Another Chance

by Rennie51

Chapter 1

House stormed out of the elevator. He hated being interrupted during General Hospital, especially since The Soap Channel had been airing a marathon of episodes he had never seen before. As he approached the clinic he was even more annoyed to find all three members of his staff standing idly by the nurses' station. He distinctly recalled assigning each one of them a specific diagnostic test in an attempt to explain the unusual symptoms of their latest patient. So why were they here? And why were they talking to his boss? Even though her back was to him, he could easily recognize Dr. Cuddy's long dark cascading curls as they fell softly around her shoulders. His eyes slowly traveled downward as he took in her shapely derriere, clearly visible under her stylishly fitted lab coat. As he approached the other doctors, he reminded himself how profoundly pissed he was to be paged just as he was about to learn the identity of the father of Brooke's baby.

"This better be important," he barked as he quickly limped towards the four doctors huddled together. Dr. Cuddy, startled by the sound of his voice quickly turned to face him. Alarmed by her appearance he furrowed his brow, tilting his head and studying her. Her eyes were red and swollen, her expression one of shock and dismay. She kept her arms tightly wrapped around her body, her hands clutching at her waist. House glanced at the other three doctors who were now staring at him, their faces revealing similar states of distress.

"What the hell happened?" he asked, expecting to hear Cuddy announce that a plague had hit the hospital and that everyone had been quarantined. He realized the news would probably be bad, but that didn't diminish his agitation at being disturbed.

Glancing at the other doctors, Cuddy left the small group and approached her colleague. She wasn't sure how she would tell him...she hadn't had time to prepare. No one had. She was still in shock.

"What is it?" he asked impatiently, making a point of ogling his watch. "I'm busy."

She sighed deeply and looked into his eyes. "It's Dr. Wilson," she said, her voice breaking.

House took a step back, suddenly afraid. This was about his best friend. Which meant it mattered. Cuddy looked away.

"Just tell me!" he snapped at her. She turned her attention back towards him, not realizing how intensely she was wringing her hands.

"There was a car accident." She paused and took a deep breath. "Dr. Wilson... he..."

"Where is he?" House attacked, frantically scanning the room hoping to find his best friend sitting in the triage area waiting to be treated. He looked back at Cuddy, his eyes boring into her.

"House, I'm sorry. The police were here...they told us... he...he didn't make it."

The older doctor swayed, barely managing to stay on his feet. He leaned heavily into his cane clutching it with all his strength as he quickly turned his head away. He understood what Dr. Cuddy had just told him. But that didn't mean he had to believe it.

He spoke angrily without looking at her. "Where is he?"

Cuddy didn't answer. His head snapped in her direction, his eyes flaring with anger and impatience. "I asked you a question." His voice was threatening, barely controlled.

"He...his car...hit a pole. It exploded on impact." She spoke haltingly, fighting to control her emotions. "There was a fire....they couldn't get to him." She stopped talking and looked pleadingly into House's eyes. She couldn't continue.

House squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh god," he whispered, his balance teetering. Cuddy instinctively reached out to steady him, but caught herself. She knew it would be an unwelcome gesture. House continued to lean into his cane, relying on it to keep himself upright as he slowly opened his eyes and stared past her, his expression vacant. Without looking at his colleague, he turned and quickly limped back towards the elevator.

"Dr. House!" Cuddy called after him.

He reluctantly stopped and faced her. "Just.... please...just let me be." He turned away and continued towards the elevator.

Dr. Cuddy took a deep sobering breath, her eyes welling with tears. She turned towards the members of House's staff. Cameron was quietly crying while Foreman attempted to comfort her; Chase was watching House intently as he entered the elevator.

"Dr. Chase," she called out. The young intensivist jumped. With blinking eyes, he looked questioningly at Dr. Cuddy.

"Find him!" Realizing the caustic edge to her voice she softened her tone. "Please.... make sure he's okay." She laughed bitterly at her own words...how could he ever be okay? She sighed. "Just tell me where he is."

Chase nodded, acknowledging her frustration and concern as he headed towards the stairwell, hoping to get to the second floor before the elevator. He sprinted up the steps, reaching his floor barely in time to see House disappear around the corner. He's going to Dr. Wilson's office, he thought. The young doctor quickly walked to the corner and peered down the hallway. He watched as House stopped in front of his friend's office and removed a key from his pocket. Before placing the key in the lock, the older doctor dropped his head against the door, leaning into it for several seconds. Chase averted his eyes. As House entered the office, Chase fell against the wall and sighed. He couldn't imagine anything worse happening to Greg House.

Chapter 2

"Oh my dear lord!" Cuddy exclaimed as she hung onto Foreman's arm to keep herself from falling to the floor.

Dr. James Wilson looked down and surveyed himself. "Do I look that bad?" he asked, observing the dirt and blood on his shirt and the holes in the knees of his slacks. He looked back towards the other doctors and noted that all four of them were gaping at him.

"Okay. It looks worse than it is," he explained. As the other doctors continued to stare he grew agitated. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"

Cuddy cleared her throat. "Well, it's...we thought.... you....the police were here. Your car....."

"You know something about my car?" Wilson asked, relieved that the police already knew that it had been stolen. "I was carjacked. The asshole knocked me out and took off with my wallet and my cell phone. They found the car?"

Foreman jumped in. "They found it and the guy who stole it."

Wilson smiled, feeling a stab of pain on the side of his face. Wincing, he touched his cheek and felt a gash. "Did they arrest him? How's my car?"

The other four doctors exchanged glances.

The oncologist sighed. "What? Tell me what happened," he said impatiently.

Cuddy approached him. "He crashed your car into a pole." She eyed the bruises on his face and forehead.

"Shit." He dropped his head to his chest.

She continued. "It exploded. The driver....what was left of him anyway....was burned beyond recognition."

Wilson thought a moment. Realization came over his face as the situation dawned on him. "Jesus. So... based on all your reactions when you saw me, I take it the police assumed.... he was me." He shook his head slowly, reaching around to rub the back of his neck.

Cuddy nodded sadly. "They were here and told us it was you." Realizing what she had just said, she turned towards Foreman. "Call the police and tell them to come back here." She handed him a card that one of the cops had given her.

Foreman took the card, grabbed his cell phone and quickly walked away as he placed the call. Cuddy turned her attention back to Wilson.

"You're hurt. Let me see." She moved closer to him and gently tilted his head as she examined his bruises. "You might have a concussion. What did he hit you with?"

"His gun, I think." He grimaced as Cuddy continued to check for more injuries. "I think I was out for a while. And when I came to, I had no car, no cell phone, no wallet. Fortunately I wasn't too far from the hospital, so I was able to walk back here." He glanced down at his wrist and noticed that his watch was also missing. "Great." Shaking his head, he looked at Cuddy. "What time is it?"

Cuddy's eyes opened wide as she remembered something. "Oh my god!"

"What did I say?" Wilson asked, startled.

"House ....." Her voice trailed off.

"House is here?" Wilson looked around the clinic. "He's usually home by now."

"You need to tell him," Cameron blurted out. "I mean...he needs to know."

Wilson's eyes grew wide. "You mean he thinks I'm....?"

"Yes, we have to tell him," Cuddy said with urgency.

"Damn it....where is he?" Wilson snapped, hovering over Cuddy as if he could physically extract the answer from her. "Of all the nights for him to stay late." He shook his head.

"He's locked himself in your office," she said quietly.

"I need your key," the oncologist ordered as he held out his hand impatiently.

Cuddy pulled out a set of keys from her lab coat and quickly shuffled through them, detaching one key and handing it to Wilson. She looked up at him. "Your head...you need to be checked out...." Wilson gave her a cautionary look, which she understood. "Okay...go. But make sure you come back."

As she spoke the oncologist was already halfway down the hall. In the stairwell he was barely able to take two steps at a time, holding onto the railing and forcing himself to keep going as he sprinted towards his office. His head was pounding and he felt a bit unsteady, but he was determined to get to House. Shortly before reaching his office, he was overtaken by dizziness and nausea, blindly reaching out for the wall and leaning against it. Taking several deep breaths, he slowly recovered and continued towards his destination.

Chapter 3

House sat slumped over his best friend's desk in the darkened office, his forehead resting on his hands. He couldn't remember ever feeling this lost before. He had experienced tragedy in his life, but nothing that cut this deeply. He felt as if he had fallen into an abyss, continuing to fall farther and farther into despair, helpless against the grief that slowly enveloped him.

"Damn you, Wilson," he managed to choke out, pounding his fist on the desk. He let out a small sob.

At that moment, he heard a key in the lock followed by the door slowly opening. Someone entered the office.

"Get out!" he yelled angrily keeping his forehead on his hands, expecting whoever was encroaching on his sorrow to turn and leave. From his peripheral vision he could see light streaming in from the hallway and a figure standing in the doorway.

"I told you to get out of here!" he spat out bitterly, clenching his hands into fists.

The shadowy figure moved closer. "Greg...."

House's head snapped up. He squinted from the bright light of the hallway as he peered at the figure in the doorway. He saw a man....a man who sounded amazingly like Wilson. The figure closed the door and walked towards the desk, House watching his every move.

"Greg. It's me....."

As the man approached, the dim light of the desk lamp slowly revealed his features.

"Oh god!" House gasped, blinking several times as he felt his heart threaten to pound its way out of his chest. He continued to stare at the man, incredulous, stunned...unable to speak or move.

It was James Wilson.

"I wasn't in the car," Wilson said quietly, as he noted House's moist, blood shot eyes.

The older doctor scrunched up his face. I wasn't in the car. It took him a few moments to realize what the words meant.

"Jimmy...." he whispered.

The other man sighed. "I was carjacked. The guy knocked me out. The police naturally assumed I was driving...."

House slowly stood but felt himself beginning to sway again and fell back into his chair. Wilson resisted reaching out to assist him. The older doctor continued to stare at his friend, afraid to take his eyes off him for fear he would vanish. Just minutes earlier he had suffered the worst blow he could ever have imagined. And now, suddenly, he had his world back in the form of one Dr. James Wilson, who stood before him disheveled and bruised with the same compassionate brown eyes, that familiar squint. His best friend. He had another chance.

House leaned over the desk placing his weight on his hands as he slowly stood. Steadying himself, he limped towards the young doctor without use of his cane.

"You look like hell," he said, examining his best friend.

"Thanks. I had a bad night."

House managed a small smile as he glanced down towards the floor. "Tell me about it. Mine wasn't exactly a day at the beach." He looked up at Wilson, his expression now one of profound relief.

Both men stood quietly, their eyes locked. After a moment, House reached out and grabbed Wilson's shirt, gently pulling the young doctor towards him. He wrapped his arms around his friend's back and held him tightly against his chest. Wilson allowed himself to sink into the embrace, reaching his arms around House's back and burying his head between his shoulder and neck. He closed his eyes as he felt himself being drawn in even closer, immersing himself in the mutual exchange of caring and concern. After several minutes of silence, James lifted his head and looked into his friend's eyes.

"You okay?"

House smiled. "Nothing a few Vicodin won't fix."

"Don't take them on my account."

"Since when is this about you?" House's face grew serious as he looked into his friend's dark eyes. "You do this to me again and I'll kill you myself."

Chapter 4

Wilson felt it wiser not to address House's last statement. He walked over towards the lamp next to the couch to add more light to the room. Before turning on the switch, he paused to take a few breaths as a wave of nausea threatened to overtake him. The pain in his head was constant now and he was feeling increasingly drowsy and dizzy. House watched him closely as he turned on the light.

"You really don't look very good. You said he knocked you out?"

"Yeah, the bastard. He even took my watch." The oncologist held out his arm to show his friend his bare wrist.

"Sit down...I want to check you over," House said as he approached Wilson.

"Cuddy's waiting for me at the clinic. I think she wants to do the honors."

House smirked. "I'm sure she does. She probably hopes you have a rash on your ass so she could get a better look."

The young doctor rolled his eyes.

"Sit," House ordered. Wilson sat on the couch as he was told. "Do you have a medical bag here?" the older doctor asked looking around the office.

"Bottom right drawer."

House retrieved the bag, pulled over a chair and sat down across from his new patient. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his Vicodin bottle, flipped off the cap and downed a pill, replacing the cap and returning it to his pocket before Wilson had a chance to say anything. House caught the look his friend was giving him.

"If I'm in pain then my patient is in pain."

"Ah, thanks for the warning."

House pulled out a penlight, gently lifted Wilson's right eyelid and peered into his eye, quickly followed by his left one. "Your pupils aren't equal. Look at me."

House studied his patient's eyes as he stared back at him. He held his right hand up and out to the side. "Look over here with your eyes." He held up his other hand. "Now here."

Wilson obeyed, but wasn't feeling very good and didn't want to continue. "House..."

"Not done yet. Your eye movements are irregular." He put the penlight back into the bag. "Do you have a headache?"

The young doctor nodded reluctantly.

"Dizziness? Nausea?"

"Both."

"So....does that mean I'm in danger of you puking on me right now?"

Wilson sighed. "I think I'm okay."

"Good. Just give me a warning. Now, I need to ask you a few questions and we'll be done." House paused as he formulated his questions. "Do you know what year it is?"

"Two thousand five."

"Month?"

"April."

"Nope."

Wilson frowned. "No?"

"Just messing with you."

The young doctor rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Are we done?"

"Almost. Who's the current president of the United States?"

"No more questions...."

"What turns you on?"

"What?"

"I'm trying to conduct a medical exam here. Answer the question."

"Bush...."

"Turns you on?"

"The current president!"

"Oh. Right." House smiled. "Definite concussion," he said. "But since you remember what happened and you're not showing signs of confusion, I'd say it's not serious."

"Great, so we're done." Wilson began to stand, but was held down by House grabbing his wrist.

"I'm not finished yet." He looked at the contusions on Wilson's forehead and cheek. "Did he hit you anywhere else?"

"No, but I fell on concrete," the young doctor responded as he glanced down at his torn slacks and the scrapes on his knees.

House gently pulled back the torn pieces of fabric and inspected his patient's knees. He leaned back in his chair. "You need to be cleaned up. And the fact that you were unconscious means you have to be watched for signs of delayed symptoms. When's the last time you had a tetanus shot?"

"Can't remember."

"You're a doctor and you can't remember?"

"Do you remember the last time you had one?" Wilson asked with annoyance in his voice.

"You're the responsible one."

The young doctor shook his head. "I'm pretty sure it was within the last five years."

"Okay, then you won't need one."

"Thank you, Dr. House. Can I go now?"

"This was just a cursory exam. You'll need to be checked further."

Wilson began to protest, but House continued talking.

"Knowing Cuddy she'll want to keep you here for observation...."

"No way, I'm not...."

"Take it easy, Doc. I'll tell her that I'm taking you home with me so I can keep an eye on you."

Wilson smiled. "You take better care of me than Julie ever did."

"That's because I like you more than Julie ever did."

The young doctor's smile grew wider. "Does that mean you'll never leave me?"

"Never," House said, his eyes sparkling. "Now let's find Cuddy and tell her about that rash on your ass."

Chapter 5

Doctors House and Wilson left the office together and began walking towards the elevator, each man caught up in his own thoughts. The older doctor contemplated how the evening had come full circle for him, the excursion consisting of a harrowing emotional roller coaster. He had started the evening comfortably content... with the assistance of his cherished Vicodin, of course.....then was abruptly plunged into deep despair, followed by overwhelming relief and back to the beginning of the circle emerging somewhat worse for wear.

The younger man, however, was dealing with different issues. As they walked down the hall he found himself fighting off another strong wave of nausea and an uncomfortable feeling of lightheadedness. His uneasiness grew more intense and despite trying to fight it off, he suddenly found himself in the center of a vortex, the walls spinning uncontrollably around him. Caught off guard by its swift onset, he reached out and grabbed House's left arm, falling back against the wall at the same time. The older man barely managed to stay afoot, his cane clattering to the floor as he toppled against Wilson's chest, attempting to use his friend as leverage to regain his bearings.

"Jesus, Jimmy what the hell.... ?" House grabbed his colleague by his shoulders to keep him from sliding down the wall.

The young doctor's eyes were clamped shut, his breathing quick and shallow, sweat beading on his forehead. He reached out blindly and grabbed onto House's forearms, gripping them tightly.

"Jimmy, open your eyes and look at me," House said soothingly, attempting to calm him down.

"Can't," the young man managed to force out between breaths, "room's spinning."

House leaned into his friend to prevent him from falling to the floor and to keep himself upright at the same time. He spoke quietly. "Okay. Try to slow your breathing down or you'll start to hyperventilate."

He received no reaction from the younger man.

"Jimmy! Listen to me," House raised his voice, gently shaking his friend by the shoulders.

Apparently it worked as Wilson made an effort to control his breathing.

"Good, that's good. Keep breathing slowly. Now I want you to open your eyes."

The young doctor's head was against the wall, eyes squeezed tightly shut, his respiration now slower and seemingly more controlled. "Open your eyes, Jimmy, and try to focus on my eyes."

Wilson slowly opened his eyes but quickly closed them again, gasping for air as his breathing picked up speed. "Room's spinning.... can't," he cried out near panic.

"Don't worry. It's okay, just give yourself a few minutes," House said reassuringly. "Try to slow your breathing down again."

The oncologist did as his friend instructed and after several seconds his respiration grew slower and more controlled.

"Good, Jimmy. We'll wait a few minutes and then I want you to try to open your eyes again."

"No!"

"Not yet, wait until you're feeling better. I'm here, I won't let anything happen to you."

House was worried that the concussion was worse than he had originally thought. This could be just a single attack of vertigo, or it could be a sign of more to come. He would order an MRI as soon as they got to the clinic.

Several minutes passed; the young doctor seemed calmer; his eyes were still closed but his expression was more relaxed.

"Okay, Jimmy, we're going to try this again. Open your eyes and look at me. Focus your attention on my eyes."

As Wilson's eyes fluttered open, he tightened his grip on his friend. "I got you, don't worry," House said, "just look directly at my eyes."

The young oncologist was able to keep his eyes open, focusing his attention on his best friend's intense blue eyes. In the bright light of the corridor House could see that his pupils were still uneven as they had been during the exam.

He smiled. "It's over... you're okay."

Wilson loosened his hold on the older doctor's arms and took a deep breath, continuing to stare into his eyes. After several moments, he was able to speak. "Jesus...that...that never happened to me before."

"I know it's a scary thing, but it's very symptomatic of a concussion. I'm going to order an MRI to make sure nothing's going on in that pretty head of yours."

Wilson smiled sadly as he dropped his arms to his sides. "You can let go of me now, I can stand."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just... uh... I'm nauseous again."

"You gonna spew?"

"I don't think so...it seems to be subsiding. But you definitely were in harm's way a few minutes ago." Wilson glanced down and saw the cane lying on the floor.

"Sorry about that. I didn't mean to...."

"Not necessary. I'm glad I was here."

"I'd pick it up for you, but that's probably not the best idea at the moment."

House smirked. "Ironic, isn't it?" He bent down to retrieve his cane managing to keep one eye on his friend. He pulled his cell phone out from his jacket pocket. "I'm calling Foreman to get a wheelchair....."

"No!" Wilson cut him off.

"It's just to the clinic...."

"I don't need a wheelchair!"

House returned the phone to his pocket. "So you're good to walk?" he asked, prepared to catch his friend if he lost his balance again.

"I'm better." Wilson moved away from the wall, maintaining contact with one hand just in case. When he felt confident of his balance he removed his hand and slowly made his way towards the elevator. House made a point of walking directly alongside his friend.

Chapter 6

Dr. House studied the MRI results in Exam Room One as Cuddy stood next to him observing. Across the room, Wilson sat quietly on the exam table wearing a pair of scrubs. Since his clothes had been torn and stained with blood, he had asked Cuddy to discard them. What he really wanted to do was to take a shower but decided to wait until he was in House's apartment.

"No evidence of a contusion or hematoma," House said smiling. He looked at his latest patient. "So you're good to go."

Cuddy frowned.

"What?" the older doctor snapped.

She shook her head. "I don't know if that's such a good idea. I'd like to admit him for observation."

"No way," House protested. "I just got my boy toy back. I'm going home to play with him tonight."

"But the vertigo attack....he should really stay here, at least for 24 hours."

"I can take care of him."

"Sure you can," she snipped. "You'll probably feed him beer and chips."

"Cuddy, I'm a doctor, I know how to treat a patient with a concussion. And what's wrong with beer and chips?"

Wilson held up his hand. "Hello! I'm in the room."

Cuddy looked at Wilson and smiled. "Sorry." She sighed. "Okay, I'm going to release you to House's care...but under protest."

Scowling at his boss, the older man turned his attention to his best friend and smiled. "You want to go home and play doctor, Doctor?"

Wilson pointed to the scrubs he was wearing. "Since I'm wearing the clothes I get to do the exam this time."

"Okay, I'm game. Let's go with crabs."

Cuddy scrunched up her face in confusion. "What are you talking about?" she asked as she placed her hands on her hips.

"If Wilson and I are playing doctor I need to have a disease, don't I? Duh."

The oncologist jumped in. "Well technically, crabs is not a disease. It's more of an infection."

Cuddy threw up her hands. "You two deserve each other." She looked at Wilson. "I'll talk to Dr. Brown about having your patients reassigned. And I'd like to see you on Monday to see how you're doing." The young doctor nodded his gratitude.

She looked pointedly at House. "That gives you three days to take care of him."

"Yes, Mommy."

She ignored his comment. "So, I guess this means you won't be coming in tomorrow." She paused. "But what about your patient...I mean...your other patient? You haven't diagnosed her yet."

"Since when do I need to be here to make a diagnosis?" House asked somewhat agitated. "And why are you disparaging the talents of my brilliant diagnostic team?"

She sighed. "Take care of him," she ordered as she turned and left the exam room.

"House leered at the door. "She wants me."

"Don't we all," the young doctor said, smiling.

House limped over to the cabinet where the pre-filled syringes were kept. Opening the drawer, he began removing several syringes along with packaged alcohol wipes, placing them into his jacket pocket.

"What are you doing now?" Wilson asked, shaking his head. "Stealing medication?"

"I'm taking cyclizine and sumatriptan. You're probably going to need them."

Unlike his friend, Wilson wasn't very keen on taking medications, but based on his aching head and his continuous battle with nausea, he didn't argue.

House turned and sat down next to him on the exam table. "How are you feeling now?"

He smiled sadly. "Could be better... could be a lot better actually."

The older man scratched his chin. "You know, you managed to age me significantly tonight." He peered up at the ceiling in thought. "Your reported death cost me about twenty years and that vertigo attack cost me another five." He turned his attention back to his colleague. "I trust you'll make it up to me."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess I can try. I'm not sure how though."

"Oh, I can think of plenty of ways."

The young doctor attempted to smile but didn't quite get there. He looked into House's eyes. "Thank you for tonight."

"Don't thank me." House studied his friend. "You're afraid of another attack, aren't you?"

"No, not really. Well, yes."

"Are you feeling nauseous right now?"

"It hasn't really stopped."

House stood up. "I'm giving you a shot of cyclizine." He removed a syringe and alcohol wipe from his pocket, motioning to his patient to lower his pants.

"What's wrong with my arm?"

"It's not as much fun."

"Fine." Wilson untied the scrubs lowering the waistband over his hip as he leaned his elbow on the table. "But this counts towards making it up to you."

The older doctor smiled as he administered the injection. "I don't get to do this nearly enough." The shot just added to Wilson's misery causing him to grimace slightly. "Okay, done. You should start feeling better pretty fast."

"Thanks," the oncologist said as he sat upright and tied his pants back around his waist.

House discarded the wipe and empty syringe.

"Now what?" Wilson asked, rubbing his hip.

"Now we go home and play doctor."

Chapter 7

As House and Wilson entered the apartment, the younger man walked directly to the couch and sank down into the cushions. The cyclizine had helped with the nausea, but his head was still pounding and the combination of the medication with the concussion had made him feel very drowsy.

House eyed his friend as he limped towards him. "Why don't you go to bed?"

"I'm tired, but I really need to take a shower first."

"I'll get some towels for you." House disappeared into the spare bedroom. When he returned, he found Wilson dozing on the couch. As he sat down next to him, the younger man's head jerked up.

"Sorry," House said quietly. "There are towels for you in the bathroom and there's also a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants."

Wilson smiled. "Thanks." Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward placing his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands.

"What's wrong?" House asked, concern apparent on his face.

"I'm feeling lightheaded again."

House placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Is this how you felt before your attack?"

"Can't remember. But I feel weird."

"When's the last time you ate something?"

The younger man leaned back on the couch. "Let's see... I had an apple for lunch."

"You might feel better if you have something to eat......"

"No, House, I can't. Please don't even mention food."

"Sounds like the cyclizine didn't help you at all." House was worried.

"No, it did. But the idea of food......" Wilson stopped talking as he leaned forward and rested his head in his hands again. "I'll be okay; just let me sit here for a little while."

The two friends sat silently on the couch. After several minutes, Wilson looked at his friend. "I'm feeling better. And I really need that shower."

"Well, I'm glad you were the one to say it."

Wilson smiled as he slowly stood.

"You still okay?"

"Yeah. But...do you think you could come into the bathroom with me and wait while I shower?"

"Why, Jimmy!"

"I'm not asking you to take the shower with me."

"Well a guy can always dream." House leaned into his cane and stood. "Let's go."

House didn't want to encroach on his friend's privacy so he waited until he heard Wilson get into the shower before going into the bathroom. Lowering the toilet seat he slowly sat down, resting his chin on the handle of his cane. He glanced at the shadow behind the shower curtain, the silhouette jolting him back to the moment he had realized that his best friend was alive. It was difficult for him to even think about. He couldn't imagine his life without James Wilson. He had wanted to get closer to the other man for a very long time, but never acted on his feelings for fear it would ruin their friendship.

House had never really discriminated when it came to sex. As far as he was concerned, sex could be great with a man or a woman. But Wilson was the first man he ever had feelings for and it unnerved him. And now he felt as if the events of the evening had given him another chance to do something about it...to act on his feelings. Now that Wilson was divorced, he didn't have that barrier to deal with. And as far as the other man's feelings towards men, there had been several nights when the two of them had stayed up drinking late into the night when Wilson had mentioned his past 'encounters' with men. He even went so far as to speculate that his marriages didn't last because of his conflicted feelings.

The biggest factor now...and a major one....was House's fear that their friendship could end if he attempted to alter the dynamic of their relationship. And he couldn't allow that to happen.

House was pulled out of his reverie by the sound of the water being turned off. He picked up the bath towel he had prepared and limped towards the shower, reaching it just as Wilson pulled the curtain back. He handed him the towel.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah. Felt good."

The young doctor stepped out of the shower and began toweling himself off. "You okay for me to leave?" House asked.

"Um...sure. I'll be right out."

House went into the spare bedroom and sat down on the bed waiting for his friend. It didn't take long for Wilson to enter the room wearing the older man's sweatpants and t-shirt, his hair damp from the shower. He walked over and sat down next to House.

"I'm exhausted," he said quietly.

"But you smell great."

Wilson laughed for the first time that night. It made House smile. "Get some sleep," he said, standing and walking towards the door. "If you start feeling sick I want you to call me." He pointed to the night stand next to the bed. "There's a plastic bowl by the bed if you need it."

"Did you steal that too?"

"No. I borrowed it. How's your head?"

"Bad."

"You should've said something," House said with an edge to his voice. "I know you don't like taking medication but it's stupid to suffer with pain. I'm getting the sumatriptan."

Wilson shook his head slowly as House left the room, realizing that the older man was right. When House returned with the syringe and alcohol wipes, the two friends stared at each other for several seconds, concluding with the younger man lying down on his side as he pulled down the waistband of his sweats. House smiled. "I was afraid we wouldn't get to play doctor tonight."

"Yeah, but I was supposed to be the doctor."

"Life just isn't fair," House said, as he injected Wilson in the fleshy part of his hip.

"Ouch...Jesus, House, that hurts."

"Payback."

"So payback is sticking me with a needle?"

"You have your fun, I have mine. You're done."

The young doctor pulled his waistband back up and walked to the side up the bed where he slid under the covers.

"I'll be checking on you throughout the night, and I'll probably be waking you up periodically. I hope you don't like sleeping with the door closed because it's staying open."

"That's fine...I'm easy."

"That's exactly what the nurses said about you."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Good night, Dr. House." He reached up and clicked off the light as his friend left the bedroom.

Chapter 8

It had been about three hours since Wilson had gone to sleep. House had settled himself into his favorite chair to watch some television, chancing upon a miniseries about the WWII ghettos of Poland that piqued his interest. He glanced at the clock, determining it was time to check on his friend.

Retrieving his cane from the side of the chair, he leaned into it as he slowly stood, realizing how tired he was as he headed towards the spare bedroom. He would go to bed after checking on Wilson, leaving his door open so he could hear if the younger man called out to him.

As he approached the bedroom, he turned on the light in the hallway to gently illuminate the room. While Wilson needed his sleep, he decided it was more important to wake him up to monitor his orientation and alertness. As he walked to the side of the bed, he immediately sensed that something was wrong.

"Greg...." The young doctor's voice was barely above a whisper.

"You're awake." House clicked on the lamp on the night stand. Wilson was on his side facing him, his breathing labored. The older man sat down on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly, stroking his friend's hair.

"Sick..." the oncologist whispered. "I'm...I'm gonna be sick...."

House quickly reached across to the nightstand and grabbed the plastic bowl, placing it on the bed. He gently raised his friend to a sitting position. "Jimmy, take this," he said, carefully placing the bowl into Wilson's hands.

The younger man clutched the bowl with both hands as he held it close to his mouth. He could feel his insides churning when his stomach suddenly clamped down, forcefully bringing up its contents. House held on to him, keeping him upright and holding his hands steady as his body trembled from the pain. Sweat formed across his forehead, his eyes teared; he was helpless against the demanding spasms racking his body. His stomach continued pushing out what it could until the cramping finally abated.

House took the plastic bowl from his hands, noting its contents before placing it on the night stand. His eyes tightly closed, Wilson felt a cool damp towel lightly wash across his face, followed by the sound of the other man's soothing voice, "Jimmy, open for me." He felt something cool and damp touch his lips prompting him to open his mouth which he did, tasting mint as the inside of his mouth was freshened with a swab.

House's arm was across his back holding him up. He leaned in against the older man's shoulder, resting his forehead on his chest. "Sorry," he managed to get out hoarsely.

The other doctor pulled him closer. "It's okay," His voice was quiet and reassuring. "You threw up bile because there's nothing in your stomach. We'll have to do something about that. Are you feeling any better?"

"No...still sick." His breathing hitched.

"I'll give you a shot of cyclizine." House carefully lowered the young man's head to his pillow and gently shifted him onto his side. Retrieving a syringe and alcohol wipe from his pocket he pulled down the oncologist's waistband and injected him in the fleshy part of his hip. "Give it a few minutes to work and you'll feel better."

House brought the plastic bowl, empty syringe and other medical supplies to the bathroom, washed out the bowl and discarded everything else. When he returned to the bedroom, Wilson was lying on his back, his eyes open.

"Did it kick in yet?" House asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed. The young man looked up into his friend's eyes. "It's starting to...I feel a lot better than I did."

"Good. Do you know where you are?"

"Your apartment."

"You need to put something into your stomach."

Wilson turned his head away. "No, I can't."

"Jimmy, listen to me. I don't want you to start dry heaving and throwing up blood. You have to eat something."

"I'll get sick again."

"Let the cyclizine do its job. I'm not talking about a four course meal; I'll bring you some dry toast and tea."

Wilson sighed. "You're serious when you call me Jimmy."

"I'm always serious." The older doctor smiled. "Will you be alright while I go to the kitchen?"

"I'll go with you... I hate crumbs in bed."

House began to protest, but noted that his friend had more color in his face than he did just minutes before. "Okay, come." He stood and waited for Wilson as he slowly got out of bed. It took a moment for him to get his bearings, but once he did, he felt better and walked with his friend to the kitchen.

House sat across the kitchen table from his colleague watching him pick at his toast and barely sip his tea. "At this rate we'll be here all night."

Wilson smiled sadly. "Sorry. It doesn't want to go down."

"Can I get you to take some bismuth instead?"

The oncologist almost turned green as he shook his head.

"Well it's either that or we'll sit here all night while you try to get that toast down." House studied his friend. "One teaspoon," he said as he held up one finger.

Wilson squinted his eyes. "One teaspoon....that's all?"

"Yep."

He thought a moment. "Okay."

House smiled as he stood and limped to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, quickly returning with a bottle filled with pink liquid. He opened a drawer and pulled out a tablespoon.

Wilson shook his head. "Wait a minute...that's not a teaspoon."

"Did I say teaspoon?"

"Yes."

"Oops, I guess I lied."

"House, I'm not taking a tablespoon of that crap."

The older doctor's eyes narrowed threateningly. "Either you take a tablespoon of this, or I'll administer your next dose of cyclizine in suppository form."

Wilson rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "I think I might've been better off at the hospital with Cuddy."

"Nope, she doesn't like you as much as I do."

"She likes me a lot."

"She only says she likes you to get to me."

Wilson smirked. "Thank you for clearing that up."

House sat down next to his colleague as he shook the bottle of bismuth. He twisted off the cap and poured it into the tablespoon, holding it out for the young doctor. "Hmmm....yum. Looks like bubblegum."

Wilson closed his eyes and opened his mouth allowing his friend to administer the medicine.

He almost gagged as he swallowed it. "Oh, god, that stuff is vile."

House smiled. "Trust me, you made the right choice."

Wilson placed his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand. "It's not my fault that the cops told you I was dead."

"Yes it is."

"You don't really believe that."

"I have to blame someone so it may as well be you," House said, his expression serious.

"Why don't you blame the police?"

"Because it's much more fun to blame you."

The oncologist rolled his eyes again. "I'm tired."

"You should go back to bed. I'll be right in after I clean up in here."

Wilson stood and headed towards the bedroom. "Don't be too long."

"Yes, dear," House called after him as he cleared the kitchen table.

Chapter 9

When House came into the bedroom, Wilson was lying on his back under the blanket, his forearm covering his eyes. The older doctor kept an eye on his friend as he retrieved his bottle of Vicodin from his jacket pocket and quickly downed a pill, the last one of the day, the one that he relied upon to help him sleep. It was amazing the power of that one tiny little pill...it meant the difference between lying awake at night staring up at the ceiling or getting a fairly good, relatively painless night's sleep.

As he placed the bottle back into his pocket, he limped to Wilson's side of the bed and sat down on the edge, attempting to ascertain if the young doctor was asleep by listening to the cadence of his breathing. His question was answered when he began to speak.

"You okay?"

House raised an eyebrow. "I'm supposed to ask you that."

Wilson moved his arm away from his face and rested it across his chest. "Just practicing for when you finally let me play the doctor."

House smiled. "But you're so much better as the patient."

Wilson's expression turned serious. "Are you okay?" he asked again.

"Why the concern?"

"Well...I heard the Vicodin bottle...."

"Ah. Not to worry, just my usual sleeping pill....which just happens to be the same as my get-out-of-bed-in-the-morning pill... not to mention my making-it-through-the-day-pill. Nice and efficient... everything I need in one tiny compact pill."

"Everything you need?"

"Well, maybe not everything," he said, happy that his friend had bounced back from his experience earlier that night. "So, no nausea, headache, lightheadedness, dizziness?"

"No. Everything's good."

"Everything?"

"Well, maybe not everything." The oncologist shifted his head on the pillow to get more comfortable. "Still exhausted."

"Normal. I'm going to bed now; make sure you call me if anything starts acting up."

"Anything?"

"Yep. I'm responsible for you... Cuddy will kill me if I let anything happen to you."

"I thought you said she doesn't like me that much."

"No... I said she likes me better. There's room in that big 'ole heart of hers for both of us." House leaned into his cane and started to stand.

"Where will you be sleeping?" Wilson asked.

He sat back down on the bed, scrunching his forehead. "Well, I thought I'd do something completely different tonight and sleep in the room where my bed is."

The young doctor squinted his eyes. "But your room is all the way on the other side of the living room."

"That's where it was located when I moved in. But when you're feeling strong enough, we can move it closer."

"What if I call you and you can't hear me?"

House wasn't quite sure what this was all about. "The last I checked, your vocal cords weren't affected by the concussion. Plus, I'm a pretty light sleeper."

Wilson hesitated. "Why don't you just sleep here with me?"

House did a stellar job of covering up his initial reaction to this suggestion, which was total and utter shock. He eyed the empty side of the bed as he scratched his chin. "Well, it is a king sized bed."

"Why would you get a king sized bed for your spare bedroom?"

House laughed. "Why are you asking me this now?"

"Just curious."

"Again, it was here when I moved in."

"Oh."

Both men silently regarded each other, House finally speaking.

"Okay. I can sleep here if you promise not to puke all over me."

"I'll try my best."

The older doctor stood and walked around to the other side of the bed, lifting the covers as he slowly sank down into the mattress. He took the bottle of Vicodin from his pocket and placed it on the night stand, shrugging off his jacket and allowing it to fall to the floor. Resting his cane against the night stand, he raised his left leg onto the bed using his hands to help lift his right leg. Settling in, he reached down and pulled the blanket over himself, glancing towards his now bedmate, who was on his elbow watching him.

"I thought you were exhausted," he said, turning his head away from Wilson.

"I am."

"Then turn off the light and go to sleep."

"Greg...thank you."

"Stop. Thanking. Me." House's voice was adamant.

Wilson reached up and turned off the lamp next to his side of the bed. Rolling over on his stomach, it wasn't long before he was sleeping soundly.

House glanced over and looked at the young man quietly sleeping next to him, his face appearing content as he slept. The older doctor was too tired to theorize the significance of lying in bed with his best friend, so he closed his eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep enjoying the moment.

House woke up with a start. He peered at the clock on the night stand, squinting as he tried to read the lighted dial. His eyes grew wide when he finally realized that it was five A.M., which meant that he and Wilson had been sleeping for six hours.

"Shit!" He quickly glanced over towards his bedmate and found that he was sleeping soundly facing the other direction.

He tossed back the blanket and reached out to grab his cane. It was then that he felt the first stab of pain in his leg. Groaning, he groped for the bottle of Vicodin, flipping off the cap with one hand and quickly downing one. It would be several minutes before it took effect, but he forced himself to sit up and swing his legs off the bed.

As he dealt with the pain, he reprimanded himself for not waking his friend three hours earlier to check that he hadn't slipped into a confused state, which was a potentially serious symptom of a concussion.

He leaned into his cane and slowly stood, taking a moment to get his bearings. The room was adequately lit from the light in the hallway, so he was able to walk fairly quickly to the other side of the bed despite the throbbing in his leg.

"Jimmy...wake up." House gently shook the young man by his shoulders. He didn't stir.

He waited a moment and shook him harder, raising his voice, "Jimmy!" Wilson continued to sleep soundly. Growing concerned, House placed his fingers to his friend's throat. His pulse was strong and steady. He noted that his respiration was normal. Why wasn't he waking up?

The older doctor tried a few more times to wake his sleeping friend by calling out his name and shaking him by the shoulders. Out of desperation, he finally slapped his colleague's face with the palm of his hand, somewhat unnerved by the 'twack!' that resonated in the solitude of the early morning.

"Ow! What did you do that for?" Wilson asked groggily as he rubbed his cheek.

House hid his relief. "I was trying to wake you up."

"Couldn't you just say something like, 'Jimmy, wake up'?" The young doctor continued to rub the side of his face.

Smiling, House reached over and turned on the lamp.

Wilson squinted until his eyes adjusted to the light. He looked around the room. "What are you doing in my bedroom?" he asked, scrunching up his face.

House couldn't hide his rising panic.

The younger man smiled. "I'm just playing with you."

"You're asking for that suppository," House warned.

Wilson touched the side of his face again. "Why did you hit me?"

"Because you tried to touch me in my private place."

"House...."

The older doctor sighed. "It took a while to wake you." For fear of alarming his friend, he quickly added, "but based on how exhausted you were, I'm not worried." He hesitated. "But just to be sure, what day is it?"

"That depends, what time is it?"

"Five A.M."

"Then it must be Friday."

House was satisfied. "Sorry I hit you."

"It's okay." Wilson was having difficulty keeping his eyes open.

"Go back to sleep. I'll wake you at eight."

"What are you going to do?" the young doctor asked, barely awake.

"I've got some research to do."

" 'kay." Wilson rolled onto his side and fell asleep immediately. House watched him for a few moments, then turned out the light and left the bedroom.

Chapter 10

House sat at the kitchen table studying the information on his laptop computer. He had been researching several medical sites regarding his patient's symptoms....his other patient....and had come up with some diagnostic possibilities. The results of the current tests he ordered had arrived early that morning. Those results, along with the data he had found in the New England Journal of Medicine, could lead to a definitive diagnosis.

Noting that it was seven-thirty he decided to shower and get dressed before waking Wilson at eight. He turned off his laptop leaving it on the kitchen table, grabbed his cane and limped to the bathroom.

He was back in the kitchen within twenty minutes, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt layered under a white button-down shirt. Sliding the laptop to the other side of the table he did a quick job of setting the table. Wilson would eat a decent breakfast if he had to force feed him.

"Good morning."

"Whoa!" House almost fell over a chair. He turned around to find Wilson leaning on the kitchen counter, his hair mussed, sleep still in his eyes. "You scared the hell out of me."

"That's something I seem to be doing lately," he said, scratching his head. "What's going on?"

"Setting the table for breakfast."

The younger doctor made a face. "Not hungry."

"Too bad, you're eating. Even if I have to hold you down and shove the food down your throat, you're going to eat."

"That sounds appetizing."

House pulled a chair out from the table. "Sit."

"There's no reason to be snippy." Wilson sat down and slid the chair under the table. "What are we having?"

"How about eggs, toast and oatmeal?"

"I'd rather have bismuth."

House shook his head, sitting down at the table. "What do you want to eat?"

"How about just the toast."

"That's all?"

"That's all I can handle."

The older doctor nodded in understanding. "Okay," he said, as he stood and began preparing the toast and boiling water for tea.

House watched as his friend ate his breakfast, noting that he obviously wasn't enjoying it. "Does your stomach hurt?"

"No, just don't have an appetite."

"That's no excuse. Eat up." Wilson rolled his eyes, but continued to eat his small breakfast.

The older man studied his friend reminding himself of the previous evening, how he had been told by Cuddy that the younger doctor had died in a car accident and his startling reappearance two hours later. He thought about the events that followed...how Wilson had leaned on him, completely lowering his defenses and letting him in. Was it because his injury had made him particularly vulnerable or was it because he wanted to get closer to House? Or maybe it was both. House didn't know, but what he did know was that he cared very much for the young man sitting across the table.

"Okay, I'm finished. Do I get a gold star?"

"What?" He realized that Wilson was waiting for an answer. "We can talk about your prize later."

He stood and began clearing the table. "Foreman called this morning. Apparently there's a problem with the test results that only I can fix...go figure. Anyway, I have to go to the hospital for a couple of hours. I also spoke to Cuddy. She said the police want you to call them."

Wilson scratched his head. "I wonder why they didn't talk to me last night."

"Because I wouldn't let them."

The younger doctor silently acknowledged his friend's protectiveness but thought it wise not to comment. "Did she give you a number?"

"It's here somewhere." House shuffled through some papers on the kitchen counter. He found what he was looking for and handed his colleague a sheet of paper with a name and phone number scribbled on it. "Do me a favor, tell them I'm eternally grateful for the awesome news they delivered last night. And if they ever need medical care, tell them to ask for Dr. House."

"So... you do blame the cops."

"No, I blame you."

The younger doctor rolled his eyes again. He thought a moment. "Why don't I go with you? You can drop me at the police station and...."

"How will you get back here?"

"The station's only a couple of blocks from the hospital. I can walk there afterwards. I'll meet you at your office and we can come back here together."

House tilted his head. "You sure about the walking part?"

Wilson placed his hands on his hips. "I'm fine. And it's only two blocks."

"Alright, but we're leaving in fifteen minutes."

"I'll get a fast shower." The oncologist stood and started to walk out of the kitchen. "Wait a minute," he said, turning around. "I have no clothes."

House made a point of scrutinizing his friend up and down. "I think you look quite chic."

"House, I can't go out like this."

"Fine. Get yourself a pair of jeans and a shirt from my closet. And hurry up."

Wilson rushed out of the kitchen, returning about fifteen minutes later wearing a light blue button down shirt and faded jeans that were a bit too long.

"How's this?" he asked.

House glanced at him. "Fantastic. Let's go." He headed for the door. "What time do you think you'll be at the hospital?"

Wilson held out his wrist as if he were checking his watch, forgetting that it had been stolen the night before. He let out a sigh.

"Here," the older doctor said removing his watch from his own wrist. "Wear mine." He held out the watch.

"Don't you need it?"

"Not really. I just wear it for show... you know, Tag Heuer."

"Right, you're all about image and what people think." He slipped the watch onto his wrist. "Thank y....."

The other man shot him a cautionary look. Wilson shrugged. "I guess we should go."

House gathered up his belongings and the two friends left the apartment.

Chapter 11

House examined Wilson in Exam Room Two, shining a penlight into his eyes one at a time as Dr. Cuddy looked on. "Pupils look better." He held out his right hand. "Look here with your eyes." The young doctor followed his hand with his eyes. "Now here."

He turned off the penlight. "Your eyes definitely look better. We're done."

Wilson looked surprised. "No questions about what turns me on?"

Dr. Cuddy scrunched up her face. "I don't even want to know what that means." She looked at Wilson and frowned. "What happened to your cheek?"

"You don't remember? I'm the one with the concussion."

She smirked. "No, the other side, that big red mark."

"Oh that. House slugged me."

"What???"

The older doctor shrugged. "He wouldn't eat his spinach."

Cuddy shook her head as she turned her attention back to the patient. "How do you feel?"

"Better today... still tired but better."

House gloated.

"Don't look so smug," she said. "There's still a question of that bruise on his face."

Wilson slid off the table and walked towards the door. "I'll be in my office faxing a copy of the police report to my insurance company. You two can stay here and discuss me."

He left the exam room.

Cuddy turned towards her problem doctor. "What really happened to his face?"

"I slugged him. He really wouldn't eat his spinach."

"House...."

He sighed. "I couldn't wake him this morning."

Her eyes grew wide. "Oh god. Maybe we should admit him."

"We don't have to admit him." He walked to the door, turning to face her.

"But, you said...."

"His MRI was normal. You're only acting like this because it's Wilson."

She rubbed her forehead. "But not being able to wake him."

"Come on, Cuddy. If he were any other patient, you wouldn't be concerned. What he's experiencing is symptomatic of a concussion. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours."

"I guess you're right. But I don't want him coming back to work for at least a week."

House smiled, interpreting that to mean that he also didn't have to come back for a week. "I'll tell him," he said as he opened the door and left the exam room.

He headed down the hall towards his office.

"Dr. House!"

Recognizing the voice of Dr. Cameron, he slowed down but kept walking. She caught up to him.

"I was surprised to see Dr. Wilson here this morning."

"He's just visiting," he said, picking up speed.

She matched his pace and walked alongside him. "Why is he wearing your watch?"

House stopped walking and looked at her with a surprised expression. "I'm not really sure," he said slowly. "I think it might have something to do with being able to determine the time of day."

"But why is he wearing your watch?"

"Because his was stolen," he said with a distinct edge to his voice.

The young woman didn't like his tone. "It's just a question."

"It's also none of your business."

Cameron placed her hands on her hips as she watched him walk away from her.

When he reached his office, he found Foreman and Chase sitting at the conference table. He grabbed his bag from his desk, picking up the phone to make a call. "Wilson...I'll meet you in your office in two minutes." He hung up the phone and went into the conference room.

"So, we're all squared away here?" he asked. Foreman nodded; Chase was engrossed in a medical journal.

"Good, call me when you get the test results. I'll be in Dr. Wilson's office and then I'm going home."

Chase looked up from his reading. "How's he doing?"

House wondered why his staff was so interested in James Wilson. "Just peachy."

"Tell him I'm glad he's doing better."

House leaned his back against the door pushing it open. "I'll be sure to tell him when we're in bed tonight....talking about you always turns him on." The door closed behind him.

House glanced back through the glass and saw the two doctors looking at each other with their mouths open. He smiled as he headed towards Wilson's office.

Chapter 12

House sat sprawled on the couch in Wilson's office as he watched the oncologist read a chart at his desk.

"You're not supposed to be working."

"I'm not," Wilson said without looking up.

"You're reading a chart. You're working."

The young doctor sighed loudly. He looked at his friend who was staring at him. "What?"

"I'm bored."

"So... what does that mean?"

"Let's go home and play house."

Wilson closed the file and leaned back in his chair. "What did Cuddy say?"

"You'll be happy to know that you're not to come back to work for a week."

Wilson looked surprised. "She said that?"

House nodded, grinning. "Now we have a whole week to spend on our honeymoon."

"She gave you off too?"

"I'm your doctor...I need to monitor you every minute." The other man rolled his eyes.

House sat up with the assistance of his cane, leaning forward. "Cameron asked me why you're wearing my watch."

Wilson's eyes opened wide. "Wait a minute. Cameron actually asked you why I was wearing your watch."

"Yep."

"I can't believe she would even notice something like that. She must really be into you." He tilted his head. "I thought she was over you."

"Apparently not," House said, gloating. "Good thing she didn't notice that hickey I gave you."

Something on Wilson's desk caught the older doctor's eye. He stood and limped to the desk to pick up the small item and study it. "What's this?" he asked, holding it up for his friend to see.

"You don't recognize it?"

"Am I supposed to?" He held the item up turning it around, squinting to get a better look.

"It's the good luck coin you gave me when I was about to take the ABIM oncology certification exam."

House made a face. "What happened to it?"

"It partially melted. After I left the police station I went to the street where the accident happened. I found it by the curb." He paused. "I also went to the street where I was carjacked." House became angry.

"Why the hell would you do that?'

The young doctor shrugged. "Don't know. I just did."

"What else did you see?"

Wilson stared straight ahead, a vacant look on his face. "I saw my blood on the ground."

House looked at his friend, concern on his face. He put the coin back on the desk. "So you think it worked?"

The oncologist smiled at his colleague. "Well, as good luck charms go, I'd say it did. He could've killed me."

"Then we wouldn't be having this conversation. And I'd be crying my eyes out. Which means my mascara would be running and who would want me then? All of which points to the fact that it must work."

Wilson reached over and picked up the coin, placing it into his pocket. It was just a coin but it meant a lot to him, mainly because it had come from his best friend. The fact that it seemed to be doing its job was an added bonus.

He eyed the other man. "So what do we have planned next?"

House tilted his head towards the door signaling that he wanted to leave.

Wilson stood and headed towards the door. "I need to stop by my place to pick up some things."

"Don't forget the baby powder and massage oil," House said, as he approached the door.

The young doctor smiled as he walked out of his office with his colleague.

Chapter 13

Wilson sat at the kitchen table picking at the food on his plate. "Your appetite hasn't returned," House said, leaning back in his chair watching him.

The young doctor looked up. "Maybe I just don't like the food."

"You don't like my cooking?"

Wilson pushed his chair back to get to his feet but House grabbed his wrist, keeping him seated. "You really need to eat."

"And you really need to stop telling me what to do."

He yanked his arm from House's grip and walked out of the kitchen.

House was dumbfounded. He placed his elbows on the table, leaning his forehead on his clasped hands. What the hell was that about? Then it occurred to him.

When he came into the living room a few minutes later he found the younger man lying against the back of the couch, his eyes closed. He leaned his cane against the coffee table and sat down next to him. Wilson opened his eyes and looked at him apologetically.

"House...."

The older doctor waved his hand. "It's okay. Irritability... delayed symptom. Or do you think it might be PMS?" he asked, causing the young doctor to snicker.

House cocked his head. "You really didn't like the food?"

"I don't mean to hurt your feelings but no, it tasted like cardboard," he said making a face.

"Loss of taste is also a symptom."

"Or maybe it's just your cooking."

House smirked. "Your argument sucks."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "My argument sucks because you don't agree."

"No. It sucks because you didn't eat enough to make any kind of informed judgment."

"Trust me, it was enough." He stifled a yawn. "Tired."

"You should go to bed."

He shook his head. "Not yet. How about we watch TV for a while," he said, taking the remote from the coffee table and switching on the television.

"Find something with a lot of sex and naked women," House said as he limped to his chair, easing into it and resting his cane against the side.

They ended up watching a movie about the Vietnam War, occasionally commenting to each other about a scene but remaining silent for the most part. Usually when watching movies, House would make inappropriate comments about the actors but had decided to forego the commentary on this night. During the film, he kept a watchful eye on his friend in case any additional delayed symptoms might present themselves.

Halfway through the movie, Wilson began rubbing his forehead, his face scrunched up from pain. He closed his eyes and lowered his head.

House switched off the television. "What is it?"

"My head...' he said, his voice strained.

"It just started?"

"It's.... been building."

I'll get the sumatriptan." House stood, grabbed his cane and quickly limped towards the bathroom.

He returned to find Wilson leaning on his elbows, his head resting in his hands. House sat down next to him. Without a word, the younger doctor leaned onto the arm of the couch and pulled down the waistband of his sweats allowing House to inject him. He winced.

"Done," House said as he placed the empty syringe and alcohol wipe on the coffee table. Wilson pulled his sweats back around his waist and sat up.

He sighed. "I was hoping this would be over."

"Your symptoms can last for weeks."

"Yes, I know. Yet you feel compelled to tell me anyway." He shook his head. "Sorry," he said, sighing, without looking at House.

"You should be sorry... I'm the one who has to put up with you." Wilson made a poor attempt at a smile.

"Give the meds a few minutes to work and then it's time to hit the hay. And speaking of meds..." House reached into his pocket for his Vicodin bottle, quickly swallowing a pill and returning the bottle to his pocket in one shot. He stood and limped towards the kitchen. "I just have to clean up the dishes."

Wilson laid his head on the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

When House returned to the living room, he found his friend curled up on his side, asleep. He gently shook him awake.

"How's the head?"

"It's getting better, but I need to get some sleep." He stood and slowly made his way to the spare bedroom. When he reached the door, he turned to find House about to disappear into his own bedroom.

"Where are you going?"

House turned to face him. "To the room were I sleep. You have a problem with that?"

"You're not spending the night in my room?"

House raised an eyebrow. "Well, I just assumed....."

Wilson cut him off. "Do me a favor, don't assume."

House held his tongue, aware that this was the concussion speaking and not his friend. He stood silently, his eyes cast to the floor unsure of what he could say without incensing him.

"Sleep with me," the young man said quietly.

House looked into his eyes." Are you sure that's what you want?"

"I'm sure."

"Just promise you'll be gentle," he said, following Wilson into the bedroom. "This is my first time."

House switched off the light and slid into bed. He glanced over to see Wilson lying on his back staring at the ceiling. A moment later he felt the younger man touch his hand.

"I didn't mean to snap at you."

House squeezed his hand. "I know."

Neither man attempted to pull their hand back. House waited until he knew his friend was asleep before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep himself.

He awoke to the sound of retching coming from the bathroom.

"Damn it."

He threw back the blanket and got out of bed as quickly as his leg would allow. As he stood he heard the toilet flush and water running. Switching on the lamp and noting the time - three AM - he grabbed his cane and limped to the other side of the bed, slowly sitting down on the edge and waiting for his friend to emerge from the bathroom.

Moments later Wilson walked into the bedroom looking pale and drawn, already showing signs of weight loss. He was startled to see House sitting on his side of the bed.

"Why didn't you wake me?" House asked. He couldn't hide the worry in his voice.

Wilson shrugged. "What could you do? I got to the bathroom in time." He sat down next to his friend.

"This concussion thing is really knocking you on your ass."

"I still say it's your cooking." Wilson said, rubbing the back of his neck. "You should...." He abruptly stopped talking.

Without warning the young doctor lurched towards the night stand with his arm outstretched, alarm on his face. House realized he was reaching for the plastic bowl and quickly retrieved it, placing it into his friend's hands. Not a second later, the young doctor began retching again, his entire body racking with painful spasms. House held onto him tightly, holding the bowl steady in his hands.

After several minutes, the spasms subsided and the older doctor could feel the tension in his friend's body slowly abating. Still clutching the bowl, Wilson stared at the wall, his eyes glazed.

House pulled him close as he took the plastic bowl from his hands, noting its contents as he placed it on the night stand. Opening the drawer, he pulled out a package of damp wipes, tore it open with his teeth and gently cleansed his friend's face. The young doctor leaned into him.

"Remind me not to eat your cooking again." His voice was weak and shaky belying his attempt at humor.

"It's not the food. You threw up bile and blood."

"That's because the food already went down the toilet."

House sighed. "I'm having you admitted to the hospital."

Wilson lifted his head and looked into the other man's eyes. "No."

"You'll be more comfortable there."

"I'm comfortable here."

"Jimmy...."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine." He didn't intend the words to come out as sharply as they did.

Wilson became angry. "It's just delayed symptoms...you said so yourself."

Grasping him by his arms, House gently turned him around so they were facing each other. "Jimmy, listen to me. You're not eating and you're hardly drinking."

The younger man looked into his friend's eyes. "Give me a shot of cyclizine. I'll try to eat," he said, his eyes almost pleading.

House shook his head. "Even if you do, you can't keep it down. I'm concerned about you becoming dehydrated. I need to put you on a drip."

"Greg....."

"I'm sorry, Jimmy. I'm taking you to the hospital." His resolve broken, Wilson cast his eyes to the floor. He listened quietly as House notified Cuddy and made the arrangements.

Chapter 14

House stood by the bed staring down at his friend as he slept soundly. He and Wilson had arrived at the hospital approximately four AM and were able to receive accelerated processing thanks to Cuddy. The young doctor was in his room by four thirty, but was having a difficult time. It seemed all his symptoms converged upon him at once; confusion, disorientation, bouts of nausea and a severe headache. Classic symptoms of dehydration.

Cuddy came into the room.

"How's he doing?" she asked quietly, keeping her eyes on the patient.

"Better."

"What did Dr. Roth say?"

He shook his head. "Dr. Roth is an idiot."

"House, please, just tell me what he said."

"He said he has a concussion. Imagine that."

"And?"

"And, he's secretly had a crush on you since the Christmas party. Did you really take your bra off without removing your shirt?"

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "I know you're upset."

"I'm not upset...he'll be fine." He looked over at his friend.

Her eyes followed his and she hesitated for a moment at the sight of Wilson in a hospital bed. She turned her attention back to her problem doctor. "Then what is it?"

House sighed. "I should've brought him in earlier."

"Don't do that to yourself. It's not like it was too late."

He tapped the floor with his cane once for emphasis. "That's just it...why the hell did I wait so long? He wasn't eating, barely drinking. Every time I turned around he was puking." He rubbed his forehead. "I kept assuming it was from the concussion."

"Stop beating yourself up...they do share the same symptoms. And it's impossible to be objective when you're emotionally involved."

He looked at her. "Thank you. I feel so much better now."

"As long as he'll be alright, that's what matters." She glanced over to the oncologist one more time as she turned to leave. "I'll be back later."

House walked back to the bed and studied his friend as he slept. He noted that the contusions on his forehead and cheek were healing. The red mark on his other cheek from his wakeup slap the previous morning was almost gone. But he was thin and pale. And he was sick. House stroked his hair. "I'm sorry, Jimmy."

He glanced up to find Cameron watching him through the glass wall, their eyes meeting briefly. He turned his attention back to his friend, continuing to gently stroke his hair. When he looked through the glass wall again she was gone.

The bag from the saline drip was nearly empty so he switched it with the new one that the nurse had brought in earlier, and checked the tubing to ensure that it was working properly. As he turned to face his friend, he was pleasantly surprised to find his eyes open. He limped closer to the bed.

"Hey."

Wilson blinked a few times and turned his head in House's direction. The older doctor looked directly into his eyes. He noted a flash of uncertainty followed by recognition.

"Hey." Wilson's voice was hoarse.

"You want some water?

"Yeah, thanks."

House took the pitcher off the nightstand and poured some water into a plastic cup. Placing a straw in the cup, he brought it to Wilson's lips.

"Here, Jimmy." Wilson began drinking. "Slow down, not too fast."

"Thirsty."

As House held the straw to his friend's lips, he looked up to see Dr. Roth enter the room. "How's the patient?" he asked, smiling.

Wilson stopped drinking. "I'm fine." House put the plastic cup back on the table.

"No headache? Nausea?"

"No. Just tired."

"Good. I'm just going to ask you some questions to check your orientation and memory." Wilson nodded.

"Can you tell me what year this is?"

"Two thousand five."

"Month?"

Wilson glanced over to House who was watching him intently. He looked back at Roth. "Current month?" he asked again.

"I'm not sure."

Dr. Roth looked at House, making brief eye contact. He turned his attention back to the patient.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital."

"Which one?"

"Princeton Plainsboro."

"Just a few more questions and we'll move on. Do you remember what happened to you?"

Wilson squinted his eyes as he tried to remember. He began to panic. "I can't remember."

House put his hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Jimmy. You're just a little confused."

Dr. Roth quickly went through the remainder of the exam, checking Wilson's pupils and testing for coordination, sensation and concentration. Finishing up the exam, he smiled at his patient. Your pupils look fine and your coordination and sensation are normal. You're experiencing some orientation and memory issues, which isn't abnormal for a grade three concussion. And then there's the dehydration. So, we'll just keep you here and monitor your progress." He glanced down at the chart. "How's your appetite?"

"I don't have one."

"We'll keep you on the drip for twenty-four hours, but I'd like you to try to eat something at every meal and drink throughout the day. You'll stay on the anti-emetic so you shouldn't have a problem with nausea. And you can have sumatriptan on request for your headaches." He looked up from the chart and smiled. "Do you have any questions?"

"When do you think I can get out of here?"

"That depends on your progress. It's a little early to tell if you have post concussion syndrome, but if your symptoms persist we'll have to determine their exact nature and go from there as far as treatment." He smiled broadly at both men and turned to leave.

"Thank you Dr. Full-of-Love," House said after he left the room. "How do patients put up with doctors?"

He looked at his friend lying in the hospital bed. "So, you're having a problem remembering. No big deal."

Wilson looked at him. "I didn't recognize you at first," he said, his voice cracking.

The older doctor looked down towards the floor. "It'll get better." Wilson nodded as he rubbed the back of his neck. "What happened to me?"

House shook his head. "Some asshole carjacked you. He knocked you out cold."

Wilson's eyes opened wide." So you're saying I don't have a car?"

"What are you so upset about? It was a Volvo."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I guess some things are better left forgotten."

House glanced at his watch.

"You took your watch back?"

"No."

"Yes, you took it back. You're wearing it." The younger doctor pointed to his friend's wrist.

"This you remember," House said shaking his head. And it was just a loan. What else do you remember?" He crossed his arms making sure the one with the watch was visible.

Wilson thought a moment. He looked at his friend and smiled. "I remember sleeping with you."

Chapter 15

Over the next two days House never left the hospital. He ordered take out for his meals or sent someone on his team to fetch food for himself as well as for Wilson. Chase was delegated to retrieve his clothes and personal accessories from his apartment. Cuddy arranged to have a recliner chair brought into the room so he could sleep comfortably. Occasionally when Wilson slept he would go to the younger doctor's office and sleep on his couch when he felt he needed to stretch out.

Wilson's appetite improved; he was taken off the IV drip and the anti-emetic. He still had headaches, not as often as before but still as debilitating. Dr. Roth had told him that it would probably be about a week until they moderated in intensity. He passed his neurological screenings for the most part, recalling dates and times. However, he still experienced bouts of confusion upon waking and also could not remember what had happened to him the day he was carjacked. He never asked House for details; he only knew what his friend had told him the first day he was in the hospital and the older doctor never offered any information. Wilson was prepared to let it go, although it did bother him that he couldn't remember.

"I'm not dying."

House looked up from his magazine. "Thank you for the report. I was worried."

"You don't have to baby sit me. Go home. Get some rest."

House smiled. "Maybe I like to baby sit you." He went back to his reading.

The younger doctor switched the TV on and started watching a documentary on tsunami's. Unable to get into it, he glanced over to his friend who appeared to be engrossed in an article.

"Did we have sex?"

House's head sprang up. "You don't remember?"

Wilson scrunched up his face. "No."

"Every chance we could."

"You think I would remember something like that," the other man said, scratching his head.

"I guess you're sicker than you thought."

Wilson leaned forward in his bed. "Do you think my memory of what happened to me will ever return?"

"Memories are overrated."

He leaned back against his pillow. "It would be nice to remember having sex with you."

House smiled, his eyes still on the magazine. "Well... I guess we'll just have to make new memories."

"Okay."

House looked up. "That's your concussion talking."

"My concussion wants to marry you. I just want to have sex with you."

The older doctor studied his friend, attempting to glean some insight from looking into his chestnut colored eyes. "Don't you think you're rushing things?"

"I've known you for a long time. So, nope."

"Really, take your time answering."

"I know what I want, House."

"A new Volvo?"

"It's been there under the surface," the oncologist said. "Why not dig it up?"

"Got a shovel?" House asked, noting how much brighter and clearer his friend's eyes were from just the day before.

"I miss sleeping with you," the younger man said quietly.

House continued to stare into his eyes. "So do I."

Wilson turned towards the nurse's station, then back to his friend.

House smiled. He quickly limped to the door and locked it. He closed all the blinds. As he approached the bed Wilson shifted over making room for him to climb in next to him. They intertwined their arms as they lay in bed next to each other.

House held his best friend close. It was almost like slow motion, the captivating sensation of hot breath on his neck. Without realizing it he pressed his hips against the other man's, pushing into him. Wilson's tongue found his ear and twirled around the outer rim, slowly sinking inside, teasingly drawing it out. Moaning quietly House began moving his hips, the friction pushing him higher.

He pulled away abruptly and sat up.

"Hey!"

House attempted to catch his breath.

"Why'd you leave?"

He shook his head. "First of all, you have a concussion...not conducive to having sex. Second, that tongue of yours. You need to register it as a dangerous weapon." He took a breath. "And as far as what you were doing." He paused. "What was that you were doing?"

There was a knock at the door. Both men looked at each other, their eyes wide resembling children caught playing with matches.

House stood, leaning into his cane and quickly limped to the door, unlocking and opening it.

Nurse Jackson was standing on the other side of the door carrying her blood pressure monitor and thermometer as well as her patient's chart. She walked into the room and stopped when she saw the blinds drawn. She turned her attention towards House.

"Oh, the blinds. Yes, well...I was checking out a very nasty rash on Dr. Wilson's.... you know. He's very shy."

Nurse Jackson scowled at House as she turned around to look at her patient. He smiled sheepishly. She approached the bed and got to work, checking temperature, blood pressure and pulse rate, marking the information on her chart.

"Dr. Roth is releasing you tomorrow," she said gruffly. "He'll be in later to talk to you so if you have any questions you have time to write them down." She started to leave, but turned back towards her patient. "Would you like him to look at that rash?"

Wilson's eyes grew wide. "Uh...no, that's okay, Dr. House is treating me for that." She turned back towards the door and walked out of the room nodding to House as she passed him.

House watched her leave. "She scares me." He limped over to Wilson's bed and sat on the side. Taking a pen and pad from the bedside table he handed it to his friend. "I have questions for Dr. Roth....write them down. Ready?"

Wilson held the pen to pad prepared to write. House began dictating his questions. "Question number one; when did you get to be such an idiot?" Wilson shifted his eyes towards House. He tossed the pad and pen to the end of the bed.

"I'm not through yet."

The younger man rolled his eyes. "Why don't you just ask him?

"He might hit me."

Wilson began rubbing his forehead as he closed his eyes, resting his head on his pillow.

"Headache?"

"For a change."

"I'll get the sumatriptan." House quickly limped to the nurse's station to retrieve the medication.

He returned a few minutes later to find his friend curled on his side in obvious pain. "Is it that bad?" He asked quietly.

"It's bad. Came on so fast."

"This will take care of it." House limped around the bed and pulled the covers back to administer the injection into the younger man's hip. He discarded the empty syringe into the sharps container and went back to check on his friend.

Wilson was clutching the side of the bed with his hands clenched in fists, his face tense, eyes tightly closed. House squeezed his hand to let him know he was there and sank down into his chair.

Chapter 16

Wilson followed House into his apartment and promptly dropped down onto the couch. The older man carried his duffle bag into his bedroom, emerging a few minutes later to find his friend sprawled across the cushions.

"Make yourself at home."

"That's kind of you."

House limped over to his chair and slowly sank into it, resting his cane against the side. They sat silently for several minutes, Wilson contemplating the ceiling, House watching him contemplate the ceiling.

"Anything you want to do?'

Wilson squinted his eyes in thought. "Yeah. I'm starving."

The other man's eyes opened wide. "I'm shocked and delighted. But mostly delighted." He leaned forward. "What would you like?"

"Anything as long is you don't cook it."

House smirked. "I'll order something in, but no Italian. I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night to the melodic sounds of you puking up meatballs and tomato sauce."

"What, you don't like that?"

House smiled as he picked up the phone and pressed speed dial for his favorite Chinese restaurant. He ordered steamed dumplings, wonton soup and chicken with rice. He hung up the phone to find Wilson staring at him clearly annoyed.

"You may as well have ordered baby food. What's wrong with spare ribs? Or an egg roll....or fried rice?"

House winced. "Again, the sound of you spewing dim sum is not a good thing. It interferes with my beauty sleep."

The younger man scratched his chin. "I guess I'm not ready for the hard stuff anyway. Steamed rice is probably all I could handle."

"Well, since I ordered this meal for your benefit, you can pay for it."

"Again, kind of you."

The other man smiled. "I always think of my friends first."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "Your friends?

"Are you insinuating that I don't have any friends?"

"No, I'm not insinuating anything. You don't have any friends."

"What about you?"

Wilson stood to get his wallet. "You can't include me....I'm grandfathered in," he said as he walked into the spare bedroom returning a few minutes later. He placed his wallet on the coffee table and sank down into the couch all the while staring at a small item he was holding in his hand.

House squinted as he peered at the object. "What is that?"

"Don't know," the younger man said, shrugging. "I found it in my pants pocket."

House leaned forward to get a better look and noted that it was Wilson's partially melted good luck coin. He leaned back in his chair. "Looks like the coin I gave you before your ABIM exam."

"Right...that's what it is." He looked perplexed. "I wonder what happened to it."

House didn't reply. If Wilson were to remember what had occurred the day of the carjacking, he wanted him to do it on his own. The young oncologist dismissed the coin, placing it on the coffee table. A few minutes later the delivery boy rang the doorbell.

After dinner the two friends sat in front of the television watching a Twilight Zone marathon. Wilson was enjoying the evening, feeling better than he had in a while. House mocked the actors as he usually did, making fun of their acting abilities or their dated hairstyles and clothing.

At one point in the evening, he glanced over to find Wilson staring at the coin on the coffee table, a frown on his face, his eyes squinting. After a moment, he shrugged his shoulders and turned his attention back to the TV screen.

House switched off the television. "What say we call it a night?

Wilson stood. "I'm exhausted. Too much activity my first day out." The older doctor watched his friend stretch out his back, yawning. He looked at House. "Where are we sleeping tonight?"

"What are my choices?"

Wilson cocked his head in thought. "Well, you have two. Your room or mine."

"I'll go with mine," House said. "Home bed advantage."

"I just need to get some things out of my room," Wilson said, as he turned towards the spare bedroom.

"Make it snappy."

"Yes, dear," the younger man said as he disappeared into the bedroom.

Wilson slid into bed next to House, turning over on his side and leaning on his elbow to face his friend. "Are you sleepy?" he asked.

"Yes."

"So am I."

House shifted his eyes from the ceiling to his friend. "So why are we talking?"

Wilson leaned down and lightly touched his lips to the other man's. Briefly hesitating House returned the kiss, slipping his tongue into his friend's mouth, tasting him. There was silence in the room, save for the sound of steady breathing that slowly escalated to quiet moans.

The kiss grew more passionate as the younger man shifted his weight partially onto his friend, careful not to impinge on his right leg. They were both wearing sweatpants, but the mere act of their bodies touching inflamed the need they had for each other. Slowly rocking their hips, they moved in sync, House wrapping his arm around Wilson's back and gripping his hip, gradually giving in to his desire for the other man.

He stopped moving, cursing himself.

"Hmmph....? Wilson reacted, his mouth still pressed against his friend's.

House turned his head to the side and whispered into Wilson's ear. "We can't."

The young doctor didn't move for several seconds, groaning as he rolled off his friend.

There was silence in the room for a few moments.

"You're concerned for my welfare," Wilson said, sighing as he rubbed his face with his hand.

"Well, I'm certainly not thinking of myself."

"Greg....."

House sighed. "I'm not taking any chances with you. I've already made too many mistakes at your expense."

Wilson leaned onto his elbow to look down at his friend, their eyes locking in the dark room. Staring at each other for several seconds, the young oncologist finally flopped onto his back defeated.

He sighed deeply. "Okay, we'll do it your way. But this wipes out any payback you get from me. In fact, you owe me...and I expect reparation. With interest."

The older man smiled as he stared up at the ceiling. "That you can count on."

It didn't take long for both men to drift off to sleep.

House groggily rolled onto his stomach, reaching his hand out to touch his friend on the other side of the bed. Except instead of feeling Wilson, he felt his pillow. With his eyes closed, he groped around with his hand attempting to land on a body part belonging to the other man. Without any luck, he opened one eye to see that Wilson wasn't there. His first reaction was to panic, fearing that his friend was sick in the bathroom. He turned over and sat up, noticing some light coming from the living room.

Wincing slightly, he sat up as he brought his legs to the side of the bed. Quickly downing a Vicodin, he leaned into his cane to stand and limped out of the bedroom to see where Wilson was.

He found him sitting on the living room couch, one table lamp casting a muted golden glow over the entire room. Wilson looked up as he approached and watched as he sank down into the cushions next to him.

"You okay?"

They younger man sighed lightly. "I'm fine. Couldn't sleep."

"I thought you were exhausted."

"I was. I am. But this was bothering me."

"What?" House asked, sitting up.

Wilson held up the partially melted good luck coin. "This," he said as he handed it to his friend, staring into his eyes.

House remained silent as he looked at the coin. The other man leaned over and put his arms around him, pulling him close. Returning the hug, House lightly kissed him on the forehead.

"You remember, don't you?"

Wilson pulled back. "You locked yourself in my office."

"Made me feel closer to you."

The young oncologist shook his head. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"If you had insisted, I would've told you. But there really was no reason to relive that kind of pain."

"I'm sorry."

House shook his head. "No reason to be sorry. You're sitting here next to me....makes talking about it a lot easier."

"We don't have to talk about it."

The other man looked into his best friend's eyes. "Good."

They both rested their heads on the back of the couch. After several minutes of silence, House rolled his head towards his friend.

"Let's go back to bed."

End.

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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.

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