With his hands stacked with books, transferring them from shelf to box, Wilson glared bitterly at the wall. His door had been standing half-open since he had returned to his office, but he still heard the faint squeak of the hinges.

"What do you want?"

A second squeal, almost apologetic, was followed by a quiet click. "I need to talk to you."

Teeth clenching, he drew a breath, glancing at the reflection of his visitor in the glass of the framed certificate in front of him. Part of him was deeply ashamed that he felt a bitter twist of pleasure at how pale and fraught she looked.

"Am I packing too slowly for you, Doctor Cuddy?" he asked, voice laced with barely contained anger. It hadn't been much of a life, working in this dump, but it was all he had had and the woman behind him was the one who was letting them take that away.

"Wilson, he's gone."

The books stuttered from his grip, clattering on the metal shelves, the sound resonating in the sudden stillness. A pale-knuckled hand gripped the edge of the windowsill to his left. It felt like his throat had closed up, his other hand groping desperately at his tie which felt far too tight.

"He wouldn't."

"A choice had to be made," Cuddy's voice was quiet, but he could hear an undercurrent of uncertainty.

Turning, gripping the back of his chair, an anchor, something to hold him upright, he stared at her wildly, "He wouldn't!" he repeated vehemently. "Unless you threw him out, he wouldn't go."

Cuddy stared at him, brow creased, then exhaled, looking almost relieved. "No," she said, holding up a hand. "Wilson, not House. Him."

For a heartbeat, Wilson stared back at her, wondering if his startled mind had cut out a large section of this minimalist conversation. If it wasn't House that was going and since he already knew that he, himself, was going, then...

"Vogler?" he half-laughed, disbelief on his face. The mirth faded at the look on Cuddy's white face as she nodded. "Vogler... he's gone?" Without waiting to be offered, the woman moved forward, so stiffly it was if she had aged a hundred years under his gaze, and slowly sat down opposite him. "You... made that decision."

Eyes that held a sea of shocked disbelief rose to him. "I did," she said faintly. "You've got your job back. Congratulations."

What anger he had at her intrusion on him vanished, but the relief and pleasure at knowing he was back where he wanted to be was overshadowed by sheer, undiluted shock. Even half a day of unemployment was too much, but this... this was so much more.

"But he was worth..."

"I know!" The sharpness of her interruption, the fierceness in her tone, the fire in her eyes, advised him that this was definitely not the right time to remind her of that particular fact if he had any desire to be kept from his packing.

And strangely, hearing her raise her voice and look - if only for a moment - like her old self was reassuring, her halting quietness unsettling to say the least.

A thousand questions formed in rapid succession in his mind, but he pushed them aside as he pulled his own seat out and sat down heavily, running a hand over his mouth. Darting a look at Cuddy, he could see her physically trying to calm herself, her hands smoothing her skirt, her breathing rapid, uneven.

Rerolling one sleeve up above his elbow, he stared intently at the button, until he heard her exhale a long, slow breath then looked at her. "Why?"

Blue-grey eyes darted to him, searching, knowing, making him feel suddenly very wary and very, very small. "I could ask you the same thing."

Wilson couldn't quite meet her look, fiddling more intently with the button. "He's a friend," he said, smoothing the rumple in his sleeve. "And he's the best doctor we've got here." He shot a look at her. "And you?"

Her chin lifted slightly, stubbornly, brows arching coolly. "You've explained most of mine away, but on top of that, Vogler was making this place his own personal playground. He would have got rid of all of us to get to your friend."

Something in the way she said it drove Wilson back to his feet, hastily gathering up the fallen books. "Is that it?"

Cuddy's laugh was quiet. "He was a petty bully. I don't like petty bullies."

"Some would say House is one too." Laying one book carefully on top of another, his eyes lifted slightly, but he should have known not to glance at her reflection. He could feel her gaze boring into his back, didn't need the glass to confirm it.

"Oh, please. You and I both know what House is like."

"It was him or Vogler," Wilson reminded her quietly, that tiny part of his soul which blamed his dearest friend still hurt beyond reason. "We got pulled into their fight and House won."

He heard the scrape of Cuddy's chair on the floor, but didn't look around, straightening the stack of books.

"You gave up your job, James," her voice was soft, sympathetic and more understanding than she had any right to be. He felt his jaw clench again. "Because of him, you would have given up everything. That's more than friendship."

"And if it is?" he countered, watching his hands straighten the already perfectly aligned books. "With him gone, you could have had Vogler's money. He doesn't... didn't give a damn about any other doctor in this place With House gone, you know you would have no problems. And you still made that call." He turned, met her eyes, then shook his head. "It's not just about Vogler being a bully, is it?"

For a moment, they just stared at one another over the barrier between them.

"I couldn't let him go," Cuddy said simply. "The hospital needs him."

"And what about you?"

Her brows pulled together, lips pursing. "I don't know what you mean." For a moment, it was almost convincing, and he almost doubted what he had suspected for a long time, but one of her hands strayed, smoothing her skirt self-consciously, though her eyes never left his.

His eyes flicked down to her palm, which froze, then back at her face.

Judging by the look on her face, she felt as if she had been caught stealing the Declaration of Independence, colour flooding up her cheeks.

To his surprise, he wasn't as shocked by the confirmation as he might have been even just a few days ago. It wasn't going to be a source of conflict between them, he knew. It never could be, not when Greg was as oblivious as a newborn.

"I must have been mistaken, then," he said, then allowed himself a smile, as he sank into his seat once more. She hid the relief well, tucking a loose strand of hair back behind her ear and returning his smile with a wan one of her own.

"I should let him know," she said, glancing towards the door. He could see her hands fidgeting again, nervously, and knew why. He might love Gregory House, but the man could be such an obnoxious dick at the most inopportune... no, at every moment.

"I could tell him, if you want," he offered.

Cuddy seemed to sag with relief. "You know what he's going to be like when he's told," she murmured, by way of excuse, and he nodded. "I don't think I could take another insufferable egomaniac for at least a few hours."

"I'll let him know you'll be along later," Wilson replied with a nod.

"Thank you, James."

"No," Wilson smiled faintly, standing as she opened the door. "I think I owe you a thank you. For the job, among other things."

The faintest of smiles played across her lips and she nodded. "What would the hospital be like without two of my oldest trouble-makers?" she asked, pulling the door open and stepping out.

It closed with a click behind her and Wilson dropped into his chair again, pushing his hands through his hair. Slowly, inexorably, he felt a broad smile spreading across his face. With a kick, he sent himself spinning, and started to laugh.

God, it felt good to be back in familiar territory.