PART II

Wilson came out of the bedroom wearing a pair of House's sweatpants and t-shirt, his hair slightly damp from the shower. He looked over towards House who was reading a medical journal, still sitting in his chair.

"Is this okay?" Wilson asked. "I needed to get out of those clothes." He gestured towards his outfit and looked at House questioningly as he continued walking towards the kitchen.

House looked up nonchalantly, belying his feelings. Seeing Wilson cry like that was almost too much for him to take. But Wilson was obviously feeling better, so House kept up the flow of the conversation. "Well, if you're asking me if you look okay, I'd have to say that the sweats are too long and the shirt is too tight, not the best look for you."

Wilson stopped and turned towards House, looking himself over. "You just don't want to admit that your clothes look better on me than they do you," he said with an annoyed tone. "And you know what I meant."

"If you cared whether I cared, you would've asked me first," House said, trying to sound bothered. He cocked his head as he slowly moved his eyes over Wilson. "But now that you mention it, I guess that tight shirt does do something for you. In a gay, 'check out my hot pecs' sort of way."

"You are so damned difficult," Wilson exclaimed as he turned back towards the kitchen. "And my pecs are none of your business." He opened the refrigerator door. "Wanna beer?"

"You love that I'm difficult…. turns you on. Yeah…I'll take one."

Wilson appeared at the kitchen door and tossed House a bottle, House barely catching it. "You're lucky that I caught that, otherwise you and your hot pecs would be cleaning beer off my floor," House called out.

"What is it with you and my pecs?" Wilson asked, rummaging through House's pantry for a snack. "And it's not my fault that you catch like a girl."

"Oh, Dr. Wilson, was that a sexual reference?" House asked teasingly. "Because it certainly sounded like one to me." House smiled as he guzzled his beer.

Wilson returned to the living room, open beer in hand with a bag of potato chips, a bag of nachos, and a container of dip. He laid everything out on the coffee table and dropped down on the couch. "You wish," he replied as he grabbed the remote and turned on the television.

"Well, to be totally honest, I have to say that I might have wished at one time, but if you continue to eat like that you'll lose that boyish figure and I'll have to look elsewhere for my voyeuristic gratification."

"Thanks for the warning. Here…" Wilson tossed one of the bags to House. "Let's get fat together."

House smiled as he opened the bag of chips and turned his attention towards the TV. Wilson had turned to the Speed channel, and they both sat and watched Nascar racing while indulging in their chips and beer.

After several minutes, Wilson glanced over to House, then back to the TV. "So, who blames you?" he asked, his attention still on the screen.

"I thought you didn't want to talk about this, " House said, when, in fact, he was the one who didn't want to get into this discussion.

Wilson looked over to House who had his eyes fixed on the TV screen. "We're talking about you now."

House smirked. "Okay. I know for a fact that Foreman does, I have a strong feeling that Chase does too. I haven't gotten any vibes from Cameron and I know that Cuddy feels the way you do…. well, at least I get the feeling that she does," he said, clearly uncomfortable discussing this.

"What about you, House? Do you blame yourself?" House looked at Wilson, who was now watching him intently.

This was the one question that House was dreading, but he knew it had to be asked sooner or later. And it was only right that tonight be the night, he thought, since he was the one who had forced Wilson to talk about that terrible day earlier in the evening.

House cleared his throat, looking away from Wilson, then turned back to face him. "I blame myself everyday," he said quietly. "You almost died because of me." He hesitated. "I ask myself everyday, why couldn't I just have talked to him...placated him…. but I let my pride get in the way." House looked down at his lap. "I almost got you killed," he whispered. He looked back up at Wilson. "You should hate me."

Wilson shook his head. "I could never hate you," he said quietly. House looked away. "Look at me, House."

House slowly turned towards Wilson and their eyes locked. "It's not your fault. I saw Petrone's face when he came into the clinic; he was crazed. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't have mattered what you had said to him."

House took a deep breath. "Thanks…. for that," he said, a slight smile on his lips. "But my staff didn't see his face, they only know what I said, and well…." His voice trailed off.

"If you want, I can talk to…."

"No. They'll get over it."

"How do you know that Foreman blames you?"

"Well, I guessed it when he came out and told me," House said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Ouch" Wilson said, slightly flinching. "Are you sure you don't want me to…."

"I'm sure," House said agitated. "But thanks," he added, his voice softer.

They continued to watch the race in silence. After about 15 minutes, Wilson picked up the remote and turned off the television.

"You better have a good excuse for doing that," House warned, "or don't plan on getting any from me tonight," he said placing his hands on his hips in mock anger.

Wilson turned his attention towards the floor. "I'm…uh…." He looked back up at House. "I'm thinking of accepting a position with UCLA Med Center," he said as he placed his elbow on the couch armrest and rubbed his forehead lightly. "They've offered me Director of Oncology in Clinical Research." He continued to rub his forehead as he watched House and waited for a reaction.

House was stunned at Wilson's news and didn't attempt to hide it. He stared at Wilson for several moments, his eyes blinking, silently attempting to formulate a reply that belied his sudden rush of anger. "How long?" he asked, managing to keep his voice steady but not quite able to completely hide his feelings at this sudden announcement.

"How long what? How long 'til I leave? How long…"

House cut Wilson off angrily. "How long have you known that you wanted to leave?"

Wilson nodded in acknowledgement of the question. He knew House wouldn't like the answer. "Since before the shooting," he said quietly. "But it was afterwards that I decided that I would probably take the position."

House clenched his jaw and rested his head on the back of the chair. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked looking up at the ceiling, his voice low and controlled.

Wilson didn't reply. House looked directly at him. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked again, his voice raised but still controlled.

Wilson shifted uncomfortably on the couch, rubbing the back of his neck while looking down towards the floor. "Because you're the reason I'm leaving," he answered. He hesitantly looked at House preparing himself for his reaction.

House, even more stunned at this news, slowly shook his head in disbelief at what he had just heard Wilson say. They locked eyes, Wilson looking apologetic, House staring blankly into Wilson's eyes. He cleared his throat and turned away. "Well, Dr. Wilson, you sure know how to make a guy feel wanted," he said, a small smile escaping from his lips. He ran his hand through his hair and looked back towards Wilson, this time his eyes boring into his. "What the fuck's going on with you?" he asked, his voice unsteady.

Wilson sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt House, but he now realized that that was impossible; hurt was inherent in this entire messed up scenario. All he could do was to explain as best he could, hoping that House would understand. Or at the very least, that House wouldn't hate him. He began explaining slowly.

"After Julie left, I didn't know how I would be able to go on with my life here in Princeton. It wasn't because she hurt me… I knew our marriage was over a long time ago…. it was because I felt so lost." He paused. "You always joke about how I need to be needed…. and after she left…" his voice trailed off. He took a deep breath and leaned back against the couch. "After she left, I spent a long time trying to figure things out. Why my marriage…. well, all my marriages…. failed, why I was so unhappy even when Julie and I were getting along, why I needed more and not knowing what it was that I did need. I guess you must've noticed that I threw all my energy into work after she left; I was always at the hospital. I was exhausted. It didn't take long for me to realize that work wasn't the answer; I was still miserable."

He looked at House. "And then I finally figured out why. It was because of you."