Author's Note: Thanks for reading part one! I fixed some things that were wrong with it; Thirteen leaving, and Cameron's workplace. Here's part Two! Hope you like it!

"Come with me," Simon said, very softly, where only the ear close to him could hear. It had already been a month since Simon was hired, and two months after Amber's death. House looked through the glass at his team working. "We'll be back in 4 days." House nodded.

"Where are we going?"

"I have a few leads. I've cleared it with your boss. Told her you're helping me on a medical case. Since my sister was a patient, she didn't question me too much. She's going to shit a brick if you don't finish your clinic hours." House laughed. He made his way to the elevator. Simon held up a bag as the doors closed and the elevator slid down.

"What's this?"

"Lunch...for the road. Reuben, cold, no pickles."

"Jesus Christ, you did do your homework." House looked in to find a bag of chips there as well.

"Wilson paid for it-"

"WHAT?"

"Kidding."

"Not funny." The rest of the way to the car was silent as Simon studied his new boss.

"Why are you doing this?" Simon asked.

"Your research didn't come up with an answer?"

"Nothing concrete."

"I murdered someone." Simon stopped. House was serious. "It wasn't...I was drunk, and Wilson's girlfriend came to pick me up. I ran off to leave her with the bill, but she followed me onto the bus. She had the flu, and took a few pills, and-"

"Truck ran a red light-" Simon unlocked the car and the two got in. House was silent, staring at mirror out of the passenger window.

"I forgot. I forgot about the pills. Took out her kidneys, and we made a bad call in the ambulance. Killed her." Simon started the car and pulled from the lot. "You aren't going to tell me that it wasn't murder?"

"No."

"You think I'm a murderer?"

"Didn't say that either." Simon thought very carefully before he spoke. "You said you'd murdered her. I have never been where you are, never had someone die like that. What others see as an accident may feel like murder because you couldn't stop it. Fixing is what you do; illness, puzzles, mysteries. You couldn't fix her, so you're fixing this for Wilson."

"Something like that."

"So, we're headed to Scranton," Simon said, tapping on his GPS. "I have 6 leads; 4 between here and Scranton. There are 18 people with the same name, age, and have been homeless in this area in the last 15 years. But the social security doesn't match up. There are ways of getting around that; people who doesn't want to be found can be very creative." House nodded and pulled out his iPod. "My PM3 player is loaded with my music, and you'll approve."

"Maybe I should hire you on my team," House said, putting the iPod away as 'Baba O' Riley flooded the car. He bit into his sandwich and his eyes closed involuntarily. "What about you?"

"I had lunch already. Can't eat and drive."

"How'd you find out about the Rocky Horror nightmare?" Simon laughed.

"I'm just that good." House raised an eyebrow. "He is actually now a she, who works on Broadway in New York. I had my sister pull her aside and ask her about you."

"She's an actress?"

"Hooker."

"Figured."

James stared up at the ceiling. Cameron was cooking dinner for the two of them, in his and Amber's apartment. He felt like he was cheating. Two months wasn't long enough to have a woman over for dinner. Granted she was tired, wearing scrubs, hair was an absolute mess, and she had a boyfriend waiting at home. James sighed and turned on his bed. He took the letter from its place under the pillow.

It tugged at him more than anything else. He was grateful for the little things he still had of hers; their bed and the set they'd picked out, the note, and pictures of them that she'd framed and put up. There was one in particular he loved, taken 3 weeks before her death. It was spring, and they'd been at a park with some friends of hers. She'd fallen asleep on the blanket, tucked into his chest, smiling a little. Her mother asked for a copy. Amber had never looked so happy in her life. Wilson gave it to her, no questions asked. Their friends could get him another copy easily. He'd make a phone call, and it would be delivered within a day or two.

He just couldn't bring himself to make that call.

The door opening took his mind from staring at the ceiling to praying it was Amber coming in, telling him that it had all been a bad dream. She'd be fine, and he could live again.

"Wilson?" Cameron called. As usual, it wasn't her. It would never be Her.

"I'm awake," he said, thinking it was the best option in choices of words.

"Dinner's on the table," she said softly. He nodded, tears filling his eyes. Cameron swept in wrapped her arms around him as he cried silently. "Hey, its okay," she soothed.

"No...its not."

"I know." He looked at her. "It will never be okay, it will never not hurt." He sniffled. "I know its not okay, Jimmy."

"How do you survive?"

"Some days I'm not sure how I make it through. I hear someone who sounds like him, see a smile that reminds me of his, and I forget that he's gone. Its been 8 years, and I know he's gone, but I can't move one. Not really." James laid back on his bed. "Its hardest at night. Chase isn't him, and can never be him. He's a poor substitute for my husband, but its better than sleeping alone." Cameron sucked in a shaking breath.

"I want to hold her...one more time." Cameron nodded. "I want to tell her how much I love her, and that its not fair, and that I'll never forget how wonderful she was."

"God," she said holding him tightly. "If I could tell you how many times I wished for one more night..."

"You smell like her," he said, pushing away.

"What?"

"Body soap, hospital scubs, sweat, perfume, shampoo, tears, and slightly burned dinner," he said quickly.

"You smell like my husband; like a hospital, tears, and bad food," she whispered.

"Cameron...can I hold you? Just tonight? I'll be a perfect gentleman," he pleaded. Allison was silent for a few moments. "I just want one more night."

"Me, too."

"So, the man said, 'You think I wished for a 14 inch PIANIST?" Simon said, bringing a roar of laughter from his road trip friend. "Never gets old, does it?"

"Never."

"So, according to this, we're not too far." House nodded and mentally prepared himself for a let-down. This was the third Jeff Wilson. The first was blond hair, blue eyed and was definitly not related to his Wilson. The second was currently Jeff Wilson, but was originally Samual Staite until he was adopted at 3 months old. This was the final Wilson they could look up on this trip; Wilson #4 was out of town on business until the end of the week.

"Stop. Its Him." House jumped out of the car at the corner as a man bought a paper at the news stand. He was dirty, but probably not homeless. His coat was old and worn, but his hair was trimmed, and he was clean-shaven.

"House-" Simon called.

"Are you Jeff Wilson?" The brown-eyed man looked up at him.

"Nope."

"Liar."

"Who the hell-"

"I'm a friend of your brother, Dr. James Wilson."

"I don't have a brother named James."

"Your lips say No, but your eyes say they are the same as Jimmy's." The man scoffed put his hands on his hips. House smiled. "Look, I'm not hear to stalk you. Jimmy's having a really bad year, and needs you."

"What could my brother who has it all need me for?"

"Well, his best friend is a drug addict doctor, his 3rd wife got his house in the divorce last summer, and his drug addict friend got his girl friend killed in a bus accident. THEN, he almost got that friend killed by subjecting him to painful, dangerous, experimental tests. Life pretty much blows right now, and he needs to know you're alive."

"So tell him I'm alive!"

"He's not speaking to me."

"Why?" House looked Jeff right in the eyes, his own blue eyes reflecting regret.

"Dr. Greg House, Drug addict, at your service," House said, looking away again, shamefully. Jeff stared a moment and then nodded.

"This sounds like a personal problem." Jeff walked away. House got back in the car.

"You aren't going to go after him?"

"Well, Duh. I didn't have my cane, and I can't exactly keep up. You have his work address. Drive there, you moron!"

"Don't be abusive, you ass. I had the ability to strand you here." House nodded and gestured in the general direction on the road. Simon rolled his eyes and headed to the man's home. House rolled down the window.

"I'll pay you, to get in the car and come back to Princeton," he yelled out the window. "I'll give you 500."

"Sorry," he said walking on.

"He goes to that corner," House called. Jeff stopped. "He goes to the corner he last saw you on when ever he needs to think, or when he's depressed." After a pause, House looked away and then back. "HE's been going there a lot lately."

"He chose this."

"He didn't chose this," House countered. "He's been looking for 15 years for you!"

"And you found me?"

"I have the better detective, who used all the leads the last 15 years produced, and narrowed it down to you and a few other possibilities. His sister is a detective on the NYPD." Simon slapped House's shoulder. He'd said more than he should have. House didn't care. "He needs you!"

"He needs better friends."

"700."

"No."

"What will it take to get you to come back to Princeton?" Jeff looked up and stared House right in the eye, to be taken comepletely seriously.

"There is Nothing that can get me back to Princeton."