The Boys are Back in Town

Yes, I'm still writing House fic! After the series finale I lost my source of encouragement to keep writing House fic, but I'm back on board now! I don't know how long this story will end up being, but here goes. This story more or less follows canon up until the end of season 5, but after he gets out of Mayfield, it's pretty much AU from there. For the purposes of this story, the events of seasons 6, 7 and 8 never happened. House does not waste months of his life in a sexual relationship with his boss. He does not pass out in a burning building or fake his death. He is not constantly in a downward spiral waiting for someone to save him. As to whatever may or may not be wrong with Wilson, all I can tell you is that if there is something wrong with him, it isn't cancer.

I'm currently listening to Leon Redbone's recording of "Ain't Misbehavin'" which seems so appropriate for this chapter, and, in fact, the entire story. If you're a Leon Redbone fan from back in the early days of Saturday Night Live when he was a frequent musical guest, he's back on tour again in the Midwest and it's well worth going to one of his shows. His style has only gotten better with age.

Riding off into the sunset together, right leg flying through the gear changes like nothing had ever happened. What's left of our hair whipping in the wind. My partner's right behind me, letting Kyle out to play. Kyle's obviously not quite ready to break the speed limit yet, but even cruising at a sedate 40 miles per hour, we're in heaven.

He and Wilson pulled off the narrow, two lane highway into the nicest inn they could find in central Pennsylvania. For once, Wilson was the one with the leg problems, not House. Wilson had let Kyle out to play. Kyle had never ridden a motorcycle at all, let alone ridden one cross country. They'd bought the bikes in Princeton in celebration of their decision to start a new life in the midwest. There were simply too many painful memories for both of them in Princeton to continue living there. They'd reached the mutual decision that, in order to change their lives for the better, they had to start with a move.

It was Wilson's idea to get the bikes. He'd sold the loft, burned every picture of Samantha, Julie and Bonnie, donated most of his things to Goodwill, and packed whatever he still needed that would fit in saddlebags and a backpack.

Wilson had been leaving work every day for the last few months with headaches, stomachaches, toothaches, and all sorts of other aches. Pangs of middle age? Maybe, but the frequency and severity were increasing. He couldn't tell House, but House had probably already secretly noticed these things anyway. Wilson was about 80% sure that this was all stress related, but he couldn't tell House any of this because House would then stalk him like Gil Renard in "The Fan", dragging Wilson through countless tests trying to diagnose a non existent physical ailment. On the other hand, there was still about a 20% chance that these things could really be related and have a physical cause, so Wilson decided on at least trying one test - an MRI - just to head House off at the pass. Lord knows Wilson had plenty to be stressed about.

When he kicked House out of the loft, it wasn't because he didn't want House there. It was because he was convinced this relationship would fail just like all the others had. In all reality, he now realized, he had just as much emotional baggage as House did, maybe even more. Rather than do the adult thing and work through his problems with the only person in his life who cared enough to stick around, he took what he thought was the easy way out and asked House to leave. Yes, it happened a long time ago, as had his failed marriages, and the sexual relationship with his patient, but everything was just rapidly becoming too much to bear on his own.

House had been hurt badly when Wilson kicked him out, but House eventually came to realize that it was a good thing. He realized that he could survive outside of Mayfield, living on his own. It was time for Big Bird to leave Wilson's nest. After House recovered from the initial hurt, he began to think of it as Wilson showing him some much needed tough love.

A few months after Wilson kicked House out, House began to notice symptoms in Wilson. He simply could not let those symptoms go undiagnosed. No, he'd been down that road himself, and he couldn't let Wilson go the same route. Wilson was on a downward spiral, and House had to stop it.

"You look awful," he'd said abruptly to Wilson in the cafeteria one day. "Look at you. You're not sleeping. Don't even try to lie to me. You know my lie detector is never wrong." Those brilliant blue eyes drilled holes at Wilson, but even at that, Wilson lied.

"Too many cases. I guess I have to cut my workload down. Maybe I should join a group practice."

Over the cheeseburger he'd just stolen from Wilson, House just stared at him that much more intently. "Lie number one."

"I know," Wilson hedged, but just a bit. "I have a lot of stress. I have headaches at night. I'm going for an MRI."

Having slowly and deliberately eaten every last morsel of Wilson's cheeseburger, House reached for Wilson's fries in slow motion, never once taking his eyes off of Wilson. "You don't need an MRI."

"Yeah," Wilson quipped a little too quickly, in a failed attempt to throw House off the track. "I need to sleep for about a week. Then I'll be fine. Seriously, House. I know something's wrong. I'm getting an MRI."

"Then you're wasting a huge wad of money that I could put to much better use myself. Like, oh, I don't know - loan it to me so I can buy a nice new Gibson." House pressed on, not believing any of the obvious evasions currently coming out of Wilson's mouth. "You don't need an MRI."

House had noticed the exhaustion, the lack of appetite, the personality changes and the weight loss. Based on Wilson's dietary changes, he guessed Wilson was having toothaches, too. He wasn't surprised about the headaches, either.

"Don't tell me there's nothing wrong with me. Isn't that what the idiots at Cuddy's hospital here told you years ago? Look what happened. I know there's something wrong with me. If you're not going to be there for me when I get the tests I need, then go to hell. Prove that I was right to kick you out," Wilson said defensively.

"I never said there was nothing wrong with you," House said through a mouthful of fries. "I said you didn't need an MRI. You do what you think is best, though. I'll be there through all the useless tests, and when they're done, you'll be several thousand dollars poorer, I'll still be here and we can get you what you really need."