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House felt like he should be doing something. Throwing things, maybe? Hiding underneath the covers and slowly dying of humiliation? Tracking down Jack and punching him in the face? No... no punching. There are some promises you don't break.

But he didn't do any of those things, because honestly, he'd seen this coming. Okay, not this exactly, but... something. Some straw that was going to tip a very precarious balance one way so that it crashed. He just didn't realize it would be a brick instead of a straw.

He'd almost thought about going to find Rob, just to... he didn't know, just for a modicrum of comfort as stupid as that was. But no, he knew Rob didn't have a radio and probably hadn't heard and there was no reason to burden him with it. Besides, House didn't want him to think that he'd only come to him because Jack did something shitty. He'd enjoyed the time that Rob had spent in his bed while his ankle was healing. And sure, he might be sleeping with other people, but... at least he wasn't telling everyone about it.

So he was just lying on his bed staring up at the ceiling. Trying to decide what he would say if he saw Jack. Trying to decide how he could hide from everyone else on the island, actually.

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After Maureen and after a shower, Jack made his way back to the treehouse. He couldn't stop thinking about what fun he'd had, during and after.

But now it was time to get back to the one who had his heart. Way more than just his dick for an hour. Maureen got that, what was love and what was sex.

He was lucky enough to have both with Greg.

Or so he thought when he pushed open Greg's door and closed it quietly behind him. It had to be close to three in the morning, so he didn't want to startle him.

House definitely wasn't asleep. He almost laughed when he heard Jack walk in, like he was just going to climb into bed like nothing had happened.

"Don't even think about it."

"Huh?" he asked, stopping before he could kick off his shoes.

House sat up a little in bed. "You know, I can understand why, with my constant barrage of complaints recently about the media and how I'm sick of my name being plastered all over it and how the radio is just crap gossip, you might think that I would have avoided listening to further broadcasts at all costs. But no, hearing your voice actually gave me pause. So if you think you're getting into my bed, you're sorely mistaken."

Jack shook his head, wondering if maybe some Saturday thing had kicked in a little late. Maybe Greg wasn't himself. "I'm sorry, what? Greg...come on..."

House scowled. "Are you honestly that stupid? Can you really stand there and tell me that you have no idea why I might be upset right now? Do you know me at all?"

"Greg, I ducked everything personal," he said as his heart sank to his gut and his cheeks flushed hot. "I...we were just talking about sex."

"Nothing personal," House said flatly. "Right, because I forgot that the size of my dick is public information. Sorry, but if my boyfriend stands on a soap box and starts yelling 'Well I've fucked just about everyone and he can't keep up with me. Plus I've had bigger' - yeah, that's kind of personal."

"I didn't say that," he shot back defensively. "And when I showed Maureen she even made you sound fucking hung. I didn't think you'd get pissed about me talking about you being the one, even if you aren't the only."

"You talked about my leg," House snapped. "You even mentioned my fucking scar!"

He blinked, shaking his head. "So?"

"So I... christ, Jack, I'm not you, not everyone on the fucking island has seen me naked! Just as a reminder, ladies and gentlemen, in case you didn't notice the cane, Dr. House has trouble with certain sexual positions, and has a big fucking scar on his leg. Oh, and I don't know if the mention of a cock ring was a comment on your stamina or mine but as you're the best fuck on the island, I'm guessing the latter."

"Oh, fuck," he exhaled, throwing his hands in the air. "I'm so sick of this shit. You and your fucking insecurity. I love you and you just can't fucking accept that, can you? Have I ever once told you it wasn't good? Have I ever once made an issue out of being careful so sex is good for us both? No. But God forbid I talk about you. Can't let anyone know anything. No wonder they all wonder why I'm with you."

House opened his mouth, then closed it again, then finally said, his voice low and dangerous, "No wonder. There's a difference between talking about me and announcing details of our sex life to the entire fucking island. Do you think I want everyone to know we've had a threesome? Hell, you practically announced that I'm in the market for vagina! And you know how I feel about the media. I've been bitching to you for weeks about how I'm sick of hearing my name. Did you even stop to think about my feelings for a second?"

"I think about your fucking feelings all the time, Greg. All the FUCKING TIME. All I do is worry about what's going to piss you off. What's going to cheer you up. What's going to take your mind off things. I do everything I can think of for you, and you're still the same grouchy jackass I met on the beach. And you know you are because those are YOUR WORDS!" he seethed, taking a step back toward the door.

House closed his eyes, wincing.

"Well then in this case you completely missed the fucking ball, Jack. I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend I don't care that you're fucking half the island. I've pushed it down, I've told myself that it doesn't matter because you love me. But knowing is one thing, and knowing the exact number is another, and so is hearing you come on the fucking radio. You didn't want me to think you were a slut. Well, you'd better get the word out to anyone who might have been listening."

"I didn't realize you ever stopped thinking I was a slut, Greg. You just quit saying it to my face," he spat through gritted teeth. "Fine. You can't do this anymore. Fine. Tell you what...since you can't run away, I will. It's what I'm good at." Pause. "Besides fucking."

Jack turned on his heel and jerked the door open, standing there for just a second before looking back. "Wilson was wrong. He said I'd leave you before you ever dropped me," he said as everything inside shriveled and went cold. One more second, just one to take in the image of him in the dim room. Those eyes. Those hands. The man he loved.

Past tense.

Then he slammed the door and didn't look back.

House gritted his teeth and his eyes flicked to the pocketwatch on his nightstand. A very large part of him wanted to throw it against the wall, watch it break into a million pieces. The hours and hours and hours of work Jack had put into it, destroyed in a single second.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

You're pathetic, House.

He shoved it into the back of a drawer instead, and flopped over on his stomach, wishing like hell he had some sleeping pills.