And so it ends. The fic that has brought about more stress to me than my National Curriculum Tests.

But it was worth it, right? (: I enjoyed this greatly, and I want to thank my reviewers. I will be writing a sequel. But first I have to find another obscure medical condition. Haha. Bundles of fun, I assure you.

Toxicity

Threading his way through the carpark and the people inhabiting such a place, House could barely wait to get home. The day had been trying, for lack of a better word that wouldn't get him a stern yelping from Cuddy, and he was exhausted. The Nits outbreak seemed to have died away, that was one good point, but now it was back to the usual flow of hypochondriacs and people fearing an early flu epidemic. Did it get much better than fifty-year-olds with no life outside of Internet porn describing a million and one imaginary symptoms?

Probably not.

Patting down his clothes, fumbling about for both the Vicodin and the keys, House did have to wonder if this was what he was doomed to for the rest of his life. Rattling through the Clinic, his cases, neatly avoiding management and the like... it wasn't much of a life, if he thought about it.

For a moment, he remembered the conversation he had held with Wilson about the 80s. Back then, just about everybody had been cool. Amidst the studies and the work, even House had managed to get his kicks. You'd go out in your stonewashed jacket, get smashed, stagger back and play arcade games until your thumbs felt like they'd been worn away. That had been life. Or, at any rate, a better life than the one he was currently in possession of.

Not realizing it, House had stopped dead in his tracks to think over the topic. A scowl creased his brow as he continued across the carpark, still fumbling in his pockets. Goddamnit, where had he put his keys now? It just wasn't going to be a good evening, he could feel it.

"Dr. House!"

Hearing his name, House stopped once more, but this time was tempted to start walking away as fast as he could. He could easily recognize the voice, and just wasn't up to it. Of all the days, of all the possible days and hours of the world, Cameron picked this one.

"Dr. House." Allison said again, this time slightly more breathless as she jogged up to him, glasses balanced on top of her head. "House, I just wanted to sa--"

"You're welcome." He cut her off quickly, turning back to his path. She wouldn't be that easily deterred, however, and moved quickly around to his front once more. House sighed, shaking his head a little. They'd had this conversation once before, when she had discovered he'd make a speech in return for keeping them all on his staff.

"No. Seriously, House. You didn't need to do that. I deserved to be fired."

Upon hearing about what had happened with the hormone test, Cuddy had – as House predicted – pounced on him almost immediately. Lawyers, board members, the whole bundle had been throwing questions left, right and center about the conduct of Dr. Cameron.

He was quite the skilled liar, however, as Cuddy knew full well. However, even Cuddy couldn't distinguish between his truths and his lies. To all intents and purpose, and as the paperwork of the inquest documents, Cameron had merely placed the splint in a rack and completely forgotten which one was hers.

A bit of mumbling and grumbling about carelessness and the Lawyers were soon back in their office blocks.

"If you got fired, I'd have to get in interviews again. I was just saving myself the torture." House frowned at his pockets, rootling through those of his jeans for the two objects that seemed to have vanished into thin air. How exactly do you loose a set of keys with a florescent blue jumpdrive attached to it?

"I don't think you were." Cameron had that all-knowing smile on her lips, looking up at him from beneath her hair slightly less than innocently.

"Oh, right. I just lied my ass off because I've got the hots for you." House looked away, a smirk of disbelief toying about his own lips. She just didn't quit.

"Plausible." She grinned a little wider as he turned away from her, one hand on her hip. "Extremely plausible."

"Right. And babies come in buckets." Vaguely waving her away, dismissing what she had said, House continued the hunt for his keys as he walked deeper between the cars. He could hear Cameron following him, but somewhat cautiously.

"Look." He began, turning around to face her. He never quite managed to speak the rest of his sentence, however, as he came to be incredibly close to her. She was still grinning, still looking at him with a glint of something or other.

"I am." She replied quietly, before standing on tiptoes to press a light kiss against House's rugged jaw. She didn't pull herself away from him immediately, rather just stood there, as if they were going through the first motions of a hug.

Slowly, she settled back from him.

"That was for saving my job."

When he said nothing, she turned on a heel and paced back towards the Hospital's main entrance. For a while, House found himself staring after her. Then he remembered he was still missing his pills and his keys, and huffed back to the task at hand. They couldn't have gone far – they rarely left his person, after all.

Reaching his bike, House still had his eyes on his pockets, beginning to get more than just slightly frustrated. Why didn't they warn him when there was a kleptomaniac or a goddamn family of magpies on the loose? What the Hell was he meant to do – thumb a ride by the roadside?

"You look distant... agitated."

The distinctly perky tones of Wilson's voice made him stop rummaging and blink once or twice before looking up. He saw an Oncologist. He saw an Oncologist leaning on his bike. He saw an Oncologist leaning on his bike, swinging the keys to said bike around a finger with a smug, self-satisfied grin on his face.

"You look like an ass." He retorted, making a grab for the keys. Wilson, however, was wise to the ways of House and trapped them in a fist before they could be caught.

"Failsafe. I knew you'd storm off the moment I tried to talk to you, so I had to take hostages." Reaching into his trouser pockets, Wilson produced the Vicodin bottle which was promptly snatched from his hands. Seconds later, House was swallowing a pill and scowling at Wilson's oddly happy expression. Wasn't this the man who was supposed to make the chronically depressed look like joyous little elves?

"You sneaked into my office, stole my keys and my pills to make sure you could tell me about it afterwards?" Pocketing the pills, House smirked. "I was right. You are an ass."

"And yet I still have the keys. Looks like I win."

"Wilson. Give me the goddamn keys. Get off my goddamn bike. Shove your smug face up your goddamn a--"

"I wanted to thank you." Wilson cut him off before things became graphic, his smile lingering as the topic delved into the more serious of matters.

Raising a hand to his forehead, House rubbed his brow, not believing this was happing to him. He wanted to go home. He wanted to watch The O.C. He wanted to go to sleep and forget he had a job. Not stand around exchanging pleasantries.

"Second time in ten minutes. Have you not heard of even spacing? Thank me in about ten years, then I'll deal with it." Making another grab at the keys, he growled at Wilson's expression as he moved the fist out of reach once more.

"House. Can you just... listen to me? Seriously. Thank you." Extending a hand, the one without the keys, obviously, Wilson offered a handshake. House merely looked at the slender, nimble hand, declining the contact. Wilson sighed.

"We can forget what happened." He spoke in much lower tones, casually casting a gaze over the carpark, as if the two biddies in the corner would twig as to what they were speaking about.

"You want to?"

"No!" He retorted hurriedly, regretting it almost as quickly. "Well-- Yes. No."

As he heaved himself away from the bike, he saw House nod a little, and he found himself wondering quite what he was nodding about. The 'yes' or the 'no'?

Handing House his keys, Wilson gave a slightly nod himself, but this one was in parting. As he passed, Wilson just brushed the man, trying to gather the scrapes of his happy mood. Talking to Greg could just completely shred any mirth one might have.

"You know..."

As House spoke up, sounding thoughtful, Wilson dared to lift his head and look back. He saw House had the motorbike helmet in his hands, yet hadn't moved very much apart from that. As the man's voice suggested, however, he did look incredibly wrapped up in thoughts.

"Miami Vice is still up the cinemas..." Meeting Wilson's eye, House cocked his head inquisitively. "We could go see it. Relive your 'cool' years. Crash at mine."

Holding out the helmet in a way which told Wilson he should take it, House's gaze on his colleague took on a more interested undertone, as if he was trying to fathom what exactly was going on inside James' mind through his eyes.

"Are you serious?"

"No. I'm going to gag you and play Postman Pat for a few hours." House rolled his eyes, waving the helmet about slightly.

Stepping forwards, the grin found Wilson's lips again, forming slowly as he took the helmet. As he did so, he felt a brush of House's fingers against his, sending a tingle through his nerves. Raising his eyes to meet Greg's, he could see something similar flicker behind the sharp blue irises. There really was only one answer.

"You're on."

Padding back towards the bike, turning the hard plastic in his hands, Wilson wondered if this was an end to their feud. Was it indeed an end to their friendship?

An end, possibly, but also the starts of something so much more.