House's accusing finger is all Wilson can think about. The experience is so intense, Wilson can't rightly recall how he got back to his apartment.

How could House have seen him? More astonishingly, how did House recognize him? His hands shake as he throws his belongings into a cardboard box, his instinct pushing him to take flight.

If House catches up with him and starts asking questions, they are dead men. This is the one scenario he never expected. Wilson might as well be holding a loaded gun, because if he spills what he knows, he will be responsible for murdering House.

Wilson jumps at every scraping footstep he hears outside his window. He sits down on the bed as his mind reels, leaving him lightheaded at the possibility of discovery. He fights against the tight constriction of his chest and a queasy sensation in his stomach. Deep breaths slowly calm him, but when he stands up, the dizziness returns. He drops back on the bed, upsetting his box of clothes as it tumbles to the floor. He lays his head on the pillow and watches the room spin. Rubbing his chest and shoulder, he smiles up at the ceiling. A heart attack would be good right about now.

...

Sharp pains, like shards of ice stabbing into his hips, knees, and ankles, prod Wilson awake. His eyes open upon a cool gray morning. The bedroom is an ice cave. Tilting his head slightly, he makes out the hands on his alarm clock. They are stuck on 1:20. The power must have gone out in the middle of the night.

Groggy, he tries to ignore his aching joints and burrows under the blanket. The image of House at the window swims into his vision and Wilson is instantly awake. Having lost the opportunity of a quick getaway, Wilson doesn't waste another minute, and utters a series of stubby grunts as he sits up. The weather, the power outage, and his body conspire against him. He can hardly move. Gripping the cane he leaves near the bed, he shuffles toward the kitchen to get his pills. By the time he reaches his goal, he is trembling. He leans against the counter until the dull burning sensation in his back recedes before he tackles the Tramadol. He shakes the bottle, almost a full month's supply rattles back. As he pries off the cap, a fleeting firefly of a thought buzzes in his ear, and he calculates how many pills would permanently relax him into the hereafter. "Damn it," bursts from his mouth when the lid comes off unexpectedly, and pills bounce off every slick surface, scattering over the floor. There is no way he can reach down and pick them up. If he could, he would never get up.

He checks the bottle. Two white ovals are at the bottom. Foregoing the effort of pulling out a glass from the cupboard, Wilson lifts the vial to his lips, tosses the two pills on his tongue, and dry swallows.

He makes a stop at the bathroom before collapsing onto the bed, and waits for the tide of pain to subside. As soon as he feels better he vows to forget about packing and hit the road in the same suit he wore when he got here. When he is far away he can stop at an ATM and get cash; buy whatever he needs.

A half hour goes by, then an hour. The pills should be working but Wilson is biting his lip. He almost draws blood when he hears a knock on the door, and prays it isn't House. The doorbell rings once. Wilson relaxes. House would never be that polite. Despite his discomfort he drifts asleep.

Sharp hammering on the door rouses him. Wilson rubs his hand over his face in confusion about what to do, but there is no real choice. His body is uncooperative and stiff. He can't get off the bed.

A key rattles in the front door…

"Mr. Wolfson? Mr. Wolfson, are you all right?" Darlene calls out.

Wilson clutches his blanket to his chest, but doesn't answer, willing her away.

She appears in the doorway. "James! There you are. I knocked on your door earlier to tell you that I had a client for that ivory necklace of your mother's, but you didn't answer. When I returned from the market I noticed your car was here and I became concerned." Her cheeks tinge pink. "I worry about all my seniors when the nights get cold, especially when the power goes out."

"I'm fine, Darlene."

"You don't look fine to me, honey. You're looking pale."

Wilson gives in. "My arthritis is acting up. Nothing serious."

She sweeps up the bundle of wrinkled clothes on the floor and picks through them, folding each garment. There's a shrewd glint in her landlady's eye. "Kind of early to be packing up sweater vests for spring, isn't it?"

"I was going to the dry cleaners, and uh," inspiration strikes him. He clears his throat. "I felt dizzy. Have a sore throat. I'm probably coming down with the flu. You should leave before I give it to you."

"Sweetie, I never get sick." She touches his forehead. "You may have a fever. I'll whip up something for you to drink that will do wonders."

"Don't go to any trouble-" Wilson tries to elbow up from the bed, but pain radiates through his arms and shoulders. He falls back into the pillow.

"You poor dear." She clucks her tongue as her eyes dart to the alarm clock. "Good! The power went back on. I'll make you my special tea. I want you to be well enough to meet with Rhonda tomorrow so you can show her that lovely necklace. I'll be right back."

...

"I have your word you'll see Rhonda?"

Wilson sips the hot tea in his mug, and nods. Something about the herbal blend smells and tastes familiar, but he can't pin it down. At last, the gnawing fire in his bones is fading and euphoria is taking over. If he can get out of bed and walk upright tomorrow, he feels honor bound to do Darlene a favor. And extra cash wouldn't hurt. Rhonda will be his last stop before leaving Trenton.

Darlene's cool fingers stroke his forehead and trail down his cheek, leaving the scent of rosemary in their wake. She coos, "All you need is rest. Relax." As an afterthought she adds, "My, you were a handsome man."

Wilson's eyelids feel heavy, but his eyes flutter open at the last remark. His thoughts leap to Bertram. Could Darlene be part of the time squad? He struggles to speak. "Do you know about House? If he comes…"

"Hush. Go to sleep."

Wilson makes another attempt, "House…"

Darlene's voice comes from far away. "Don't worry. I know what to do."

"There isn't another strand of ivory this good on the whole eastern seaboard." Wilson can't believe how the slick words trip off his tongue. He's getting too good at this.

He and Rhonda are sitting in front of an Italian deli in a strip center. The atmosphere is composed of plastic chairs and tables done in red, green, and white, car exhaust, and a freshly striped parking lot. The day is crisp and cold. Wilson sees his words turn into misty clouds as he speaks in a confidential tone. Anyone watching would think they're a happily married couple.

He pulls up the collar on his overcoat to keep warm, but he's feeling remarkably well. He can't remember much about yesterday except Darlene and his promise to her.

"Very pretty," Rhonda twitters, and lets out a big buxom sigh. "But it's expensive."

"Beads this size go for four times this amount on eBay." Wilson glibly lies and waits for her reaction. Unless the woman hands the beads back to him, he won't drop the price.

"One hundred dollars is a little steep on my fixed income." She stuffs the necklace into the plastic ziplock bag, but does not let go of it.

"Hasn't anybody ever told you, you can't play coy while wearing six diamond rings stuffed on your chubby fingers? Pay the loser a hundred dollars and get your blood pressure checked."

Wilson covers his mouth. Did he say that out loud? Is he channeling House? A shadow covers the white tabletop. Wilson sees a pair of jeans and the edge of a t-shirt. He raises his head. Holding back a hiccup of fear, he hides the recognition from his face.

"Why if it isn't Doctor Wilson, oncologist and huckster." House says with way too much glee.

An eight-point temblor rocks through Wilson. He wants to flee and hug House. The two actions cancel each other out, and he stays seated.

"I don't know who you're talking about." Wilson snatches the beads from the woman and rises. "My name is Wolfson." He lowers his head and is about to step off the curb when he feels a firm hand grab his arm.

"The masquerade is over, Wilson. Okay, wrong choice of words, you can't take off your mask, but all the same, you're busted."

"Let go of me." Wilson tries shaking off House's hand. Sweat gathers on his upper lip.

"No way." House smiles smugly. He is clearly enjoying himself.

The woman is still there, observing. Wilson is tempted to ask her to call the police. Let House try to talk his way out of a harassment charge without sounding like a madman. But that would be risky for him too. Wilson pulls out his wallet and flips it open, flashing his driver's license. "Check my ID. My name is Wolfson. Does anything match this Wilson you're talking about?"

House glances at it, drops his arm, and his grin grows wider. "That Bertram is a genius."

"What? How do you know about Bertram?" Wilson looks at his license. It has changed. The card shows a current picture, but his real name and loft address shine through the laminated surface. He spreads his arms. "How can this be?"

Wilson feels a timid tap on his shoulder. "Don't mean to interrupt the two of you. You look like you're in the middle of something important." Rhonda stuffs two one hundred dollar bills into his wallet and extracts the bag of beads from his hand. "I'll be going." A wave of her fingers and she wiggles away.

Wilson sinks into the chair. "I don't understand."

House sits next to him and slides a warm hand over his. "You don't understand? How do you think I felt waking up pain free, looking a decade younger, and you not hovering over me?"

Wilson decides to play out his hand with dignity. "You're well? Cancer free?"

"Absolutely. Even the leg pain is manageable. Just a twinge now and again."

"Good." Wilson nods and mulls over the best way to approach House about Bertram.

"If this was a room, there'd be an elephant in it. Spit it out, Wilson."

"Bertram. When did you find out?"

"You want me to tell you everything? Not hold anything back?"

"If time is about to run amuck, yeah, now would be good."

"And what fun would that be?" House stands up. "Let's go home, Wilson. I might let you wrestle the information out of me. You do remember how to wrestle, don't you?"

Wilson cannot keep it together any longer. His knees pop as he rises. He's feeling very old. "Stop teasing me, House. Look at me. Take a good long look, and tell me what you see."

"Can't we do this at home, dad?" House says in his mock-whining voice.

"No." Wilson wants to die now. "Been good seeing you, sonny." He walks away.

"Come back here! Wilson, don't be an idiot," House shouts after him. "Wilson! At least don't leave without your ring."

That stops him dead in his tracks. Wilson turns around. "What ring?"

House puts out his hand.

Wilson steps closer to see what House is holding. It is his wedding band. "How did you get it back from Bertram?" He slips it on his ring finger, but the band catches on his swollen knuckle.

House says something under his breath.

"What's that?" Wilson asks.

House looks annoyed. "That was my final attempt at seduction." He leans forward and shouts. "I thought if I rescued you from that frumpy old broad you would be grateful. Jesus, I should have bought you hearing aids instead of a ring."

The words sting, but Wilson can't help but smile. House is the master of the backhanded endearment. "You bought me a new ring?"

"Not exactly. It's the ring you purchased for me, but I had it engraved. Read what's inside."

Wilson squints at the inscription, but can't make out the words. He holds it at arm's length…

"Here, try mine." House gives him his reading glasses.

Wilson slips them on. The letters come into focus. You get my seat on the lifeboat. Wilson tries to speak, but suddenly there is a catch in his throat and he tries to clear it.

"That's forever, Wilson. Doesn't matter whose body hurts or who has the most wrinkles. Got it?"

A little breathless, Wilson bumps shoulders with House before managing to say, "Can we stop at the jeweler's on the way home and get it sized?"

.

.

TBC

Not finished yet! Anyone curious about Lyle? o_O