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  Bus Stop 
 by Topaz Eyes	

 Notes: Written for Kutner Fest at kutner_love. Spoilers from 5 x 20, "A
Simple Explanation," to the end of the season. Thank you so much
hannahrorlove and karaokegal for reading this and making it better.

~~~~~

After Kutner rapped on the door to House's apartment, it didn't take long
for Wilson to come and open it. Wilson was wearing jeans and McGill
sweatshirt, hair mussed; he clutched a half-full bottle of beer. He looked
confused--his eyes glassy, like he'd had a few--but he smiled in greeting.

"Hello, how can I help--?" Wilson's eyes widened and his jaw dropped as if
he'd seen a ghost. "Kutner?"

Which, Kutner supposed, was entirely appropriate, since that was exactly
what Wilson was seeing. "Hey, Dr. Wilson," he said. "How's it going?"

Wilson grabbed the door and leaned on it heavily; it took a minute of
blinking and gaping, a fish flopping in air, until he grasped the question
and could answer normally. "I--it's going well. How about you? How are you
doing?"

"I'm doing okay, thanks." Kutner shrugged and nodded towards the living
room. "Can I come in?"

Kutner heard Wilson mutter to himself, "God, I must be drunker than I
thought." Then Wilson shook his head as if to clear it and stepped back,
holding the door open to let him pass.

Kutner entered and looked around, impressed, as Wilson shut the door. "So
this is what House's pad looks like from the inside. Sweet." He stopped at
the baby grand and gave a low whistle. "Is that a Steinway? Awesome. My
piano teacher never had one of those. I wish I'd kept up my lessons but I
stopped after a couple years."

Wilson spoke up behind him. "So--do you want a beer?"

Kutner turned and held up a six-pack. "Brought my own. Can't drink
real-world beer now. Which sorta sucks 'cause I miss my Sleeman Cream Ale.
Bud After-Light just doesn't cut it."

Wilson grinned. "Beer in the afterlife. That's--strangely comforting to
know."

"There are some comforts to it, yeah."

They rounded the couch and sat down at opposite ends. Wilson swung his
bare feet onto the coffee table. Kutner mimicked his movement, crossing
his ankles. Now that he was used to not wearing shoes all the time, it
felt surreal seeing the living bare-footed.

"What are you doing here?" Wilson asked.

"Had some unfinished business to take care of," Kutner said. "You were on
the list." Kutner tipped the can back, swallowed, and let out a soft
belch.

"You're making the rounds?"

Kutner licked his lips, tasted the hops' bitterness. "Making amends,
yeah." Kutner stared at a far corner. "Something I need to do. Tell you
though, I'm not looking forward to seeing Taub."

"You may also want to avoid House for now. He's seeing enough ghosts these
days."

Kutner nodded; he'd figured the same thing, but was glad for the
confirmation. They raised their drinks, bottle and can, and drank. It was
strange to be drinking with Wilson, living and ghost side-by-side; but at
the same time it felt like being with an old friend, him and Wilson, two
guys kicking back and drinking beer on a rainy spring evening. Except for
the whole him-being-dead thing, of course.

"Didn't you realize House would go off the deep end when you shot
yourself?"

He started at the harshness of Wilson's voice breaking the silence. Wilson
stared straight ahead; Kutner couldn't help notice the simmering--not
frustration, not sadness...but resignation beneath the surface. Well, this
was why he was here. "I was more concerned about what I was feeling at the
time."

"Of course you were." A fleeting redness, like embarrassment, crossed
Wilson's face. He swallowed another mouthful. "He spent weeks trying to
figure out why you did it."

"Yeah, I bet he was relentless," Kutner agreed. They shared a wry chuckle
before he eyed Wilson closely. "Do you blame me?"

Wilson looked at him, his eyes dark and piercing. "Yes. In a way. Your
suicide was the tipping point for his breakdown. House saw a big part of
himself in you, though he'd never admit it. I think he admired you, for
overcoming your past in a way he never could his." He sighed and took a
long pull of beer. "So I think, after you died, he thought on some level,
if you couldn't handle it, how could he hope to? He started seeing Amber,
just to cope. Though if it hadn't been you, it would have been something
else sooner or later. I ought to thank you for finally convincing him he
needs help."

"Wow. Seeing Amber. Guy's big on guilt, isn't he."

Wilson snorted; it didn't quite make it to a laugh. "And water is wet."

"But he's getting the help he needs. That's a good thing, right?"

"Yes, it is. Though I wish--but I'm just talking to a figment of my
imagination." Wilson rose, and wobbled on his feet. "A figment of my very
drunk imagination." Again he laughed without mirth and saluted Kutner.
"I'll be back if I don't check myself into Mayfield first." He listed to
the bathroom.

Kutner swallowed another mouthful of beer, listened to Wilson peeing in
the toilet, finished the can and put it back in the ring (easier to
carry), and thought about nothing except how to word what he had to say
next. In a minute he heard the toilet flush and the water run in the sink.
In another minute, Wilson appeared again, just a little unsteady as he
returned to the couch and plopped himself down. He lifted the bottle from
the coffee table and drained the dregs. He belched loudly, pressing on his
stomach, and Kutner grinned. Two guys drinking beer.

At length, Wilson twisted the empty bottle in his hands, took a deep
breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "I--we--should have seen something was up a
long time ago. We took you for granted, assumed you were okay. We figured
that you would always be there. And we were wrong."

Kutner reached out, touched his shoulder. Wilson turned his head to stare
at Kutner's hand on his arm. "Look, I'm sorry for what happened too. I
wish I'd done things differently, like letting you know what was going
on."

His hand fell away, and their gazes met. After a minute, Wilson said
softly, "You didn't fail us, Kutner--we failed you." He then looked away,
his mouth twitching.

"I'm just glad House has a friend like you to look out for him."

Wilson nodded, and with that Kutner knew they were okay. After a short
silence, Wilson looked up, his dark eyes now unfocused in sleepy
inebriation. "I still have your book of short stories you lent me. What do
you want me to do with the last one?"

Yeah, that's right, he'd forgotten--he bounced to his feet, thrilled that
Wilson still remembered. "It'd be great if you'd finish it."

"Did you ever figure out why Pokemon lose their abilities when they're
flung--?"

"Energy imbalance. Which also explains why the trainers can't wake up."

"And anyone from the 4-D world would gain extra powers in the 3-D world."

"Yep." 

"Sounds simple enough." Wilson yawned and slumped down into the cushions.
In less than a minute Wilson was snoring, his head lolling back. Kutner
smiled outright. Amber was right, hiding his visits in the guise of
drunkenness or dreams--or drunken dreams--worked well.

"You are such a geek."

Speak of the devil. "And a happy hello to you, too." He looked up and
grinned at her where she stood in the middle of the room with her arms
crossed.

"Pokemon? I'm not surprised at that coming from you, but Wilson? How the
hell did you rope him into that?"

"Before I died I told him he could read it to his patients after I
finished it. Pokemon's all the rage in the pediatric crowd. "

"Figures." She sat on the edge of the couch and nodded toward Wilson.
"How's he doing?"

"Holding it together."

Amber nodded in agreement. "Wilson's a survivor. Compared to some of the
crap he's had to take, House at the funny farm is a walk in the park." She
reached down, stroked Wilson's cheek.

Kutner watched as Wilson, in his sleep, pressed into Amber's palm. He felt
a twinge; he'd always be attracted to her, a little. But, they were
friends now, and that was enough. He looked at the clock on the mantel.
"Gotta visit Taub now," he said with a sigh. "Assuming he'll want to talk
to me. Though I wouldn't blame him if he doesn't."

Amber looked up at him. "Good luck with that," she said.

"Yeah, thanks." Kutner rose and picked up the six-pack, swinging it in his
hand. "See you back at the bus."  
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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 NBC/Universal, 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.