Chapter 6

As Wilson awkwardly stepped into the cafe, House hobbling at his side, Wilson could not help but shake an eerie feeling that he had been in parallel situation only weeks before. Although previously, he had been walking with Amber at his side, and House's presence had been unexpected, Wilson had possessed the same, nervous fluttering in his stomach as a result of unexplained tension. Perhaps then he had feared with Amber that he'd make a false move and suddenly, their relationship would come crashing down. Or, perhaps, he had feared that House would enter the scene and ruin everything. As Wilson reflected, it became blatantly obvious that his fears had most definitely been the latter.

Now, as he stood next to House, Amber leading the way through the confined cafe towards a booth in the corner, Wilson's nausea was sparked by the combination of being in the presence of his current lover and being led by an invisible thread towards his ex-girlfriend, like a warrior entering the maze of the Minotaur. It became apparent as he sat down next to House, sliding towards the wall within the booth, that he was at a clear-cut crossroad between not just relationships, but his personal image. He currently faced a choice which would not only influence his future persona, but his relationship with House. Although, unfortunately, his relationship with House was definitely second priority to his personal image, Wilson knew that these two factors would have to positively influence his actions at this dangerous meal. As a compromise, his behavior would most definitely require a reflection of his personal emotions fused with House's own, obvious attachment. As a result, his overall behavior ought to be enough for Amber to realize she needed to back off, without causing any sort of scene which brought the situation more attention then necessary.

A nudge at Wilson's left rib pulled him out of his thoughts. He cringed slightly from the force of the bony elbow that had been plunged into his sides moments before, and looked at House. House's eyes conveyed his apparent curiosity: how could Wilson be so rational at a time like this?!

Wilson clicked his tongue quietly. He knew House was somehow reprimanding him for his attempt to balance out his emotions, but he also knew that listening to House entirely would ultimately cause some sort of typical dilemma which would quickly spiral out of control. In the end, Wilson concluded he had no choice but to drop his continuous attempts at planning and allow the situation to unfold as spontaneously as necessary. It was useless to plan anything whenever House was around.

Amber watched Wilson with careful, deliberate eyes, scanning his every movement carefully. As soon as Wilson became entirely conscious of her gaze, he shifted uncomfortably, switching his gaze from the edge of the table fleetingly into her piercingly blue eyes. He couldn't recall any time which had carried such an awkward, thick air as now. His intertwined hands seemed to clasp each other with suffocating strength, turning his knuckles white and cold.

"So, James," Amber began, dramatically throwing out her hand and sliding it underneath her chin, continuing to fix Wilson with her dangerous stare. Wilson was given the familiar sensation of being x-rayed.

"How've you been?" she asked. Wilson could not help but feel this was the most pathetic start to a conversation. The answer could not have been any more obvious than if it had been slapped across her malicious face.

"Fine," House cut in as Wilson began to take a deep breath, preparing to speak. He gaped clumsily as he felt House's right arm swing around his shoulders, resting casually across the top of his back as House's fingers fell one by one onto his right shoulder. As his hand made full contact with Wilson's shoulder, he felt House's grip tighten as he attempted to pull Wilson closer towards him, almost as if he were a bird pulling a weakling under his wing. Wilson could not help but feel slightly bewildered as he leaned in towards House. The sight must've been highly amusing, as Amber merely cracked a smile.

"Amber, it's only been a few days," Wilson finally spoke, his confusion cutting clearly through his voice.

"But a lot has happened since then," Amber said, attempting to leave those events open to interpretation. She was clearly waiting for Wilson to lay everything out on the table as a form of utmost cruelty; she could obviously smell Wilson's uneasiness and seemed to feed hungrily off of it.

"I'd say so," Wilson agreed, gazing upwards at House from his spot on his right shoulder.

"So you don't deny you're trying to torture me?"

"Erm, sorry?"

"Of all the people you could've chosen for this petty, flimsy act, you chose House. I see, it all makes sense to me now."

Wilson's head was spinning, House let out a small, harsh laugh.

"'Act'?" Wilson stammered.

"Don't play these games with me James," Amber said smoothly, as if she knew the entire reason why House was sitting there next to Wilson, his arm wrapped around him. "You know I despise House more than anyone else."

"Didn't stop him from choosing me," House said, causing Amber to give a vicious glare at House as she interpreted his words as a form of attack rather than defense.

"And I didn't think you could ever stoop that low," Amber said in a menacingly quiet tone.

"'Stoop low'?" Wilson asked, still entirely bewildered.

"Dammit, James," Amber burst out at last, slamming a fist onto the table in sheer frustration. "If you want me back, just say so. You didn't have to go and twist me around like this. I'll give you a second chance." Her eyes seemed to be brimming with tears as her palm resting on the table turned into a clenched fist.

Wilson gaped slightly for a moment, then looked at his partner. As their eyes met with dawning comprehension, their mutual response was a strong burst of hilarious laughter. They let out deep, rumbling laughs as they had never allowed themselves to do before, clapping their hands together or slapping their thigh as they attempted to recover from Amber's sheer arrogance.

"If anyone is trying to twist anyone around," Wilson said between bursts of laughter, "it's you. You're the one who lied to me; went behind my back. And now you think I'm begging to have you back?"

"I lied so I wouldn't hurt your feelings."

"Because you think that the truth would've made me finish things sooner."

"It would've --"

"It wouldn't. I cared for you, which means I wanted to make you happy. If you had told me were unhappy, I would've tried to do something to help."

"In other words, don't be so selfish next time," House added.

"Who's the one involved in this stint?" Amber challenged House.

"You still think we're putting this on for you?" House said. "Well, get used to the strange idea that not everything revolves around you."

Amber pursed her lips together, her fist still clenched firmly on the table.

"House," Wilson said calmly, attempting to stifle the tension between his partner and Amber, "who's the one who gets thanked for telling patients they're dying?"

"Oh, yeah well, last time I checked, she wasn't exactly a patient."

Wilson sighed, "Let me handle this."

House opened his mouth to retort, but Amber's voice cut across, now clearly confused and upset.

"James, I just want to know... of all people to choose for this: Cuddy, Thirteen, even Dr. Cameron... why House?"

At last, Wilson had come to the crossroads he had predicted earlier. He had a clear cut choice between going along with the ridiculous theory of Amber's or, revealing everything. His first instinct formulated words in his mind which would continue to stir the controversy within Amber's theory.

But as he opened his mouth, he became consciously aware of House's right hand still resting comfortably on his right shoulder. Those fingers had seemed to meld into his skin for the time being, as if they had always belonged there. Yet, not just those fingers – that entire arm and the human being to which that arm belonged to. In that moment, he felt Amber and himself were one and the same; they puzzled over the same question: of all the people in the world, why was it that House was the one whose arm belonged around his shoulder?

There were many logical reasons why, but as Wilson's emotions mounted, he knew that there was no rational or logical reason – there never truly was when it came to love. However, could it even be love? It had been a chaotic, emotional whirlwind the past few days, and obviously, Wilson had barely been able to gather up and sort out his own feelings before Amber's emotions were thrown onto him. To continue to complicate things by developing Amber's intricate theory would most certainly throw Wilson into overload.

Not to mention the definite unfairness which would arise from such an act: House was a human being, with equally confusing emotions, whether he acted that way or not. Attempting to fuel Amber's wild theory would imply that he was pushing House away, while simultaneously demonstrating his own priorities: his reputation over his relationship. Wilson closed his eyes tightly for a moment with the idea as he realized it was the most uncharacteristic thing for him to do to shove House away. It was out of the question to deny feelings which had been stirring within him for so many years and which had only freely surfaced a few days prior.

Amber had an amazing talent of distorting reality, and Wilson was finally able to remove his rose colored glasses as he took a deep breath and began to speak quietly and calmly.

"I chose House because..." he paused slightly, trying to see if he could choose his word before they came fumbling out of his mouth. In his brief pause, House's grip on his shoulder tightened slightly.

"He's... House."

Amber wasn't sure how to interpret this statement, as she continued to stare blankly at Wilson.

"He's the person I've been looking for my whole life. He's just that other essential half – and has been for God knows how long."

"You're... dating House?" Amber asked in a low, seriously disbelieving tone.

"Yes."

Silence.

"Is it a crime to have feelings for another man?"

Amber still remained silent, her lips pursed together again.

"You don't approve."

Amber took a deep breath, as if to say something, but continued to be silent.

"What was I?" she finally asked. "A chance to help someone in need?"

"It's not a bad thing," House quipped.

"I – I don't know what to say..." Amber said, clearly at a loss of what to do as well as what to say.

"I'm sorry," Wilson admitted, holding out his hand as he gave a half-shrug.

"No, you're not," Amber replied, quietly and bitterly.

"I am. You should know that. If there's anything you should know, it's that I care."

"It's the definition of a Wilson," House added.

"I admire your integrity, but I don't think our relationship would've lasted much longer anyway... there's nothing you could've done. Someone else was nagging me in the back of my mind..."

Amber's eyes grew wide as her energy was suddenly restored.

"You knew," she directed her attack at House. "You were trying to get me to leave him! And you're calling me selfish?! You wanted him for yourself."

House turned his head slightly and muttered, "Guilty as charged."

Wilson eyed his guilty friend with newfound understanding. If he hadn't been so furious at Amber, Wilson was sure that some of his fury would've relocated to House for his hypocritical attacks, but at the moment, it was clear that Amber's offence was much higher.

"At least I wanted him for him, not the collection of other doctors' business cards," House came up with as his stinging reply.

"But you wanted all of this to happen," Amber threw back through gritted teeth.

"Oh shut up – you would've done the same thing. Hell, you're probably going to try to do the same thing. Sometimes I think I know you better than he does. And to think, I actually felt sorry for you both because you had made such a pathetic, deceitful relationship."

Wilson blinked heavily, "You felt... pity for us?"

"What do ya know, I can be self-sacrificing and sympathetic."

"Wow."

House re-directed his attention to Amber.

"I wanted Wilson for Wilson," he repeated, "and to go with our special little continuing theme, he's what I need."

Amber reclined in her chair, thumping her head beautifully on the seatback of the booth chair. House gave Wilson a look, muttering, "Make sure I never say anything that cheesy again."

Wilson burst into a comfortable, relieved smile for the first time as he leaned in to give House a small kiss on his neck. As he repositioned himself in his seat afterwards, allowing House's arm to fall from his shoulders, he found Amber's face and saw a look of sheer shock.

"Get a closet," she finally said viciously. Wilson felt his heart twinge slightly from the attack. He sat, stunned and stung, appalled at Amber's nerve.

House exhaled between gritted teeth, resulting in a small hiss. "We used that metaphor already."

"Good," Amber said, sheer anger emanating from her voice, "then you know what I mean."

"Right," House said sarcastically, "because you have utter control over our relationship. You don't even have control over yourself."

"Amber, I can give you other doctor's names for a job application. I can help --"

"It's not about that anymore, Dr. Wilson," Amber said, attempting to throw significance into her new method of addressing Wilson, "it's about setting things right."

"Which is what I'm trying to do."

"Then don't. Ever. Kiss," she stumbled over the last word, "House again."

"You seem to be missing a crucial concept here," House said, "since when does your opinion influence everything?"

"Amber, this is just madness," Wilson said, overlapping House's question. He sensed that Amber had somehow lost all sense of rationale. She was almost raving with anger – was she suffering from grief? Either he had been dating a woman who was absolutely insane, or something was now severely wrong with Amber.

"Are you... okay?" He couldn't help but ask. His ability to register other people's emotions broke through, pushing him to discover what was wrong with Amber.

"I'm fine," Amber said sharply, but Wilson sensed some form of denial in her tone.

"No, you're not.. you're clearly very upset. Here," Wilson pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and fumbled through it, digging for some unknown object. At last, he pulled out a small, white business card with the words, "Dr. Callahan PsyD. PhD." These letters flashed before House's eyes as the card traveled across the table onto Amber's place settings. House realized he was recommending her to a psychiatrist; Wilson's psychiatrist.

"I hope it'll help," Wilson said honestly. Amber took the card, inserting it into her pocket out of politeness, but continued to gaze angrily at Wilson, then House, then back to Wilson.

She then stood abruptly, gathering her purse as she prepared to depart from the cafe.

"Don't think you're getting away from me," Amber warned, madness seeming to shine obviously from within.

Wilson was no longer feeling sorry for Amber, but rather slightly fearful of what had happened to her. Had she really loved him that much? It shook him slightly to see what he had unintentionally done to her, but as he began to bring the guilt upon himself, he reminded himself that he wasn't responsible for their end of relationship; she had brought it on herself. Therefore, her problems were deeply rooted from even before they started dating. It was most likely an issue that went too deep to discuss at a cafe in front of his new boyfriend.

He allowed himself a moment's speculation – he knew House had many emotional issues, just as Amber did, but would these issues reach a boiling point like they had just done with Amber? Surely, House's problems were mostly resolved, because as far as Wilson knew, his emotional torment came from the consistent combination of leg pain, his personal ego and his desires for Wilson. The majority of these issues were unfixable, besides the latter, which was in the process of being fulfilled. Therefore, it was this emotional difference which separated House from Amber. House was amazingly stable in comparison to Amber. He was certainly very needy, but stable.

"I'm not trying to push you away," Wilson said kindly as Amber began to walk towards the door, "I'm trying to wish you the best in your future. Good-bye, Amber."

Amber said nothing, her hand in her pocket, most likely clutching the business card Wilson had given her. She then pulled the door open and exited the cafe.

Wilson let out a huge sigh of relief as the door swung shut, sliding back into his chair as House let out a long whistle and chuckled.

"Worst case of paranoia I have ever seen," Wilson sighed, moving a hand to his forehead.

"Makes you glad you are sleeping with me," House cracked, smirking despite the dangerous situation which they had just escaped.

"If she doesn't get help, I think we're going to be seeing her at Plainsboro very often."

"Even if she does..." House said, his voice hitting a very low octave as he made a sudden realization.

"What do you mean?"

"Therapy sessions are held at Princeton as well."

"Oh, right, 'Voldemort,'" Wilson recalled.

They fell silent, soaking in the underlying sense of comfort that had come with Wilson telling the truth. On the surface, it was clear that his statement had erupted a volcano, but between House and Wilson, things had never been more tranquil, unified and understanding. At last, Wilson and House were on the same page.

Wilson brought his left arm up to House's right side, wrapping his arm around his neck as he gave him a light, understanding kiss.

As they broke apart, House let out a small groan and clutched his stomach melodramatically.

"Can we go get lunch now?