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  Lies My Friend Told Me 
 by Rennie  

 Dr. Greg House sat quietly at his desk listening to Pinball Wizard
blaring through the speakers of his Ipod, his desk lamp the lone source of
illumination in the office. As the music played, his mind was absorbed
with thoughts of his friend and colleague, Dr. James Wilson. He leaned
back in his chair, resting his head against the back, sighing quietly as
he rehashed the issue over and over again, still unable to come up with a
plausible explanation. 

For the past two days, he and his staff had been involved with a new
case...or patient... whose diagnosis had so far eluded him and his
underlings. He had planned to spend the rest of the day researching
possible explanations for his patient's curious symptoms. But as the
afternoon faded into evening, House had found himself thinking only of
this, and in spite of himself, realized that his initial feelings of doubt
had morphed into anger. As he stared out the window watching the rain
batter the glass in steady droplets, his thoughts were totally consumed
with James Wilson.

At that moment, the young doctor entered House's office carrying his
overcoat across his forearm and his briefcase at his side. He walked up to
House's desk, dropped his belongings onto a chair and sank down into the
other chair. The older doctor didn't acknowledge his presence.

"I totally forgot to eat today," Wilson said as he picked up the oversized
tennis ball from House's desk and began tossing it back and forth between
his hands. 

"And you're telling me this, why? I'm not your Mommy. Eat a sandwich,"
House said, his voice unwelcoming, his attention still on the raindrops
bouncing off the window. 

Wilson caught the ball and placed it back onto to the desk. "Okay. Why are
you so cranky?" he asked. "What happened?"

House turned to look at his colleague as he reached over to turn off the
music. "I'm busy. If you're the smart, intuitive doctor you think you are,
you'll leave me to my thoughts." He turned away from Wilson.

"Is that a warning, House?" He cocked his head. "Because that's unusual
for you... you generally just strike at will." House didn't reply. "Okay,
just tell me what it is... I'm a doctor, I can take it." He sat there, his
head at an angle scrutinizing House. Something was obviously bothering him
and the younger doctor wanted to help. Or maybe not... he wasn't quite
certain.

House ignored Wilson's comments and continued to gaze out the window.

Wilson sighed, growing frustrated at House's apparent dismissal of his
presence. 

"House."

No response.

"Look, House, if you want me to leave, I'll leave. But this little game
you're playing is starting to get on my nerves. What, are you five?"
Wilson leaned forward in his chair, waiting for House to reply. It was a
long day and he was tired. And now he was becoming angry.

House snickered and turned to look at him. The corners of his mouth
slanted up into a smile, but his eyes narrowed menacingly. "I thought you
liked games," he said, rubbing his cheek with his hand. 

Wilson shook his head in confusion. "House, I'm tired and I'm hungry. If
you have something to say, then ..."

"I've been sitting here all afternoon trying to figure what could possess
you to do something like that. I wondered.... could it be the challenge,
sheer curiosity, that dark side of you that nobody seems to know about
.... "

Wilson had had enough. "House! What? What is it?" He stood up abruptly and
leaned over the desk, palms flat on the surface, his eyes glaring. 

"My, my, aren't you crabby when you're hungry. Want a lollipop?" House
reached across his desk to grab the candy that lay there, but was suddenly
interrupted by Wilson grasping his wrist.

"Stop it," Wilson said, his voice low and controlled. "You're acting
weird, even for you."

House smirked and yanked his hand away from the young doctor's grip. He
leaned back in his chair and looked up at him. "I know all about it, Dr.
Wilson. I know that it was you," he said, his voice unemotional.

"Okay. You know that it was me," Wilson said slowly repeating House's
words, furrowing his brow as he attempted to discern what this was about.
After a few moments, he lifted his arms in the air and dropped them down
to his sides in exasperation. He looked at House, whose face was still
expressionless. Totally unsure what to make of this, Wilson crossed his
arms across his chest and looked questioningly at the scruffy doctor
sitting behind the desk.

House looked up at the addled oncologist and smiled dauntingly. "It was
you, Dr. Wilson, who came up with the game plan." He leaned back in his
chair and waited for a response.

"What game plan, House? Stop playing with me!" Wilson shouted.

"The bet," House said, his voice controlled, demeanor casual, in fact
almost appearing to be amused. 

Wilson stiffened. The bet. House didn't have to elaborate... he knew what
bet his friend was referring to. Wilson had been afraid that this might
happen, that House would somehow find out. And he had no idea how he would
deal with that possibility if it did occur. But as the weeks wore on, that
fear slowly dissipated, too soon apparently, and he found himself caught
off guard. He uncrossed his arms and let them drop to his sides, almost in
defeat. "Okay. Well, uh...how did you find ..."

"What difference does it make?" House cut him off, his voice now with an
edge to it. "I know." He leaned accusingly towards Wilson.

The young doctor stared at House; noticing the stiffness of his jaw, the
narrowed blue eyes penetrating his own. There was no point in asking; the
answer was obvious. "And you're angry," he said, resignation clear in his
voice.

House grinned. "You think?" He leaned back in his chair again, his
piercing eyes unnerving the younger doctor. Wilson knew he had to come
clean; obviously he had no choice, but in truth, he actually felt
relieved. When Dr. Cuddy had asked him what he was going to do, he had
replied that he would do nothing, that he had done enough damage. The
guilt had eaten at him for weeks, and now, due to this unforeseen
development, he actually had the opportunity to explain his actions to
House. He owed him that much anyway. 

His eyes fell to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck, returning
his attention to House who stared icily at him. "Look, House, you must
know that Cuddy and I were concerned about you; we only had your best
interest at heart," he said, fully aware of how lame he sounded. 

"Save it, Wilson", House quipped. "Your motives are irrelevant. What
pisses me off is that you and Cuddy actually took the time to discuss me
like some kind of lab rat. So, tell me, do you two have weekly meetings
where you both decide what food I should be eating, what woman I should be
doing, what drugs I should or shouldn't be taking? You two get off
conspiring behind my back?"

The young doctor's eyes narrowed. "There was no conspiring," he said,
taking offense to House's accusation.

"The hell there wasn't," House shouted. "Get yourself a life, Wilson, and
stay the hell out of mine." 

"You're twisting this around into something it's not, "Wilson shouted
back. He took a deep breath to calm down. "Okay, okay. If I'm guilty of
anything it's that I didn't think this through. I was concentrating on the
end result and didn't anticipate the chain of events... I apologize for
that." 

"Chain of events? By 'chain of events' are you by any chance referring,
for example... the fact that I broke my own fingers?" 

Wilson said nothing, avoiding House's stare.

"At a loss for words, Dr. Wilson? Or do you just hate admitting you were
wrong?"

"I apologize for my methods but not for taking action; something had to be
done," Wilson said, carefully choosing his words trying not to further
antagonize House. Apparently, he chose unwisely.

House banged his fist loudly on the desk. "That's not your call, Doctor!"
He shouted, clearly enraged.

Wilson sighed. "I'm your friend, House. I felt I had to do something. You
need...needed help."

House laughed bitterly. "Help? That's what you call it? I don't need that
kind of help." He held up his hand. "I fucking broke my fingers! You
could've said something when I came to you."

"And if I had, what would you have done?"

"That's not the point, damn it! Why didn't you say something?"

Wilson shifted his eyes up towards the ceiling, then turned his attention
back to the older doctor. He looked into House's eyes. "I did the best I
could at the time."

House smirked. "You disappoint me, Dr. Wilson." He shook his head and
turned away.

He knew House was right. The entire idea of the bet was clearly a bad one,
and he regretted it everyday. Yet, he still felt that some good had come
of it. Or was he just placating himself? He wasn't sure. "But you did
learn something," he said quietly.

"Yeah, I guess I did," House said. "I learned that I need to pick my
friends more carefully."

Wilson flinched. "I'm your friend."

House glared at him. "Sorry, Doc, but I'm finding that hard to buy at this
moment."

Wilson sighed. "I told you that I'm sorry. What can I do to make you
believe that?" he asked, his voice low.

"You're sorry," House repeated as if he were contemplating whether to
believe the veracity of those words.

"Yes," Wilson replied softly.

"Or is it that you're sorry you were caught?"

Wilson's eyes narrowed. "You can't really believe that," he said trying to
contain his increasing irritation.

"Well, duh. How could I not? Admit it... you never would've said anything
if I hadn't found out."

Wilson nodded slightly, his anger dissipating somewhat. House wasn't
really wrong; he never would've said anything if he hadn't been
confronted. But he still felt he had made the right call by keeping his
mouth shut. He was sure House would've continued with the bet anyway, and
it would've served no useful purpose if he had come forward. In fact,
considering the emotional and physical mess House was in that week, it
probably would've made matters worse.

"The bet was a bad idea, I admit that. But you have to know that I'm your
friend," Wilson said hesitantly. How could House think otherwise, he
thought. As furious as he may be, he still had to know that Wilson was his
friend and always would be.

House looked away from Wilson.

"House, you can't really think...."

House returned his gaze to the younger doctor. "What I'm finding fucking
difficult to understand is why you'd keep this from me. I might buy that
you and Cuddy had good intentions...as misguided as they were... but why
hide behind Cuddy?"

"I wasn't hiding," Wilson said, his voice raised.

"You were hiding behind Cuddy," House persisted.

"House, I tried more than once to talk to you about this... about the
pills. You blew me off every time. I told you that I was worried about the
effects they were having on your health, but you never listened. I was
desperate to reach you, so I came up with this bet, stupid as it was. But
it had to come from Cuddy or you never would've agreed to it."

"So... in your asinine logic, you were actually trying to teach me
something. Or were you really trying to learn something for yourself and
you needed me to be the scapegoat?"

Wilson shook his head, squinting his eyes.

"No, I'm really curious," House said, leaning back in his chair, his
expression inquisitive.

"I felt you couldn't go on like you had been... with the pills," he said.
"Like you continue to do now. You know how I feel about that." The young
doctor looked out the window noticing how unusually dark the clouds had
become.

"Because you're my friend."

Wilson's head snapped back towards House. "Yes, because I'm your friend.
Is that an issue?"

"I'm not sure."

"House ....."

"You should've said something." House swiveled his chair away from Wilson
and pretended to watch the rain.

Wilson lowered his eyes to the floor. He had already apologized twice...
what else could he say? Obviously House was not in a forgiving mode;
hopefully he just needed some time. The young oncologist retrieved his
coat and briefcase from the chair, hesitating as if he were about to say
something, then thought better of it. He turned to leave, quickly walking
out of House's office. 

 House spun his chair around and watched Wilson's shadow disappear around
the corner. He was still angry. Even though his so-called friend had
apologized, House felt that he had offered it reluctantly. And what
bothered him most was that Wilson had not apologized for keeping his
involvement a secret. If Wilson were truly the close friend he claimed to
be, he would've come to House and talked to him. But even now when
confronted, Wilson still hadn't apologized for that. 

House reached over and turned on his Ipod. Leaning back in his chair, he
closed his eyes and lost himself in the music.

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Wilson popped his head into Dr. Cuddy's office and found her sitting
behind her desk signing papers. 

"You busy?" he asked, quickly scanning the room almost expecting to find
House hiding behind a chair.

"Well...no, not for you. What's up?" Cuddy asked, resting her pen on the
desk and looking up at Wilson.

He walked into the room and stood in front of her, placing his hands on
his hips.

"House knows that the bet was my idea," he said, watching her closely for
a reaction.

"He what? How?" she asked, dumbfounded at the news. 

"He wouldn't tell me," he said, not totally sure he trusted her response.
He paused for a moment. "You...uh...you didn't tell him by any chance, did
you?"

She glared at him. "I most certainly did not!"

"Sorry," he said contritely, shrugging his shoulders.

"So what did he say?" she asked impatiently.

"He's pissed," Wilson said, almost adding.... what the hell did you
expect? .... but thought better of it.

"How pissed?" 

"Really really pissed," Wilson said, shaking his head. 

"This does not sound good. What did he say?" she asked again, resting her
chin on her hand looking up at Wilson, apprehension apparent in her face.

"Well," Wilson said slowly, "he's questioning our friendship." He rubbed
the back of his neck and looked hopefully into her eyes for some magical
solution to his dilemma.

It was easy to see that Wilson was upset. Cuddy remembered his response
when she had asked what he was going to do that Friday after the bet was
over. He said that he had done enough damage. And now it was coming back
to haunt him in the worst possible way. 

"I'm sure you told him that you came up with this idea only out of concern
for him."

"He didn't care about that. What pissed him off was that I didn't tell him
that it was my idea." His eyes dropped to the floor.

"So, did you apologize?"

"For the bet, yes." 

"But?" she asked, her expression inquisitive.

"But not for keeping it from him," Wilson said quietly. As he spoke, he
was distracted by some activity just outside the window. He glanced up and
saw two birds frantically flying around each other in circles. He thought
of himself and House.

"You're not sorry you didn't tell him?" The question quickly brought his
attention back to Cuddy.

"What purpose would that have served?" he asked, his voice raised. "House
was so screwed up that week, if I had told him, god only knows what he
might've done." Wilson realized he was speaking too loudly and lowered his
voice. "And afterwards, there was absolutely no reason to tell him."

"Unless he found out," she qualified.

"Well, yes. But that wasn't supposed to happen."

"It never is," she said, leaning back in her chair as if the conversation
were over.

"There's more," Wilson said, his words dragging her back to attention.

"Oh god. What?"

"He said you and I conspired against him."

"He would," Cuddy said, not at all surprised that House would believe
that. 

Wilson rubbed his neck again trying to soothe the tightness that radiated
from the back of his head down to his lower spine. He hadn't slept the
night before; he hadn't even gone to bed. Instead, he had spent the night
sitting on his couch replaying the argument with House over and over in
his head. In the process he had lost all track of time as well as the
number of beers he was consuming. The next thing he knew, the sun was
rising and he had a splitting headache.

"He asked if you and I have weekly meetings to discuss him like a lab
rat," Wilson added still rubbing his neck.

"I hope you didn't tell him!" she quipped. Again, she was not surprised
that House would ask that question. After all, everything was about him.
The fact that it was very close to the truth didn't really matter.

Wilson glared at Cuddy.

"Just checking." She smiled sadly. 

"So, I assume he hasn't said anything to you," Wilson said, realizing he
was in this predicament by himself.

"No," she said, obviously relieved that she didn't have to deal with
House's wrath.

"Have you seen him yet today?" he asked.

"Yes, unfortunately, and he was his usual annoying warped self," she said,
shaking her head. She reached down and grasped the edges of her suit
jacket pulling them closer together. By her actions and the low cut blouse
she was wearing, Wilson knew that House had made some lewd comment about
her cleavage.

"Which means he's only mad at me," he said, more so to himself than to
her. "How did I get to be so lucky?"

Cuddy leaned back in her chair and studied Wilson. She wished she could
help him. "Well... you are his best friend. I'm just his boss. He expects
things like that from me," she offered as explanation.

"So, being his boss makes you the automatic enemy." Cuddy was his boss too
but he never thought of her in those terms. Well, hardly ever.

"Are you surprised?" she asked, her eyes wide.

"No, not really." He looked out the window again. The two birds were
nowhere to be seen now. He wished he could take off like they had. He
turned his attention back to Cuddy. "But I could use some help here." 

Cuddy heard the pleading in his voice. She truly felt sorry for him. After
all, he was in this situation because he was House's best friend and had
tried to help him. And now it all blew up in his face.

"I could talk to him," she offered, "but we both know that wouldn't do any
good."

Wilson nodded in agreement.

"You can always apologize for not telling him," she suggested, although
she was grabbing at straws with that idea. She already knew how Wilson
felt about that.

"No, I can't. I'm not sorry that I didn't tell him." The young doctor
thought for a moment. "If we were forced to relive that week over and over
again due to an unexplained time warp, I would do the same thing, even
knowing what I know today."

"What did you just say?" 

"Uh, sorry, there was a Star Trek marathon on TV last night." Wilson
shrugged his shoulders. "Never mind. I'll handle it. This is between House
and me anyway. I just thought you should be aware of the situation." 

She nodded sympathetically. "Good luck."

"Thanks," he said unconvincingly. She watched as he turned to leave her
office, closing the door quietly behind him. Resting her head against her
chair, she looked up at the ceiling and contemplated Wilson's predicament
with House. She silently gave thanks that she wasn't the one that the
scruffy diagnostician was angry with, although she did feel bad for
Wilson. Shaking her head, she picked up her pen and resumed signing forms.

***** ***** ***** *****

House sat at his desk going over some test results as his staff discussed
their current case in the conference room. They still had not come up with
a definitive diagnosis and all three were arguing as to what illness the
patient may have contracted. House glanced up periodically to observe
them, not because he was particularly curious, but because he wanted to
make them feel intimidated under his watchful eye. 

He finished going over the test results, disappointed that they offered no
explanation of the symptoms. But he was even more bothered by the fact
that he didn't find something... anything... that his team may have
missed. No chance to gloat. Grabbing his cane, he stood up and snatched
his coffee mug with his other hand. Despite the fact that he was walking
with a cane and hadn't gotten much sleep the night before, he moved with
agility across his office towards the conference room. It probably had
something to do with the Vicodin he had taken 15 minutes earlier. Just as
he opened the glass door, Dr. Wilson entered the room from the hallway.
Their eyes met briefly, then Wilson turned his attention to the three
doctors sitting around the conference table. House ignored them as he
walked past the table to get his coffee.

"I checked the MRI results three times and I'm telling you there's no
cancer," Wilson said to no in particular, dropping the file onto the
table.

House stopped and turned to face Wilson. "Who asked you to check for
cancer?" 

Before he could answer, Cameron spoke up. "I did. I just wanted to be sure
since we're having such a hard time diagnosing this patient." She looked
over towards House.

"If I thought he had cancer...."

"She," Cameron interrupted. "The patient is a 'she'... Danielle."

House rolled his eyes. "Okay. If I thought she had cancer, I would've
requested a consult with Dr. Wilson myself. I already ruled out cancer,
yet you consulted him anyway. I'm sure he's taking valuable time out of
his busy day to come here to tell you what I already know." 

He looked at Wilson. "Thanks for your time, Doc, but we won't be needing
your services anymore. I'm sure you're very busy telling your patients
what you think they need to know ... or not telling them."

Wilson knew House was trying to provoke him and decided this was not the
time or place. But he still couldn't help himself. "You're welcome, Dr.
House," he said, "always happy to help your team when they can't get a
straight answer out of you." 

House smirked. Wilson smiled sweetly.

The three young diagnosticians quickly glanced back and forth between
House and Wilson. The oncologist couldn't help but notice they resembled
spectators at a tennis match. When no one said anything the three looked
at each other with stymied expressions on their faces. Wilson shrugged his
shoulders, turned around and walked out.

They watched him leave; then all three peered up at House from their
seats. 

"Don't look at me for answers; that's your job," he said gruffly, and
turned his back to them to get his coffee. As he walked back to his
office, he felt three pairs of eyes boring into him. He stopped.

"What? Is my mascara running? I seem to remember telling you this morning
to get another complete blood panel and a contrast CT scan of the
patient's abdomen. But for some reason, you haven't done it. Okay, let's
try this... Simon sez get another complete blood panel and a contrast CT
scan of the patient's abdomen. Now will you play with me?" Without waiting
for a response he continued on to his office.

All three doctors stood and headed towards the door.

"What do you suppose that was about?" Cameron asked.

"Trouble in paradise," Foreman said, holding the door open for Cameron and
Chase.

"Yeah, lover's quarrel obviously," Chase agreed. Cameron scowled at both
of them. 

House sat down at his desk and clicked on his small television. The sound
helped him think. Wilson came to mind. Again. He had spent most of the
previous night thinking about this thing with Wilson. He knew the
oncologist had lied to him in the past, but those were white lies. This
was different. This wasn't even an off-white lie. This was as big and dark
as they get. True, it was a lie of omission, but it was still a lie.

House swiveled his chair towards the window and closed his eyes, half
listening to a woman on television raving how her new winged pantiliners
made her feel clean and fresh. He started to doze off.

"House!"

"Whaa!" House almost flipped his chair over backwards. He grabbed onto the
desk with his left hand and twisted his chair forward. Standing in front
of him with folded arms stood Dr. Cuddy, a smug smile on her face.

"Busy?" she asked.

"Yes, very busy. Very very busy. Go away." He leaned over and turned off
the television.

"I need to talk to you."

House cocked his head. "Did you do something to your blouse?" he asked,
staring at her cleavage.

"No. And I'm up here," she said, moving a pointed finger from her chest up
to her face.

House made a show of following her finger with his eyes until they met
Cuddy's. "Oh, Dr. Cuddy, hello," he said with mock surprise. "And what can
I do for you?"

"Dr. Wilson came to see me today."

"Now isn't that sweet? I bet he has a crush on you."

She smirked. "He's upset."

"He is? Did you comfort him? What were you wearing?"

"House, go easy on him. He was only trying to help," she said
thoughtfully, trying to appeal to House's forgiving side, although she
wasn't quite sure he had one.

"And this is your business because...?" His voice trailed off.

"Because you both work for me," she said brushing a strand of hair off her
shoulder. "And because I can't have my doctors bickering."

"Did you just say 'bickering'?"

"Arguing, fighting, whatever," she snapped. "He's your best friend; he did
what he thought was right." 

House nodded slowly. "Well, Dr. Cuddy, you've certainly given me a lot to
think about. Thank you and good bye." He motioned with his head for her to
leave.

"House... "

He looked at her with what appeared to be a cautionary... but
respectful... expression on his face. She knew attempting to continue the
conversation was pointless.

"So, I assume you're not going to talk to me about this."

House stared at her blankly.

"Just think about it," she said as she turned to leave.

"You think I have time to think about Wilson?" he called after her. She
smirked with her back to him. Based on how tired he looked, she figured he
had probably thought about Wilson the entire night.

House turned the television back on. Of course he knew Wilson had been his
best...if not only...friend and that he had always been there for him. But
this had shaken House's trust in him. Friends don't do that to friends.
Wilson should've talked to him. 

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

House walked slowly to the elevator leaning heavily on his cane. The
agility he experienced earlier in the day had abandoned him. Apparently,
the previous sleepless night along with the pressures of a difficult case
on top of his argument with Wilson had taken its toll. He had downed a
Vicodin shortly before he left his office and hoped it would kick in
before the elevator reached the lobby. 

As the elevator door was sliding closed a hand appeared in front of it
halting its progression. The door slowly opened to reveal Dr. Wilson
standing behind it. 

Shoot me now, House thought to himself, shaking his head slowly.

Wilson's attention was focused inside his briefcase as he rifled through
it searching for something, most likely his keys, House surmised. As the
oncologist stepped onto the elevator, he found what he was looking
for...his keys... and put them into his jacket pocket. He turned to face
the front of the elevator, glancing over to his right where he noticed
House staring at him blankly.

"Great," Wilson mumbled under his breath.

House couldn't contain himself. "You had to go running off to Cuddy,
didn't you?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. How the hell does he find out everything? He
looked at House, eyebrows raised into a question.

"She came to see me," the older doctor snapped. "You ratted me out."

Wilson shook his head in annoyance and turned to face the front of the
elevator.

The other doctor didn't let up. "That's just like you, Wilson, running off
to Mommy when things get difficult. What did you say to her? " House
demanded.

The elevator door started to slide open. Wilson looked at House. 

"If you must know all the details, why don't you just read the minutes of
our weekly 'House' meeting," he said, his face serious. "By the way, we
decided you should add bran to your diet."

He turned away from House and quickly got off the elevator, leaving House
in his wake. The older doctor snickered. Wilson might not be very
trustworthy, but he certainly was entertaining.

House slowly got off the elevator and limped over to the nurse's station.
The Vicodin was just starting to do its job. He checked over a few charts
and initialed them, tossing them into the nurses' file box one by one. 

As he walked out of the hospital, the cool autumnal air felt refreshing
against his face. His leg was feeling a lot better; he picked up his pace.
As he approached his car he realized that he didn't feel like going
directly home. Usually on Friday nights, he and Wilson would have a few
drinks before the young doctor would go home to Julie for dinner. And on
the nights Julie had one of her meetings, the two friends dined at a
restaurant or they would pick up pizza or Chinese food and bring it to
House's apartment. He wondered if they would ever be doing that again.
Well, that was up to Wilson. He had the option of making things right but
so far had chosen not to. Wilson may be entertaining, but he was also as
stubborn as a mule. House contemplated whether he could ever trust him
again.

When he reached his car he tossed his gear into the passenger seat and
slowly sank down into the driver's seat. He started the car, slid an
Aerosmith CD into the player and took off, deciding at that moment to stop
at a local bar for a drink... or two. He just wasn't ready to go home yet.

House walked into the dimly lit tavern and made his way over to the bar.
He sat down and motioned to the bartender who came over and took his
order... scotch straight up. As he waited for his drink he glanced over
his shoulder to check out the patrons. His eyes came to a familiar face in
the corner of the room. It was Julie. She was with a man, but it wasn't
Wilson. He tried to get a better look at him...maybe it was Julie's
brother; he hoped it was Julie's brother. It was dark in there, but he was
pretty sure he didn't recognize the guy. Jesus, she was cheating on
Wilson...again.

A year earlier Julie had had an affair with some guy... he couldn't
remember who...it may have been the ex-husband of one of her friends.
Wilson had found out and spent a lot of time at House's apartment. House
was there for him allowing the young doctor to vent, but never offered
advice. Julie had hurt Wilson terribly, but House knew that he still loved
her.

House had decided back then that he didn't like Julie, but Wilson loved
her and she had seemingly made him happy, of course that was before the
affair. Wilson and Julie had gotten over that very rough patch and this
past year their relationship appeared to be going strong, at least that
was the impression he got from Wilson. House figured that any man who says
he loves his wife as often as Wilson probably really loves her. 

And now here she was with another man.

House didn't realize he was staring at Julie until she looked up and their
eyes met. He could see the panic on her face. He quickly looked away and
turned back to the bar where his drink was waiting for him.

A few moments later, he saw Julie's reflection in the mirror behind the
bar as she sat down next to him. He didn't look at her.

"Obviously I never expected to see you here," she said, leaning close to
him so he could hear her over the jukebox.

"Obviously," he said as he lifted his glass, almost finishing the drink in
one swallow.

"Greg, this isn't what it looks like," she said, desperation apparent in
her voice.

"What does it look like?"

She sighed. "I'm breaking up with him."

"With James?"

"No, no, with.... him," she said as she tilted her head towards the man
she was with. 

"So... if this was a few weeks ago, it would be what it looks like," House
said. He took another swallow, finishing his drink and signaling the
bartender for another one.

"Look, Greg. I know I made a mistake and I'm trying to fix it. I love
James and I don't want to lose him." Her whining voice was getting on his
nerves.

"And you're afraid I'm going to tell him," he said. He looked at her, his
eyes expressionless.

"Please, Greg, please don't tell him," she begged. "He'll leave me if you
do."

"He loves you; he'll forgive you." House turned away...he couldn't look at
her anymore.

"No, he won't. He told me the last time that he would leave me if I
ever...." Her voice trailed off. 

"Things happen," House quipped.

Her eyes widened in fear. "No, you can't tell him! Please, Greg. I'll make
it up to him, I will. I'll make him happy. You won't regret it... I swear
to you." She grabbed his arm.

House glanced down to his forearm where she was tightly gripping him; then
looked back up at her with an icy stare. She let go of his arm and started
to cry.

He slowly shook his head... he needed to get away from this woman. He took
a handkerchief out of his jacket breast pocket and handed it to her.

"Spare me," he said, his voice indifferent. "I'll keep your secret."

Julie stopped crying. "Oh god, thank you. Thank you, Greg."

"I'm not doing it for you," he said, finishing off his second drink.

She wiped her nose with his handkerchief. "I...I know you're doing it for
James. You're a good friend to him," she sniffled. "I'll make it up to
him, you'll see."

"I'm counting on it," he said, his voice cold and emotionless. Standing up
he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his wallet. He took out a
twenty dollar bill and tossed it onto the bar. Julie offered him his
handkerchief back.

"Keep it as a memento of our little discussion tonight," he said, "so
you'll never forget."

He turned his back on her and walked out of the bar.

***** ***** ***** *****

House drove home with the CD player off and the windows open. The Vicodin
and scotch chaser weren't mixing well and he felt light headed and sick to
his stomach. Or he possibly may have felt sick as a result of his
encounter with Julie. He had promised her he would keep her secret for
Wilson's sake. She had seemed sincere when she told him that she was
breaking up with this guy tonight...whoever he was. But would she? And
what about Wilson? He would be devastated if he ever found out that his
wife was having ... or had been having... another affair. Frankly, House
had been very surprised when Wilson had given Julie another chance that
first time. He remembered thinking that the young doctor was a fool ... or
foolishly in love. Probably a bit of both. 

Wilson may have screwed him in the trust department, House thought, but he
certainly didn't deserve this. Sure, the oncologist liked women... loved
women... loved everything about women. But he limited his dalliances to
harmless flirtations which apparently satisfied something inside him. For
that reason they were important to him, but as far as the women receiving
his attentions, they meant nothing. No, Wilson did not deserve this. Julie
had better keep her word.

House was jolted out of his reverie by the sound of a blaring car horn. He
glanced in his rear view mirror, realizing that he had apparently just run
a red light. Wonderful. All he needed was for a cop to stop him for
running a red light and then smell the alcohol on his breath. He would
flunk the DWI test and end up in jail. For a moment House contemplated
whether that would be such a bad thing. After all, they feed you in jail,
they provide you with a bed, a blanket... maybe not such a bad thing. Then
he considered that they would confiscate his Vicodin and, worse, he'd
probably have to share his cell with a drunk. Nope, not a good thing. He
slowed the car down and silently thanked whatever god was watching over
him that he hadn't been stopped. He managed to obey all the traffic laws
the rest of the way home.

When House reached his apartment, he added a pounding headache to his
repertoire of delightful ailments. He dragged himself into his apartment,
threw off his clothes and fell into bed. 

The next morning he overslept and cursed himself as he downed his first
Vicodin of the day; then dragged himself out of bed. He lingered in the
shower longer than usual, allowing enough time to reap the much needed
benefit of steaming hot water on his sore, tired muscles. He slowly woke
up and felt his body relax, the Vicodin definitely playing a part in this
lovely scenario. The shower had the additional side effect of clearing his
mind, although he didn't quite know why. Whatever the reason, it was
working for him. So much, in fact, that he finally realized it was
Saturday and that he didn't have to go to the hospital. 

He spent the rest of the weekend hanging around his apartment watching
senseless sitcoms and action movies, reading magazines and medical
journals, playing the piano, listening to music, eating junk food,
drinking beer ... all the necessities of life. Periodically, he checked in
with Chase who was lucky enough to have weekend duty at the hospital.
Since it was the weekend, their patient's test results would not be back
until Monday. Chase told him that she was doing as well as could be
expected. 

All in all it was a fine weekend, save for the fact that House could not
get his mind off Julie and his encounter with her Friday night. It was bad
enough that she was cheating on Wilson, but she also managed to put a
damper on House's weekend.

Damn that woman.

Monday morning House arrived late to work. He walked into his office and
found the results of his patient's blood panel and contrast CT scan on his
desk. His team of young diagnosticians was nowhere in sight. He dropped
his belongings onto his desk and grabbed his coffee cup, placing it under
his arm while he tilted the vertical blinds open to let in more light. He
saw Wilson standing outside on their shared balcony, leaning over the
railing and appearing to be deep in thought. Watching Wilson brought to
mind his run in with Julie and he wondered if the young doctor already
knew what was going on.

Wilson must have seen him with his peripheral vision because he turned his
head in House's direction. They briefly made eye contact, long enough for
House to notice that Wilson looked tired. Wilson quickly turned away
without acknowledging his colleague. 

Nice. Bring on the day.

********************************

The first day of the work week had been eventful for House and his team;
they had finally come up with a diagnosis for their patient, and had
started her on a cocktail of meds that appeared to be working. House
managed to get in some gloat time since the contrast CT scan he had
ordered turned out to be the test that generated the diagnosis. It didn't
matter that the actual diagnosis had been made by Chase. House reminded
his team at every possible opportunity that if not for the test he had
ordered, Chase never would've been able to come up with a diagnosis. He
didn't want anyone on his team to develop an overblown ego. 

House hadn't seen Wilson all day, and that managed to make him even
angrier with the young doctor. He wondered how much longer Wilson would
make him wait before he came to apologize. Surely he had to realize sooner
or later that he was wrong and House was right. The older doctor decided
to give the oncologist some slack considering what he had found out about
his wife. But that didn't change the fact that Wilson had wronged him.

House returned to his office after subjecting himself to two hours of
torturous clinic duty. He dropped down into his chair and swiveled it
towards the window. He saw Wilson standing on the balcony again, leaning
over the railing seemingly taking in the moonlight. In spite of himself,
House grabbed his cane as he stood and opened the door. Wilson glanced
over his shoulder as House stepped out onto the balcony. 

"Dr. House," he said, turning his attention back to the moonlight. House
noticed once again that Wilson looked tired and drawn.

"Rough weekend?" he asked as he walked over towards Wilson and leaned
against the railing.

"No, not really," Wilson replied tiredly. He rubbed his forehead with his
hand.

"Difficult day?" House tried again.

"Not particularly, no," Wilson said.

"Bad food?"

Wilson sighed. "House, what are you getting at?" 

"You don't look good. Maybe you should see a doctor," House said,
scratching his chin.

Wilson shook his head slowly without looking at the scruffy older doctor. 

"You know that I won't give up 'til you spill," House said. He was still
pissed at Wilson but couldn't help himself.

"This doesn't concern you, House," Wilson said. He kept his eyes straight
ahead.

"Since when has that ever stopped me?" 

"This is true," Wilson sad sadly, "but just this one time try to make an
exception." He looked at House as he removed his hands from the railing
and stood up.

"Impossible," House quipped. "I'm just an old cripple set in my ways."

"I thought you were pissed at me," Wilson said, placing his hands on his
hips.

"Profoundly pissed," House qualified.

"So... why do you care?" 

"Just making idle chitchat," House said, popping a Vicodin.

Wilson smiled in spite of himself. "Enjoy your evening," he said, and
turned to go back into his office.

"Say hello to the lovely Mrs. Wilson," House called after him.

Wilson stopped and turned back to face House. "Julie's ... she's got a
meeting tonight so I probably won't see her." He hesitated, rubbing his
forehead. "I'll uh... I'll tell her tomorrow," he said. 

House nodded, making note of the doubt he saw on Wilson's face. The young
doctor returned to his office and slid the glass door shut.

Damn that woman. 

***** ***** ***** *****

House spent another sleepless night thinking about Wilson, only this time
he was concentrating more on what was happening in Wilson's life than his
own. The way Wilson was acting... did he already know what Julie had been
up to? That was fine with House. He did promise Julie he'd keep her
secret, but that didn't mean Wilson shouldn't know. He actually was dying
to tell the young doctor, but wasn't too keen on being the bearer of bad
news. If Wilson already knew, well, that would makes things a lot easier
for House. And House liked easier.

Tuesday was a light day for House other than suffering through two hours
of clinic duty. His patient was doing well, responding to the meds he had
prescribed. House planned to spend the rest of the day watching
television, listening to music and harassing his underlings.

He just finished watching General Hospital, a particularly juicy episode,
and was now bored. His team of diagnosticians was out performing doctor
chores so he didn't have them to abuse. He walked outside to his shared
balcony to peek into Wilson's office. While he was still annoyed, his
initial anger had dissipated due to a combination of circumstances and a
much needed cooling off period.

He peered into Wilson's office and saw him sitting behind his desk
reading. House returned to his office and snatched a magazine off his desk
and went back outside, walking over to Wilson's glass door. He tapped
lightly on the door, opened it and stepped inside, closing the door behind
him. 

Wilson looked up from his desk. "What, House?' 

"What are you reading?" House asked, as he limped over and slowly sank
down into one of the chairs in front of Wilson's desk. He leaned forward
to get a better look at the young doctor's reading material, which turned
out to be a patient's file. House tilted his head to get a better look at
the patient's name.

The label read Victoria Chandler. "Victoria Chandler" House read aloud.
"Sounds hot," he said. 

Wilson looked at him. "No, not hot. Sick. Very sick," he said.

"Boring," House quipped. He tossed the magazine he had brought onto
Wilson's desk. Wilson leaned forward to read the title. On the cover it
read in big letters, People's Top 10 Sexiest Women of the Year.

"Guess who number one is," House said.

"I don't have time for this...." 

"Come on, you have time for one guess."

Wilson leaned back in his chair in defeat. "Okay. How about... Carmen
Electra?" 

House's face fell. "You cheated," he accused. 

"No, I didn't," Wilson defended himself.

"Yes you did. You were in my office and you saw the magazine. Admit it,
Dr. Cheater," House snapped.

"No, House, I didn't."

"Then how did you know?"

"I heard it on The Today Show yesterday morning," the young doctor said.
"Technically not cheating."

"Oh," House said, deflated. He looked up at Wilson. "So what do you think
of Katie Couric? Now she's hot."

"House! I don't have time for this," Wilson repeated, his voice raised
this time.

House studied the young oncologist's appearance. Tired and drawn, even
more so today than yesterday. "Humor me," he said.

"Why?" Wilson asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you even
doing here?"

"I'm bored," House said.

Wilson stared at him, his face expressionless.

"How was Julie's meeting?" the older doctor asked. Wilson was taken aback
by this sudden change of topic.

"I don't know, I didn't ask her," he responded, his voice edgy. He looked
away from House and stared out the glass door of his office.

House was now almost a hundred percent convinced that Wilson knew his wife
was fooling around on him. He was dying to tell him but had promised
Julie, now affectionately known as The Cheater, that he wouldn't.
Fortunately for him, there was a very good chance that this was no longer
an issue. After all, Wilson had found out the first time; it was very
possible he had done the same this time ... although he never really did
tell House how he had found out.

"What's going on with you?" House asked, reclaiming Wilson's attention.

Wilson sighed and leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk and
resting his forehead on the palms of his hands. House didn't say anything.
After a moment, Wilson picked up his head and looked sadly at House. 

"I moved out this morning," he said. "Julie and I are splitting up."

There it was... Wilson knew. "Sorry to hear that," House said with genuine
concern. "Where are you staying?" he asked.

"Right now I'm at the Summerfield Suites on Route 1," Wilson said. "Nice
place."

House nodded. "Good food?"

"Passable."

"Look, Wilson, if there's anything I can...."

"Appreciate that," Wilson said cutting him off. "I really have to get back
to this," the young doctor said as he picked up the file he had been
reading and opened it again. 

House nodded as he leaned into his cane and stood up. "See you later," he
said quietly, turning towards the door.

"Later," Wilson replied, watching House leave through the glass door. He
took a deep breath and turned his attention back to the medical file he
had been reading when House had come in.

House glanced over his shoulder as he slowly walked back to his office.
Wilson doesn't deserve this, he thought. As he stepped into his office he
saw Foreman and Chase in the conference room. He smiled, dropping the
magazine onto his desk and limped quickly across his office to join them.

***** ***** ***** ***** 

House sat at his desk checking over his patient's file confirming that his
prescribed treatment was progressing as planned. He had stayed at the
hospital later than usual and was preparing to leave momentarily. 

Dr. Wilson entered his office from the hallway door. House looked up. "Why
aren't you using our secret passageway?" he asked, tilting his head
towards the balcony.

"Because I wanted people to see me come in here," Wilson replied, "in case
I don't come out."

House chuckled. 

"You're here late," Wilson said, checking his watch.

"I actually had some doctoring to do," House said, closing the file and
placing it into his outbox. Cameron would take care of it in the morning.

"How's the patient doing?" Wilson asked.

"One hundred percent recovery. Score another one for the old guy," House
gloated.

Wilson crinkled his forehead. "I thought Chase came up with the
diagnosis."

"But I ordered the test," House qualified.

"You order all the tests."

"Nitpicker." He looked over towards Wilson. "How are you holding up?" he
asked, concern showing on his face.

Wilson shook his head. "Not so good. I could use a friend," he said.

"Well, then, you've come to the right place," House said. Wilson nodded
appreciatively as he cast his eyes towards the floor. After a moment, he
walked over to the desk.

"I believe this is yours," he said, taking something out of his jacket
pocket and placing it on the desk in front of House.

House looked at the object, staring at it for a few seconds. He frowned.
It was his handkerchief, washed and neatly folded, the gold monogrammed
'H' centered in the middle of the square. 

"Where did you ... ." His voice trailed off. He looked up at Wilson, not
sure whether he should pursue this. 

"Julie gave it to me," Wilson said.

"She told you? House asked, shock in his voice and on his face.

"I already knew she was having an affair before you ran into her last
Friday," Wilson said, rubbing his forehead. "In fact I've known about it
for some time. And since I already knew it didn't really matter."

"But why would she tell you?" House asked, totally not understanding.

Wilson shrugged. "She just did."

"So then, you knew that I knew," House said, avoiding eye contact with
Wilson.

"Yep."

"And you're apparently not pissed that I didn't tell you." He looked up at
the younger doctor.

"It's not like you cheated on me," Wilson said.

House smirked. 

"I figured you had your reasons," the younger doctor added.

"Like what?" House asked, his head tilted questioningly.

"Like... trying to protect me?"

House looked down as he ran his fingers through his hair. He glanced back
up at Wilson who was watching him intently.

"You realize if the situation were reversed, I'd be making your life a
living hell," House said.

"Really? That's so unlike you," the oncologist said, sinking down into one
of the chairs. "Speaking of which, where do we stand on that?"

House shrugged. I'm an old cripple. I forgot why I was mad at you. Remind
me so I can get pissed at you all over again."

"Stupid I am not," Wilson said. 

"Something about... not being able to trust you, but the reason escapes me
at the moment." The older doctor crossed his arms and leaned back in his
chair.

"House..."

"What do you want me to say, that you've taught me a lesson in
friendship?" House asked, looking at Wilson.

Wilson thought for a moment. "I'll settle for a steak dinner."

"You're taking me to dinner?"

"You're paying," Wilson ordered.

"The hell I am."

The young oncologist looked at his friend, his eyes narrowed.

"Fine."

They both stood and walked towards the door. "So I assume you're planning
to throw this up to me for the rest of my life," House said as Wilson held
the door open for him.

"Absolutely."

"You suck."

"Thank you," Wilson said, his voice sincere.

"Actually I'd be disappointed if you didn't," House said as they walked
side-by-side down the hall. 

"Well, I did learn from the master." 

House smiled as they headed towards the elevator.

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
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show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.