Disclaimer: Don't own nothing. Don't sue.

Summary: Can a screwed up friendship become something more? Eventually HouseWilson.

Chapter 1: Disturbing numbers

When Wilson thought about how screwed up his life had become, he frequently blamed Dr. Cameron. Even in his worst moments, he realized that blaming her was completely unjustified. It's just that when he had walked past the booth at the oncology conference, the med student had resembled Dr. Cameron so much, that he had automatically sat down and began filling out the consent form for their study to correlate stress, as indicated by blood pressure, with medical discipline. She wrapped the cuff around his arm and took his BP with the efficiency of much practice. He was about to compliment her on her bedside manner, when she looked up with undisguised worry in her eyes. "I think maybe Chris should take the reading again," she suggested.

"What are the numbers?" Wilson asked gently, holding her gaze when she would have looked away.

"150 over 95, but maybe I did something wrong," she said, reaching for some explanation for the high numbers.

"No you didn't, but it's OK if you would like to call in your colleague for a consult." His voice was calm, but inside his thoughts were racing. Ok—not in the automatic heart attack range yet, but not good. Especially seeing how he had been away from the everyday stress of his job for the last four days. He tried to relax as the other med student came over to repeat the test.

"155 over 95," the kid said.

Damn. Not even a resident and already he has learned how to deliver bad news while sounding like a robot.

He was getting up from the chair when the Cameron doppelganger stopped him, her hand on his shoulder. She glanced down at his conference badge. "Dr. Wilson, promise me that you'll see someone about this." Even the worry lines between her eyebrows resembled Cameron, and he found himself promising that he would see someone as soon as he returned home.

Five days later, he was sitting in the office of Dr. Phillip Andrews, an acquaintance who conveniently had an office in the medical building across the street from PPTH. Wilson had taken care to schedule the appointment in the middle of House's clinic hours. No reason to have to answer all the unnecessary questions that would ensue if House found out. Phil looked down at the lab results spread in front of him. "As for your bloodwork, the lipid panel looks good. Your EKG looks fine. Only your blood pressure is out of range. How's your diet, exercise?"

"Fairly healthy. Couple of beers, a few times a week." Usually with House, he didn't add. "Treadmill for 25 minutes, three times a week."

Phil thought for a minute. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Wilson blinked at the apparent non sequitur, and then answered, "no one since the divorce. It's kind of nice to just be single for a while."

Phil laughed and shook his head. "No, I mean a therapist." At Wilson's horrified look, he continued, "I'd like to try to find and treat the underlying cause, rather than just put you on pills for the rest of your life."

"But a therapist?" Wilson was floundering.

"You're an oncologist, for Christ sake! And if that wasn't bad enough, you're head of the entire department, so tack on administrative crap as well. Add to that your choice in friends, and you are headed for your first heart attack by the age of 50." When Wilson was looking sufficiently cowed, he handed over a card. "She's good, so give it a try for a couple of months. Monitor your BP daily, and if it hasn't come down, then we'll start you on a diuretic."

Wilson finally nodded and took the business card.

Dr. Christina Peterson, Ph.D.

Licensed Therapist

counseling, alternative medicine, relaxation techniques,

acupuncture, chakra balancing

Oh shit! What the hell had he gotten himself into? It was all Cameron's fault.