Disclaimer, etc. in previous chapters.

Wow. I guess this is really the end. (Except for the epilogue, which will be along next week.) Thanks to each one of you who's taken the time to read this fic all the way through. I really appreciate your taking that time. I hope this ending works for you. Please let me know either way. Thanks for the long, wonderful ride!


Chapter 44: Metanoia

The next morning, Wilson was so late that he missed grand rounds. Collecting everything he needed to implement his idea had been a little more difficult than he'd anticipated, but he had it more or less done. He expected that all systems would be go by late afternoon—not too long after House checked out.

Cuddy had told him yesterday evening that it was okay if he was late today, but when he saw her as he came in, she looked more than a little miffed.

Wilson winced at her account of the trouble House had caused the night shift—including a phone call to her he'd made from his room at 2 a.m.—but she'd been able to successfully hold his mischief over his head and bump his check-out time to 3 o'clock, provided he kept breakfast and lunch down. He'd moped and whined but had fallen asleep after his post-breakfast Vicodin and she swore that she could get through the day if he just gave her one more hour of quiet.

Wilson made the appropriate gestures and noises as she narrated the events, told her he'd tell her about it later when she asked what he had planned for House, and slipped into his office to work a little before lunch. He called the nurse's station on House's floor and asked to be paged when his inmate was fed. Then, with a nearly guilt-free mind, he worked hard, hoping to make a dent in all the work he was behind on before his pager went off.


Two hours and a trip to the news stand later, Wilson was leaning against the wall in House's room, watching his friend make ugly faces at the tray in front of him.

"You know, you're lucky you didn't bleed out at home or pass out on your way here and asphyxiate," Wilson said.

House said nothing, poking at pile of unseasoned potatoes instead. He was hungry, but he wasn't that hungry.

"The sooner you eat that, the sooner you go home," Wilson cajoled, half of his attention on the noon soap opera to take some of the pressure off of House.

"Got any hot sauce?" House asked, bored with the situation, the food, the room, everything.

"One week," Wilson said with a sideways glance at him. "Just one week of watching what you eat and then you can start working on another ulcer."

"And I starve between now and then?" House whined. "Life is too short for flavorless food."

"He says as he adds to his collection of scars," Wilson announced. "Is pain your new fetish?"

"Wouldn't that be convenient?" House said. "The symmetry would be absolutely breathtaking." He waited a beat. "Except that you're wrong."

"That's right," Wilson said scratching his chin contemplatively, "it's pain meds you like. So easy to mix the two up."

House gave him the 'shut up' death glare.

Wilson rolled his eyes, leaned back again, and started fidgeting. Just do it, he told himself.

"You know," he said, "about that bet…between you and Cuddy…" He trailed off anxiously, feeling acid build up in his stomach.

"The one that you set up?" House said, poking at his food again. "Or are we not talking about last week?" He looked up innocently at Wilson.

Wilson had the decency to look surprised.

House rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on," he said dismissively. "It was obvious."

Wilson sniffed. "I'm not surprised you knew," he said, feeling the acid recede now. "I'm surprised that you let me know you knew without making me suffer for it first. You're like a cat with an insect."

"Can our metaphors be a little less referential for the next year or so?" House said, stirring the food with disgust. "I've had my fill of cats. How's your dog, by the way?"

"Still a dog," Wilson said, "no matter how many times you ask me."

"I can't ask about the family?" House said.

"Only the humans," Wilson said.

"You don't care about the humans," House rejoined.

"I do care about the humans," Wilson said. "I'm just not very good with them—her."

"I don't think single guys with dogs have trouble getting laid," House advised.

"You're saying I should get a divorce?" Wilson said.

"I'm saying you're not using your canine friend as effectively as you could be," House answered.

"It's always about using someone, isn't it?" Wilson said with a tinge of disgust.

"You're the one who's good at it," House said with a shrug. "I just piss people off."

"And then use them as you see fit," Wilson added.

"But mostly I just piss them off," House clarified.

"So it doesn't count if they don't know they've been used?" Wilson asked.

"Of course it counts," House said. "I'm not laboring for nought."

"And the payoff is all that great sleep you get at night," Wilson said.

"Now you're just being mean," House said. He poked at the potatoes again. "I will give you a hundred dollars to get me a Reuben," he said.

"Nope," Wilson said.

"Two hundred," House said.

"Not happening," Wilson said.

"Just the meat, cheese, and bread," House said.

"Don't think so," Wilson said.

"This is how you atone?" House complained. "You didn't learn much in Jew school, did you."

"You're a poor negotiator," Wilson said.

"I'm starving," House said dramatically.

"You're fine," Wilson said dismissively.

"My body is burning muscle for food now," House whined.

"Keep it up and I'll add a day to your stay just to make sure you don't sneak something that isn't on the kosher list," Wilson threatened.

"If only I could have something from the kosher list…" House said longingly.

"You know which list I mean," Wilson said.

"And Cuddy calls me the Nazi," House sniffed.

"House, there's a line," Wilson said.

"The line disappears when you deprive a man of food," House said. "History bears this out."

"You have plenty of food," Wilson said. He stepped forward and dipped his pinky in the potatoes. "Not too bad," he said.

"Needs salt," House grumbled. "And hot sauce."

Wilson didn't say anything as he retreated to the wall. House was right.

House started glaring at his food again.

"When did you know?" Wilson asked.

"About five minutes after I gave Cuddy my meds," House said, not looking up from the potatoes.

"It didn't seem like something she'd do?" Wilson asked.

"She's not that impulsive," House answered.

Wilson paused. "When did you really know?" he asked.

House didn't hesitate. "After the kid went to the ICU and she didn't corner me and force one down my throat," he said. "She cares about the hospital and its patients more than she cares about me or her pride." He paused. "It was especially obvious after this," he said holding his left hand up with a wry smile.

"I guess it was," Wilson said, rubbing his neck and looking away.

They were silent for a moment.

"You cracked early," House said. "I thought it would take at least another week."

"The possibility of you dying brings it out in me, I guess," Wilson said with a shrug. "I'm weak, what can I say?"

"I was looking forward to watching you squirm," House said.

"Sadist," Wilson muttered.

"Why, thank you," House said.

They were silent again, House sneering at his food, Wilson fidgeting against the wall.

After a while, Wilson nodded at House's plate. "You like it here that much?" he said.

"This is not food," House declared.

"You eat it and it goes through with no problems, you go home in a few hours," Wilson said. "You don't eat it, or you eat something else and it makes you sick, you go home tomorrow morning if you're lucky."

"Spoil sport," House muttered and forked the potatoes. "This is really gross," he said around a mouthful.

Wilson shrugged and dipped another pinky-full. He made a face, but he also made sure House saw him swallow it.

"Yeah," he said. "Not as bad as the stroganoff, though."

House nodded sideways in agreement and stuffed more into his mouth.

"Tell you what," Wilson said, leaning against the wall again, "I'll get you something good for dinner."

House stopped chewing. "You know, this inviting yourself over all the time thing—"

"Something really good," Wilson interrupted.

House eyed him suspiciously.

Wilson shrugged off the scrutiny. "I did pay attention in Jew school as it turns out."

House examined him top to bottom and found that Wilson wanted this. But he didn't find out what it was. He determined quickly that satisfying his curiosity ranked above making Wilson suffer—as it usually did. Besides, he'd already assigned Wilson punishment for masterminding the bet. Wilson was getting off easy, but House figured Wilson had suffered plenty last week while the consequences of his decision played out in front of him, and anyway, it was much more fun to torment Cuddy than Wilson. Wilson was so much better at tormenting himself.

House loaded more potatoes on his fork. "I didn't want to have to call a taxi anyway," he said.

Wilson smiled slightly—not too much to give away how relieved he felt—and tossed House the new issue of People he'd been concealing in his lab coat.

"Finish your food, be good for another hour and a half, and I'll spring you," he said.

"Hospital food is more likely than people food to cause indigestion," House pointed out.

Wilson gave him a pointed look and House relented with another sneer at his half-finished lunch.

Wilson found himself whistling again as he headed for the cafeteria to get his own lunch. He was so light-hearted, he practically skipped down the corridor.


A few hours later, he led a mumbling, grumbling House past the clinic and a cross-armed but relieved Cuddy to his car.

"So, if I got a month off clinic duty from her, what do I get from you?" House asked as he buckled his seatbelt.

Wilson just shrugged and turned the key in the ignition. You'll find out soon enough, his body language said.

House mumbled and grumbled some more, but he sat back docilely and in his heart, he was happy to be in this familiar car with this familiar friend, going home to an admittedly empty house, but not going home alone.

Wilson nosed the car toward House's apartment, switched the stereo to an expansive Led Zeppelin song, and for a moment at least, all was right with the world.

THE END

(except for the epilogue)