Title: The Essence of Friendship, part 4

By: lbc

Pairing: House/Wilson

Rating: mature adults

Genre: will finish as slash

Disclaimer: I'm sorry I don't own these characters.

Amount of Words: 1695

Summary: James Wilson wakes up.

James Wilson opened his eyelid a slit. The light was like a blast from an exploding sun. He had had migraines where the smallest amount of light had been like a sledgehammer to his head, but this was unendurable; then welcome darkness engulfed him as he slid back into unconsciousness.

The next time he woke, the light was better. Wherever he was, someone had been thoughtful enough to dim the lights. Pain, shooting through his body, was an immediate indication to not move too quickly, but he managed to see, with his foggy vision, that he was in a hospital room. He let his whole body relax, trying to analyze the situation. He began to contemplate how one could determine the amount of time that had passed. It wasn't like Rip Van Winkle waking up with wrinkles and white hair, but he was sure that whatever had put him into this white starched bed, had not happened a few minutes before.

Then he heard a soothing voice that he recognized. Moving his eyes very slowly, he allowed his brown orbs to adjust to the scene before him. After several blinks, he realized that Lisa Cuddy was standing at the side of his bed, concern on her face.

In a hoarse whisper, more due to dryness than anything, Wilson asked, "Am I dying?"

Cuddy smiled and replied, "No, definitely not, you got a pretty good whack on your head, 15 stitches to close a cut, lots of bruises and a concussion."

At that moment, Wilson managed to focus on a distorted figure, standing outside of the glass wall that enclosed the hospital room. The man was dressed in a blue police uniform and seemed to be staring into the room . . . at Wilson. Although his head hurt, he managed to ask, "Who's that?"

"Oh, that's Sergeant Jamieson, he's sort of acting as security until we get this all straightened out."

"This?"

Wilson's eyelids had been getting heavy until he heard Cuddy's words, Am I under arrest?

"Dr. Wilson, do you remember what happened?"

Wilson's handsome faced scrunched up into a puzzled frown. "How long have I been here?"

"You arrived at the clinic at 1:00 pm which is about five hours ago. You've been examined, you've had an MRI, and you've had stitches, but what the Sergeant and the rest of us would like to know is what happened. A Mr. . . . Seivers took a dislike to something you did, but we can't get anything out of him, and his wife is still hysterical so we're hoping you can explain the whole thing."

Wilson looked apprehensive, but not so much from fear of what happened but that he was having trouble remembering. After a few minutes, however, he began to speak. Realizing that the Doctor was trying to explain what had happened, Cuddy motioned the Sergeant into the room.

"It's all kind of fuzzy. I . . . I remember Chuck Taylor telling me something. Can't remember what then I went into exam room 1. This woman was sitting on the exam gurney. I looked at her chart which said that she had been complaining of a severe sore throat. I asked her name to verify that I had the right patient's chart. I asked her to adjust her blouse so I could listen to her heart before I looked at her throat and then . . . it was like an explosion. The exam room door slammed open and this wild maniac burst in. He screamed at the woman, 'You whore!' and headed towards Mrs. Seivers."

Here Wilson stopped, breathless and exhausted. Both Cuddy and the Sergeant waited for him to begin again. "I stepped in front of Mrs. Seivers, and the guy turned his anger on me and next thing I knew I was being thrown across the room and then the lights went out."

Sergeant Jamieson had been writing the entire time, but when Wilson stopped, he looked up and asked a question. "Did you touch Mrs. Seivers, at all?"

Wilson's eyelids blinked as if he had trouble remembering then in a tired voice, he whispered, "I . . . I don't think so. I was just walking over to her side, trying to adjust my stethoscope when the door burst open and this scruffy guy roared in."

"Dr. Cuddy, representing the hospital, has indicated its desire to press charges for the assault on one of its personnel, but it would help our investigation into what happened if you could give us a description of the perpetrator of the attack," Jamieson asked.

For a moment, James Wilson looked at the police sergeant as if he was speaking Greek then his face cleared as the request seemed to make itself through his clogged up brain cells. "I don't remember much 'cause it all happened so fast. I remember him saying, "You whore." He was tall, Mrs. Seivers seemed so small compared to him. He was moderately husky, had darker hair, and he looked like he hadn't shaved in a day or two . . . I think he was wearing some sort of jacket and jeans, but he seemed unsure on his feet like he was drunk or had hurt his leg."

Although Lisa Cuddy said nothing, the description certainly reminded her of someone else. She was about to say something when the glass door slammed open. Dr. Gregory House's limping figure almost exploded into the room. His blue eyes were ablaze with anger, all directed at Lisa Cuddy. "You promised me you would call as soon as Wilson woke up, what's going on?"

The policeman's natural instinct was to step between the enraged man and the very petite woman, but Cuddy's natural presence and lack of fear, convinced Sergeant Jamieson that the new arrival was not a danger. A sound caused all three people standing in the room to look at the bed. James Wilson was lying there with his eyes wide out, fear shining out from his brown eyes. His fear and his glare were directed at one person: Gregory House!

"I . . . I . . . Wilson's voice seemed paralyzed as he tried to get the words out. Finally, he stopped and tried again, "Is . . . is that him, the guy who attacked me?"

There was utter silence in the room. Cuddy looked at House who stared dumbfounded at Wilson. Jamieson spent his time turning his head from one individual to the next as if somehow he had ended up in Wonderland, but didn't know how.

The silence continued until finally Lisa Cuddy found her voice. "No, Dr. Wilson; your assailant is in custody. This is . . . well, . . . this is your best friend, Dr. Gregory House."

Sergeant Jamieson continued to look at the two men like they were refugees from a madhouse. Finally, he found his voice and murmured that he would come back later.

Lisa Cuddy knew that there was real trouble. She wasn't surprised to discover that Dr. Wilson was having some memory problems. She excused herself to find Dr. Eric Foreman in hopes that the neurologist could examine the injured doctor again.

That left Dr. Gregory House facing the man that he had known for 18 years; the same man who had just mistaken him for his violent assailant. House limped over to the bed so it wasn't such a strain for Wilson to look at him. He did not, however, move any closer to the man.

"I . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you, but you do look like . . . Mr. Seivers . . . and you were so angry."

"Are you telling me that you don't know who I am?"

Dr. Cuddy said that you were Gregory House and my friend but . . . well, I don't . . . I can't." Wilson stopped, laying his tender head back on the hospital white pillow. He felt so disoriented. Why was the man so hostile if they were supposed to be friends?

"Look at me." House turned up the lights to enable the blinking man to look at him. Wilson said nothing. Dimming the lights once again, House returned to Wilson's bedside.

"I want you to say to me that you don't recognize me, if that's true."

"I . . . I told you I didn't. I'm really sorry. My head hurts . . . a lot. I've got a concussion. If you're a doctor, you must know that sometimes that means amnesia. I just don't know you."

At that moment, Greg House was putting enough pressure on his cane to push it straight through the floor. His leg was killing him, his temples were pounding, and his heart felt as if it was shattered. In all his agony, he retaliated with the only thing he could: words.

"Is this your revenge, Jamie? Is this how I'm going to be punished for trying to keep you here? Why don't you just punch me out, instead of doing this?"

Wilson opened his mouth to question what the man in front of him was talking about when another man walked in the door. He was average height, dark hair, and handsome. He seemed familiar. His voice whined when he shouted out, "Jimmy, they said you were awake. Man, you had me scared."

Greg House, looking at the newcomer with absolute contempt, quickly turned towards James Wilson. Wilson, on the other hand, stared at the recent arrival, trying to recognize him then he uttered the words that crushed Greg House's hopes. "Chuck, you look like hell. I'm fine, didn't they tell you?"

Greg House said nothing; he merely looked at James Wilson for a moment with an unreadable expression and then walked out the door.

End of part 4