A/N: Sorry this took me so long to post, but I was working on it and I realized I had The World's Longest Chapter. I decided to break it up a bit and publish something now, even though I'm still writing about House dealing with his leg pain, which was going to be the focus of this looonnnggg chapter. We'll just split things up a bit and see where it goes.

Disclaimer: Oh, and House and Wilson don't belong to me, no matter how possessive of them I am.

HWHWHWHWHW

The late spring and early summer were cold, damp and miserable. Wilson, with his now lower body fat, shivered through and noticed House's increasing pain. He wanted to help House, but, he knew, if he confronted him directly, House would simply deny everything. So, Wilson decided to try a different tack.

"Nolan," the deep bass answered Wilson's call. Wilson knew it was foolish, but he felt reassured just hearing that voice.

"Darryl, it's James Wilson," he responded.

"How are you, James?" Nolan sounded genuinely surprised and pleased to hear from him.

"Well into month eight on my remission and enjoying my new, lower stress job."

"Levels of which have been more than compensated for by a relationship with Greg." Nolan noted with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"For the most part, loving him is the best thing that ever happened to me," Wilson insisted.

"And for the least part?"

"I worry about him. All the time. He's in pain constantly. He's taking drugs and destroying his liver. And I won't be able to help him if he does by donating some of mine because my liver is messed up from chemotherapy."

"I understand your concerns, James," Nolan responded vaguely.

Wilson let his frustration show. "What the hell does that mean? You're aware of his pain, his increased drug use and you're trying to get him to do something about it, or you're just ignoring it and hoping he'll figure it out somehow himself!"

"You know I can't tell you anything specific about our sessions or his treatment, right?"

"Of course. But you can tell me something vague, right?"

Nolan chuckled. "Let's just say he's aware of the problem and is considering many options to deal with it."

"He's been 'considering options' for years. None of which has led to any change."

"You must know he has new motivation."

"What motivation? He likes his new job that much?"

"Again, no specifics, but since we discuss his job outside of the sessions, I can say he does seem to like it. It appears to challenge his mind, without the frustration he used to have with his patients. Although his employees still seem to give him, um, difficulties, shall we say."

"It's probably like his team at Princeton Plainsboro. He had incredibly bright, motivated people, and he could never see how good they were."

"He does have incredibly high standards, I agree. I notice you said 'probably.' Haven't you met any of his new team?"

"Nope."

"Does that bother you?"

"Actually, it doesn't. This move is supposed to be a clean break from some of the dysfunction of our past. I think working with him every day and being responsible for him wasn't the healthiest thing for our friendship, quite honestly. And now that we're in a relationship, I think it would be even worse."

"I could not agree more with that assessment. I don't think I'm betraying any confidences by noting that Greg is quite the handful even outside work. That's more than enough on your plate, I should think."

"It is, and it's what I want to focus on. Speaking of focus, can you tell me more specifically what's going on with his leg?"

"Again, you know I can't do that, James."

"Do you have any suggestions for what I can do?"

"Be supportive of him."

"Damn, that's all I ever get to do."

Nolan chuckled again. "As I said, he is going through a decision process. I can also say generically that I've made the observation to many of my patients that in situations where there are significant life challenges going on with one partner, it is usually a good idea to include the other partner in the decision-making process."

"Well, thanks for that, at least."

"How is your therapy going, by the way?"

"Good. Slow, I'm afraid."

"I'm sure Greg would say that it took you a lifetime to get yourself screwed up, so it can't get fixed overnight."

"That sounds exactly like what he would say. All I know is that I got through a week of massive rejection from my family this spring, and it really didn't bother me all that much."

"Rejection based upon what?"

"My relationship with Greg, and my bisexuality."

"That's not an easy thing."

"It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, actually."

"Why not?"

"Well, I realized that while it would have been nice if they had accepted my relationship, it wasn't at all necessary for my happiness. "

"Why is that?"

"Shortly after we got back, House and I were discussing it. He said something to the effect that I'd survived the week with my family, and I said, 'No, those were the people I grew up with, you're my family.' "

"I'm imagining his eye roll in response to that statement was larger than the Greater Boston Statistical Metropolitan Area," Nolan laughed softly. "Still, I would hazard a guess that he truly appreciated it, as well."

"I think so," Wilson agreed. "But it really doesn't matter if he did or not. It's the truth about how I feel."

"That's some huge progress on your part, James. I'd like to acknowledge you for that."

"Thanks, Darryl, but it doesn't get House any closer to dealing with his pain."

"James, I can't be too specific here, but let me redirect you to something I said and your response. I noted that Greg has motivation to improve the situation with his leg. You jumped to his liking his new job as a motivation, but I'd like you to think about other possible motivations."

"Such as?" Wilsons asked. He almost immediately answered his own question by saying, "I know, you can't tell me."

"That's true, but I don't think that if you give this much more than moment's thought, you will have difficulty coming up with an answer."

"Well if it's beyond his professional life, that only leaves his personal life."

"Continue," Nolan coaxed.

"Well, I think he's on better terms with his Mom since we came out to her and his stepfather."

"Most likely." Nolan responded vaguely. "But, just like with your parents and siblings, his mother and her husband are not a big part of his life these days, are they?"

Wilson paused. "Can't you give me a hint?"

"No, you know I can't. Let's try this. You just told me the reason your birth family rejecting your orientation and desire to marry someone of the same sex didn't affect you was because they're not really your family anymore."

"Are you saying that House considers me his family? And that's his primary motivation to deal with his leg?"

"Let's just say that if the roles were reversed, wouldn't you feel that way?"

"I already did. When House and I finally admitted we were in love with each other, I chose to continue with the chemo for my thymoma. Before that, I'd pretty much decided to stop."

Nolan murmured in response.

"So, you're saying he's motivated to do something about his leg because he's in love with me and wants to spend as much time as he has left with me?"

"Again, I can't confirm that. But, based upon your own experience, it's certainly not outside the realm of possibility, is it?"

"Wow."

"Indeed. Talk to him, James. Find out what's on his mind."

"Sure. Because he's so accepting of the situation with his leg, he stops random people on the street just to tell them all about it."

"You're not a random person on the street, are you?"

"Which probably makes it even worse."

"Approach him. If you are rebuffed, give him a little more time and try again."

"Patience is a virtue and all that?"

"In this case, more like a necessity, I would say."

"Well, thanks for that advice Darryl . . . I guess."

"You're welcome, James." Nolan hung up.

Wilson hadn't expected Nolan could tell him anything, so he wasn't disappointed with Nolan's platitudes. Well, actually he was. He'd hoped he'd get something - anything – out of Nolan he could use. What was it House said – hope was for sissies.

Actually, Wilson disagreed very strongly with that sentiment. He felt hope was only for the very strong. It was too easily crushed in the weak, after all. Anyway, he continued to go over the conversation in his mind to see if there were something that Nolan had hinted at that he just couldn't see.

Well, Nolan had suggested that House was more willing to deal with his pain without using mood-altering drugs. Did that mean he was going to go back to analgesics? That couldn't be right. The analgesics barely touched the pain when they lived in a warmer climate. With the cold they were now encountering – well into spring and even early summer, and no doubt a much earlier fall and winter – analgesics wouldn't do it. They would let House's liver heal, perhaps, but would destroy his stomach. Hardly a valid trade-off.

So, what other avenues could House be exploring – there were "miracle" cures floating around no doubt, but surely House wouldn't be taken in by some radical un-replicated experiment again? No, even he eventually learned from his mistakes.

There were other drugs, but House had tried methadone and found it fogged his brain and put his heart in jeopardy – neither being a risk he seemed willing to take now.

So, what was left? Wilson felt the analytical doctor side of his brain going to a specific place, even as the emotional fiancé side of his brain resisted. He finally went there because he had no choice.

Amputation. That was the ultimate answer. Sure, there was a risk of phantom pain. But there were ways to deal with it, as House himself had demonstrated with their downstairs neighbor when they were living at Amber's apartment.

On the other hand, House had been fiercely protective of his leg, regardless of how useless or painful it was. Could he give up more than a decade of hanging on to it? Years of rationalizations and seriously dysfunctional, even dangerous behavior would have to be both recognized and then jettisoned.

It was a daunting task for anyone who was emotionally healthy, let alone someone who had been damaged as much as House. And, yes, it had taken Wilson some time, he was ashamed to admit, to see House was the victim of emotional abuse that he truly was, and not the perpetrator.

House no doubt would have preferred to keep his reputation as an ass intact rather than have anyone see him as a victim, and, he would deny it and attempt to make Wilson angry if Wilson brought it up, but that didn't make House's victimization any less real. And that victimization had led House to refuse all attempts to help him deal with the situation with his leg.

So, Nolan was right that Wilson really couldn't push House in any direction, but that didn't mean Wilson couldn't ask. Darryl had almost said he'd told House to discuss what he was thinking and planning with Wilson. Of course, that didn't mean House was even considering doing that.

Wilson didn't know what to do. He wanted to help House with whatever decision he was making, but he knew if he pushed himself into the situation, House would shut down and never even talk to Wilson about it again.

Maybe he could do what Darryl suggested and let House know he was being supportive of whatever decision House made. If nothing else, House would confront him about spouting platitudes and at least reveal some of his thinking. Hey, it was worth a shot.

They were at home Friday night about a week later. They'd stayed out on the back deck until twilight having some beers, when the mosquitos forced them inside. They got dinner ready and sat down at their kitchen table. It was a private, intimate setting that Wilson hoped would allow House to open up a bit.

"I spoke to Darryl last week," Wilson noted nonchalantly when there was a pause in the conversation.

"Really?" It was obvious House's curiosity was peaked. "Did he spill the beans about my tetraphobia?"

"Since when won't you try a foursome?" Wilson queried.

"Just tell me where and when."

"As if just you and me aren't complicated enough."

"Is that what you talked about? Our relationship?"

"Neither Nolan nor I would do that without your being there, you know that. If we wanted to have counseling as a couple, I'm pretty sure he'd recommend someone else, anyway."

"You mean like Cuddy?"

"Yeah, because that worked out so well. Never a good idea to have a 'counselor' who is more screwed up than the people she is counseling."

"You really think she's more screwed up than we are?"

"Yes. But that's not why I talked to Nolan."

"Why, then?"

"I asked him what you are doing about your leg."

"And he told you?"

"Of course not. And I didn't expect him to."

"Then why ask?"

"If you don't ask, the answer is always 'no.' "

"But, you said he didn't say anything. What did your asking him accomplish?"

"Well, I found out that he routinely gives advice to his patients to talk to their significant others if they are considering life-altering changes."

"So, you think I'm considering . . . that . . . with my, um . . . ?"

"You can't even say it, can you?"

"Were you expecting anything else?"

"No."

There was a pause.

"Wilson – " "House – " They spoke simultaneously.

"You go first," House offered.

"I just want to say, that whatever you decide to do, as long as it isn't keeping the status quo and slowly destroying your liver, I'll support you."

"Even if – " House choked. He looked away, as though ashamed.

"Hey," Wilson said softly, "Look at me."

House turned back.

"I love you," Wilson stated quietly yet emphatically. "Nothing can change that."

House's face darkened suddenly. "Yeah, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that one," he sneered.

Wilson wanted to keep reassuring House, but he knew House would reject that. He decided to go for confrontation instead. That might not work either, but it was worth a shot.

"Yeah, after twenty years of the most insane crap one person ever put another person through, I'll run away just because you finally did the sane thing and amputated a useless, painful limb! Don't be an idiot!"

"How did you know I was thinking . . . "

"Did you forget I'm still a doctor? Amputation is the only real solution at this point. Heck, it was the only real solution when the infarction happened, but you were just too damn stubborn to do it."

"Great, now I'm going to hear all about that for the rest of my life."

"In all the time since the infarction, have I ever said anything even remotely like that to you?"

"No."

"So, why would I start haranguing you about it now?"

"Because you're so good at haranguing in general."

"True," Wilson stated dryly, "But I'm not going to start on that topic. We're trying for a fresh start here, and bringing up what you might have done fifteen years ago is the opposite of doing that."

"So, no coming down on me for not doing this back then?"

"I'd rather go down on you to celebrate that you are dealing with things."

House eyed Wilson askance.

"Okay,' Wilson admitted. "That does sound suspiciously like a reward. Sorry."

"I'll still take the bj, though. Provided you don't retch every time you look at me once the surgery is done."

"I told my brother and my father that I want you pretty much all the time. A mutilated leg being taken away won't change that."

"Really?"

"It is what I told them, honestly."

"No, I meant the missing leg part."

""That might make some difference, I suppose."

"Aha! I thought so."

"I can't help it. I'll miss that huge, gorgeous foot and those beautiful, long toes. Oh, wait, there's one that's the mirror image on the end of the other leg. So, I'll be fine. Never mind."

House gave Wilson a major eye roll, but he didn't continue to challenge him. Wilson was sure that wasn't because House was convinced, but because House was gathering more ammo for another salvo, at another time.

Loving House was a challenge in many ways – one of which was the need to be just the right kind of reassuring when his insecurities flared up. And House was a veritable mountain of insecurities. Well, what had Nolan suggested? Be supportive. Wilson thought he was getting better at that. At least he hoped so.

HWHWHWHWHW

"Hey, Greg!"

House grimaced inwardly was he heard the voice of his next door neighbor. He'd parked his car in the driveway and he was heading toward the stairs at the front of the duplex after a long day at work, wondering how he would make it up the measly six steps that led to the porch. Luckily, it was very warm, so his leg was only in moderate pain.

His tremendous upper body strength allowed him to more or less pull himself up the steps using the railing, while giving the appearance that he was merely walking up the stairs. It was a technique he'd sadly had ample opportunity to perfect over the years.

He moved to stand next to the half-wall that bisected their porch from the porch on the other side of the duplex. His neighbor ambled over with some sort of drink in his hand.

House observed him more closely. Based upon the lack of any discernible intelligence in his neighbor's eyes, his earlier conclusion that the kid was nothing more than arrogance on two quite short legs was further reinforced.

"How it's going, Greg?" The neighbor used his first name again. At this point in his life, House was very good at not letting his anger show. That didn't mean the little full-of-himself piss-ant wasn't capable of getting under his skin, at least a bit.

The irritation wasn't, despite what Wilson said, because House would stand on titles or care about deference. God knows he'd encouraged his fellows over the years to prove him wrong at any opportunity, and he'd actually celebrated (at least inwardly) when they did.

Of course, his fellows were, at minimum, competent professionals, and beyond that, capable of flashes of intelligence, and even, he hated to admit it, true inspiration. (The faces of his later groups of fellows flashed in his mind – Chase, Foreman, Cameron, Kutner, Taub, Thirteen, Adams, Park, even Masters.)

His neighbor, on the other hand, exhibited all the pathology associated with inherited success – a belief in his own self-importance coupled with an untested, mediocre intellect combined with a sense of entitlement and a totally bogus sense of accomplishment. It was like living next door to Gwyneth Paltrow without the zesty bod or Donald Trump without the hilarity of the dead-muskrat-on-the-head comb-over.

"Hey, Ronald, how's it hanging?""

"Ryan."

"Sure."

"Listen, I just wanted to thank you and James."

"Why?"

"Because you've been keeping your windows open the past few nights."

"You want to thank us for not contributing to global warming by not using our A/C until it's necessary?"

"Global warming is a liberal myth."

"You mean other than the decades of valid science that back it up?"

"Whatever. All know is that you guys aren't exactly quiet. I mean, we hear you when you are . . . you know . . . "

"Taking each other to new heights of ecstasy?"

"God, that's so, so . . . gay."

"Well, we are two men fucking each other's brains out, so that's pretty descriptive. Anyway, why are we talking about this?"

"I just wanted to thank you."

"What? You want to thank me for having sex with my fiancé?"

"Not that so much that as . . . being noisy."

"You want to thank us for keeping you awake?"

"No. I want to thank for getting my girlfriend all horny listening to two men going at it."

"We are an adorable couple, aren't we?"

Ryan couldn't keep a look of disgust from passing across his face, as House silently noted it with great amusement. "All I know is that after she hears you two, she's all over me. So, I want to express my appreciation for . . . that."

"You're more than welcome," House affected his most polite voice, which changed in an instant into a giant leer. "And remember, there's always plenty more where that came from. Know what I mean?" House gave his neighbor his most exaggerated, lecherous wink.

"Um, thanks. Thanks a lot." Ryan backed away, no doubt in abject fear of House jumping over the half-wall, overpowering him and taking him up the backside. House barely made it inside the foyer before he burst out laughing.

Wilson was already home and had started dinner. He came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He leaned in to kiss House, with a little tongue, House was happy to see.

"What's so funny?" Wilson asked after they broke for some oxygen.

"Nothing."

"Come on."

"Okay. Apparently our passionate lovemaking with the window open excites the bimbo next door, who, in turn, expresses her 'excitement' to her idiot, and I mean truly idiot, boyfriend."

"Oh, great. Now we can be accused of corrupting minors."

"As far as I know, they're both over eighteen. In any case, they seem fine with it."

"What straight or bisexual guy getting a horny girlfriend wouldn't like it?

"Precisely. What's for dinner?"

"Kebobs."

"I know you are perfectly capable of putting meat and vegetables on skewers because you've skewered me enough times, Wilson. But, we don't have any way to barbecue them."

"Come out on the deck."

"Is that a gyro in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"

Wilson rolled his eyes as he held open the kitchen screen door for House. Once House came through, he was aware of Wilson gesturing to a hibachi resting over one of the porch rails at the back of the deck.

"Isn't this a fire hazard?" House questioned even as the world's best aroma – meat and vegetables cooking over a burning, smoky, outdoor heat source - wafted toward his happy nostrils.

"The deck is made of Trex, the railing is non-flammable plastic and this seven by ten structure is sitting on at least fifteen by fifteen of stone patio. I think we're pretty safe."

"Fine," House acknowledged as he picked up a plate and began to load it up.

They finished dinner just in time to beat the mosquitoes and went inside.

After Wilson loaded the dishwasher, they went into the living room

"So, when's the wedding?" House asked.

"You mean our wedding?" Wilson asked with a wry expression.

"Can you imagine my caring even the slightest about anyone else's?"

""No, I can't. It's the last weekend in October."

"So, that's about four and a half months from now."

"Yes."

"And you don't need my help with any planning, right?"

"Well, it's pretty simple and most of it is set up – the Hotel here in Boston, the food, the music. I know you don't care what we wear – maybe just suits?"

"We've both got tuxes, why not wear those?"

"No bad Princeton Plainsboro memories associated with them?"

"I saved a kid, figured out what was wrong with Esther and you won the poker tournament."

"And we smoked cigars. That was a good night, wasn't it?"

"You mean other than my not getting into your pants? Yeah."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "And then there's the honeymoon."

"Aren't we staying at a B and B in the Berkshires?"

"You're okay with that?"

"Short travel time, not too frenzied a pace. It seems fine to me."

"You're sure you won't get bored spending a week in some small New England town?"

"As long as I have you to fuck, I'll never get bored."

"Thanks."

"What about you?"

"I'm not the guy with the ginormous, restless intellect."

"In other words, all you want to do is screw me for a week non-stop, too."

"Exactly."

There was a brief pause.

"So, why did you want to know when the wedding was?" It seemed odd that House would ask Wilson that out of the blue.

"Just figuring out how things fit into the schedule," House responded vaguely.

"What things?"

"Surgery, recovery, prosthesis fitting, rehab. Yeah, I can probably get it done in that time."

"You're going to have the amputation?"

"It's scheduled for next week."

Wilson sat there, stunned. Actually, he could feel his irritation rising. There were parts of it that were irrational, he knew. It wasn't like he didn't know House was thinking about it, and it wasn't like he didn't say he'd support whatever decision House made. But, to spring it on him like this, well, Wilson had a right to be pissed about that didn't he?

Did he? He wasn't sure he had the right to feel this way, but that didn't stop him from feeling angry. As angry as he had in a long time.

He didn't want to lose it and give House an excuse to change his mind, but he didn't really know how to avoid that at the moment. He got up and headed toward the bedroom. He went into the closet and retrieved his overnight bag. He also grabbed his toiletry kit.

"What are you doing?" House demanded as he made his way into the room.

Wilson continued to pack. "Let's just say I'm leaving before I say something I'll regret."

"What? Why?"

"The fact that you have no idea why I could be upset speaks volumes, House."

"But, you wanted me to deal with my pain. You pushed me to. I thought this would make you happy."

"I think your dealing with the situation is good, House."

"Then why are you leaving?"

"I'm angry. Really angry. And I don't want to say something I'll regret."

"How can you possibly be angry?"

Wilson's voice was calm even as his words weren't. "You know, House, you tell me I'm not boring and that I'm not stupid, and yet, you want me to think you just woke up this morning and decided on the surgery next week. I'm still a doctor, and I know this had to have been scheduled for at least a month. Well, I guess I should feel honored that you didn't wake me up on the morning of the procedure and ask for a ride to the hospital and tell me then."

"What difference does it make when I tell you?"

"I don't know. My fiancé is undergoing major, potentially life-threatening surgery with a long re-hab that I'll probably be involved in. That, and he knows I'm anal compulsive and I need to prepare."

"Wilson, I –"

"I know this is your leg and your pain and your shame and whatever other feelings you have wrapped around this and it was difficult to tell me. I recognize that. It's just that fact that you could be so completely oblivious to anything I might need . . . "

Wilson was finished packing. He zipped up his suitcase.

"Where are you going?"

"Does it matter?" Wilson asked, his bitterness showing for the first time. "You're just going to go on doing what you do and I'm not really a part of it, am I? I need to not deal with this right now, okay?"

He got his suitcase, grabbed his keys and headed out the front door to his car. He climbed in and started the ignition. He looked up and saw House's silhouette in the doorframe as he backed out of the driveway and his heart clutched hard in his chest.

"Damn you, House," he muttered as he pulled away.

Wilson was in the bed in his hotel room when the tears came.