"We're not friends anymore, House. I'm not sure we ever were." House tries to reconcile with Wilson after he tells House that they are no longer friends. After his talk with Cuddy, House has something to say to Wilson. Spoiler from season 4 and 5.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or rights to House, M.D. All rights belong to the respective persons.

House stood in front of Wilson's door. He had been standing there for minutes with his cane in mid air trying to decide what to do. He was hesitating. He never hesitated. He lowered the cane, having decided against it, and tapped it repeatedly against the carpeted mat in front of the door. He was afraid.

Amber's death, he thought, destroyed the only lasting relationship he had. But it hadn't. He closed his eyes, and remembered what Wilson had told him the day before.

"Amber was never the reason I was leaving. I didn't want to tell you because," he scoffed, "because I was trying, like I always do, to protect you. Which is the problem. You spread misery because you can't feel anything else. You manipulate people because you can't handle any kind of real relationship. And I've enabled it. For years. The games, the binges, the middle-of-the-night phone calls. I should've been the one on the bus, not," he stopped and shook his head, "you should have been alone on the bus. If I've learned anything from Amber, it's that I have to take care of myself."

House could only stand there, scanning Wilson's face for any sign of hesitation, reluctance, a hint that everything coming from his mouth were lies. But there was nothing.

Wilson continued. "We're not okay...We're not friends anymore, House. I'm not sure we ever were." As Wilson gathered his things, House could only stare blankly in front of him as Wilson walked past him, down the hall, and out the door.

Click, squeak, slam, click. The opening and closing of a door brought House out of his somber thoughts and his eyes glued to the door. He glanced down at the case of beer in his left hand. He twisted circles into the mat and took a long breath. "This is stupid." We're no longer friends, and that's fine, he thought. We'll just have to start over. He tapped his cane once more on the mat in affirmation before rapping it against Wilson's door.

There was no response. House tried again.

Silence.

"I know you're in there Wilson. I can hear your self-pity."

"Go away, House." Wilson called from inside the apartment.

House smirked. He was speaking to him, a good sign. "I can't. Friends don't let friends wallow in self-pity."

Wilson laughed bitterly. "Since when do you care if I" he said the last words incredulously, "wallow in self-pity?"

It's been two months. That's my limit on sitting by before I have to stop you from doing something stupid."

"I'm not wallowing-"

"-Yeah," House interrupted, "Because packing up and leaving everyone who cares about you while you drown in depression and misery isn't self-pity. It's just as destructive though."

Silence.

"That was sarcasm, you know."

Wilson was getting annoyed. "Well now you don't have to sit and worry about it anymore since we're no longer friends."

"Well that's strange since I'm standing here, in front of your door, worrying. Oh, wait, isn't that what friends do? Now are you gonna open the door or-"

House was interrupted when Wilson thrust open the door. He looked, according to House, completely fine, save for the scowl on his face which he assumed to be from annoyance. Though it had only been the second day since he severed his friendship with House, Wilson looked entirely normal. He imagined, even hoped, that Wilson would look more miserable. He was leaving House, and Wilson seemed fine.

House was disappointed, then annoyed, and finally angry. After a moment of scanning Wilson's face he spoke. "You look good."

Wilson scoffed. "What do you want House?" House raised the can of beers in his hand.

"Peace offering." I thought we could, I don't know," House paused to scan the floor, "talk."

"We're not friends anymore House." House looked up at Wilson. "I don't want to talk. I don't," he looked around, "I don't want you to be here." House stared at Wilson whose gaze was serious.

House breathed in quickly. "Fine." He gave a short nod. "We could start over." He looked at Wilson who was giving him an incredulous glare.

"No we can't House. I can't-"

"-You said we weren't friends anymore," House interrupted. "That you weren't sure we ever were. Fine. If you were never sure, then there's no reason to say we can't start over. This time," House lowered his glance slightly, "you can be sure."

Wilson looked at House and shook his head. "I won't enable you anymore House."

House scoffed. "You don't have to."

Wilson snickered and shook his head. "Bye, House." He closed the door.

House stood there, staring at the closed door. He looked at the beers in his hand and sneered. After a while he decided to leave. When he moved his cane in rhythm with his left leg he stopped and immediately and looked at his right hand. He noticed his knuckles had become white. Unknowingly, he had been slowly gripping his fingers around his cane, in apprehension.

He stretched his fingers and continued walking. On his way out of the lobby he saw one of Wilson's neighbors walking into his apartment. "Here." House called to the younger man, who looked back at him, confused. "Merry Christmas." He dropped the can of beers in front of the neighbor's door without another word and limped out.

The younger man looked at the beers then back at House who was limping ahead. "Thanks!"