Title: The Man Who Wasn't There

Summary: When bad things happen to House, Wilson never seems to be around.

Characters: House, Jimmy Wilson and OC.

Rating: PG-13

Warning: AU. No character gets hurt, but the story may provide goosebumps. Slightly spoilery for S4 and maybe S5, but it's not about S4 or S5.

Disclaimer: Don't own, never will. Just borrowing the characters while the show is on hiatus.

A/N: As always, my thanks to my beta, bookfan85 for her sharp eyes and support.

This was an idea I had before the end of S4, and was a tough little nut to crack open and spread onto a virtual page. Please let me know if it works or not.

It was morning when House arrived at the hospital, but he could have sworn time stopped along with the battery in his watch. Bored, he took the short-cut and hitched over the half-wall to Wilson's office. He was surprised to find it locked with the blinds drawn. It wasn't like Wilson to be late. He mentally shrugged and headed back to his desk to play with his collection of toys. It would keep his mind occupied until his best friend showed up. He looked forward to them arguing over some lame subject or poor moronic bastard as they sharpened their tongues on each other's wits.

By lunchtime, he was absorbed in a new case, and forgot about his friend until he was reminded by a bag of chips left on his desk. Wilson must have come by and dropped them off.

He didn't find time to eat until late afternoon. His patient went into cardiac arrest right before lunch, but was now stabilized and wiped off the whiteboard. This last symptom provided the diagnosis. He was free once again to amuse himself.

As he ate the chips, he checked his phone messages and email. Nothing from Jimmy. He'd forgotten to check the oncologist's office as he marched with his team to his patient's bedside. Maybe, he would take the time now. Be generous and share Wilson's chips with him.

This time he used the approved GPS route, and stumped into his friend's office through the front door without knocking. His mind was thrown off-kilter more than his gait as he looked around. There was the accustomed bookcase loaded with richly colored volumes stamped in gilt with important medical names on the covers, but his eyes widened as he realized there were no stuffed animals or trophies on display - only books. An identical twin loomed against the opposite wall, and both sandwiched a table in the center that contained a couple of laptops.

Amber looked up, and the blue ice of her eyes reflected back into his. Her smile was small and knowing, "I'm done if you want the library to yourself. There are some new books on sex in the lower right hand corner if you are looking for inspiration."

Her fingers ran across the keyboard and the cover closed with a thunk. Snatching up a book and a folder she sidled up to him, and murmured, "See you're still eating the chips I left for you. Don't ruin your appetite because I'm making a special dinner tonight. I'm expecting you by 5:30. Don't be late."

He scratched his forehead. Something felt so right and so wrong about her soliloquy. He nodded his assent. She stole a chip from his bag, and then looked at her watch. "Don't forget Cuddy wants you in her office at 4:00 pm. You only have twenty minutes." Again he nodded.

Did he fall down a rabbit hole? After she left, he stepped outside Wilson's office and checked the door. The first line of brushed aluminum letters read 'Diagnostic Medicine,' and directly underneath, 'Reference Library.' He ran his fingers over and around the letters, peering closely to see any trace or shadow of Wilson's name and title. What the fuck?

He reached for his cell and called Wilson. It rang until the recorded voice of a woman came on the line. The throaty mezzo sounded faintly familiar, but didn't match any of Wilson's wives or girlfriends. He hung up. He tried every possible number, including the one for the garage Wilson took his car to be serviced. The number was good, but the mechanic said his records only showed an S. Wilson who brought a Volvo into the shop in the last six months. He wouldn't provide any more information.

House's stomach rebelled against the greasy chips. He dumped the bag in the wastebasket and left the room.

He didn't wait for Cuddy to threaten him with clinic hours. He showed up with two minutes to spare, and a whole lot of questions. Fortunately for Cuddy, the headache that was beginning to throb at the back of his head impeded his ability to squeeze off a round of penetrating insults and observations.

Standing along side the dean of medicine was a pretty brunette with short-cropped hair and Brooke Shields' eyebrows. Her figure was almost completely camouflaged by the sensible brown suit and hideous blue scarf casually tied around her neck. Her feet were snuggly encased in expensive flat-heeled shoes. She was a doctor, and Cuddy insisted they meet every week since the bus accident.

He made himself comfortable in the chair opposite to where the dark haired woman sat. Cuddy quirked a half-smile at both of them before she left the room.

A feeling of déjà vu flooded his senses, slowing him down. The headache made him even more sluggish, and he didn't act fast enough to ask about Wilson or Wilson's office before she was out the door. It would have to wait for later.

The woman sat with her hands folded in her lap. There was no notepad. Her voice was low with a melodic intonation, but her questions were a catechism that droned on with as much excitement as a nun training a confirmation class. His mind sought other pursuits as he began answering by rote, and he imagined his friend's nagging, "Would it hurt you to keep your boss happy? Don't be an idiot, answer politely, and we'll have a good laugh over this tonight."

"Tomorrow. I'm busy tonight." By the look on the woman's face, he made a fatal error. He spoke the words out loud. Backtracking, he spun the previous words with as much asperity as he dared, "Is this going to end anytime today? I have a hot date for tonight that I'm hoping won't cool off until tomorrow."

The sensible woman looked at her sensible watch and nodded, "I'm sure it will be alright with Dr. Cuddy if we cut the session ten minutes early. You've made wonderful progress since the accident. Not one mention of Jimmy today."

House dug his fingers into the armrests, he heard the rumbling voice near his ear, "House, let it go." He swallowed his growing irritation, and nodded in understanding. Wilson would know whom the nod was for.

The woman leaned forward. Her slightly wall-eyed look diffused the keen intelligence behind her eyes. He thought she was probably a lesbian; if he was lucky maybe she was bi. Those chocolate brown pools were enough for him to consider dumping Amber…Where did that thought come from?! What the hell was he thinking?!

He'd lost track of her psychobabble, and was brought up short by her concerned tone, "Do you understand, Dr. House?"

"What?"

"'Jimmy' was your invisible friend when you were a child. There never was a 'Jimmy,' 'James,' or 'Jim' in your life, now or before. The bus accident triggered old childhood patterns that you used to rely on when you needed comfort, were under stress, or bored." She continued, "Dr. Cuddy didn't notice your preoccupation with 'Jimmy' until this latest incident, but he's been your safety valve for a long time now, and it's important for you to channel your behavior into a new healthier direction. Perhaps next week we can discuss why 'Jimmy' was so important to you when you were little."

Her hand moved toward the feminine version of a messenger bag, but then she stopped. "Last Wednesday we made remarkable headway, and it shows in your attitude today. What stands out in your mind about the previous week?"

"The cafeteria made meatball soup out of Monday's spaghetti special." He was disappointed when he didn't hear an echoing snort of derision.

He was suddenly aware of how quiet and still the room was. Not even the tick of a clock. He was completely abandoned except for the woman in the room.

He breathed deeply before continuing, "Jimmy isn't real. He was never there during the so-called disasters in my life."

He saw creamy white skin underneath the scarf as she bent forward prompting him to answer, "Like...?"

He was suddenly weary, "The infarction…The time I was shot."

"And, who did you call when you electrocuted yourself?"

He was silent for a long time, "Amber."

"Why did you call her?"

The words caught in his throat, but did not choke him like last week, "Because 'Jimmy' wasn't real, and wouldn't have saved me."

The woman's hair flopped over her forehead as she nodded her approval. She swept the brown swatch behind her ear. "Excellent. You need to repeat that to yourself as often as necessary." She ended the session as she huffed a breath and grasped the briefcase in her hand, "So, I will see you back here next week?"

Inexplicably, House was beginning to warm to her. He gave a glimmer of a smile as he walked along side her to the French doors, "Yes, Susan."

She stopped and quietly considered him for a moment. Her small bow mouth met in a thin line, "Actually, Dr. House, to minimize the possibility of transference, I prefer if we kept our meetings on a strictly professional level. Please call me Dr. Wilson."

He tested the words out loud, "Wilson, it is then."

His eyes trailed after her as she walked out of the room.

fin

Thanks for reading. Comments welcome.