bookcase. I'll put it in there."

"I think you're supposed to ask for permission first," Wilson said. He would have objected more firmly but House was sliding his hand up and from the gleam in his eye, it wasn't an idle tease.

***

It wasn't until the second week when his cleaning lady asked if the sheets in Dr House's room needed to be changed that Wilson realised House had, for all intents and purposes, moved in with him. He'd claimed garage space and claimed a study (sure, it had a bed in it but the wardrobe was full of textbooks, novels and a small stack of CDs). His clothes had started magically appearing in Wilson's closet and when Wilson looked closely, his unused drawers had been claimed by House as well.

In a normal relationship, Wilson was pretty sure you asked the other person before taking over their space. Then again, he was seeing House. There was no 'normal' here.

"When were you going to tell me you're moving in?" he asked House, after he closed House's office door behind him.

House didn't look up from his Gameboy. "When I'd sublet my apartment."

"You're subletting your apartment?"

House nodded. "Paperwork went through yesterday. We'll have to move the rest of my stuff over in the next two weeks."

"But..." Wilson sighed, not entirely sure whether or not he was wanted to object. "You've spent the last decade living in that apartment."

"Your place has great acoustics and my piano would fit into the back room really well. The commute to work is easier, there's plenty of storage space for two adults and it has a spa. Also, this way I don't have to buy groceries for you to cook for us."

"But you'd still have to put in for the groceries. And the utilities."

"Okay."

"And you're going to pay for the movers this time. Actually pay out of your own bank account."

"Sure."

Wilson stood there, blinking at House. And House sat there, pressing buttons and pulling faces as he tried to get to the next level. Wilson was pretty sure none of his previous relationships had involved a children's toy while they discussed living arrangements.

"Anything else?" House asked distractedly.

"I guess not." Shaking his head, Wilson wondered when his life had become so strange. This was how Alice felt in Wonderland, he decided, walking out. He paused at the doorway. "Wait, what's wrong with my house?"

House put the game on pause and looked up (for the first time in today's conversation). "Nothing's wrong with your house."

"The card wasn't for a friend of Cuddy's. It wasn't a favour. That was just something you told me so I'd go see it." There was no point in waiting to bring this up: it was probably best to find out now. "So what was wrong with it?"

"Nothing." House seemed sincere, but that didn't mean a lot. "It's perfect for you, you said so yourself."

"If it was perfect for me, you could have just mentioned it to me," Wilson said slowly, working it out as he said the words aloud. "If nothing's wrong with it, then it is perfect for me, and you didn't mention it because you didn't want me to know you'd been looking at real estate for me."

House shrugged and went back to his game. "Something like that."

"You didn't want to tell me outright because you didn't want to admit to feeling guilty about getting me evicted. But you covered my moving costs and you knew I'd take that as a sign of implied guilt, so it can't be that."

"You take everything as a sign of implied guilt," House said, head bowed down. "I think it's a Jewish thing, an overdose of liberal guilt for your forefathers killing our Saviour."

"You used an excuse to con me into seeing it because I was angry at you for getting me evicted." Wilson sighed. He knew he was missing something. Then he spotted that House was only moving one thumb. He wasn't actually playing, he was just avoiding eye contact. "You used an excuse because you got me evicted after you saw it. You already had plans for me to move in there. You don't do things without planning them first, so you already had plans for *you* to move in there."

House gave up the pretence of playing and looked up, but he didn't say anything.

"You know, you could have just suggested that we move into a new place together," Wilson said, not sure if he'd been living with an evil mastermind or the world's biggest control freak. "It would have been a lot easier on my blood pressure."

House grinned, sly and charming. "But it wouldn't have been as much fun."

Comments

[tardis80.livejournal.com]

\o/ Oh it's finally finished! eee! I love it.

[out-there.livejournal.com]

Finally! It only took... a year.

(Mind you, I've got other wips started just as early. Like my birthday fic I was writing for your birthday before last with Jeeves as the master and Bertie as the valet. I should look at that again sometime.)

[tardis80.livejournal.com]

Just the fact that this story is being slowly written somewhere is enough to make me happy. *huggles you*

[movies-michelle.livejournal.com]

Lovely! House never does things the simple way, so of course this would be how he would "ask" Wilson to move in with him.

Thanks so much for writing this!

[out-there.livejournal.com]

*beams*

Well, House has a funny definition for the word "ask".

[hanuueshe.livejournal.com]

*sniggers* Oh, House would totally go about moving in with Wilson that way. And someone has to tell Wilson that evil mastermind and control freak aren't mutually exclusive concepts...and they actually normally go hand in hand.

[out-there.livejournal.com]

And someone has to tell Wilson that evil mastermind and control freak aren't mutually exclusive concepts...and they actually normally go hand in hand.

Given that Wilson's such a smart guy, you'd think he'd know this already.

[hanuueshe.livejournal.com]

Yeah, really.

[20thcenturyvole.livejournal.com]

Just so you know, I love this fic to the power of infinity. \o/

[out-there.livejournal.com]

*does a happy dance*

Given that this was literally started a year ago, I think it needs the love to feel good about itself.

[hermitsoul]

House grinned, sly and charming. "But it wouldn't have been as much fun."

*laughs* It's a good thing House isn't likely to want children - I can't even imagine the evil plan House would scheme up to accomplish that goal!

Awesome story, definitely bookmarking for later rereading. Thanks for sharing this with us!

[out-there.livejournal.com]

*laughs* It's a good thing House isn't likely to want children - I can't even imagine the evil plan House would scheme up to accomplish that goal!

Hee! Oh, that's a frightening thought. Because House would find the most horribly embarrassing way possible to arrange it.

[dani_the_girl]

Oh that's just so him. I love this.

[out-there.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

[jakrar.livejournal.com]

This is delightful! You have a perfect grasp of House and Wilson.

[out-there.livejournal.com]

Eeeee. Thank you. (Getting a grasp on House is waaaaay harder than it looks.)

[lim.livejournal.com]

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

I adore it. *draws hearts around this*

[out-there.livejournal.com]

*beams* Thank you! There are times when House and Wilson are too adorable for words. (There are other times when it's amazing they haven't already killed each other, but lets focus on the adorableness, huh?)