A/N: Disclaimer. Fox/Shore owns HouseM.D.

"House, I need to talk."

"You're not pregnant are you? I told you--."

"It's over."

He leans heavily against the door frame, taking in his heartbroken friend. Turning away, House hears the heavy footsteps following him and then the solid thud as the door is closed. In the kitchen, he pulls out two beers, and wanders back to see Wilson sitting dejectedly on the couch.

"Here." He throws one beer.

"Thanks."

The two pop open the tops at the same time, chug at the same pace, and then manage the half-sigh half-gag.

"You know...I don't know what I thought was going to happen."

"Of course you did. You were going to marry her, even though she didn't believe in marriage."

"I wasn't."

"I'm pretty sure your past behavior is a good indicator of your future behavior."

Wilson leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "She didn't have to take the job."

House doesn't make eye contact with him. Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed on the reality show playing on his television set.

"You told her to take it."

"I was being...me! If it's what she wants then, yeah. I just...I just..."

"You just what? Thought she was the one? Thought she thought you were the one?"

"I don't know."

"Sure you do. I found it in one of your desk drawers. Why would you keep--."

"You went through my desk!?"

"Sorry, was I not supposed to?"

"House!" He stands, hands shoved down his pockets with shoulders high as he begins his pacing. "God!" He stops and loosens his tie even more. "What the hell were you doing snooping?!"

"Why do you suddenly seem surprised that I crossed your personal boundary?"

"This was supposed to be between me and her!"

"That was then. What about now? You're here. I'm involved. Get over it."

Just as the tension reaches its crest, Wilson covers his face with his hands for a long drawn out breath. The fight leaves him.

"I was going to ask her tonight." His hands fall to his sides, useless. "And she told me she was taking the position in London. And then that long distance relationships are...futile." Turning away, he rubs the back of his neck, his voice suddenly far away. "I thought she wanted me. I thought she'd choose me. She chose her job."

"No."

He waits for Wilson to turn and look at him.

"You're good, Wilson. You gave her what she needed; she gave you what you needed." His shoulders shrug. "It's a symbiotic relationship that was about to verge on parasitism. She let you go."

For a long passing of ticking seconds, he's not sure what he can say. House saying something that was near to encouraging?

"You're being...understanding?"

"Nope. Just the quicker you get to flirting with nurse Nancy, the quicker I get two hundred bucks."

Flipping the small raisin box end over end on the kitchen island, House eyes the vicodin on the other end. Three more flips and he lies the box down to reach for the vial, gulping down two pills to dull the ache in his thigh. Every time he remembers something, the missing muscle tissue screams causing the still there tissue to cry along with it.

Barely nine in the evening, he sighs distractedly. He gets the sense that his body is reeling from something that he can't quite remember. Without thinking, he always reaches for the Bourbon or the Scotch, even when he doesn't want a drink. It's a habit, one he'd acquired long before the vast nothingness of his memory. It used to help him sleep,and now he's asleep by one every night with or without it.

Somewhere, he hears his pager going off. After a few minutes, his cell phone rings. Minutes after that, his home phone rings. The voice is of the girl he calls 13, and at the sound of her voice, his head tilts. The patient had just coded, been declared dead, and then risen from the dead. Nothing new in his line of work.

"You forgot to lock your office door." Click.

"Oh...my god! You didn't lock the door." She turns away, her mouth still slightly open, surprise still in her eyes.

Grabbing his thigh, he grits his teeth. When had she said that? He can see the near darkness, feel the bottles and rags around him, taste the complete smallness of the room. Then there's a head hiding in his shoulder.

Reaching for the Vicodin, he swallows another one, not even sure he'll be able to stand without it. The pain outweighs the memory, and he decides it's not worth it tonight.

A/N: More memories? Okay, trust me, there'll be at least one a chap now. Oh, and it's CTB that that Wilson/House are talking about. And the babydaddy? You guys know I can be quite angsty right? Well...what if in fact...there will be no babydaddy? I'm just saying...you know...you never know what might happen. Thanks for stopping by guys.