Carpe Diem

Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is a 2-chapter crossover that's been in my head for a while (special thanks to an LJ post by pisces317 for finally motivating me to start writing it!). Slightly AU in that Neil Perry's suicide attempt in Dead Poet's Society is unsuccessful, and he grows up to be the James Wilson we know on House. I know that some discrepancies are impossible to get around, like the time difference between the two settings, but otherwise I tried my best to work everything into canon as much as I could (minus the pairings: established House/Wilson with references to Neil/Todd). Hopefully it makes some sort of sense. x]

The book lands with a thud on Wilson's desk, and he raises his eyes just enough to recognize the gold lettering emblazoned on the smooth crimson surface. He's barely aware of House plunking down into the seat across from him, too overcome with choruses of "Travesty, horror, decadence, excrement!" ringing in his ears as the words WELTON ACADEMY burn into his eyes.

"Talk," House commands from his throne, but it sounds more like a barbaric yawp to Wilson.

He takes in a deep breath through his nose, trying to calculate the odds that perhaps House hasn't actually looked inside the yearbook yet. House, however, seems to sense this small glimmer of hope, and quickly snuffs it out.

"I think I have a right to know who I'm fucking every night, Wilson," he says. "Or should I say, Neil Perry?" He snatches the book back before Wilson can grab it, and now Wilson vaguely wonders if he'll begin to dance around the room, limping over the furniture as he reads it aloud.

But instead, House simply gives him another chance. "Talk," he repeats.

"How did you even find this?" Wilson tries to keep his tone steady – angry, even – but the slight quiver on the how gives him away.

His second chance is up. "Neil Perry," House reads calmly, opening the yearbook to a dog-eared page. "Inspirational quote of choice: Carpe Diem. Hand-written addition: Dead Poets Society."

He turns the book so that Wilson can see the photo. His old name is plastered above his smiling teenage portrait, accompanied by "Carpe Diem" typed underneath and "Dead Poets Society" scrawled in blue in the corner.

"You got a twin you never told me about?" House asks.

"High school was a long time ago," Wilson replies feebly. "Your past is just as secretive as mine, if not more."

House rolls his eyes. "I may not like to whine about my daddy issues, but I never lied about my name," he argues, and Wilson pinches the bridge of his nose as House continues his annoyed tirade. "What the hell am I supposed to call you now? Wilson-Perry? I'll have to remember that the next time I scream your name during sex…which, quite frankly, isn't going to be anytime soon, unless you tell me what the hell's going on."

"I changed my name after high school," Wilson mutters. "Doesn't mean I'm any different than the guy you know now."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you change your name?"

Wilson purses his lips. He may as well be evasive for as long as he possibly can. "You went through my closet. You must have."

"I was out of socks. Figured I'd borrow a pair of yours, and then I figured I may as well snoop around while I was there. Lucky I did."

"Lucky for you."

House waits, quietly tapping his cane on the floor. It's his own turn to speak now, Wilson knows, because House has said all that he needs to say. Now it's time for Hellton and Keating and O Captain, my Captain, and the names of long-lost friends that he hasn't uttered in decades.

"My father," Wilson finally concedes, only a little surprised at the ache in his chest that follows. "He wanted me to be a doctor. I didn't."

House frowns at the simplicity of the story. "That can't possibly be all," he says, and Wilson shrugs.

"Me being a doctor was a big deal for him. Danny was kept hidden from view when he got sick, and I…"

"…you were their only hope," House finishes.

"I hated him for it, so I took my grandfather's name – my mother's father. James Wilson." Letting out a bit of sardonic laugh, Wilson adds with a grimace, "I threw in the E. for good measure. Even tried to convert for real, just to piss him off…my father, I mean."

House blinks, stumped. "You mean, you're not actually Jewish?" he gapes.

"Please don't tell me that's the only you thing you pulled from this story," Wilson winces.

"Just processing, Wilson-Perry." House pauses, peeking into the yearbook again. "Dead Poets Society?"

"Just a club," Wilson replies, and he can almost see House's ears perk at the unintended nostalgia that coats his voice. I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. "We'd sneak out to the woods at night and read poetry."

House raises his eyebrows. "Just read poetry?"

"It was completely innocent. All we did was take turns reading poems by dead poets. It was our English teacher's idea, a way to break out of the box we were being stuffed into – carpe diem, and all that."

House eyes him carefully. "Looks like you never broke out."

To put to rout all that was not life; and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived.

The Dr. Bear that usually assumes a neutral position in Wilson's office now seems to be glaring at him. "I guess not."

"You're an oncologist. You did exactly what daddy told you to do."

"I didn't have a choice."

"What, was he going to kill you if you didn't make him proud?"

"He was going to make me change schools. I nearly…" Wilson pauses, the feeling of the shaky hands taking the gun out of his own still fresh on his skin. "It took a lot out of me to convince him to let me stay."

"What was the bargain?"

"Quit acting and focus on med school."

"Wilson. Perry. You did not just say acting."

Wilson shrugs. "So what?"

"Jesus. Acting?"

"Make fun of it all you want, House. It got my English teacher fired."

House taps his cane impatiently. "Explain."

"My father was convinced it was Mr. Keating's fault that I got sidetracked. It was a whole big mess, and one of my friends, Meeks…look, point is, the last time I saw him was as he was leaving for the airport to catch the next flight back to London."

House tosses the yearbook between his hands, thinking again. "That's why you never see your father anymore."

"Well, aren't you good at solving mysteries. What do you care what my relationship with my father is like? You're not exactly one to talk."

"I never am, am I?" House muses. "But that's never stopped me."

"Unfortunately. Are we done now?"

House tosses him the yearbook, much to Wilson's relief, but the oncologist's shoulders slump as House speaks again. "Just one more thing."

Wilson sighs. "Yeah?"

"Who's Todd Anderson, and what happened on the night two years before he confessed his love for you?"

TBC