Followed by When Kept or Revealed and Acquainted with the Night.

Goes AU after War Games. I love the idea behind this Batman/House crossover.

Awesome threesome fic, because House totally is that greedy.

A crossover of Nero Wolfe and House may sound strange at first, but it works amazingly well, as this story proves.

Wilson is accused of murder, and House hires New York’s best private detective to find the truth. Hwshipper does a good job of bringing Wolfe and Archie into the 21st century while keeping the fundamentals intact.

“I’ll google Dr. House, shall I?” I asked innocently.

Wolfe glared at me. “Don’t goad me, Archie. You know perfectly well that word is not a verb in this house.”

House/Wilson implied; more like pre-slash than anything. Or…post-slash, I guess.

Wilson has a freak-out.

“Where’s Wilson?” he demanded.

Cuddy looked up from her desk. “You don’t know?” she asked before looking back down at the paperwork she was going through. “I thought you had each other Lo-jacked.”

“My GPS is on the fritz today,” he told her, walking closer to the desk. “So where is he? He was supposed to have clinic hours this morning, but he’s not there. And I know how you feel about doctors and their clinic hours.”

After Babies & Bathwater, Wilson drives House home.

Most people would have called this an epiphany, Wilson knew, and some of them went to ridiculous lengths to have one, including embracing strange religions, climbing strange mountains, and taking strange drugs. House, judging by the easy and casual way he seemed to get bolts of revelation, probably called it a Thursday afternoon, if even that. Wilson didn’t know what to call it, except ‘epiphany’ felt like too exciting a word for something that left him feeling like an extraordinarily dense idiot.

It was a good night. Spicy shrimp, a fortune cookie that said “You will have great luck,” and nobody had paged him all night.

Not even his wife. So she had probably gotten his message, both the overt and the subtext.

Christmas night.

Wilson snorted. “Like the saying goes. ‘The odds are good, and the goods are odd.’”

Christening the Corvette.