Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

What a cruel thing, fate, how unfair and twisted to witness the life taken away from someone so undeserving of a premature death, with so much to live for and so much to remember.

How pathetic it is to crawl into someone else’s bed, and brush the soft pillows still carrying their scent, knowing they won’t sleep another night in its silk sheets.

How vicious to hold in your hand the last note they’ve written, knowing that’s all that’s left of them, their quick, confident handwriting, a drawn heart in ballpoint pen ink, the soft indent of their shape in the memory foam of the right side of your bed, the perfume bottle still uncapped on the drawer. 

It shouldn’t have gone like this. And it shouldn’t have happened so quickly.

He should’ve been familiar with the injustice of death, he witnessed it every day after all, taking his patients one by one. He’d been the cause of it, he’d unlawfully shortened their suffering by pumping up the morphine just a bit over the limit, he’d left the people that he loved to suffer on their own, first Danny, then House.

But shutting down her bypass, felt like he’d killed her himself. Like he’d been the one forcing the amantadine into her system, like he’d misdiagnosed her, like he’d been behind the wheel of the bus.

Like he’d been the drunk man calling her from a pub.

It shouldn’t have gone like this. It shouldn’t have been her.

What was he supposed to tell her parents? Who could he have blamed if not his best friend, and indirectly himself? He should’ve answered House’s call. It should’ve been him. He should’ve died instead. He would’ve deserved it more. 

A rattling on the front door shook him from his cathartic state, not quite slumber, just lying still, crying to himself and wishing something would take away the pain, be it death or just sleep.

The sound of something hitting wood repeatedly and loudly became more insistent, and rolling on his back he could finally make out the words being yelled from the other side of the door.

“Darling, I'm home!” 

Something akin to grief, maybe rage, pulled him to his feet, storming into the living room as the banging became louder and louder. 

“Wilson, open the door!”

He wasn’t alright, he was probably dreaming, his mind had come up with an even crueler scenario, where the person he wished to see the least was right outside his apartment, as if he hadn’t been on his death bed as well.

“Let me in before I find a way to open it myself! And I won’t be nice with it!” He kept shouting. It was late in the night, the neighbors would’ve heard, so he decided to face whatever his brain was imagining and ran to open the door.

“House?” He was there, or at least he was picturing him there, standing, looking as unwell as he’d left him, if not more, wearing clothes that didn’t belong to him, ill-fitting and almost as pale as him. He looked sickly, his eyes were wide, red-rimmed, his blue irises almost clear in the cool light of the hallway. “You should not be up. You should not even be out of bed, how the hell did you get here?”

“I walked. It doesn’t matter.” The diagnostician pushed his way inside, he didn’t have his cane, his hands were free to close the door while the other grabbed the lapel of Wilson’s jacket. “I-I did it.”

House’s lips were almost curled into a smile, his eyes void of any of the emotions he should’ve currently felt. No remorse, no grief, only an eerie glee, unfamiliar and terrifying. The two band-aids at each side of his head a proof of what had happened, so incoherent with his overall healthy-looking state. He shouldn’t have been able to walk, and he certainly wouldn’t have been able to cross the town with any means, let alone by himself.

“I don’t… I don’t want to see you at the moment. Please.” Wilson stuttered, stepping away from the unsettling personification of his guilt. He wasn’t there, he couldn’t have been. 

“She’s alive.” House insisted, his mouth split into a hopeful grin, something that had never belonged to him. This wasn’t happening . “I brought her back. She’s alive, I promise.”

The words stung like nails in the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists and walked away, needing to put some space between them before he’d do something irrational.

“House.”

“She’s fine.” His friend insisted, the words coming out of his mouth bitterly hopeful. Like he meant any of them.

“I pronounced her dead. She’s not- Please just go home. Or back to the hospital, I don’t care, just leave.” He pleaded, crossing the living room to reach out and grab a chair to support himself. He felt nauseous. If this was a dream he shouldn’t have minded so much, perhaps he shouldn’t be kind or tactful with House as he always was, he should just let it out, express all the rage he’d felt in the last two days. 

“I solved it. I solved the case. I just needed a bit longer.” House kept on going, following him around the apartment like a desperate dog, his tone tinged with pride. That particularly lighthearted timber made his blood boil, he grasped the back of the chair as he yelled right back to his friend.

“She’s dead! She’s been dead for eight hours!”

“She was only dead for two.”

“House, I can’t- I can’t do this now.” He felt on the edge of tears, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to relieve the intense pain behind his orbital muscles. “If you can’t go home, get on the couch and wait there until Cuddy picks you up but I’m begging you to shut up. Just shut up for once in your life. I don’t want to hear a single word of your senseless rambling. You suffered a skull fracture, a seizure, you should not even be able to stand up yet here you are! Of course. You can’t even give me a minute alone! I can't even grieve in peace. You shouldn’t be here and I don’t want you here.”

“Cuddy’s asleep, she’s not picking me up-”

“I don’t want to hear from you!” He shouted. “You’re the last person I want to see right now.”

House groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Grow up. I’m here to talk to you. Stop crying.”

Wilson was absolutely speechless. 

“You’re unbelievable!”

House stepped closer, towering over him and leaning in to grab his forearm.

“I brought her back. I reanimated her. I mean it, I wouldn’t lie to you.” He said gently, searching his eyes. Wilson shook his head, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he held back the tears.

“I saw her die. She died in my arms and you can’t even let me have that- Why are you here? What is the point of tormenting me like this?!” He pleaded, his head tilted to look into the scary pair of icy blue eyes. “Are you even conscious? Because I hope you’re not.”

“Never been better. I’m okay and so is she. I’m here because I need your assistance back at the hospital. Her cognitive function and memory need to be tested and I don't know her well enough to see if she's fine. And mostly, I need you to witness it. I’ve done it.”

Wilson laughed mirthlessly.

“Right, you found a cure for her?”

“Yes. It's pretty cool-”

He wiggled out of his grip and flailed his arms in the air.

“House, she’s dead! She’s been dead for hours. There’s no cure for that!”

"There is! There is, just, listen. Listen to me. Please. I need you to listen." House grabbed the front of his shirt. "I've asked you to do so many things for me in my life, and you've done them all blindly . I'm asking for just one more. Just one."

James shook his head, looking away as he tried to peel himself away from his grip.

"House, just leave-”

"I cured her. I did it for you. I made things right. Please, I-” House swallowed thickly and looked into his eyes with genuine guilt. He whispered: “I can’t afford you hating me.”

Wilson couldn’t stand those words coming from him. He desperately wanted to hate him, with a passion, he simply couldn’t bring himself to. He wrapped his hands around House’s own to let them release his shirt. His fingers caressed his palms only to find one to be rough to the touch

He twisted his wrist to inspect it, something similar to an old burn on the inside of his right hand. Like the one he had when he’d stopped his heart just months earlier. But that one had healed. It shouldn’t have looked like this.

“What have you done?”

“Don’t mind that, I’m fine.”

House barked and tried to step back, but Wilson held firmly onto his wrist and pressed his palm on House's forehead. Ice cold. He rapidly moved his fingers to search House's pulse point on his neck. He was still struggling to find it when House grabbed his hand and forcibly lowered it.

"I can't- Stay still. I can’t find it.”

“Because you're a shit doctor. Quick, we need to go-”

“Stop grabbing me!” 

House dropped his hands, Wilson scrambled and wrapped his hand around the base of House's neck, fingertips caressing his carotid.  

"You're not gonna find it."

"Shut up. Your pressure is probably skyrocketing.”

"There's no pulse. Drop it, just- Stop already.” House argued, his voice going up a pitch.

"What do you mean?"

“I found a cure for her but I couldn’t- I couldn’t just try it on her so I killed myself. Briefly. And the preventive injection brought me back to life within eight minutes, as I wanted it to. I needed way less treatment than her but, still, it worked. I tried it on multiple subjects, physical invulnerability is effective, but I don’t know to what extent yet. I cut myself superficially, and the wound stopped bleeding after mere seconds. Look. Look, it’s here.”

He rushed to roll his sleeve up to reveal his forearm, a thin line traced on his pale skin. He was breathing erratically, his eyes hadn’t blinked in what felt like minutes. And did he say he’d cut himself?

“House, what have you done?”

“I had to make sure it would work. The first time I injected her I had no successful results. So I tried again, through the vertebral artery. Her physical rejuvenation is much faster than mine. Her cuts don't even bleed before closing back up. It's insane.”

“You… cut her corpse?” His jaw clenched as the words left his lips.

“Is that really surprising? I mean, I thought it would be predictable for me.”      

“What have you done?” His heartbeat picked up, he felt his eyelids twitching as he stepped closer to House.

“I left her in the coma ward, room 182. They won’t check on her there. She was responsive. She just needs time to adapt.” His tone remained as positive as it’d been when he’d entered the room. Wilson’s knuckles were turning white with the strain of his fists, his lower lip trembled.

“What have you done to her body?” He shouted.

“I brought her back!” House answered as if the answer was obvious.

“You desecrated her corpse?!”

“She desecrated my honor by dating you!” He mocked him in response.

He was fuming, he swallowed as House kept rambling about the various methods he’d used on her. And perhaps this hadn’t been a dream, he shouldn’t have expected any less from House, that selfish, jealous, sick and deranged bastard that would’ve done absolutely anything to prove a point, even disturb her in death. “I did it for you! I’ve done all of this for you!”

“House- Stop! Stop fucking talking!”

He heard himself scream on the top of his lungs and suddenly his hands were on House’s chest, wrestling him off of himself and pushing him with enough force to send him tumbling back. 

It happened so quickly, House tried to catch his balance on his right leg, which failed him and sent him down, to the side, falling as deadweight. There was a loud thud and only later Wilson had realized it had been the side of House’s head connecting to the corner of the glass coffee table.

The older doctor fell onto the carpeted floor, his eyes wide and blinking slowly, rolling onto his back to reveal the open wound on the same spot of his previous skull fracture on his temporal lobe. He curled onto himself for a moment, before stopping, still.

Wilson blinked rapidly and only moved as the blood started pouring abundantly from his head, trickling down on his ear and to the carpet beneath him.

“House! House, oh, God, are you okay?”

He dropped to his knees, his hands cradling the sides of House’s head gently as he tilted it to inspect the wound.

House wasn’t responsive.

“House?”

He felt his vision blur with tears as he scrambled to earn a reaction from him, any reaction, taking his hand then gripping the front of his shirt, his trembling fingers trying to grasp the older doctor in any way he could gain a response.

“No. No, no, no, no. House, no, please- Please, no, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, no, don’t-”

His hand instinctively moved to cover the wound as the blood poured right through his fingers, the flow too rapid to be stopped, an attempt at preventing something that had already happened.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean- I didn’t want to, no, please. Please.”

House’s eyes were on him, but distant, going through him, his glare still, his face void of any expression as his body went limp.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, trying to solve the situation by cradling his head and caressing it desperately as he cried and begged for him to wake up, but he knew it had been enough for the blood to stop pouring.

He stood on quivering knees, and dragged himself to the kitchen, barely in time to retch into the sink, only bile coming up. He felt the burn in his throat as he turned the faucet on and washed the blood off his hands, then his mouth and his face. The red wouldn’t leave his fingers, its stain so deep into the skin he couldn’t brush it off even with the dish sponge.

He wiped his face with his hands, sobbing messily into them, almost wailing as he turned and spotted the limp body right where he’d left him.

His mind chanted a sequence of “No, no, no”, “please let it be a dream”, “please, let me wake up”. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this. He should’ve woken up, to find Amber on her side of the bed, complaining about him hogging the sheets. He should’ve found himself waking up to a gentle sunrise, a cup of coffee and the sight of his best friend on their joint balcony.

He hadn’t done anything to deserve this.

Anything but this.

He couldn’t keep his eyes on House for even another moment.

The next thing he knew, he was gripping the wheel with trembling hands, his muscles still spasming from the strain as he pulled into the parking lot of the hospital.

Innumerable police cars crowded the entrance.

He looked down at the front of his shirt and realized the obvious red stain, mirrored on the hem of his sleeves and his thighs where he’d wiped his hands. He rushed to grab the long coat from the passenger’s seat and wore it before anyone could see. He buttoned it up and bit the inside of his cheek. He had to get into the Hospital, he had to check on Amber before they’d take him. He had to see her.

He took advantage of the darkness to make his way into the underground parking lot. He drove quietly by and parked behind pillars. He scrambled to grab his wallet to find the magnetic card that would open the STAFF ONLY entrance. The positive beep echoed, distant, as he pushed his way through the fire doors and stormed through the hallways, passing by the industrial bins and biohazard warnings, until he reached the morgue. 

He found himself peeking through the door glass, at the state of the department. Cops stood in their uniforms by the opposite side of the hallway, monitoring the main entrance to the mortuary. He nodded to himself and swallowed his own terror as he carefully pushed the automatic door open enough to slip through without them hearing. 

His arms twitched with the strain of helping a fire door close softly, his eyes squinting as he prayed for the first time in decades.

He crouched down and snuck to the open door of the temperature controlled room. The scene he found before himself was grim, to say the least.

Amber wasn’t there, but her tag and belongings definitely had been, corpses were displaced from the freezing chambers, syringes were scattered everywhere. The ECT machine had been dragged into the room and left in its middle by the only empty operating table.

The whiteboard had been wiped clean from Treiber’s notes and filled with words, in House’s distinctive frenetic handwriting. He’d clearly run out of space because the scribbles continued across the walls of the morgue. One of the electrical outlets had burn marks, like the one in House’s office.

The floor was covered in tools and substances that he almost tripped on as he stumbled backwards and out of the mortuary room before they could find him. Amber wasn’t there. That left only one option.

He peeked from the corner and waited until the cops were distracted to make his exit from the same door he’d come in. 

He walked back down the hallway until he found the cleaning staff elevator. He’d learned from House that they kept an emergency key above the fire extinguisher, so he followed the memorized instructions, his chest aching at the memory of the familiar gravelly voice repeating them to him.

He pressed the elevator buttons to take him to the first floor.

He kept his eyes low as he marched through the deserted hallways, knowing the lockdown had been confined to the more active wings of the hospital. Still, he carefully looked around as he reached room 182.

He walked in, only to find the usual three vegetative state patients and another bed, pushed to the corner of the room and hidden behind the curtains. He approached it, almost hopeful, but noticed its emptiness a few steps in.

He felt the tears building up and he threw his head back with desperation before taking the impulsive decision to go to the ground floor. He knew the largest concentration of cops and nurses would be there, but still he marched his way to Cuddy’s office with enough confidence and a pace slow enough to not be stopped in his tracks.

The dean of medicine spotted him through the glass doors and put the phone down immediately as their eyes locked. She was still wearing her gray shirt and pencil skirt she had on when he’d visited House’s room, she looked just as exhausted as one would’ve expected her to.

He rushed through the doors and closed the last one behind him as she rapidly made her way towards him, still maintaining her composure as the cops stood right outside her office.

“I’ve tried calling you fifteen times.” She started, keeping her voice low, as her hands reached out to grasp his forearms. “Do you know where House is?”

Of course she would make it about House.

“House…”

“He's done something. I don't know what exactly but I must warn you, he’s… he left his hospital bed-”

“Where is Amber?” He cut her off impatiently.

“We haven't found her yet.” She said softly, and the answer dropped to the pit of his stomach and swelled up into a wave of nausea. 

“Do you know what he's done to her? What he planned to do?”

“No, I woke up and he was gone. We only have surveillance camera records showing him entering the morgue and…”

“And?!” He almost growled.

“And leaving with her.” She said, almost ashamed. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”

He clenched his jaw and looked away. 

“Maybe.”

“You need to understand he's suffered a cranial fracture, he's feeling guilty, he's not in the right frame of mind.”

“When is he ever?!” He barked, earning a glare from her to keep his volume low.

“Wilson, if you know where he is, we should tell the cops.”

“We can’t!” He whisper-yelled.

“We must.”

“No!” He pleaded. “I… I did something… bad.”

“What did you do?” Her voice trembled. “James.”

He wiped his face, not knowing what to say and unbuttoned his coat, which draped to his sides, letting her see the blood staining the front of his shirt.

“He… He came to our place…”

“What did you do?” She stepped back.

“I didn't mean it.” He admitted, his lip quivering as his fingers struggled to close the buttons again.

“Oh, God…” Her hand flew to cover her mouth as she stared in horror at the inexpressive oncologist before her, he was almost unrecognizable, even to himself. “Is he- What did you do to him?”

“He was screaming at me, telling me he brought her back to life and that he solved the case. He was manic! I- I didn’t mean to but I pushed him! I did. And he fell back and… h-his head hit the- the table.” He whimpered, trying to keep his voice low enough for it to crack and squeal. “You know I would never hurt him, Lisa. You know that.”

“But you did.” She nodded carefully. His face contorted into a grimace of pain as tears poured freely.

“I… I would never hurt him.”

“We have to alert the cops-”

“No! No. He’s not… He can’t be dead! It’s House. He can’t…”

“He can’t die? You do know the laws of nature don’t stop at the fact that he’s House, right? Was he responsive?”

“He could’ve been! He probably is!” He so wished he could just wake up from all of this. “Don’t- Don’t tell them. Just… give me some time. Let me see him again.”

“You’re making me complicit.” 

“No! We never spoke. You never saw me.”

“There’s cameras all over the goddamn hospital, Wilson! They will know you’ve been here!”

“Then tell them I told you I didn’t know where House is.”

“James…”

“They can’t take him, too.” He pleaded, grasping her wrists. She almost flinched in response. “Please.”

“You need to change.” She finally murmured. “We can't have you walking around with blood all over you.”

“I have a… a change in my office.”

“Do you want me to fetch it for you?”

“Just give me a lab coat.” She nodded thoughtfully and let him go. “If they catch me, then they’ll catch me. I’ll get it myself. You’re not covering up for me.”

She instructed him to go to her private bathroom and not leave a visible trace. He removed his bloodstained button up and balled it up, wrapping it into his coat, folding it carefully to blend in with the rest of Cuddy’s clothes in her cabinet. He closed the door and turned the key as he found it before washing his hands one more time. He wore the lab coat, buttoning it up to its collar and hoping nobody would notice the lack of shirt underneath from the ground floor to his office.

He left Cuddy’s room slowly, carefully not to appear alarmed as he stepped through the crowd, blending in with the alerted nurses and doctors. He walked past the cops, smiling politely and headed for the emergency stairs to make his way to the second floor. When he ran through the door, he found himself face to face with a cop. 

“Sir, the Hospital is under lockdown, you can’t come in.”

He took a deep breath, his mouth speaking before he could even catch up with it.

“I have permission to check on my patients. I’m headed to Oncology, room 235, patient Maisie Jacobs, she’s nine years old and in terminal conditions, I’ve been asked by her parents to monitor her as they’re not allowed into the Hospital.”

The cop faltered and relaxed his posture as he backed off. He nodded slowly and looked behind him before leaning in.

“You must stay in her room for the rest of the Lockdown.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, as politely as he could as the guilt of lying on the behalf of one of his youngest patients consumed him from within. He didn’t know where he’d learned to lie so easily but the only answer his mind could muster at the moment provided him with the bloody imagery of someone he dearly loved, lying on his carpet in the middle of his living room.

He bit his lip and marched to his office, spotting the silver lettering spelling out his name from afar like a lighthouse in a storm. He kept his eyes fixed as he passed by House’s office and made his way to his, knowing he’d find it unlocked as he’d left it.

He grabbed the handle and stormed in, closing his eyes as he collapsed back against the closed door and tried to catch his breath, now that he was in safe waters.

“Oh, here you are!” The delighted chirp of a familiar voice cut through the stark silence.

He opened his eyes slowly, giving them time to focus on the towering pale figure in front of him through the tears. He blinked a couple of times as the woman jumped up from her seat on the leather couch and crossed the office to stand right in front of him.

“About time! Where were you? With House, I suppose. Still, it's pretty rude to leave me waiting. You both ditched me! I had to steal scrubs from a storage room and borrow something yours for the rest, I hope you don't mind.” She waved her hands at the oversized pale blue button up and gray dress pants tightened at the waist by a belt. “You usually find it hot when I wear your clothes. Don't you?”

Amber stood there, in his office, smiling bright as ever, her hands flat on his chest as she looked down at him with gentle, but eerily wide, blue eyes. In the cool light of the balcony they, too, resembled crystalline water. Her face felt distantly familiar, leaving him with the same uncanny feeling he’d felt seeing House smile at him gently the same way she was. Her hair, strawberry blonde and slightly oily from days of build-up, cascaded messily on her shoulders, she’d made an attempt in fixing it by parting it the opposite way, only making it even more untamed. Her face was littered in coagulated scars and wounds, like he’d left her, but she was smiling at him, so tenderly he almost felt compelled to smile back, but he couldn’t. He was frozen in place, terrified of what was happening to him.

“What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost.” She giggled, pulling on the front of his lab coat, until her smile fell, leaving her with an expression of worry and frustration. “James, honey, come on, pull yourself together.”

“You… You were dead. You are dead.” He stuttered.

“I am.” She admitted gleefully, patting his chest and stepping back to fold her arms over her chest. “Just feeling better than I thought I would.”

He held up a hand and waved it dismissively before wiping it across his face.

“I’m going insane. I’m… I need to go to sleep.” He whispered to himself.

“Sleep? You can’t go to sleep now. Both your best friend and your girlfriend’s corpse are missing. The cops will have some questions for you.” 

“This isn’t true. None of this is happening.”

“Honey, hey, I’m here.” She grabbed his chin with cold hands, her long, crimson red nails poking at his soft flesh. “You need to be more reactive, you know I hate when you passively endure.”

“I don’t know what’s happening.” He murmured, his eyes wide and terrified as he searched some life in hers, to no avail. 

“Come on, let’s get you changed. You look a mess.”

She started unbuttoning his lab coat, discarding it to the side as she tiptoed behind the desk to grab one of his impeccably folded button ups. He rapidly stripped out of his blood stained pants and grabbed the fresh pair tossed at him, struggling to keep his balance as he stepped into them as fast as he could. She pulled out two ties, held them up for inspection, then picked the burgundy one. She skipped back across the office and helped him into the sleeves of the pale blue shirt.

“I love this color on you. It would be so… Home Depot employee on anyone else but you just make it work.”

She adjusted the collar around his neck and guided his hands to button it up himself as she draped the tie over his shoulders. She caressed his cheek, tucking the brown locks behind his ears, running her fingers through his hair like she used to when they’d wait in line outside a restaurant. Her careful touch, colder than usual, but just as tender as he remembered it.

“I hate giving him credit but he did it. House brought me back to life. He didn’t explain exactly how, only that I was under supportive care and that he would be back with you. Where is he, now?”

Images of House, lifeless on the ground, flashed before his eyes as his hands stopped working the buttons of the shirt.

“I… he… something happened. I didn’t want to- I didn’t mean to…”

“What did you do?” She stepped back, as her smile turned into a mischievous smirk. “What did you do, James?”

“I killed him.”      

Amber’s face lit up with radiant joy, her eyes sparkling with delight as a broad, genuine smile stretched across her lips. Her cheeks would’ve flushed with excitement if she’d had any circulation, a twinkle of happiness danced in her empty eyes, reflecting the sheer elation she felt. Every feature of her face seemed to convey a sense of pure, unadulterated happiness, as if the chilling admission had lifted a weight off her shoulders.

“You killed House?”

“I-I didn't mean to-”

“Oh, that is just wonderful!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together, before reaching out to frame his face. “Wow, I honestly thought it would happen at some point but I didn't think you'd have the guts for it! I'm so proud of you, honey. You're suddenly even hotter than before.”     

Her touch seemed to drain the warmth from his skin, leaving a chilling imprint where her fingers made contact. His heart raced, and a sense of vulnerability and fear took hold as he realized just how trapped he felt, paralyzed by fear. She shouldn’t have reacted like that. No person in their right mind would’ve replied like that. The coldness seemed to seep into his very bones, the once comforting intimacy of their shared moments now felt suffocating and ominous, leaving him questioning the true nature of the woman he thought he knew.

The room seemed to grow colder, the shadows deeper, and the atmosphere more oppressive with each passing second. Her eyes locked onto his, cold and unyielding, as if trying to pierce into his very soul.

 “I didn’t mean to kill him.” He stuttered.

“No, you did. Maybe not consciously, but certainly subconsciously. Who wouldn't?”

“You shouldn’t… you wouldn’t react like this. I just told you I killed someone.”

“You didn’t kill someone . You killed House. That’s justified!”

He shook his head, tearing his eyes away from her face as she kept folding his tie into a Windsor knot with ease.

“I didn’t… I didn’t kill him. This is all a dream. A horrible one. I went home, I went to sleep and none of this is real.”

“Pull yourself together, James. You need to accept the reality of the situation.”

“A-And what would that be?”

“That your best friend is a massive bastard. But a smart one, at least.” She zipped up his pants with enough force to make him whimper softly, before helping him into the lab coat. He withstood the manhandling, until he heard voices outside his office. “That would be the cops.”

Amber gathered the stained pants,slipped into Wilson’s Italian loafers and rushed to the glass door just in time for someone to knock on the door.

“Behave.” She mouthed, before sneaking out onto the balcony.

He watched her skip over the wall, paralyzed, until a second, more insistent knock echoed in the room.

“Yes?”

He opened the door with a polite smile, eyeing a very tense Cuddy escorted by two cops. She glared at him and he offered a subtle nod in response, before moving to the side, to let the officers come in.

They interrogated him for what felt like hours, asking questions about the bus crash, his relationship with both Amber and House, the relationship between the two of them. He'd been propped on the edge of his desk with his arms folded over his stomach to hide the coagulated blood underneath his fingernails as Cuddy observed him with something akin to terror from the knowledge of what he’d done to House.

“Is there any chance Dr. House might've taken her?” The officer asked.

“Why should he have done that? He's my best friend. He was her boss. He cared for her.”

“Perhaps he cared too much.”

“I-I don't like what you're implying! It's incredibly distasteful.” His voice went up a pitch.

“It's something we can't exclude, Dr. Wilson.”

“No! House would've never done that!”

“It's true, officer. Dr. House is currently unstable and under medication but, under no circumstance, would he be capable of something so vile. I will find the camera evidence. He would never hurt her. Or anyone, for that matter.” Cuddy interjected.

“Wasn't he detained for drug abuse last year?” The other cop chimed in. “Did he ever complete his time in rehab as promised to Officer Tritter?”

Wilson stared at Cuddy as she took a deep breath and gathered her words.

“Dr. House is an impeccable doctor, he's been sober since the trial. I wouldn't keep him as a Department Head if he wasn't.”

“Seems like you used to let him just fine.”

“He's not unstable, he's simply mourning a close friend-” Wilson started but was interrupted by the officer holding up a hand.

He answered to the intercom under the doctors’ scrutiny.

“Yes.” The cop nodded to the muffled voice and straightened his posture, turning to his colleague. “The body has been found back in the morgue. Amber Volakis is in the morgue.”

The officers stormed down the hallway and Wilson rushed after Cuddy out the door, however mindful enough to close the door to his office, in case he’d left any traces.

Cuddy’s heels clicked rapidly as she chased the men, asking questions about what they’d found and if House had been spotted in the Hospital.

“Security hasn't seen the culprit take her back.”

The hospital corridors stretched out like endless tunnels of despair, bathed in a sickly yellow glow from the flickering overhead lights. The air felt thick and suffocating, with the scent of antiseptic and an underlying aura of dread. Wilson, his face a ghostly mask of anguish and disbelief, followed behind the silent procession of police officers with a heavy heart and a sinking feeling of impending doom.

What if he’d imagined Amber in his office? It would’ve been the only possible explanation.

Cuddy’s footsteps echoed ominously, each sound a hollow reminder of the nightmare he was living. The officers moved with an unsettling determination, their faces set in grim lines as they led them deeper into the heart of the hospital's cold, clinical depths.

Shadows seemed to dance and flicker at the edges of his vision, and every creak of the fire doors, every distant whisper, sent a shiver of dread down his spine. They would’ve found out about House, it was only a matter of minutes.

The atmosphere was growing colder and more oppressive with each step, as if the very walls of the hospital were closing in around him, sealing his fate. They would’ve searched his apartment next. They would’ve found House, lying in a pool of his own blood. The answer would’ve been clear. House had been the cause of her death, they wouldn’t have questioned his motives. The air became charged with a sense of malevolent anticipation, his senses were heightened to the point of overwhelming.

Finally, they reached the morgue's entrance, a foreboding portal marked by the heavy industrial door and an eerie silence that seemed to swallow all hope. The officers paused, their eyes dark and unreadable, before slowly pushing open the door to reveal the chilling scene that awaited them.

Inside, bathed in the harsh, unforgiving glare of the morgue's cold, sterile lights, lied Amber’s lifeless body. Her pale form, still and silent, shrouded in a white sheet that seemed to absorb the very essence of the room's oppressive atmosphere.

Wilson’s heart stopped, his breath catching in his throat as he confronted the horrifying reality of her presence. For the first time that night, he found himself facing a reasonable scenario. She hadn’t been in his office, she hadn’t brushed his hair and showered him in praise for murdering his best friend. She’d been dead all along, as he’d expected, as it only made sense. The officers offered empty words of condolence, their voices echoing hollowly in the chilling silence, but he was beyond comfort, his mind shattered by the devastating sight before him.

Alone with his grief and the haunting specter of what he’d lived for the past twenty four hours, surrounded by the cold, unfeeling walls of the morgue, he felt consumed by a terror and despair from which there was no escape. The soft reassuring words by Cuddy, her gentle hand on the small of his back, couldn’t placate the hurt he was feeling, the sense of dread of the realization that he’d been hallucinating for most of the night.

He felt himself coming back to the conversation when he heard Greg’s name mentioned again. He turned around, his hand lingering over Amber’s own as he heard the muffled voices of the officers.

“We're still running a search party for Dr. House.”

“You can cut it short. We haven't seen him but we have an idea of where he might be. We will proceed by taking him back to the hospital to keep him under treatment for his injuries.” Cuddy promptly answered.

“I don't think that will be the case, Dr. Cuddy. Dr. House was clearly involved with the misplacing of Amber's corpse. We don't know what happened to her, we might find out only through an autopsy.”

Wilson swallowed thickly, cradling her hand in his as he stared at her peaceful state.

“Our medical team will take care of that. About Dr. House, he last called from a Pub called Sherry's. We don't know much else. But we do not think he was involved-”

“There's camera proof of him entering the morgue and coming out with a gurney.” The officer argued.

“He was her friend, too. He has suffered a skull fracture and was mourning her loss. I think he simply wanted to solve the case, find a cure. It might've not been ethical but I trust my friend with knowing when to stop.” He heard himself say.

“You can continue your search party, to the pub he last called from, his motorbike is still in the parking lot, as we know. And if you find him, make sure to send him right back to us, he’s in need of medical assistance. And I can’t stress this enough, a fracture like the one he’s been subjected to, through the temporal lobe would explain his behavior.” Lisa confidently stated.

“It wouldn’t justify it.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” She straightened her posture and gestured towards the door. “I trust that you will stand by your word.”

The cops dissipated, as Wilson dragged a stool closer and sat, his hand still covering Amber’s own. Cuddy came back, minutes later, closing the door after her as she stepped towards him cautiously.

“They’ll search his apartment.”

“They won’t find him there.” He replied in a whisper, letting go of the cold wrist to wipe his face with both hands. He felt tears pricking at his eyes for a moment, until he heard Cuddy's bloodcurdling scream.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a hand firmly wrapped around Cuddy’s wrist, as the woman jolted backwards in an attempt to escape the vicious grip.

He stood to his feet as Amber’s eyes flickered open, bright and mischievous, a sly smile playing on her lips as she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with newfound life. His disbelief turned to confusion, his mind struggling to reconcile the miraculous turn of events unfolding before him with the solemn reality he had accepted moments ago.

“I really fooled them, didn’t I?” She asked deviously.

The woman on the table sat up, draping the white sheet over herself to cover her nudity, looked around, her gaze landing on the Dean of Medicine standing at a safe distance. A knowing glint appeared in her eyes as she took in their shocked expressions. Her smile widened, a playful twinkle dancing in her eyes, as she reveled in the stunned silence that filled the room.

“Sorry, Dr. Cuddy. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She chuckled as she hopped off the table, the soft sheet flowing with her movement as she took long, confident strides towards Cuddy, gasping theatrically and covering her mouth with a hand. “Oh, God, what has happened to you? You look a mess!”

“Amber.” Wilson reprimanded her, rushing after her to drape his jacket over her, as he faced her completely exposed rear. The purple bruising on the small of her back still present.

“What? She’s usually very put together.”

Dark contusions and coagulated cuts marked her pale skin, scattered across her arms, legs, and torso, serving as stark reminders of the trauma she’s endured. Though her body bore the physical scars of her accident, a mix of deep purples, blues, and reds, contrasting sharply with the pallor of her skin, there was a newfound vitality and strength in her posture, a subtle shift in her demeanor that belied her recent resurrection. 

Her limbs moved with fluidity and grace, her movements purposeful and deliberate, as if adjusting to her renewed lease on life.  

“You should be dead.” Cuddy stuttered, her eyes still wide with shock.

“And you should wear some concealer.”

Wilson stepped closer, his hands reaching out tentatively towards his girlfriend, as if afraid she might vanish if he touched her. Their fingers brushed against each other, a spark of electricity igniting between them, a tangible connection that defied the boundaries of life and death.

She smiled warmly at him, but still, he couldn’t recognize her.

“Wilson, what is this?” Lisa asked him with pure terror in her voice.

“Oh, don’t ask him. He’s useless in this state. I was involved so, talk to me instead.” She let go of his hand to cross the morgue, careful not to step on broken glass or scattered utensils as she headed towards a specific cabinet. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d love to wear some clothes first. You take your time to collect your thoughts.”

She forcefully tugged on the stainless steel drawer and went through the cadavers’ belongings. She pulled out a few items of clothing as she commented on their sizes and poor fashion.

Lisa and James shared a frightened look as the woman rapidly stepped into a pair of boxers and a pencil skirt. Wilson shouldn’t have nearly found the sight arousing, yet, there he was, unable to take his eyes off of the undead woman arguing with herself in the corner.

“Did House… reanimate you?” Lisa asked.

“Yes! He had a mic in his hand so he was probably recording the whole experiment. I figured you would’ve checked the audio records of the morgue with an investigation going on.”

“I… I didn’t think to do that.” The Dean of Medicine admitted fearfully, as the much taller blonde woman stepped close enough to tower over her.

“You all have a tendency to get really stupid when it comes to House.” Amber said, waving a hand between the two.

She confidently marched towards the small, unassuming corner dedicated to audio recording equipment. She watched the sleek, black digital audio recorder placed atop a sturdy metal stand with rapt interest. 

Connected to the recorder was a microphone that had been dismounted from its flexible arm. She bent down to pick it up off the floor, as she approached the panel and pressed anything until the small LED display on the recorder lit up.

She unhooked the headphones from the speaker and the audio started playing, for everyone to hear. She smiled proudly as she adjusted the volume, the only sound recorded rustling and soft breaths.

A double tap to the mic.

“Hello? One, two, three, is this thing on?” 

House’s voice.

Wilson swallowed and clutched his abdomen.

“Patient is Amber Volakis. Accidental amantadine overdose due to kidney injury resulting in multiple organ failure. Time of death 8:23.” A pause. “For now.”

As Wilson listened to the recording, a heavy weight settled in his chest, overshadowing the initial joy of hearing his best friend's voice. With each word, each dramatic pause, each familiar intonation, a sharp pang of guilt pierced his heart. The voice on the recording, once a cherished reminder of their friendship, now served as a poignant symbol of the pain that accompanied his actions. He bit his lower lip and gripped the fabric of his shirt as he sat on the nearest stool and listened closely.

“She’s back on cryogenic agents, slowing down cellular metabolism and preserving the structure of the brain, which has been perfused with a preservation solution, a specialized cocktail of cryoprotectants and neuroprotective agents. They will maintain the integrity of brain cells and prevent further damage. Hopefully. Now for the fun part…”

A clattering of utensils came through the speakers, along with House’s erratic breaths and heavy steps. The sound of the mic being set down.

“A neuroplasticity enhancer, will promote neuronal adaptability, helping the restoration of cognitive functions. Or, just generally will give you a really good time. I will administer the shot into the base of her skull. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

A pause, a soft thud.

“A twitch, located in her left arm, nothing more than a myoclonic jerk. Sign of possible cognitive response but not enough.” A deep sigh. “Come on, give me something I can work with.”

A resigned exhale.

“Well, we need more subjects.”

The three glanced at the other cadaver in the room, on display on one of the tables, an older man whose head had been tragically bashed in during the bus crash. The driver of the truck that had hit them. His face was unrecognizable, his features were distorted, marred by deep lacerations, contusions, and abrasions that would’ve rendered identification nearly impossible.

“Patient is… Kenneth Paul, died of… “traumatic injuries as a result of a car accident”, okay we can work with that. “Skull fracture”... to put it nicely. Time of death… who cares?”

His voice sounded far from the microphone, about the same distance they had now with Paul’s table. The loud noise of the cold chambers clicking open and a body being rolled out with struggle.

A pant, fumbling with utensils, then a deep breath in.

“Okay, Kenny, give me a sign.”

“A spasm in the right leg, the left shows signs of fractures, I’m not expecting much from it. Chances of vocalization, dubious at best.” A pause. “Another twitch in the left shoulder, more powerful.” 

A clicking sound.

“Unresponsive to light. Lacking both corneal and oculocephalic reflex. Just… not trying hard enough.”

House paused, breathing heavily, but returned closer to the microphone, not picking it up, just sitting by it, probably just where Wilson was sitting at that very moment.

“I need to reverse brain death.”

The recording was abruptly interrupted and both Cuddy and Wilson looked up at the blonde woman standing by the speakers with anticipation. She pressed the buttons by the screen until another recording started, loud muffled noises, rustling of fabric, the metallic sounds of medical tools being moved around.

“A combination of both electrostimulation and this nice little concoction might be our Golden Ticket. Grandpa Joe right here isn’t exactly the most fitting subject to try this on. To prove full rehabilitation and reanimation… we need an alive guinea pig. And by guinea pig, I mean a victim. A human victim. Death-prone and a bit volatile.”

Wilson wiped a hand over his face as the pieces clicked together. 

“Patient is Gregory House. Tall, sexy, mysterious, beloved. Cause of death… to be determined. Time of death… in about four minutes.”   

“Injecting the Death Martini. Now we wait for it to work. Not that we’ll have any signs that it did. Just a hunch. Yolo. Or… Yoto, if I get to live twice.” A sigh.  “It’s been a long day.”

The three doctors listened intently, their faces drawn and pale, their jaws clenched as they grappled with the painful reality of House’s absence. Each word, each pause, each sigh captured on the recording served as a poignant reminder of the depth of their friend's pain and desperation to make something like this happen.

“If the experiment somehow doesn’t work, don’t let a single dime of my laughable inheritance go to my parents. If up for donation, do not help funding for cancer wards, but split it equally amongst the workers of the “New Jersey Sexy Angels” Hotline. They deserve it much more.”  A pause. “And if Wilson’s on the line…”

James froze in place, swallowing his tears as he heard the beloved voice call out his name, when he thought he’d never hear it again. His eyes prickled and his lower lip began to quiver as he held his breath to not miss a word.

“I’m sorry, about what happened. You probably don’t want to hear from me at the moment. And if the experiment fails, you won’t. Ever again. So, congrats, I guess.”  Wilson looked up at the ceiling of the morgue, blinded by the fluorescent light, as he tried to hold back the tears. “It’s… it’s been good.”

He found himself smiling at that timid admission, only interrupted by House clearing his throat.

“Don’t start the small dick rumors until at least three days after my death. But you can start the gay rumors right now, if it comforts you. I already told a bunch of interns we’re bumping uglies. I was hoping the rumor would get to Cutthroat Bitch. If it did, I doubt it matters much right now.” A small smile appeared on Amber’s lips. “Oh, and don’t sell my Repsol! You, cheap bastard.”

Wilson grinned softly, a wave of love washing through him as he grieved just how good it felt to laugh at his jokes.

“Okay, now onto the real business. Let’s proceed. We’re going with the classic. Knife in the socket. Current time, 10:56.” House took a deep breath, hyping himself up. “Nothing to lose.”

The audio recording stopped abruptly due to the voltage drop. Sudden and jarring, it disrupted the steady flow of static noise and was accompanied by a brief, high-pitched squeal as the electrical current fluctuated.

The abrupt cessation of the audio brought a noticeable change in the ambient of the room, suddenly unnaturally quiet, lacking the familiar gravelly voice that had been previously captured.

Amber started the next file.

“It’s 11:08. Woke up at 11:04, I think. I just… had to take a minute. Had to get this thing restarted. If I lost any recording, well, shit, it’s not like I’m gonna repeat them.” A beat. “My vitals are good, as in, nonexistent. But I’m tangible so… not a ghost. Or a really powerful ghost, maybe. That’d make sense. I think… I think the experiment was successful. My head hurts like a bitch but, I’m here. I’ll just… I’ll just have to change into something else because I’m wearing my metaphorical brown pants. Pardon.”

Another file.

“11:13, previous subject is now clean and presentable. Still dead, still tired. Chronic pain is… no longer present. Fun. Bodily functions mostly inactive, but somehow still able to move and do stuff. It’s really cool.” House’s voice trembled with emotion, the unmistakable sound of joy and triumph threading through his every word. A bright, infectious laughter bubbles up from within him, filling the recording with a sense of unbridled joy. “A longitudinal cut on the medial antebrachial side of my left arm bled for approximately seven seconds before closing back up. A second transverse cut on the upper arm took only five seconds. I have… achieved physical invulnerability. To what extent, I’m not sure, and I’m not in the mood to experiment with beheading or castration. On with the program.”

The excitement in his voice was palpable, each sentence brimming with enthusiasm and a sense of boundless possibilities as he rolled a table closer to the microphone.

“Back to patient number one. The electrodes have already been placed, she’s not looking great but we’re ready to go on stage.”

He kept whispering to himself as he carefully set the scene, correcting his own actions in a frantic manner, the way he used to when he’d pull an all-nighter to solve a case during his first years at PPTH. Wilson remembered fondly, how he would pace around the room, coffee cups scattered across every surface as he argued back and forth with a complying Wilson. He would be ecstatic, his voice would falter with anticipation and excitement, a lively cadence that mirrored the rapid beating of his heart.

He sounded just the same now.

“A cocktail of neuroregenerative stimulants is administered directly into the brain tissue. These stimulants consist of growth factors and mommy’s secret recipe of peptides, all designed to promote neural cell regrowth, axonal reconnection, and synaptogenesis. About thirty seconds after the injection, we will jumpstart the bitch until she gives us a sign.” A drum of fingernails on the metallic table. “I need you to collaborate on this one.”

A series of clinks and clatters could be heard in the background, the sounds of equipment being prepared and tools being arranged with meticulous care.

“Please, work.”

The ECT machine produced a sharp spike in volume and intensity, overwhelming the microphone and momentarily drowning out any other ambient noises. The recording captured the initial buildup of electrical energy with a low, humming sound, followed by the sudden, explosive discharge of the shock itself, sharp, piercing noises, the audio crackling and popping and even cutting out entirely at times, as the voltage drop affected the device, until they tapered off as the charge in energy dissipated.

The abrupt interruption in power resulted in a brief period of silence, followed by the gradual return of normal audio levels as the recording device recovered from the drop.

House was breathing heavily, overwhelmed with the effort and caught in the anticipation.

Nothing. Not a sound.

The doctor on the other side of the recording seemed to sit back down in surrender. He waited for minutes, but not a change was reported. He sounded physically deflated, drained of all hope.

“You shouldn’t have been there.” The sound of skin rubbing against fabric, similar to when House used to rub his thigh. And if he truly wasn’t feeling any pain, it must’ve been just muscle memory. “This is all my fault.”

“He shouldn’t have come either but… you had no reason to help me. I didn’t deserve it.”  House whispered. “I hope he’ll forgive me, someday.”

An eerie silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of electrical equipment and the faint rustle of House’s hand stroking the fabric of the borrowed jeans in a soothing manner. A palpable tension hung in the air, a mixture of disappointment, disbelief, and a hint of anticipation.

Suddenly a loud gasp echoed through the room. A choked breath, the rapid movement of House’s body moving closer.

“Amber? Amber.”

The sound of labored breathing filled the recording, interspersed with occasional gasps and groans as the lifeless body on the table began to stir, its chest rising and falling with newfound vitality.

A series of disjointed, involuntary movements could be heard, the rustling of fabric, the creaking of joints, the hair brushing against the microphone and the soft thud of limbs against the table, each sound a testament to the miraculous transformation taking place right before House’s eyes.

“Blink twice if you can hear me.” A beat, a soft chuckle. “Okay, uh- are you in pain? One for yes, two for no.”

The unfamiliar concern in House’s voice pulled at the strings of Wilson’s heart for a moment.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Shuffling sounds, clattering. “Vitals, dead, as expected, but positive. Breathing slowly but breathing nonetheless. Brain function seems to be back on the menu. Corneal and oculocephalic reflex working, responsive to light. I need you to try and speak, say anything.”

After a long pause, the soft puffs of air built up into faint gurgling sounds.

“Any time.” House insisted, impatient.

“Old bastard.” Amber’s feeble and croaky voice came through the speaker.

House huffed a laugh.

“Evil cunt.” The excitement in his voice was palpable, almost tender. “Welcome back.”

“James...”

“He’s okay. He went home. But he’ll be back soon. I’ll go get him. First we need to move you somewhere warmer. Maybe get you to wear something, unless you want to flaunt your outie breasts to the whole vegetable ward.”

“Don’t look-”

“Sorry, they’re just right here. That was purely my medical opinion. I’m not being a bitch.”

“Can you move at all?” He asked. A soft thud. “Finger’s enough for now. You’ll gain full mobility soon. I think.”

“I need to check your physical rejuvenation. I’m not being a creep. Well, not intentionally.”   House seemed to hop around the table. “The wounds from the accident have closed completely, all that stays is the scar, perhaps an indent for deeper wounds, the coagulated blood is still present, you can clean that up for yourself once you’re able to, I’m not a nurse.”

“You’ll feel a pinch.”

“Ow!” She squealed.

“Oh, shut up, you’ve been in a bus crash.” Metallic clattering. “Transverse wound to the upper arm completely healed within three seconds. Wow. You’re good at this.”

“Am I…?”

“Alive? Yes. Dead, that too. We’re working on it.” Rustling fabric. “Good?” 

He sounded caring. She replied with a soft hum.

“Not gonna ask if you’re warm, ‘cause I doubt you’ll ever be again.”  His humor had returned. “Okay. Need to tidy up a bit first. Wouldn’t want them to steal my secret recipe.”

“House…”

“What do you want?”

“Thank you.”

There was a long pause.

“You shouldn’t. I killed you. This is just… reparation.” He replied dismissively. “Look asleep now.”

“You know, I expected you to have lighter pubes-”

The recording was abruptly shut.

Amber tapped the screen to find herself having played all the available files. She turned on her heels to find the two doctors looking worn and speechless.

“He Frankenstein’d me.”

“He reversed brain death. House was able to… reverse brain death.” Cuddy started, voice tinged with disbelief. 

“My pubes aren't that dark.” Amber muttered.

Wilson stood slowly, unsure of what to do next.

“This is the most important medical discovery ever recorded.” Lisa insisted, pacing around the mortuary room.

“He played mad scientist on my girlfriend.” 

“Don’t I have a say in this? I found it cool!” Amber argued uselessly.

“He reversed death! He brought her back to life. He brought himself back to life!” Lisa pointed out.

“We don’t know if the effects will be permanent.”

“James…” Cuddy grabbed his arm. “He did it. Do you understand what he did?” 

“Right. Now’s not the time to be pessimistic. Don’t you want to keep me around some more, instead of fantasizing about my next death?” Amber agreed, stepping towards him and reaching out to place her hand on his shoulder. His first instinct was to flinch, her touch cold and unfamiliar. He shook his head apologetically and reached out himself, though still not able to touch her back.

“Of course, yeah, I just… I don’t want to give this for granted. I don’t think I could handle the illusion of having you, then… losing you again. I can’t- I can’t survive that.”

Her hands framed his face tenderly. 

“You’re not gonna lose me.”

“What if-”

“I trust him.” She insisted, her eyes looking intensely into his.

“We need to clear the room before the board knows.” Lisa stated, hopping to the other side of the room to push Kenneth’s corpse back into his chamber. She looked back as she groaned with struggle, hoping Wilson would take the hint.

“If he survived the first time, there’s a chance he survived a second time too.” He murmured to himself, not making a move to help her in the slightest, so absorbed in his own thought to have noticed her attempts to tidy up.

“What?”

“We need to go home.” He said, all of a sudden, grabbing Amber’s wrist.

“Why?” The blonde woman asked with annoyance.

“I left House there.”

“What do you mean, you left him? You killed him in my home?!”

“We need to go. Lisa, uh… have House’s team photograph the morgue, every note, every word, then clean it up. Cover this up. Get rid of her files, wipe her off the records. And wait for House, before you do anything.”

“What if they-”

“Wait for House.” He demanded, holding a hand up. He nodded to himself and stepped back towards the door, dragging Amber with him. “I’ll call you.”

“Wilson!” Cuddy called after him as he pushed the door open and let her tiptoe her way out. 

She had slipped on Wilson’s leather loafers again, which prevented her from taking her usual long strides.

“What happened to House? He didn’t come back?”

“Not while I was there.”

He opened the door of his car and urged her to get in, before jogging to his own side and hopping in, absolutely frantic.

“Is two the maximum number of deaths?” She kept asking.

“I… I hope not.”

He stepped into the dimly lit apartment, his footsteps slow and hesitant as he scanned the living room with growing unease. The air felt thick and heavy, the atmosphere charged with a sense of foreboding and hope.

His eyes widened in disbelief, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight before him. Where he left his best friend lying motionless just hours ago, there was now only an empty space, a chilling void that stood in stark contrast to the pool of blood that stained the carpet, dark and glistening in the dim light.

A cold shiver ran down his spine, his hands trembling as he reached out to touch the blood-soaked carpet, his fingers coming away wet and sticky. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, a nauseating wave of both horror and glee washed over him.

“He was here. I left him here.”

“So the bitch is back, is what you’re saying.” Amber said unenthusiastically. “Great, he stained my carpet.”

Wilson ran through the apartment, searching the rooms with a newfound sense of joy, as he apparently dropped any interest in his very own undead girlfriend to pursue a search party for his friend.

He stopped by the doorway of their bedroom, taking in the strong scent of Amber’s shampoo and the steam coming from the master bathroom. House sat sprawled on their bed, nothing but Amber’s pink bathrobe wrapped around him and Wilson’s laptop set comfortably on top of his crossed legs.

Despite the recent shower, he maintained his iconic appearance with his disheveled, unkempt hairstyle. The initial disbelief upon finding him there, alive, or almost, was quickly overtaken by an intense rush of happiness. He was there. He’d come back. His piercing blue eyes, sharp and observant, retained their intense and analytical gaze as he scanned Wilson’s state and watched as Amber marched rapidly to the side of the bed.

“Had I known you guys filmed a sex tape, I would've asked to join!” He started, voice loud and thick with teasing sarcasm. “You're a truly timid lover, Wilson. But great dick-”

Amber shut the laptop firmly into his lap, causing him to whimper for a moment. 

“You killed me.”

“I brought you back to life.” He argued, his voice going up a pitch, almost offended.

“But you killed me first.”

“I think we're arguing over semantics.”

“I think neither of you should be alive.” Wilson chimed in, holding both hands up.

The two interrupted their staring contest to look back at the oncologist standing in the doorway. He felt like a deer in headlights under the scrutiny of their chilling, matching cristalline eyes.

“But isn't it better that we are?” Amber teased, cocking her head to the side.

“Right, I thought you'd at least be happy to see us.” House agreed.

“Cuddy saw you so I know you're not a hallucination but him ?”

“He looks pretty real to me. But I doubt my opinion matters since you don't believe me to be here either.”

“This is fun. And a bit erotic, too.” Amber glared at him. “What? All three of us, in your bedroom. Pretty sexy. Bet you've dreamed about this scenario at least once.”

“He's still processing the information, give him a minute before asking him to dabble in some domestic necrophilia.”

“Shut up, both of you!” Wilson barked, then gestured towards himself, curling two fingers like directing a dog. “House, come here, I need to take your vitals.”

“I took my own. I'm dead, there's nothing to check.”

Amber sighed and clasped her hands, pointing at the door, trying to find an escape.

“I'll go get a scotch. Do you think we can have scotch?”

“I don't know but fetch me a glass, honey.”  House winked with a click of his tongue, causing her to grimace with disgust.

“I'll leave you boys to talk.” She looked at House as she pointed at Wilson then gestured at her head and circled her finger, mouthing: “Cuckoo.”  

House smiled softly and slowly followed Wilson’s directions to sit on the edge of the bed as she left the room.

“I don't know what's going on.”

House groaned, moving his bare feet to the ground and looking up at his best friend.

“I'm dead. So is your G.F. We know this.”

“I don't know anything! I don't-” Wilson stuttered, then buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled as he asked: “What am I supposed to do?”

“Just… be a doctor and give me a time of death.”

Wilson sighed and nodded, finding himself for the first time truly looking at his best friend’s face up close.

His thin lips, usually set in a tight line to convey his characteristic stoicism and unwillingness to show vulnerability, were surprisingly curved into a small, rare and genuine smile. It revealed a glimpse of warmth he felt almost privileged to witness.

His eyes were wide and gentle, relaxed at last, perhaps thanks to the lack of chronic pain.

His complexion had taken on an eerie, pallid hue, with a lack of the natural color or vitality usually associated with living, breathing skin. That absence of warmth brought a veiled unsettling feeling, accompanied by the two circular wounds at the sides of his forehead.

He looked complying, malleable, almost happy to see him. He moved his head anyway Wilson tilted it, following his silent directions but still keeping his stare fixed on him. The resurrection had turned his irises slightly lighter, the same way Amber’s had, they almost lacked any pigmentation, his darker blue specks he used to adore so much were long gone.

He wasn’t blinking, he didn’t need to anymore, he simply stared up at him, with something akin to joy.

“You still have blood on your neck.” Wilson mustered to say.

“Your shower head is too short for someone my height. Not my fault.”

Wilson followed the sparse red trail and gently guided his head to the side, and he finally spotted it. He could see the shards of exposed bone peeking through the blood-matted taupe hair. The skull was smashed in, he could’ve traced the path where the blood had trickled onto his ear and down his neck.

Wilson physically recoiled at the sight.

“That bad?”

House’s voice didn’t sound worried, but it carried a hint of sadness. Wilson picked up on it. He knew House wouldn’t have blamed him for his death, he would’ve done anything for him, even ignore who had killed him just hours earlier.

“I’ll fix it.” Wilson lied.

“You can?”

“I’ll… find a way.”

“My tissue regenerates, my bones don't, so good luck with that.”

Wilson breathed heavily, the guilt weighing heavily on him, casting a dark shadow over his conscience and self-perception. The more he looked at House’s fragile state, the more he felt like he hadn’t washed all the blood off his hands. He had his best friend back but he could never live down his actions. The very sight of the injured man, brought on waves of nausea, making it difficult for him to maintain composure or even stand steady on his feet.

“House, I'm sorry about earlier-”

“You killed me.” Wilson swallowed at the statement. He nodded and blinked, moving his hands away from House’s head.

“I didn't mean to.”

“You pushed me. You meant that.” He said, almost defeated. He’d never heard House’s voice so fragile.

“You were acting insane.” He spoke softly, unable to hold eye contact all of a sudden.

“Oh, I'm not blaming you. Honestly you lasted way longer than I thought you would without attempting to murder me.” 

Of course he would’ve justified him.      

“Does it hurt?”

“Nothing hurts. Perks of being dead.”

“I don't understand.”

“I injected myself before I tried it on her.”

“I know. I know, I… We heard the recordings.”

“Did it cut off halfway? I think I was pretty clear, how could you not understand?”

Wilson let out a mirthless laugh.

“House… You- You reanimated a corpse. Corpses, actually, plural.”

“One failed.”

“You brought someone back from the dead.”

“That’s just a Tuesday night for me.”

“Yes, when there’s still a pulse! Or brain function! Not when the patient has been dead for hours!”

“Okay, so I did something cool. But you’re smart, allegedly, and I spelled out every step of the experiment, what do you not understand?”

Wilson wiped a hand over his face, then planted both on his hips, looking down at the man slouching at the edge of his bed.

“I… I don’t know how you did this.”

“Dumb luck and an epiphany.” The diagnostician murmured, busy fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

“House, you're dead. And wanted by the police.” He said, softly.

“That's why I'm staying here a bit longer. Staycation at the Wilson-Volakis Chateau.”

“There's no pulse. Your temperature is below 80. Your temporal lobe is still fractured longitudinally, but in multiple spots now. And you were… dead on my carpet.”

“Hey, maybe it's a miracle. We might have to start thanking God.”

“I don’t know- I don’t understand what’s happening but… I’m glad you’re here. Even if this is all a nightmare, I… fuck, this is stupid.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“It’s very real. As real as things can be. The concept of “real” is dubious itself but… y’know. I’m here.”

“And she’s here, too.” Wilson said, relieved, and gesturing towards the door.

“Yes.”

“If I can trust any of this to be real, then… Thank you. For bringing her back.”

House’s lips curled into a soft smile, his frown lines disappearing for a moment from the unexpected praise.

“Least I could do.”

His eyes fell back on the two holes at the sides of House’s forehead, an undeniable proof of what Wilson had put him through, and what he’d let himself be put through, just to save Amber. 

“No, it’s not. It’s…” James struggled to find words that could express his regret. “You didn’t deserve what I did to you.”

“What are you talking about? I just hit my head a little, I’m fine!” House groaned dismissively.

“Not just that. I mean, the shock treatment. I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have asked you to do that.”

“It gave us answers about Amber’s case.” House argued right back, not seeing a fault in their logic.

“It gave you a seizure.”

House shrugged.

“You win some, you lose some.”

Wilson sat beside him on the bed, reaching out to grab one of his hands. House immediately groaned in protest but Wilson insisted and wrapped a second hand around it.

“You have your mind. That’s all you care about. That’s your gift and it’s just yours and I… I risked taking it away from you.”

“I offered to do that.” House argued softly.

“And I shouldn’t have taken the offer.” He admitted. “I was selfish.”

“Who cares? So am I! You did what you had to do. It was only fair.”

House spat back, trying to pull his hand out of Wilson’s grip. Wilson instead squeezed it harder.

“I don’t want to lose you, House.”

The diagnostician’s annoyed facade faltered for a moment, showing genuine hurt.

“Better me than her.”

“No. Neither- Neither of you.”

Wilson could swear House’s features softened at the statement, his subtle smile and the quiver of his lips conveying all their unspoken promises. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, God knew if he’d even be able to produce them.

House looked away, needing to distance himself from such vulnerability.

“You should spend some time with her. Check if her memories are intact, if she’s back on track. I’m done with the experiment.”

“Okay.”

Wilson waited a moment, then decided against his better judgment and wrapped his arms around House’s neck, pulling him in for a tight embrace. 

“Oh, get off.” House lamented but let himself be hugged, even wrapping his arms around Wilson's waist. His hands clutched at Wilson’s back, pulling them closer in a gesture that spoke volumes of their need for connection after everything that had happened. The tension in their bodies slowly melted away, replaced by a sense of security of being able to even hold each other again. They’d never hugged, not like this, House’s cold, bare skin pressed softly against his shirt-clad own. 

Wilson felt like he could cry tears of gratitude at any moment, no matter how unfamiliar it felt to display affection like this with House. The embrace was tight, almost desperate, as if they were trying to bridge the distance that death had put between them, be it Amber’s or House’s own.

House was the first to pull back, still ashamed of having expressed so much of himself through a gesture so tender and unlike him.

He looked at the towel draped over his lap once again, unable to meet Wilson’s eyes again.

He moved to lie back down onto the bed as Wilson rose to his feet.

“I’ll go clean her up, but you’re next, okay?” He said with a bright smile and his index pointed at House.

“There’s no need.”

“You look like shit.”

“I look like I always look. Now, scram.” House reached out to grab the discarded laptop but Wilson leaned in and ripped it away from his grip.

“You’re not watching that again.”

Chapter Text

Lisa Cuddy had never been a particularly patient person. She was forced to act as one because of her job, but her limits were frequently tested.
Covering up House’s felonies had become her specialty but, God, was it draining. She couldn’t imagine the extent those crimes would have reached, but in hindsight she probably should’ve expected it. So, when she found herself for the fourth time that week in an emergency meeting with the medical board and members of the law enforcement, she tried her best to keep her eyelid from twitching and her voice at a socially acceptable level.

She glared intensely at the diagnostician sitting beside her, currently busy twirling a pen around his fingers like a drumstick. She observed his childish fidgeting, his complete lack of interest and his unattentive, empty stare and wondered just how on earth was this man supposed to be the inventor of the most important medical discovery since penicillin.

Just mere hours after Wilson and Amber had gone back home that eventful night, Cuddy had already come up with a plan of action, completely disregarding what the oncologist had said and going right against his wishes of keeping things under wraps. She wasn’t going to blame him, not fully at least, the man had gone through two of the most tragic losses he could’ve experienced in the matter of hours, one of which he’d caused, and gotten to see both of his loved ones come back to life right in front of his eyes: he was in no place to make decisions or give advice, especially to her.

Wilson’s plea to keep everything secret was a juvenile attempt at keeping things as they once were, except they weren’t and they could’ve never been. It wasn’t unexpected, he had a tendency to be particularly stupid when it came to protecting House. So she did the thing she had wanted to do since hiring that man in 1990: report every single action of his to the authorities. Except this time it had been a calculated attempt at saving his career. 

The moment Wilson had known, he’d become furious but she rapidly shut him up by trying to make his brain go from a state of “Protect House at all costs” to perhaps thinking about things critically before going against the law with nothing but good intentions and a wish.

Surprisingly House had been the most cooperative of the three, going along with her plans like nobody had ever seen him do, collaborating with the investigation and being absolutely, completely honest every step of the way. For a moment Cuddy thought he’d fallen and tripped into a better version of himself by electrocuting all the horrible parts out of himself, but she quickly realized it was just pure self-preservation.

Amber had been reluctant to participate, because she disliked the thought of being further studied and experimented on for something that was solely House’s fault. Cuddy could agree with her to a certain degree but she was quickly tiring to see all three of their faces so often just to cover their asses.

She had turned the Diagnostics department into a momentary investigative force, those willing to collaborate to cover for House at least, and asked them to help her gather any evidence they could find of what exactly had happened. Kutner and Taub were still terrified to see Amber alive and well, Thirteen had reacted surprisingly positively, even hugging the undead woman. Foreman, Cameron and Chase didn't care much about her, more about what House had been able to achieve.

Cuddy went out of her way to give them a version of the story crafted specifically to protect Wilson’s incolumity, that didn’t involve House going to Amber’s apartment and being murdered there, only to come back minutes later.

The authorities and the board were informed that the injury in his skull had been caused by the bus crash and the two drill-holes in his forehead by the treatment he’d gone through. The version they had of the events was that House had wandered around the streets, trying to go back to his own place. This change in the narrative had been requested by House himself, as an attempt to keep Wilson completely out of the picture.

Court proceedings had been the obvious next step for House, who seemed devoid of any of his usual childish behaviors, he simply went along, like he was suffering through the consequences of his own actions. When things had started to take a turn for the better, however, he immediately fell back into his sarcastic persona, much to Cuddy’s dismay.

His sardonic smirk had made its first appearance in a while the moment he was told the charges for theft, unlawful removal of a corpse, illegal experimentation, tampering with evidence, and obstruction of justice had been dropped.
It lasted shortly because the news was quickly followed with “If you promise to collaborate on the research and development of your discovery with a team of doctors from all around the world”.

House’s jaw had dropped, paired with a groan of annoyance that shook the walls. He’d reacted rather poorly, to put it kindly, acting like a child whose PlayStation privileges had been revoked. It was certain to Lisa at least that any trace of attraction she still felt for the man had vanished in thin air after this whole predicament. Babysitting a forty-year old, not-legally but physically dead, mad scientist had never exactly been her dream. All the hopes he’d raised by collaborating in the first steps of the investigation had crumbled, now that he had 85% certainty he was going to escape this one as well.

That’s how he found himself sitting beside Cuddy, entertaining himself with a PPTH pen while the grown-ups talked about the fate of his medical license.


Amber had gone through all the tests, all the questions and she had done so wearing a constant face of annoyance. In many ways, she truly resembled House.
When they decided they’d studied her enough for now, at least for the sake of the investigation, she’d agreed on participating in the research herself, on the promise of gaining her medical license back and keeping her identity undisclosed.

She knew it wasn’t going to last, the rumors of the Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital’s undead woman had already spread like wildfire, but she didn’t want her name attached to any of it. She didn’t deserve it, like she hadn’t deserved being on that bus in the first place. So they did what they did best, they all lied. Many had heard about House and a younger doctor being involved in a bus crash, but they were standing up and walking, so neither of them could've died, right?

They'd heard about House being the suspected doctor who had stolen a corpse, they didn't know whose corpse exactly, and then again that was just a common thing for House to do. He probably had to solve a case, was anyone’s explanation. And in some way it was true.

Cuddy listened and nodded along to the FDA representatives’ words, explaining how Dr. House was expected to take part in the next attempt to reproduce the same experiment under controlled conditions. They had all the evidence they’d required, his voice recordings, his notes, Amber’s state, but they hadn’t been able to replicate it yet. So far the preclinical studies had been promising, which meant the research would have progressed to clinical trials involving human participants in the near future.

“I’m sure Dr. House will be more than willing to enlighten us on his, dare I say, miraculous method.” The older man across the table said with a polite smile.

House, on the other side, had begun clicking the pen repeatedly, causing Amber to roll her eyes and Wilson to press his mouth into a thin line.

“He definitely will.” Cuddy replied, like a mother would, turning in his direction and barely keeping it together as the pen clicked once more. She acted before she could think and ripped the toy out of his grip and slammed it on the table. He stayed for a few seconds frozen in place, his chin still on his left hand, his right hand still holding the shape of the pen, his thumb stopped mid clicking motion, as he now slowly looked up at a disappointed Wilson first, at a mad Cuddy second and finally at the old man speaking to him.

“Dr. House would rather not.” He replied, dropping his hands on the table and sitting back into his chair, letting his head roll to one side.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, I’d rather not.” He repeated, lacing his fingers over the table. “I have given you my entire research, if it can even be called so. You were provided with a full audio recording of each and every one of my actions that night. To you, this might be a groundbreaking scientific discovery, to me it was just a drug-induced dream and dumb luck.”

“House.” Cuddy warned.

“I will help, to the extent of my abilities, to recreate the experiment, I promised to, after all. And it wouldn’t be polite of me to quit no matter how much I want to. But I have no intention to become the poster child of a medical invention I only came up with out of purely selfish needs. So, yes, I suppose Dr. House will be willing to illustrate his method, that he barely even remembers since he was suffering from a head injury and the evidence gathered would explain his thought process much better than he would but, does he want to be the face of your “Cure To Death” campaign? No. He’d rather not.”

Cuddy shot him a glare that could’ve set him on fire.

“You do realize charges and appeals have been dropped in your favor solely based on your promise to collaborate with this research?”

“I’m aware, yes. That’s why I agreed. I have no interest in spending most of my days locked in a room full of thirty-somethings from all around the globe. If I’d wanted to do that I would’ve joined Miss Universe. I have the legs for it. And the age range would’ve been way lower-”

“Dr. House, like it or not, you are the doctor who has conducted the experiment. It is your due diligence to represent your discovery.”

“It is my job, legally speaking, to help scientists recreate what I’ve done. It is not to publicly slap my name on it.” He turned to look at the row of people dressed in lab coats and wagged a finger at them. “They can compete for the title. Make them draw straws. Whoever wins gets the Nobel.”

“House.” Wilson spoke softly.

“I have done many things in my life for the sake of discovery, for the sake of finding a solution. This was not one of them. I was desperate and under drugs, acting against the societal moral code and my Hippocratic oath just to save someone I deemed unworthy of their fate. I didn’t do it to prove a point, I didn’t care if she’d come out of it a desecrated corpse, I just had to try.” He looked down at his hands on the table. “I’m not the face you want for this campaign. I don’t want to entertain ethical and philosophical discussions, or the media or, God forbid, religious leaders who will see their beliefs of the afterlife crumble in front of their very own eyes, no matter how much I’d personally enjoy that. I don’t even believe this is something that should be available for public consumption.”

“You don’t think the world is deserving of a cure to death?”

“What would be the criteria of application? Would every dying person be deemed fit to be brought back to life? If so, what about overpopulation? If nobody gets to die anymore, are we all just gonna stay around for as long as we selfishly want? Who gets to make the decision of whether or not going against life itself, the doctors or the family of the patient? What about suicide victims? Could their family be allowed to give them the rare gift of another round at the rodeo against their will? How would it impact palliative care and euthanasia? Will anyone be allowed to die on their own accord? Will it cure the body’s illnesses completely or will there be a risk of cancer patients having to live the rest of their second-life with the tumor that was supposed to end their first?”          

He glanced at Wilson, who held his eye contact and nodded just barely.

“Will this thing, however you decide to produce it, be behind a paywall or will it be public? Will any of the kids dying of starvation in other countries ever benefit from this discovery? Is anything going to change for them? Or will this be yet another medication reserved for balding men in polos and khaki shorts deciding to give the middle finger to their prostate cancer and live another hundred years on their expensive yachts with their barely of age wives on their arms?”

“So, to quote the greats, “Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether they could, they didn’t stop to think if they should”.”    

“This is something that shouldn’t exist. Something that has no reason to exist and it only came into the world because I felt like I owed one to my buddy.” He waved a hand in Wilson's general direction. “I will agree to help you, because I have to, but think about the consequences and don’t do it in my name.”

The older man's face lit up.

“So you agree to cede your rights to this discovery completely?”

“Yes.”

“No. We should discuss it with our lawyers first.” Cuddy interjected.

“I’m sure the Princeton-Plainsboro Hospital can make a claim over this if they want to. I’m telling you, throw a bouquet, see who grabs it, anyone can get a slice of cake.”

“House, you’re not thinking this through.” Cuddy whispered.

“I just want to go home to enjoy the fruits of my labor.” House threw a glance in Wilson’s direction and for a moment the oncologist smiled softly.


“We agree to consider your request, Dr. House. Remember you must be part of six more preclinical trials, further regulatory approval and two more meetings of this nature, with your lawyers present, the next time around.”

“Good times.” He drummed his fingers over the table. “Can I go now?”


The old man stood up and slowly walked towards him and held out his hand.

“We might not agree on our ethical views but I admire you as a scientist and a doctor. You should be rewarded, even if partially, it is our due diligence as members of the humanity you’ve helped to save.”

“Ugh.”  Cuddy elbowed him in the back. “My pleasure. Oh, and I will accept checks.”

As expected, the promise of keeping the reunions and agreements private had failed, word had gone out and a sea of journalists stood outside the glass doors of the hospital with cameras and microphones at the ready.
Wilson stopped his two roommates by the elevators as they executed their well-crafted plan of action that had become a routine. He pulled out the lanyard with his badge and two Hospital bracelets. He grabbed Amber’s wrist first and House’s second and wrapped them around carefully.

They proceeded outside the doors with caution.

“Do you have any news about the undead woman?”

Wilson held up his hand, shielding his face from the flash as he spoke off the usual script:
“These are patients of the Hospital who do not wish to be filmed. One of which has ambulatory issues and you’re in the way.”

He placed his other hand on the small of House’s back as he pulled him through the crowd, with Amber guiding them.

“Do you know the name of the Doctor who brought a corpse back to life?”

“No but the nurses say he’s very sexy!” House yelled back.

“Did you have to?” Wilson asked, once they got in the car.

“I tried my best.”

Wilson had been trying to maintain a sort of precarious balance between the two for a while now. Ever since House had discovered his relationship with Amber, he’d felt like every day he spent by her side was a day she’d luckily survived House’s jealousy. 

The diagnostician hadn’t exactly been easy to satisfy, with his demands and requirements to share Wilson, but they’d learned to adapt and he had eventually accepted Amber into his life.

Things had changed drastically the night she’d answered House’s call, but still he had shown just how much he cared for Amber, and mostly for Wilson’s wish to love her.

He’d brought her back to life, Wilson still couldn’t wrap his head around that. It felt stupid, insane, but somehow fitting with House’s overall image.

He certainly hadn’t stopped gloating about his God-like powers ever since his charges had been dropped. Those days had been a constant brag, Amber had to keep her thoughts to herself about House always being in the middle because she felt like she owed him, Wilson let him do absolutely anything without question because he felt guilty for having killed him and grateful for the fact House had saved her. The fact he hadn’t been kicked out yet had also been the cause of further gloating from House, who seemed to spend every moment of his new life at the Volakis-Wilson apartment, even though he was completely free to go back home.

They let him stay at first, all of them insecure and afraid of their fates as they went through the multiple interrogations and trials, they’d decided to stick together to have a cohesive story.

But after a month, now that he was legally allowed back to work and he still came back every night to their place, it started to feel oppressive. He was just always there.


Wilson was still trying to grasp Amber’s rather poor explanation that it wasn’t necrophilia if she was on top of him and doing most of the work, and the thought of House being right outside the door didn’t help in the slightest. It hadn’t been a rare occurrence to be interrupted by him while they were having sex, which was also happening a lot more. He wasn’t sure what the scientific justification for a sudden increase in libido after death was, but he wasn’t going to complain. Unless House started knocking on their door and asking where they had hidden their Fruit-Loops from him.

House was indeed trying his best to be a nuisance, loud and annoying and omnipresent. It wouldn’t have been House if he hadn’t tried to test the limits of Wilson’s guilt.

So he made himself at home, sleeping on the couch, sometimes even demanding to sit between them so he could “rest the bad leg on the coffee table”. Wilson would argue that he shouldn’t be putting his feet on the furniture, Amber would argue that his leg didn’t even hurt anymore, but still, he managed to win and get the middle seat, forcing the two lovers apart.

Who knew the afterlife would be so fun?

What felt unreal wasn’t the fact he’d made a revolutionary discovery in his field, or that he’d somehow managed to replicate it twice, but, egotistically, that he’d found a way to reverse physical injuries, mainly the one in his leg. He’d stripped down for his first shower after being murdered, and took a proper look at himself: the indent was still there, visible as ever, but when he ran his fingers over the hollow bundle of muscles, it didn’t hurt anymore.

He hadn’t exactly felt happiness in a while but, if he had to guess, he was probably feeling something akin to it.

He still hadn’t gotten used to the fact he didn’t need Vicodin anymore or that he had no reason to limp, he tried to strengthen his posture and walk without his cane but he found himself uncomfortable, even if able to use both his legs equally.

The lack of pain was great but off-putting. He had no desire to feel the pain he used to wake up with and had learned to suffer through, but the complete lack of strain was the most inhuman thing he’d felt, even more than the absence of his heartbeat.

So he kept his cane. After all, he still had to be seen at work with it, or it would’ve raised even more questions than the usual “So you were investigated for the displacement of a corpse?”.

The limping stayed with him, as it had after his ketamine treatment. Wilson often tried to help him, mostly by gently patting his back or his hip whenever he’d get too slouchy at home.

Wilson had been very worried at first, always afraid he'd dreamt it all or hallucinated everything that had happened after her dialysis. He was careful and cautious, treating them both as fine china, looking after them and making sure they wouldn’t go anywhere, now that he had them both back. He felt greedy, in a way.

Amber was getting restless by not having received her medical license back yet, because she was, technically, legally dead. But it was a weird limbo of sorts, she kept in touch with her family, to make sure they wouldn’t hear the rumors about the young woman that had died and gone missing in the Hospital she worked at, but she still couldn’t live a normal life, with Wilson constantly on her neck about having to wait until they would’ve “figured out things”, and House always around.

That’s when it started. When the sense of gratefulness finally washed away and left room for the intense rage she’d felt since the moment he’d called from that pub to the moment they started experimenting on her to find a reasoning to House’s nonsensical discovery.

At first, it was the screaming. Wilson had walked in to find House sprawled on their couch and being subjected by loud, harsh, uninterrupted yelling from Amber.

House didn’t look that impressed, in fact he was barely even acknowledging her concerns.

The next day, House yelled back. And, God, he truly didn’t hold back in arguments.

Wilson had been scared of going home ever since, fearing he would find them dead by each other’s hands. 

He didn’t have to wait long or to even go to work, because he was sitting at the kitchen counter and consuming his breakfast calmly when she stabbed House for the first time.

He’d frozen with terror, his spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth, dripping milk as he stared, mouth agape at the rather traumatic scene before him.

Of course, she had her motives, he knew that, deep down. Most people had a motive to stab House, it was common sense, after all.

But still, he found himself immediately looking after him and gently scolding Amber as he guided a very positively impressed - and perhaps even a little turned on - House to the nearest stool and gave him a very useless first aid.

They kept arguing, ‘though on softer tones, as Wilson pulled out the steak knife from his stomach, as if it was nothing and, for a moment, Wilson found himself asking if that could be the solution to their arguments. House wasn't in any pain and it almost seemed beneficial to both of them. She’d finally let out her anger and gotten him back for her death. Everything was solved.

That’s because he believed House could be the bigger person even just once. He couldn’t. Which is why he hit her with a rolling pin the very next day, her head spinning a good 180 degrees with a loud cracking noise. It took Wilson all his strength and medical experience not to faint on the spot, and over 25 minutes to crack her head back in place.

Peace had passed. It had been a mere illusion. 

Wilson honestly felt disappointed, he was enjoying having both of his favorite people around him at all times. It was a lot, and no sane person should ever find themselves in this situation, but he was happy. He loved coming back home to find House on his couch, and he loved being welcomed by Amber with all her affection.

No matter how evil, unbearable, egotistical, self-centered and insane as they might have been, Wilson truly loved them. He’d sigh happily at the sight of them arguing over who would get to have Wilson Time, he’d loved being tossed back and forth like a puppet months earlier when they were still trying to negotiate his custody, and he still enjoyed it now. Just a doll in their hands, a fool at their service.

Was it demeaning at times? Yes, probably. But did it give him a thrill to be needed and wanted this much by two people at once? Maybe.

He was in bed with her, caressing the soft, pale skin of her hip when he first got the idea. The scar on her thigh hadn’t healed, only slightly filled back in, but the skin above it, all around, had gotten much softer, smoother, similar to mannequin plastic.

“Clay.” He’d murmured, loud enough for her to lift her head from his chest and look at him with furrowed brows. “I took a Kintsugi class with Cuddy once.”

“Sure. Riveting discoveries, at… 10:47 at night.” She complained, craning her neck to look at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

“I learned how to fix broken things.” He explained, running his fingertips over the rim of her scar. She flinched, not from the sensation but from the shame of having him feel that part of her that she was still coming to terms with. In some way, she further reminded him of House. They both carried scars on their right leg now, and they were equally ashamed of being seen with them, even by someone who loved them dearly.

“I’m not a broken thing.”

“No, but it’s not fair to let you live like this. Some of these scars would’ve healed by now, if only they would’ve had the chance. So, perhaps, we should take the matter into our own hands. Or, mine, if you’ll trust me.”

“Clay, of all things?” She asked with a groan, moving slightly off of him.

“Honey, you’re dead. Your skin won’t regenerate, normal procedures wouldn’t work on it. We have to be creative.”

“Why can’t you be creative with House?”

“I know you don’t like seeing your face scraped like that, I was simply offering to help.” He murmured, caressing her cheek tenderly. “You’re still just as beautiful to me.”

“Oh, cut the crap.” She rolled her eyes but if she had any circulation she probably would have blushed.  “Try it on him first. If it works, then you’ll do it to me.”

“Using our roommate as a guinea pig? That’s not very nice of you, Amber.”

“God, don’t call him that. I still pray he's going to leave at some point.”

“Just make peace with it. He’s not going anywhere.”

So Wilson pitched the idea to House, offering to cover up his skull fracture and the two scars on his forehead, using clay and mannequin spray paint. House looked at him like he’d gone insane.

“Did you run out of hobbies?”

“I promised I would fix you, so here I am! Offering to fix you.”

“Yeah, no, I’ll pass.”

“House, come on. People at the Hospital will start questioning why your scars haven’t healed yet. And you’ll stop having those two holes in your head that make you look like you escaped a college rendition of Frankenstein.”

“Are you sure spray paint is safe?”

“Why do you care? You’re dead. You’re not gonna die of poisoning.”

“Okay, fair point.”

It was a tedious process, one the ever so impatient House found difficult to sit through, but they’d decided to do it on the weekend so he wouldn’t have a reason to run off from the “operating table” (the dining room table that he’d moved to the study).

He asked House to lay down on the plastic-covered table, pointed a desk light at his head and started fumbling around with various tools until he got the hang of it. He rolled around in his swivel chair, kitchen apron, protective gloves, mask and goggles and an old lab coat that made him look like a very unsuccessful mad scientist. House laughed at him multiple times but Wilson simply scolded him to lie still and focused on his work.

He put his pottery class skills and his fettling knives to good use, as he sculpted the polymer clay into the side of House’s skull. He had put some jazz music on to calm them both down and it seemed to be working, with House almost asleep on the table, and letting Wilson work with little to no complaints.

He’d been working non-stop for the last half an hour, when he noticed he’d kept his hand gently pressed over the side of House’s neck, for so long that his thumb had started caressing the skin, almost lovingly. House was clearly appreciating the gesture, nuzzling against his palm when he abruptly stopped. Wilson smiled softly and leaned back down to inspect the covered up impact zone.

He was softly grazing the clay with the triangular-headed wooden tool to create small indents, similar to a hair pattern to camouflage the spot as best as he could, while the pad of his thumb rubbed the skin of his neck soothingly.

He only lifted his hand to tuck the hair behind House’s ear to better inspect his job. He made sure to blend the clay in with his finger, dipped in water and ran ever so carefully over the edges of the injury. House hummed softly at the feeling of the cold liquid on his scalp, but stayed quiet.

It was nice to watch him let his guard down like this, so vulnerable and malleable for Wilson to take care of him, like he’d always craved to.

It was almost sweet in its absurdity.

He asked House to roll onto his back and face up as he started filling in the drill-holes on his forehead. This time, House didn’t keep his eyes closed, and instead let them stay fixed on Wilson’s face the whole time.

The oncologist felt a bit under the spotlight as he placed a small clump of clay over one scar. 

House watched him, upside-down, not judging, simply observing.

He was cradling his face with one hand to keep him still, his palm protectively covering the newly fixed side of his skull, his thumb slightly pressed to his temple and his warm fingers reaching House’s stubbled jaw, to keep him still, he told himself.

House didn’t seem to mind, in fact he even looked keen to be caressed or touched at times, like a wounded dog.

Wilson gladly complied, still keeping it within the bounds of “normal”, if anything they were doing could be considered in the norm in the first place.

When House sat up and grabbed the mirror to look at the results, a gentle grin appeared on his face.

“Those pottery classes really paid off, uh?”

Wilson felt his stomach knot with pride as a warm smile spread across his lips and he basked into the satisfaction of having caused House to smile back at him. The traces of Wilson’s wrongs had been covered, and he realized that grin was a gesture of pure forgiveness from House.

The next day was, as planned, painting day.

It had taken him several swatches, but he’d narrowed it down to a few good candidates.

Amber had seen the skillful work on House and how seamlessly it had dried and immediately offered her own arm to be swatched.

The two seemed to finally be on good terms, when they both asked Wilson to buy them cigarettes. They couldn’t eat anymore so they’d started on the few other vices they could let themselves have. They asked for the same brand and type, they seemed to only ever get along when they had to boss Wilson around.

He embarked on his mission to find the right paints and came back with hundreds of dollars worth of hardware purchases and their cigarettes.

He found out that House's skin was an Apricot 470, while Amber’s was Peach 473, sold side by side, but he tried not to think about it too much. Amber’s had a warmer undertone, gentler, younger. 

House's eyes were Sky Blue 2707, Amber's 2717.

There was a difference! A subtle one, but a difference nonetheless. Great, now he felt even more guilty about comparing them that one time when he was in bed with her.

Amber's hair was ash blonde with warm undertones, House’s was taupe with bits of gray and white that took him a while to master precisely.

He decided he was spending way too much time staring at either of them.

The smell of turpentine invaded their apartment but they rapidly grew accustomed to it. It had become a coven of weird routines but it was becoming somehow stable. The only issue, as always, was the lack of space.

Which was why, a few days after Amber had received permission to go back to work at Princeton General, House told the couple he’d take them somewhere special. That was a promise worrying enough on itself, but the fact he insisted to drive Wilson’s Volvo only made it worse. 

He parked it outside 89x Brook Street. The name seemed familiar to the oncologist, who couldn’t quite place it.

House led them upstairs, apparently he had the keys to do so, and opened the door to a large, luminous and empty condo.

“Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a study and three garage spots. The handicapped one was free.” House started, letting the couple look around. “Like it?”

“Yeah.” Amber replied softly, honestly amused.

“I hope you don’t mind that I placed an offer on this, then. In your name, of course.” He told Wilson with a smile.

“What?”

“This place is huge. It must cost a fortune.” Amber chimed in, her eyes still caught by the marble floor.

“I got just barely above the offer he made two months ago.”

“You made an offer?” She beamed. “You wanted to get us a bigger place?”

“Yep. And he’s getting it, for all of us.”

“That’s absolutely the opposite of what I wished would happen, but if it gets me a condo…”

“How did you know about this?” Wilson asked, still confused.

“I read your emails. And track your phone calls. It wasn’t hard to find. And they accepted right away.”

“How much?”

“Twenty grand more than you offered.”

“Twenty- House!”

“You can afford that. Now, my stuff should arrive in about two hours, along with my Yamaha and my vinyls.”

“Wait, why are you moving in?” House rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to play along with Wilson’s pretend shock.

“I thought we were best buddies!”

“This place was meant for just the two of us.” He argued unconvincingly.

“And leave Cutthroat Bitch out? Now that’s rude!”

“And leave you out.” The oncologist corrected, a hint of guilt in his voice.

“You have two dead doctors you’re supposed to take care of. While I appreciate the upkeep, her apartment is, first off, ugly. Second, too small for the three of us. So… big, expensive condo it is! We’ll have a room dedicated to corpse maintenance, and I’ll keep my apartment so I can leave whenever you two lovebirds feel like bumping uglies. Unless you want an audience, then I’ll gladly stay-”

“What if… the neighbors see us?”

“What? Three adults can’t share a house? Would that hurt your fragile masculinity? Your sense of pride?”

“No, I just… it’s weird. They might think we’re… up to weird stuff.”

“But we are up to weird stuff.” Amber said softly, running a hand over the wooden kitchen top mindlessly.

“Yes, but in the illegal sense, not the… sexual sense.”

“We can fix that, if that’s your issue-”

“That’s not what I meant.” Wilson cut him off.   

“You’d rather have them know you’re playing dress-up with two legally dead dolls? Varnishing and talking to us and even engaging in, oh my! Intercourse, with one of us. Perhaps two, if you’d bother to spoil me a little. Would you let them think that?” House started, stepping closer, until he got right into his personal space. “Because I can easily frame you for murder. And nobody can play dead like me, Jimmy.”

House murmured, handing Wilson his cane to adjust his tie with a small smirk. Wilson stood speechless. House patted his chest twice and walked away, flailing an arm in the direction of the wooden island behind him.

“Plus, the kitchen has just recently been renovated, there’s a jacuzzi in one of the bathrooms and we’re only ten minutes away from Princeton General.”

“We’re taking it.” Amber exclaimed.

“We can’t!” Wilson whined.

“Why not?”

“Three of us!” He whispered, as if anyone could’ve heard their shameful secrets.

“Oh, come on. You’re really that scared they might think we’re all having sex?” Amber started.

“Right! There’s nothing to worry about!” House added. “I already told them we’re an open throuple!”

Wilson sighed and House took his cane back and used it to nudge his shins.

“I can either act alive and happy to be here with my two adult besties, or let them find me with my neck turned 180 degrees and make them think you’re reenacting Weekend at Berney's with an erotic twist. Your pick, really.”

“We’re taking it.” He gave up with a sigh.

It took a long week to move in all of their belongings, some of House’s instruments included - they had to negotiate which would look good with the decor and which wouldn’t - they’d set up their rooms and House had insisted Wilson would furnish it alongside Amber and make some decisions of his own. Incapable of doing so and secretly hiring multiple personal interior designers behind their backs and getting caught every time, he settled on buying House an Hammond organ. That had satisfied the diagnostician enough to shut him up but it had bothered his girlfriend, who was starting to feel a bit apprehensive about House’s omnipresence in their lives.

She’d asked him to fix her calves one Sunday, the varnish had rubbed off with one of her pencil skirts and she asked for some well-rounded maintenance.
They’d spent the entire morning in the study, talking and giggling to themselves, finally alone for what felt like the first time in years. 

Of course, the moment Wilson left the room to go grab some more supplies, he was startled by House, standing in the hallway, and having clearly eavesdropped the whole time.

He followed Wilson into the deposit, tagging along and trying to catch up to the seemingly very nervous doctor.  

“So, this is what works on you.” House said, the moment he finally cornered him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Is it a doctor-patient kink or do you find the smell of varnish to be particularly arousing?” House started, eyeing him up and down with a wolfish grin.

“I don't get a kick out of this. I'm just doing my job.” He shrugged, holding up the various varnish cans to read the labels.

“You know, you should conceal your boner before trying to use that argument.”

Wilson stopped in his tracks to glance down. He cleared his throat and wrapped his lab coat around himself and went back to skim the skin color selection.

“Oh, so I get a little excited to see my girlfriend naked. Sue me.”

“You have the same expression when you varnish me.” 

This effectively made Wilson turn around again, sporting an impressive tent House was unable to look away from.

“No, I don't.”

“You do. You find it hot to take care of us.”

“Of her.”

“Of us both.” House leaned in and whispered: “Your little projects.”

The oncologist stuttered and swallowed nervously, busying himself with his research in the closet. How fitting.

“House, I… I don't see you like that.”

“I'm not saying you do.”

“You're implying it.”

“Yeah.”

It was clear the conversation had seeped into Wilson’s mind, placing its roots in there, enough for him to purposefully cancel House’s usual maintenance, arguing that he was too busy with a patient to tend to his best friend.

The guilt, however, had eaten him alive, especially when, at dinner, he’d spotted the edges of the clay starting to peek through on Greg’s forehead.

“Painting tomorrow?”

House had beamed from across the table.


The next day House found himself completely stripped and lying face down on the plastic-covered table.

Wilson had given his words some thought, he’d mulled over them, trying to find a deeper meaning to his feelings that still circled around strictly platonic. He’d failed to do so. House had always been his something else , both spiritually and factually. He’d been the exception: the only person he’d let in so deep, the only person who really understood him, the only one who knew all his flaws and appreciated them as they were instead of justifying them, the only man Wilson let himself feel something for.

Something unlabeled but certainly unlike his usual friendships. Not that they had been particularly touchy in the past, physical contact had rarely been their guilty pleasure, it was unfamiliar, it barely even happened. No, it was the banter, the incessant flirting, the toying around the subject without ever breaching the heavy boundaries. The silent agreement that they just couldn’t be anything more and that they couldn’t even consider it for a moment.

Wilson, however, had thought about it from time to time. He wasn’t blind, he was aware of House’s looks and he was more than conscious of the fact he felt a physical attraction towards him. Now House had thrown him a bone, a real one, not a squeaky toy one, a real real bone. He’d breached the limit. He’d started the dreaded conversation. 

It was a matter of time before Wilson would inevitably cave in. 

“Okay, turn around so we can do the face and you’ll be good to go.” 

He said, trying to keep his voice steady. He’d ditched the lab coat for the kitchen apron just to cover his crotch this time.

Wilson turned to give him some privacy and waited for House to grab the towel set beside him and wrap it around his hips as per usual. He figured the diagnostician would’ve been ready and into his robe by the time he turned around again, but instead he was still standing by the table and just holding the towel in front of his crotch. Wilson sat in his chair with wide eyes, watching with confusion as the doctor took his time.

House kept his eyes on him as he reached for the robe with one hand, while trying to maintain the towel in its place, his crotch conveniently at eye-level with Wilson. Then, of course, as he should’ve expected, the towel was “accidentally” dropped, leaving him standing naked for long seconds, before he decided to bend down and grab it again, then dropping it a second - purposeful - time to get into his robe.

“Oopsie.”

Wilson felt a deep shame the moment he realized he could feel the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk as he stared at his naked best friend wide-eyed and looking too interested and caring for his own good.

He’d proven House’s theory but that didn’t mean it would be enough for him to stop testing.

The diagnostician decided to further investigate by sitting next to Wilson on the couch as the couple watched the TV in comfortable silence. Amber was dozing off against his side, with Wilson running his fingers through her hair lovingly.

House let his arm find its place on the back of the couch, careful to keep his hand from touching Amber’s golden locks.

Wilson threw him a questioning glance, house shrugged and sipped his beer.
The older man’s fingers mirrored his own, as they started sinking into Wilson’s hair and threading through it with nothing but kindness. Wilson turned to look at House, who was adamant on keeping his eyes fixed on the TV to avoid any sort of conversation

Wilson’s face was for a moment visibly engaged in deep pondering, before he glanced back at House and simply let himself lean back into the couch and rest his head back on House’s shoulder.

Wilson soon joined Amber and started snoring softly, enough for House to feel irritated by the combinated attack of the deviated-septum-challenged couple.
He stood up, grabbed his cane out of habit more than out of necessity and made sure to snatch their blanket before going to bed.

The next day he woke up to find a suspicious Wilson fixing him a plate of his macadamia nut pancakes. Amber didn’t care for them at all, so there was a single, clear subject of his attention.

The simple gesture garnered House’s expected escalation so the diagnostician left his new case that afternoon just to let himself into Wilson’s office.

He luckily found the oncologist standing by his desk, ready to walk out the door for his rounds and hooked his cane on the coat hanger before taking confident strides across the office and pinning Wilson’s hips against the desk

“Ask me to go.” He whispered in Wilson’s face. The stuttering doctor looked up at him with wide eyes and the usual warm, longing expression.

“Go…?”         

“Ask me to leave this office immediately.”

“You just got here.” He argued softly, voice thick with confusion.

“I know I just got here, but it just took me a glimpse and I was back where I started.”

“Where you started, what?”

House lifted a hand to stroke Wilson’s cheek.

“Don't pretend you're not aware of it.”

“Of what?”

“You're a powerful sexual being, Wilson.”

“I am?” His voice went up a pitch.

“Yes, you are. If I never told you before, it's because I thought you just couldn’t stand to hear me say the word… “sexual” without getting all scared and closet-case about it.” He cocked his head to the side and watched him as he spoke in his ear. “But I think I can now.”

“Sexual.”

Wilson squirmed.

“Sensual.”

“Sexy.”

Wilson swallowed.

“Sex.”

“Sex.”

“Gay sex , even.”

Wilson moved back, holding up his hands with furrowed brows.

“House, what the hell are you doing?”

“Flirting, I guess.”

“You guess?!”

House groaned and stepped back.
“I thought you’d be way easier.”

“Why would you want to flirt with me?”

“God, you’re slow.” House threw his hand up and gave the oncologist more space, leaning on his cane. “She’s not around.”

“Who? Cuddy?”

“Cudd- No, Amber!” He squealed.

“Oh.” Wilson blinked, then his eyes widened. “Oh!”

“Yeah, “oh”. You can be such a bumbling idiot sometimes.” House sighed and watched his best friend with a devouring gaze. “But at least you make it look hot.”

Wilson waved a hand between them, stuttering.

“You... you want to…”

“Bump uglies with you in all sorts of ways? Yes.”

His hand stopped mid air as he reflected.
“That’s… a very crude way to describe it but-”

House looked away, tapped his cane a couple of times, his tone suddenly much more genuine.

“I’ve wanted a piece of you since New Orleans ‘91.”

Wilson offered him a sad smile, feeling something tug at the strings of his heart, like the realization had just dawned on him.
“Why didn’t you take it, then?”

House shrugged and spoke one last time before heading out the office:

“I don’t know. Maybe you taste sweeter when you belong to someone else.”

Chapter Text

Wilson was unsure what the next step should’ve been. On one hand he truly had no intention of cheating on Amber, the love of his life, the woman who had made him believe he could have a successful relationship for the first time in his miserable life, the woman he’d grieved for hours, feeling like he might just die from the loss alone, the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with; on the other, it was House.

Not that it should’ve mattered. He loved her, he really did. He had never been so enamored of a woman, she understood him like none of his previous lovers. 

She had seen through the cracks, all his flaws, all his cruelty, and she’d loved him anyway. 

She was brilliant, intriguing, she was the furthest thing from an open book, she was difficult and always surprising, which only lured him in even more. They respected each other, they were equals in every single way. Even when they argued, their love never faltered. He knew that, in case things would’ve ended, they would have remained friends, they would have been there for each other always. But he didn’t want to end things. He wanted her.

Yet now he found himself yearning to break that trust out of purely selfish reasons.

He loved Amber more than anyone in the world. Except for House.

He didn’t exactly love him more, just differently. House was, like it or not, his soulmate. There was no changing that. He had tried, plenty of times, he had tried separating himself from him, cutting that sick tether that kept them connected.

He didn’t want House to win the battle, there shouldn’t have been a battle to begin with.

He had promised to love her, he wanted to.

Yet they found themselves standing in the living room of their condo, alone, Amber busy on a long shift at the hospital. They were unsure what to do, they knew what was coming but it was too big, too important of a shift to just take the first step.

So they started with a movie. That part was easy, sitting on the couch side by side, House mostly watching Wilson eat a pizza because food tasted bland nowadays. They watched the movie, or at least pretended to.

It was only during commercials that House spoke for the first time that evening.

“I’m not wearing any underwear.”

Wilson blinked, his eyes fixed on the screen, trying not to smile.

“I don’t think that’s hygienic.”

Then House placed his cold hand on Wilson’s nape, toying with neatly trimmed hair at the base of his skull.

“Tell me to stop.” He whispered.

“I probably should.” But he didn’t. Instead he let House run his fingers through his hair.

He leaned in and pressed a tentative, gentle kiss to Wilson’s shoulder under his attentive scrutiny.

“Say the word and we’ll pretend like this never happened.”

“House.”

“Wrong word.”

He caressed the side of his face tenderly, keeping the other hand on the back of his neck. He’d never been that gentle with him, it was intoxicating.
James leaned against his touch, keeping his eyes down.

“Wilson. Don’t be a coward. Speak.”

House tilted his chin and guided it back towards him, the younger man stared at him with brown, lustful eyes. He seemed desperate, on the verge of tears too, maybe.

“She'll be home in an hour.” He said softly, his gaze falling on House’s lips.

“We might want to get started, then.”

House leaned in to kiss his jaw, Wilson’s hand moved to cradle his neck.

“What are we doing?”

“I dunno. Pie eating contest.”

The diagnostician traced gentle pecks down his neck, nuzzling his nose against his carotid.

“Are you sure?” Wilson breathed.

“Aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes.” He nodded, pulling House’s face back in front of him.

“Good.”

“Good…”

Wilson kissed him briefly, then pulled back to look into eerily clear eyes.

A smirk tugged at the corners of the older man’s mouth.

“Took you long enough.”

He leaned back in, kissing him fiercely. And in that moment, Wilson lost his composure completely, looking famished as he pushed himself up and straddled House with the only objective of ruining him.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” Wilson whispered, chasing his best friend’s lips in desperate kisses. He framed his face and pulled him impossibly close, his fingers moving back to sink into House’s hair and tug.

All his carefully crafted self-control, lost in a matter of seconds, the moment House had kissed him. He could’ve pushed him against the couch and taken him right then and there. He ached with the tension they’d been building up for decades, he craved to touch, to feel, to earn everything he’d been abstaining from. He wanted House to show him just how much he’d wanted him in New Orleans, then triple it, multiply it by all the nights they’d spent side by side on a couch when they wished to be doing something else.

He wanted to feel the worth of the betrayal, he wanted to give his actions a reason. And, undeniably, House was giving him one, just by how gently he was kissing him. He made sure Wilson felt loved, cared for, like he’d never been able to express through words.

They rolled to the ground, House making sure he’d be the one hitting the floor first.

“Are you okay?” The ever so caring oncologist worried.

“Not a scratch.” He smiled up at him with low-lidded eyes. “You can do anything you want to me.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

They kissed, on the cold floor, Wilson astride him, pinning him against it in all sorts of ways.

“I want you to fuck me in her bed.” House whispered, panting between kisses.

Wilson pressed their foreheads together, a small smile curling his lips to the side timidly.

“God, she’ll be furious.”

“Yeah, she’ll be.”

“Okay.” He nodded, sitting back and pulling House with him. He kissed him some more, sitting over House’s knees, before pulling himself up and tugging House along.

They stumbled backwards down the hallway, with the older doctor pinning him momentarily against the kitchen wall and excusing himself as he pulled away.

“Just a second, honeybuns. I need to get some special aid first.”

He watched as House grabbed a knife from the drawer.

“What… kind of foreplay do you have in mind?” He asked with a nervous, breathy chuckle.

Without an answer, House stuck the knife into the light socket and electrocuted himself for a moment.

“House!”

The diagnostician shook with ecstasy, a sick, bright smile on his lips, as the lights flickered back on.

“I found out a little electroconvulsive therapy helps, on occasions like these.” He set the knife on the wooden counter then gestured at his crotch with a smirk. “Stiff as a board.”

Wilson blinked, definitely impressed with the results.

“Wow.” He swallowed. “I… I don't know whether to be scared or turned on.”

They had planned to get out of bed right after the deed was done but the task seemed much more difficult than it sounded. Wilson spent even longer just simply kissing House’s chest and neck in the haze of the afterglow. He never wanted to part from him, he was lingering, holding onto him and cherishing their first embrace in decades of friendship. House let him, he kept his best friend draped over himself and held him in place, a sardonic smirk on his lips as the oncologist pressed lazy kisses to his cold, mannequin-like skin. 

They meant to leave the bed before she’d be back, Wilson had muttered it against his neck many times, yet neither of them made a move to. Then Wilson fell asleep, House closed his eyes.

The next moment they opened again, he could feel water on his face and the paint trickling down with it. 

He blinked as the oncologist rapidly sat up, taking in the sight of his girlfriend and the empty glass she was holding.

House smirked at how utterly furious she looked, which pissed her off even more.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She started, not screaming, but almost. Her voice was strained, she looked tired but, mostly, she seemed defeated.

“Amber, I’m sorry-”

“Oh, you better be.” She threw her purse in the chair and shed her coat as Wilson sat up in bed, pulling himself away from House, who didn’t move an inch, if not to pull the sheet up to cover his thigh, and maybe his genitals too, but that was more of an afterthought.

“I'm not mad that you slept with someone else! I'm not even mad you slept with a man! I'm mad because you slept with House!” She yelled, flailing an arm in his direction. “Of all the people you could've picked!”

“Hey, I'm not that ugly!”

“You have hordes of men and women that would kill to have a chance with you and you settle for… this thing.”

“He seemed to like my thing just fine.”

“Hey, Amber, come on. I understand if you're jealous-” Wilson started.

“You understand?!”

“I know you're mad-”

“Mad is underplaying it!”

Wilson folded his hands in his lap, not able to look up at her.

“Look, we've… we've had this weird tension since we met. I think we've always been curious about each other.”

“Oh, well, that justifies it, then!”

“It doesn’t, I know. I'm sorry, truly. I'm sorry it happened but I… I don't regret it.” Even House was shocked by his confession. “I've liked him for a long, long time.”

She paused, standing before the bed.

“Longer than you've liked me.”

“I'm sorry.” Wilson jumped out of bed, still naked, his hands up as he slowly approached her. “I'm not breaking up with you!”

“Oh, I know you're not. And, put something on, I’m not arguing with you while your ass is out.” She reprimanded and House nodded along.    

“Yeah, it’s very distracting.”

“It’s not playing fair.” She murmured, agreeing with House.   

“Sorry.” The oncologist murmured, scrambling to find his underwear from the floor.

“Be quick and stop giving me a show!” She yelled when he was on all fours on the carpet, trying to grab his briefs from under the chair.

“I wasn’t!”

“You make it look sexy.” House said with a smirk, his eyes fixed on the younger man hopping into his underwear.

“You, shut up.” She started, pointing her finger at House before turning back to the oncologist, now standing with his hands folded over his clothed crotch.  “So, you want to keep us both, is that what it is?”

He opened his mouth, wondered for a moment then nodded timidly.

“Preferably… yeah.”

“Of course. You're greedy like that.”

“I'm not… greedy.”

“Yes, you are.” House chimed in again.

“I said, shut up.” She reminded him then turned back to Wilson with a sigh. “Is he even a good lay? I doubt he's selfless enough to give you a good time. You probably had to put in all the work.”

“I was able to get him at full-mast after three beers.” House interjected once again.

“House.” Wilson sighed, holding his hands up. “It's not like that-”

“You said you can't get it up when you're drunk!”

“And it's true! I didn't lie-”

“He just hadn't had sex with me yet.” House interrupted him.

She stormed out the room and Wilson followed behind after shooting him a glare.

“Honey? Honey.”

House groaned and pulled himself out of bed with the intent to witness the spectacle.

He smiled to himself as he wore Amber’s emerald green silk robe, tied it around his waist with some struggle and limped towards the yelling. He watched the couple argue with glee and stepped behind her to grab the unfinished beer he’d left on the counter.

That was when she noticed him.

“What the hell are you wearing?” She huffed a mirthless laugh.

Wilson rolled his eyes and threw a glare at House, who only smiled back at him.

“I think it makes my eyes pop, doesn’t it?”

It happened in less than a second, she had grabbed a pan from the stove and hit House in the face, his neck cracking with a loud noise as his head spun around and he dropped onto the floor.

“Amber!”

“Don’t you yell at me!” She screamed, pointing the pan at Wilson.

“We could’ve just talked it out!” He held his hands up.

“Could we?” She scoffed.

“I just fixed his head last week! Do you want people to stare?!” He squealed, kneeling down to check on his friend. He was still dead. It would take a minute for him to come up.

“You seem to like his head just fine!”

“Amber, honey, come on!”

He stood back up and followed her around the counter.

“Look, we’ve discussed this. I was on board with the concept of being open. You weren’t. And now of all the men you could’ve slept with, you pick this absolute dickhead?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line then looked up into her clear eyes.

“It’s House…”

“Yes, it’s always House! That’s the issue!”

“I’m sorry. For not telling you about my… thoughts about him.”

“Like you had to!” He furrowed his brows. “We could all tell! This isn’t news to anyone!”

He stuttered.
“To me it is.”

“Well, you’re proving to not be as bright as I thought you were.”

Wilson grabbed her hand.

“Honey…” He stepped closer. “I love you. That isn’t going to change.”

She smiled softly at him, then reached for the knife House had left on the counter.

“Great. Then I’m sure you won’t mind if I mutilate him.”

“Amber! No- Amber!”

It took five days for her to even want to sit down and speak to him. In the meanwhile Wilson had kept his distance from House, at least in the condo. He still reached out to him at work, wanting to maintain the precarious tether they had discovered. He grabbed House’s hand for a few seconds in his office, he let himself sit closer to him in the cafeteria, House smiled at him more, played footsie with him under the table.

He returned home every night trying to make up with Amber, he bought her flowers, chocolates, did her laundry and ironed her clothes. He bought more varnish and offered to give her a full paint job, mani-pedi included.

When even that didn’t work, House took initiative and left the condo for a whole night, retreating to his old apartment to leave them alone.

That seemed to please her enough to at least be open to have a calm conversation.

They settled on open, like she’d proposed months earlier. She seemed happy about the prospect but not exactly about the motives of the shift in their relationship.

He held her hands and reassured her that whatever he felt for House wasn’t comparable to what he felt for her. That was true, but not for the reasons he listed. He was aware of his feelings, he knew just how heavy they were, she couldn’t have competed with the massive baggage that was his and House’s friendship. 

But then she smiled softly at him and his heart melted again, she told him she loved him and he framed her face and tucked her blonde hair behind her ear, peppering kisses over her cheeks, eyelids and the freckle on the side of her nose. She pushed him away playfully, before redirecting him towards her lips.

They ended up in bed, Wilson was completely spent after, lying limply on his side of the bed as she ran her fingers through the sparse hair on his chest.
She asked him what sex with House felt like, he was timid at first but she prodded him to go into further detail. She gasped and smiled mischievously at learning that House had insisted on receiving. That information alone seemed to make her much more excited about the hookup. She confessed that it would’ve been hot if it had been the other way and he admitted that it was something he was willing to explore in the future.
She sat up and pointed a finger at his chest, demanding he wouldn’t try it for the first time with anyone but her. That was when he found out about the collection of sex toys she still hadn’t used on him.

After a very riveting night getting acquainted with her strap-on rather intimately he blissfully sat on the kitchen stool, with some struggle, and ate the breakfast he’d so tenderly prepared for her. No macadamia nut pancakes, no overly romantic gestures, just a simple breakfast, a way to show her he still cared to keep things as they used to be.

House came in to work to find a note on his desk instructing him to go to Wilson’s office. The moment he closed the door behind him, Wilson had him pinned against the wall and kissing him passionately.

He was panting, still trying to catch his breath when Wilson leaned in and pecked his lips again, softly. 

They smiled at each other understandingly. Then they sat in their usual cafeteria booth and had lunch together like nothing had changed.

The first night they all spent together at their condo was arranged by Wilson. He ordered their favorite foods so they wouldn’t complain, even went as far as setting up a USB with their favorite music so they would feel more at ease. One song each, alternated, to be sure. Still, his best friend and his girlfriend approached each other like rival cats, needing to sniff one other first, search the room for exits and pull out their claws just in case they would need them.

Things seemed to stay somewhat civil until House hooked his cane around a leg of Wilson’s stool and forcibly dragged it closer. He framed his face and kissed him. The situation hadn’t prompted it, he didn’t even look particularly hot, but House licked into his mouth as if he was trying to prove a point. He only pulled away when he decided he was satisfied enough.

“You have some soy sauce on your chin, babe.” House said, grabbing his napkin and wiping at the spot with a suspicious kindness. He shot Amber a challenging look and smiled fondly at James who was still frozen and wide-eyed and blushing.

Amber smiled bitterly from the other side of the island and stood up, circling around it to grab the collar of Wilson’s shirt and physically pull him to turn on his stool and face her. She was taller than him like this, so she had to lean down to kiss him passionately.

He moaned into her mouth, feeling House’s eyes boring into his nape.

“You had some on your lips as well.” She said, shooting House a glare over Wilson’s shoulder.

She started unbuttoning his shirt and he watched, speechless, until House stood as well and pulled his chin towards him and kissed him.

She was busy marking his neck and undoing his last buttons as the diagnostician shoved his tongue into his mouth and tenderly tucked his hair behind his ear, stroking the side of his face.

James was almost melting against the counter, barely still sitting on the stool, overwhelmed by the doubled sensation, when she got started on his belt and House slapped her hands away and tugged at his pants instead. She pushed his arm to the side and hooked her fingers in his belt loops and stepped between his legs. House shoved her shoulder childishly and she squealed loudly and just as immaturely.

Wilson pulled back from both of them, holding up his hands.

“No! No, we’re not doing this! Either you two learn to not be as insanely competitive as you are and accept half of my attention as it should be, or I’m not doing anything with anybody!”

The two tall, undead doctors looked at him for a moment then laughed, even sharing an incredulous look.

“Yeah, right, as if you could ever keep it in your pants.” House started, returning to his stool.

She glanced at House and scoffed.

“There’s no way you’ll be able to keep your hands to yourself for longer than a day.”

That felt like a challenge, and he should’ve accepted it, but part of him knew he would’ve failed it.

“Schedules!” He yelled, suddenly. The two looked at him questioningly, and she turned to House. “Like we used to. You get every other day and every other weekend and she gets the rest.”

“You’re not serious, right?” She started.

“I can’t schedule my orgasms.” He agreed. They seemed to go along whenever they teamed up against him.

“You’ll learn to, if you want to… share me.”

House narrowed his eyes at him, then turned to Amber.

“Your schedule fits best with even days. I take the odd days.”

“I want Wednesdays as well.”

“Then I take Sundays.”

She pondered for a moment, then sighed and held out her hand.

“Deal.”

“Deal.” He repeated with a smirk.

“Bedroom?” She stepped once again into Wilson’s space. He closed his mouth and found himself nodding before he even processed the question. Her hands were instantly on his lovehandles, guiding him out the room.

“Hey, no, wait.” House whined.

“It looks like you’ll have to watch this week’s Tuesday Thriller all by yourself.” She frowned at him and dragged Wilson towards the hallway.

“I’m sorry.” Wilson mouthed at House with a small smile, then circled his finger in the air and mouthed: “Tomorrow!”



They shouldn’t have been surprised when House barged into their room at midnight announcing: “My turn!”

“Do you mind?” Wilson whispered to her. She carded her fingers through his hair and smiled softly.

“Have fun.” She pecked his lips and watched with satisfaction as he struggled to pull himself off the bed. “But you’re doing house chores tomorrow. Lowercase “house”.”

House furrowed his brows at his best friend’s limp and looked around the room, until he spotted the harness thrown to the floor by the pile of clothes and gasped.

“No way!” He beamed as Wilson put on his McGill sweater without bothering to wear anything else. “This is a beautiful turn of events.”

“Shut up.” The oncologist said, walking past him.

“Up high!” House told her with a bright smile, while raising his arm. She faintly smirked back at him from the bed.

House slapped his hand, chuckling with giddiness and turned to close the door.

“I’m almost getting hard without any electrocution.”

Wilson realized the varnish he was using was leaving a weird aftertaste on their skin, which made it more difficult and more dangerous to kiss. He didn’t stop having sex with them, that would’ve been insane. He just switched to another safer brand.

He seemed to have to fix them much more often lately. The first week seemed almost peaceful to the martyrdom he started living right after that. Everything ended up in an argument between his two lovers and they eventually attempted to kill or maim each other in some way. Now that they were immortal, death was nothing but a fun afternoon activity, a time-out of sorts, which meant there was no limit on the violence.

They would bicker over everything, mostly how to share their oncologist. They would selfishly take every single second of their established time to be with him, which was flattering of course and he ended up always having a great time. 

They would suck the energy out of him and, while it always left him with a blissed out smile on his face, he would feel the consequences the next day, and then it would already be time for his other partner to ravish him.

He walked into work limping more than House, who was still supposed to pretend to need his cane, but often forgot. 

Surprisingly, the one who would be kinder to his body was House, at least compared to Amber. He was more uncertain in his approach, while Amber was confident and assertive. Apparently the only difference between them was the role they took in the bedroom, both were equally bratty but one was definitely the most dominant in the condo, and it wasn’t either of the two men.

House wasn't shy, he couldn't be more of an exhibitionist, and he was proud in his perversions, but he could be timid at times.

Amber could be too, when Wilson would get a bit too tender, too romantic for her comfort. She would huff a nervous chuckle and tell him to shut up, similar to what House would do.

That didn't deter him from showering both his lovers in praises, kissing them gently and complimenting them whenever he could, even at the dinner table at the same time, just to piss them off.

House was becoming a bit more open, going even as far as to toy with his fingers on the table in the cafeteria, or stand a little bit closer to him.

His team was growing suspicious, Cuddy even more than them, to the point she pulled him aside and asked him if he was cheating on Amber.

He was afraid to recount the story at dinner and see a bitter expression on Amber’s face, but she just pointed her fork at him and nodded, with her mouth full.

“Speaking of,” He held his breath for a long moment, while she swallowed and reached for her wine glass. “This schedule isn’t working.”

He was quiet for a moment, and so was House, both scared to say anything that would ruin their fragile peace.

“I’m okay. I’m not that tired.”

“I’m not saying that.” She shrugged, waving her fork. “I’m saying we should optimize our calendars. Or maximize our time together, I suppose.”

She left them to share a confused look as she sipped her wine.

“Cut him in half like Solomon?” House offered.

“We can both sleep with him at the same time.” She said nonchalantly.

“What?” A small smirk appeared on House’s lips.

“What?” Wilson echoed.

“We can have sex together.” She said, setting her glass down and standing up to carry her plate to the dishwasher.

“A-All three of us?” Wilson’s voice cracked.

“All three of us?” House repeated.

“What, is it too much work for you?” 

“No, I-”

“It doesn't sound intriguing enough?”

“It does! A lot, I just-”

“Then I don't see the issue.” She shrugged and placed her hands on her hips, in Wilsonian fashion.

“I-I don't think I can take both of you at once.” He stuttered, earning a stifled laugh from House.

“Oh, don't be a baby. It'll be fun! You've always wanted to try it.” She argued.

“I can't say that I haven't but-”

“Deal, then. Group fun!”

“No, no, I'm- hey! We should discuss this first!”

“Let's discuss it, then.” Amber said, softly. 

“Go on.” House prodded him.

“Quickly.”

“I'm- I'm excited by the idea, yeah, I can't deny that. But… you two, individually, scare me. You two together… terrify me.” He stuttered, his cheeks flushing.

“Good.” She waved a hand between her and House. “We can have sex by ourselves if you don't want to join.”

“We can?” House almost squealed.

Wilson sat up on his stool and held up his hands.

“Hey, hey, no. That is absolutely not what I said.”

“We'll go get comfy then, your choice, really.” She held out her hand for House to grab.

He eyed it with apprehension, and hesitantly grabbed it. The moment she pulled him up and started tugging him away, House smirked, impressed 

“What, now?!” Wilson asked, his mouth agape.

“Come on, lover boy.” She flashed him a smile, as House followed her, stopping her by the stove for a moment.

“Wait, I need my knife.” 

“What for?”

“It's a surprise. Don't worry, you'll love it.”

Wilson sat at the dinner table, speechless, as the two disappeared around the corner. He scoffed, incredulously, hearing the chuckles from his own bedroom.

He sat some more, thinking about what just happened, then heard a loud zapping sound, saw the lights flicker and stood up, noticing the blood had rushed towards his lower half already.

He approached the room with anticipation, only to open the door and find them sitting on opposite sides of the bed.

“Oh, thank God.” Amber muttered under her breath and rose to her knees on the bed to drag Wilson between them.

He fell back and immediately found both his partners pinning him down with a hand to his chest.

He chuckled nervously when they leaned down to kiss his neck, their cold hands making their way under his shirt, rucking it up to expose his soft belly.

She framed his face with a jealous hand while the other was teasing the elastic band of his briefs. Her nails dragged mischievously down his sternum, reaching his happy trail. House beat her to the chase and dipped his hand below to cup him through his slacks.

He let out a moan, overwhelmed by their joint attention and even more to find both their pairs of icy blue eyes boring into his skull with unbridled lust.

He felt almost intimidated, in a great way.

“What do you want, baby?” She asked, in a whisper, dragging a thumb across his bottom lip, pulling it down as he looked up with desperate brown eyes.

“You… I want you to kiss.” He stuttered.

“Kiss what?” She breathed against his skin.

“I want you two to kiss.”

Amber stopped in her tracks and looked up at House. The diagnostician shrugged and pursed his lips with a lopsided smirk.

“Come on, let’s give him a show.” He chuckled.

“Be silent.” She ordered and grabbed by the collar of his t-shirt and tugged him into a rough kiss.

Wilson watched with a mix of wonder and horror as the two seemed to devour one another, neither had ever kissed him with this much fervor and anger. He wasn't aware of just how bruising their kisses would be and was currently getting quite the front row show. 

Their tongues met with passion and she pulled the short hair at the back of House's head to reveal a wolfish smirk. 

She pulled back, earning a nip to her bottom lip, which she replied to with a shove to his shoulder.

“Like it?” She asked, breathlessly.

“Keep going.” Wilson begged.

She groaned and grabbed House by his nape to shove her tongue in his mouth.

Wilson kept watching with rapt interest, even when they ferociously pulled off his pants and underwear, just to toy with him as they kissed. They seemed to be enjoying it more, their focus more on one another than the hardness they were taking turns to handle. They made out with abandon as they lazily stroked him and that was enough to make his eyes roll to the back of his head and his jaw go slack, knowing they were being selfish and prioritizing their own pleasure.

Wilson let them use him, as they often did. And enjoyed every second of it. House had leaned over him and let his hand explore her chest. She had promptly slapped it away at the first attempt, then rolled her eyes and guided him back to fondle her. Soon her top was gone too, and she urged House to do the same, just to match them. Wilson let his hands on their thighs, caressing them with tenderness, giving them something to grind against.

Before he could even realize, he was reaching his climax with their now more intentional strokes, Amber's skilled fingers on his tip, House’s lazy hand wrapped loosely around his base.

They pulled away from their kiss only to take in the sight of Wilson making a mess of himself. They smirked with satisfaction to see him so desperate and utterly ruined. He was still breathing heavily when they leaned down, almost in sync, to clean up his stomach and chest with sloppy kisses, before taking turns kissing him, letting him taste himself on their tongues. It was so indecent it almost made him hard again.

“What now?” Amber asked, running her sharp nails across his chest.

“I want you to fuck him.” He whispered, noticing how his request made them both stop for a moment.

“I think I misheard that.” House started, and immediately she let out a chuckle and jumped off the bed with excitement.

“You have no idea. She's… really good with the strap.” Wilson insisted, framing House’s face.

“You flatter me.” She laughed, coming back with her equipment. House’s eyes fell on the intimidatingly large strap and then back on Wilson.

“Try it.” He whispered, caressing House’s cheek lovingly.

“Fine.” The diagnostician rolled on his back beside him and wiggled his lips. “She better be good.”

“I am.” She said smugly, dropping her skirt but keeping her thong on to wear the harness. “Do you want him on all fours or on his back?”

“Don’t I get a say in this?” House asked.

“We have to let him be in charge at least once.” She argued, walking to the nightstand to get the lube.

“Ride her.” Wilson said softly.

“You’re joking.” House scoffed.

“You’re doing this for me, aren’t you?” He used his eyes to his advantage and, in a moment, House was biting down a smile and letting Amber take his place on the bed. She grabbed his shoulders and shoved him back down.

“We’re switching when I say so.” She argued, straddling his hips and pinning his wrists above his head. Wilson turned to his side to watch as she kissed him and poured lube over her strap, before lining herself with House and smearing it over them both. The older doctor smirked against her lips and let her take control of the situation.

He never thought he could’ve seen his deepest fantasy in front of his eyes but he watched as he writhed on top of her, he could feel it under his hands, he reached out and touched them, fondling and kissing her breasts, stroking him lazily and pulling him down to kiss him as he tried to keep his rhythm. 

It was incredible to see just how fast she was able to make him come, faster than he ever had. He smiled, noticing how House breathed against her lips and pressed gentle kisses when he was distracted, both of them letting their guard down in a moment of surprisingly tender intimacy. 

“Wasn't it nice?” Wilson asked House, pushing his hair off his forehead kindly.

“It wasn't bad.”

Amber grabbed House’s chin and kissed him one last time before pushing him off of her and to the opposite side of the bed.

They sighed heavily and both curled up to Wilson, House throwing his right leg over his, and Amber scratching his chest lovingly.

“You better have liked it.”

“Couldn’t have loved it more.” He murmured and pecked her lips. House demanded one next, just to make things fair.

Wilson fell asleep with their noses nuzzling each side of his head.

He was the happiest he'd been in a while.

It could’ve been only temporary, but Wilson took enormous pride in seeing just how peaceful things had suddenly become. For weeks, the condo was at its lowest rate of bickering, the two undead doctors were relatively civil to one another and they showered James in affection. Any argument would take them all to the bedroom, any flirtatious comment would transform them into an entangled mess of limbs and mouths and they all came out of their rendezvous satisfied in one way or another.

Wilson explored every fantasy he could've come up with involving his two favorite doctors and watched them get comfortable in all sorts of ways, never crossing the line of too much tenderness however.

The most beautiful change he was adoring was seeing them starting to warm up to one another. They still referred to each other as “Cutthroat Bitch” and “The Asshole” but they started doing little things together Wilson never thought they would be able to do.

He would come back to work and find them drinking wine and cooking together, talking shit about their colleagues and laughing together at just how evil they could make their insults. He would find them watching TV together and, if they were in a particularly good mood, even silently offering to give him massages. House would drag his feet in his lap, Amber would pull his head in hers and scratch his scalp lovingly as they kept arguing with one another and making fun of every member of their respective hospitals. And Wilson would lay back and enjoy every second, only intervening when their insults would get a bit too intense.

But he realized they had truly become friends when they started teaming up against him in lighthearted ways, mocking him for his ties and his softness towards strangers. They would make him drive them wherever they wished, he would take them to work and text them during the day and check the state of their varnish before dropping them off with a light peck.

He had never been so happy.

Then suddenly he found Amber in House’s office one day and froze in his tracks. Until he spotted takeout boxes on the desk and a third untouched one and she explained that she had come to visit him but he was busy in the OR and House “of course wasn't doing anything” and she'd decided to wait for him there. They were hanging out and outside of their condo nonetheless. He couldn't hold in his smile as he dragged a chair closer and ate lunch with them.

He spoke to them, separately, as he often did to make sure they were still on board with the three-persons-plan and they always cryptically answered that they were. They just refused to consider themselves as dating. They were just roommates sharing a boyfriend, is what they both said. And when he pressed further, he got the real answer out of them, which was that they were just friends. They would freeze in place from the embarrassment from having admitted they were in fact friends and he walked away victorious.

He was alone on the roof with House one day, they were sitting beside one another on the ledge, as House was “waiting for results on his case” coincidentally around the same time Wilson was recovering from two of his patients dying in the same morning. He knew House was trying to comfort him and he felt something tug at his heartstrings as he stared into his eyes and they smiled at each other, just like they used to on their hikes in the ‘90s. But this time House leaned in and pecked his lips and his heart ached even more with the urge to confess and tell him those three words he'd wished to say even on their hikes all those years ago.

What he said instead was:

“I think I’ll stay with Kevin tonight. His mother has a longer shift to cover and he just started chemo-”

“And you’re not letting a nurse stay the night with the kid.” House finished for him.

“I promised I would be there.” Wilson shrugged and House nodded and looked away at the sunset. “Eat without me. I’ll get something from the cafeteria.”

“As you wish.” 

When he returned home, however, the condo was in complete disarray. Some pillows were slashed through, the knife rack was toppled over on the counter and there were droplets of blood trailing to the second bedroom.

He walked in to find his two lovers naked on top of the bed, sheets soaked in blood, their varnish coats slashed through and peeling off.

House's back had been scratched by nails and a chunk of her hair pulled off along with a piece of her scalp.

They had clearly stabbed each other and seemingly had a lot of fun doing so.

“What the fuck were you two doing?” Wilson squaled, watching them from the doorway.

“A lot of things.” House muttered against the pillow and rolled off of her.

“It was very fun.” She said with a bright smile, still topless and with a huge slash in the varnish across her chest.

“You can't go to work looking like this!” The oncologist continued, horrified as he stepped closer.

“Why not?”

“Your skin is peeling off!” She peeked over her shoulder and shrugged.

“Nothing you can't fix, right?”

“Yeah, give us both a fix.” House agreed.

He let out a deep sigh and headed for the shower, finding them already in the varnish room by the time he had his lab coat on.

He entered the room to find them both naked on the table, with her laying pressed against his back and her hand greedily holding his hip.

“How’s the kid?” House asked.

“Kevin? Fine. He… His mom came in-” He trailed off. “What exactly have you two done in my absence?”

“We had fun.” House shrugged.

“We got creative.”

“Well, can I know the details?” He asked timidly.

He sat down and got to work as they alternated the storytelling of what they had tried together. Apparently a little stabbing helped them along the way. He made sure they were on good terms and they really seemed to be. They were calm as he repaired them. 

“Do you… do you like it better when it’s violent?” 

“We don’t want to hurt you, Wilson. It’s just how we handle each other.” House said and Amber nodded.

“We have a lot of unresolved tension, this just helps.” She explained softly.

“Okay. But if you ever… if you get tired of this… I want you to tell me.”

They looked at each other, then up at him sincerely.

“We’re not tired.” She said.

“We like it just as much as you do.” House added.

“That’s… that's a lot.” James stuttered with a soft chuckle.

“Well, we like it a lot, too.” She shrugged and called his attention back to the scratch on her temple.

They lay on their stomachs, waiting for the paint to dry as Wilson sat in the chair before them, pulling off his mask to reveal a bright smile.

“Did I do a good job?”

“Brilliant as always.” House propped his chin on his hand and gave him a once over.

“We would love to thank you.” She winked at the oncologist who huffed an embarrassed laugh.

“It’s late.” He said, eying his watch, but blushed anyway.

“We’ll be quick.” House said, shuffling closer to her.

“Stand up and unzip, you’re at the perfect height for us to give you a real “thank you”.”

“What?” He chuckled.

“We can’t exactly touch you right now.”

“Seriously?”

“Pretty please?” House pouted.

His mind was blown in more than one way as they took turns taking him in their mouths.

He struggled to keep his hands to himself, resorting to placing them on his hips as he usually did to grab something.

He came with a strangled moan and they both cleaned him up with mischievous eyes and ravenous tongues.

They pulled back with satisfied smiles.

“You okay staying the night here? You won’t ruin my paint job?” Wilson asked softly, once tucked back into his slacks.

“We loved your paint job too much to do that.” House answered with a wink.

“Yes, go to bed, honey. We’ll behave.” Amber reassured him, shooing him away.

He bent down and pecked her lips, then his, then smiled at them.

“Goodnight.”

Amber was content with their agreement. She was, she wasn't lying. House wasn't as bad as she expected him to be, in fact he could almost be as tender as Wilson, if not more. Not that she wanted him to. She was fine stabbing him and using him as she pleased, it certainly relieved her nerves after a long week of strenuous work.

Princeton General had come with its perks, she finally held a position of power in a Diagnostic Department, one that had been created solely based on PPTH’s own successful division. She was solving more cases than she ever had under House and her theories were finally being heard. To the point she was suggested as Head of the Team and required to send in her request for a promotion as Head of Department all while the team of researchers for House’s invention still asked for her collaboration on trials.

She didn’t mention the latter at home, she kept it to herself, which made it all more difficult. She was in charge of seemingly everything, like she’d always wanted to be and, in all honesty, her career had never looked so bright. 

She was the most successful she had ever been and technically the stress of constantly being at work didn't even take a toll on her body. She could go to as many pilates and crossfit classes as she wanted and still have enough energy to go home and sleep with both her man and his man.

When she told her sister about her weekly routine, she always rendered her speechless, especially because she dropped the small detail that she was sleeping with two men at the same time like it was nothing. What was even more embarrassing, was to tell her that she was still dating Wilson and the third item was the man she had openly talked shit about with her for months when she had just started dating James.

The truth was that she wasn't unnerved by House, he was fine. It was the fact he was House that pissed her off. Like she had completely let her morals crumble. She was also feeling particularly insecure with how much responsibility she had gained at her new job. And to not even mention the panic attacks derived from being an immortal freak of nature that could accidentally crack her fingers in the door of the Radiology lab and simply crack them back in place.

She had to fire her therapist because she simply couldn't come up with a way to tell her she had come back to life without telling her she had come back to life. James had always been her rock, but even he had his struggles and she couldn't just let him be her therapist at all times, he was already one for House.

And what she hated even more was that, the one time she did open up to someone else, it was House and he even gave her valid advice. He wasn't even too rude about it, he only made three sexist comments before giving her actually great advice on how to run her own Diagnostics Department.

She had to kill him.

It wasn't personal. Well, it was. But she knew she could take it out on House. They had become such close friends he would've probably only killed her in return and they would've been fine. And Wilson would've fixed them, rinse and repeat. 

The occasion was served on a silver platter when she returned from a night shift to find the two men naked in her bed.

She didn’t make a scene, just let her anger boil to a simmer all night and waited for House to go to the bathroom in the morning as Wilson was about to head out for work.

She found him in the tub, her tub, which only pissed her off more because they weren't supposed to take baths, their varnish always dissolved and instead ruined the white coat of the tub.

“You could knock, you know?” He said, lying in warm, peach-tinted water.

“You had sex without me last night.”

“He was in the mood and you weren’t there.” House mumbled, drawing patterns in the bubbles mindlessly.

Amber grabbed the hair dryer from the drawer, plugged it into the wall, turned it on and dropped it into the water, electrocuting him.

She sighed happily and unplugged it only when she deemed the job done, watching with satisfaction as the diagnostician’s head dropped back, lifeless.

“What was that?” Wilson called from the kitchen.

“Nothing!” She yelled back, tossing the ruined hairdryer into the bin.

She started brushing her teeth and even flossing, when a loud gasp came from the tub and she rolled her eyes.

“Did you seriously try to kill me?” He asked incredulously, groaning loudly before pulling himself up. He watched her shrug and turned to the door before shouting: “Wilson, your girlfriend tried to kill me again!”

“You slept with him without me.” She didn't even believe her own reasoning.

“It’s not the first time it’s happened! Admit that, you just wanted to kill me!”

“I did.” She ran her tongue over her teeth. He hobbled out of the tub and towards his bathrobe before looking down at his state after the electrocution.

“Great, now I have a boner. Wilson!”

The oncologist appeared in the doorway and took in the scene, House with his hair spiked up and a slight tremor to his movement as a completely dressed Amber paced around the room with her heels to finish her makeup.

“Seriously?” Wilson sighed.

“He was getting on my nerves.” She said nonchalantly and walked up to him with a gentle hand on his chest. “Drive me to work?”

“What? No, you just killed him!”

“He barely even passed out.”

“Hey, if we're all on good terms, we could take advantage of it.” House tried, earning squinted eyes from both. “I’m kinda really hard right now.”

“Ignore him. Drive me to work.” She insisted, hand on his chest.

“Have sex with me.” House said, grabbing his hand.

“I’m not talking to either of you. You need to figure this out on your own. I’m late.” James waved a finger at them and stepped back, rushing to the living room to grab his messenger bag.

“You can't be serious! He deserved it!” Amber yelled after him.

“I don’t care, talk to each other!” They followed him down the hallway, House barefoot and leaving wet trails on the floor, Amber’s heels aggressively clicking against it and almost slipping.

“Wilson, come on.” House whined, watching as Amber grabbed her coat and hopped towards Wilson.

“I have an appointment in twenty minutes! I can’t drive you! And I don't have time to have sex with you! Do that to each other!” He pointed his finger at them. “You have a bike and you have a mouth!”

“He has a point.” House stopped in his tracks.

“You owe me this!” She complained, pitting on her earrings and following him out the door.

Wilson took the stairs, trying to escape their yelling.

“You can make it in time, come on!”

House watched her high heels click against the floor as she approached the stairs and acted immediately, holding out his leg and tripping her.

She squealed loudly and dropped down the flight of stairs, the side of her head meeting a step and breaking her neck with a loud crack.

Wilson turned around with horror to find her lifeless on the staircase landing.

“Are you insane?!”

House shrugged and folded his arms as Wilson muttered something under his breath, dropped his bag and grabbed Amber by her armpits to drag her up the stairs.

He pulled her inside and left her on the couch, caressing her cheek before cracking her head back into place with the maneuver he’d pulled many times. He waited for her eyes to blink open to sogh and head back out.

He was still muttering when he walked past House, now standing in the hallway outside with the newspaper in hand.

“-the most selfish bastards I could’ve found. I can’t stand you when you get like this. We were doing so good! So good. I knew I shouldn't have fallen for it last night! It was so calm when it was all three of us together. We stray away once and look what happens!” He yelled, flailing his hands. “You’re fixing your mistakes and you’re driving her to work. And I better not hear a single word when I come home tonight!”

“She electrocuted me!”

“She probably had a reason!”

He started making his way down the stairs when he stopped abruptly before he could bump into someone. Their neighbor, Nora stood frozen, her eyes on the slightly charred, wet man standing on the top of the stairs with spiked hair and a newspaper in hand.

“Hey. Hi.” Wilson said, his eyes wide and terrified. “Excuse the noise. I’m late to work.”

“Are you guys… okay?” She asked, slowly.

“Splendid, darling. He just gets pissy sometimes.” House replied, hand on his hip and rolled newspaper waving in the air, immediately falling into the gay character he usually played with their neighbors just to piss off Wilson. “He sleeps in and he takes it all on me. Unbelievable.”

“We’re great. Thank you. I’ll…” Wilson trailed off and scurried away, grabbing his bag and running down the stairs.

He knew his hair was a mess when he walked past the reception after signing his name, judging by the look Cuddy threw at him.

“What the hell happened to you?”

He kept walking, trying to distance himself from the nurses and keeping his voice low as he hissed:

“I’m dating two psychopaths who keep killing each other! And they both want to have sex with me all the time.” His hand was almost jittery as he waved it around to emphasize his point. “I can’t keep living like this! They’re destroying me! I-I-I don’t think I’ll survive another week!”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic.” She said, following him to the elevator.

He turned around with an unhinged expression.

“They’re draining me! Both mentally and physically. You have no idea how it feels to have threesomes at least five times a week! It takes a toll on you.”

“I was in a sorority. I think I do.” 

He turned back around to press his finger against the elevator button six more times.

She grabbed his wrist and pulled it away, turning him to face her. Her expression was soft, making him calm down a notch.

“The FDA approved it.” She said and his face changed immediately. His anger dissipated for something else. He pressed his lips into a thin line. “Should we tell him?”

“No. I don’t… I don’t think he wants to know.” He nodded to himself and she mirrored him.

“It’s going to be everywhere.” She explained gently.

“I know.”

“It’s a good thing.”

“Not to him.” 

He stepped into the elevator, suddenly somber.

He did his rounds in the pediatric wing on Oncology, checking on his youngest patients and spending some time with them, even reading stories in the chemo room.

He moved through the oncology ward, he made a mental note of his priorities. Emily Harris, 42, battling stage III breast cancer.

He checked her latest scans which showed a promising reduction in tumor size after her chemo treatment. She looked up at him with hopeful eyes and he had to bite the inside of his cheek and encourage her that things were looking up.

Michael Oreste, 55, advanced lung cancer, he looked at him lying limply in his hospital bed, he’s become a shell of himself under those same fluorescent lights. He asked him how he felt, what an offensive question. The older man shrugged and lied back.

Sarah Thompson, 24, Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, her results did in fact look better. Her girlfriend was in the room, entertaining her during the chemo treatment. 

Next was a meeting with pharmaceutical representatives. They mentioned a revolutionary introduction to be announced soon and asked for the Hospital’s main atrium to be used for the conference to the students of the Hospital who would be getting it before anyone else.

He started his clinical duties, where he heard House walk into work around 11. He spent two hours visiting patients before heading upstairs, his heart pulling him toward the Diagnostics Department.

He saw the team engaged in a differential diagnosis and sat outside with coffees in hand until they were sent to run tests. House looked up and saw him.

James stood up and walked in, placing their cups on the table before stepping close to House.

“Did you drive her to work?”

“I made sure to run all the red lights and took sharp turns.” He smiled at Wilson.

The oncologist reached out and adjusted the still spiked up hair with tenderness. 

“What do I have to do to make you two get along?”

“You can’t do anything.”

He looked around, then sighed and pressed his lips against House’s cheek.

“Behave.” He warned him with an accusatory finger.

When he left, House was already gone, and when he returned home, he found both him and Amber in the living room, they were impeccably dressed and clearly waiting around.

“You’re late.” She pointed out.

She was wearing a sleek black turtleneck halter dress, with her blonde hair pulled up and out of her face. She had her highest stilettos on and was just as tall as House, who was wearing his poker tournament suit. They were both incredibly beautiful. 

“I had… a thing- What’s this?” He asked, almost speechless as he approached them with caution. He was engulfed by the terribly attractive mix of her perfume and his aftershave. His eyes almost rolled back by learning that they were in fact both taller than him like this.

“We’re apologizing for our behavior by taking you out on a fancy date to a fancy restaurant.”

“With the promise to have some fancy sex all together later.” House added, tapping his elegant chrome cane on the ground.

She pulled him in by the hips and ghosted her red, glossy lipstick over his mouth.

“How are you feeling?” He stuttered excitedly, his hand coming to gently caress her jaw. He pulled down her turtleneck to reveal the bad paint job House had done over her ripped skin.

“Great. I needed a kill first thing in the morning. Now it’s out of my system and we're good again.”

“We’re great. I did have to eat her out to make that happen but we’re good.” He stepped closer and leaned on his cane to frame Wilson’s cheek. “Go wear something nice. You’re paying tonight.”

Wilson smiled and obeyed.

The date was obscenely expensive and so was the wine, but the sex that came with it was worth the price. 

Things fell back into place after that. The occasional maiming was resolved between the two, and only rarely involved Wilson’s repairing assistance. Amber and House became civil again, especially now that House could hear about her cases and help her bounce off ideas at home. It was everything he would've wanted and she appreciated having someone that was finally at her level. 

There was respectful admiration between them, that sometimes led them to make out on the couch, but always ended up involving their favorite oncologist boytoy.

Wilson took them out for more dates, enjoying how they would insist on picking his food at restaurants and suggest movies he could like at the cinema. And they were always right. He couldn't be more enamored as he sat between them during a movie and had to endure their negative comments about the movie from both sides and being the assigned keeper of the popcorn bucket where they both had to reach into at the same time and complain.

He loved them with his whole heart.

Then House went quiet. He was quiet at dinner, he turned down sex to watch TV, something he hadn't done in a while. They’d simply kissed him goodnight and didn’t think more of it, until he was quiet again at breakfast. He left with the bike before them.

Wilson walked into his office later that day to find him with his backpack on his shoulder, baseball cap and sunglasses on, a camera hanging from his neck along with a PRESS lanyard.

“You have an hour-long break, right?” 

Wilson nodded and House mirrored him and walked past him, his limp still a bit present.

“Where are we off to?” He asked, following House into the elevator. He pressed the button taking them to the underground parking lot and twirled keys into his hand, fiddling with the strap of the backpack in his shoulder. “Are those my car keys?”

House was silent as he headed towards Wilson’s Volvo with his cane in his hand, no need to use it.

He stepped in and watched as House turned down the volume of the radio and pulled out of the lot.

“Where are we going?” He tried again after some time but House remained silent, hands tight around the wheel and eyes fixed in the road.

“I don’t know what’s wrong. Or if I’ve done something wrong-”

“You haven't.” House murmured. 

His voice was genuine, almost hurt.

“Okay.” Wilson nodded and watched the road.

House pulled up to an undisclosed building, unassuming from the outside.

Wilson decided to not ask any more questions and simply followed him inside.

It seemed to be a very high level conference hotel, crowded with people in suits. He spotted the banner and immediately understood.

“Immuno-Life”

He glanced at House, but the man simply looked away, pulling his cap lower and heading inside.

The same representatives they'd held multiple meetings with, now stood on a stage, in front of what could've easily been a thousand people. Cameras were everywhere, journalists scattered all over the place. House led them to stand by a wall. He didn't even bother screwing the lid off the camera lens and just listened.

The blonde man in turtleneck, black suit  and casual jeans was introducing the revolutionary introduction of modern medicine.

Wilson listened to the speech and rapidly pieced the pieces together, they had decided to develop House’s discovery into a booster that had proved to cure most infectious diseases, alleviate some chronic diseases such as cancer, diabetes, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s and autoimmune disorders and has proved to be completely effective on Neurological disorders.

“It works in small doses and for now alongside the former treatments but we’re confident it will one day reach its full potential in the least administrations possible.”

Wilson kept his eyes on House for most of the conference, until the man suddenly clenched his jaw and pushed his way through the crowd.

James immediately followed behind, but stopped by the doors when he heard another question being asked by a reporter. 

With great nonchalance, the man holding the microphone answered that the concept of the invention was started in a lab by members of his equipe and that he’d perfected it to produce it and share it with the world.

Wilson stayed, just enough to hear more of the fabricated backstory, clearly learned by heart, judging by the ease with which he talked about it.

He made his way outside and stepped into the car, the stark contrast between the loud noise and chattering of the conference and the silence between them was hurtful enough on its own.

“House.” He started, trying to keep his voice soft. “I know you took me here for a reason. What is it?”

He didn't receive an answer.

“Are you… disappointed they didn't credit you?”

“No. I didn't want that.”

“I know, and I don’t understand why you're reacting this way.” He reached out and caressed his face tenderly, House let him. “Do you realize what you’ve been able to accomplish?”

House worried his lower lip between his teeth and blinked.

Wilson dropped his hand and reached out to grab his and give it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re going to save so many lives.”

“It wasn’t my intention.” He murmured, earning a scoff from Wilson.

“God forbid you save lives with your line of work.”

“I did it out of selfishness.”

“But you didn’t. You did it for her.” Wilson corrected him.

“I was just trying to fix a mistake I’d made.”

“You were selfless enough to kill yourself to save her.”

“I had to.”

“You didn’t. But, as the boyfriend of the woman you did it for, I’m grateful. And as a doctor, I’m in awe, truly.” He used his other hand to tuck an unruly lock of his gray hair, poking from under the cap, behind his ear. “So many of my patients will live to see another day because of you. That is an indescribable feeling.”

“I’ve rendered your job useless.”

“You haven’t. It’s gonna take a while to spread and they will still need doctors looking after people on trial for it. Hopefully, by the time this thing will take my place completely, I’ll be retired.”

House was quiet for a moment, taking in a deep breath and lifting his head to look at the road.

“The real Death-reversing cocktail is still in the works.” He said. “They’re gonna do it.”

Wilson gave him a moment, then pulled House’s hand to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss to his knuckles, before turning it and pressing another peck to his palm.

House’s thumb stroked his cheek almost involuntarily, as he looked back at Wilson with vulnerable eyes.

“House. You’ve done something great. Focus on that.”

The request didn't seem to have any impact on House, who simply clenched his jaw and leaned in for a soft kiss, before sitting back in his seat.

He drove Wilson back to work, both of them silent, knowing the last thing he wanted to do was discuss it further.

The silence lasted longer than either of them expected until, suddenly, House stopped coming home. 

The first night Amber convinced him it might just be a case keeping him at work, the second night he felt the nausea start to build up, the third night even she grew suspicious.

He followed House’s bike, or at least tried to, it was way faster than him, but realized where he was headed to. He let himself into his apartment on Baker Street with the copy of the keys he'd owned for decades.

It smelled of dust and lack of ventilation. He found House standing in the hallway, still taking his shoes off.

“Oh, great.” He muttered.

“Please, just talk to me.”

“Funny. I came here to avoid that.”

“Be an adult, then.”

“It's nothing personal, Wilson.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Should I just let my lover and best friend rot in self-pity?” House groaned. “What, now?”

“Don’t say that. Don’t… call me that.”

James scoffed incredulously, shaking his head.

“Oh, so now we’re not?” His smile fell. “Do you want to break up? Is that what it is?”

“We’re not breaking up, we're just gonna keep this sick tether going until it strangles us both. It’s how it’s always been.”

House limped towards the couch and sat down, turning on the TV. 

“I can give you space, if that's what you want.”

“Clearly not.”

“I’ll give it to you. I’ll leave. I just… need to know you're okay. We're okay.”

House stared at the screen for a long time, a sick smirk on his lips. He looked back at Wilson with glossy eyes.

“What have I done?” His voice was a whisper as he waved a hand between them. “To us. To myself, to her. I made her a science fair experiment and you're fine with it!”

“You saved her life.”

“I tortured her with a death she didn't deserve and a life sentence for eternity! She shouldn't be grateful, she should've killed me when she had the chance!” He suddenly raised his voice. “I was better off dead. You did the right thing by killing me.”

“It was- It was an accident-”

“It wasn't and we both know it.” Wilson felt his lower lips starting to quiver, he was frozen in place. “And for all I care, you did the right thing.”

“House, there isn't a moment that goes by that I don’t regret what I did to you that night.” He stepped closer to the couch.

“You’re an idiot.” House shook his head. “You let me drag you into this. Do you realize what you’re doing just to keep me? Do you understand what we've both done to her?”

“Nothing has been done to her. She suggested the idea-”

“She hates me! She's always hated me and I’ve always hated her! For a good reason! Because we're two sides of the same coin and you're greedy enough to not let just one of us be enough for you!”

“House, don’t do this.”

“If she had wanted me to join your relationship, don’t you think she would've asked any of the billion times we fought over you like dogs before either of us died?!” He shouted. “She did it to make you happy. Out of desperation, to make it fair to me when all she should've really done was push me away from you while she still could.”

“I’m not gonna sit around and hear you cry about something we've all willingly decided for ourselves. We’re adults. If you think you're the only reasonable person amongst us, you're just an asshole.”

“I’m arguing the opposite, really. I shouldn't have been given a chance. Not at life, and not with you two.” There was a long silence. “I shouldn't have had a chance in the first place because I should've died on that bus, alone.”

Wilson was quiet, speechless.

“She shouldn't have been there. And she shouldn't have been forced to die and then live and then become a freak version of herself that survives on varnish and clay and she shouldn't have been forced to share a house and a boyfriend with me because I was just that much of a coward to say a single thing while I was still alive.” House continued. “I signed myself up for an existence that is worse than death. Which in some ways I guess I deserve, but I can't think about it without wishing I’d died before her instead.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Wilson stuttered.

House looked up at him with a bitter smile and tears in his eyes, before turning to face the TV.

“I can’t even kill myself.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “I don’t have that freedom anymore.”

Wilson’s stomach twisted as he took an hesitant step closer and saw the distinctive lines traced on House's skin on his inner forearms.

“What have you done?”

“Nothing happened. Don't make a big deal out of it. It’s no different than the tests they ran on us.” He shrugged, zapping through channels. “No matter how deep I went, I still woke up thirty, forty minutes later.” 

Wilson blinked, he couldn't speak. His sight was blurring. 

“I stabbed myself in the heart and I woke up to find my chest had spat out the knife. No damage at all.”

“You could've actually died.” He spat out with feeble anger, feeling nauseous.

“But I didn't. If I did have that option, I would’ve stayed with you.”

“What are you talking about?” He knew what he was talking about.

“You're going to die.” House finally looked at him. “But what about me? I won’t. I forced myself to live a life where I’ll have to see you die before me. I don't think even I deserve that.”

“Why are you saying this?”

“You’re not going to take it, right?”

He immediately understood. He took a deep breath.

“It’s not even developed yet.”

“You're not going to take it, are you?” Wilson was quiet. “You’re going to die.”

“Well, most people are.”

“They will have the choice not to.” House laughed mirthlessly. “But you don’t want to be immortal.”

“House-”

“Say it.”

“I don’t.” His voice came out weak and pathetic. “It scares me.” 

House nodded.

“Exactly.” 

“I’m not doing this because I don't want to live with you.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“I want to live my life with you. The time I have.”

“But not more than that.” Wilson was silent, his eyes on the ground. He swallowed and stepped closer. sitting on the coffee table to be at eye level with him.

“Maybe we'll find a way for you to die, when the time comes.”

“Maybe someday, yeah. But for now, time's slipping away for you, and for me it isn't.”      

Wilson held back his tears and bit his lip until it almost bled. 

“I can… I can take the booster.” He nodded to himself. “I can try-”

“No.”

“You just said-”

 “I don’t want to condemn you to this. That’s the thing. I don’t want you to take it.” House said softly, looking at his hands fiddling in his lap. “I know you. I know you like knowing you’ll get old one day. You like to think you’ve been given this time and you should appreciate it as much as you can. You don’t want to cheat. You don’t want to suffer, and I don't want you to either. What if you get in a car accident and all my limbs detach? You’d still be alive to feel the pain. You wouldn’t die. There’s just no way out of it. And in the meantime your body will decay, no matter how much you take care of it.”

“It doesn't have to happen.” 

“It’s what's going to happen to me.” House shook his head. “I don’t want the same fate for you. But I don't want to see you die either. So I’ll just step back. I'm okay knowing you're alive. That's all… That's all I want.”

“I can take it.”

“But you don't want to.” He looked up at him. “I’m not gonna force you to. You don't deserve it. But just… just leave me alone.”

“No.”

“You have her. You have a great life. And you will live, what? Your next fifty years being loved by everyone around you, like you should be.”  

“House-”

“You’ll get a family. You've always wanted one. She can’t bake one in her oven but you can adopt. And she'll be a severe mother and you, a disgustingly sweet dad. And, fuck it, maybe you'll have dozens of grandkids that you will say wonderful things about you. And I don’t want to witness a single thing.” Tears were streaming freely down his cheeks. “Just give me that. Give me the freedom to leave now that I still can. Move on, while you still can.”

“You’re an idiot.” Wilson started, trying to protest pathetically, standing up and flailing a hand. “You just… you just wasted twenty minutes of your life talking when we could've been watching Big Brother UK and made fun of the contestants.” 

“The one time I try to open up.”

“Oh, you did. You just didn't make sense, is all.”   Wilson said. “I’m not going to leave.”

“You should.”

“Well, I’m not.” He insisted. “You’re just torturing yourself by taking away the time that we have.”

“Wilson, don't…” House murmured. “I meant it.”

“You can’t let me live without you.” He replied in a desperate whisper, similar to a whimper as his voice broke and his face contorted into a frown.

“I know. But I’m gonna be selfish anyway.” House’s own mouth curled up to one side as he tried to hold in his tears. “I just wanted to grow old with you.”

“I love you, House.” The whisper cut through the silence of the living room. “And I thought you…”

“Of course I love you, you, idiot.” House barked back, looking up at him.

“Well, I have for quite some time. And I want to feel the time pass, while I’m beside you. I don’t want to take you for granted.” His voice cracked. “And I don't want to waste our time.”

“Go.”

“No.” He pleaded.

“It's better this way.”

“So what now? You'll just ignore me from our shared balcony?”

“I’m leaving the Department to Foreman.” House avoided his eyes. “I’m moving to Mercy.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Wilson scoffed.

“No, I’m being selfish.”

“Well, don’t be.”

“Isn't that what I’ve always been?”

“I’ll take the booster.”

“No. Don’t.” The older man almost growled. “Not to keep me.”

“House-”

“Just go.”

So he did, he left.

House would be back, he always came back. He just had to give him space, they had to cry about it separately and things would've gone back as they were in no time.

But for now House wasn't showing up at work and his team demanded answers from Wilson and he didn't know what to tell them.

Amber carded her fingers through his hair at night, the condo was eerily quiet.

He noticed things disappearing, House clearly came in when they were at work to take his belongings back to the apartment. He could smell his scent linger in his bedroom.

Wilson curled up on House’s bed and stayed there, until Amber came in from work and joined him.

For a week he tried to live without him, he tried to make himself like it. 

His life was great, there was no reason to hate it.

The trials for Immuno-Life were about to start for some of his patients and they were excited to see the results. They had reassured success and he knew it would come, he used to have two living proofs of it in his home. But his patients didn’t know his best friend had created their miraculous cure so he simply kept it to himself. 

He couldn't tell them he had had the privilege to love the hands that had come up with the serum and the woman who was the head of the research team for the trial.

She had told him that week. He was proud of her, of course he was, but he was happy House hadn't heard the news.

She was doing something great, and he applauded her for it.

He heard from Cuddy that House had been interviewed at Mercy and they had offered him double the pay and an entire equipe of ten employees.

The next day he learned that he had accepted the offer but turned down the equipe. He would've rather chopped off his good leg instead of working with that many people, was his answer. 

Wilson smiled.

Things were fine, they were.

His patients with the least hope of recovery were now surprisingly already improving after a single shot of Immuno-Life. 

He watched as his most pessimistic patients gained confidence in their treatment, he watched the glee spread infectiously through the families visiting them. 

His essence was still there, even without his presence. The overwhelming feeling of joy that happened usually away from him, after he’d cracked the case. Wilson recognized the typical House effect amongst his patients, the one he so terribly ran away from, the fruit of his labor he always tried his best not to even witness.

The few times he had, had been too vulnerable for his liking.

This was just House shielding himself from the good he had done. Wilson kept his peace by imagining him hiding in his office as the family of the patient he’d just cured rejoiced just because of him. 

He was okay with that, he could live with that delusion.

He stopped crying at night when he started thinking of it that way.

He was fine. And so was House, probably.

He stopped asking about him, he told Cuddy not to tell him anything she'd heard from Mercy.

He asked his girlfriend about her plans for the week and he helped her rehearse her speeches. He cheered her on when she stepped on stage at her first conference and he made sure her skin looked the furthest thing from varnished as he could. The truth was meant to be kept under wraps, even if her employees were aware of her importance in the team.

He moved on. The second bedroom was turned into a study room. The instruments disappeared on their own.

He only spent a few nights staying a bit longer on the couch. He told himself it was to watch sports, but he kept the volume at its lowest, and he simply looked at the other end of the couch and pictures him there.

It was sick, it was unhelpful, but it kept him going.

David Sullivan was a 47-year-old man with metastatic melanoma. David had been near death for almost a year, with traditional treatments failing to halt the aggressive spread of his cancer. He had recently been enrolled in the Immuno-life trial.

Wilson had reviewed the latest lab results and scans. The findings were astonishing. For the first time in over a year, David's tumors had shrunk significantly, and his blood work showed remarkable improvement.

This was what he said during the meeting with the Immuno-Life representatives, his girlfriend sitting right in front of him and encouraging him as he went through the positive case he had tracked that week only.

He reached the true turning point of his speech.

“Our patient, John Matthews, was diagnosed with stage IV pancreatic cancer a year ago. His prognosis was poor, with conventional treatments offering little hope. However, after enrolling in the Immuno-Life trial, we have witnessed a miraculous turnaround."

He displayed John's before-and-after scans, showing a dramatic reduction in tumor size leading to complete disappearance. 

"These are John's scans," Wilson explained. "As you can see, the tumors have completely vanished, all within two weeks. Blood tests and biopsies confirm that there is no detectable cancer in his body."

The room was silent for a moment, absorbing the magnitude of Wilson's words. 

Then Dr. Hourani spoke: "James, this is incredible. How confident are we in these results?"

"Very confident," Wilson replied. "John has undergone multiple rounds of comprehensive testing, and all results consistently indicate complete remission. His response to Immuno-Life has been nothing short of groundbreaking."

The main representative leaned across the desk and interjected with a rare note of seriousness. 

"So, we're talking about a potential official cure?"

Wilson nodded. 

"In John's case, yes. This is the first instance of complete remission we've seen, and it opens up a world of possibilities for future cancer treatments. We believe this trial could become a cornerstone in oncological therapy."

“So we’re looking at the possible first official announcement of a successful case.” The man asked, earning a polite smile and a nod from Wilson, and a consecutive cheer across the room.

“It’s important to remind the public that this is a singular case but I think it’s important to share. This is a breakthrough that will bring hope to countless patients and families around the world."

Dr. Cuddy nodded. "Agreed. We'll coordinate with our PR team to draft the announcement. James, we'll need you to lead the press conference and share John's story."

Wilson felt a surge of pride and responsibility. "I'll be ready," he assured them.

The conference room bursted into a placid cheering and Amber reached out to grab his hand, flashing him a proud smile.

He kissed her softly and grinned back.

The auditorium was packed with journalists, medical professionals, patients, and their families. Cameras flashed, and a low hum of anticipation filled the air. Wilson stood backstage, adjusting his tie and taking deep, steadying breaths. His heart raced with a mixture of nervousness and pride as Amber stroked his cheek reassuringly. She seemed a bit lost but supportive. She squeezed his hand and smiled at him. 

This was unlike anything he'd ever done, he’d never been under the spotlight or in front of myriads of cameras. It seemed like the entire state had been summoned to witness his speech. 

A representative from the hospital's PR team approached him, giving a reassuring nod. 

"It's time, Dr. Wilson. They're ready for you."

Wilson nodded, clutching his notes tightly, and walked towards the stage. The lights were bright, and the sea of faces before him seemed endless. He stepped up to the podium, the hospital's logo prominently displayed behind him, and adjusted the microphone.

He stuttered at first but then built the courage and easily went through his notes.

He kept the name of the patient undisclosed but showed the results.

He was getting the hang of it, earning loud reactions of awe from the crowd.

His eyes scanned the room as he spoke with pride.

He searched for the press section, until he saw him, the tall figure, wearing his stupid “Grave Digger” hat and sunglasses in the crowd. He couldn't help the chuckle that left his mouth as he spotted him.

"Sorry, I..”

Wilson paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He looked up from his notes.

"I’ll go off-script for a second, if you’ll allow me.” There was murmuring for a moment. “This… This trial has a sentimental value in many ways. It’s.. It’s personal, I suppose. It’s important to me. I will be quick, I just…”

He let out a deep breath, trying to slow his heartbeat.

“I want to take this opportunity to acknowledge the mind behind this invention. This breakthrough would not have been possible without the intellect of one brilliant doctor, who has made an undeniable… and indelible mark on the field of medicine."

That caused a significant chatter in the room.

He looked directly at House, who remained in the shadows. 

"This doctor is not just a colleague but… much more. He has… he made it possible for me to become a doctor in this hospital. And I’ve always admired him as a friend first and a doctor second. And I’ve never publicly given him enough credit, so allow me just this thing. I’m sorry.” A pause. “His work has always been driven by a relentless pursuit of knowledge and a deep desire to solve the puzzle. His contributions extend far beyond this breakthrough, and his dedication has inspired all of us who have had the privilege to work with him."

Wilson's voice softened, filled with genuine affection. 

"Though I cannot disclose his identity, I want to express my profound gratitude and admiration for his work. He embodies the very best of what it means to be a doctor and the worst parts of being a human. He’s… he’s the best part of me.” He distantly heard mixed reactions from the audience. “I’ll conclude this by saying that I know his legacy, against his wishes, will continue to inspire future generations. And I’m proud to be a witness of his impact on the world.”

There was a long pause, until he thanked the crowd and stepped back and suddenly the room erupted in applause. 

As he walked away from the podium, Wilson glanced one last time at House.

Backstage, he was greeted by Amber and Cuddy who softly reprimanded him for going off-script. The blonde woman thanked him for mentioning her in his speech and adjusted his tie before telling him he'd picked a horrible color and that it looked even worse on camera.

He sat down, feeling his limbs still buzzing with excitement as he hydrated himself and listened to the various speeches after him.

He didn’t look for House in the crowd, it would've been a useless pursuit.

He drove back to work with Cuddy, kissing Amber goodbye as she also returned to hers.

Lisa called him softie for gushing over House so publicly and professionally reminded him how reckless he had been to be so specific.

He returned to his floor, where he walked by House’s office, now signed with Foreman’s name. The Diagnostics team congratulated him on his speech and he decided to stick around some more. He let them make him a coffee and hoped sitting in House’s chair and helping with a differential would fill the void at least partially.

He clocked out around 5, completely exhausted but happy. He stopped by the dry cleaners and the Poke Bowl place Amber liked.

When he walked into the condo, he kicked off his shoe and walked towards the woman sitting still in her work clothes at the kitchen island.

He pecked her lips and set the takeout next to her open laptop.

That was when he looked at her face, lit by the cold light of the screen, her eyes glossy, her hair pulled back in a hurried bun.

She smiled weakly, then turned the laptop around.

It was an email. She’d been admitted to the death-reversing vaccine AETERNA research team in Germany.

“I sent in my CV two months ago, I thought they wouldn’t pick me because, let’s be honest, they’re overflowing with requests but the Board let me have priority access thanks to my “condition”. The advantages of being dead.”

He smiled, his throat twisting in a knot.

“That’s wonderful, honey.” 

“I didn’t want to do this to you now, with House, but the offer has a due date-”

“No, don’t be ridiculous.” He immediately cut her off. His head was starting to spin. He could feel the migraine forming.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, tears pricking at her eyes.

He placed a quick hand over hers on the counter.

“Don’t… Don’t be. It’s good. It’s really good. This is what we wanted. You were supposed to do this. That’s what the second chance thing was all about.”

“Technically without him this couldn’t have happened.” She gestured to the laptop, thought for a moment, then herself. “Or, this.”

“It’s not his merit. You worked hard to be where you are. You didn’t get that spot because of the Board, you got it because you’re doing something meaningful.” He squeezed her hand.

“Do you think he’d want to know?”

“About the trial? No. He’d hate it. But I think he’d like to say goodbye to you.”

She nodded.
“I’d like to say goodbye to him too.”

“I wish I’d recorded this conversation.” They chuckled softly, stared into each other's eyes somberly.

She placed her second hand over his.

“I wish I didn’t have to say goodbye to you.”

He felt the bile rising.

“I have my patients here. I have House, even if he doesn’t want me to. You know I would’ve followed you if that hadn’t been the case-”

“I know. I knew when I sent the request. I don’t expect you to leave your life behind for me, it’s not fair. You’ve already wasted so much time fixing House’s and my mistakes.” She said with determination.  “This isn’t a break-up.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.” He whispered. “They have phones in Germany.”

“So I’ve been told.” Her face twisted in a frown as she started to cry. “I’m sorry.”

“No.”

“I don’t want to do the same thing House did.” She said through muted sobs.

“House thinks he’s doing me a favor. He thought we would be better off without him. He did it because he’s scared of his own feelings, you’re doing it for your career. It’s not the same.”      

“I don't want you to think I’m leaving you.”

“I know you're not.” He reassured themselves both. “I’ve been selfish bringing House into our relationship. You should be selfish enough to chase your own dreams. We still have love for each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, Amber. Amber.” He framed her face.“Go. Don’t… Don’t prioritize me. You have your whole life ahead of you. And there’s time. There’s been a moment in my life where I thought you wouldn’t have any more so now, please, just take all of it. Take everything you need. As long as I know you’re well, that’s- that’s all that matters, really.”

Wilson shut his eyes, wiped them with the heels of his hands and clenched his jaw.

Amber moved her stool closer and hugged him.

Her fingers carded through his hair.

“I want you to go there and make some poor German interns miserable.” She laughed, he smiled through the tears. “And you’ll tell me all about it.”

“Every day.”

“You couldn’t make a phone call every day if you had a gun to your head. Once a week is fine.”

“Thank God.” They both giggled. “I’ll be very annoying.”

“I’ll appreciate it the whole time.”

“I’ll probably come to visit on holidays.”

“You? Taking vacations?”

“Some holidays.” She rolled her eyes, pulling away. “You know, I also have friends here. It’s not just about you.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever.”

“My only friend doesn’t want to speak to us right now.” She laughed mirthlessly, throwing a hand up. Wilson smiled sincerely at that. “But I still have my family. I’ll come for them.”

They talked softly, through sobs and awkward chuckles, his cheeks flushed, her cheeks pale.

He asked about where she would stay, she told her she’d been in contact with a girl that had offered to share an apartment. Eli, she was also part of the trial. She showed him the pictures and explained how long the trip would take.

“I’m moving out in four days.” She announced.

He nodded, feeling almost numb.

“Better start packing then.”

“I’m… I want to see my sister first so I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” He stood up. “I’ll grab the suitcase.”

“I’m sorry, James.”

He squeezed her hand one last time and offered her a gentle smile before walking away.

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he walked down the hallway.

He felt like if he'd opened his mouth, a whimper could've come out, so he didn't.

He dragged the large suitcases out of the storage room and opened them up for her, then stripped, tossing his suit along the hallway and stepped into the shower.

That night they drank a lot of wine, its effect working on Wilson with no doubt and doing little to nothing to her system, packed her stuff and talked peacefully.

He ended up curled up on the couch, holding one of her sweaters to his chest and sleeping soundly.

She leaned down, kissed his forehead, grabbed the keys of his car and headed out.

There was knocking on the door of apartment 221b.

“Go away!” House yelled.

The door promptly started unlocking.

“Leave, Wilson.” He said, sounding more vulnerable but still not turning around from his spot on the couch.

“I stole his key.”

He finally looked up, seeing her and groaned.

“Oh, great.”

“Why are you here?”

“That's my line.”

She sat down on the couch next to him. He looked awful, his varnish was starting to fade, showing all the scarring Wilson had concealed throughout the months.

“Why did you move out?”

“I was missing my bachelor lifestyle. You’re too aggressive with the strap.”

“I’m moving out.” She started, finally catching his attention.

She told him about the trial, Germany, everything.

“So you’re just leaving him?” He asked.

“Isn't that what you did?”

“You’re good for him.” He murmured, keeping his eyes low.

“You’re an idiot.” She chuckled. “You're both acting like kids. Just make up and go play in the yard again. You clearly miss each other.”

House rolled his eyes.

“If he’s a pathetic wuss, it’s not my business.”

“House.” She stopped him. “Grow up and go back to him.”

“So, is this your plan? Leaving him and hiring me to fill in your void so he doesn't get depressed?” She scoffed.

“You’re an asshole.”

“I know that.”

She reached closer.

“He loves you.” She said softly.“And so do I.”

“Don’t be gross.”

“I think we're friends.”

House was quiet for a moment.

“I think so too.”

“So allow me to tell you, you're just wasting your time. I don’t think it matters if we can or can't die. You'll find out then. I have hopes that technological innovation will give us a way to die.”

“I’m sorry for what I made us into.”

“I’m not.” She shrugged. “I’m happy. I’m moving on. And, most importantly, I’m alive, something I shouldn't have been by now.”

“You should despise me.”

“Well, I don’t.” She reached out to grab his hand. “You’re just hurting yourself. I wish I could say you deserve this but you don't.”

“I don't want to see him die.”

“Well, you'll have to. And that's okay. It's not any different than if he'd prematurely died at forty and you would've had to move on.”

“In any other circumstances, I would've killed myself.”

“You’re two codependent idiots.” 

House smiled sadly. She eyed the clock.

“I have my moving van at ten tomorrow, I should head back.” She sat up. “Gonna come over to say goodbye to me?”

“Absolutely not.” 

She smiled, leaned in and pecked his lips in a friendly manner, then patted his cheek a couple of times.

“Get out of this shithole. It wears out your good looks.”

“I would say the same to you about Germany.”

She chuckled and stood up, bending down to kiss his forehead and walked away.

“Goodbye, House.”

“Goodbye, Cutthroat Bitch.”

It took Wilson the harsh reality of living his most meaningful goodbye to understand just how banal they were. One moment he was holding the love of his life in his arms for the very last time, the next he was in his car heading to work.

She had tried to keep it short. There was no reason in prolonging the suffering. They shared a chaste kiss, in hindsight he wished he'd been more passionate, or maybe he shouldn't have kissed her at all. He wasn't sure.

All he knew was that he was in the lobby of the hospital and struggling to remember he was signing his own name on the pad.

He purposefully ignored Cuddy.

He took the alternative route to his office to avoid House’s team as well.

The trial was doing wonders, his patients felt a resurgence of energy and positivity, it was rare to find someone who didn’t feel much better after the first treatment already. Some were going at a much faster pace, others were slowly getting better. Still, he was witnessing more and more of his patients ask for this new miraculous treatment and, while he legally and ethically had to make sure they knew there could still be a margin of error and it wouldn't magically save them, he felt confident in how good it was currently working.

He returned home tired but satisfied. 

He pretended not to hear the incredibly loud silence. He turned on his jazz music and sang along, until he realized it was the selection he’d picked specifically for those two. He decided TV would do.

He skipped over The OC and The L Word. The news was talking about Immuno-Life. He skipped to the sports channel only to find women’s volleyball. He could hear his obscene comments in the back of his head.

He ate his takeout from the day before with Jeopardy, until he got bored.

One thing he was sure to do was to keep the volume loud, but not loud enough to overwhelm him, just as loud as the silence.

Touch of Evil was on, and anytime he would've loved casually rewatching one of his favorite movies of all time, bit the simple sight of Janet Leigh made him sick to his stomach and he had to turn it off.

He sat in silence, what else could he have done?

He figured a long bath could’ve helped.

But then he walked by the painting room, still open and messy.

He pondered throwing away all the equipment, the lacquers, the formaldehyde, anything that made the condo smell worse. But he simply shut the door, he would deal with it another day.

He saw the bathtub and decided he would get a quick shower instead. That felt much better.

He smiled to himself in the mirror.

He was doing great.

He found himself in the hallway, between the two bedrooms, then headed back to the couch. There was no way he would sleep in any of their scented sheets. He didn't sign up for martyrdom.

He turned the TV back on and switched to sports. Badminton? Yeah, that’ll do it.

He was fine. He’d been fine before.

He hadn’t lost them, not like that night, anything was better than that because at least they were alive. Or, undead, really.

He was fine.

So he went back to work.

He was showered with positive news yet he couldn't bring himself to feel any real joy.

Amber had texted him, more like a suicide watch than anything. He called her during his break and pretended it didn't affect him as he moved on with his day. He didn't even argue with the vending machine, he just let it steal his money and walked away. 

“Are you okay?” The question alone startled him.

He turned around to find Thirteen with her head cocked to the side and watching him attentively. 

“Yeah. Hi.” He realized his mistake when his hands kept twitching rhythmically as a way to calm himself down. He noticed her staring and shoved them in his pockets. 

“Are you on speed?”

“I should've thought of that.”

“You don't look fine-”

“I am. I’m great.” He waved his hands and held them up between them as if to physically stop her.

“Okay… I had news. I thought you might like them-”

“No. No more news.” He immediately cut her off, resuming his walking to escape from her and her good news. “I’m okay.”

“Wilson.”

“Hadley, really, I’m fine. Just don’t…” He flailed around, then stopped, then walked away.

Cuddy approached him next with a smile and he decided to just run. He hid in the Coma Ward for some reason. He decided he would do paperwork with Coma Guy. Not The coma guy, just another guy who was in a coma.

That was all the interaction he wanted.

He escaped to Nephrology next and went up two flights of stairs to not be spotted coming into the Oncology ward. He did his rounds with motivation and only got asked twice about his tics. The others just stared.

There came a time where he was suddenly in front of Diagnostics, he’d been walking mindlessly, and all of a sudden he just was there. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the team gathered around the phone and running a differential. That, and Foreman’s name was no longer on the glass door. They probably spelled it wrong the first time. He kept walking.

He was finally able to get in his car and there was silence again. But it wasn't as empty as the condo would be, it was just quiet. It was fine.

He decided he would reward himself with a burger. When his favorite place was closed, he went to McDonald’s and got the most horrible version of what he would've wanted. But it was fine, it was just a burger.

He saw Nora in the elevator, she even held it open for him. He smiled at her politely, then realized she probably would’ve asked about his roommates. He took the stairs instead, at the cost of looking like an asshole.

He reached his floor and was confronted by the awkward reality that Nora was coming out of the elevator at the same time.

“I just needed to get my steps in.” He tried to justify himself, cringing at his own words and kept walking.

He fumbled with the keys, trying to push them into the keyhole. He jammed in the car keys and cursed under his breath. And when he couldn’t find the right ones, he finally crumbled.

He lost the entire composure he’d so carefully built.

He let out a wail and punched the door, tears coming up to blurry his eyesight.

He pathetically sobbed at his keys, probably looking like more of a psychopath to Nora than he already had. He cried at not being able to find the keys and at how he was crying just because he couldn't find his keys.

He jammed another one into the lock and his arm quivered as it seemed to push in just fine.

He let out a sort of victorious sob as he pulled the door open and shoved it closed again with force.

The loud slam echoed in his brain as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and blindly stepped into his living room cursing under his breath and throwing his messenger bag to the ground.

“Very dramatic entrance, I must say.” 

He stopped in his tracks, his face pulling into a frown as he dried his eyes and looked up.

House was standing at the stove, wearing his Kiss The Cook apron and making something that smelled delicious. He hadn't even noticed the smell.

“Couldn't find a parking spot?”

He watched, frozen in place as the older man turned around again and kept cooking.

He looked around the room and saw piles of cardboard boxes and guitars sitting on their stands in the corner of the room, by the fireplace.

He walked to the kitchen, setting the useless McDonald’s on the counter, then rounded it and stood, watching House pouring some red wine into the pan then taking a sip from the bottle.

He noticed the oncologist beside him and held up a charred hand.

“You need to fix this later. I grabbed the pan without the mittens-”

Wilson didn’t let him finish, he was already framing his face and kissing him.

House set the bottle and wooden spoon down and turned around, his burnt hand held up, the other holding Wilson’s waist as he returned the kiss, slowing it down a notch.

He smiled against his lips and smiled smugly when they pulled away, with Wilson caressing his face with that much tenderness.

He tucked the gray strands of hair behind his ears and pecked his lips softly, then looked up into his dear, clear blue eyes.

“I’m starving.” He murmured, earning a lopsided smile from House, who kept holding him close.

James wrapped his arms around him and stayed there some more as House whined about him making it impossible to cook.

They chuckled and fell right back into their routine.

Wilson sat down on his stool and heard about House’s horrible experience at Mercy. He made fun of him, all while hoping he would end the monologue with a hint that he would be returning to PPTH. When he didn’t, he pathetically asked.

“Where else would I have gone?” House said with a smirk.

He felt his heart ache just a little less the more they talked. He told House about Amber and he learned that she had gone over to his place and the notion made him happy enough to see everything in a different light.

He watched House make them their plates and limp over to his stool and it all fell back into place. It was familiar and heartwarming, he finally had his best friend again.

They talked about everything and nothing, they ate with urgency and then just sat around to talk some more.

“It’s very quiet without her.” House suddenly said, then realized how overly sentimental that sounded and added: “As in, it’s nice to not hear her whining in my ear.”

“We could visit her.” Wilson murmured.

“She just broke up with you and you’re already planning to get on a plane and stalk her.”

“She didn't break up with me.” He earned a glare. “She invited me! Also… Oktoberfest.”

“I guess we could go.” House sighed and stood up. “I have dessert.”

“Wow. You really put in the effort.”

House opened the drawer and pulled out a plastic box and placed it on the counter in front of him.

A genuine chuckle bubbled up out of Wilson’s chest, and they smiled fondly at each other as the oncologist reached out and ripped the Oreo packet apart.

House grabbed a biscuit, screwed the shell off and offered Wilson the half with the cream, just like they used to do in the ‘90s.

James smiled, his heart aching tenderly as he scraped the filling off with his teeth.

House passed him a second half.

He held the biscuit in his hand and swallowed, looking at his best friend.

“I took the first dose three days ago.” He confessed.

House’s smile fell, his eyes going wide for a moment.

“Why?”

“It seemed like a healthy compromise.”

“You didn't know I would come back.”

“You always do.” He lied to himself. “I don’t want to suffer, or fall terribly ill. It’s a good thing. And you made it. I’m just being a supportive best friend.”

“Partner.” The mocking correction brought a smile to Wilson’s lips.

“Yeah.”

“You didn't have to.”

“I know that. Don’t be repetitive.” Wilson shrugged, holding out a new scraped biscuit shell for House to take. “It was free will.”

“Good to know.” House smiled softly, he seemed genuinely moved.

“You’ll stay, right?”

The older man scoffed, his mouth full.

“I have a very codependent boyfriend who sacrifices his own beliefs to be with me. I can sacrifice a few of my own.”

“One would hope.”

House held up the biscuit shell he was given and neared it to Wilson’s own.

“To death.”

Wilson smiled and reciprocated the toast.

“To death.”

James Wilson was 72 years old when he was diagnosed with type II Thymoma.

He’d lived a wonderful life, he’d been loved by colleagues and patients and friends. He didn't have any children, but he was able to be there for his brother's kids like a second father. 

He was able to reunite with Danny for the first time in decades and, while at first the younger sibling didn't recognise the other, they reached a point, years down the line, where they could talk with no struggle.

Daniel spent most of his life in and out of facilities until he accepted to try the Immuno-Life treatment. There was a slight neurological progress that made his life a bit easier, enough for him to find a home of his own and a job. Wilson visited him every Thursday and Sunday, they lived at a walkable distance, and part of him felt like he finally had a family of his own, one he’d been deprived of for decades.

He found out about his passion for traveling later in life, sacrificing his usually sacrificed life for the sake of exploring places he'd always wanted to see. 

He did see Germany, he would see Amber and her family yearly, her children felt almost like his own.

He was loved by everyone.

Whoever met James Wilson would come out of it with a lovely anecdote to tell, with nothing but fond memories of his kindness, his selflessness, his beautiful smile.

He was loved.

In the end, he did get what House had foreseen for him. 

He was particularly wealthy, enough to accomodate any whim or desire, he was pretty successful in his field, he’d turned down offers that would've made even an exemplary figure in oncology but he didn't want that. He wanted a private life with his loved ones and that was what he got.

He couldn't complain, he never complained.

He recalled complaining only a few times in the last decades of his life: when the Immuno-Life trial showed its first side effects and he had to blindly reassure his patients, before they eventually fixed them and made the drug safer to use; 

when his cousin made a scene at Hanukkah and insulted him for showing off his gay relationship at a family dinner and Wilson ended up punching him, then got a broken nose in return; 

When he learned that Aeterna was in the hands of a billionaire who had purchased the company and Amber was forced to drop off and join the Immuno-Life research instead;

When they insisted on performing Aeterna trials, spending resources for nothing, because the drug kept failing, or if it had any success, couldn't be proven, he felt some satisfaction when the project was dropped once and for all at the death of the billionaire.

Wilson didn’t complain. 

He didn’t complain even when he got his diagnosis, he cried, yes, but he was okay with it.

He lived six more years after that, he didn’t want to treat it, he only let the residue of Immuno-Life doses extend his time some more, giving him just a slight cough in the last two years.

His single complaint, his entire thirty, almost forty years since that fateful night was a complaint he kept to himself, or to a few friends he trusted. He kept it silent, but he was aware that House knew exactly what he thought.

He could see it in the way he would look at him when his own hair started to go gray, he would notice the way James would caress his skin in the morning and silently wish more wrinkles would appear.

He knew what Wilson thought when he was out of breath from a second flight of stairs and House hadn't even noticed he'd reached the top. 

He knew what plagued his mind whenever they would lay naked in bed throughout the years and House would still look the way he did when he was forty-five and he had gained weight here and there, his body had changed shape and his skin was sprinkled with age marks and freckles.

House remained the same, even when he attempted to paint him differently upon his request. More wrinkles would make him look like he was wearing makeup, more “old gentleman” clothes made him look like someone that wasn’t himself.

He decided to dye his hair, to make it slightly more silver, and that seemed to do the trick for a while, until Wilson started going completely white and wearing glasses.

They would joke about him being his sugar daddy, House wouldn't waste a chance to make everyone else uncomfortable around them.

At times Wilson would get self conscious of his own appearance but then House would bully him by calling him “the sexiest male cougar of New Jersey” and he would laugh and let himself be smothered in affection.

He didn't need to pretend to be young when he felt young just by living with his best friend. House kept his soul young just by being himself, by letting themselves stay their old selves.

He was happy about most aspects of his life but none could compare to the unbridled joy he felt by getting to spend every day beside his best friend.

Even suffering his annoying attitudes felt like a blessing, especially in the last years of his life.

When House would purposefully bicker with him just to annoy him, he would just smile and appreciate the gesture because it meant House didn't love him any less than he used to.

In fact, it was quite sweet how House would pretend not to be completely devoted to him. He tagged along to multiple trips just because Wilson had asked, he had to suffer through numerous dinners with the Wilsons, even getting punched right after Wilson just to defend his honor. They laughed about it with bloodied tissues stuffed up their noses. They always found a way to laugh.

Wilson mourned every day that the person he loved the most wouldn't grow old with him, but he spent every single moment beside him gratefully.

He kissed him with all the love in the world, he appreciated every laugh. And he held his hand even as his heart stopped beating.

The funeral was held outside, it was a beautiful spring day, the seats weren't enough for the number of people that showed up.

House wore his baseball cap and sunglasses and sat in the last row. Only those closest to him recognized him and comforted him. 

Cuddy even sat beside him until he shooed her away and told her to go give her condolences to the family.

So did Cameron, Hadley, Foreman and Chase in that order.

When another person sat down next to him he pulled off his sunglasses with a groan.

“How hard is it to just sit somewhere el-” His words stopped halfway out of his mouth as he saw the beautiful head of platinum blonde shining in the sunlight.

“What are you gonna do later?” Amber asked, adjusting her own cat-eye sunglasses and fiddling with her black purse. Her slender hands with long, red lacquered nails fixed the hem or her black pencil skirt. Her legs were still just as long and smooth as they used to be decades earlier.

“Probably gonna put a bullet between my eyes.” He said, with a shrug, his head cocked to the side and back to look at her.

“You want to have a drink together?” She asked with her eyes still on the rabbi.

“Before or after?”

“You think you’re gonna survive a bullet to the head?”

“I don’t know. But we’re gonna find out soon.”

“Did you have some sort of suicide pact, you two?” She casually asked, making the older couple sitting in front of her turn around to look with a grimace. She waved her hand at them, gesturing to turn back around with an annoyed expression.

“He didn’t let me. I wanted to try and kill us both in a very dramatic and theatrical way. But instead he chose to die peacefully in his bed during his afternoon nap. Boring.”

“You could come to Europe-”

“And live with you?! Fuck no.” He scoffed.

“I have a family. My wife wouldn’t want you moving in either.”

“Nevermind, maybe I am gonna move in as long as I can watch.”

“You’re not moving in. And you’re definitely not allowed near her anytime soon.” She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Also she’s sixty-one, she’s a lady. Don’t talk about her like that.”

“She’s a milf.” He barked under his breath, earning more glares from the (physically) older people before them.

“Again, not allowed near her.” She sighed deeply. “You could be a researcher. Someplace else that doesn’t remind you of him.”

“That’s a gross way to put it.” He groaned with disgust.

“Or maybe every place reminds you of him.”

He was silent for a moment, his head low.

“Look, there’s no reason for me to stay. He was… my purpose. I’m done here.”

“He would want you to live.”

“And I wanted to become a pole dancer. You can’t always get what you want.”

He distantly heard the rabbi’s words of endearment about James.

“I’ll help you.” She said after a while.

“Find a job and move in with your lesbian wife?”

She let out a deep breath.

“I’ll do it for you. Make sure you don’t come back.”

“Are you speaking out of your selfish need to kill me?”

“Partially.”


Amber eyed the golden band around House’s finger and the smaller silver band over it. He was fidgeting with them, twisting them mindlessly.

“Did he suffer?”

“Not much. I made sure he didn’t. But he just… let himself go the last few days. He told me he felt it was gonna happen.” He smiled sadly. “That idiot. A world where nobody dies of cancer anymore and he decided to feel special.”

“I think it was time for him.” She attempted to reassure him. “He used to call and tell me how much it hurt to not be able to see you grow old.”

“I look old.”

“You look the same as you did twenty years ago, it doesn’t feel nice to witness.” She said, softly. “He never accepted the fact we weren’t going to die. He’s always felt weird about it. And I understand it, in part. Eli feels the same.”

“With all due respect, I don’t care what your lesbian wife thinks, he shouldn’t have killed himself.”

“He had a good life, House. He wanted to end it on a good note. Beside you.” He bit the inside of his cheek, blinking. “He didn’t do this because he didn’t want to spend any more time with you, he did it so he could remember only the good parts. He stopped it before it could go bad, before he could feel the gap between you two. He did the right thing.”

“I know.” He sighed. “But it sucks.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely. I had to take a plane to see an urn.”


A genuine chuckle left House’s lips and Amber initially tried to hold hers in, but wasn't able to.

Heads turned as the two cackled.

They stood up from the chairs and stifled their giggles as they moved away from the crowd.

The rabbi raised his voice, shooting them a glare and continued with his speech.

“I, for one, honestly believe this doctor, this benefactor, this man, had in his own way learned the secret of eternal life.” 

The two stopped in their tracks, looking back at the old man.

“And it's here, among us, in the hearts of his friends. And the secret of eternal youth right here in the lives of his brothers Daniel and David and their children and grandchildren.” House scoffed and rolled his eyes, stepping back. “In the life of his husband, who will live to remember him fondly for years to come.”

Amber watched his mouth twitch to the side for a moment, then saw his head lowering just slightly.

“It is my opinion that our beloved James is one man who will indeed live forever.”

Amber scoffed under her breath, audible enough for the last rows to hear and turn around.

“Blah blah blah blah.” She said, placing a hand on House’s back to lead him away. 

“It’s so insensitive.” House said with a smile she immediately mirrored as he hooked his arm around hers.

“God, terribly.”