I Missed You Too

Disclaimer: I do not own House or Wilson and I don't own the speech in the italics, those were all taken from the episode Birthmarks.

This is my first story for House so I hope you like it.

Wilson POV

"You're scared of death, of losing anything that matters, so you dump the person who matters the most to you."

I don't miss him; I'm doing fine with my life. I'm moving forward, getting past my grief with Amber; I don't need House and the drama that runs him.

I'm fine with my relaxed life; I'm fine with not having to be there when he's having a crisis. I'm fine with not having him in my life to analyse every little thing I do, just he can prove himself right.

I don't need House because he's not my problem anymore. After today I won't have to see him, once I've done my good deed, he's history; the ties will still be severed.

What he said earlier was wrong about me; I was never scared of losing him, never once have I been. Not when he had the infarction, not when he was shot, not even when he overdosed. I was never scared that he was going to leave me.

I don't care about him at all, I don't have to anymore; if he died tomorrow I wouldn't miss him. I know I wouldn't miss lecturing him on the values of right and wrong, I wouldn't miss the obscure talks where he uses me as something to throw ideas against. I wouldn't miss the late night drinking where he'd spiral into a pit of overanalysing his own life as well as everyone else's and I most certainly wouldn't miss feeling that I was the one responsible for him.

That was it, I wasn't scared.

I hadn't dumped him; I'd left him because it brought back memories of that night. It brought back the hurt and pain as I remembered that he was the one responsible for Amber's death.

If he hadn't got drunk then he wouldn't have needed to call me.

If he hadn't needed to call me than Amber wouldn't have picked up the phone.

If Amber hadn't gone to collect him then she wouldn't have had that drink.

If she hadn't had that drink she wouldn't have died by getting on that bus.

As all the anguish and the anger from House's taunting reached boiling point I'd vented.

I'd thrown the bottle and smashed a window. Just like the first time we'd met.

"There were three thousand people at that convention, you were the one that I thought wasn't boring, that says something."

As we'd sat in that café, he told me that he knew where the papers were from the night we'd met. He'd bailed me out because he wanted to make my day a little better from the divorce and the arrest, I was astounded. Had House really been that nice to me?

I started to think while he was on the phone to his team. If he had been that nice to me when he barely knew me, and I'd missed it, then there had to be other things he'd done for me that showed he was well and truly my friend.

I started to look past all the bad that I'd been thinking earlier, and started to reflect on how life had been since I'd shut him out. Had I really been miserable because I was living life without him?

Was I actually grieving over my losses of both Amber and House?

He broke my reverie and bounced ideas off me like the old days.

Then I knew, after all the denial, the depression, the anger, I had missed my best friend House. I couldn't stand to lose him like I nearly had done, and he was right.

I had been afraid.

"I'm not even sure anymore if we get to choose who our friends are."

I didn't want to say it aloud but it was my way of saying I'd missed him.

I couldn't live without him because; just like House had said about his father "I am who I am because of him."

I wouldn't be the James Wilson I am today without House, I couldn't truly be happy unless I was back talking to the person who mattered the most to me.

I couldn't live anymore, without Gregory House.

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House POV

Yeah, I watched him pace like an angry lion trying to convince himself that I was wrong. But I'm never wrong. He misses me like a hole in the head and he's trying to pretend that the ache isn't there.

He misses me; otherwise he wouldn't have agreed to take me to the funeral. I know he misses me because he still gives a damn whether I do the right thing or not. I know he wants to come back to me because it bugs him so much that I'm right.

I know him better than my own mother, I know him better than he thinks I do. I know that he wants to blame me for everything that happened with Amber, but I also know that he's only doing it to push me away so he won't need to feel scared anymore. I know that soon he will realise that I'm right and finally give in; I just need to convince him of it.

"You did something nice for me?"

I gave in; I subtly told him the secret I'd been carrying for at least twenty years. I'd sprung him from jail because I could tell he was having a shitty day and I'd wanted to make it a little better.

What I didn't tell him, nor would he ever figure out, that I could see from the moment I spotted him clutching that envelope, that he was the kind of person who would keep something as annoying and detested as I was, and not let go until he really had to.

I knew right there that he was the stability I'd been looking for my whole life. He was going to be the person who would stand up and tell me enough was enough when I'd pushed the limits. He was going to be the one who, after whatever I'd done still accept me as the person I was and still care about me regardless.

Twenty years down the line it seems I was right that day too.

When I bounced ideas off him in the café I saw the spark back in his eyes, the warmth that I knew that he cared for me again. He'd forgiven me, but he just didn't know how to tell me yet. But I was patient, I could wait. I'd only waited twenty years for someone like him; I could wait a couple more hours until he came back to me finally.

I was in my office, drinking scotch, mulling over my DNA results, wondering whether I was really happy to know that I'd been right all along when he walked in.

He tried to make small talk, trying to delay what he really wanted to say, but I knew he would say it soon. He noticed the alcohol and my less than sunny demeanour, he picked up on it straight away, just like he used to. He was concerned for me, he always was, but now I knew he was here I started to feel better.

I started to realise that I'd missed him too; I took a sip of the scotch and told him I was celebrating.

It was an ambiguous answer, but I really meant I was celebrating his return. He hadn't told me yet but I knew he was back; he was back for me because he couldn't stay away any longer and I didn't want him to.

I'd missed him like hell.

"I spoke with Cuddy; she hasn't filled my position yet."

I pretended to mull it over in my head, but I was happy that I'd been right again. Wilson was coming back, back where he belonged.

I replied with, "If you're coming back because you're attracted to the shine of my neediness...I'd be ok with that."

He knew I'd missed him, as much as he had me, I saw it in his smile. I saw a hint of relief when he knew that he wasn't the only one who had been pining.

What was Sherlock without Watson?

What was Batman without Robin?

What was I without Wilson?

I'd been lost, searching for a replacement for someone I could really never replace.

He told me I was right, but I didn't hear it. I didn't need to; because now he was here I didn't want to lose him ever again.

James Wilson, my best friend.

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