Title: The Essence of Friendship, part 5

By: lbc

Pairing: Wilson and House

Rating: mature adults

Genre: slash elements now; full slash later

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters.

Words: 1870

Feedback welcome

Summary: Wilson goes home.

James Wilson lay in the hospital bed, exhausted. He had been woken early for more tests. The young black doctor had said that he was Dr. Foreman and that he had been assigned to his case. Wilson had questioned this, but on being informed that Foreman was a neurologist, hadn't said much more, but then Cuddy had arrived later.

The news that he heard was disturbing. Oh, not that his problems were medical. His tests had been good, and he was going to be released that afternoon. He would be given a week's sick leave, but what was disturbing was that Cuddy seemed to be reluctant to discuss . . . discuss Gregory House. Wilson couldn't understand why this Dr. House was acting like he was, but he was more concerned about why his own personal physician hadn't been notified and why he hadn't made an appearance.

When Cuddy had replied that his physician had been notified, the can of worms was opened, and it seemed that the chief worm was one, Gregory House, who had been Wilson's designated doctor for numerous years.

Wilson sighed as he thought about the significance of this information. An individual did not just choose anybody to be one's personal physician. He, James Wilson, must have had a great deal of confidence in Greg House to designate him as such, and yet . . . and yet now, James Wilson couldn't even remember the man! Not only that, but he had asked for his personal files and discovered that he was also House's personal physician. Their friendship must be very real, but James Wilson had a difficult time believing it.

James Wilson was tired of lying around. He sat up for awhile and felt less than stellar. He insisted on being able to use the bathroom but felt very tired after even that short walk. He had been interrogated again by Sergeant Jamieson and had been told that Earl Seivers was a jealous man who thought his wife was seeing someone else. He had followed "Maggie" to the hospital and when he had discovered her sheltered in an exam room with "a man", he had gone berserk with James Wilson receiving the main avalanche of his anger.

The hospital was going to press charges, but Wilson no longer cared. He felt that something much deeper was going on, but his memory was very erratic on certain things so he wasn't sure how soon, he would be able to determine the cause of his estrangement from the man who was supposed to be his best friend.

Wilson was feeling tired again, but was reluctant to sleep for fear that Foreman, or one of those other doctors who had visited him, might think that he was not ready to be dismissed. It seemed that all three doctors had some sort of relationship with Gregory House, but since Wilson couldn't recall them, he had hesitated to ask.

Looking through the glass wall, the oncologist could see Chuck Taylor approaching. Thank goodness for Taylor. At least, I remember him.'

Looking especially handsome, Taylor walked in and looked at his friend. "Ah, Jimmy, I'm glad you're more focussed today. I've got to be going back to Florida. I'm really sorry about what happened, but my clinic just can't do without me. I've got a noon flight so I have to get going. I'm sure the Board will be pleased with Dr. Matthews, and, of course, Dr. House."

"Dr. House?"

"Oh, of course, you're having trouble remembering him. Well, you know that Bill Matthews has accepted the Oncology position at the clinic, but Dr. House approached me . . . just before you had the run-in with that guy . . . and said that he was interested in a position. With his reputation, I don't think I'll have any trouble selling the Board on accepting him."

Wilson frowned. "Is he that famous?"

"Boy, you're brain is fried. He went to school with us - - well, he was a few years ahead of us. You two seemed pretty close before he graduated; then he went to Hopkins to intern, and it's been onward and upward ever since. His reputation is top-notch - - as a diagnostician, he's also pretty temperamental and sarcastic, but I'm paying for his reputation, and I suspect I can handle the rest."

Since James Wilson couldn't really remember House, he fell back to the second "lucky" selectee. "Bill Matthews is a good choice; you'll be pleased."

"Yeah, I wish you would have said yes, but what with House . . . well, it's not necessary to go into that."

"What are you talking about, Chuck? Did House make conditions?"

"Well, I don't know what you did to him, old buddy, but he specifically requested that you not be given the Oncology job if he took the Diagnostics position. Since you had decided not to take it anyhow, it was no skin off my nose."

James Wilson felt like an empty shell. He remembered everyone else but Gregory House and his assistants. He was told that House was his personal physician and his best friend, and yet House didn't want to be around him. What the hell had happened between them?

Wilson dropped his head back on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. Charles Taylor was often oblivious to the problems of others, but he could see Wilson's exhaustion so he took his leave. Several hours passed, but finally James Wilson was cleared to leave the hospital.

Lisa Cuddy walked along side Wilson's wheelchair as it was pushed out of the hospital. When she saw the taxi waiting, she demanded to know what was going on and insisted that Wilson have someone stay with him for a day or so.

Wilson looked at the small woman and said, "I'm a big boy now. My headache is almost gone. I just didn't feel like driving. I promise I'll go straight home and take advantage of the week's sick leave that you've so kindly given me. I don't need a babysitter, thank you very much."

Cuddy stared at the tall man, thinking that his stubbornness was second only to one scruffy faced, pain in the posterior diagnostician. Carefully, Wilson stood up from of the wheelchair and approached the taxi. Suddenly, from out of nowhere a silver Lexus pulled up and stopped. Dr. Gregory House got out of the car and moved to the side of the taxi. Speaking to the taxi driver, he said, "You're not needed; I'm taking the good doctor to his abode."

The less than genius driver merely replied, "Huh?"

Blue eyes sparked as House handed over a more than adequate tip for a job never done. "Look fella, I – am – taking – the - man – home, so go away."

Looking at the hefty tip, the driver nodded and took off, barely giving a backward glance.

James Wilson had not yet placed his small collection of clothes in the car so he was now caught there, with a bundle, but without benefit of the shelter that the taxi had afforded.

Gregory House stood there looking then said, "Get in."

Wilson looked carefully at the silver car and realized it was his. "How'd you get my car?"

"Well, duh, it's been parked in the lot under the sign, "Dr. James Wilson" since the day the Incredible Scruff attacked you. I just picked the pocket of your clothes and got your keys. Now, isn't that all simple? Now get in, will you?"

House turned to Cuddy and said, "My eyes are feeling shell-shocked from gazing at your cleavage. I'm going to take Dr. Wilson home, and then visit the local pharmacy to purchase some eye drops. Should be back . . . sometime." With those words, he grabbed the bundle of clothes from Wilson's arms and made for the driver's side of the car.

James Wilson continued to stand there, totally befuddled. He had not seen House since the evening before when House had walked out of his hospital room, and now the man was offering to drive him home. Totally off the wall. It came to James Wilson's mind to question his own sanity about why he would have this man as his friend.

"Come on, Wilson. Haven't got all day. My eyes are seared with the sights that Dr. Cuddy has shown me today. Move it or I will lose my sight."

Totally bemused, James Wilson moved towards the car. Getting in, he collapsed into the passenger's seat, preparing himself for the strangest ride he would probably ever take.

As House darted into traffic, Wilson tried to settle into the very comfortable seat, but, if the truth were known, his whole body still ached, especially the muscles in his neck as well as his throbbing head. The silence was welcome. The smell of the Lexus was heavenly . . . or maybe it was the aroma of Greg House, who seemed to be concentrating on the road ahead.

Wilson leaned back in the seat and rested his head on the plush head rest. This was the life, even if the chauffeur was hostile as hell. Wilson snuck a peek over at the man who was supposed to be his friend. He didn't seem too hostile now. Wilson decided to take a chance.

"Why are you driving me home? I didn't think you liked me too much right now."

"That's where you've made the wrong assumption; I've never liked you." House saw the hurt look out of the corner of his eye and felt regret since this was not his Jamie; this was not the man who would understand his sarcasm and the foundations that it rested upon. House sighed and said, "Sorry, I forgot that you don't remember my fantastic, sarcastic repartee."

Wilson said nothing, merely dropped his head to his chest for a moment then looked up at the profile of the enigma beside him. "You think I'm lying don't you; you think I'm doing this to get back at you for some reason?"

House hesitated briefly then uttered, "Everyone lies, Wilson; I have never known you to lie to me, except about sleeping with Cuddy and a few other bimbos . . . not that Cuddy is a bimbo . . . just an exhibitionist, but who's complaining about that?"

James Wilson's eyes were now standing wide open; his handsome face agog with the recent information. "I'm . . . I'm sleeping with Cuddy? I may be having memory problems, but somehow I know I would remember that . . . besides, it's not Cuddy that I'm having problems remembering."

As Gregory House pulled into the driveway of Wilson's apartment, his bearded face turned sad, "Ah yes, and there in lies the tale."

"What's that mean?"

House shut off the ignition and slowly turned his head towards his friend. His blue eyes spoke volumes about the despair he felt, "Why is it, Dr. Wilson that you don't remember me?"

End of part 5