A/N: I know this is short--another chapter this evening!

CHAPTER TWELVE: A Talk, A Prayer, A Promise

Dr. James Wilson, MD is anxious to return to his patient's bedside; Jimmy Wilson just needs to see his friend. You two'd better get your act together, he muses ruefully. House needs both of us in full, functioning order. You, Doctor, are not his friend; James, you're not his physician. Could you guys kindly pull your acts together? "Great, just ducky," he says as he exits his car. "Now I'm not just talking to myself, I'm talking to two selves, and I'm expecting them both to answer." He hears House in his mind: 'Two Wilsons? Wow, Jimmy, how cool is that?' He visualizes the sly grin. "Shut up, House," he says aloud, and enters the hospital.

There's no one in the chapel when he arrives, which is a good thing. He couldn't explain even to himself just exactly why he'd felt pulled here. He sits down and starts talking. "I'm not sure what I'm doing here. But since You seem to be calling me, I figured I'd be on the safe side and come on in. Don't tell House, though; he says it's fine for us to talk to You, but when You talk to us, well, that's something else entirely. He's a good guy, God. I know it doesn't seem like it sometimes... well, okay, most of the time. But he's hurting. I don't mean just the leg. His heart... it hurts, I think, sometimes worse than his leg." He recalls the day Vogler had forced Wilson to resign. He'd been packing up his office, and House had entered. Their talk had been painful, almost adversarial. He'd told House that all he had was the job he'd just lost, "and this stupid, screwed-up friendship," and the look on House's face had broken Wilson's own heart.

"Remember him before? Yeah, I know, he was never a warm, cuddly, in-touch-with-his-emotions kinda guy. But... he cared, back then. He was able to see outside of himself. People weren't just diagnoses to solve; they were human beings who needed the help he was willing to give. He still offers the help, but only because once you hand him a puzzle, he has to solve it. The sad part is, he doesn't want to be this way. Watch his eyes; they give it all away, what he's really feeling. That worn out cliché about the eyes being windows to the soul? House personifies that. The only place he feels safe exposing his soul is through his eyes. So I'm asking, for him, please--save him from himself. Give him back to us; we'll try not to let him down. Again. You have my promise." He looks around uncomfortably, clears his throat, whispers "amen."

---

The sun's just come up. It's Saturday morning, and House has already enjoyed a couple of pain-free hours. He figures that Wilson's already returned to the office, gotten the note, and is seething. House wants to go home, though, and he needs his keys. He figures he can chance a quick visit back to the office to retrieve them and be on his way.

He's at his office door when he feels it. Just a twinge of pain in his right thigh. He frowns down at his leg, shrugs, and enters. There it is again, but a stronger twinge this time. And something else is wrong—his note's right where he left it. He picks it up; still just his handwriting on the paper, no answering rant from Wilson. He can't believe that neither Cuddy nor Wilson has been back yet. It takes him only a moment to sense that, although neither Wilson nor Cuddy are here, he's not alone. And in that same moment, his thigh grips in a spasm that has him on the floor clawing desperately at his leg.

"Such a shame." The newly familiar voice makes him look up quickly. His visitor is standing over him, shaking his head. "Yours would have been a prized soul in my collection, Dr. House. I, however, am a man of my word, and a rule has been broken; the contract has been breached and is now—as I am sure your leg is telling you—null." He turns to leave.

"Wait!" House manages to croak out. "What rule? How… who…?"

The visitor keeps walking. "Someone prayed for your soul," he says with revulsion, and is gone.

---

Cuddy stands outside House's office door and looks proudly at her watch. Four minutes and 43 seconds. She hears footsteps, and smiles as Wilson approaches. He looks a bit better this morning, she thinks. There's a sense of peace about him which was definitely missing when she'd sent him out of here. "Did you get any rest?" she asks.

"Cuddy? What are you doing out here? Where's House?"

"Sleeping soundly, as of five minutes ago. I was even able to discontinue the oxygen when I left." She explains to him what had happened, and—just as Wilson is laughing at her "childproofing a House" line—they hear the sounds of a man in exquisite agony.