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  Reconciliation of the Gods 
 by Smitty  

 Disclaimer: Fox owns House, Wilson, and the rest. Spoilers for "Babies
and Bathwater" (kinda), rating about PG-13. There is no sex.

Things were different when Wilson came back. Subtly different, but it was
there. House would have been hard-pressed to ascribe exactly what 'it'
was, since he was badly versed in emotion, sensitivity, and other such
diagnostic tools.

Wilson hadn't said anything House didn't already know, but apparently
Wilson had said some things Wilson didn't already know.

House barged into Wilson's office three weeks after House had barged into
Wilson's office while Wilson was packing his things. He didn't often go to
Wilson's office. For one thing, it was much too close to the offices of
the other board members and for another, House tended to get blinded by
the glare of Wilson's golf trophies in the afternoon sun. Mindful of this,
he went in the morning, entered without knocking, and sat down without
being invited. 

Wilson, who was charting -- one of those subtle little differences that
House had failed to identify before now -- ignored him.

"I think you should get divorced," House said calmly and compassionately.

Wilson's head jerked up. His expression was classic disbelief before it
hardened into mulishness. 

"Maybe I don't want to get divorced," he said.

House heard the challenge in his voice and prematurely congratulated
himself on ignoring it. It felt good, so he followed through.

"You said your marriage sucked. Are you working on it?"

"Maybe I'm tired of getting divorced," Wilson said, which meant the answer
to House's question was no. "Maybe having a sucky marriage is better than
getting another stupid divorce and then having another marriage that's
going to suck and then another stupid divorce. I bet I can skip one, maybe
two sucky marriages if I just sit tight in this one for a little bit." He
was in classic Wilson Defense Posture -- hands on hips, hair flopping over
his forehead.

"I think you should get divorced," House said again, still calm and
compassionate. He was highly impressed with himself. "And I think you
should not get remarried. I think you should talk to someone about why you
need needy women and then you divorce them."

"I do not --"

"You're terrible at marriage," House interrupted, raising his voice for
the first time. He reasoned that he had been calm and compassionate twice
and deserved a little rousing passion on behalf of his friend. "You pick
the wrong women, you don't communicate, you avoid confrontation, you're a
womanizer, and you like the idea of marriage better than you like the
reality. And," House added, because he was on a roll, "you're ashamed to
express anger. Which is actually one of your more interesting pathologies
but I really think it's hurting your relationships."

Wilson had puffed up and deflated repeatedly during House's speech and now
his voice was as hollow as the look in his eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" he murmured, almost without moving his lips.
"Was General Hospital boring this week?"

"Because it's what a good friend does," House said seriously. "I haven't
been one lately. Or, well, ever. I'm turning over a new leaf."

Wilson looked at him sharply. "How many Vicodin have you taken today?"

"One," House admitted reluctantly. He'd been keeping mum about the
thrice-weekly massages, the daily modified yoga stretches, and the deep
breathing, which he told himself was practice for tantric sex. He wasn't
quite sure he was ready to admit to himself, let alone anyone else, that
changes had to be made and why. He never wanted to see that look on
Wilson's face again, or the desperation in his voice, and that wasn't
something he could say aloud.

But Wilson didn't ask. He just nodded slowly and House imagined he could
see the gears pumping in Wilson's head.

"And, in my attempt to establish myself as a good friend," House said,
reaching into the pocket of his lab coat and finding the two pieces of
cardboard, "Monster Truck Rally." He waved the tickets. "I got the cheap
seats this time, in case you punked out on me."

"You don't want to take Cameron again?" Wilson asked dryly.

"Well, she does have a better rack than you," House conceded, "but she's
stingy with her cotton candy."

"What if I'm turning over a new leaf, too?" Wilson asked. "A James Wilson
puts himself first kind of thing?"

"Then I'd say it's about time," House said slowly, knowing he deserved it.
"As long as if doesn't affect you letting me finish your cotton candy."

Whatever Wilson meant to say next was pre-empted by their beepers going
off consecutively, first House's, then Wilson's. House checked the
display.

"Foreman's multiple myeloma," he said grimly.

"Yeah." Wilson shrugged his coat on as House pushed himself to his feet.
He grabbed the door and held it for House. "Are you thinking what I'm
thinking?" he asked with faux casualness as he adjusted his pace for
House's stilted gait.

"That Cuddy's breasts look especially fantastic when she's quivering with
righteous anger?"

"Well, there's that, too," Wilson admitted. He turned his head to look out
the glass wall separating them from the outside world. Sunlight fell over
his face, turning his hair two different colors and washing out his face.
"I was just thinking the last few weeks have been weird. And now they're
not. Well, they were, but -- you know."

"Don't you have a patient to save?" House asked, pushing through the door
of the ICU ward. He knew exactly what Wilson had meant. 'It', whatever
'it' had been, was gone. 

"My patient? When I handed you the file, he became your patient."

"When we found cancer, that made him your patient."

"Isn't he Foreman's patient?"

The invisible rhythm was back, the snark was strong, and it was a good day
to take over the world. Together.

Fin  
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the
ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House
(and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property
of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I
am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive
no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement
nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the
show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.