He was always like this – standoffish, rude. "Misanthrope" was the word most often used to describe him. He definitely wasn't the most popular man on the planet, and with good reason – his tendency towards taunting and being cruel to people was no mystery. A rare few bothered to guess that he was merely pushing people away to save his own heart, and even fewer ever gained any proof to that hypothesis.

He didn't think that it was forward of him to claim membership among that select group – in fact, he knew of only one other person to whom that honor went without making the idea seem trite and meaningless.

Some days, the thought that one could ever know even a fraction of what went on inside that mind seemed insane itself. When one witnessed him in action, with that erratic behavior bent on his specific mission, he seemed insanity incarnate, until one could view the results.

It was a high-risk game that his friend played, one with little reward beyond personal satisfaction and the gratification of doing something for another person, a gratification that he was sure the other didn't really care much for.

He had once referred to his friend's obsession as a "rubix complex," referring to the cubical toy – a fierce desire to solve whatever puzzle was set before him, the more complex the better. He felt it was an apt description of his character, really.

He was like no other doctor he knew. He didn't care for the patients, except insofar as someone putting together a jigsaw puzzle cared that no one stepped on and ruined it. He was unethical, irresponsible, and probably clinically insane.

And yet, somehow, he was his best friend. Even he didn't recall, now, exactly how their strange friendship had begun. He supposed that it probably had something to do with trying to talk him out of unethical treatment of a patient – not that it worked then; it didn't work now, for that matter.

Despite all of his shortcomings, he supposed, his friend really was just that… a friend. The relationship seemed one-sided much of the time, but he didn't mind. It was just one of those things. His friend cared about him, in his own abstract way (usually in the form of snide comments), and he cared for his friend (in a much more normal way).

All he had to do to confirm that hypothesis was to remember the look on the other doctor's face when he stood up for him at the ultimate cost, nearly losing everything in the process. Remembering the half-hearted sarcasm he offered, how off-balance that had put him… That proved it.

Gregory House was a good man – a confused, hurt, brutally honest, cynical, good man… and a good friend. Or at least, that's what James Wilson's opinion was.

For all that his opinion counted for, anyway.