Title: The Essence of Friendship, part 6

By: lbc

Pairing: House/Wilson

Rating: for mature adults

Genre: pre-slash

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these guys.

Words:

Summary: House and Wilson talk.

James Wilson continued to stare at the man in the seat next to him. His brown eyes twinkled for a moment before he responded to House's question about why Wilson didn't remember him. "And here I thought you were the great diagnostician; oh well, I'll give you a hint: A-M-N-E-S-I-A. Have you heard of it? I'm sure they covered it at our alma mater.

"Very funny, Wilson, but as I remember it, amnesia isn't usually so selective; why don't you remember me?"

"Good question. Since you have such a perfect memory, maybe you can tell me what reasons I might have for forgetting you. You're planning to go to Florida, aren't you? Maybe there's something in that."

At these words, Greg House got out of the Lexus and headed towards the front door of Wilson's condo, leaving Wilson in the car. After staring at the retreating man for a moment, Wilson got out and followed. By the time that he got to the door, House had already entered, quickly depositing Wilson's extra goods on the entrance way table.

Wilson slowly followed the older man into the huge living room. Looking around he quickly discovered that House was not there, but he could hear noise coming from the kitchen area. Within seconds Gregory House reappeared, holding one glass of water and one can of beer.

"Jeez, Wilson, you need to go shopping. Your cupboards, not to mention your beer cache, are sadly depleted."

James Wilson continued to stare at the slender man who was now slouched across the comfortable sofa. "Make yourself at home, please do. Are you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"Well, as I remember it, I like beer too. Weren't you taught to share, especially since it's my beer?"

"Oh, naughty, naughty Doctor. You have a concussion. No booze for you, but I did remember to bring you a glass of wa-wa so that you can down that pain pill that you're ready for."

"I am NOT ready for a pain pill!" Even though my head is killing me.

House repeatedly crossed his two forefingers much as children do when they try to tell another child that he has done something wrong. "Naughty, naughty again. I'm going to have to keep a slate board with a list of all your fibs."

Wilson looked totally frustrated at the way this conversation was going, but was determined not to back down to this . . . stranger. For some reason, that thought made Wilson's head hurt even more. He felt overcome with desolation that he might have lost the memories that had made the man in front of him, his friend.

Swaying slightly, James Wilson walked over to the large chair and collapsed into it. "All right, I've got a headache, and you're doing nothing to help it. I want some answers from you."

In a mock-pouty voice House immediately declared, "That's not fair, I asked you first."

Wilson raised his head that now felt like a ton weight and tried to focus his thoughts. "What did we fight about?"

"How do you know we did.?"

"Well, you are going to Florida, did I get mad because you were leaving?"

"Wait a minute, let's get this straight. I am NOT going to Florida. I wouldn't work for Charles Taylor if he could get me front row seats to ALL of the monster machine exhibitions."

"Well, then why did Chuck stop by and tell me that he was headed to Florida to convince his clinic board to give you a job?"

House closed his blue eyes momentarily then wiped his hand across his face. Staring straight into the questioning brown eyes, House's voice took on a glacial look as he said, "BECAUSE, Dr. Wilson I wanted to stop you from making an ass of yourself by going to Florida as his "Perfect Oncologist".

Wilson's forehead wrinkled in consternation as he tried to recall what had happened in the previous days. Many of his memories were clouded with the fog of his concussion, but he knew that he had not agreed to go to Florida - - in fact, just the opposite. "What are you talking about, House? I'm not going to Florida."

"You're damn right you're not. I told Taylor that and made it very clear that he wasn't to ask you again unless he wanted a well-used cane up his nose."

"What? Are you insane? I never told Chuck that I was going to Florida; he called and asked me to, but I refused. I recommended Bill Matthews and that's all there was. You're the one going to Florida!"

Finally . . . finally, James Wilson had managed to render House speechless. The frosty blue eyes studied the man across the room to determine their verisimilitude; then the scruffy faced man dropped his head back on the sofa and sighed. "Oh great, now you tell me."

"What's that supposed to mean? If we were friends, it seems to me that it was you who were keeping some things from me, NOT the other way around."

House's stomach did roller coaster flip flops as they had now come to the heart of what endangered their friendship. In a small, whisper, House said, "Jamie, you have to understand I thought you were leaving . . . leaving to go to Florida."

"What's that supposed to mean when it's at home?'

"I lied to Taylor. I told him that I wanted to work for him, but I didn't want you to be the new oncologist on the staff." In for a penny, in for a pound, House. You and your big mouth.

Wilson sat there stunned. His world seemed to be falling apart. "Why . . . why would you do that . . . if . . . we were friends?"

House closed his eyes and let his shoulders slouch even further into the incredibly comfortable sofa, one that Wilson had slept on several times, insisting that House needed the bed in the master bedroom when he had slept over. House's heart ached for the memory of those times. Then he spoke, "Listen to me, I know your brain isn't exactly percolating at full throttle so I'll spell it out. I never wanted to go to Florida, but you told me just a few nights ago that you were offered a position in Florida with Chuckie-boy, and I didn't want you to go. So, I cooked up this scheme where I wanted to go to Florida to work in his clinic, but I wouldn't do so IF you were going along as the new oncologist. You see I didn't know about Bill Matthews or your refusal, now do you understand?"

Wilson sat pondering the situation for several seconds then frowned and looked at the scruffy man who was slouched all over his sofa. He felt some affection for the man, but doubt and confusion overrode everything else. Part of his life was missing and he had to know the truth.

"Why didn't you just ask me if I was going to Florida, instead of doing all that?"

Now House's face looked like a bearded basset hound with its eyes drooping in sadness. If House's stomach had been flip flopping before, it was doing callisthenics now. He had hoped that Wilson wouldn't ask that question, but it couldn't be avoided. Might as well tell the truth . . . sort of.

"I was angry when I heard that you had been offered a job in another place. You said you had an appointment with Cuddy in the morning and that Taylor was flying in. I put two and two together and figured that you had already accepted the job, so I spoke out in anger. You got huffy about what I said and walked out. I never got a chance to say anymore until the next day and by then I had my little plan hatching."

The younger man nodded then sat there contemplating the scenario that House had just presented. The older man sat there, hoping that Wilson would be content with that explanation, but as fate would have it, Wilson was not content and asked, "And just what was it that I got huffy about?"

House put all his weight on his cane and stood up, heading for the bathroom. "Excuse me, I have to go to the potty. How about getting me another beer . . . just me, remember, I'm not sharing."

House was gone for several minutes. Wilson had dutifully wandered to the frig and gotten a beer for his . . . what? He couldn't honestly say that House was his friend, but there was certainly something there. Why was House so reluctant to tell him what he had said that had started this whole thing?

Wilson was almost asleep in his chair by the time the tired-faced doctor returned. Wilson looked up in time to see a look of hope on the scruffy face that turned to disappointment when Wilson's brown eyes opened and stared at him. Wilson smiled slightly, "Hoping I had fallen asleep, huh?"

"Look, is there someone I can call so that you won't be alone? I guess I should have told your parents to come over, but I didn't think you would want them to come . . . in case you DIDN'T remember them."

"That really bothers you, doesn't it?"

"Well, it's not everyday that one's best friend looks at him and shuts him out of his life."

Wilson sat silently thinking this over. "Yeah, but it's a lot of my life that's gone. You remember me. How do you know my parents?"

"Well, duh, I've known you for . . . a long time so why shouldn't you have taken me home to meet the folks, you weren't ASHAMED of me, then."

"Listen, I'm not doing this deliberately. Stacy said you could be a real asshole, and I guess she's right."

House immediately sat up straight, staring at the brown-eyed man, "How do you know, Stacy? I know Stacy so that should make her verboten to your legendary memory."

Wilson frowned, "Well, it could be that I met her several years ago at a 'Medicine and The Law' seminar, and I remember her from that. Why is it such a big deal?"

"When was this?"

"You're asking a man who has amnesia?"

"Well give it a shot, oh legendary attendee of seminars."

"All right. My wife didn't want me to go." Wilson, at his most handsome, looked up at the older man and smiled, "I did have a wife, and she wanted me to paint the bathroom or something that weekend, but I went anyway. Stacy was there, and we got to talking. That's all. Oh no, that's not right. She mentioned that she knew someone that I knew and we spent an hour or so talking, but then we had separate lectures to go to, and I didn't see much more of her. Can't remember who we both knew."

Silence pervaded the room as Wilson sat there thinking, and House sat there, hoping. Finally, Wilson looked up and dropped his mouth open as if an epiphany had hit him. "There's only one mental block in my mind now. You know Stacy, don't you?"

House said nothing, just waited. Even with Wilson's brain functioning on half power, he was still the genius that House had fallen in love with 18 years before.

"Why do you limp?"

House's head flew up as if he had just received a whiplash, "Now where did that come from?"

"Answer the question."

"I had an infarction in my leg five years ago, and I've limped ever since." House's eyes had turned to ice. "You got any other questions?"

"Were you with Stacy at that time?"

"God, you don't give up, do you Wilson?"

The brown hair fell forward onto his forehead as the man swished his head back and forth. "Not when it's my life that's involved. You weren't surprised about my wife, and you know my parents, and you obviously know Stacy, how hard is it to figure out that's what you're hiding."

"I'm not hiding anything; you're the one who can't remember me, remember?"

Wilson laughed with no humor whatsoever. "We always come back to that, don't we?

I can't remember you so I'm at fault. You scare away Chuck Taylor; you walk out on me at the hospital; I have to pry the information about Stacy out of you, and you say you insulted me so that we had a fight, and you criticize me for not remembering you? That's really great."

"Yeah, well that's life, live with it."

"Well then tell me this: why would I even be your friend if you feel like that?"

House's voice dripped with his sarcastic best, "Well, I didn't make that choice, if you want to know why you're my friend then you'll just have to REMEMBER me."

Wilson felt moisture in his eyes; he nodded silently. Even though he was no longer in tune with the man across the room, he could hear the agony in the words; the devastation that the man was feeling that his friend had forgotten him.

"Yeah, well I guess maybe I'm not such a great friend either."

Both men dropped their heads and sat silently for several minutes then House stood up, saying, "You sure are a poor host; I need another beer."

Wilson looked up, "Who said I was your host? You don't need to stay. I'm fine."

House turned back around and stared, while leaning heavily on his cane, exhaustion on his face, "Oh no, my dear Dr. Wilson, that supreme physician with the low-cut blouses, whose every word drips of medical know-how, issued an edict that you were not to be alone for the next day, and I take my Hypocritic Oath very solemnly. You had your chance with mum and dad so now it's me. I think you better get some sleep before than brain of yours implodes."

Wilson nodded, feeling very tired, but he had to know one more thing before he went to bed. "Okay, but I want to ask you another question."

"What is this, twenty questions?"

"No, this will be enough for the moment. "Why do you call me, Jamie; nobody else does?"

House's heart dropped; would sarcasm suffice this time?

"Well, what do you want me to call you, Jimmy like your good buddy Chuckie-poo does?"

"No, I've never really liked that, but Jamie seems to bring something to the back of my mind. You never really told me what you said that got me all in a huff."

"You said, just one more question. Go to bed."

"Suppose I refuse to? I want to know why you don't like Chuck, and why you call me Jamie?"

Perhaps it was the long day; perhaps it was the fact that James Wilson did not recognize him; perhaps, it was the need to see his old Jamie again, but Gregory House decided to push the situation or divert it, depending on how lucky he was.

"Did you sleep with Chuck Taylor?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question - - now answer it."

For a moment, anger rose in the brown eyes then icicles appeared, "If it's any of your business, I did . . . a few times . . . nothing big. I felt such . . . loss, such pain that I needed some warmth . . . some comfort. Chuck was there, but what business is it of yours?"

"That's what I asked you the night we had the fight, and you got mad and walked out."

"Well, why would you care if I slept with another man; are you a homophobe or something?"

Wilson looked into the shuddered blue eyes and saw the lack of prejudice, but something else was lurking there.

"I was afraid that you were selling yourself to him just to get away from me, so I retaliated with the accusation. You're too good a doctor to do that."

Wilson blinked his eyes several times as if he couldn't quite believe the direction the conversation had taken. "I don't need to defend my actions: I turned down his offer, and I slept with him . . . well 17 years ago now, so mind your own business. Now, I'd like to go to bed. Take the sofa, if you want."

James Wilson headed for the bedroom then stopped. He turned, his face a picture of anguish, he stared into the face of a concerned House and whispered, "Chuck said to me that he had heard that you and I were close when we were in Med School. I went with Chuck because . . . I was feeling so lost." Wilson dropped his head for a moment then raised his head, his tortured eyes blazing out his feelings. "It was you, wasn't it? That's why you were so concerned about Chuck and me? We were lovers, weren't we? That's what this has been all about?"

Greg House stood there, closing his eyes for a moment; then he nodded his head to acknowledge the truth of the question. Opening his blue eyes, he looked at the younger man who had collapsed back on the sofa. James Wilson sat there slouched over clutching his stomach and ribs as if he were holding his feelings inside of him. Then he whispered, "Will you please get out of here?"

Gregory House felt nothing. His heart had stopped. He turned and left the apartment.

End of part 6