Here's the next one! :D

Just a little note: I wanted Edward to be some semblance of comedy-relief, because I cannot imagine myself writing a serious non-one-shot, if I'm making sense. He's supposed to be like a five-year-old on caffeine, so don't mind, kay?

The next few weeks were painful for Cuddy and Wilson in tense anticipation of Edward's return as well as the nagging silent fear that he would never return. But he did, bringing a tumult of emotions.

He ran in again, followed by confused security guards. He stood, panting at the door as Cuddy paged Wilson, who was there in seconds. "Found 'im." As a third party, the joy in the air was almost tangible—he could feel it. Their faces had lit up with anticipation, and he began to tell his story.

"Okay, he's in, wait for it, New York." Cuddy dropped her pen and Wilson gaped. "You will not believe half the things he's up to. I swear, I want to be like him when I'm older." Edward sounded like a ten year old, discussing his favourite super-hero.

Wilson had questions. "Is he okay? Is he healthy? Does he have a place to go back to? A job?"

Edward waved his arms in exasperation—Wilson was taking away his stage time.

"I've got pictures!" He pulled out a folder full of shiny colour photographs, and took out the first one. It was a picture of a group of people playing music on the subway. A bunch of teenagers in baggy jeans and monochrome t-shirts, with giant sneaker (yes, the type House would wear) and artsy looking hats and necklaces. Wilson was confused, until he noticed the guy at the back, in dark jeans and a grey rolling stones shirt, black beret artfully perched on his head. He was playing the electric keyboard, and it was undeniably House. He looked…content. Better than content, he looked happy. Apparently Cuddy noticed at the same time as him.

"Holy crap, that's House!" she exclaimed, covering her mouth with one hand.

Edward nodded, pleased that it had had the intended effect. "Is he-is he poor?" Wilson couldn't say the words. He couldn't imagine House not being able to buy pain meds—it would kill him.

Edward shook his head in a way that said, nope, I'm not telling you anything. Wilson ground his teeth. "Okay, here's the next picture."

It was a picture of a library. Specifically the medical section in a university library. They didn't get it-there was no one in the picture. Cuddy scrutinized it, and she saw it first. There was an entire shelf dedicated to Diagnostics, and the shelf was filled mainly with books written by one Dr. Gregory House. Cuddy beamed and Wilson's heart inflated with pride. House had made his solid mark. "These aren't the only ones," Edward said, interrupting the silence, "But I couldn't get any of the other shelves because the librarian kicked me out. Here's the next one," he charged onwards.

The picture showed New York Medical College.

Wilson looked puzzled, but Cuddy gasped. "No way," she whispered.

Edward looked up and nodded, with a twinkle in his eye. "Yeah," he whispered.

Cuddy decided to enlighten Wilson. "He's Administrator of NYMC." Wilson gaped, again.

"Yeah, he is." Edward said, yet again. He whipped out more pictures, this time of him in his office and around and about the hospital, apparently pestering the patients and doctors alike, who took him with good nature.

"So why's he playing in the subway?" Wilson asked again.

"Apparently," Edward said as if he himself didn't get it, "for the heck of it. I was there and some old guy had a heart attack and he jumped to it, and almost got pushed off by some well-meaning passer by for the fear that he was trying to rob him. The medics recognised him and allowed him to handle it, and the passer by was so pissed. Oh, he is sooo cool!" again, Edward sounded like a ten year old. Wilson wondered why he'd never seen House as freaking cool.

The pictures came and Cuddy and Wilson were more and more shocked by the way House was living. He was on some experimental treatment that allowed him to function without Vicodin, and he was happy.

Wilson suddenly felt his loss very deeply, even though he knew he should be feeling happy for his friend. "I'm going to go get him," he said quickly, and left before anyone (including himself) was able to change his mind.

I'm sorry, I'm getting the feeling that the way I'm writing this fic is slightly immature, but I really can't help it. I really don't know what to do, no matter how I try the words come out chunky. Let me know, okay?

Love,

Lady Merlin