Chapter 25

A/N: Happy Holidays, everyone! As a present, this chapter is a super-special *DOUBLE LENGTH* edition of Intervention! Woot woot! Also, you'll all be happy to know that I already have the next two chapters written. I finally got season one on DVD, so I now have a point of excellent reference available to me at all times, and it's really got me in gear when it comes to this story. So yay!

"Hello, Sewickley Academy."

"Hi, um... I'm calling to report someone."

"Report someone, mam?"

"Yes. There's a man selling pants off of the back of his truck on school property. I thought it would be a good idea to alert the staff that this was happening."

"Can you give us a description of the truck?"

"Uh... no. It was more of a hearsay thing. You really should do something about it, though, before kids start buying them. The guy uses his truck for extermination jobs that he does, too, so they could be a health risk for anyone who buys them."

"Can I ask your name, mam?"

"Err. Jennifer Morrison." What can I say, I'm not exactly an expert with aliases. "Just, like, check it out, alright? Those kids could be in serious danger."

Not knowing what else to say, I hung up the phone, grimacing. I was glad that I hid the caller ID before I'd dialed Sewickley Academy. I definitely didn't want them calling me back. I hoped that I'd interfered soon enough to stop the entirety of Poison, but I may have acted too late. The only reason it took me as long as it did was the fact that I had to figure out which school the kids in Poison had gone to.

So, basically I ended up looking up every single private school in the tri-state area in an attempt to identify the one from Poison. It had taken me forever, but finally an interior picture of Sewickley Academy had confirmed it to be the right school. I'd meant to call them yesterday, but House and I got in so late that it had slipped my mind. So, when I got home from work, it was the first thing that I did.

I was depriving House of an interesting case, yes, but there was no reason to put those boys and their families through hell like that just to give House a puzzle to solve.

Speaking of House, he was nowhere to be seen. I didn't know where he was off to. It was past ten and his case was solved, so by following his usual behavioral pattern, he should've been at home, celebrating a successful case with a glass of scotch and a What Not to Wear marathon.

With a frown, I wandered off to get a shower and clean the work sweat off of me. A half an hour later I emerged from the bathroom in my pajamas (the SpongeBob ones that House always made fun of me for wearing) and brushing my wet hair. Still no sign of the diagnostician. After I finished brushing my hair, I sat down on the couch and pulled out my phone, sending Wilson a quick text.

"Is he with you?" It's not like I had to elaborate on who 'he' was.

"Passed out on my couch."

Okay, so House was safe and accounted for. I felt like a worried mother. "Julie must love that," I texted back.

"Oh, she's ecstatic."

"Make sure he gets home safe?"

"Always."

I pocketed my phone. If House had gone so far as to go to Wilson's - which I knew he hated doing, as he and Julie couldn't stand each other to save their lives - he must've really not wanted to be stuck at Baker Street with me for the night. Well, the avoiding each other thing that Wilson advised me to do was going swimmingly so far.

The apartment felt empty and quiet without House. I pursed my lips, uncomfortable with the silence. After a moment's deliberation, I put on one of House's records (Zeppelin II) and then went to the kitchen, deciding to eat my feelings like any other good American. An hour later I was splayed out on the couch, "Ramble On" blasting loud enough that I would probably get noise complaints from the neighbors, and halfway through a tin of brownies.

Once I was full of chocolate and sleepy enough that my current problems seemed farther away, I decided it was time for bed. Before I turned in for the night, however, I considered the remaining brownies. After a few minutes of internal debate, I set out a plate with brownies stacked on it. At its side, I left a folded up note.

You're a jerk, but it's okay.

-A

I really just wanted things to be alright.

The next morning (read: afternoon) when I woke up, I was met with a still empty apartment. It was past one, so House was at work... I didn't know if he'd even come home at all the night before. I sat up with a groan, blinking the sleep out of my eyes. Once I was stretched and partially conscious, I wandered into the kitchen. I was surprised by what I found on the table. The plate of brownies was gone (now sitting in the sink and dotted with crumbs) and replaced with a napkin, with two donuts resting on top.

A note was placed beside it, but this time, it was House's messy scrawl instead of my neat script.

You're a brat, but it's okay.

-H

I didn't know whether to cry or laugh. Not wanting to make my breakfast a soggy one, I did the second, rather than the first. So, House had come home, or at least had stopped by sometime during the morning. I was both surprised and pleased by the white flag he'd waved; I thought I was going to get the cold shoulder treatment from House for at least a few more days. But no, we'd somehow managed to make an amicable treaty without ever speaking to one another.

Yeah. We were that good.

I ate the donuts in front of the TV, watching the news, but not really paying attention. Truthfully, I never paid much mind to the news, as I obviously already knew what was going to happen on the world stage. Instead, I lost myself in thoughts of how I was going to spend my day. I didn't have work tonight, and I was ahead in school, and I really didn't feel like catching a bus all the way to the hospital just to annoy House, either, as I wasn't sure just how tentative the peace between us was.

But then I remembered that I did, indeed, have something on my agenda that needed to be accomplished. There was another oncoming misfortune I needed to prevent, one even greater than the agony that Matt and the other boy from Poison were forced to go through. Victoria, the Patient of the Week from Histories, was doomed to die in just a few weeks' time from rabies. Aside from that tragedy, Foreman would have to get a delightful series of excruciatingly painful injections to prevent him from developing the disease as well.

It's true that it was an important developmental episode for Foreman and a revealing one for Wilson, but I wasn't going to let some poor, broken woman die just so Foreman could be a better person and Wilson could drop the Danny bomb on House. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't try to prevent Victoria's death.

So, I needed to find out where she was, and hopefully get her away from the bat-infested box she was currently living in.

Luckily, I'd really liked Histories, so I actually remembered a few things about the episode that would hopefully help me track down my quarry. One thing in particular stuck in my head: Kaplow's Pawn Shop. Victoria had drawn a picture of it, and Foreman had used it in order to find out where she'd been sleeping. Now it was time for me to do the same.

Abandoning the couch, I got on the computer, typing the name into the search bar and waiting impatiently for the 2005 era internet to suck less. Once the results loaded, it didn't take me long to find out that Kaplow's Pawn Shop was located in North Trenton, about ten miles away from House's apartment on Baker's Street in Princeton.

Ugh. I had no way to get there. I could take a taxi, or a bus, but with my meager height and given the kind of neighborhood North Trenton appeared to be, going there alone wasn't exactly the perfect plan.

House was at work and likely busy - or at least busy trying to avoid work - but given that it was the weekend, there was a slight chance that Wilson wasn't incredibly occupied. As he and House were the only ones who knew the Big Secret, they were the only candidates for company. Given the nature of what I was doing, Wilson seemed a better choice, with his particularly strong compassion for homeless people.

I also needed to talk him into telling House about Danny. I didn't really know if that would have a negative effect on the timeline if that information wasn't revealed to House until later, but I wanted to avoid the risk if I could. Even though it wouldn't be mentioned again until The Social Contract, that show of trust was still important to their friendship, and if there was one thing in the world I didn't want to jeopardize, it was the Hilson bromance.

I got dressed in a warm blue sweater and jeans, then took my phone off of the charger and called Wilson. After three rings, he picked up.

"Anya? Everything alright?"

"What, I can't call you unless the world's ending?" I sank down on the couch. "I was actually wondering if you were doing anything of crucial importance at the moment."

"Just finishing up some paperwork. What's up?"

"A delicate matter that requires someone who's heart isn't three sizes too small," I told him. It may have been a heart of gold, but yeah... the Grinch reference still stood. "I need to go to North Trenton."

"And what exactly do you need to go to North Trenton for?"

"Uh... well, there's this woman there that's going to die if we don't stop her from being bitten by rabid bats."

There was a thick silence on the other end for a moment. "Are you being serious?"

"Yes," I replied with an adamant nod that Wilson wouldn't be able to see. "Dead serious."

Wilson sighed on the other end, and I could picture him scratching the back of his neck with his lips pursed in a pensive line. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

"Sweet." I promptly hung up. Fifteen minutes later, Wilson arrived outside, punctual as usual. He beeped the horn, and I grabbed my purse and was out the door a moment later, sliding into the passenger seat and smiling at Wilson in greeting.

"Uncle Jimmy," I acknowledged him with light sarcasm, and he snorted in response. "Ready to go save a life?"

"Silly me, I thought that was what I was doing at the hospital."

"Hey, you agreed to this."

"I'm just giving you trouble, since House isn't here to do it. Where are we going in North Trenton?"

"Kaplow's Pawn Shop. Do you know it?"

"Mhmm. House needed a new couch, once, so he pawned all of my textbooks from med school off to the greasy Polish man who runs the place," Wilson informed me as he pulled away from the curb.

I didn't know whether to be surprised or not to hear that. House obviously had more than enough money to buy his own couch, but his sport of pushing Wilson to the very edge just to see if he would still forgive him was one of the key components of their friendship.

Some people might call it unhealthy. Me, I prefer to call it unique.

And so we began the drive to Trenton. As we pulled onto the main drag, Wilson glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, scrutinizing me.

"So... who or what are we looking for?"

"Her name's Victoria. She's got short red hair, she's probably in her late thirties, early forties. She lives in a box in an alley."

"A box filled with rabid bats."

"Yup."

"And the show informed you of this?"

"It's a long story, but yeah. I hate to deprive House of a good puzzle, but this woman is going to die if we don't get to her."

"So, this is the next episode?"

"Uh, well, no. I've kind of fucked up the timeline."

"How?"

"Well, we just finished Fidelity," I told the oncologist. "Following Fidelity is Poison, then DNR, and then Histories. I think I managed to stop Poison from happening, but I'm not sure, yet. There's nothing I can do for DNR, and it's not like anything particularly bad happens in that episode, anyway. In order to stop Histories from happening, I need to act now, because once we reach that part of the timeline, there's nothing I can do to stop it. It will already be too late."

Wilson shook his head, somewhat awed. "I don't know how you do it, Anya. Constantly weighing every action, every cause and effect, trying to manage all of this and make sure everything works out either how it was supposed to originally, or better."

"Yeah, well, I'm starting to get used to it." I don't think the enormity of my responsibility had yet to hit me, which was probably for the best, given the fact that if I had a severe mental breakdown, I would be unable to help anyone.

We were quiet for a few miles. When we reached the turn off into Trenton, Wilson drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "You said she's homeless?" he asked.

I nodded. "She is."

"You wanted me to come with you because of what happened between my brother and I, didn't you?" His voice had lowered somewhat. He wouldn't meet my eyes, but I could see stark emotion in his.

"That was part of the reason," I acknowledged. "I need to talk to you about that, by the way."

He looked at me after that, sharply turning his full attention to me. "Do you know something about him? Where he is? If he's okay?" He pursed his lips, then asked, "If he's still alive?"

I'd never seen such poignant and raw concern from Wilson in my time of personally knowing him. This was the kind of reaction that could only be elicited by a family member.

"He's still alive," I assured Wilson. "I – I don't really know anything else, but I know for a fact that he is alive. Not necessarily well, but alive."

Wilson let out a sigh of relief. The car behind us laid on the horn. The light had turned green some time ago. He pressed his foot to the gas. He went silent, seeming distracted, understandably so.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I wish I knew more. I really do."

"It's alright," he said. "It's not your fault."

Objectively, I knew that was true, but I still felt like I was responsible for the next five years of worry Wilson would feel over where his brother was, how he was, what was happening. At least I was able to tell him that he was alive – perhaps that would lift some of the burden off of him.

"But you said we need to talk about my brother," Wilson continued. "Why?"

"You need to tell House about him."

Wilson shook his head. "House wouldn't care about something like that."

"It's you, Wilson. When it comes to you, House cares about everything, even if he acts like he doesn't. You're the Watson to his Holmes. He would be lost without his Oncologist Boy Wonder."

Wilson huffed out a breath. "I think you're overestimating just how much House likes me."

"Wilson, there's a reason people back in my universe ship you guys," I reminded him. "Okay, maybe it wasn't super apparent in season one, but the more the show went on, it became really, glaringly obvious how much House cared about you. Especially in season eight. Hell, that was pretty much the only redeeming thing about season eight."

"You really didn't like season eight, did you?"

Okay, so maybe I ranted about season eight a lot – I was very vague in my complaints, as anything else would give away too much about the future – but that didn't stop me from making my opinion on the last lackluster season of the show known.

"It was like watching the death throes of an elephant," I grumbled. "There's something to be said for getting out while you're ahead. But that's beside the point – I repeat, you should tell House. You don't need to give him your entire life story, you deserve just as much privacy as the next person, but it's something he should at least be aware of. What happened with Danny… that's a huge part of who you are, and you know it."

"My brother hasn't been in my life for almost fifteen years," Wilson argued, and I feared I was pushing him farther than I should, but this was a conversation we needed to have.

"But you are who you are because of Danny," I protested. "Like I said the day I first met you… the one time you dared to be selfish, it blew up in your face. And now you spend your life trying to be completely selfless, trying to do everything for everyone." I pursed my lips. "And it's making you miserable."

"I'm not miserable."

"Your shirt has wrinkles on it. It smells like coffee, and there's a stain on your collar. Julie's stopped doing your laundry."

Wilson didn't respond. I wasn't sure if I'd pissed him off or not.

"You can stand up for yourself without it being wrong, you know," I said, trying to be gentle. "You can say what you feel – you can look out for yourself. What happened with Danny wasn't your fault, Wilson. He made his own decision to drop his meds and run off."

Wilson just shook his head. "If it's alright, I would prefer if we didn't talk about this."

I frowned, wanting to press further, but instead chose to drop it. "Okay. I'm sorry."

We were in North Trenton proper, now. People with cardboard signs pleading for money for food dotted the sidewalks and corners. We drove by an underpass, and many shabby people were gathered underneath it, warming hands covered in torn gloves over barrel fires. Slumped figures on stained mattresses sipped drinks out of brown paper bags, and smoke hung heavy and thick in the air.

It wasn't like I had never witnessed any kind of poverty before – Harrisburg was a large city, and there were ghettos, but my parents had never let me get anywhere near places like that. I'd passed through them from time to time, but I'd never seen anything quite like this. Such abject human suffering… and no one around to help them, no one willing to help them.

We pulled up in front of Kaplow's Pawn Shop. I gazed at the sign out of the passenger seat window.

"Okay. I think she lives in the alley right next to it." I climbed out of the car, and Wilson followed behind me. I slipped past several men bundled up in heavy coats, who were smoking cigarettes and eyeing Wilson and I like we were some kind of fresh meal for them.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Wilson asked lowly.

"No, but do you think that's going to stop me?" I halted once we passed a row of reeking dumpsters, pointing. "There, that's it."

The box looked just as it had on the show, covered with a tattered blanket and just large enough for someone to curl up inside of, though not comfortably, by any stretch of the imagination. I was unsure of where exactly to go from here.

"Should we knock?" Wilson asked dryly.

"Uh…"

I approached the box nervously. Wilson stuck close to me, and I was grateful that he was making some attempt to protect me, even though I wasn't sure the two of us would fare well if we were ganged up on by the local transients. In that respect, perhaps it would have been better to bring House, who, from what I understood, was an experienced bar fighter, and his cane would make an excellent weapon.

Okay, my mind was really jumping to the worst case scenario. I pushed away my worry, then rapped my knuckles on the outside of Victoria's box.

Someone inside of the box gasped. Okay. Progress. Gently, I pulled back the blanket, revealing Victoria, who was huddled within. I was surprised that a flock of bats didn't fly out and assault us. Victoria seemed to be working on one of her pictures, by the looks of it. She looked up at me with wide, untrusting eyes.

"Who are you?" she asked waveringly. "Get away from here!" She pushed herself farther back into the box, clutching her sketch book close to her, protecting it.

"Victoria," I told her quietly. "We're here to help you."

"Don't want help," she said, shaking her head vigorously.

"Anya, is she…?" Wilson asked lowly.

"Sort of," I said. I knelt down in front of Victoria's box. I glanced back at Wilson and mouthed, 'follow my lead'. "You're in grave danger, Victoria," I said in what I hoped was a calm, soothing tone. "I need to know if you've been bitten by anything, lately. Any of the bats."

She was shivering –which was unsurprising, given that it was February and she was dressed in a thin coat. She didn't say anything, just watched me like some kind of terrified animal.

"We've been sent to help you," I tried again. "We don't mean you any harm, I promise you."

"Who sent you?" she demanded.

I thought quickly, and before I even had time to register the consequences, I answered, "James."

Victoria gasped. "James sent you?"

I nodded. "Yes, he did."

She was trembling, now, and I was sure it had nothing to do with the cold. Her eyes glistened with tears, and it was all I could do not to cry myself. Victoria's story was such a tragic one, losing both her husband and her son. I couldn't imagine losing my entire family in one fell swoop-

Wait.

Right.

Well, still. Circumstances were different. At least my parents were still alive – sort of.

"I haven't been bitten by anything," Victoria told us, finally seeming to relax somewhat. "Lots of bats. No bites."

I felt a swoop of relief. Thank God. "I'm happy to hear that," I told her, extending my hand towards her. "Come on. It's not safe for you to live in a place like this."

"B-but I don't have anywhere… I can't…" Victoria shook her head.

I kept my hand outstretched. "It's dangerous here," I said. "We'll take you someplace else." I looked back at Wilson, who was eyeing me with an eyebrow that was arched so high that it almost touched his hairline. "There's a nice women's shelter in Princeton, right? Near the hospital?"

"Yes, not too far from the hospital."

I nodded, turning my attention back to Victoria. "Will you come with us?"

She pursed her lips, staring at me. "You – does James want me to?"

I hated using her dead son to manipulate her, but if it saved her life, then it was worth it. "Yes. He does. He just wants you to be safe."

A tear escaped her eye, trailing down her dirt-covered cheek. She nodded, coming out of the box. She grabbed the remainder of her drawings, not seeming intent on taking anything else with her. I didn't blame her, given the contents of the rest of her box-home.

Wilson helped her to stand, and we guided her to his car, shepherding her into the backseat. Once the door was closed, he looked at me.

"Who's James?" he asked simply.

I swallowed. "Her dead son."

Wilson covered his mouth with his hand for a moment, before he said, "You told her that we were sent to help her by her dead son?"

"She's a little off-kilter, okay?" I told him. "And… look, the end result of the episode was that she was dead, but she felt that her family – who were killed in a car crash when she was driving – finally forgave her. I want the same effect without the deadness. Come on." I climbed into Wilson's car, and with a grimace, he got into the driver's side.

He pulled away from the front of Kaplow's Pawn Shop, and we started the journey back to Princeton, with Victoria in the backseat. She took out her drawing and worked on it more, muttering to herself all the while. I couldn't really make out what she was saying, but I heard 'James' and 'Paul' murmured desperately several times.

It seemed like a long drive, even though it wasn't. When we arrived at the woman's shelter, we all got out of the car. Victoria looked up at it with trepidation.

"This place will be better for you," I told her. "It could help you get a fresh start."

Victoria continued staring, though she said nothing.

"I also have a message for you," I told her, setting a hand on her shoulder. She looked at me, then, eyes large and hopeful.

"A message?"

"From James and Paul," I said, lowering my voice. "They want you to know that they forgive you. That they love you, and miss you… and all they want is for you to be happy again."

It was like she was a pane of glass, and somebody had punched their fist through her. She let out a wracking sob, tears poured down her cheeks, and suddenly she was dragging me into a crushing hug. I returned it as best as I could, trying to ignore Victoria's rather pungent aroma. I could only hope that her tears were tears of relief and not misery, though I supposed it could have been a mixture of both.

She shook violently, and she cried, and she cried, and I told her it was okay, and I tried to do whatever was necessary to begin fixing this woman, the woman I barely knew but who's life I had become responsible for because of the knowledge I held.

Finally, after an indeterminable amount of time, she pulled back from me, face red and eyes puffy and bloodshot.

"Are you an angel?" she asked me, and I was stunned into silence.

"I…" Yeah, no, I definitely wasn't an angel, but I didn't know how to explain the 'messages' I'd supposedly received. "I'm a friend," I said, deciding that ambiguous responses were the way to go in a situation like this.

"Come on," Wilson said. "We should get you inside, Victoria."

Victoria nodded, and together, Wilson and I guided her into the woman's shelter.

An hour later, Wilson and I were heading to PPTH. We'd gotten Victoria checked into the women's shelter, where she would be allowed to stay for up to three months. She would be provided with food, showers, and a place to sleep. Before departing, I had given her fifty dollars – all that I had in my wallet – and Wilson had given her two hundred, which surprised me.

I also gave her my number, and I told her if she ever needed anything, she could call me. She had given me a watery thank you, and then hugged me again.

I didn't know whether to feel good or bad about what I'd done over the course of the day. I'd lied through my teeth more than once, but at the same time, I had likely saved Victoria's life – better than that, I'd hopefully put her on the road to a life that was worth living. Still, there was always the potential for things to go catastrophically wrong because of my interference, but I could hope for the best, couldn't I?

"So," Wilson said. "She would have died, otherwise. Death from rabies is an excruciating way to go."

"She died, and Foreman sat at her bedside. He didn't want her to die alone." I frowned. "That's the only downside to all of this. It was an important episode for Foreman as a doctor and a person. It sucks, but from time to time, I'm going to have to take away some character development from people in order to save lives."

"The words 'greater good' come to mind."

"Very Machiavellian of you."

"I try."

We pulled into the parking garage of PPTH. I'd decided to just go back to work with Wilson, as I didn't feel like hanging out in the apartment alone… plus, I hadn't spoken to House since our fight early the day before, and though I wouldn't admit it aloud, I was starting to miss him. I'd grown so accustomed to his continued presence that when he was gone, I felt his absence strongly.

"Do you think she'll get better?" I asked Wilson. "Be honest."

"I think she might get better," Wilson told me. "She could – but whether she does or not, that doesn't fall on you. That's on her."

"Right," I said as he shut off the car. Regardless of what Wilson said, I would continue to worry about Victoria and how what I had done would affect her life. "Hey, look, thank you for doing this with me. It means a lot."

"I'm hardly a doctor if I don't try to save people's lives, am I?" he asked, getting out of his car. I did the same, and we walked side by side to the elevator that would lead us into the hospital lobby.

"This kind of passes doctor territory," I replied. "This is more like… I don't know. I can't really describe it."

"I understand the feeling. Or rather, I understand not understanding it."

"Yeah."

The elevator began moving. I looked at Wilson. "So… are you going to tell House?"

"Anya…" Wilson sighed out.

"I know, I know. I'm just asking. Last thing I'll say on the subject, honest."

"It's just not relevant. He's… he's gone. He's been gone."

I noticed that Wilson seemed incapable of saying his brother's name. "It's relevant, because it's part of you, and part of your life. It's something he should know." I realized I was being a huge hypocrite right now, as there were plenty parts of my life that were relevant that I hadn't breathed a word of to Wilson or House, but that was different.

Okay, no, it wasn't different. So yeah, I was totally a hypocrite. Oh well. Wasn't the saying "Do as I say, not as I do?"

"Did I tell him on the show?" Wilson inquired.

"Yeah, at the end of Histories – the episode we just stopped from happening."

"How did he react?"

"I can honestly say I have no idea. That was the last scene. You told him, and then it faded to black and the credits came on."

"Well, that's convenient," Wilson observed with a hint of humor.

"The word cop-out comes to mind."

The elevator doors opened, and the two of us stepped out into the lobby. At three thirty in the afternoon, it was still busy and filled to the brim with patients, doctors, visitors, and nurses. Through the glass, I saw Cuddy in her office, attending to paper work while simultaneously holding a phone conversation.

"I'm going to grab something solid to eat," I told Wilson pointedly. He seemed to grasp my meaning after a moment. With a weary sigh, he nodded.

"Fine, okay. I'll go talk to House."

"You can tell him everything that happened today."

"Even the angel thing? Because he will never let you live that down."

"Okay, maybe omit a few details."

"Yeah, I thought as much." He patted my back in an odd but somewhat comforting paternal gesture before making his way to the stairs rather than the elevator, no doubt wanting to carefully craft his explanation to House before reaching the diagnostician's office.

I watched Wilson go, and though he couldn't hear me, I said "Good luck" under my breath.

When five o'clock came, I went to House's office. He and Wilson were on the balcony, talking in low voices that were muffled by the glass wall between House's office and the balcony. They stood close together, and House was watching Wilson intently as they spoke. So, the conversation must have gone alright, then.

House caught sight of me out of the corner of his vision. I thought of leaving, but he jerked his head in a gesture that I supposed meant that I was supposed to join them on the balcony. I came out, sliding the door open and shut, and the two men parted so I could stand in between them. Their arms were both resting on the barrier, and I mirrored their positions.

"Hey, guys," I greeted.

"Anya," Wilson acknowledged.

"Midget," House said. "Come to make sure our boy melodrama didn't end in Wilson breaking down in tears?"

"Basically."

"Your confidence in my emotional stability is reassuring," Wilson commented.

"You cry watching ASPCA commercials," House reminded him.

"Everybody cries watching ASPCA commercials," I defended Wilson. "Except you, but you're… you."

"Infallible logic."

I didn't know what the two of them had said to each other during the Danny conversation, but both of them seemed to be in relatively high spirits at the moment, so I felt vindicated for having asked Wilson to tell House. The three of us stood there, looking out at the hospital grounds, and I felt that sense of peace I'd been chasing for awhile, now.

This place could be home, I think, given a little time. In moments like this, it sort of already felt like it was.