Author's Note: How does one write with a brain injury? Poorly? You be the judge! (Remodel on house gone awry. end conclusion; minor concussion. Ow. My eye brow hurts. wait for the story i spin that one into!!)

When Wilson opened his eyes, he actually felt rested. For a second, the sleeping woman next to him was Amber; blond hair, scrubs, same smells. But quickly enough, to his dismay, he remembered. It wasn't Amber his arms were wrapped around. It wasn't Amber who cried into his shoulder. It wasn't Amber who held him while he sobbed late into the night. And It wasn't Amber who understood exactly how he felt.

It was Allison Cameron.

Wilson forced his eyes closed again, forcing Allison to be Amber in his mind for only a few more seconds. It wasn't hard. She was still sleeping, tucked so close to his chest, he couldn't see the top of her head without crossing his eyes. She'd held him, and they cried and comforted each other until they fell asleep. Last night helped him. He knew it was good to grieve, and so they did. Together. Wilson had bet it was the first time Allison had cried in a long time. Not a few tears because of a patient; a real cry. She was hurting and healing, too.

So he opened his eyes.

And he felt better. He felt like maybe life could be okay again someday.

"Cam...Allison?" he whispered. She was sound asleep, and he was comfortable, so he stayed there and let her sleep.

His dreams flooded back to him as he laid there. He usually dreamt of Amber; their wedding day, picking out a house together, buying a goddamn minivan because they were going to have a baby, and she'd want a safe car. He dreamed of what their lives were supposed to be, but never would be, because of a damn truck, some flu pills, and a head injury.

But Amber hadn't been in a single dream last night. He dreamed of Cameron. Of her smiling up at him from his couch, where she'd been reading a book by fire light. Nothing special about it, just...comforting.

"Mmm..." came soft moan from next to him.

"Morning," he whispered.

"Whttimesit?"

"What was that?"

"What time s'it?" James looked over at the clock.

"Almost noon."

"Crap," she said, not moving from her warm, safe spot in his arms. "Cuddy's probably pacing the hospital, waiting for me to tell her you're okay."

"She's really got you calling?"

"She's worried about you, James," came a muffle response. "She cares about you."

"I didn't eat last night."

"S'okay. I make better breakfast than dinner." James nodded, not letting go. "I have to get up to cook." James released her and stretched. "James?" she said, brushing hair from her face. "Thanks...for last night. I think we both needed it."

"Do you...maybe...want to stay again tonight?" Allison allowed a small smile creep up.

"I'd like that."

"Are you really going to give me 10,000?" Jeff asked, leaning forward so his head was between House and Simon. House's eyes closed in annoyance. Simon braced himself for another House Rant.

"For the last time, yes!" House snapped as he pushed the man back. "Dammit, I should have brought a tranquilizer."

"Leg hurting that badly?" Simon asked, knowing full well the answer.

"Not for me, for him!" Simon glared at the man in the back seat for a moment through the mirror. "I have half a mind to shove my cane-"

"You try it-"

"Jesus!" Simon hissed. "You two have been fighting for the last two hours! Will one of you go to sleep already?"

"Wait," House said. "Turn left."

"Wilson lives-"

"We're stopping by my place first. Let Pigpen get cleaned up and into clothes that aren't covered in oil," House suggested.

"You so don't have clean clothes."

"Not true. I always have a few clean sets for Hooker Wednesdays." Jeff swept his head around to meet Simon's eyes. "Yes, I am serious."

"No he's not."

"I don't iron, but I do wash. I am a doctor, y'know." Simon pulled over to House's building. As the got out, House lead the way to his home and pointed out the bathroom, handed off a towel and some clean clothes. "You have stuff under your fingernails."

"So? I work at a car repair shop. What's wrong with looking like myself?"

"Just...go shower," Simon said dropping onto the couch. As soon as the door closed, Simon glared over at House. "You're a bigger pain in the ass than I had imagined."

"Thanks."

"Got anything TiVoed?"

"Nope." House checked his messages. There were 12. Ten were from Kutner, Foreman, and/or Taub. Two were from Cuddy, threatening to hurt him. They'd already been gone 2 days. While Scranton was only 2 hours away from Princeton, they'd spent time actually looking up the people who were supposedly Jeff Wilson. It takes time, energy, and Vicodin to properly stalk someone.

"She sounds pissed," Jeff said as he stepped out of the bathroom midway through Cuddy's final message. House's clothes were baggy on him, and the wrong color, but it was better than the oil-stained jeans and ill-fitting ragged coat. House tossed the man a clean pair of socks.

"Leave the over-shirt un-buttoned. Makes you look less like a cancer patient." Jeff blushed and obeyed.

"Got anything to eat around here?"

"Are you still homeless?" Jeff didn't answer. He simply walked over to the fridge. "Help yourself." There was no sarcasm in House's voice, which caught Simon off guard. He stared for a minute before looking back at his shoes. House followed Jeff in to the kitchen and got bread and mustard out of a small cupboard.

"What was the address we had on you?"

"It was the repair shop where I work. Boss lets me sleep in the cars as long as I put a drop cloth down, and get cleaned up in the morning." Jeff shoved a slice of cheese into his mouth hungrily as he made a sandwich. "Its not half bad."

"Wilson's got a two-bedroom apartment, and you have a PhD. No reason to work on car, or live in them."

"Do you need me any more?" Simon asked. "My girl friend and her kid probably wonder where I ran off to."

"One more place and you can go," House said, hauling Jeff to his feet by his arm-pit. "To Wilson's!" House yelled in a lame 'super-hero' voice.

"Can I eat first?" Jeff asked, mouth full as he stumbled after House.

"Eat on the way."

"I can do that," Jeff said, shoving another bite in.

Author's Note: Pigpen is a Peanuts reference for the dirty kid who never took a bath.