Pairing: None, really. H/W friendship, at the very least.
Words: 1239
Summary: This is kind of ridiculous. And yes, I wrote myself into a fic. (Is shamed.) Oh well, Wilson totally deserves it. One-shot… probably.
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in that show, and you would be silly to suggest otherwise.

Visitation

Wilson closes the door and turns in the darkened apartment

Wilson closes the door and turns in the darkened apartment. There's just enough light coming in from the street to see by, so he doesn't hit the light switch.

Then he sees someone sitting on the couch. He sees blonde hair, and thinks for a moment that he's hallucinating, or dreaming – but no, he's pinching himself; he is awake, and probably not seeing things. Whoever it is, she's too short to be Amber. That and she has her feet on the couch, shoes and all, which Amber would never do. Just some kid who, for whatever reason, as broken into his apartment and does not seem at all surprised that he has come home.

"Who are you?" he demands sternly. "How did you get in here?" He remembers the lights and fumbles to turn them on, but when he flips the switch nothing happens.

"I'm JR," says the girl on the couch. Or maybe young woman would be more appropriate, because she sounds a little too self-possessed to be a teenager. "Sorry to just write myself in like this, but I've decided to intrude on your reality for a little while."

Wilson blinks. "What?"

She sighs. "Nice to meet you too, Wilson. I'm here to talk about House."

Suddenly this makes a little more sense. Wilson pinches the bridge of his nose, either to fend of a headache or to underscore the fact that he shouldn't have to deal with this shit any more.

"House sent you." Because House would be the sort of person to get crazy people to break into his apartment and try to guilt-trip him.

She shakes her head, shadows and long blonde hair flying, causing the streetlight seeping in through the curtains to flash briefly on her glasses. "No, I told you. I came here on my own. House would probably tell me to mind my own damn business, anyway…"

"But you know him," Wilson says. He's prepared to pay her to go away – that's something the wad of cash House threw at him the other day can be useful for. Funny, he'd kind of expected House to come and try to get it back himself.

"I know both of you," she replies simply, as if this is obvious.

Wilson frowns. It's hard to make out her features in the dimness, but he's pretty sure she is a stranger. He knows for a fact he has never met anyone named JR.

"No," he says slowly, "I've never seen you before."

"I didn't say you did. I usually just watch… but, this thing with House." She sits up a little straighter on the couch and regards him seriously. "It's not okay."

That's it. Wilson doesn't want to have this conversation with someone he doesn't even know.

"Get out of my apartment."

"You know you're hurting him—"

"I don't know who you are or how the hell you know anything about this," Wilson says firmly, "but whether or not he hurts is not my responsibility."

But she isn't about to be rushed out, doesn't even stir on the couch, and she doesn't stop trying to make her point. "You know when he showed up here the other day that his reason for coming wasn't what he said it was."

Of course I know, Wilson thinks, almost bitterly. No one can ever take House at face value.

"I shouldn't have to put up with having to decode every little thing House does for the hidden meanings," he snaps.

She shrugs. "I'm not saying you have to put up with it, I'm just saying… you can't say you were never friends. Because that's not true."

His hands go to his hips, mostly keep his fingernails from digging into his palms. "And how would you know that?"

"I'm in a better position to see it then you are right now, that's all. I know you're upset about what happened to Amber—"

"That is not—!"

"I'm not finished yet!" she snaps, cutting him off. Suddenly the light is flashing on her glasses again, this time in an almost dangerous way, as if daring him to interrupt again. "I know it's not just that – it's that, and it's what happened with Tritter, and what happened with Volger, and during your divorce… every time he didn't care because he was busy dealing with his own shit, or just because he didn't. It was just her death that made you think about it that way."

A sick feeling wells up in Wilson's throat for a moment. Could House have instructed someone to say all this? He couldn't quite imagine that House might have it figured out this well.

"Because as much as you wanted to blame him – and you do. Even if you can't find a reasonable excuse for it," the mysterious JR continues, softly now. "You would also have to blame yourself for letting this 'stupid messed up friendship' go so far. That's why you want to end it."

Wilson says nothing. Maybe not everything she's saying is entirely true, but enough of it is that he doesn't know what to say to it.

"And that's… Well. I'm not going to argue with you about that. That's yours. It's your right, I suppose," she says with a sigh. "But not the other part. Don't lie about it."

A humorless smile flits across his face. "Everybody lies," he whispers.

"Not everybody can get away with it," she replies."

Wilson shakes his head. He tries the light switch again. It still doesn't work, and he wonders if she's done something to the electricity or just smashed the light bulb. Who is this girl? he wonders, but he's almost beyond caring at this point. It's eerie, the way she talks like she actually does know things, has witnessed various parts of his life and put them together to form a fairly good understanding of his reasoning.

"This is the only way to make him go away," Wilson says, for the moment just accepting the impossibility of the situation. "If House thinks it's just something he has to fix… but not if there was nothing there in the first place. He may think he's god, but he can't make something out of nothing, and he knows that."

JR just stares at him. After a moment she unfolds her legs and stands, with an air of grim resignation.

"I'm sorry you see it that way," she murmurs. "Because as long as you lie, you're going to have the most vivid dreams I can find. And you aren't really going to like them."

Wilson blinks. "You're going to stoop to using his tactics?"

"For as long as you lie."

"Okay, if you're capable of doing that…" He doubts this, but the whole situation is unnerving enough that he finds himself unable to completely discount the possibility. "What kind of dreams?"

"Oh, I was thinking seasons one through four."

"What?"

"Nothing." She smiles at him, a little sadly as though apologizing for making some drastic decision. "Have a good night."

And suddenly she vanishes. Wilson fumbles for the light again and this time it flashes on and nearly blinds him. He waits for his eyes to adjust, but when he looks he sees no indication that anyone was ever there – not even an imprint on the couch cushions.

When he goes to sleep, he dreams about Rebecca Adler. God, he hasn't thought about her in years…