"I'm not going to order sex from your personal phone book."
"Your loss. This week is two for the price of one."
Wilson rested his head against the arm of the couch; his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His hands clasped, resting over his navel on top of the wilted fabric of his white dress shirt. He had driven to Greg's apartment after work that evening after slipping out of a board meeting early with no plausible excuse to offer. With still a half an hour to go, James simply gathered his belongings, stood, and walked out of the room.
James had only bailed on a responsibility once before. When he was a freshman in college, he had missed an annual dinner for entering pre-med students. Naturally, James had opted instead for one Gregory House and an eighth of the finest weed on campus.
"It's not for lack of trying," Wilson said, avoiding House's eyes. "It's just-"
"Trouble down below?"
Wilson shook his head. He turned onto his side and took his beer from the coffee table next to the sofa. "Somehow I don't think this conversation is going to be incredibly enlightening."
"Maybe you're just too tired," House continued.
"It's possible. Oncology has been busier than ever-"
"I'm not talking about your job; I'm talking about your extracurricular activities." House limped to the chaise-lounge on the other side of the table. He threw his head back and guided a large white pill between his lips. The stiff, short hairs under his chin rose as his throat cradled the vicodin into his body.
Wilson sat up. Brought his black-socked feet to the wooden floor. "Listen, House, there is no one else. I love Julie. Why is that so hard for you to believe?"
"I've been the best man for two of your three weddings," House mentioned before chasing the pill with a wave of lukewarm alcohol.
James closed his eyes, leaned forward. Rested his forehead on his open palms. "I've got everything I could want. Job, security, beautiful wife. Why do I feel like I'm doing something wrong?"
James raised his head. Looked into Greg's eyes. "What am I missing, Greg? Why am I not happy?"
Greg looked away. Stared thoughtfully at a short, deep scratch in the wooden floorboard near his sneaker.
"Why?"
He caught himself looking at Cameron's body the next day. Her small frame. The soft features of her face. Watching her read the screen of her laptop, he imagined how he would feel if she were to look at him through lowered eyelashes. Smelling a faint wave of her scent – a mixture of sugary shampoo and antibacterial soap – he imaged what she would do if he were lightly brush his tongue along her jaw-line. Pretending to listen to her sharing the oncology article she had just uncovered on the Internet, he imaged how tight she would be as he slipped into her.
"It could explain almost all of his symptoms," Cameron said, turning back to her laptop. "But the complete loss of motor functions…"
James rubbed his eyes with the fingertips of his right hand. He swallowed. "It may be indirectly related to his cancer."
"If-" House's voice rose as he limped from his office, his cane tucked under his arm, his eyes still focused on the contents of the red folder resting on his palms. "-he has cancer."
James cleared his throat. Nodded. "I'll set up the tests."
"I've got it," Cameron said, closing her laptop and rising. "I've got to check on another patient in that area anyway." She grabbed her white coat from the back of the chair and shrugged it on.
James started when she brought her pale eyes to his and smiled her deep, painfully sincere smile.
"Thank you," she said. "For helping out."
James opened his mouth, but House replied for him.
"Oh that's just Wilson for you; just one big teddy bear dedicated to bringing smiles to one bald-headed child at a time."
Cameron sighed, shook her head. Wilson watched the back of her lab coat as she slipped through the office doors.