076. Who?

Who are we?

Wilson sat next to the hospital bed and scrubbed his face with his hands. He was tired; he'd had almost no sleep in the last twenty-four hours. He looked at the inhabitant of the bed and grimaced. House looked terrible. His face was covered in bruises and abrasions; his left eye was swollen shut and there was a line of stitches above his eyebrow. Surprisingly the rest of his body was pretty much untouched, only a few bruises here and there. Most of the impact of the collision between the car and his bike had been when House's head had hit the car then the road and finally the light pole.

Wilson had seen the helmet House had been wearing and he couldn't quite believe that House had managed to get out of it with only bruises, abrasions and a single gash. The helmet was almost shattered; it was certainly unwearable now. The doctors down in the ER had insisted on x-rays and scans being done and all of them had come back absolutely clear which had baffled the doctors. There was no apparent swelling, haemorrhage or anything else. Wilson snorted softly; anyone else would probably be dead but House had got out of it almost scot-free.

A low moan from the bed drew his attention and he leaned forward as House's eyes flickered open.

"Greg?" he said softly. "It's James. It's alright, you're at the hospital."

"Who?" House said with confusion, his eyes shifting until they were resting on Wilson. "Who are you?"

Wilson blinked as something caught inside his chest. Okay, no one had mentioned this as a possibility since there didn't seem to be any brain trauma.

"James Wilson," he said slowly. "Don't you remember me?"

"Uh, no," House said with a frown. "Um, who am I?"

Wilson's breath caught and he had to work hard to keep his expression from betraying his shock.

"You…don't remember?" he said carefully.

"Would I be asking if I remembered?" House snapped, frustration, fear and a hint of panic growing in his eyes.

"Okay," Wilson said soothingly. "Your name is Gregory House. You're a doctor." He paused. "How much do you remember?"

House's forehead creased as he struggled to think. "Nothing," he whispered. "I don't remember anything."

Wilson swallowed hard. "I'm…going to go and get your doctor. I'll be right back."

"J…James?" House said with uncertainty as Wilson headed for the door.

Wilson stopped and looked back. "Yes, Greg?"

"Are…are we…friends?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Wilson said through the lump in his throat. "Yes, we are."

House nodded, frowning as he cudgelled his mind, trying to find his memories. Fits and sparks of memories glimmered at the edge of his awareness but he couldn't seem to catch them. Wilson watched him for a moment then he hurried out of the room. He returned fairly quickly with the admitting doctor and then the circus began. Other doctors were summoned and they prodded and poked and asked questions that House couldn't answer. Wilson could see that House was rapidly getting upset and panicked and he stepped forward.

"Enough," he said sharply, gaining instant silence and everyone's attention. "Look, you're just upsetting him. Unless you've got anything concrete or you've got tests to run, I think you should take your speculations out of the room."

The doctors looked startled and they looked back at House who was now also looking distressed. Wilson was fairly sure of the cause and he wanted to get the other doctors out of the room before he spoke about it with House.

"Good point, Dr Wilson," the admitting doctor said with a nod. "We will have some tests to run but we need to work out exactly which ones. We'll be back later."

The doctors all trooped out of the room and Wilson hurried over to House's side. He opened the top drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a small orange pill bottle. He quickly took the top off and shook one out, picking up the glass of water that sat nearby and offering both to House.

"You need to take this," he said firmly.

"Why?" House asked, his breathing starting to become more rapid.

"Just take it and I'll explain," Wilson demanded.

House gave him a long look then the pain made him reach out and take both pill and glass. He swallowed the pill, chasing with a sip of water then handed the glass back to Wilson.

"Now explain," he demanded.

Wilson took the glass and put it back on the bedside table. He then pulled a chair up and sat down, taking as long as he could to let the Vicodin take effect. He knew when it had when House started to relax again.

"Where was the pain coming from?" Wilson asked patiently.

"My leg," House replied. "My right thigh to be precise."

Wilson paused. "Have a look at it."

House frowned then lifted the blanket and sheet away and looked down at his leg. He paled as he saw the long scar that ran up his thigh and the obvious lack of muscle tissue.

"What…what happened to me?" he said, his voice shaky with shock as he let the blanket and sheet drop.

"You…had an infarction in your thigh," Wilson explained. "There was…a delay in diagnosing the problem and there were additional problems. They had to operate…remove the dead muscle tissue in your thigh. There was nerve damage, that's why you're in pain." He gestured to the cane leaning against the bedside table. "That's yours as well. You…need it to walk. You take Vicodin for the pain."

"When?" House breathed.

"About five years ago," Wilson replied. He knew he should probably try and let House remember all of this for himself but this was one thing that he felt should be an exception.

"I don't remember," House whispered.

"It'll come back to you," Wilson said, more in hope than anything else right now.

House frowned and gave a rather absent nod. He then looked around the room and back at Wilson.

"We're friends," he said slowly.

"Yes," Wilson replied, even though it hadn't been a question.

"Are we…more?" House asked almost hesitantly. "Are we…lovers?"

Wilson gaped and stammered but was saved from having to make a reply of any kind by the admitting doctor entering the room again.

"Dr House. Dr Wilson," he said with a nod. "We've got a few tests we'd like to run."

Wilson nodded and stood. "He's taken a Vicodin."

"Shouldn't have any effect on what we want to do," the doctor said as a nurse came in with a wheelchair. "Ready, Dr House?"

House was eyeing the wheelchair with suspicion. "What's she got that for?"

"Well, you haven't forgotten everything then," Wilson said with exasperation. "No one gets to walk to their tests, House. Not even you."

House shot him a look that surprised Wilson until he realised he'd fallen back into his normal pattern of addressing House now that there were others in the room. He ignored it for now in favour of picking up House's cane and offering it to him. House frowned as he pushed back the sheet and blanket and swung his legs towards the side. He stopped almost immediately with a hiss of pain. He took several deep breaths before swinging his left leg around and using both hands to shift his right leg as well. Wilson reached over and picked up the hospital dressing gown that been left and giving it to House. He put it on then took the cane before easing his feet to the floor. He winced as his leg twinged and braced himself with his cane. The nurse brought the wheelchair forward and House awkwardly limped over and sat down.

Wilson hesitated for a moment then placed a hand on House's shoulder. "Do you want me to come with you?"

House was silent for a long moment then he nodded. Wilson patted him on the shoulder then the doctor gestured to the nurse and they all left the room.

When they finally returned three hours later, House was exhausted and Wilson wasn't that far behind him. He was a little worried that House was so passive in his exhaustion; in his experience a tired House was a cranky House. When they got into the room, Wilson waved away the nurse and pushed the wheelchair across to the bed. They'd lost the doctor on the way back to another emergency call though he'd promised to get back to them as soon as he had any results.

"Greg?" he said softly when House didn't move.

House jerked and looked around blankly. He shook his head slightly then slowly got to his feet, collapsing back into his bed with a pained grunt. Wilson took the wheelchair out of the room then returned to find House hadn't moved except to throw one arm over his eyes. He walked over to the bedside table and pulled out the bottle of Vicodin again.

"Here," he said quietly, offering another pill to House.

"'S only been three hours," House said, his words almost slurred in his weariness.

"I know," Wilson said neutrally. "But you'd better take one anyway."

House removed the arm from over his eyes and turned his head to look with a frown first at Wilson then at the white pill in his hand. He then reached out and took the pill, putting it in his mouth and swallowing it with some of the water from the glass Wilson offered him.

"So why are you giving me pills earlier than I should be taking them?" House asked as he handed the glass back.

Wilson hesitated then sighed. "I…think you should remember that one for yourself."

House scowled for a moment then nodded. One thing he'd been told more than once in the last three hours was that he needed to try and remember things for himself rather be told them by others. But at least some residual things were coming back, like the knowledge of medications and when they should and shouldn't be taking them. Unfortunately the big things, the important things weren't coming back quite so easily.

"So are you going to answer my question?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Uh, which question was that?" Wilson stammered, prevaricating a little.

"Are we lovers?" House asked. "Because I think we are."

"You…remember something," Wilson asked, stalling for more time.

House frowned and his gaze turned slightly inwards. "Sort of…I think. Not memories…sort of…impressions maybe." He shook his head and came back to himself. "They feel real though and they say we're lovers."

Wilson looked everywhere except at House then he sat down abruptly.

"Yes," he said, his voice barely audible. "Yes, we are."

"How long?" House demanded.

"Not long," Wilson replied. "Couple of days. My…wife left me. I came to stay with you. Things…kind of led on from there."

House was silent and Wilson wondered how he was going to react; whether this new amnesiac House would reject what had just begun between them.

"I'm tired," House said abruptly.

Wilson felt like his heart had just crumbled and he ducked his head.

"I'll uh…let you get some sleep," he said, wondering how he'd managed to keep his voice level.

"Stay," House said and Wilson looked up to see House was struggling with his words.

"You're…you're tired," House said slowly then he gave a small smile. "There's plenty of room here."

"What?" Wilson stammered.

"I don't remember my name or yours or much of anything else but I do remember at least a little of what's between us," House said with a frustrated look. "That's…gotta mean something, right?"

"I…suppose so," Wilson replied. "But I don't think the nurses would approve."

"Of us?" House said with a frown.

Wilson smothered a smile. "No. Of me sleeping in the same bed as a patient. I don't think I care that much whether or not they approve of us."

"Then stay here," House said simply.

Wilson hesitated then he saw the expression that House was trying to hide. House was scared and it was easy to work out why. No memories, in a place he did not recognise, with people who knew him but he couldn't remember.

"Okay," he said with a small smile as he toed off his shoes and pulled his jacket and tie off. "Shove over. I always take this side."

House snorted as he moved over. "Why?"

"Because then I don't knock your leg," Wilson replied as he climbed into the bed. It was a tight fit but if they curled up together in the same way they had the last couple of nights they would be fine.

"Ah," House said absently, his forehead creased as though he was trying to remember something. Suddenly his face cleared and he shifted around so that he was draped over Wilson, his bad leg resting on top of Wilson's.

"I see you are starting to remember some things," Wilson said with wry amusement and he wrapped his arms around House with a relieved sigh.

"Sort of," House grumbled, burying his face into Wilson's neck.

"Impressions again?" Wilson asked.

"Something like that," House agreed as his exhaustion claimed him.

Wilson lay awake a bit longer, his thoughts chasing themselves around his mind. House without his memories was a…different man. Calmer, more introverted, easier to deal with. But Wilson found he preferred the old, snarky, sarcastic House.

"Dr Wilson?"

Wilson looked over to see the admitting doctor…his name was Carson, Wilson suddenly recalled…looking at he and House with surprise and sudden understanding.

"You got him to sleep," Dr Carson said with mild surprise. "Good. He probably needs it more than anything else."

"What did the tests tell you?" Wilson asked urgently.

Carson sighed and sat down in Wilson's abandoned chair. "Not much. We checked again; there's no obvious brain trauma though how he managed to avoid that considering what happened is beyond me. And there's no immediately obvious reason as to why he has amnesia."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Wilson demanded, trying to keep his voice down and his body relaxed so as not to wake House.

"Wait," Carson said simply. "There's nothing else we can do." He paused then gestured delicately to the two men in the bed. "Obviously he's remembered some things. That's a good sign and it means he's got a good chance of getting all of his memories back." The doctor got to his feet and gave Wilson a kind smile. "Look, get some sleep. There's nothing more you can for now and you look almost as bad as he does."

"Thanks," Wilson said dryly as Carson left the room.

He took the other doctor's advice though and settled down as best as he could with House lying half on top of him and let sleep overcome him.

When woke the next morning, it was to find House watching him with veiled amusement.

"The nurses apparently think we're cute together," he said with a quirk of a smile.

"They do?" Wilson said, still a little sleep-confused.

"Yeah," House replied. "Tell me, does my face look as bad as it feels?"

Wilson chuckled. "Yeah, it does actually."

"Great," House grumbled. "What happened to my bike?"

Wilson sat upright abruptly and stared at the lounging House. "You remember?"

"Mostly," House replied. "Things seem to be coming back in fits and starts. Think I remember the important stuff though."

Wilson collapsed back on the bed in relief. "You do?"

"Yeah," House said, his mood suddenly shifting. "Like this."

He leaned over and kissed Wilson fiercely, almost possessively. Wilson moaned and wrapped his hand around the back of House's neck, pulling him down on top of him.

The sound of a throat being cleared broke them apart with a start and they turned to see an openly amused Dr Carson standing in the doorway.

"You must be feeling better then, Dr House?" Carson said blandly as his eyes sparkled with inward laughter. "How's the memory?"

"Better," House growled.

"Good. I hoped it would just be a temporary result of the accident," Carson replied. "You knocked your head around fairly solidly. Just as well you were wearing the helmet."

"When can I go home?" House asked immediately.

"Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous? Light-headed?" Carson asked and House shook his head to all three. "Well then, presuming you've got someone to take you home and stay with you for a few days then I see no reason not to let you go home today. You're a very lucky man. You don't have any broken bones or anything though I would ask that if you start to feel unwell, you'll be smart enough to come back in."

"He will," Wilson said firmly.

"Good," Carson said, looking like he was trying to suppress his laughter again. "I'll go and get the paperwork organised."

The doctor walked out of the room and they heard his laughter float back in behind him.

"Well, at least he didn't laugh in our faces," Wilson said philosophically as he slid out from underneath House.

"Where are you going?" House said, making a grab for him then hissing with pain as he shifted his leg the wrong way.

"I'm going to speak to Cuddy and get some time off then I'm going to go and let your team know you haven't killed yourself," Wilson said as he sat down and put his shoes on. "Then I'm going to come back here and take you home." He paused and gave House a warm smile. "I'm sure your memory will tell you what I'm likely to do when we get there."

House grinned. "Yeah, there's enough of it there to remember that much."

"Good," Wilson said as he stood up. "Then we'll see how much of the rest of it we can bring back."

He shot one final heated look at House and walked out of the room. He felt a lightness that he had thought might be gone last night. House might not have all of his memories back yet but he had enough to be back to what passed for normal and that was all Wilson asked for.