Chapter 11

Fortunately, Wilson did not die the next day. Or the day after that. But the lightheadedness had acted as some sort of a wake-up call, reminding both of them that Wilson was not going to be around much longer, and they both needed to prepare for that. Which somehow made Wilson decide that House needed to get a job.

"What do you mean, get a job?" House asked when he first brought this up. They were sitting on their back deck after dinner, enjoying the warm-but-not-hot weather. House liked their place more than he wanted to admit. The neighborhood was quieter than he would have thought, and even though they had back neighbors, both lots had trees in the yard to give privacy. The lawn did require maintenance, but Wilson had hired a guy to take care of that.

House wasn't appreciating the landscaping right now, though; he was staring at Wilson like he was crazy. "Get a job doing what?"

"I don't know," Wilson said, putting an empty coffee cup on the table. "What do you want to do?"

"When I was young, I considered being a doctor," House deadpanned.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I'm serious."

"So am I," House responded. "What am I supposed to do, call up Forman and ask for a letter of recommendation? I thought we were retiring, Wilson."

"Technically, you're still not old enough to be retired," Wilson pointed out.

"Technically, I'm dead," House argued. "How am I supposed to just walk into a hospital and fill out an application?"

"You can get a job with my name," Wilson said. "House, I know we're not in any danger of going broke, but raising a child is very expensive. You won't be able to put him through college just on what we have saved."

"Gee," House said sarcastically, "If only we'd thought of that before having unprotected sex. Oh...wait a minute..."

"You need a job anyway," Wilson said. "You're already bored now that we've settled down, don't pretend you're not."

"But I'd rather be bored at home than at a job," House pointed out.

"So find something that will interest and challenge you," Wilson said. "There's no reason you have to rule out the medical field. You're going to take my name after I die anyway, so you might as well also take my medical license."

"That's ethical."

"It's not like you're not a doctor."

"I'm not an oncologist," House said.

"So don't get a job as an oncologist. Be a general surgeon or something. Or how about teaching? The University of San Francisco is nearby, they have a medical school."

"You're thinking of University of California San Francisco."

"Whatever," Wilson said. He leaned forward in his chair, looking earnestly at House. "I still have the reference letter Cuddy wrote me when I left after Amber died. We can just change the date. And any of our other colleagues back at PPTH would give you a good recommendation if they thought you were me. They'd be surprised to hear from anyone, considering I'm supposed to be dying soon, but they'd probably figure I changed my mind about getting treatment or something."

House sighed. "This is a terrible idea. What if I get caught? Going to jail is one thing, going to jail with a kid at home is another."

"That's why you should get this taken care of now, before he's born. So that when the time comes you'll be settled and everything."

But House didn't want to get a job. And if he wasn't going to keep the kid anyway, there was no point in having one, and it would be hours with Wilson wasted.

"Why don't I wait?" House suggested, his voice low and looking seriously at Wilson. "Until after?" He took Wilson's hand and squeezed. "If you're only gonna be here another two months, I don't want to be spending those months working when it could be with you."

Wilson smiled and squeezed House's hand back. "I know. I understand. And I don't want to waste the time we have left, either. But House..." He sighed and looked away. "You...as hard as it's gonna be...you're going to need to learn to live without me." He turned to look back at House as he continued. "And I really think having a job could be good for you. That way you'll have people around you who can support you and you'll have something to wake up to in the morning. I know a job isn't exactly something to live for, but a baby is, and a job will help keep you moving on with your life until the baby gets here."

"You really think I'll be in a state of mind for doctoring after you're gone?" House asked. "When Chase's dad died, he killed a patient. And he didn't even like his dad. What do you think I'll do when it's you?"

"Don't be a doctor, then," Wilson said. "Look into UCSF—be a teacher."

House scoffed. "A teacher. I'm sure they'd be willing to hire the James Wilson on paper, but once they get the Gregory House—"

"You're a good teacher," Wilson interrupted. "You've done a class or two at Princeton before and the students always learn so much from you. Everyone learns so much from you. House, if you taught...I think the next generation of doctors would be better ones because of it. And I'm not just saying that."

"There's a lot more to being a good teacher than just being good at medicine."

"I still think you should give it a shot," Wilson said. "Who knows? You may like it. And if not, at least you've made some good contacts with doctors in this area. Maybe you can even open up a practice with someone."

House wasn't sure if the contacts he would make would be "good" ones or if everyone would hate his guts, but Wilson had a good point. Even if he did to decide to live and keep the baby, it didn't mean he needed to do the same job for the rest of his life. Teaching at a medical school would be a very good networking opportunity, and networking was the best way to find a job he would really like.

"All right," House sighed, ignoring the triumphant smile on Wilson's face. "I'll give it a shot."

House and Wilson checked out the Web sites of a couple different medical schools. UCSF was the only one that wasn't too far of a commute, but they did have a couple positions open for the fall semester, and House applied for each of them using Wilson's name and credentials. A week later, he got a phone call asking him to come in for an interview.

"Too bad you can't do this part for me," House commented after he scheduled it.

"It might raise some suspicion when someone else comes in for work the first day," Wilson said.

"You do realize I haven't had a job interview in fifteen years? And my last interview was with someone I'd slept with. We might not get so lucky this time."

"Just do your best," Wilson said. "Actually try and get the job. The worst that can happen is they say no."

"No," House objected. "The worse that can happen is if it is someone I've slept with, they realize I'm not James Wilson, and send me to jail." House had not recognized the name of the person he was interviewing with, but that didn't mean that his potential boss wouldn't recognize him. Although even doctors who had heard of Gregory House and knew his reputation didn't necessarily know what he looked like, House had been to a decent number of medical conferences in his time, and while he went out of his way not to make contacts, there was still a chance that someone might think he looked familiar. He just had to hope that introducing himself as James Wilson would be enough to prevent anyone from thinking he was anyone else.

House's first interview went by without a hitch, but it was with a young woman from human resources who probably didn't know too much about doctors. She was apparently impressed enough with his resume to arrange a second interview, though, and this one was with the hiring manager for his potential department, a woman who was approximately his age and had done her fair share of networking. Her name was Dr. Kummer, and House had never heard of her, but she knew Princeton-Plainsboro, and she even knew one of the doctors House had listed as a reference. This was fortunate, because it warmed her to him. The interview, rather than at her desk, was at a seating area near a picture window. Her office was slightly smaller than Foreman's, but higher up and with a distant view of the Gulf. A warm breeze blew through the open window, ruffling her graying, chin-length hair. "You're certainly more than qualified as far as the medical aspect goes," Dr. Kummer said, referencing his resume. "And you've had a limited amount of experience teaching."

"I was the head of my department in a teaching hospital for ten years," House said. "In a classroom or in the hospital, you could say I've done nothing but teach."

"That's true," Dr. Kummer conceded, writing something down. "What made you decide to move to teaching medical students rather than doctors in a classroom or lab setting rather than a hospital?"

"I decided it was time for a change," House said. "I'm not as young as I used to be. I like the idea of more regular hours and a job where I don't walk through the door and have to either cure somebody or tell them they're dying."

"Why did you decide to come to San Francisco?" she asked, looking at him through her glasses. "Wouldn't it have been easier to find a teaching job with Princeton, considering you've worked there for so long?"

"Like I said, time for a change," House repeated. "I was stuck in a rut there. I wanted to come somewhere new. San Francisco has everything I need. I'm sure you noticed my cane. I hurt my leg a few years back, and each year, the winter gets worse for it."

Dr. Kummer nodded. She asked a few more questions regarding his experience, teaching style, and management style. House tried to tell her what she wanted to hear without lying. If he announced that he did whatever he wanted no matter what his boss said, he doubted he'd get a call back. After the interview, she thanked him and they shook hands. She said it would be a few days before he heard from HR, but he was a definite candidate.

Therefore, when he and Wilson were watching TV the next day and Wilson's cell phone rang, House assumed it was Rebecca or one of the neighbors. "House," he said, his hand over the speaker. "It's for you. It's UCSF."

"Already?" House asked, reaching out as Wilson handed him the phone. "You think I got it?"

"I don't know."

"Dr. James Wilson," House said formally. The HR person took an annoyingly long time introducing himself and asking how House was and other stupidity. Just as House was about to ask him to get to the point, he offered House the job. He was getting a moderate pay cut, but it was enough to pay the bills and pave the way for Wilson Jr. to succeed in life if he chose that route, so House accepted without arguing. They arranged where he had to be and when, and House hung up.

"You got it?" Wilson asked, as though he hadn't been able to tell from House's half of the conversation.

"Yeah," House sighed, and Wilson broke into a smile and hugged him.

"That's great," he said into House's shoulder. "I'm really proud of you, House."

"I should have known it was in the bag when she mentioned she knew your friend," House said. "Just goes to show it's not what you know, it's who you know. Who do I know again?"

"His name was Dr. Fisch," Wilson reminded him, letting go. "He had the office down the hall from us for seven years."

"Oh, right."

"Well, I think we should celebrate," Wilson said, getting up from the sofa. "I'll go to the store and get us a bottle of champagne and stuff for a nice dinner. Maybe we could even invite Rebecca and Scott."

"Or," House suggested, grabbing Wilson's hand before he could get away and giving him a suggestive look. "We could have a celebration with just the two of us."

Wilson smiled and sat back down. He let House kiss him, but kept it from getting deep. He pulled back after a moment. "Later, okay?" he said. "Tonight. We'll have a nice dinner, just us, and some champagne, maybe rent a movie, and we'll make an evening out of it. But I need to get to the grocery store if I want to make us dinner."

House nodded and let him go, trying to hide his disappointment. The kiss and its suggestion made him realize that they hadn't had sex in almost a week. It had been less and less frequent since they moved in. While in the beginning, they'd initiated it equally, now it was usually House who got things started. Since Wilson had almost passed out at the summer fest, he'd had two more of those episodes, and had been going to bed earlier. House hated to wake him after he was sleeping, especially if he wasn't feeling well, and usually just took care of himself in the bathroom instead. He hadn't wanted to think the thought because of what it meant, but now he wondered if this increased tiredness and lowered sex drive was a sign that Wilson's cancer was getting worse. They'd left Princeton near the end of May and it was now well into September. Wilson could well be looking at the last few weeks of his life.

After a delicious herb-encrusted salmon that Wilson had only nibbled at and a bottle of bubbly, House and Wilson sat on their sofa watching some movie Wilson had picked out on Demand. They weren't cuddling, but were sitting close with House's arm behind Wilson's back. House had tried to get into the movie, but he wasn't really paying attention. His mind was too focused on Wilson and the cancer. How much was it growing? What was it affecting? Had it spread to other parts of his body? How much pain was Wilson in? Was he telling House everything? How much longer did he have?

That was the scariest one.

Would House just wake up one day to a cold body beside him? Or would there be a few days where Wilson wouldn't be able to get out of bed, forcing House to sit with him and hold his hand and dread what was coming?

And what would happen after Wilson died? House had his own fake identity planned, but what about Wilson's? He couldn't use House's name, and he didn't have any ID but his own. If House showed up with a body but no ID to go with it, the police would be called. Back when Wilson had been doing chemo, House had joked that he'd had a plan to dump Wilson's body if something went wrong, but he couldn't really just get rid of Wilson. He should probably try and find someone to forge documents. He'd been skeptical of that plan before because the only people he knew who could do that were on the east coast, and if he went with someone new, he didn't know how good they would be. It was too dangerous to try and live with a fake ID and would be used as a last resort only. But if he only needed to use it once, a name for the death certificate, he could take that chance. His new job was at a college—there would be plenty of kids crawling around with fake IDs. He'd start there.

Caught up in his thoughts, it took House some time to realize that Wilson had fallen asleep on his shoulder. So much for their sexy plans for the night. Carrying Wilson to the bedroom was out. House tried to get up without waking him, but the back of the couch wasn't enough of a support for Wilson's head, and he woke up before House had even made it off the couch.

"House?" he said.

"Yeah. You okay?"

Wilson nodded, rubbing his face. "How long was I asleep? What time is it?"

"A little after nine. I didn't want to wake you, I was just gonna get the laptop."

Wilson nodded again, then yawned. "Sorry," he said. "I...I think I'll go to bed now. Do...uh...you want to come with?" He looked shy for some reason, unsure. House wondered if he was only suggesting it because House had earlier and he felt bad going back on his promise.

House shook his head. "We don't have to. Not if you're feeling tired."

"We haven't in a while," Wilson pointed out. "We can if you want. I'm not that sick yet. I'll be okay."

House studied him. Of course he wanted to; he always wanted to. But he didn't want to force Wilson, nor did he want him to exert himself. On the other hand, House wanted to be as close to him as possible for as long as possible. What if this was their last chance to make love and House passed it up?

"All right," House said, taking his cane and using it to heave himself up. "But if you need to stop, you tell me?"

"I will," Wilson promised, and House knew he was lying. He reached a hand down for Wilson to take, and they didn't let go until they got to the bedroom.

They kissed for a long time. It was slow and almost hesitant, like two virgins who knew what they were supposed to do but not quite how it went. It was a long while of foreplay before clothes even came off. When they did, House took a long moment staring down at Wilson, trying to hide the surprise from his face. What had once been a fleshed-out torso now held the shadows of ribs. Wilson's love handles were gone, as was the bit of belly he'd had. He wasn't decrepit, he didn't look starving, but it still came as a shock to see so much lost weight so fast. House had taken a good look at him naked only a week ago, and while he might have dropped a few pounds then from the time they'd left Princeton, it hadn't been this drastic.

"House," Wilson said, putting a finger under House's chin and tilting him forward so their eyes met.

"You haven't been eating," House accused.

"That's not true," Wilson said. "I've been eating less, and I haven't been as hungry."

"Have you been getting sick at all?" House demanded.

Wilson looked away.

"Answer me."

"Only a couple of times," Wilson said defensively, looking back at him. "And I'm not going to pretend I'm surprised by it."

"You've got to tell me this stuff, Wilson."

"I didn't think it was necessary to worry you."

"But I should be worried," House said. "You're dying."

"Exactly. That's going to happen whether you know about all my symptoms or not. Now let's do this, okay? While I still can."

Before House could answer, Wilson leaned forward and kissed him, with more passion than he had all night. House knew it was partly to distract him, but he took it because he knew Wilson was right. He undressed the rest of the way and let Wilson roll them over to take the top. It took longer than it usually did, for both of them. Wilson had the excuse of having cancer; for House, every time he ran his hands over Wilson's body, the diminished contours reminded him just how sick his lover was.

He tried to redirect his thinking to force himself to make the most of this moment. He kissed Wilson's thin body, he slid his hands down to massage the area that could still gain volume. With a lot of help, Wilson eventually became ready to move their efforts from foreplay to lovemaking. House considered not going all the way, using hands or mouth to stimulate Wilson's external organs only, but Wilson found lubricant from their nightstand, slicked House up, and guided him in.

They were lying facing each other, Wilson on his back and House on top of him. House had considered suggesting he enter Wilson from behind because it might be more comfortable for them, but he was selfish and wanted to look his best friend in the eye, especially if this might be their last time together.

"I'm not hurting you?" House whispered, sliding his fingers though Wilson's hair.

"No," Wilson whispered back, maintaining eye contact and returning the gesture. He kissed him again, and his free hand reached for House's.

Just as it had taken them a long time to reach arousal, it also took time to climax. Wilson lost his erection a couple times and both times House asked if he wanted to stop, but Wilson insisted they continue. Eventually, House came first—after so long, he couldn't help it, couldn't wait any longer. When that happened, he went down on Wilson instead, and put fingers inside him to stimulate him to climax. It took some more time, but Wilson finally came. The fingers massaging House's scalp ceased, and Wilson's breathing slowed and quieted. House kissed him once more before lifting his head and bringing it to rest on Wilson's chest. He felt about to fall asleep himself, but couldn't. He pulled the blanket up to warm them, not having enough energy to get up and get dressed, and listened to Wilson's heartbeat. It wasn't as strong as it should be, especially after this exertion. He wrapped his arms around Wilson and held him tightly. He closed his eyes, hoping this might prevent tears from escaping, and let the beat of his best friend's heart lull him to sleep.