Summary: Wilson meets House at a conference, 3 years after the end of season 4. assuming season 5 never happened.

HxW strong friendship, maybe fluff. If I get a good response.

Wilson sighed and picked up some drink from a tray. He couldn't be bothered what it was, he just needed something strong. His head hurt pretty bad. He wanted to go back home, to New Jersey.

He didn't want to be in New York, not in the winter. This city reminded him of House. Everything about it reminded him of House. He'd had nothing but trouble since he'd reached. His baggage got lost at the airport, he got mugged somewhere behind the hospital he'd been visiting, and now he was sick. The city was freaking cold and everyone was so close physically, so tightly packed, but so far apart. Everyone was eternally plugged in—MP3s, iPods, laptops, PDAs… he couldn't connect on any level, with anyone here, and that was new to him, really, it was.

Now he was at this damned conference and he really didn't care what the doctors here had come up with. He missed PPTH. People were much nicer there, and he thrived on friendliness. House had been some anomaly. And the pain hadn't faded, not yet.

He'd left and three weeks down the road he'd realised that he'd made the biggest mistake of his life. He had to go back to PPTH. He didn't blame House, and he needed him. He was Wilson's other half. He'd gone rushing back in, beaming from ear to ear and slammed into House's office and—and found it empty. The shelves were empty and everything had dust-covers on it. He had backed out of the alien world, and found that House's name was no longer on the door.

He had gone rushing into Cuddy's office and the first thing he'd demanded was where's House? Cuddy had looked at him with fresh pain, layered in pity. She'd explained that he'd resigned three days after Wilson had left, and vanished without another word. They'd never stopped missing him for all those years, though they had moved on.

Suddenly he realised that the song that was playing was something that House had loved. Something that he had always played on his own piano. He thought it was a recording, and was dying to find the host to ask him what it was. It reminded him of House, and he wanted a copy.

He went searching for someone to ask, but soon noticed the large grand piano to the back. It was live music. He smiled. The pianist would be the easiest to ask. He made a beeline towards the piano, and approached the bench from behind.

The pianist was dressed in a suave black suit, and was smoking a fat cigar. He smelled like Old Spice and a wave of nostalgia swamped Wilson. He tapped him on the shoulder and the man turned around…

Wilson almost dropped his glass in shock.

House…

House looked at him and he looked at House in silence. A few people had noticed the abrupt stop to the music but they saw the pianist was busy, and turned away. House was looking at him in that was House had, with intense scrutiny. His clear blue eyes were as searing as ever, probing into him. House could probably smell his guilt, now.

Wilson felt his blush creeping up, burning the back of his neck. "Can we talk?" he croaked, his voice cracked. He had spoken so softly that the cleared his throat to repeat, so House could hear, but House got up and placed his cigar carefully in a dish and gestured for him to lead the way. His cane was still there.

Wilson lead him to outside the hall, so they wouldn't be interrupted. House looked slightly amused. "Hi." Wilson whispered, still faltering. House just nodded, as if reluctant to say anything. He must still be burnt, Wilson thought. House was like that.

There was pin drop silence that meant much more than any words that could ever have been said in it.

"I missed you," Wilson said, barely daring to meet House's eyes.

House's cordial look turned furious. "You sent me away!" he hissed, "You have no right to have missed me, no right to make me feel sorry for you. None at all!" his voice was low and crumbly and rich, just like Wilson remembered. But Wilson was more preoccupied by the violent anger in House's eyes, than the words he spoke. It was almost hypnotic.

"I—" he didn't know what to say, "I'm sorry. I was angry. I—I had—I'm sorry…" Wilson finished miserably.

There was another intense silence.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry too," House said, mood suddenly changing. He looked like a kicked puppy, and he wasn't meeting Wilson's eyes. "I didn't mean for any of that to happen. I didn't—I didn't plan for anyone to get hurt, and you know, you must know," he said, voice taking on a shade of desperation, "I did everything I could to help her. I couldn't read for months after that, and I'm really just so sorry, Wilson. I never meant to hurt you. I loved you. I—I still do."

Wilson looked up, catching House's eyes for a second, again. He was unashamedly shocked to see water in them, and ashamed to feel water on his own cheeks.

The two men stood there, shoulders hunched, bearing the weight of lost time and pain. It was silent and his pounding heart slowed, and he whispered, his voice failing him yet again. "I love you too, Greg."

Suddenly, they connected again. He felt like he hadn't spent more than ten minutes away from House, not three years. Definitely not so far away. He felt warm, and at home again, like everything was right in the world and the horrible winter was over. The bruises from the mugging felt invisible and without thinking, he asked, "Will you come back to PPTH?"

House froze. He opened his mouth, then closed it, and studied his shoes, and shot thinly veiled glances at Wilson through his lashes. They both knew what it meant. Wilson didn't want to beg, but he would. He had to. "Please," he asked, desperate. He needed House, and now that he'd found him he wouldn't be able to live knowing that House was only just a short flight away from PPTH, away from his life, and not there. It would kill him. But House couldn't. He just couldn't.

He was happy there, more or less. He didn't get pitied here, he had respect, he had peace. He couldn't face those memories, especially not the ones in Wilson's office. Definitely not.

He shook his head, and Wilson knew there was nothing for it.

Wilson hesitated then reached out his hand to House's face, and placed it on his grizzled cheek. House closed his eyes and sighed out as if releasing a long shouldered burden. "Wilson," he sighed. "I've missed you too, you idiot."

Well? REVIEW!!

Love,

Lady Merlin