A/N: I want you all to know just how important your reviews meant to me. I'm happy that this is making you sad...ok, that sounds weird..but that's the point of this fic! This might be the last chapter, and then an epilogue. I never wanted this to be one of those "Your gone and I'm learning to live without you" fics, so I'm going to stop before Wilson actually learns to fully move on. Anyways...enjoy, and reviews are appreciated!

DISCLAIMER: Not mine

February, a year and 2 months after Christmas Day

Denial. Guilt. Depression. Another stab of guilt. Then the Cold Shoulder. Of course, with the Cold Shoulder came the attitude that you know you have the Cold Shoulder.

The Denial lasted for about 2 months. Wilson was subconsciously lost, having no recollection of what happened to his friend. Only nightmares that scared the hell out of him reminded him of something that might have happened...but he was pretty sure it didn't. Wilson would wonder why House never showed up to work anymore, why his desk was cleared of all his possessions, why his ducks were slowly disappearing...one by one. He remembered somewhere close to March that his memory started giving in, and flashing images were surfaced before him as clear as a hi-def flat screen. Puzzle pieces were put together, and eventually he remembered it all.

Guilt came next. It began the night when he packed up everything in his office, leaving behind a resignation letter for Princeton-Plainsboro. Its all your fault, Wilson told Wilson. Wilson began to hate Wilson, but he couldn't help but thinking that it was actually true. You left him on the floor, you wanted this to happen. You wanted him to die. You would give up your car and bank accounts for him, but when it comes to actually saving his life--you were too arrogant to care. Too selfish. You didn't want that limping, pill-popping fuckwit in your life anymore. You could do so much better anyways. "I'm sorry, alright? It should've been me! It should've been me in that car, on that gurney---in that coffin!" Why? So he could do all the suffering? So he can cry over your dead body, and feel guilty? You really are selfish! You deserve what your getting. Wilson would keep Wilson up all night long. He heard him with every tear that rolled down his face, with every bottle of alcohol consumed, with every intake of breath. Wilson hated Wilson. Wilson wanted Wilson to die.

With guilt came Depression. He started seeing some therapist. The therapist would say some cheesy line like "Mourning is good. Its a big step on the way to recovery." He would nod along, pretending to listen, but actually felt a growing need to throw something at him. "Come to me when you've lost someone dear, then tell me how to cope," he wanted to say. "Don't quote me some memorized line from a psychology book." But he kept going to his appointments. He wanted his doctor to think he was recovering, even though he wasn't. Every single morning it took more than an hour to even begin thinking about getting out of bed, and that was after staring blankly at the popcorned ceiling, wishing it would just--come down and crush him.

It was almost a year after his death when House's voice began kicking into Wilson's subconscious. He began thinking in a way that House would be. "So I died, get over it. Try having an infarction in your leg, see how well you deal with your so-called 'pain'. Gosh, Jimmy, with all those tears you cried for me, you could've bathed a million little African boys...

"It was totally your fault!"

"Was not! The kid really didn't have a rebate!"

Brown curls turned around to get a glimpse of a tween boy exiting the "E-Games" store, his hands covering his face. The young woman turned back around to Wilson.

"The next customer that I see you've made cry, I'm telling Carter," she hissed playfully in his ear. Wilson chuckled, scratching his tiny pricks of stubble above his lip.

"No you won't, because then I'll be forced to tell him about the time you left the cash register open before leaving for lunch," he shot back. She sucker-punched him on the shoulder before collecting a handful of DVDs to be stacked on the shelves.

"Could I help the next customer, please?" he called out, tapping his fingers on the counter. A heavy-set bald man reached the counter, putting down an X-Box. Suddenly, small hands tugged at his too-long-to-pass-for-short sleeved shirt.

"Wait, daddy, we need to look for a game!" the small voice called out. The heavy-set man rolled his eyes at his son. He picked up the X-Box from the counter and followed him to the games. Wilson was almost about to call for the next-in-line, but a very familiar face stepped forward from behind the man...

Wilson took a double-look. He hadn't seen Lisa Cuddy in over a year. She had more lines under her eyes than he had remembered. Her hair was dyed dark red, and she had a more defined figure, if possible.

"Hello, James," she said, giving him a small smile. Wilson stared at her for a few seconds, wondering how she knew he worked here, or more to the point--what was she even doing here.

"Rachel, I'm taking my break!" he called out, keeping his eyes on Cuddy.

"Isn't that what you always do?" he heard her sarcastically reply back, but he was already exiting the small store, Cuddy in pursuit. He breathed in fresh air when he got outside, then leaned against the wall of the store, arms crossed. Cuddy stood in front of him.

"How are you doing?" she asked him, mentally noting his changes; His once defined cheeks were now not-so defined. His body was slimmer than she had remembered. Worn-out shirt and jeans. His hair was no longer groomed and in place, but now had a Jack-Dawson look to it. The small stubble above his lip actually made him look a little more attractive than usual.

He breathed in. "I'm good, I'm doing good. Working a 12-hour shift here, four times a week. Its steady, I'm getting used---"

"How many years," she cut in, "have you gone to school and practiced medicine? How much---how much time was consumed in learning the knowledge, and earning your degree?" Wilson was taken aback by this sudden flashback attack...

..But Wilson had the Cold Shoulder..

Of course, with the Cold Shoulder came the attitude that you know you have the Cold Shoulder.

He shifted his feet around, comforting his position on the wall. "What do you want, Cuddy?" he said. Cuddy sighed.

"I want to know why your throwing your life away. You don't go from a well-educated, well-mannered oncologist to a ---to a ---" she threw her hands up in the air. "---to working in some game shop!"

"Are you my mother?" Wilson shot back. This time, Cuddy was the one who took a double-look. she never remembered Wilson being so short-tempered with anyone. "You don't get to yank me out of my job to bombard me with pointless...ramblings. Why do you care anyways? You want me back at Princeton? Is that why you came here?"

Cuddy sighed again, looking for a way to approach this 'reincarnated' bum standing before her.

"I've changed too, Wilson." she said quietly. "We all have...Cameron and Chase, they're working at Seattle-Grace now---that's a big step from Princeton...and Foremen, he's...he's doing really well, he's a surgeon now. I didn't even think that was a possible leap," she explained, chuckling.

"So the ducks have grown," Wilson muttered, not really caring.

"Yes, they've grown. They've gone forward, not backwards," she replied, knowing his comment was unintended for her to hear.

"Well that's their lives."

"Yes, Wilson. I want you back at Princeton. I'll pay you double and cut your hours," she said quickly, giving it a small try.

"What?" he said, taken aback. "You think this is about money? I can retire right now, and not have to worry about a penny."

"Is that why you dress like you've just gone to a garage-sale? ...Please, Wilson. Just work at some hospital, don't put your knowledge to waste."

For a moment, it seemed like his guard was let down a bit, and she saw a little spark of James Wilson in his brown eyes. He shifted his position again, surfing his hand through his hair.

"Medicine's not a part of my life anymore," he said. With than little spark she saw in his eyes, she saw hurt. She moved closer to him, hoping that what she was about to say wouldn't ignite too much emotion.

"Wilson...it was House who died. Not you. He wouldn't have wanted to see you like this. He would've wanted you to move on...and do something worthy with your life."

Wilson's brows immediately creased. It was an insult. What the hell would she know what House would've wanted?

This Cold Shoulder's for you, Cuddy.

He stood up from the wall. "I have to get back to work," he said coldly, wanting her to know that her little visit with him down Memory-Lane was greatly appreciated. He flung the glass-door open and entered back into the store, leaving Cuddy alone outside. She watched him get back behind the counter, attending to customers. She stood there for a few moments, wondering where-oh-where did James Wilson go.

"Who was that?" Rachel asked quietly to Wilson, as he scanned the price of a used DVD for a customer.

"Some lady, needed directions for somewhere," he replied, bagging the DVD, and handing it to the customer.

"I bet you told her the wrong directions," she smirked at him, and giggled quietly.

"Everybody lies."

A/N: Reviews, reviews! Thank you so much for reading this!