That grey shirt, the one from the Campgaw Mountain ski race. Danny's wearing it. As he slides his hand along the hollow banister of the bed, Wilson wants to punch his arm and say, remember how the snow hadn't been solidified yet and his ski had gotten wedged in a hole and Danny had beat him by 25 yards and not bragged about it at all, because he knew that Wilson hadn't lost because he was slow, but because of some wild natural inconvenience. Danny always let him win other times because older brothers are supposed to be the best at this kind of thing.

He opens his mouth to say it, but he knows it's not right. Danny's eyes are only open wide enough for his eyelashes to touch, and his forehead looks like wet cling wrap. So Wilson smiles and rubs his arm and tells him that it's Jamie and he's so glad to see him.

Danny nods and tilts his head towards him. He knows that.

"Yeah", he says.

Wilson realizes this is conversation, and now he has to come up with something else to say, like how are you doing or let me tell you some funny stories about my friend, House.

"How are you feeling?"

Danny is silent for a moment.

"It's all shit, them. All shit. They're putting things in my food."

Wilson knows that the food distribution company isn't half as bad as before they got pay equity, but this visit isn't about reminding Danny of why he's here in the first place. Wilson isn't here to lecture or rationalize. His heart's tired.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, I know you are."

"What do you mean?"

"You're always sorry, but you never really have a reason. I know you don't get it. "

Wilson can see the pattern forming, the little marbles rolling down the same tunnels to end up in the basin at the bottom. These are the same conversations they've always had. Danny tells him about his woes, and he tries to relate, but he doesn't really want to. To empathize would mean acknowledging that what Danny's experiencing is normal and real, and he'd rather not leave his brother in a delusion.

He hates his mouth for saying the words, but they're already waiting on the end of his tongue, and they sting too much to leave them there.

"Why are you making it worse for yourself?"

"You don't believe that they're poisoning me?"

"Well, no. I'm sure they really care about you. As I do. "

Danny blows air out through his lips.

"I… just… wish that something would happen to you, for once, so you'd know how it feels to be faked out all the time, to never be taken seriously."

Wilson swallows and prays for no car accidents on the way home. He's made it this far, with only a few speeding tickets.

"You forget that I wanted to find you. I kept my phone with me at all times so that I'd never miss any calls from the hospital."

Danny shakes his stringy hair and stares at him.

"You don't understand. You need to be hurt badly or running for miles inside your own head to know how it feels. "

Wilson pretends that his phone is ringing when the text message alert shocks his pocket momentarily. He flips it open and answers the mouthpiece.

"Yes?"

Pause.

"Really? Right now?"

Pause.

"Okay, I'll be right there."

Something in his stomach seems to be torching the rest of his abdomen, so he hides a contented sigh when he sees a nurse in purple scrubs moving towards Danny's door.

"I have a patient, who, uh, just had a blood clot burst, and I need to go."

He braces his hands on either side of Danny's bed.

"See you at this time next week?"

Danny manages a smile that squishes the divot of his upper lip, but his eyes stay small and squinty.

"Um, yeah. Sure."

As he pulls out of the parking lot, Wilson tries his best to ignore any parallels that he's found in the last ten minutes, and stops at Dairy Queen for a small vanilla ice cream, because, well, it's what he knows.