"Yes," Dr Nolan said, "Alvie was correct. We do allow weekend passes but only in exceptional circumstances."

"These are exceptional circumstances," House said. "Cuddy wants Wilson to cut seven percent from his departmental budget, which means firing people, which he hates. Wilson's schizophrenic brother won't talk to him, and his latest attempt to re-enter the dating pool failed miserably. My guess is that Wilson invited her back to his place for the evening and she saw his shrine to Amber and ran for the hills.

Wilson's under a lot of stress. He's about to do something desperately stupid, like propose to a stranger or quit his job to become a Sherpa."

"How do you know all this unless you've been breaking the rules about no visitors or phone calls? "

"Your rule about no contact with the outside world is disturbingly cult-like. Next you'll be waking us up at three a.m. to chant 'Prozac is good'," House said. "Just assume he sent me a letter by carrier pigeon."

"Generally I only allow visits to approved family members," Nolan said.

There was a long moment of silence. Unwilling to beg, House stared out the window. It was raining again. The sun never seemed to shine on Mayfield.

"I'll talk to Dr. Wilson, and if he confirms what you've told me, I'll give you a pass."

House came out of Mayfield carrying a small athletic bag packed with necessities. Wilson stood waiting by his car in the forecourt. They both got in and Wilson put the car into gear.

"I hear that I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown," Wilson said wryly, as Mayfield receded in the distance. "How did you know that Sandra and I broke up?"

"I didn't know," House said, "I was playing the odds. You've been dating her for about six weeks, which is about the time you usually think about proposing. As you haven't mentioned anything about wedding bells, I assumed she dumped you."

"As a matter of fact, I broke up with her."

"Really?" House tone was sceptical. He leaned forward to turn on Wilson's car radio. "So what are you planning for this weekend? Cigarettes, whiskey and wild, wild women?"

"I picked up a couple of DVDs and I'll order in pizza. Tomorrow we can do something more exciting."

House was ready to object, but he saw the dark circles of exhaustion under Wilson's eyes.

"Fine. What did you get?"

"Tremors and Arachnophobia."

"A theme night then – invasion of the invertebrates."

"Yes," Wilson said. He glanced at House. "I think that since this is a trial run for when you move in, there should probably be some ground rules."

"I've been locked up in a place where I had to eat, sleep and defecate to somebody else's schedule, and now you want to talk to me about rules."

"I'm happy that you're going to be staying with me, but being roommates won't work if I let you walk all over me. There have to be boundaries – but it works both ways. If there is anything that I'm doing that bothers you, let me know."

"It bothers me when you blow dry your hair at seven a.m. It bothers me when you fall asleep halfway through a movie and then ask me what happened. Most of all it bothers me when you're a total prick!"

"I can see that now is not the best time to discuss this," Wilson said, as he merged on to the highway.

Wilson was passing a semi when his cell phone rang. He waited until he had completed the manoeuvre and fished the phone out of jacket pocket. He handed it to House.

"Answer it for me. I'm driving."

"Hello," House said.

"No, I'm not. He can't talk right now."

House listened for a few seconds.

"Pull over," he said to Wilson. "You're going to want to take this call."

"I have to go to New York," Wilson said.

"Why? There's nothing you can do."

"I have to find him."

"New York's a big city and your brother is good at disappearing."

"I'll just drop you off at my apartment and then I'll head out," Wilson said. "You can come with me if you want, but..."

"I don't want to spend my weekend away from Mayfield at your brother's loony bin."

"Halfway house," Wilson corrected. "Will you be all right on your own? I can phone Taub or Thirteen to keep you company."

House hesitated. He knew that Wilson would stay with him if he asked him, but if something happened to Danny, Wilson would blame them both. He might eventually forgive House, but he'd never forgive himself.

"I'll be fine. I don't need a babysitter. I'm not going to raid Amber's medicine cabinet for expired birth control pills and cough syrup."

Wilson dropped him off at the door to his apartment building and drove off.

House sat down on the living room couch and surveyed the room. Nothing had changed. Amber's furniture, Amber's books, Amber's pictures on the wall. Wilson had been living here for months but there was no visible trace of his existence.

Amber's hold on Wilson was stronger in death that it had ever been in life. If she had lived, their relationship would have been over by now. Either she would have lost interest in Wilson, or Wilson would have left her, driven away by her ruthless ambition. Wilson remembered Amber's youth, beauty and intelligence, but after she died he forgot all the reasons why she had been nicknamed Cut-throat Bitch.

House raided the fridge to make himself a sandwich. He found bread, mustard, mayonnaise, cold cuts, lettuce and pickles, but no beer. Wilson had cleared out all the alcoholic beverages before his arrival. House limped back to the living room, carrying his sandwich and a can of pop. He rested his feet on Amber's coffee table, rubbing the aching muscles of his leg.

When he'd finished his meal, House went into the bathroom and filled the tub with water, as hot as he could stand it. Soaking in the tub helped with the pain. House lowered himself carefully into the hot water. Quiet, solitude, warmth – it might have been bliss if it weren't for the niggling matter of Wilson's brother.

The halfway house was in a run-down neighbourhood wearily fighting the encroachment of pawn shops, liquor stores, and cheap fast food outlets. The lawn in front was balding, and the house needed a new coat of paint, but it was otherwise well-maintained. Wilson knocked on the door. The night supervisor answered. He was a burly red-headed man with a welcoming smile.

"Hello," Wilson said. "I'm James Wilson. "

"Hello," he said. "You're Danny's brother? I think I've spoken to you over the phone a few times, but we haven't met. My name's Will."

"Have you heard anything about Danny?"

"Danny came back about an hour after I spoke to you," he said. "I tried to call you back but I couldn't reach you."

"I was driving so I put my phone on voice mail," Wilson said. "So he's all right?"

Will nodded. "He's upset that I had to write him up for being late back though, so he isn't in the best of moods. You can see him if you want. Second floor, first room on the left."

The door was ajar but Wilson knocked before entering. Danny's room, which he shared with another resident, was tidy but sparsely and cheaply furnished. Danny was sitting on his bed. He looked up. His blank expression didn't change when he saw his brother.

"Will called you, did he? Come to lecture me about how I need to be more responsible?"

"No," Wilson said, "I was worried about you."

"Unnecessary," Danny said. "I survived twelve years on the street without having you around to mother hen me."

Wilson sat on the bed opposite his brother's.

"So you're okay?"

"This place is worse than the hospital. I'm thirty-eight years old and I've got a curfew like a teenager. At the hospital I was locked in and that was crappy. In this place, they leave the door to my room unlocked but tell me that I can't go out. I'm supposed to be my own jailer. That truly sucks."

"This is temporary," he said. "Dr. Washington said that you're responding well to your meds. Pretty soon, you'll be well enough to live on your own."

"I could leave this place right now if you'd let me stay with you."

"II work a sixty hour week at the hospital. You'd be alone all the time."

"Besides, you need the room for your 'best friend'. I bet you look after him pretty well," Danny said.

"I told you before, House and I aren't..."

"Yeah, right," Danny said. "You`re just good friends. "

Danny glanced sharply at Wilson, and for the first time Wilson could see in him the little brother he remembered – Danny's curiosity, his sometimes cruel honesty.

"Why did you pick him over me?"

"I know I can help him," Wilson said.

"You could help me."

Wilson shook his head. "I couldn't give you what you needed before, and I don't want to responsible for ruining your life again."

"This fucking disease ruined my life," Danny said, "not you. You'd better go. Any minute Will is going to come stomping up the stairs. I'm supposed to be repenting my sins not having a family reunion."

Wilson stood up.

"I'll visit you next weekend. We'll go to a ball game or something."

"If I'm out of detention by then," Danny said. He didn't sound enthusiastic.

Wilson opened the door to his apartment. Darkness. He turned on a light and called out, "House, I'm back."

No answer. Wilson's heart sank. He'd left House alone, against Dr. Nolan's instructions, and House hadn't been able to resist going back to his old habits. Wilson had gone to House's apartment to clear out all House's stashes of Vicodin. He'd been thorough, but he was well aware that House was cleverer than he was. He could be lying on the floor of his apartment, passed out from an overdose.

Wilson pulled out his cell phone and called House.

Wilson could hear music playing – Abba's Dancing Queen. It wasn't playing on the other end of the phone line, but in Wilson's own apartment. Wilson followed the tinny sound of the ringtone to his own bedroom. House's cell phone was on his nightstand, and that lump under his covers had to be House.

"Hey, Goldilocks! Wake up."

The lump moved. House opened his eyes. He blinked, and then focused on Wilson, who was standing at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips – the very picture of exasperation.

House sat up, wincing a bit at the pain. Ibuprofen was useless. It wasn't an adequate substitute for Vicodin.

"Find your brother?"

"I didn't need to. He came back on his own."

Wilson was conflicted. He wasn't blind to House's suffering. He'd noticed the cautious way that House moved and he'd seen him massaging his leg to ease the pain when he thought Wilson wasn't looking. Wilson's bed was a lot more comfortable than Amber's couch. On the other hand, House had demonstrated (once again) that he had no respect for his privacy or his personal space. If he didn't assert himself now, he would never be master in his own home. House would run roughshod all over him.

"Move over," Wilson said forcefully. "You're on my side of the bed."

Grunting slightly at the effort, House complied. He snatched one of the pillows from Wilson's side of the bed and put it in underneath his sore leg. Wilson removed his tie and kicked off his loafers. He went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. By the time he returned, House had already fallen back to sleep.

Amber was sitting at the side of the bed. She wore Wilson's McGill sweatshirt and very little else. She glared at House, her eyes shining in the dark like a cat's.

House was paralyzed. He couldn't move or speak as she crawled over him towards Wilson. Wilson was fast asleep, defenceless. She straddled Wilson's sleeping body, and leaned down as if she were about to kiss him on the lips. This wasn't going to be an ordinary kiss, and House knew it but could do nothing to stop her. Her lips touched Wilson's. There was a faint sigh, no louder than a baby's breath, as she took Wilson's soul and his life.

She turned to look at House.

"Wilson is mine forever," Amber said.

House opened his eyes. It was a dream. Amber wasn't a ghost, and she was not a hallucination. Just a dream.

Wilson was in bed beside him. He was on his side, back to House, burrowed under the covers. All that House could see of him was his light brown hair. House resisted the surprisingly strong urge to pull down the blankets and check that Wilson was still breathing.

House got out of bed and limped to the bathroom, where he relieved his bladder and washed down a couple of ibuprofen with a mouthful of water from the tap. When he returned to the bedroom, Wilson had turned over. His arm spread over House's side of the bed. Gently, House lifted his arm and placed it on the proper side of the equator.

Wilson's eyes fluttered.

"Do you want macadamia nut pancakes for breakfast?" Wilson asked. His voice was slurred and his eyes were unfocussed.

"Sounds good," House said, "but it's three a.m. Go back to sleep."

House climbed back into bed. He turned to face his friend. He looked years younger and more relaxed and at ease than House had ever seen him before. Asleep, Wilson looked like the person he might have been if he had never worried about his mentally ill brother, or become an oncologist, or met House. This was a Wilson who had never cared too much or taken on too much responsibility.

Without thinking, House leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Wilson didn't wake up.

"I think that I may have fallen in love with you," House said, spearing a piece of pancake and popping it into his mouth.

Wilson flipped a pancake on to his own plate and carried it back to the table. He sat down across from House.

"So what would you like to do today? I was thinking maybe bowling."

"Didn't you hear me?"

"I heard you," Wilson said awkwardly, "but I thought you just meant that you liked the pancakes."

"These are very good pancakes, but that's not what I meant."

"What about Cuddy? You've been in love with her for years."

"I've lusted after her. That's not the same thing," House said.

Wilson glanced at House guardedly and then looked down at his plate. He stabbed a piece of pancake with his fork.

"You think that you may have fallen in love. It sounds to me that you're not sure how you feel. Rehab stirs up a lot of buried feelings. It can be intense and confusing," Wilson said. "Maybe you're in love with Cuddy, but you transferred those feelings to me, because she couldn't handle your crisis. Maybe you're grateful to me for helping you and you've mistaken gratitude for love."

"I'm not "grateful". I've been an ungrateful bastard since the day I was born," House said.

Wilson got up from the table and went to the stove. He poured a dollop of pancake batter on to the griddle.

"Would you like another pancake?"

"I just told you I loved you. "Would you like another pancake?' is not an appropriate response!"

"If you still feel this way in a month's time, when you're out of Mayfield and back on your feet, then we'll talk," Wilson said, expertly flipping the pancake. "If you don't want this one, I'll have it."

They went bowling, and Wilson won. House accused him of taking secret lessons from Chase. After a leisurely lunch, House caught up on his favourite soap opera – which Wilson had recorded for him while he was in Mayfield – while Wilson did paperwork and telephoned his brother.

Then Wilson had ordered in pizza and they sat side by side on Amber's couch eating popcorn and watching the DVDs. House's hand had brushed against Wilson's as they both reached for a handful of popcorn, and House had felt something, a spark pass between them, at this tiny physical contact. He looked at Wilson to see if he'd felt it too, but Wilson's attention was on the TV screen.

At eleven, Wilson brought out a small pile of sheets and blankets.. Then he went to bed. House stayed up and played video games for an hour and a half. Ignoring Wilson's broad hint to sleep on the couch, House followed Wilson into his bedroom, slipping into the bed beside him. The oncologist stirred in his sleep but didn't waken.

Sunday morning was spent reading the paper. House got to the crossword puzzle page first and finished the puzzle, in ink, in twenty two minutes. Wilson, who never took under an hour and used pencil, was mildly annoyed.

Wilson had arranged for Taub, Foreman and Thirteen to meet House for lunch at a restaurant near the hospital. While House caught up with three-quarters of his team (Chase was still on his honeymoon), Wilson went to PPTH to check on his patients.

Then, it was time for the long trip back to Mayfield. Wilson drove. House moved the passenger seat as far back as it would go, so he could stretch out. He rubbed his leg. Maybe bowling the day before hadn't been a good idea.

"Taub told me something interesting. He saw Cuddy dining out with a younger man," House said.

"Cuddy has business dinners all the time."

"Not a business dinner, because Rachel was there too. He said it looked like a family dinner. The younger man was feeding Rachel French fries off his plate. That doesn't sound like a business dinner, and it doesn't sound like a first date either. A single mom doesn't bring the kid along on a date unless she wants to find out if the two can get along, which means it's serious."

"Or she couldn't find a babysitter."

"You know something."

"I've heard rumours," Wilson admitted, "but it was only Birnbaum."

"Birnbaum is an asshole but his gossip is usually accurate," House said. "Spill it."

"Cuddy hired Lucas to investigate a possible case of fraud. Now, they're dating. Supposedly, it's semi-serious. "

"Semi-serious in only two weeks. Lucas moves quickly," House said.

"Only in comparison to you," Wilson said. "Nine years to get to first base."

"Neither of us was in any hurry," House said. "My guess is that her priorities changed when she became a mom. Rachel needs a dad and pronto."

"I'm sorry, House. This has got to hurt. Lucas is a friend of yours, and I know how you feel about Cuddy."

"It hurts," House said. "It hurts a lot, but it also means that I'm totally free. My next partner - for example, you - wouldn't have to feel the least bit guilty about betraying Cuddy."

"You're still on about that," Wilson said.

"Yes," House said. "I'm still in love with you thirty six hours later."

All too soon, Wilson reached Mayfield. Steely grey crowds glowered over the grim building. A drop of rain splashed on Wilson's windshield. Wilson parked his vehicle, but neither man made a move to get out of the car.

"I know this place looks like something out of an old horror movie, but Dr. Nolan has an excellent reputation. I can see positive changes in you already," Wilson said.

"What changes?"

"You seem more considerate. You didn't try to steal food off my plate, for example."

"In Mayfield, if you steal food off someone's plate, they stab you with a fork."

Wilson smiled. He leaned forward to get House's overnight bag, which was on the back seat. That was when House kissed him.

It was clumsy and awkward, and House only caught half of his mouth. If it had been a scene in a movie, any decent director would have ordered a retake. But to House it was wonderful, because he could sense the instant that Wilson began to respond, leaning in, his lips soft, warm and welcoming against his own.

"I knew you loved me back," House said triumphantly. "You didn't have to make such a mystery of it."

"I'm straight. I've never kissed a man before..."

"So what? You tried something new and you found out that you liked it," House said.

Wilson grabbed House's overnight bag and got out of the car. House got out of his side. Wilson came over to his side to hand him his bag. House took the bag in one hand and reached out to touch Wilson's cheek with the other.

"House," Wilson said, starting to make some kind of objection, but then House leaned forward and he did too. Their lips met. House dropped the bag and took Wilson in his arms.

From the third storey window of his office, Nolan looked down and frowned.

House and Wilson were both pink-faced and breathless. Wilson picked up House's bag from the ground and handed it to him.

"This doesn't change anything," Wilson said stubbornly. "You're still too mixed-up to know how you really feel."

"I'm not confused. I know exactly who and what I want."

"Two weeks ago, you wanted Cuddy," Wilson said.

"When I still feel this way, one month from now, after I'm out of Mayfield..."

"Then we'll talk."

"Tell me that you love me, and it's a deal."

"House, you are being such an ass about this!"

"Wilson, it's not that difficult. The ghost of your father is not going to appear and rip out your tongue for saying those words to another man."

"My father is still alive."

"I'll help you out. I'll say them first. I love you."

"I love you," Wilson said quietly. He blushed, which House thought was absolutely adorable.

Wilson stood by the car and watched as House walked up the steps to Mayfield. House turned to face him for a second as he opened the door.

"Wait for me," House called out.

Then House was gone, cut off behind Mayfield's grey stone walls.