Poison and Wine

Chapter 1

Author's Note (sorry for the length xD): This is not a crossover fic by any means, but it is loosely based on the RSL film "In the Gloaming" (and the title is taken from the song by The Civil Wars). AU in that Amber survived the bus crash and took off with Wilson at the end of Season 4. Minus Wilson's absence, everything else that has occurred on the show since then is still game. Hopefully the only discrepancy is that I've kept Cuddy around (since it takes place 5 years post-Wilson's Heart, this would technically be Season 9 – and apparently we've seen the last of her after Moving On). As far as warnings go, there will be an eventual character death (among general House spoilers), and Hilson is an eventual pairing.

I don't have a choice, but I still choose you.
- The Civil Wars, "Poison & Wine"

When you don't see your best friend for five years, it seems pretty fair to label that relationship as essentially fucked.

The last he'd heard from Wilson was in the form of a postcard, one side plastered with the Hollywood sign and the other covered in typical doctor – or rather, ex-doctor – chicken scratch. We're moving to LA. Here's our new number. It hadn't been so much an invitation as an ultimatum, but House had made his decision a long time ago.

What the hell would he have called for, anyway? They'd had more than enough arguments over the phone before he'd let Wilson fall off the map. There's only so many times you can tell an idiot that he's been brainwashed before you start to realize that you have better things to do – best friend or not.

Cuddy had actually accused him of being jealous at first. Talk about missing the point. It had nothing to do with his leg or his misery, what it was he could or couldn't do. He had no desire to run off to Vegas with anyone, much less a Cutthroat Bitch whose near-death experience had suddenly warped her vision of life. Grab your man, quit your job, and catch the next flight out of Jersey. Live your life before you die having never even lived.

It was one of the stupidest plans House had ever heard.

He wasn't even angry about frying his brain for CB, or that Wilson had chosen her over him (Cuddy's words, just to be clear). It was just a stupid, stupid idea, even for a moron like Wilson.

They'd talked on the phone every few days, Wilson calling from their hotel room in Vegas since Amber had tossed their pagers and phones as part of their new life philosophy. And they'd yell about whether or not she was actually a brainwashing little bitch, and Wilson would end the call confirming, for the umpteenth time, that he was not planning to return to Princeton-Plainsboro anytime soon.

Eventually, House had stopped picking up, and the subsequent postcard was filed away in the bottom of his sock drawer.

And five years later, the number was glowing on his cell phone screen for the first time.

"I need some time off."

Cuddy rolled her eyes at House. "If seeing even one patient a week is getting to be too much for you – "

"It's Wilson."

She snapped to attention, searching for any sign of a joke in his eyes but finding none. "Is he…is he alright?"

"He's fine enough to move back onto my couch."

"He's staying with you? House, he hasn't even spoken to you in...in God knows how long. What about Amber?"

House's subsequent silence answered Cuddy's question, and she sighed. "Is he coming back for good?"

"Don't worry. Your idiot of a replacement Jenkins is safe."

Cuddy ignored his jab at the latest Head of Oncology, who, needless to say, was not thrilled about having to share a balcony with House. "How long?" she finally asked.

"A few weeks and he'll be gone. Before you let HR shit themselves," he added quickly, holding up his hand to stop Cuddy's response, "you don't even have to keep me on payroll. Just let Foreman do his I'm-in-charge-except-when-the-team-calls-House-every-five-minutes-in-panic-mode thing until I get back."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes. "And you'd seriously be okay with that?" she asked, disbelieving. "You'd forgo your paycheck and put Foreman in charge just to entertain Wilson?"

"What can I say?" House shrugged. "I'm capable of making sacrifices."

There was silence as Cuddy considered, House impatiently gripping his cane. He knew what she was thinking – that for all that he was never willing to sacrifice for her, he was suddenly ready to give up his money and time for a man he hadn't seen in five years. But he wouldn't apologize or explain, and she wouldn't question or push.

And as she always did, even after the inevitable relationship that they'd pursued had, inevitably, crumbled, she finally caved. "If you're sure, House – "

"Great. Are we done here?"

"I…yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

Successful at last, he headed for the door, but Cuddy's voice stopped him. "House?"

He sighed, turning to face her again.

"Tell him…tell him I'd like to see him. You know, when he gets in."

House nodded. "Okay."

"And tell him that if he wants his old job back – "

"He won't."

She nodded, looking slightly defeated. "Well…have fun."

"Yeah." House opened the door, letting the chatter from the clinic stream in as he left. "Fun."

He hadn't felt like telling her that Wilson was actually arriving tonight. What for, anyway? So she could follow him home and camp out until Wilson showed up? Forget it. The last thing he needed was Cuddy back in his apartment, reminding him of a romance gone so wrong that not even Wilson could compete. Three ex-wives, sex with a dying patient, and dating CB had nothing on driving a car into an ex-girlfriend's house – even though she'd somehow found it in herself to forgive him.

He also hadn't told Cuddy that Wilson was coming back to New Jersey to die, but that was just another minor detail that she didn't need to know.

As he did every night after work, House lay casually on the couch in his living room, a beer in one hand and a bottle of Vicodin in the other. Just because Wilson was about to march back into his life after a 5-year absence didn't mean that everything had to change. The only indication that tonight was any different from all other nights was the additional takeout box of dumplings, waiting patiently next to his usual mushu pork.

But actually, waiting for Wilson was like waiting for a bomb to go off. The minutes were ticking down, and if it weren't for his curiosity and his bum leg, he probably would've run in the other direction rather than stick around to see how big the explosion would be.

When he heard the car pulling up to the curb, he didn't need to look out the window to know that it was Wilson's taxi. A minute later, there was the sound of the vehicle pulling away, followed by a soft, steady knock.

And as he opened the door, it was as if nothing had changed. Between the familiar kicked-out-by-the-woman suitcases and the lopsided smile, there was no way that five years had gone by.

Except for the fact that they had.

"House," Wilson finally said, giving a slight shrug as if to say, here I am. "Hi."

"Hey yourself," House replied, and in spite of himself, he couldn't help but smile back.

TBC