It's Monday afternoon. He's sitting in his comfortable office chair, spinning around. He's pushed it back a couple of inches so he won't pump his knee (not the bad one fortunately) against the desk again like the first time he tried. He only needs one leg to push himself off, the other one just hangs there, useless as usual. The pictures on the wall are just a smear of colour, in fact the whole room's just smears of colour mixing together.

Wilson's back to work. He didn't tell him he would be back. He had to find out by accident. He was just staring out of the window again, not really looking at Wilson's deserted office. Oh, no, because he's never doing that. Never. Not once. So he was staring at the window and suddenly saw a shadow moving about in the office. It wasn't the cleaning lady. The cleaning lady only comes on Thursday. He found that out last week. It was somebody else. So he limped over there. All the way down the corridor to Wilson's office. And Wilson was there. Just like that. He was beginning to ask himself whether he was suddenly seeing ghosts, but then Wilson started talking to him. Well, first they exchanged 'hellos' which was rather awkward. After a strained pause Wilson finally asked him in a rather monotonous voice if there was something he wanted. That was more than House had expected, but still less than he had hoped for. Second ugly surprise in a row: Wilson was packing up his belonging, telling him he had quit his job and would soon be working for another hospital. Of course he protested, but trying to persuade Cuddy to wear less revealing tops would have had about the same effect. All quite senseless.

Their brief exchange ended with Wilson informing him curtly they were no longer friends. So basically the whole encounter was an utter success. That's why he's sitting there now, spinning mindlessly in his office chair like a child that's just dropped his ice cream cone.

The office door has opened several times. His reaction to that has quite predictably always been a gruffly mumbled "Go away!" So his team is probably now off, trying to collectively waste its time in the clinic. Hopefully one of them has had enough sense to do his clinic duty. He's not particularly keen on a visit from Cuddy at the moment. Speaking of the devil, the office door opens again. He's rather annoyed. "Go away!" turns into a hissed "You have twenty seconds to turn around and run for your life." Whoever this newcomer is, he or she seems determined not to head his well-meant warning. He keeps spinning. Since he's unable to spin in his grave he has to stick to the office chair.

He's even less amused when someone abruptly stops the chair. Were it not for the momentarily disorientation and the dizziness, he would have clomped this idiot over the head with his cane. Oh, right! The idiot's Cameron. And she's looking oddly sympathetic for just having been threatened.

"He came to see me down at the ER," she says simply.

"Who? Richard Gere? The Dalai Lama? Wait! Wait! I've got it…It was Barack. He was trying to do some last minute campaigning, right?" He asks, trying to buy some time by feigning ignorance.

Her eyes narrow and she regards him for a second, her head tilted to the left, "No, it was Eric Clapton. He asked for you, even wanted to autograph your guitar."

"Oh, great! You can send him right up next time."

She's not in the mood for games today. Her patience is wearing thin, thanks to a double shift that has just ended. Cameron sighs. "You know that I was talking about Wilson, right?"

"Yes, of course I know. You could have said so right from the start. I don't need to be cuddled. You should know by now that that whole sensitivity crap is entirely wasted on me."

"I don't think so," she says, then leans in to hug him without a warning. He just mumbles something rude into her hair, while he inhales a whiff of that vanilla shampoo she likes to use. He's trying to ignore the fact that the hug feels good, all warm and vanillay. She pulls back after a moment, shooting him a reproachful look. He knows it's not because of what he's said. It's something else. He's not hugged back.

"Told you so," he grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. He knows that he's acting downright childish, but he doesn't want to lash out at her. She doesn't deserve that, so childish behaviour is his last refuge from evilness.

"You look sad," she retorts.

"I don't."

"I know what happened."

"Great, then I don't have to repeat the whole conversation to you. How thoughtful of your friend Wilson!"

Again they've reached a point where she just wants to smack him over the head with something hard and heavy, but she bravely resists that urge for his benefit. "Oh, will you please just suck it up! I've got a plan."

He looks at her his eyes wide, blinking slowly several times. She just did something completely unexpected. This never happened before. Cameron has got a plan. He hasn't. He's baffled into speechlessness. The moment passes. "Would you mind telling me something about that ingenious plan of yours?" He looks at her curiously.

*

She's never been a manipulator. Unlike House she doesn't like to apply her ability to read people to make them do what she wants. Free will is something good. Well, most of the times. Of course, harm should be prevented whenever possible. Maybe even under any costs. Yes, she likes keeping people out of harm's way. It's one of the reasons why she became a doctor.

So that's why she now doing some amateur dabbling into the vast and rather dangerous field of manipulation. Many would regard what she's about to attempt as particularly taxing. On her first time she's taking on two master manipulators, which is quite brave, but also rather foolish. House who has perfected that skill of manipulation over many years, veiling his true intentions behind sarcastic remarks and Wilson who often uses, at least according to House, emotional black mail to get what he wants.

Convincing House had quite surprisingly been the easier part of her plan. Nowadays her leverage on him was greater. Especially when she is trying to get him to agree to something which she knows he already wants on a subconscious level. He wants to reconcile with Wilson, desperately. After all he was, notice the use of the past tense there, his only friend.

Now the only one who still needed convincing was Wilson. Right after her conversation with House she sought him out in his office. Her determination made her rather blunt and less diplomatic than usual. After all she was on a mission. Her mind was set on the goal, no time for small talk. Nevertheless the few sympathetic words she addressed him with before she got right to the heart of the matter, were heartfelt and genuine. She told him that he looked worn and thin, of course her choice of words was much more diplomatic. She immediately followed them up with her invitation to dinner, just like planned.

"Would you like to come over to dinner tonight?"

Upon hearing her question Wilson looks dazed, slowly blinking a couple of times. She can see the wheels inside his head turning. His lips press together in a thin line before he answers.

"Will he be there?"

There's no use lying to him, also no use asking who he means by 'he'. "Yes."

"Allison," he says exasperatedly. "You know House and I…"

She interrupts him. "You're not friends anymore. I remember. You told me."

"So why? Why would you invite me over to dinner when you clearly know that I can't stand being near him?" he looks up at her imploringly from his sitting position behind the desk.

She steps closer, leans over the table a little, her fingertips pressed against the cool surface of the desk. "Because he can't stand being without you."

"Don't you think that's a tad bit melodramatic," Wilson shakes his head tiredly. "You make it sound like we can't exist without each other, like we're a couple or something, which is especially strange coming from your side."

"Not 'a' couple. More like the odd couple as in Lemmon and Matthau," she smiles softly. Her smile is as always a little infectious. Corners of Wilson's mouth briefly twitch, but any smile coming from him these days is either not heartfelt or ironic.

"He does need you, you know," she adds finally.

"He's got you."

"Yes, but I'm not you. I'm not his best friend."

Wilson says nothing then, just averts his gaze. His expression is somewhat vacant. Does she imagine it or is there something akin to guilt in his eyes. She keeps pushing. "Please, Jimmy, give it one last go. You owe your friendship as much."

Right then and there he looks at her, anger flashing in his eyes. "I don't owe anybody anything. Not after what happened."

"Not even yourself?" she waits for him to say something, but he doesn't. "Maybe you could try and find out whether you can forgive him, whether you can live with what has happened."

"Why should I? What good would it do? It would be much easier the other way…"

"Would it?"

"Yes, it would," he says, his voice deep, almost threatening. She knows she is pushing her luck here, endangering her own friendship with Wilson. If she didn't know it was for the greater good, she would have dropped the subject minutes ago.

However, despite the fact that she can hear warning bells ringing in her ears, Cameron decides not to take that not so subtle hint. "It's just one evening. Two hours, three hours tops…"

"No," he says flatly.

"Alright," she shrugs her shoulders. "At least I can't say I haven't tried," she sighs tiredly and straightens, subconsciously tugging at her crinkled pink scrubs. Normally the conversation would have ended there, but she doesn't move.

Wilson watches her curiously as she's standing there her arms crossed over her chest with a pensive expression on her face. "What now?" he asks finally, his voice devoid of animosity.

"I don't know," Cameron smiles shyly. "I was kind of hoping I would be able to convince you." He throws her a reproachful look. "Yeah, I know, what was I thinking, right? I just have to regroup for a second."

"You don't know what to tell him when you report back to him?" he asks, leaning back in his office chair.

"This wasn't his idea," she clarifies. Wilson's eyebrows raise sceptically. "No, really this one's entirely on me."

"Figures…," he sighs, massaging his temples tiredly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks a tad bit irritated.

"That means be careful. He's rubbing off on you."

"He's not." She waves of his warning with a nonchalant hand gesture. "Besides, I had dinner planned. Completely harmless."

"Right." Wilson looks at her suspiciously.

"Cross my heart and hope to die." Cameron smiles trying to instill confidence. She's not only doing this for House, but for the three of them. Though she's willing to whether the crisis with House, she would be glad if it could be avoided. She likes to get along with everybody. She likes everybody to get along.

When she looks at Wilson she's seeing herself five years ago. Unlike back then she now knows that running away is no solution.

"Do you trust me?" she asks him. One last desperate attempt to break his risolve. After all she's only got his best intentions at heart.

He hesitates. "I guess, I do."

"Then trust me on this and come."

"Alright. But I'm not doing this for him," he holds out his index finger admonishingly, "I'm just doing it, because you asked me and it apparently means a lot to you."