A/N Inspired somewhat by Feeling A Moment by Feeder and by my own boredom at work.

One of those Wilson visits Mayfield fics (yes another one). House has changed and wants Wilson to as well. How well Wilson deal with his friend's change?

A gentle beep echoed around the half-empty parking lot as a figure, swathed in a long brown jacket, collected a briefcase from the rooftop of a parked car. The man shook the briefcase, sending the rainwater that had collected on it descending onto the soft tarred ground.

Sighing loudly, James Wilson opened up the case and pulled out a wad of sodden paperwork. Blue ink ran through the numerous pale sheets like a child had seemingly blown through a pen causing ink to splatter. He rammed the papers angrily back into the case. Another three hours of paperwork and writing gone to waste. Another mound to add to the ever growing mountain of paperwork that had been worming its way skywards on his desk.

Wilson figured the mountain would be about 2 feet at least by now. Not only was he dealing with his patient's files and paperwork, but he was also dealing with the paperwork House had chosen not to do in his time at PPTH. Then there was the current cases led by Foreman, which Cuddy had asked Wilson to check to cover all bases.

Wilson could have said no, he could have said he had too much to work with already. Cancer patients weren't patients that you could just let go after a consultation and a diagnosis. They were Wilson's responsibility until they died or went into remission and even after that he still had a duty to the family and the patient, deceased or not. He had envied House and his ability to be completely detached from his patients. House was rarely sent a gift or card thanking him and acting as a constant reminder of what had gone before. Wilson had soft toys, posters, books and decorations from and endless number of patients. All of which sat somewhere in his office as a living photo album of his successes and failures.

Unfortunately his album showed more failures than successes.

Wilson pulled up the collar on his jacket, attempting to keep the spluttering rain away from his clean, crisp shirt. He had wanted to look his best to see House. He didn't know why. It wasn't like House would noticed anyway and even if House did noticed Wilson knew all he would get would be a disapproving comment about his vanity.

He tried to rearrange his hair which had become fuzzed somewhat by the rain. Giving up, he merely patted down one side in a last ditch effort to make it more presentable, though Wilson was still bothered by the tuft sticking up at the back of his head.

The dank floodlights at the entrance of Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital made the building look even less appealing than it did during the day. The grey blocks that constituted the building gave it an Orwellian look to the place. Coupling that with poor lighting and the eerie silence that permeated the air meant the atmosphere around Wilson was heavy.

Every psychiatric hospital Wilson had visited had the same tense and brooding aura. The one in New York that his brother Danny was currently residing in felt the same. Even the one he had visited against his mother's wishes when Danny was admitted in his teens had exactly the same feel. Wilson shuddered as he hurriedly made his way to the entrance to escape the rain. Maybe it was just him. Maybe his past experiences had made him feel such tension in the present.

Wilson calmly nodded to the security officer who pushed the door ajar for him to enter.

The first time Wilson had come here was only a week after House's voluntary admission. He was told rather shortly that 'Mr House doesn't want to see any visitors.' After much pleading with the staff member that evening Wilson had gotten nowhere and was told 'that the wishes of a patient had to be repsected.' Always the diplomat, Wilson accepted the explanation and had left but with an uncomfortable feeling that House was trying to cut himself off, just like Wilson had done when Amber passed away.

Over the course of the next two weeks Wilson had diligently wrote letters every two days, discussing his days, how his patients were doing and exceedingly banal stuff about how the cafeteria had changed the ice cream that was on offer. All this in an effort to illicit a response, a letter back perhaps, a phone call, anything. No matter how small it would be Wilson just wanted an indication that House was doing okay.

Nothing came. All Wilson was faced with was a constant wall of silence. Mayfield wouldn't discuss patient details and even Cuddy had tried and failed to get through to him.

Wilson was back here for another roll of the dice. Hopefully will be a bit more receptive this time.

He ran a hand through his moist hair, ruining his previous attempts to make it look neater. A miserable looking member of staff eyed him up from behind the desk before jabbering out the well-worn phrase, "Can I help you sir?"

"I'm here to see Gregory House." Wilson cracked a smile in a half-hearted plea to the woman's nice side.

The woman nodded and flicked through the papers that were randomly strewn across the front desk. "And who may you be?"

"I'm his friend, James Wilson. I came a couple of weeks ago but they said he didn't want any visitors."

"Mm-mm." The woman pointed to the left. "Through those double doors and on your right." She lost eye contact with Wilson and carried on flicking through the papers.

Awkwardly, Wilson nodded and mumbled some thanks before heading through the double doors. His feeling had been right. These places were all the same. The same whitewashed walls and dull carpets. Even the same furnishings, the same squashy looking brown chairs that were in fact like a rock to sit on.

Wilson took a deep breath before scanning the room on his right for the familiar looking face. This was harder than he thought it would be. With Danny it was just a case of re-introducing himself. Danny wasn't Danny any more when Wilson had seen him last. Danny hadn't been Danny since his was 13 and the fact that he didn't know what to expect made the entire process a lot easier to deal with.

But with House it was different. For the past fifteen years or so they had been best of friends. He knew the ins and outs of House's personality. How he would deal with certain things, his thought processes, everything. What scared Wilson the most was how the House he would now see would compare to the House he had left in the parking lot that day. He knows what House should be like but Wilson fear lay in how he would deal with what House would be like.

House was always the one constant in his life. The one who never seemed to change no matter what crap was thrown at him. A change in House would be a change too far.

Wilson spotted his friend sitting rigidly still in a couch, hands intertwined and leaning forward onto his knees.

"House?" Wilson gently placed a hand on House's shoulder. His friend's eyes didn't so much as flicker. Wilson gave a weak shake. "House? It's Wilson."

"Mm." House leaned back on the couch as his eyes met Wilson's. "What are you doing here?"

Wilson took a seat. "Just came to see how you were doing. They told me you didn't want visitors the last time."

"I still don't." Visibly agitated, House shuffled along the couch away from Wilson.

"I did write to you. You never answered though. I assumed you didn't receive my letters."

House rubbed his eyes. "I did. I just choose not to write back. Do you not take a hint when you get one? I didn't want any visitors."

Wilson gently tapped his fingers together. House was not normally this aggressive without the aggression being laced with sarcasm. Wilson figured it was the medication. "I'm your friend House. I just wanted to see how you were doing. You haven't been in touch so I was worried."

"You would be."

The oncologist bit his lip to stop himself from answering back. Calm was what was needed. This wasn't House talking. Wilson figured he was on some serious medication. "So how have you been?"

"I want you to leave. Just leave me alone." House stuck his head in his hands.

"I want to help you House. I thought you would need some support."

House dropped his hands. "Well I don't need your support okay? This is my mess and I will get myself out of it. I don't need you padding around in the background giving me sympathetic pats on the back. I don't need your pity."

A long protracted silence stretched between them. Wilson wasn't sure if House knew it but he had never pitied House, rather the opposite. Wilson watched on his friend mocked idiots, got away with crazy medical activities and was the server of brutal honesty with little care in the world while he had to sit behind a mask of sympathetic calm, endlessly scurrying around pandering to everyone's needs with the pressure of being the 'Nice Doctor' constantly weighing on his mind. Sometimes he wished he could be free of all that pressure and just be an ass.

"There's a difference between support and pity House." Wilson watched nervously as House shook his head.

"You don't know the difference." House's body slumped. "Wilson. I just want you to leave. I want you to leave and not come back."

"But Hou-"

House's eyes met Wilson and for the first time he saw the true despair that had made itself at home behind his friend's sharp blue eyes. "I don't want to drag you down."

"You're not drag-"

"We both know that this is affecting you just as much as it is affecting me. Your hair is a mess, your clothes aren't even ironed."

Wilson pulled at his shirt and patted his hair. "It's raining outside." At least House's skills for observation weren't waning.

"Barely." House scratched his thinning hair. "You can't deal with this Wilson. I know that."

"I can deal with this. I am dealing with this. I just want to help you to deal with this. I can't just leave you here." Wilson loosened his tie.

House sighed. "I'm still seeing Amber."

Wilson subconsciously held his breath. He had been waiting for this to come up. He had planned out things to say when House mentioned Amber's name but when the moment came all he could manage was a nod and an, "Okay."

"See. You don't know how to deal with this. I tell you that I am seeing your dead girlfriend and all you can manage is an 'okay'."

"What do you want me to say?"

"Something other than 'okay'." House gently turned back towards Wilson. "You don't deserve this. I can't keep expecting you to take all my crap on top of your own Wilson."

Wilson chuckled. "I've taken your crap for fifteen years and vice versa. I think I can handle a bit more."

"I can't." The rims of House's eyes now flashed an angry red. "I can't sit and watch you clean up after me all the time." House rose out of the couch and headed towards the door. "Nurse!"

Wilson raced after him and grabbed House by the shoulders. "What are you saying? I don't understand. I mean what is this?"

"Stop worrying about me. Go home. Go to sleep and then go to work."

"I c-can't do that." Wilson rubbed the back of his neck.

"Tough crap. You're gonna have to." A squat nurse arrived at the door. "I'm tired and my friend wants to go home."

Wilson smiled at the nurse. "I don't want to go home." He turned back to House who stood scratching his stubbled chin. "You can't just cast me out."

"Excuse me sir. We'll have to ask you to leave now." She placed a hand on Wilson's back and manoeuvred him towards the entrance.

House gave a sheepish smile before shutting the double door, much to the horror of the younger man.

"House! House!" Wilson grabbed the reception desk to stop the nurse from leading him to the entrance.

"Sir if you don't leave we will have to call the police." The squat nurse stood with her hands on her hips and scowled her most powerful scowl. "Sir!"

A defeated Wilson merely stared at the floor, trying to comprehend what had just happened. House had cut him off, effectively stopped their relationship in one conversation.

Wilson trudged out the entrance and into the parking lot which was now resembling a shallow pool. Heading towards his car he broke down, blubbering out gentle sobs in between heaving gasps of air.

Everything felt it was sliding downhill. The knowledge that House was House and would always be House had kept Wilson on steady ground through all his marital strife and work stress but now that support had been taken away.

Wilson didn't get home till past one in the morning. He had driven, driven around in circles until he had worn himself out. Driven until he was so tired that he had nearly plowed his expensive Volvo into a lamppost.

When he got back into his apartment he threw himself onto his couch and turned on the TV, letting the flashing lights and fuzzy noise wash over him. He wasn't in the mood to do anything that required him to think.

He just wanted to sit there and let the waves of despair crash in around him. Wilson could never have predicted that what had happened would have happened. He had expected something to be different. But he had no idea that House would want to end their relationship there and then.

In a way for Wilson it was a taste of his own medicine. To be on the other side when a friend told you that they didn't want to be a friend any more.

It occurred to Wilson that Amber's death had been that pivotal part in their friendship. Ties had been tested, severed and knotted back together again. Things were said that should never have been said and things had been done that should have never have been done. Mostly on Wilson's side. But while their friendship was inevitably patched up, it was never fixed. Their issues were never sorted.

They had merely put a band aid over a wound that required stitching.

Wilson tossed the empty bag of potato chips in the bin before heading off to bed. He knew he wouldn't sleep but he thought he may as well try.

Another groan was followed by another turn in the bed. Wilson was right, he wasn't going to get any sleep. He lay on his front, mouth a gape and stared blankly at his alarm clock. 3:35am.

He wondered what House would be doing at this very moment. Probably in a cosy sleep aided by sedatives or talking to an ex-suicidal colleague. Wilson wished it to be the former.

"I can't believe you didn't fight for him more."

Wilson snapped out of his daze. The voice had a cold edge to it. A familiar cold edge.

"I said I thought you would have fought more. You know. Instead of letting him just close the door like that."

Alarmed, Wilson sat bolt upright in his bed and glanced slowly towards the corner of his room. Someone was there, draped in shadows so he couldn't quite make out who it was but it was someone.

"Are you even listening to me?" A face poked itself from the shadows.

Wilson froze, dumbfounded at the sight before him. He squinted and blinked to make sure he was awake. "Amber?"

How do you feel when there's no sun
How do you feel when rain drops come pouring down again
How do you feel when there's no one
Am I just like you?