So, this fic is most likely to be ending in the very next chapter. I was thinking of continuing the whole WilsonxHouse story thingy, however, in another work of fanfiction. Y'know - angst, cheating, deception, another case study in the middle of it all. I was wondering what you guys thought. Any suggestions/comments? Thanks - you've been great. (:

Toxicity

He was with her at every opportunity

At every possible interval, every five minute gap between his patients, Dr. James Wilson was at his ex-wife's bedside. The nurses came and went, encouraging him to speak to her, but what was there to say? They had been separated for years and hadn't seen or even spoken to each other for most of the time. If truth be told, Wilson couldn't remember the last time he had even thought about her.

Yet still he sat, staring deep into the figures displayed by the monitors around the room, thoughts that had been hidden for so long suddenly rearing their heads. He could remember his proposal, the wedding. He could remember waking up and noticing everything about her all over again, but couldn't remember how she had felt against him. He couldn't bring back the thoughts of her touch, her kiss. As much as he tried, as much as he kneaded his forehead in the gloom, they just remained unaccessible. Locked off.

The memories of House were so very raw, however. It hurt him to even touch upon them, yet they remained to the fore of his mind.

Wilson was still maintaining he didn't care, he couldn't be bothered with House anymore, and was trying hard to stick with that. Even so, he found himself lapsing, starting to muse over why he would feel so guilty over something he hadn't even started. House had, after all, kissed him. He had started it all. He had made all the moves with Wilson merely following suit.

James could, of course, just protest he hadn't wanted it. Alcohol dulls the senses, makes people do things they normally wouldn't dream of. But he didn't want to be doing that – he didn't want to be betraying his own feelings. Even if their night together had gone awry, there was no denying he still wanted House. He had fallen hard for his college and still hadn't got around to picking himself up.

Of all the people in the world, out of every single one of them, why did it have to be Greg? The man who refused to enter into any kind of serious relationship. The man who had shut himself off from any help the outside world might offer.

That's all he wanted to do, wasn't it? Help. Be the one person House could come to lean on when things became too tough. Wilson had soon come to realize 'love' would be just short of impossible for House, but what about a psychical desire for somebody to always be there for you?

Stretching back in the seat, Wilson checked his watch, slightly surprised to find he had been sitting in the darkened room for over half an hour. Somebody should be bustling in to run the usual tests and checks any moments, and he felt the need to be there while they were performed. Sitting more comfortably, he fixed his eyes on Blythe's slightly tangled blond hair, splayed out over the pillow.

"My mother was called Blythe."

The rough voice made him jump slightly, and Wilson was soon aware of the shadow-cast figure in the doorway. The very last person he needed to see – House himself. Hobbling into the room, Head of Diagnostics seemed to be taking the place of the three aging nurses who talked of nothing but Oprah.

"Nowhere near as pretty, though."

Grabbing the clipboard from the end of the bed, House seemed to have forgotten everything that had been said and done between he and Wilson. They hadn't spoken, barely even passed in the corridor since the episode in the Exam Room, and House seemed to have wiped the slate clean since then. Or he was just biding his time for another jibe. Either was plausible.

"It's working." Wilson spoke softly, cocking his head a little as he watched House.

"I know." Was the reply, layered in tones which read 'you're an idiot'.

"Thank you."

Casting an odd look over at Wilson, House continued to mark off notes on the clipboard, checking the monitors as he went. The dialysis was working well, and she was set for a full recovery, pending no further disasters.

"Yeah... well... you're welcome." He said, feeling uneasy with the sudden thanks. He didn't do it for the praise, especially not from Wilson. He'd be quite contented with simply never speaking about this case ever again.

"She's going to be in therapy for... a long time." Wilson examined his thumbnail, pretending not to be interested in what House was doing. He was lousy at it, and he found himself hurriedly looking away as he caught the man's eye by mistake.

"Yeah." House nodded. Acute toxicity... never lasted much more than a single day. The patient had either attempted an overdose, or was seriously whacked up anyway and had decided to down a few bottles of the stuff for a kick. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't his business, and he didn't really care which one it was. "You okay?"

"Fine. Yeah." He spoke too quickly, too soon after the question, revealing his anxiety to House more than words ever could. "She's not even-- I mean, I haven't seen her in years. Doesn't matter."

"Sure." House decided not to pursue the subjects. Reattaching the clipboard back to the foot of the bed, he left the patient's room without another word, leaving Wilson to his thoughts once more.

He was... he was just fine. Yeah. Of course.