I swallow my tooth.

Hot blood fills my mouth in waves, spilling down my throat, choking me. I can't spit it out. Sharp pain erupts suddenly in my side. There's a sickening crunch and I know one of my ribs just snapped.

It's punctured one of my lungs. Doesn't matter if I'm choking on blood, my lung just collapsed.

It's funny. All I can think about is their shoes. White shoes. They're going to get blood all over their white shoes. Blood and grass stains.

Wait.

No.

There's more to this.

Golf. There's golf.

I'm not any good at golf. I told them that. But they're the kind of people that are always smiling and never listening. Guilt. Wow, they were great at guilt. The kind of passive aggression that made your stomach sink. My brother in particular.

I agreed to play.

And that's when . . . no, not then . . .

That wasn't where this started.

There was sea-weed. No, not sea-weed, it wasn't the ocean. I dragged some from my hair, throwing it across the surface of the green water, slime lingering on my fingers.

No, no that's not the beginning—

I know.

It started with a phone call.

"Jim?" my brother's voice.

"Jerry?" I said into the receiver, "No way—hi—it's been a long time—how've you been?"

Besides a few random phone calls here and there I hadn't seen my brother in six years. So this is surprising.

"Great, I've been great—hey, sorry for being a terrible younger brother and not calling for so long—we always said we'd keep in touch."

"Brothers say a lot of things," I said, as good-natured as possible.

"There's a reason I called though, Jim."

My heart rate picked up, "What? Is it Mom? Is everything okay—"

"No, it's nothing like that," he laughed, "Well—might as well just say it—I got married!"

I blinked, "You—got married," I responded, unable to stop myself.

"I know," Jeremy replied, dragging out the last syllable, "To be honest it all happened so fast and you're always so busy that I thought, well, just do it and tell him afterwards."

"Wow," I said, mouth open but no words coming out, clearing my throat, "Congratulations. Did Mom come or—"

"You didn't think I'd not invite my own mother to my wedding, did you?" he scolded, "I mean, this is only my first time around, Jim—it's old news for you."

I forced a laugh.

He continued, "Anyway—I thought I'd make it up to the people I neglected and have some people over to my place in Long Island."

"Long Island?" I parroted.

"Yeah."

"You . . . have a place—"

"Come on Jim, I've had it for years."

"Oh right," I corrected myself quickly, "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"So, you interested in coming?" he asked brightly, "It's gonna be great, little bit of sun, woods, water, we're right near a golf course too."

"Of course," I answered, sitting forward in my chair, searching for my planner amongst all the clutter on my desk, "When is it?"

"In about two weeks,"

"Yeah, I think so," I said, flipping pages, tucking the phone under my chin, "The weekend of the seventh and the eighth?"

"Yep," he confirmed, "Wow, I'm looking forward to seeing you, Jim."

"Definitely."

"You're welcome to bring a guest too, everyone else is—seeing anyone lately?"

"Um, I—"

"You're not . . . married are you?" he asked unsurely.

"No," I answered.

He let out a breath, "I thought so, but I could've been wrong," he chuckled, "But you are with someone?"

"I am."

"Who is she? Serious?"

"Well, it's—"

"Too soon to tell?"

"No, actually, um—"

"Listen, just throw her in a duffle bag and get up here—I'll give you a call back later, or you call me, and I'll fill you in on the details, I gotta run Jim—you know, to be honest I didn't know where to call so I just called the hospital—good to hear your voice though, Jim."

"Same," I said.

"Seriously, call me—I'm running late, so I'll just talk to you later."

"Sure, no problem."

"Alright then, bye Jim."

"Bye, Jerry."

And that was that. He hung up and the phone was still at my ear as the dial tone started to sound.

I don't know how long it was, not that long, but I'd lowered the phone back to the cradle when House walked in.

He closed the door behind him and I lifted my hand from the receiver, remembering to close my mouth.

"Interesting phone call?" he asked, coming to lean against the wall behind my desk.

"You could call it that."

I felt his eyes on me but didn't turn around. He probably saw the planner out.

"No," he said lowly, "I think I'd call it unnerving—you've gone all pale and twitchy."

"It . . . was my brother."

"Which one?"

"The live one," I retorted, irritated, then calmed myself, taking a breath, "He got married and invited me to Long Island to celebrate."

"Nice."

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And he said I could bring a date."

"Huh . . ." House said and I heard him suck on his teeth, pausing, bouncing his cane once, then twice on the carpet before saying, "Are we flying or driving?"

"To Long Island?"

"Well, walking's out—bus? Train? How far is it?"

"Wait—you want to go?" I asked, confused.

"Sure," he answered easily. Too easily?

I paused, licking my lips, my brow furrowing. I instantly regretted my unfortunate habit of expressing emotion, knowing there was no hiding the well-defined thesis statement of my current mood written all over my face, not from House.

"Driving," I answered, putting my reservations on the back burner for now. I stood up, "It's not that far." I took a long breath, filling my lungs, putting my hands on my hips. Power pose, Wilson, I told myself, almost believing it.

House didn't say anything. Not then, anyway. He un-leaned himself, pressing his lips together with a short nod.

I wandered out to the nurse's station to retrieve a chart or two, curious when my heart rate would return to normal, uncomfortable with the dampness on my brow.

Five minutes ago I'd been worried what to eat for lunch. Five minutes ago I was completely comfortable with never seeing my brother again. What would he think of me? Why did it matter to me? Five minutes ago I wasn't terrified.

"No, no clinic, not your turn," I heard behind me.

Cuddy.

"No I know," I said, turning, "I was just uh, uh—" I thought I was holding something in my hand, when I saw I wasn't I closed my hand, "Doing nothing, apparently,"

Her eyes narrowed, "You look green, what's going on?"

"Nothing! Good, all good."

Cuddy had one hand on her hip and seemed unimpressed, "What did he do?"

"What did who do?"

"You know who."

"I don't know who you're talking about," I moved away, back to my office.

She pursued, "Crippled. Grouchy. Your roommate?"

Cuddy had never asked how or why after all this time I was still living at House's apartment. Didn't ask for reasons I had only speculated. Self-protection, most likely.

"Oh him," I said as I unlocked my door, hoping she would let me close the door and panic in peace.

"Wilson, stop, what's the matter?"

"Cuddy, I appreciate it, I do, really, thank you, but it's personal."

She stopped in the doorway of my office thus making it difficult to close. As if I wasn't already anxious enough. Can't. Can't do this right now.

Of course it would be Cuddy. God. Of course she would be here to see this. I put a hand over my mouth to stifle a shaking breath. The reality of everything, my whole life, the last six months, my job, my complete crisis of a personal life, hit me with crushing accuracy. In what seemed like a very short amount of time I'd somehow come to terms with my feelings for a man that everyone seemed to hate but me, then came to live with him and have sex with him, him, a man, for the third, no forth, time in my life, the other times being fractional parts of an unspoken whole that was my sexuality, and despite it all I loved him, god I actually really truly loved him, and all of this was mixed in equal parts with my family, whom I'd tried to keep out of my life suddenly pulling me helplessly back in. All of it. I turned away from Cuddy, trying to breathe.

"Hey," she said, closing the door, "I'm sorry," she sighed, "I didn't mean to push you."

"My brother got married," I managed, voice almost cracking, not looking at her as I cleared my throat, "And . . . he asked me to come . . . to see him."

"Ok," confusion, "And?"

"And so I'm going to, we are going to go," I turned to face her, "And I'm freaking out."

"We?"

"House and I," it came out of my mouth, unbidden, my hand returned to my mouth once I'd said it.

"Why bring him, I don't get it—"

"Oh god, I can't do this."

"Wilson."

"We're together."

"Living together, I know," she scoffed, "However that works."

"No, we're together as a—" I took a deep breath, "A couple."

She laughed, "Bullshit," when I said nothing her smile faded and disappeared in a crushing second, "Oh, god," she almost backed away with a startled gasp.

"Just—" my eyes squeezed shut.

"Oh my god!"

"Don't—"

"You can't!"

My eyes opened, "I am."

She was shaking her head, "You and House."

"Yes."

"No."

I put my hands up defensively, "Don't tell him I told you, we're just, keeping it . . . low key for now."

"When?"

"When what?"

"When did this happen?"

"We were living together. I care about him. I care about him a lot. I know, I know it's not, not normal."

"He's so, so—"

"He's not, really, he's—" I stopped, had I really just, actually come out to my boss, "He's not,"

"He's going to break your heart,"

"Cuddy, we're not just sleeping together we're actually—"

"He will use you. And then break you," her was almost shaking but forceful, "You can't give yourself to this man. Do you hear me?"

"You don't understand."

"I understand plenty. He is not capable of human connection. He is using you, Wilson. I thought you were smarter than this. God! House?!"

"You are so far from the truth," I told her. The anger flared through me, "Just because he was never interested in you!"

"Excuse me?" she took a step back, her face shattering, "How dare you."

"Cuddy, I'm sorry,"

"Fuck you, Wilson. Fuck you, and fuck House."

She left.

That went well.