It had been a long day. One of those days—full of questionable decisions, adrenaline, and House being… well, House.

Now the chaos had died down, and Gregory House was in one of the empty rooms of the diagnostics department, lounging on the edge of the exam table like it was his personal couch. His cane was balanced across his knees, and that smug, insufferable expression was still plastered across his face like a victory flag.

Across the room, arms crossed tightly and jaw clenched, was Wilson.

He was pacing. Muttering. Clearly trying to be mad.

“You can’t keep doing this, House. You can’t just inject yourself with an experimental immunosuppressant because you’re curious! What if something went wrong? What if you went into shock? Or worse? What if—”

“Wilson,” House drawled, lifting a brow. “You’re cute when you’re spiraling.”

Wilson glared. “I’m not spiraling. I’m—”

“Worried,” House interrupted, softer now. “You’re worried.”

Wilson stopped pacing. That was the problem, really. He was terrible at being mad. His hands shook too much, his voice cracked, and all the frustration he worked up inevitably melted into worry. Every time.

House didn’t deserve it. But he basked in it anyway.

Wilson stepped closer, like he was going to start lecturing again—but didn’t. There was a beat of silence between them. Tense. Familiar. Warm in that weird way only they understood.

And then Wilson kissed him.

Long. Frustrated. Fierce. Like he was trying to say a hundred things at once. House didn’t argue. He let his cane fall to the floor, fingers curling into Wilson’s jacket, kissing him back like it was the only treatment that had ever worked.

Neither of them heard the door open.

Chase, holding a folder, blinked once at the scene inside the room—Wilson pressed up against House, the kiss slow and surprisingly soft now. Chase stood there for a second, unreadable expression, then gave the faintest shrug.

“Oh well.”

And turned around.

Five minutes later, Cameron and Foreman were standing at the nurse’s station when Chase walked up, dropped the folder on the desk, and said, entirely too casually, “By the way, Wilson and House are making out in exam room three.”

Cameron choked on her coffee.

Foreman just sighed. “Finally.”