Title: The Essence of Friendship, part 8b

By: lbc

Pairing: House and Wilson

Rating: mature adults

Genre: slash all the way

Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters.

Words: 2541

Summary: Wilson wakes up - - again.

Note: This finally concludes the story. I'm sure some of you will feel that I lost my House voice in this section. I am a hopeless romantic and believe that when House is with his Jamie that he is and can be tender and drop the sarcasm somewhat. That's just the way I see him and do not apologize for it.

James Wilson opened his eyes. His head wasn't lying on the ground. He was propped up on someone's thigh; there were arms wrapped around him, and the most soothing words were being uttered into his hair. Then . . . then he felt smooth, firm lips touch his forehead. He began to understand the words and recognized the voice . . . at least, he thought he recognized the voice.

Looking up he saw the scruffy face of the man, who minutes before was threatening to leave him. It had been so real . . . almost déjà vu. Wasn't this the man who had left him so long ago? The mere thought sent agony through the young doctor's interior. Was he going to have to go through all that pain again?

Finally, the voice seemed to realize that Wilson was awake. The arms which had been tightly woven around Wilson's body were now loosened, but the scruffy faced individual still held onto his precious bundle. Blue eyes were sparkling in uncertainty.

"Are you feeling dizzy?"

Wilson's eyes felt heavy, but he managed to concentrate on the person hovering over him by raising his eyes upward. Greg House was smiling shyly at him. "What . . . what happened?"

"You got upset over something I said, and you blacked out. Sort of a defense mechanism, wouldn't you say?"

"Why . . . why would I need a defense against you?"

"Do you remember who I am?"

"Sure, you're the guy who's holding me in his arms and says that he's my best friend - - only you're walking out on me, just like before."

"You remember that?"

"Guess that's why I blacked out. Why are you holding me?"

"Thought you might be open to shock, so I'm being a good doctor and preventing that."

Wilson smiled then started to get up. "Thoughtful of you."

"That's me, Dr. Gregory House, superior bedside manner as well as superior imbecile."

Wilson helped House get up off the floor then swayed slightly himself. "Sorry, just a little shaky."

"Sit down and relax. You probably are dehydrated; I'll get you some water."

Wilson sat quietly on the sofa, rubbing his head. He seemed to be having flashbacks of things that he wasn't sure he remembered. Obviously House was tied up in everything, but he couldn't say that he totally remembered the man.

House handed him the water then headed towards the door. Wilson stopped drinking, drew in his breath and seemed to wait. "You going to leave me again?"

"Thought that's what you wanted."

"So you're a mind reader too?"

"No, it's just that I've been pretty rough on you lately, so I thought maybe you were finished with me."

"Is that what you want?"

"No." The single syllable was said quietly and a little hopefully."

Wilson studied the man across the room then asked, "Do you want to sleep with me?"

"Yes."

"Why were you leaving then?"

House tried to stand upright, but his leg was hurting and his mind was confused. "I . . . I thought you . . . well, you don't remember me. I didn't want to do something that you'd hate me for later. You've hated me enough for a lifetime."

"I . . . hate you?"

"I've always imagined you did, after I left you; you see I never told you the truth."

"The truth?"

"All my life it's been easier to push people away. I left you so that you could get on with your life; only I couldn't stay away from you - - that's why I wrote the letter."

"Letter?" Then Wilson's brain remembered the short letter that he had found stuffed behind a picture of the two friends in Atlantic City. "Right. My memory seems to be coming back in small bits."

House nodded; his face a mask of exhaustion. "You only know me from what you've seen in the last few days. That hasn't been very good. You said that you were going to see your parents and then think about what to do next. I want to give you that time. No pressure, no demands. I just want you to be sure if you stay here; I'm not likely to change, but I can try."

"Cameron wants you to change; she wants to fix you."

Greg House stood staring at his friend, speechless. Finally, he moved closer as he asked, "You remember Cameron?"

"Sure, she thinks that she's in love with you; she thinks you're broken."

House put his free hand up to briefly caress Wilson's cheek. "Do you honestly remember that or did Cameron just tell you something of that nature?"

For a moment Wilson looked puzzled then his brown eyes lit up in understanding, "I . . . I had forgotten Cameron, and now I remember her . . . well, at least, I remember that she had a date . . . no two dates with you."

House's scruffy face immediately took exception to that characterization. "She did not; if you hadn't been meeting Stacy on the side, WE would have gone to the Monster Machines Show!"

"I'm meeting Stacy on the side; what about her husband?" Wilson screwed up his handsome face and rubbed his temple, "How much truth are you telling me here? You've accused me of sleeping with Cuddy, Stacy, and lord who knows who else? Is this jealousy or am I a promiscuous profligate?"

"You're definitely that. You should see your little black book, but the point is that you're not sleeping with the RIGHT person."

"Oh . . . Well, do you want to audition for the part?"

"Stop it, Jamie. I will not sleep with you, just to prove we can do it."

The sad brown eyes looked affectionately into blue ones. "I've got a monster headache; my stomach feels queasy, and I'm cold; are those enough symptoms that the good Dr. House would consent to give me his legendary bedside manner?"

House looked wary, but asked, "What's that mean?"

"It's late; I'm tired, and I would like very much for the man who is my best friend, even if I can't remember him to lie down beside me in my bed, and maybe give me some comfort."

House dropped his head to look at the floor then mumbled, "Just comfort, nothing else."

Wilson smiled, "Thanks, I appreciate it."

The two men made their way to Wilson's bedroom. House moved to the bedside then turned to look at Wilson who stood near the door, totally nude. House's eyebrows shot up, "I thought you said this was to sleep?"

"We are; I just like to sleep in the nude."

"No, you don't. You wear your perfectly matched pajamas and tie, even to bed."

Wilson grimaced, giving the man a glare like 'you're a moron.' "I do not. I like to be comfortable, but if it bothers you; I'll put on my briefs."

House looked at the beautiful body and whispered, "I can take it if you can."

Wilson slid into bed while House removed his jeans and shirts. During the exhibition, Wilson laid there with his arms folded under his head, "Gee, aren't you the brave one."

"A little less sarcasm, or I won't sleep with you."

"You're not sleeping with me; you're just SLEEPING with me."

"Well, that made it clear. Now, close those big brown eyes and get some rest."

"Will you sing me a lullaby?"

"I do not do torture."

"Read me a story?"

"Get an audio book."

"Kiss me good night?"

"Well . . ."

"Thanks."

"You're spoiled."

"Am not; how about a replay?"

"Go to sleep, Dr. Wilson."

"Nighty night, Greggy-poo."

"Wilson, so help me . . ." There was no response, however, because James Wilson had fallen asleep and stayed asleep for exactly . . . one hour.

The younger man suddenly sat up in bed; looked over at the man next to him and smiled. Leaning over he gave the scruffy cheek a small kiss then cuddled up closer to the slender body. In the depth of Greg House's sleep, it felt perfectly natural to have the warmth, comfort, and scent of James Wilson near by. House's brain might have been sleeping, but his instincts were up to par as he slid his left arm around the cuddled up body, pulling it closer. Both men sank deeper into slumber . . . for another hour.

Greg House's eyes suddenly shot open as his subconscious recognized the feel of the warm body practically attached to him. Looking over in the dark, he recognized the exhausted figure of James Wilson. Trying to disentangle himself from the octopus, he suddenly saw himself staring into brown sleepy eyes. "Where ya goin'?"

"I'm not, Jamie. Just thought you might be too hot."

Wilson sat up part way, trying to see through the gloom. "Tell me . . . about us."

"Jamie, I think we better forget that."

"Why?"

"If you ever remember me and our past, fine, but I don't want you to try and fit yourself to that past. I loved the Jamie of that time period, but you are him and I have never stopped loving you, can't you be satisfied with that?"

Wilson studied the apprehensive face, "'Course I can, but I thought . . . well, maybe there was something about . . . him that you especially loved, and I could try to . . ."

House sat straight up in bed, grabbing Wilson's shoulders, "Stop it! You are him. I love you. I want us to be together; I don't want you to change. If you get your memory back, great, but it's not as important as what you feel for me now. I know you can't fall in love with a man you've only known for four days, but I'm willing to wait. Meantime we work on our friendship - - if that's what you want."

"Sorry, I shouldn't have pushed. Thanks for staying here tonight. I don't expect you to babysit me . . . I really got to go pee."

Wilson got up and walked rapidly into the bathroom where he still was 15 minutes later. House decided that enough was enough. Walking over to the door, he pounded on it and yelled out, "James Wilson, you get your butt out here."

There was no answer so House tried the knob. The door was unlocked. Walking in, Gregory House saw the figure of James Wilson lying peacefully in the aroma-scented bath. Crooking his left eyebrow, House asked, "Isn't it a little bit late to be having a bath?"

"Hmmm, not having a bath, just trying to relax. All tied up in knots."

House sat down on the toilet, letting his eyes feast on the gorgeous sight in front of him. "Why are you tied up in knots?"

"What if I don't ever get my memory back?"

"Told you; it doesn't make a difference."

"It might to Cuddy."

"I've already talked to her. She wants you back and is willing to talk to you about it - - when you get your ass in gear and return to the hospital."

"Oh."

"What's that mean?"

"Why are you an imbecile?"

"What?"

"You said that you had a supreme bedside manner and you were an imbecile . . ."

"Oh, you've got a good memory . . . some of the time. Well, wouldn't you say that a man who's reached the advanced age of 29: who's fallen in love with a gorgeous 19 year old, and then walks out on him, is an imbecile?"

"Indubitably," Wilson said while smiling provocatively.

"And then if that same person then screamed and yelled at the man who was helping him get through a near fatal illness and finally insulted that person at every turn, wouldn't you say that he was an imbecile?"

"Well, I would, but I didn't think you would . . . not with your ego."

"James Wilson, get out of that tub." The younger man immediately complied which led to several minutes in which Greg House used a warm towel to dry a wiggling, fantastic smelling body.

Minutes later the two men were back in bed, lying side by side, but not touching. Both men knew that the other was awake. Gradually, James Wilson moved his right hand closer to House's left hand which was lying flat on the sheet between their bodies. Tentatively, the young man laced his fingers with House's and held on. For a moment, the apprehensive oncologist thought that House would pull away, but he didn't; he just tightened his grip. They laid there for several minutes, tightly grasping each other's hands.

In the silence of the night, suddenly, Wilson whispered, "I'm scared."

Greg House turned on his good side and pushed himself up on his elbow, stilling holding Wilson's hand. He pulled Wilson's palm close to him and gently kissed it. "Why?"

"Don't know really. Maybe I'm afraid you'll get tired of me. I fell in love with you 18 years ago. I think I'm on my way to doing it again, but the idea of you leaving me, scares me to death."

"Hmmm, how about this? We sign a contract to stay together for 30 years and then we'll re-examine our options?"

Wilson sat straight up in bed. "30 years? That means that I'll be 66; you're going to dump me when I'm 66 and been your faithful companion?"

"Whoa, Lassie. I meant that you might want out of the relationship. After all you'll still be virile, handsome, and in good shape . . . somewhat. I figured I might have to go for some toy boy, while you go back to your little black book."

"Oh, well, that is a possibility, but why couldn't you be my toy boy? After all, you're a doctor; you should be pretty well preserved."

"Well, normally that would be the case, but with your track record for profligacy, I figure I'll be worn out in 20 - - 25 years."

"All right, I'll keep you around in your wheelchair as a conversation piece, and I'll enjoy myself with the cute, little, old things while we while away our hours in the old folks home. How does that sound?"

"66 isn't old, Jamie."

"Neither is 76, and I intend to keep you young for a long time."

"Oh, you've found a new miracle drug?"

"No, it's one of the oldest things known to mankind. Nothing keeps you young like an active sex life."

"Doctor Wilson, you're making me blush."

"Good to know that; now how about I kiss you, and we go to sleep."

"What are you doing, Wilson?"

"Kissing you, just like I said."

"Wilson, that's not my mouth. Where did you learn your anatomy?"

Read my lips, Dr. House. I have A-M-N-E-S-I-A, so my memory is eratic." Whereupon, Dr. Wilson promptly returned to his kiss.

THE END