A/N: So... This is it. The story's long-awaited last chapter. :) It's written as a couple of short scenes; snap-shot style. I hope you like it...
Anyway, I wanted to thank all of you who so faithfully read the story, and particularly each one of you who took the time to review! It was my first multi-chapter story, overall the second fanfic for me. It was a real adventure. Never thought I'd finish one of these... :)
So, onto the story finale... Enjoy!
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"House! Get moving already – we're late!" Wilson impatiently waited for his friend in the hall outside the apartment.
"Technically...", the diagnostician slowly made his way towards the door as well, "...we are not late, since we don't have a PT appointment. I do."
Wilson rolled his eyes at that. "Technically", he handed the other man his coat, "I am taking you to PT, so technically...", he closed the door behind them, "we need to get there. – Preferably sometime in the near future..."
His eyes followed House as he made his way over to the elevator. He couldn't suppress a small smile at the way his friend was gradually starting to bear weight on his bad leg again, even if he was – by strict orders of his physiotherapist – still on crutches.
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"You sure it's such a good idea to get off the oxycodone again so soon?"
House briefly looked up from his Game Boy match, before focussing his attention on killing space monkeys again. "Yep." Tone light.
Wilson sat down in a chair across from him, his eyes never leaving his friend. "Do you experience any side-effects you haven't been telling me about?"
The diagnostician didn't take his eyes off the game. "No..." Reply deliberately short.
Wilson frowned at that. "Then why..."
His friend interrupted him impatiently, finally meeting his gaze. "Oxy's great for the pain, but it makes you feel high...!" Fake-amazement in his voice, his face once again drawn into a comic grimace. Then he switched his tone to sarcastic, quietly mumbling: "And who'd want that?" He concentrated on the Game Boy again.
The younger medic sighed. "House... It's important that you – " He was interrupted again.
"What...?!" The diagnostician angrily switched off his toy now. "You're all bugging me for years about getting off the Vicodin, and now you desperately want me to stay on something twice as strong, twice as addictive?!"
Wilson held his gaze, replying calmly: "You'll be okay with it as a short-term measure."
House nodded, impatiently. "I'm also okay with discontinuing this 'short-term measure' now. – I'm feeling much better. I wanna try to get back on the Vicodin."
Wilson slowly nodded, apparently not completely convinced. "What does Shaminsky have to say about that..."
The older man just shrugged, pushing himself to his feet. "He thinks it's great! - As long as I don't slack on my rehab of course..."
Wilson nodded again. "Which you won't..." Half-statement, half-question.
His friend met his concerned gaze, tone serious for once. "Which I won't."
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"You okay...?" Wilson worriedly took in the small splint that was covering his friend's left wrist.
The older man just nodded, stoically continuing to methodically eat his Reuben. "Fine! Stop acting like my Mum, Wilson..."
Simply ignoring the expected reproof, the oncologist kept his eyes on the apparent injury. "Then why the bandage..." He searched his friend's gaze now.
House rolled his eyes at that. "Latest fashion. – I'm serious, Wilson. Just let it go..."
But the oncologist wasn't to be deterred. "Did this happen during PT?" No reply. "You at least sure that nothing's broken?"
Resigned, House put his sandwich down, obviously forcing himself to patience. "Yes. – I'm not sure, however, how long you'll still be able to say that about all of your bones..."
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"I'd never have thought that he'd voluntarily get on an antidepressant…"
Wilson calmly met Cuddy's gaze. "Why not?" He handed the charts he had just signed to one of the nurses. "There are several studies indicating a beneficial effect of SSRIs on the management of chronic pain, so why shouldn't he try it...?"
She slowly nodded, voice curious. "And is it helping any?"
Wilson shrugged slightly. "Seems to be. – Certainly helps him sleep better. His appetite also seems improved; finally… Was about time; he needs to regain some of that weight."
Another nod from his boss.
"Shaminsky wants to up the SSRI some more, now that he's off the oxycodone. Then we'll see how much of the pain-relief is actually caused by the antidepressant. How much it might help him cut back on the Vicodin."
Cuddy was still watching him intently, studying his expressive body-language. "And your living-arrangement? Working out so far?"
Wilson smiled slightly at that. "Yeah. Works surprisingly well actually. – Though he doesn't really let me help much. You know how he is… Sometimes I think I'm there more for my own sake than for his. At least I can keep an eye on him like this…"
Cuddy returned a small smile.
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When House was at his piano again for the first time, Wilson pretended to still be engrossed in some medical journal, while in fact listening intently to the beautiful melody the diagnostician was coaxing out of the instrument. The improvised piece was followed by long moments of silence, during which Wilson continued to pretend reading, while the older man absent-mindedly played with the glass of scotch he had set down on top of the piano earlier.
When he finally spoke, his tone was conspicuously neutral: "You know what...?"
The oncologist looked up at his friend, eyes questioning.
House didn't meet his gaze. "It's a good thing you didn't stay in Europe..." His voice was gruff.
Wilson looked puzzled for a moment, then started to smile slightly as soon as he had once more translated the words into what he knew his friend was trying to say. "You're welcome, House..."
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Gregory House was not a happy camper. He irritatedly entered Wilson's office shortly before lunch.
"Guess what I found on my desk this morning..." He forcefully put a journal down in front of the oncologist.
Wilson shrugged, pseudo-casually. "So what... A motorbike mag."
House nodded impatiently. "Yeah..." A disgruntled snort. Then: "Somebody thought they should mark some of the offers for me..." Tone an interesting mixture of sarcastic and accusing.
Wilson tried to look innocent, but then just smiled, shrugging again. "I heard conditions were exceptionally good for personal loans right now."
His friend looked very surprised for a moment, to say the least. "Are you suggesting I should buy a new motorcycle? For me to drive?" Disbelieving.
Wilson deliberately met the older man's gaze. "Whatever makes you happy..." He quickly finished with a shrug, trying to appear more casual than he felt right now.
House seemed stunned for a moment, then suddenly grinned. "I knew you'd get there, eventually. It's just too cool, isn't it."
The oncologist smiled warmly at him. "Yeah. – It is."
The end