A/N: Here's the 2nd installment.

No slash intended.

Also, if the name of Wilson's wife in the first part wasn't a clue, this is pre-infarction days. One of Wilson's previous marriages.


ii.

House had picked up on the shift from day one. But he hadn't decided to label it until six weeks went by, Wilson having sunk himself deeper and deeper into the new mood. He watched the oncologist meticulously, day by day, keeping an approximate chart in his head of how often Wilson smiled or laughed or looked at ease. At first, the decline was gradual, but these last few weeks had shown a rapid increase in the gloom, the silence, the further excess of working. Something was up. It was House's new puzzle.

He had spent several hours contemplating how to attack it, concluding that a direct approach was out of the question. It wasn't the way he functioned. He was to the point, yes. But he wasn't good at emotional honesty. He couldn't ask Wilson straight up what had changed, what was going on. They didn't talk like that. It had to be subtle, almost subconscious.

"So," House started, plopping down in the chair across from Wilson and munching on his potato chips. Wilson barely looked up, focusing on paperwork yet again. "I've been thinking. Maybe we should have one of those Velcro walls installed, right in my office. Work would suddenly be fun."

Wilson gave an annoyed sigh, relentlessly moving his pen across the forms. House watched him, blue eyes clear and piercing, like two small lights that could mesmerize people if they would just pay attention. It didn't take long for it to make Wilson uncomfortable.

"What?" the oncologist snapped.

"No lunch?" House asked.

"No."

"O-kay. Why not?"

Wilson sighed again, rolling his eyes. "Because I'm not hungry."

"You're not a breakfast person, and dinner was about sixteen hours ago, if I'm guessing right."

"Just leave me alone, please," said Wilson, the pen motion unceasing.

House was frowning now. He leaned back against the chair, throwing one arm back over the top.

"What's going on with the wife? Haven't heard you sing her praises in a while."

Wilson clenched his jaw, and House made no indication that he noticed.

"I haven't heard you say anything about Stacy either," said Wilson.

House shrugged. "Nothing to tell. We're two peas in a pod, and all that crap."

Wilson blinked furiously and pressed the pen into the paper a little more. He had been dreading the moment when House would question him. He had no intention of saying anything to anyone about what was going on in his marriage, but he could only resist House for so long before his friend drove him insane.

"So back to the original topic, before you so obviously changed the subject. Why are you not eating?"

"I'm not 'not eating.' I didn't feel like having lunch today. That's all. End of story."

"Yeah, and now that I think about it, we haven't had lunch here for days. I've been holed up in my office or playing hooky with my lawyer, and you've been – not around."

"You're saying unless I have lunch with you, I don't eat?"

"I'm saying I have no way of knowing that this is a new development."

Wilson gave his most pronounced sigh yet and got to his feet, picking up his paperwork. House waited for a second before following him, picking up his pace to match Wilson's once they got out the cafeteria doors.

"You really insist on being a pest, don't you?" the oncologist said, taking a sharp turn and heading for his office.

"You're snapping. You don't snap."

"If you would just leave me alone like I ask, maybe I wouldn't be."

"We haven't talked about anything in weeks."

"We don't talk. You ramble, and I comment."

"Why is this pissing you off so much? Why the avoidance?"

They reached Wilson's office door, and House broke one of his own unspoken rules, grabbing at Wilson's shoulder. Wilson pulled away from him, and House stopped when he noticed the way his friend tensed and the grimace that flickered through Wilson's face.

"Stay the hell away," the younger doctor told him, slamming his door shut. House heard the lock move.

Something was going on. He had to figure it out. He suddenly had a dark feeling creeping into his stomach.