Yay for odd humor. As always, tell me about any typos, and please read happily! (I'm not sure what I mean by that. Like, 'be happy as you read'? 'Be happy because you're reading'...?)

Much though I love my bike, faster than Jimmy with the promise of beer she is not. I walked up to my door to find it open, and leaned inside. "If you're already here, the money's on the bedside table and I'd prefer it if you'd take all your clothes off first!"

Jimmy leaned his head back from the couch, so that he was looking at me upside down. I don't know who he picked that habit up from, but I'll have to shake their hand sometime, because it made him look incedibly bedroom-y. Wait, wasn't it me? I rock! "I'm the only one here, House, and you know it."

I walked in and closed the door behind me, limping over to the couch and the pills I keep stashed in the cushions for just such Wilson-in-a-bad-mood occasions. "Well, that's good news. So kind of you, saving me all that trouble and money of having to rent someone." As I slid down next to him, I sighed with relief for my leg and said, "But, honestly, are you really that lonely, Jimmy?"

He handed me an open bottle and kept watching a football game as I popped a few pills and chased them with blessed alcohol (forever my favorite combination). After a few moments, he said, "You're only indirect like that when you actually care about hurting a person's feelings by asking."

I shot back, "You only watch football when you really, really want to see someone have the crap beaten out of him."

He rolled his eyes and changed the channel to Amnesia, MI, my regular soap. He rubbed his eyes again, took a drink, and cast about for a conversation. "Who's the brunette?"

"That's Cindy. She used to be Dana's live-in housekeeper, but she moved away last season and is only visiting for this episode. She's been secretly dating Dana's brother Dean the entire time she's been gone, though." I glanced at his bottle, which was almost gone as it was, and went on, "Honestly, she shouldn't get her hopes up; He's twice her age, there's no way he's serious."

"Hey, I take offense at that."

"Yeah, whatever, Casanova." And that was it, wasn't it? The conversation died again, and I felt acutely uncomfortable. I used to be content to sit in silence forever, especially around Jimmy. It used to be a game, testing how long he could go before being all nitpicky and nagging me about something. It used to be so easy. What happened?

"What happened to us, House?" Jimmy said swirling the quarter of an inch of booze in the bottom of his bottle before downing it. "I was the upstanding one. I was the moral one. Am I just fooling myself, like you are?"

"You're not a very nice drunk," I nudged him. He dropped his head and snorted, setting the beer down. "Listen, you still are the annoying guy that quotes Scriptures or whatever at me. And, as an added bonus, I listen, sometimes."

He looked up, smiling. "You really suck at cheering people up, Greg."

My breath caught. Of course it didn't mean anything. Jimmy always called me that when he was drinking. And when he was…I don't know…messed up about something. So it didn't mean anything. "I'm better than you are, cancer boy."

"It's my job to tell them, I'm the one that depresses people. And you…you give people hope. We're quite the pair, you and I."

And this could have been following a different route. I could see it in my head, the way it could have been playing out.. "I know, I always expected to be face-down in a ditch by now, too. But I just have a gift, it's really…"

"Miraculous?" he supplied.

"Annoying. People start expecting me to do nice things to them." I pressed my half-finished drink into his hand and stood up to hobble (without my trusty cane, and relying mostly on the wall) to the refrigerator for another. I waved him off when he started to get it himself. "You don't expect me to do nice things to you, do you, Jimmy?"

"House," (my back was turned, so I winced at the last name again) "I shudder to think what you would count as a nice thing to do to someone." I got the 'fridge open, grabbed two drinks, and turned back around, kicking the door closed with my otherwise somewhat useless right leg. As I staggered back, he really did get up to help. It would have royally pissed me off if I hadn't let the last five years slip out of my mind and stepped on my right leg.

My right leg, as one might surmise, didn't enjoy this.

So I gave an undignified yelp of pain and toppled, slowly and inevitably, toward the ground. James caught me at about a sixty-degree angle, so I was basically leaning against him like a fool. Holding my breath, I limped (this was the honest, pathetic sort of limping, sinking inches as I worked to bend my leg and somehow keep the weight off it, every other step tightening my hold on Jimmy's shoulder) to the couch and sank down gratefully.

He sat down, too, and we didn't say anything for a few minutes. Eventually, I said, "Sorry."

"'S not your fault," he denied immediately.

"You don't need to be worrying about my problems right now, too." I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on.

He rolled his eyes at me. I saw him start to think about something, could see the wheels turning as the different emotions crossed his face, and I wasn't surprised when he had something serious to say. "Are we still friends?"

Hmm. Very important question, James. Best option: pretend it doesn't matter. "Of course."

"But not the same as before."

Damn, he was going to be persistent. I ran my fingers through my hair, letting my head fall, and said, "No, not like before."

"Greg, why not? What changed?" He waited until I looked up at him and finished, "It wasn't me."

Batten down the hatches, we're under attack! "Leave it to you to pick up on it."

"So, what's wrong?"

I took a swig. He was going to have to guess, on this one - I was sure as hell not telling.

"Is it that you're met a pretty girl and you're going to settled down?"

That triggered a coughing fit. "Do you honestly see me with a woman?"

"Good point. New case?"

"No." The key was a straight face.

"Are you suddenly in love with me?"

"Nope." Straight face, stay calm, and he'll disregard it.

"Are you sneaking extra pills?"

"I would be nicer, wouldn't I?"

"Greg, what's the problem?" he demanded, getting frustrated. I would be, too, faced with me.

But I couldn't tell him. Gregory House doesn't care about anyone or anything other than himself.