Author's Note: My computer randomly decided to work- go figure. I've got a new job with a lot of free time so I actually finished this story. I'm going to try to post the whole thing by tomorrow tonight, because I don't want it to get out of season. If you read, please review.

The next time House released Amber's hand it took every ounce of his self-control to not burst into enthusiastic applause. He immediately recognized the scene and it was one of his favorite memories of their friendship. Christmas Eve (he was starting to notice a pattern), late, close to midnight. There was Wilson, more his Wilson than any before, and House, only slightly younger than the one standing with Amber. It was the loft, during the time they'd been living together in the space, shortly after Wilson's surgery. He remembered coming home that night and being appalled by the new addition to the living room.

The tall, thankfully artificial, Christmas tree had already been set up and Past-House was staring at it through narrowed eyes.

"I still can't believe you bought one already decorated," he whined to his friend. "Weird enough that you got one at all."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I told you. I like them, and it looks good in here."

"I'm glad you brought me here," Present-House told Amber a little grudgingly. He watched as his best friend passed the younger him a thin box, and then he laughed picturing its contents.

Past-House eagerly tore through the wrapping before withdrawing a thick stack of papers that he held up in confusion. The words across the top astounded him: Last Will and Testament.

"Wilson, what the hell?"

The two diagnosticians stared at the other man, awaiting his response. When he finally did speak, his voice was shaking noticeably. The House with the ghost tried to think back and recall if he had heard the tremble before, but he honestly wasn't sure.

"I want you to have everything."

"You're obviously drunk. Time to cut you off."

"Greg." Butterflies every time. Even Present-House felt a shiver shoot up his spine. "I'm trying to tell you something here."

"I mean, you gotta understand. I got you a book. Well, a magazine. Well, the newspaper in the trash."

Wilson held up a hand to stop the onslaught of information. "Okay, I get the idea. But there's no talking me out of it now. If I ever completely lose my mind again and risk my life for someone else who can't remember my name-"

"Which is pretty likely."

"I want everything to go to you."

Past-House sighed. "I can't believe someone declared you of sound mind."

"It's what I want."

House groped for an appropriate response, but settled on a gruff, "Whatever. It's not like I can stop you."

Wilson grinned. "Just please don't sell the records."

"Already with the demands!"

"He really cares about you," Amber suddenly commented, startling Present-House.

"Well, yeah, but there's no accounting for taste."

"I was wondering when you'd find a way to incorporate your self-loathing."

He glared back at her until he heard Wilson take a deep breath. He knew what was coming and silently recited the words with the oncologist.

"There's no one I'd rather be living with."

House shifted his eyes to his younger self, impatiently waiting for his answer. It was a full 45 seconds before he realized that no reply was coming. He hadn't said anything.

He didn't need to feel Amber's light hand on his shoulder to know it was time to move on.

"We're… in my bedroom," House told Amber moments later when he opened his eyes.

He took a step deeper into the room, and caught sight of the clothes he'd worn that morning. "Oh. We're back in my time."

"That's right. I'm just dropping you off."

He hadn't meant for his face to fall, but when Amber laughed he knew that it had.

"You're disappointed," she accused. "Why?"

Why indeed? Sure he was enjoying the trip down memory lane but he could accomplish the same thing by thinking. He decided it just seemed strange for it to come to such an abrupt ending. "I'm fine," he lied. "So, this is it?"

Amber grinned. "Yep, this is it. It's been fun. We should do it again some time."

And when he turned to her to respond she was gone.

Well. He gently lowered himself onto his bed and reflected over the previous hour. For as long as he could remember he had wanted, desperately, more than anything, for Wilson to love him. He'd spent years dropping what he had considered to be fairly transparent hints, to no avail, which he had always chalked up to a lack of feelings from the oncologist. However this trip had made him question that theory.

And he knew he was putting a lot of stock into what boiled down to a couple of looks. But he had always prided himself on the depth of knowledge he had about his friend, and he was beginning to wonder if he had been missing something all along. He hadn't been watching the time, but when the clock changed to 11:00 he felt a sharp stab of nerves in the pit of his stomach.

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and when he opened them he wasn't alone anymore.

Amber was standing in front of him again. "Miss me?"

House stared back at her for several seconds before he found his voice. "For God's sake! I saw less of you when you were alive!"

She smirked. "You couldn't possibly have thought our quality time together had come to an end already? I didn't come back from the dead to spend an hour in your company. We still have, like, five more stops to go."

Frankly, he was relieved. His curiosity about this whole thing was piqued and he wanted to see where it would lead. "So where are we off to," he inquired, getting to his feet and offering her his hand. As she took it she shot him a sideways glance.

"I thought we might go see my ex."

The Wilson in front of them was the one House had seen earlier that day. Okay, so this was the present.

His friend was sitting in front of the television, flipping through a photo album, a bottle of bourbon on the table to his right. House moved closer to the other man, and saw, to his surprise, that he was staring at a picture of the two of them. House glanced quickly at Amber because, after all, she had loved him once too, but she didn't seem upset. Quite the opposite, actually. She had the tiniest of grins on her lips and her eyes had a cheerful glint in them.

"What?"

She shrugged innocently and nodded at Wilson. House smothered a sigh and returned his attention to the scene.

He watched his friend dig his cell phone out of his pocket and begin to dial.

"Hey, House," he said softly. "It's me."