Title: Their Constant
Author: YoungFreak92
Beta: Aimee
Fandom: House MD
Rating: PG-13
Genre: General
Pairing: House/Wilson pre-slash, mentions of Wilson/Amber
Setting: Sometime after "Don't Ever Change"
Wordcount: 6 449
Feedback: Yes please
Disclaimer: I don't own House MD or any of the characters. I'm just playing around a little.
Summary: Wilson Fest prompt nr. 100; "Wilson's long lost brother shows up and gets on surprisingly well with House."
Author's Note: First of all, I want to thank the lovely and wondrous Aimee for an amazing beta-job and for teaching me about the life-span of cigarettes.
Secondly, I want to apologize to the person who came up with the prompt; I know I twisted the prompt beyond recognition, and my only excuse is that I didn't want David to suddenly show up at PPTH and thus had to come up with something else. I hope you still like the fic.
Thirdly, I am aware over the fact that David by all probability is laying dead or half-dead in a dark back alley, still drug-addicted and homeless. But since I know next to nothing about drug-addiction and addicts in general, I decided to use my artistic freedom instead of shooting in the dark. So yes, I know David is probably much too lucid and witty in this story than he should be. If this bit of idealistic imagination is an annoyance, I apologize.
And without further ado, on with the fic!

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House hated to go out shopping almost as much as he hated clinic duty. But he was out of everything and he hadn't been able to con Wilson into doing it, so there he was. Going to the store bought back memories of all of the horrible things House connected to shopping -- linoleum floor, fluorescent lights and a general shabbiness were just a few of them.

He had however been able to forget how gruesome it was to stand in the never-ending line to the checkout counter. House sighed heavily and leaned on the handle of the cart, counting the seconds and wallowing in his tragic fate.

Behind him stood a lady that had to be as old as the hills, and before him was a man that was talking on his cellphone and had been ever since House arrived five minutes earlier. Five minutes. House had suffered for five minutes from complete and utter inactivity, and judging by the length of the line it wasn't going to be over any soon.

To save himself from going insane from boredom, House studied the man's back and tried to pinpoint characteristics. The brown hair was short-cropped and a bit thin with specks of grey in it, so House estimated he was about fifty. The faded jeans and worn windbreaker he was wearing suggested that he wasn't that rich, although he could as easily just be into the trashy look. The occasional Yiddish that was thrown into his speech gave away that he was Jewish. On the subject of his speech, House had rather quickly guessed that the man was talking to his wife. The not-quite-angry tone of his voice and the fussing were textbook 'old married couple nagging'.

House tapped his cane against the floor out of idleness, keeping a fast and even time. He could see how the shoulders of the man that stood before him tensed, and he smirked. Ten more seconds of cane-tapping was what it took before the man excused himself on the phone and started to turn around.

"Would you mind to..." he started in a restrainedly calm voice but the rebuke faded into stunned silence. House knew he himself had a dumbstruck look on his face that matched the one of the stranger's, but he couldn't bring himself to stop staring.

The man was an almost exact copy of Wilson. The same bushy eyebrows, same dark eyes, same curve of the lips, same high cheekbones. The stranger's face was a little longer and thinner, the lines around his eyes, mouth and brow were deeper and his gaze was more watchful and darker than the one of Wilson, but otherwise he could have been Wilson's twin. The train of thought ended there abruptly and slowly started to back instead, allowing House to start to draw connections.

"Are you Gregory House?" the stranger asked, an almost hesitant tone in his voice. House was caught slightly off-guard by the question, but he tried to mask it as well as he could.

"Are you related to James Wilson?" House countered, his voice somewhat stern. The sad look of recognition that flickered across the stranger's eyes and the resigned way he told the person on the other side of the phone that he would call them back was more than enough of an answer.

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This is a mistake.

That thought repeated itself over and over again inside House's head as he fumbled with the keys to his apartment, something resembling anxiousness making his hands tremble. Not for the first time in his life he cursed his rash and imprudent tendencies. The stranger was standing behind him -- "David," the man had introduced himself. "I'm Jimmy's older brother." -- and was curiously looking at the hallway while absently fiddling with the hem of his jacket.

House had invited him over to his apartment, intending to talk with him, and David hadn't objected. The two men had left the store immediately, not even bothering to go through the checkout. The short drive had been spent in utter silence; neither man had dared to say a word. Thoughts, questions and theories had swirled around in House's mind, all anxious to leave his mouth, but he didn't let them. Although one question in particular had burned especially hot on the tip of his tongue -- How the hell did you know who I am?

The lock rattled and House opened the door. Once again the thought went through his head. This is a mistake. Normally he made people unknowingly go through all kinds of tests to see if they were worthy to step into his home. Most cases they weren't. The only time he had made an exception was with Stacy, but she on the other hand had been a criminally sexy, convincing lawyer. It had taken Wilson almost eight months before he had been allowed to enter, and House had taken a liking to him immediately.

It made no sense at all that he had invited a complete stranger into his home.

As House went through the door his hand instinctively groped the wall for the light switch which his fingers almost instantly found. He didn't look back at David or say anything, he just went into his apartment and left the door wide open, hoping the man would take the hint. David apparently did, because House heard the door close as he shrugged off his jacket. Still without looking at his guest he limped to the kitchen stopped in front of the fridge, hesitating. After a few seconds of consideration he did open the door and grabbed two cans of beer.

Balancing them on top of each other, he limped back to the living room. House was only mildly surprised to find David sitting on the couch, and for a split second he imagined Wilson in David's place. Shaking his head, he rested the cane against the wall. He took the upper beer can with his now free hand and tossed it at David. David jerked a little in surprise when the can fell into his lap, but nodded a 'thank you' and opened it. House slowly limped the two steps to the lounger and sat down on it heavily.

No one spoke. David was still fidgeting slightly and he was wholly absorbed in taking in the sight of the living room. House was leaning back in his chair in a display of superior confidence, mostly fake, and tried to sort everything out.

He had immediately understood that David was Wilson's mysterious lost brother. House had met Michael, who was a nice and respected lawyer and three years younger than Wilson. That brother was also successfully married to a very pretty wife and had three nauseatingly sweet children. This brother was a whole other story.

If David had been living on the streets he had most likely also been into drugs, and House assumed that the restlessness and fidgeting was due from long time exposure to them. David's nails and teeth were tinted in a slight shade of yellow, and adding the fact that he practically reeked of cigarette smoke House concluded that the man also was a smoker.

But there were some flaws in the theory of David being a raving drug-addict. For one, while David wasn't a prime example for the expression 'busting with health', he didn't look even nearly as shabby as one would expect for a homeless person. Neither did he seem to be strung-out nor in withdrawal. And then there was the fact that most homeless addicts didn't go shopping at the local store while talking to their wives on their cellphones.

"So," David said hesitatingly, out of the blue, seemingly unsure how to continue. House was pulled out of his thoughts and it took him a fraction of a second to put on his act again.

"How did you know who am?" House asked gruffly before David had time to say anything else. David met House's gaze and he somehow managed to look both surprised and not surprised at the same time.

"Jimmy used to talk about you," he answered as he once again fiddled with the hem of his shirt. "He also had some photos of you at his place, so that's how I knew how you looked."

House instantly ransacked his memory. The last time Wilson had met David was thirteen years ago. House had met Wilson sixteen years ago, but they hadn't become 'friends' until the year after. It could fit, though House couldn't be sure based on so little facts.

"What happened to you?" House asked and was mildly surprised to see a wry smile tug at David's lips.

"What is this, are we playing twenty questions?" David asked dryly, and House noted that he had started to drum his fingers against his thigh. A memory of Atlantic City, hoagies and anxiety flashed across House's mind.

"We can, if you want to," House said casually, feigning indifference. He doubted this conversation would end in assisted suicide. David nodded slowly and something resembling nostalgia and grief shone up in his eyes for a second.

"Before I tell you anything more," he said slowly as he tapped his finger against his knee, "I want you to tell me how Jimmy's doing."

House glared at his guest. He wasn't very keen on telling David anything about Wilson at all -- the man had voluntarily walked out of Wilson's life. If he was so anxious to know how Wilson was doing, he could very well walk into it again -- but House also understood that if he was going to get anything more out of David he had to play by David's rules. House was reminded all over again of why he tried to avoid people as much as possible.

"Wilson is," fucking Cut-Throat Bitch in his bed right now, for all I know, "doing just great."

David cast House a dubious look and now his fingers were following the patterns on the leather of the couch. He licked his chapped lips and seemed to weigh his next words carefully.

"Last time I saw him, he had divorced," he started, looking at House's face as for confirmation. "Has he remarried?" House kept his facial expression indifferent.

"He sure has. He's currently searching for Mrs. Wilson the fourth," House said shortly, bitterness seeping into his voice. David's eyes widened in surprise, and House found it almost eerie how much that expression resembled Wilson's. David broke the eye-contact and looked down, though the gaze was unfocused. There was a new silence hanging in the room, though it was broken once again by David a short moment later.

"Is it okay if I smoke?" he asked quickly, and House saw that his left hand was pawing at the pocket of the jacket on the same side. He's also left-handed, House noted as he reached for his ashtray and put it on the table between them, giving his silent permission.

With lightning rapidity David pulled out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and his right hand picked up a lighter from the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a cigarette from the pack, placed it between his lips and lit it. He drew in two hasty breaths and then exhaled the smoke with a sigh.

A small part of House's mind -- the part that sounded suspiciously a lot like Wilson -- whispered something about addiction and Vicodin, but House promptly ignored it.

"Can you now tell me what happened to you?" House asked, something almost surly in the tone of his voice. David looked at him and took another drag before looking up at the ceiling.

"I take it Jimmy hasn't told you anything about me," he started dryly, "so I guess I'll take it from the beginning. I need to anyways for you to understand any of it."

House leaned back in his seat, waiting to hear the rest. When David continued, his voice was softer, but still detached as if he was reciting something from a book or a movie and not his own life.

"I was five years old when Jimmy was born. We got along well, despite our age difference. We grew up in the suburbs in a pretty normal family, I guess. Mother worried too much about what others thought about us and father worked too much, but otherwise it was okay. I knew they loved us and I'm sure Jimmy also knew that, even though I was their golden boy."

The last comment was said with the same kind of sarcasm House so often used.

House sorted through what he had heard. He'd met Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, and David's description of them didn't sound too far-fetched. David looked down from the ceiling and at the floor, and his posture suddenly seemed hunched up.

"I was the good boy, I was the one who did everything right. Then I turned fifteen and something happened. I don't know what it was, I just know that something changed and everything became hell. Just getting out of bed became a challenge. I started to neglect school and got into alcohol and promiscuous sex. It didn't take long before I got into drugs too. I was very careful, though. I didn't let my grades drop below average, and I only took drugs when I thought I was going to go crazy -- when I had to choose between the drugs or shooting myself. And I only took them when my parents were away. And I stayed away from the really addictive ones. I also tried cutting myself once, but it was too obvious. Being so careful paid off; I managed to fool my parents for whole two years."

David took a long drag on his cigarette and then started to chuckle, a dry and ugly sound completely devoid of mirth.

"I... Jimmy knew all about this. I started to shy away from others, the only ones I saw were the other depressed teenagers in the gang. I didn't shy away from Jimmy, though. Or rather, I tried to, but he didn't let me go. I tried to push him away, but he kept coming back. Eventually -- which wasn't very long, I'll tell you -- I gave up and almost started to cling to him."

House looked down at his lap. He tried to remember all the times he'd tried to push away Wilson, but he only gathered a handful and even that number was frighteningly large. It was a minor miracle that Wilson hadn't just ditched him and gotten on with his life ages ago, although House was certain that the man would do just that a year ago.

"I made him swear not to tell our parents. Surprisingly enough he didn't. He kept my drug use a secret the whole time. Then... When I was seventeen, I OD'ed on accident. I don't remember anything, but I was told that it was Jimmy who found me and that he had called 911. The first thing he said to me after that was... Fuck. He told me he was sorry. Can you believe that? I should have been the one apologizing! I didn't though. I've never apologized to him, not before and not then."

Another memory surfaced in House's mind. A bottle of alcohol, stolen oxy, a hell of a lot of anxiety and a panic-stricken, disappointed face. House tried to dismiss it but it kept lurking in the back of his mind.

"I was sent into rehab and got psychiatric care, which I hated, by the way. After a while though I realized my only way out of it was to actually get a grip and do as they told me. I gave them fake answers when they asked me, I pretended to be 'normal'. Surprisingly enough I managed to fool them and they let me go. They weren't really that good. And after that I went to college."

David didn't chuckle this time, but he did turn the corners of his lips upwards in a travesty of a smile.

"I hated the place. In the beginning it wasn't that bad, but later it became sheer hell. It wasn't the studies that were the problem, I actually managed to catch on pretty good. It was the people that drove me crazy. In the end, it was only the letters and calls from Jimmy and the times I were allowed to go home that kept me going."

David stopped there and looked down at the ashtray on the table as he flicked the ash off his cigarette. Then it seemed like he remembered something and he reached for the inside pocket of his jacket. He pulled out his wallet and opened it. He pulled out a photo from it, looked at it for a moment and then passed it to House. House took it curiously.

The photograph was old and torn. It had several impressions of folding, it was tinted yellow from age and one of the corners was ripped off. Despite the bad shape the photo was in the motive was still sharp. House had to blink once in surprise. The photograph portrayed Wilson -- a very young Wilson. The man couldn't be a day over eighteen, if even that. He was leaning against a railing of some sort, and a river and numerous boats were visible in the background, as well as a cloudless sky. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a green polo-shirt, and a breeze blew his brown hair into his face. He was looking at something to the right side of the camera and he was laughing, dark eyes glittering just like the sunlit water in the background. He looked happy, almost carefree. And skinny, House added in his mind, still somewhat awestruck from seeing this right till then unknown side of his friend.

"He sent it to me right before he went to college. McGill, in Canada," David said quietly, a hint of pride in his voice. When he continued, his voice was just as detached as before. "I dropped out the same year. That photo," he paused and pointed at it, "is the only thing I have left from that life."

There was a short silence and then David gestured for House to give the photo back. Reluctantly, House handed it over and David put it back in his wallet.

"After that I cut all ties I had to my family. I took every job I could get, could barely pay the rent for the attic I lived in. Then, unsurprisingly, when things got too hard I got into drugs once again. My already poor economy became disastrous and I ended up on the streets. Then I met Jimmy again. It was a year or two after he'd finished college. I think he was in Jersey for the weekend or something."

David took a long drag on his cigarette and looked up at the ceiling again.

"He threw a fit. Understandable though. He tried to make me go home, but I refused. Although I kept in touch with him after that. And by 'keeping in touch' I mean running to him whenever I was broke and needed money for a fix, needed help after throwing a stupid stunt or just wanted a place to sleep. And before you start to look at me and lecture; I'm ashamed of it, okay? I hate myself for using Jimmy like that, I wish I could go back and undo it, but I can't. What's done is done, whether I like it or not."

David had raised his voice but now he went quiet and sagged on the couch. House kept silent. He had a distinct feeling from something that could be his conscious that if he criticized David now he would be very close to the saying 'throwing stones in glass houses'.

"Life went on like that, until one day when Jimmy and I had a fight and he said 'get a grip on yourself or don't come back'. I left and... That was the last time I saw him." David shifted uncomfortably and when he continued his voice was softer, more dejected than before. "Not soon after that fight I went to rehab. It's like... Even when Jimmy gives up on you, you know you've crossed the line, big time."

Once again the memory of last year's Christmas surfaced, and this time it hurt even more than before. House supposed that David's story explained at least some of the actions Wilson had made, for example having walked out on him that horrible night.

"I came clean during rehab and was kicked back into the real world again. I managed for about half a year and then I fell back into my old lifestyle once again. I was even more self-destructive then, convinced that I really was good for nothing. Then I met Peter and... he helped me. He made me go into rehab again, and this time someone waited for me when I was let loose. It was third time's the charm; I'm clean -- at least sort of." A meaningful flick of the cigarette, "I'm living in a two-room apartment, I have a permanent job and I'm studying in the evenings. I even got real psychiatric care, and it turns out I'm manic-depressive." David spread out his arms to illustrate that he had finished.

House looked away for the first time from David and fixed his gaze on the floor. Wilson hadn't told him very much about his childhood, and he had never bothered to ask. Over the years Wilson had occasionally told some things from his past, but they were almost always random and insignificant. What David had told him was... House wasn't sure what it was. He wasn't even entirely convinced David had told the truth. House was a firm believer in 'Everybody Lies', but his otherwise always objective perspective he took such pride in was screwed up by David's appearance. He couldn't look at the man without thinking of Wilson, and he trusted Wilson. With that tainted perspective, House wasn't sure what to make out of David's story.

"Hey," David said suddenly and yanked House out of his thoughts. "Now I've bared my life open to you. Only fair you do the same, right?" David's tone was casual, almost as detached as before. House felt unease spread through his body. He had more questions he wanted to ask David, but David was obviously not going to tell him anymore until House had answered. But House refused to share his life, his deepest secrets that he hadn't even told Wilson, with a stranger. There was simply no way he would to that. His alarm must have been shown on his face, because a moment later David flicked his hand in a dismissive way.

"Tell you what," he said, looking evenly at House. "I'm going to be blunt. I don't really care about you, I really just want to know about Jimmy. I won't ask you what happened to your leg, and I'm really not interested in the details of your life. Just tell me about Jimmy."

David had offered an easy way out. House appreciated that. David had also been blunt and straight to the point, which House also appreciated. There weren't enough people in the world that didn't bother with niceties. House licked his lips and didn't meet the other's eyes. Slowly, almost hesitatingly, he started to speak.

"I met... Wilson when I was doing my second fellowship. He was one of the new interns."

The intern didn't cower or even show the slightest sign of fear. When he spoke he actually sounded amused. "Isn't it kind of stupid to break rules and piss off your boss like that?"

"I spent time with him because... he wasn't boring."

"Relax. I've done it a hundred times before. He's not gonna fire me." The intern seemed even more amused by that answer and grinned. He said, "Never occurred to you that he might fire you because you've done it a hundred times before?"

"He was smart. I could talk to him. He wasn't dull and dumb like the rest of them. He was... interesting."

"... You're way too cocky, you know that?" The intern didn't look too unnerved. He just shrugged and smiled again. He was pretty. "I know."

"We worked at the same place for a year. Then I started to work at another hospital, but Wilson made sure we still kept in touch. He went to New York for a fellowship and I... Eventually we wound up at the same hospital in Princeton."

House paused for a moment. How should he continue from there? He'd met Stacy when he'd started to work at PPTH for the second time, but there wasn't any point in revealing that detail of his life for David. House twisted and turned the thoughts around in his head as he absent-mindedly rubbed his thigh. It throbbed and ached from the walking on the cheap linoleum floor in the store. Still busy with thinking, he groped for the bottle of Vicodin in his pocket and swallowed a pill dry.

He could feel David's eyes on him, but the man didn't say anything. House thought about the looks Wilson gave him every time he saw him reach for the painkillers. He dismissed the thought hastily. He had finally thought up a short version of his and Wilson's shared story that didn't reveal more details than necessary.

"Wilson married a girl he'd met in Boston. A few years later... my leg... happened. He took care of me for a while after that. He divorced again sometime around there. A few years later he became Head of Oncology at the hospital. He married again not soon after that, though that marriage broke two years ago. Now he has a new girlfriend and who knows how that will end."

House glanced at David. David's expression was unreadable, but it didn't look pleased. Before the other man had a chance to say anything, House added, "There's not really much more to say. He's a good doctor, everybody likes him. That's that." Still no response from David. "Really. There isn't anything more to say." There was no way in hell he was going to give away all of the details of every setback and success he and Wilson had gone through, especially not the chaos from a year ago.

Finally, David nodded slowly, though his expression was still unreadable, and put out his cigarette. Then he turned his head to the side, looking at nothingness.

House watched the other man silently. As much as he disliked to admit it, David intrigued him. The way the man spoke, gestured, carried himself... It all reminded House so strongly of Wilson it was shocking.

But while David was eerily alike to Wilson on the outside, he was obviously a completely different person. While Wilson always worried about what others would think about him, David didn't seem to care less. He was worn out and caustic, but he wasn't horribly bitter either. He was... interesting.

House gave David one last, long look before he opened his mouth once again and asked, "Why haven't you gone to see him?"

David, who was still looking away, bit his lower lip and then slowly looked up at House and met his gaze. "I can't," he said, his voice unwavering and completely devoid of emotion. House raised an eyebrow and looked at David curiously. David continued, and his voice was firm.

"He was ten years old when I went downhill. Ever since then I've been giving him nothing but pain. He has gone on with his life; He's successful, he is doing well. What would happen if I just turned up on his doorstep? What would I say?" David continued in a falsely cheerful voice, "Oh, hello Jimmy! I haven't seen you for years! How's life treating you? Hm, me? Oh, just dandy. I'm finally clean from the hard stuff, I'm just slowly killing myself with these cancer-sticks. I'm also rooming with a sober alcoholic in a crammed apartment and have a barely working economy, but otherwise I'm just fine. Oh, and by the way, I'm sorry for fucking up your life."

David dropped the mocking tone and looked at House, his gaze clear and serious. "I let him down," he said matter-of-factly, and there was not a trace of self-pity in his voice. "I've let him down in every way that it's possible to let someone down. I can't just come waltzing in now and turn his life upside-down." He shook his head. "I can't do that to him."

House didn't say anything. He didn't want to admit how much he could relate to what David had said. Instead he thought about Wilson; smiling, gentle and oh-so-annoyingly caring Wilson. His Wilson. Then he thought about the man before him. David had broken the eye-contact and was now concentrated on lightening his second cigarette. When that was done David put back the lighter in his pocket and looked down at the floor as he took deep drags. House wondered how two brothers could end up so differently. Two brothers that were so close too, if David's story was anything to go by. The man had completely omitted Michael from his tale.

For a moment, House wondered what would have happened if it had been Wilson who had started doing drugs, instead of David. His mind got caught in that 'what if' and with growing distress an alternate reality started to play out in his mind.

"Do you care about him?" David asked suddenly. House, who had been occupied by a sickening mental image of Wilson in withdrawal, actually made a slight double-take.

"What?" he said, his tone so hurried and harsh it almost sounded like he'd snapped. David didn't seem too affected though.

"I was going to ask you if you two still are in touch with each other," David explained, voice calm and once againslightly detached. "But you obviously are so there's not much point in asking, is there?" He paused, but House just looked down and didn't reply.

"Do you care about him?" David asked again, this time slightly more insistent. House still didn't answer.

Do I care about Wilson? House remembered when Wilson had been high on amphetamines and had accused him for not caring about him anymore. But that was more than half a year ago, surely Wilson understood better now. Right? After all, House would never go out of his way as much as he did if he didn't care about Wilson. And then there was that complicated, unmentionable thing he was not going to acknowledge.

House glanced up at David and felt slightly unnerved when he saw the thoughtful look the man was giving him. He wasn't used to be on the receiving end of those looks. David caught his gaze and he looked away and flicked the ash off his cigarette.

"I told you Jimmy used to talk about you, right?" David said after a few seconds, still looking at the ashtray. After another short pause, he continued, "He did. He talked about you a lot. Most of the times he was complaining. Told me how reckless and stupid you were. He actually compared us two a few times. But he always had this weird look in his eyes whenever he talked about you."

David looked up and at House for a moment, but House had his gaze fixed at his lap. When David continued, his voice was bolder, "He liked you. A lot. I'm confident you know that."

House quickly glanced up at David. The last part had been uttered in an almost demanding tone of voice. After a moment of hesitation, House nodded shortly. He felt awfully stupid for not being able to look David into the eyes or even come up with some clever retort. But talking about Wilson, with Wilson's brother... It was too close to the real thing. House shut himself up, trembling like an aspen leaf inside. It was truly pathetic.

David looked at House again, the thoughtful look back on his face but he waited a moment before he said anything more.

"If I make a comment about you and Jimmy and his three failed marriages, would that bring a verbal response out of you?" David asked dryly and at this House finally looked up and met his eyes.

"Are you implying something?" House asked, scowling slightly. David shrugged.

"Maybe," he said, and then a small wry smile tugged at his lips. "At least it got you talking."

House glowered at David, but it was more out of habit than anything else. The smile disappeared from David's lips and his expression once again turned sober.

"You know," he started, and once again he looked both nostalgic and grieved, "when Jimmy really -- and I mean really -- likes a person, it's almost like he attaches himself to that person. It's a quite amazing feeling, to be the object of all that love and attention. It's also extremely frightening. It's like... he chains himself to you, and he refuses to let go. He probably wouldn't let go of you even if it would cost him his life. He is so... loyal, I suppose is the right word. Though 'has no sense of self-preservation' is another way to describe it."

House looked down, his hands gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white. The things David had told him had triggered some memories, but this... It was like David had opened a dam; a cascade of emotions and memories was crashing upon him.

In the corner of his eyes he could see David watching him calmly. It was both comforting in an odd way and so annoying it was driving him insane at the same time. House was rather used to that feeling -- it was a feeling Wilson usually provoked on a regular basis.

David had made a short pause while he'd watched House's reaction, but now he continued.

"I'm not going to tell you to never ever let him go, because nothing lasts forever," David said, and his voice turned soft and almost quiet, "but don't actively push him away. Be thankful for the time you have with him, because when he's gone..." A rueful, twisted smile. "You never recover from that loss."

Slowly, House nodded, his eyes shut close. Maybe I don't want to push this until it breaks. He opened his eyes and looked at David. David had pushed until it had broke, and was now insistently warning him not to do the same. House allowed himself to be stupid and idealistic for once and promised himself not to do the same mistake, although he knew he would inevitably do just that. It was like David had said -- nothing lasts forever.

A silence fell between the two men and they looked away from each other. Neither said a word for several minutes, but then David broke the silence.

"Tell me a story."

House was looked up and stared at David incredulously. The latter was looking at the ceiling. "Excuse me?" House said, unsure if he'd misheard.

"Tell me a story," David repeated, still not looking down. When House didn't respond, he expounded, "About Jimmy. Tell me a story about Jimmy."

House stared, still feeling incredulous. Then, after hesitating a moment, he told David about that one time when Wilson had fallen down a flight of stairs drunk. When he'd finished, he saw a small smile tug at David's lips.

They talked. They exchanged humorous anecdotes about Wilson with each other -- David told House about the young Wilson's adventures from childhood, and House told David about the older Wilson's escapades as a resident and as a young doctor. All of the stories were, although amusing, always superficial and never personal. It was fine that way though -- it was almost like an agreement of sorts between them.

House found that it surprisingly easy to talk to David, and soon learned that the man had the same dry sense of humor as his brother possessed. It wasn't as nice as talking and bantering with Wilson, but it was... okay.

Suddenly David's cellphone rang. David excused himself and picked it up quickly.

"Hello?" he answered, and a small smile ghosted over his lips as the person on the other end started to talk. "Ah, yes. You see... Listen, Peter, I'm not in trouble. I promise, I'm fine." The tinned murmur on the other side of the phone got louder. "Yes, I know I said I would call back. I'm sorry for that. Would you please calm down?" David paused and more murmur was heard. "Yes, I'm on my way home, don't worry." David's smile widened a little. "Yeah, I know. Bye," David said and then hung up.

"I have to go," David said and glanced at House as he got himself up from the couch.

"Who was that?" House asked, nodding towards the phone David had just put back in his pocket. David looked back at him, and something flashed across his eyes. It passed too quickly for House to see anything else than the movement.

"Peter. He's my... roommate," David said, the pause he'd made to figure out the right choice of words painfully obvious. House raised a skeptical eyebrow but didn't say anything. David looked at him for a moment longer and then headed for the door.

House followed David with his eyes when the man stopped halfway on his way and turned around. "Thanks for... everything," David said, almost thoughtfully.

House hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Your welcome." Then David smiled, and it was real smile. House was momentarily turned speechless. It was the exact same smile Wilson gave him whenever he was exceptionally brilliant or funny.

David had his hand on the handle of the door when he stopped again. "Can you... I would appreciate it if you didn't tell Jimmy about any of this," he said, his head bowed and his back turned to House.

House hesitated once more, this time for several seconds, and then he answered, "Okay."

David nodded, murmured a "Thanks," and then opened the door, walked through it and closed it behind him with a mild slam.

House looked at the closed door, contemplative. He thought about what had happened, analyzed it, and came to the conclusion that as far as awkward and unexpected encounters go, this one hadn't been so bad. In all honesty, it had actually been... okay.

House glanced at his phone, considered for a moment and then reached for it. Maybe he could con Wilson into doing his shopping for him this time.