Chapter 4 Princeton, NJ—House's Apartment

Despite the relatively advanced hour of the day, the lights remained out and the shades drawn. Throughout the darkened dwelling, only the sound of Steve McQueen's feet running in place on the wheel inside of his cage added any dimension to the inkiness.

In the back bedroom, the head of the household slept somewhat soundly. After the scene with Cuddy in the bathroom, he felt warm and flushed for some reason. Even as his dreams were of gloating that he was free of the administrative bullshit, there was one part to the b.s. he wanted back….

…his ex-boss….

"Shit!" he groused, opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling. He thought that kissing her would be fun; a way to get a cheap rise out of her and that would be that.

It was all right…in a way that a fly gets stuck in a web.

Damn it. He pulled himself out of bed and limped through the living room, past the half-eaten pizza and half-full bottle of Jack on the tv table toward the kitchen. There, almost by a sixth sense, he opened the right drawer and grabbed his emergency vial. Pouring himself a handful, he dry swallowed them and breathed deeply. Better. He shuddered, wondering what was happening to himself.

Suddenly, there was a thumping at the door.

"Now what?" he growled, feeling for the light switch and flipping it.

The explosion of brightness made him howl.

"House, open up!" Wilson called.

"Keep your damn drawers on!" House snarled, fighting the urge to throttle his friend for putting him through this ordeal. As his eyes adjusted, he grabbed his cane and hobbled to the door. Opening it, he pulled the other doctor inside and slammed it shut. "Yeah what?"

"And good afternoon to you too, House," Wilson retorted, feeling put out by that greeting which exceeded House's usual standards—as scary as that seemed. "What's eating you?"

"Life's a bitch." House sat down on the couch and opened the pizza box, producing a piece of pepperoni and sausage nirvana. Seeing the other looking at him, he rolled his eyes. "I suppose you want a piece?"

"That's usually what people do. Offer it, I mean."

The diagnostician squinted at the uninvited guest. "You're pushing your luck, Wilson. What's the matter? Wife kick you out again?"

Wilson shook his head. "No, House, this time Julie understood. I guess I should have the FBI explain things every time."

"Maybe." He offered his friend the pizza. "Hope you don't mind if it's cold."

"I can deal with it. Thanks." Wilson bit into the slice while still considering the other doctor. "So any big plans yet?"

"Nope." House put his hands in back of his head and gave the wide eyed look to Wilson. "Me and Steve are enjoying life."

"Really? From what I can tell, House, you look worse than usual. I know you're glad to be done with the clinic and you have the place to yourself," Wilson reasoned, probing once again where few would dare to: House's inner psyche.

"Shows what you know," House countered, covering his turbulent feelings. "Want a beer while you're eating?" Not waiting for an answer, he limped to the fridge and grabbed two cold ones.

"Sure. Thanks," Wilson accepted. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the two scenes from yesterday, would it?"

House snickered sarcastically while blowing off the question. "What? That? I was trying to get a rise out of Cuddy."

"Looks like it backfired. House, admit it, you miss her."

House glared at him like an angry pit bull ready to tear his arm off. "You're pushing your luck!"

Bingo. Rather than push his point, Wilson filed that one away for future blackmail use.

As he did so, his cell phone went off.

"You're being paged," the host noted with a still heated tone.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, is this James Wilson?"

Wilson looked at House wondering what this was all about. "Yes, this is he. Who is this?"

"My name is Paul Johannsen, Chief of Staff at St. Joseph's Hospital in New York. We met a couple of days ago before Angela Dubois' lecture. Would you be interested in a position at our hospital?"

Wilson almost dropped the phone. After a night of commiserating about the situation with Julie and worrying, the answer dropped in his lap in House's apartment of all places. "Absolutely. Thank you, Dr. Johannsen. When can we meet to talk about this?"

"Can you meet me for dinner and we'll talk about things? I always liked Carmine's off of Central Park West. Let's say about 6? I'll have the contract there."

House sat back watching the floor show, deducing what was going on. While he felt relieved for his friend, he was going to razz the other anyhow.

Wilson was desperately trying not to stutter or act like a nervous twit. "Sure," he managed to say. "I know where that is. I'll see you there. Thank you." With that, hehung up and pumped his fist in the air.

"Jimmy got himself another job. Goodie for you," House slurred while guzzling down the rest of his beer. He let out a particularly hardy belch and stretched his arms skyward.

"I'd think you'd be happy for me."

"Yeah well, I'm dealing with my own stuff at the moment." He thought for a minute. "Where did that guy say he was from?"

"St. Joseph's. Why?" Wilson replied.

"That's Landers' hospital. They're going through cuts. I hope you're ready for that crap fest," House explained before starting in on another piece.

"Right now, I'll take anything. Julie's going to be happy with this news. I'll let you know what happens. Seriously, House, if you need to talk, let me know."

"Yeah. Don't worry," House dismissed. "Just don't drool on the carpet. Big administrators hate that."

"So how does Cuddy let you get away with it?" Wilson retorted with a chuckle.

"I'm special. At least, I won't have to put up with it any more," House fired back. As the other man turned to leave, he added, "Seriously, try not to screw up. I'm counting on you."

Interpreting the gibe in its proper context, Wilson smiled. "Thanks. I'm pulling for you too." With that, he left the apartment shutting the door behind him.

House shook his head. Yeah well, pull for yourself, Wilson.