Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dr. House walked into Cuddy's office first thing in the morning. Not that he was early or anything – that would completely ruin his image. He was, however, less late than usual.

House had a very specific issue to discuss with his boss: his best friend, Wilson. Wilson went through a divorce earlier that year (For the third time, for god's sake!) and Lisa Cuddy toying with his feelings by inviting him out for dinner was unacceptable to House. By now he had already figured out Cuddy wanted Wilson's sperm and not the organ they come out of, but none the less, that woman had to be stopped.

Sadly, before he had the chance to say anything, Cuddy handed him a case file.

"Take this. 38 year old male. Suffering from nausea, vomiting, and fever." She said, not even looking up from the papers on her desk. House is… surprised, mostly. His boss must not know him very well if she doesn't expect a fight.

"Is there any reason why I should?" he asks, emphasizing the d and widening his eyes.          

 "It's your job." She replies, finally looking at him. That's a weak argument and they both know it.

But before House has the chance to change the topic with a clever remark about Wilson's features on a baby, Cuddy rolls her eyes, leans forward in her chair, and looks House in the eyes.

"Look," she says, in a serious tone House likes to believe she practices in front of a mirror. "The patient is this best-selling fantasy novels author. We need him to get a good treatment-"

"And he will get that from me?"

"- because if he sues, he will have lawyers provided by his publishers. The treatment won't take long. The guy had some distance perception issues, so his friends brought him to the E.R"

House sent her a frown and redirected his eyes to the floor. He considered his options: he can bargain for less clinic hours; he can find an actual case, instead of a disoriented writer; he can use his information about the Wilson-situation–

"I think his series is called…" Cuddy starts and stops to type something into her computer, probably thinking the name of whatever unoriginal crap that overrated "writer" had managed to pass on as literature would change anything.

"There it is. The Champion" She looks up at House, studying his reaction. Based on the cocky grin she is seemingly trying to suppress, House's shock has gotten the better of him.

He really did mean to school his expression, but he already lost. The thing is: House didn't have many hobbies. He loved music, enjoyed poker and solving puzzles, but none of these were a good enough substitute to the activities he lost since the infraction. For example, one of the things he now had trouble doing, was reading. The pain made it hard for him to concentrate.

About three years into this miserable state, House stumbled upon a copy of "The Champion". A clinic patient left it behind and House took it (mostly out of spite).  The book was pretty thick and bound with a plain, yellow hard cover. House had regretted his decision to steal it once he realized the book was just a silly fantasy novel, and, of course, personally autographed by the author who dedicated it to "Oh captain, my captain". 

That week he had a tough case. His leg ached, and shutting himself up in his office didn't seem to get anyone off his back. So one time, to get Chase to leave him alone, he pretended to read the book lying next to him. As his (then new) employee walked away, a word caught House's attention on the randomly opened page in front of him. Then it hit him, his patient was faking symptoms.

He wasn't sure now what prompted that conclusion. He does know that once they discharged the patient he started reading the book (because he also noticed the word "incest" and was curios).  

What the grumpy doctor discovered between these pages amazed him. It was about the journey of "The Champion" in his search for glory. The Champion failed repeatedly, and House, being a fan of torturing his favorite characters, was officially hooked (There wasn't any incest though).

After this short stroll down memory lane, House comes back to his senses, grabs the case file, and storms out of Cuddy's office to ask the author all kinds of questions about the plot (and diagnose him, of course).  Right before the door closes behind him he sends the woman a look. He hopes said look conveys his dissatisfaction from losing.

****

Wilson is fine.

Well, his wife did cheat on him and he has to live with his obsessive best friend for some time, but really, he doesn't need House to go around and meddle in his life.

To be completely honest, Wilson isn't interested in Cuddy. Not in that way. But he knew that in his own insane way, House is. He is also fairly certain Cuddy isn't infatuated with him in any way whatsoever. Nothing about the diagnostician and the administrator being together made any sense. At all. But at the end of the day, Wilson just wants his best friend to be happy.

Besides, the oncologist can't really see the harm in this dinner invitation – He is eating dinner with a friend, and he gets to mess with House. Perhaps it would even be a good enough distraction from the thoughts that flood his mind lately.

Okay, so maybe he isn't entirely fine. Maybe he does have honest-to-god nightmares about being chased by Walt Whitman. But thoughts from his past always come after a break up. It's practically mundane to fall back into that excruciating cycle of poetry and shame.

 He just has to suck it up, and remember that Neil Perry is dead. There is only James Wilson now.

****

Todd Anderson is anxious. And nauseated. And embarrassed.

Charlie and Knox went to the cafeteria, so there's nothing left to do but pout at the clock in front of his hospital bed. Having spent most of his morning in this room, Todd can already recall his surroundings – the revealing glass wall, the cold-looking white floor, his very own bathroom across from him (really, what strings have been pulled here???), and of course, the never ending chatter and clutter of doctors and nurses just outside. He didn't like hospitals .The sounds made him think of death.    

Todd is an adult now, and his anxiety isn't nearly as bad as it was when he was a high school student, but it comes back occasionally. Especially when he is lying in a completely unnecessary hospital bed, his friends left the room, and he sees through the glass wall a tall man with a cane, limping determinately to his door.

The man enters without a knock, abruptly stops in front of the bed, and looks him up and down, more like you'd eye a chair in a furniture store than a human being. Mystery-man looks angry at something, and has icy blue eyes that seemingly never blink.

Rationally, the writer knows there is no way this person – who he had never even seen before – is mad at him. That doesn't mean he doesn't squirm under his accusing gaze.

"A-are you a d-d-doctor?"

Damn it! Todd thinks to himself. He didn't realize how nervous he was before hearing himself stutter. A fucking world renowned author, and the minute someone even slightly intimidating comes within proximity-

"Yes." The now proclaimed doctor declares, with a slight, daring frown on his face. "And you are going to tell me exactly how The Champion is planning to sneak into his sister's funeral in book 5."

That is not what Todd expected.

So, the creepy doctor is a fan. Todd can deal with that, The Champion has a lot of creepy fans. Of course, they usually aren't responsible for his well-being but it's still manageable.

The writer looks up to see the doctor impatiently staring at him while pressing his lips, urging him to answer the question.

"R-right." Todd cleared his throat and straightened in the uncomfortable hospital bed. "W-what makes you think he will even g-go to the funeral?"

"Please." Now Creepy-Man is wearing an extremely unpleasant expression on his face, clearly designed to tell whoever is on the receiving end of it just how stupid they are.

"I… c-can't really s-spoil an-any of th-" Here Todd takes a deep breath, trying to calm down under the doctor's relentless stare.

Slow down. He tells himself, a mantra that he used to obsessively whisper during his senior year of high school.

Appreciative of the way he's not being rushed to speak, Todd answers the question, now significantly slower.

"The book is still i-in writing," – breath – "a-and I can't really disclose a-any details yet."

The breathing and slow pace calms him down a little, and he finds that his stutter gets a bit better if he looks down at his hands other than try to make eye contact.

The fan-boy hums, and the writer looks up at him just in time to see Knox and Charlie walking through the door, each holding a respectable amount of snack packs.

The doctor abruptly spins in his place, turning to face the new people in the room. Todd watches as Charlie drags his eyes over the unfamiliar man, and cringes in second-hand embarrassment as his friend smiles in bisexuality and shoves all of his snacks onto a struggling Knox.

"Charlie Dalton." He extends a hand towards the object of his fascination, his sick friend forgotten on the hospital bed.

"And you are…?" Charlie lifts his brow inquisitively when the doctor is only looking down at his outstretched hand – his entire posture saying "boredom".

"Doctor House."

He turns back to face Todd, and away from Charlie's disappointed pout and hand quickly shoved in his coat pocket.

You are a grown man! Todd wants to remind him, but he is silenced by doctor House's next words.

"So, how long have you been having perception issues?"

"F-for about a… week now." This time he is looking down on his hands not only to avoid doctor House's gaze, but also his friends' accusatory ones. He knew they thought it weird he didn't go to get checked sooner, and how calm he was about the whole thing.

In all fairness, he thought it was just stress from the deadline for his next book that was getting closer and closer with every tick of the obnoxious clock in his living room. Despite what he told doctor House, it wasn't the first time he had this weird episode thing. It was the first time in two decades though, so that felt close enough.

"And then the other symptoms showed up." Doctor House stated, rifling through some files before looking at the puke designated bucket on the side of the bed.

"You are suffering from Alice in Wonderland Syndrome." The doctor said after some thinking.

Todd blinked in confusion from the absurdity of the name.

"Also known as, funnily enough, Todd's Syndrome." He looked completely unamused by the antic.

He still gets no response.

"So, AIWS along with the symptoms you've been having suggest- what are you doing?"

He is pointing to where Todd is trying (and failing) to discreetly itch his stomach over the hospital gown.

Doctor House is stepping towards him now, only stopping once the writer's personal space has been entirely compromised.

 Without warning, the doctor's finger is jabbing hard at his upper abdomen. Todd yelps (mostly in surprise).

Doctor House merely nods and mutters something about an ultra sound. Without another word he limps away from the room.

What an ass Todd thinks. Charlie probably thinks so too, judging by his shameless staring.

Chapter Text

After briefly interacting with the patient, House sends his team to perform an ultra sound. It confirms what he, of course, already knew: enlargement of the liver. House is desperately trying to extract good ideas from his team's differential diagnosis.

"Authors drink." Foreman states matter-of-factly.

It takes everything in House's power to not roll his eyes. Turns out he was not blessed with that kind of strong will, because he practically brings his Irises to the back of his skull while commenting: "If AIWS was caused by alcoholism, I would have already banged the queen of hearts. Always had a thing for her."

The diagnostician doesn't really have a drinking problem, but it's nice to keep his fellows on their toes. They stay sharp if they think a mental breakdown is heading their way.

House is standing next to the white board, leaning on his cane with both hands on top of it. Of course hepatomegaly can be caused by drinking, but he is a little tired of alcoholism being brought up whenever the liver is involved. As if the writer wouldn't have the decency to waste the diagnostic department's precious time with an interesting condition. 

"Liver cancer?" Cameron suggests, seemingly unimpressed with his clever Alice in Wonderland reference.  Her lack of enthusiasm would've been forgiven if not for her moronic ideas.

"You are ignoring symptoms!" He briefly loses his balance in favor of frustratingly tapping his cane against the floor, eyes still fixated on the board.

"It would be stupid to not even tes-" The woman is trying to defend her stand when House interrupts with "You are not even considering his AIWS!"

Must the entirety of his staff be so small minded?

He thinks he can hear Chase throwing an idea – there's definitely an Australian sounding whine coming from behind him – but he's already tuned out, entirely engrossed in the obscure list of symptoms.

Something is missing, House's mind keeps telling him. In the background, Cameron and Foreman argue for the superiority of each of their ideas. Their bickering is not nearly interesting enough for him to pay attention to, so House stays in his focused state until hearing a familiar voice coming for the doorway.

"Why is 'stutter' listed as a symptom?" Wilson inquires, squinting his eyes from where he is standing at the entrance to the office. House fully turns around – cane and all – to face his nosey best friend.

Before the diagnostician has the chance to explain his brilliant train of thoughts, Wilson is talking again.

"If the patient's liver is enlarged, it could be a sign of liver cancer. Do you need a consult?"

Cameron is looking up triumphantly. House holds his tongue, not mentioning the fact that, obviously, the oncologist just sees cancer everywhere.

"What about Infection?" Chase quips from his seat at the end of the table. "Epstein – Barr virus can cause hepatomegaly, and it's the most common cause for AIWS in children."

House mulls over the idea, then nods. "Aside from the fact that our patient is 38-" He stops to glare at Chase "Go run some blood tests."

The ducklings get up from their seats, and avoid bumping into Wilson on their way out. Once the door is closed, the dismissive doctor turns his attention towards the oncologist, who is now taking a fierce stance with both hands on his hips, looking at House pointedly.

"There was a note on the Tupperware."

House is a little shocked by his friend's accusation of food theft. Honestly, it's Wilson's fault. He could've asked anyone in the hospital who would be the worst roommate out of the staff, and they all, without even blinking, would answer House. A bit unfair, seeing that Chase is kind of a pain in the ass as well.

"Well, the pasta was very good. And I was too tired to cook so…"The diagnostician is trailing off unapologetically.

"You can't cook! And how is that an excuse to steal my food? Seriously, you can't even make yourself a sandwich?" Wilson's tone is utterly exasperated, and House decides he has had enough.

The limping doctor passes through his best friend and is now walking past the door. "Where are you going?" Wilson catches up to him effortlessly.

"Didn't you hear? I've got a patient."

"That you are going to see? Willingly?"

"What can I say? I'm just a soft hearted doctor who needs to sit by his patient's side while they are suffering. You should tag along, see if he looks cancer –y."

And so the doctors walk towards Todd Anderson's room. House is secretly hoping the encounter would encourage Wilson to read The Champion. There is a big part there about not being so trusting, and honestly, his best friend could learn from that a thing or two.

**

When Wilson sat in his office chair that morning he immediately understood that, no, this will not do. He gets up and walks into the balcony his office shares with House's. Wilson is peeking to see if his best friend is in already. Of course he isn't. The oncologist retreats to his own office, careful not to make eye contact with House's fellows who are already in drinking their coffees. He's really not in the mood for a casual conversation.

His morning is slow. He does his rounds, meets with a new patient, and is overall very much restless after his break up. It's a bit pathetic, isn't it? He and Julie have been practically over for more than a year now. Doesn't make it hurt any less though.

At around noon he sighs and walks towards House's office. He wants his best friend to mock him into getting his shit together. Before exiting his office door, Wilson thinks of an appropriate excuse to go bother House (not that House ever needs an excuse to bother him). He settles on calling his best friend out on taking his food from the fridge they now inconveniently share. As if Wilson is at all surprised by that.

The symptoms on the white board look interesting enough, and once the ducklings are out the door and House is sick of their conversation they walk together towards the patient's room and enter the elevator.

"Seriously though, why are you this curious? Is the patient hot?"

"No."

Wilson wants the conversation to continue. Wants House to make an inappropriate comment about the patient's body, wants House to wonder why he is asking and make a joke about getting him laid. But the diagnostician is quiet. Lost in thoughts.

With the ding of the elevator doors House limps out of it.

"He's an author of this book franchise I like."

"I didn't know erotic fiction writers reveal their identities in hospitals."

House scoffs in amusement. "Not that. It's the book I've been trying to get you to read for months."

"So… erotic fiction?"

"Not nearly enough of it" House mutters to himself.

"Maybe if you ask nicely he will dedicate a sex scene to you in his next book."

They are approaching the writer's room now, so Wilson refrains from making farther comments. Most of all, he really wants to meet the man who has somehow managed to pique the interest of Gregory House.

**

"He wasn't hot, he was sexy. There's a difference, Knox."

Todd thinks that maybe if he was a real person he could have participated in this conversation. Right now, feverish and crawled in the hospital bed with a stinky bucket by his side, he is much closer to a zombie.

"Fine, than go flirt with the sexy doctor while completely ignoring us. As if there's a difference."

Charlie's reply is cut short by Todd's pained groan. Those fucking migraines. His friends continue their conversation in whispers, letting him drift off into a fitful sleep. Fevers make the worst dreams. It brings him into his book. He is crying on his knees while his main character calls him pathetic. Todd's sorry. How can he let The Champion know he is sorry?

Things are thrown all around him. In his half asleep state he feels himself banging his head on the mattress. There's a hand cupping the back of his head to soften the blow. Todd brings it to his face and rubs it on his sweaty forehead furiously.

The Champion is now as broken as his author. Both are digging in the ground trying to find a ship's wreck. Why aren't they looking for it in the sea? There is no room for logic in these dreams.

"Todd!" the hand is on his shoulder and shaking him awake. He keeps his eyes closed, taking in the wetness on his cheeks and sweat drenched sheets. He opens his eyes and spots Charlie's poorly concealed tears above him.

At the foot of the bed there is Knox, looking seconds away from taking the bucket and throwing up himself. "You, um… You kept calling for Neil."

"Oh." Todd wants to cry. Cry for his current friends. Cry for friends from his past. Cry for himself.

He knows they are all thinking of the nights after Neil's death. Todd kept weeping at night. His friends kept sneaking into his half empty room. They would all sit on the floor through the night, not talking, not sleeping, just not wanting to be alone. Cameron would usually try talking. Back then it used to upset Todd. Now he understood that Cameron was just 16. They were all just 16.

"I didn't know you still… thought about him." Charlie is mostly talking to himself, looking taken aback by the reminder.

"I… well. I usual-usually don't d-d-dream about him, just… think of him. Occasionally." That's a lie. Todd thinks of Neil whenever he writes in an old notebook, every time Shakespeare is mentioned, each time he passes by a theater.

He'll think of Neil when it snows, will think of him when walking on bridges, when using the desk set his parents got him for his 17'Th birthday, the year after his death. He thinks of him whenever he sees a watch with a leather strap, or a green sweater. His entire mind would erupt in chorus singing Neil Neil Neil…  

It used to be fresh and painful though. Now it's just… there. A never ending music courtesy of his mind, who never quite fully moved on. His friends nod. Charlie goes to the bathroom, Knox brings him water. They sit in silence, since there's no need to dwell on the past.

Todd would dwell every once in a while, but only when he was alone. He has long ago mourned his friend. Now he only mourns their youth.

"Bad time?" Dr. House asks as he enters the room, not really looking for an answer.

Charlie stands up straight and Todd can see a man in a white coat walking behind the doctor. He spots a pair of warm brown eyes and it doesn't take his eyes long to find a beauty mark on the man's chin.

A flash of recognition hits Todd in the head like a baseball bat. He hunches over and throws up in his bucket.

What else are you supposed to do when seeing ghosts?

Chapter Text

His father said: "It's better to have a son who killed himself than a son who couldn't even finish the job."

Neil Perry have been slowly dying, withering away for years at that point, but that one sentence was the final blow. The gunshot that took him out of this world.

So once he reached his uncle's house in Canada, he got to work.

The name "James" comes from the Hebrew name Yaakov. It means "a man in control of his own actions and will" – at least that's what the book of baby names said.

Wilson spent hours at the library in his uncle's town, meticulously going through the pages in search for his new name – His "chosen name" as a sweet trans girl he once treated taught him – before settling on "James". The meaning felt appropriate for what he wanted from the rest of his life.

For his new last name no muscles have been pulled. It was simply his mother's maiden name.

So when Knox – Knox fucking Overstreet, who is here, in PPTH – whispers "Neil?", it takes him a second to comprehend the situation he's in.

Comprehension doesn't help. Wilson is just standing there, frozen, helpless. He can feel House's blue eyes drilling holes through him, questioning. He's unable to face his best friend. Possibly never will again. His mind is racing. What can he do to not make it worse?

He needs to get out of there. What can get him out of there? Wilson's eyes are fixated on the floor.

"I'll go get another bucket." He mumbles approaching the bed to take the current one in use – His mind is already planning his breakdown at the closest nurses station. He reaches his hand forward, when suddenly he can't move it anymore. A sweaty palm is desperately gripping at his watch, not letting him move. Wilson shuts his eyes closed.

"Neil." A gentle voice is saying from beneath him. Wilson can't see that face again, he won't. He's too afraid of turning into a salt pillar.

Tears are welling in his eyes, begging to be shed. He doesn't let them out. Wilson is trying so hard to ignore the iron grip on his wrist that just won't let go. The romantic in him thinks of it as a metaphor for his past not letting him go. The cynic in him tells the romantic to shut up.

"Neil." The voice is insistent, urging him to look. The oncologist takes a peek and sees… him. He is older, but it's him. It's Todd Anderson. His blue eyes filled with hurt, mouth pressed in something resembling anger, and Wilson is overwhelmed by the urge to make him smile, the same urge Neil Perry had felt all those years ago.

But the second they make eye contact, Todd flinches and let go, his eyes becoming cold, expression unreadable. If at Welton his eyes were the sea, now they were ice and Wilson – He didn't know what to do with that.

"Fuck."

Right, the other people in the room.

Wilson slowly turns around towards a fuming Charlie. His face is red and his fists are clenched by his sides. Neil loved him. He was his best friend since the day they met at the start of sixth grade. Charlie Dalton was loud and friendly and accepting. Neil Perry envied the free and determined way in which he held himself.

The passion Neil once admired was now directed at Wilson in the form of rage.

"You are dead." It wasn't a threat, it was a statement, an accusation.

"As a doctor, I can tell you that my friend here is very much alive" House frowns.

Of course, the only person who can make the situation even more messed up: Gregory House.

"He's dead." Knox whispers.

"I can explain," Wilson lies.

"How!? H-how the fuck ca-can this be explained?!" Todd is shaking with anger and the oncologist opens his mouth to answer, yet finds that he can't. Good thing Todd doesn't want to hear it.

"Did you…? You-You just left us! All this- all this fucking time! That's… I-I don't…"

Todd has tears silently streaming down his face, and Wilson wants to reach out. But you can either be the problem or be the solution, and his place had been made clear.

"Leave." Charlie says after a deep breath. So Wilson does. With his shoulders hunched and eyes prickling, he leaves the hospital room where James Wilson found his fall. No lie lasts forever.

**

It takes a lot to shock Gregory House, and even more to confuse him, yet he can't come up with a single reasonable explanation for what he had just witnessed.

"So… ex-boyfriend, I presume?" House breaks the tense silence in the room.

The patient scoffs.

Is that a yes?

"Well… this has been a pleasure. Your symptoms are not getting better, and my best friend is probably having a mental breakdown somewhere over God-knows-what, but we should totally do this again sometimes."

And with that the diagnostician leaves the stunned room. He has a Wilson (or maybe a Neil?) to find.

He checks the cafeteria (Wilson is an emotional eater), the roof (House's personal favorite freak out spot) and the oncology department's nurses' station (In case his best friend wanted to flirt with someone to get rid of the sadness) before going for the obvious choice: their offices' shared balcony.

The moment he sets foot (and cane) outside, the wind slaps him in the face. House mutters to himself that whatever is going on better be worth hypothermia, however he is way too curious to actually mind the cold.

Wilson is sitting in the corner closest to his own office with his knees raised and head facing down. He hadn't noticed his best friend yet. He's shaking – either from the cold or from crying.

It's not really relevant which one, House decides, groaning as he limps towards his friend and lower himself to sit next to him, setting his cane down by their feet.

"Just for the record, grown men don't cry, they brood."

Wilson looks up at him with raised eyebrows and says: "I want to be alone."

House would've taken this request a lot more seriously if it weren't for his voice cracking and the tears streaming down his face.

"No you don't. I know you. You are dying to talk about this and to be comforted."

"Well, you are not gonna comfort me, are you?" Wilson snaps.

"No." House admits.

They sit in silence before he asks: "So… Neil?"

The oncologist tries to groan, but it comes out more like a sob. House feels a pang of regret, but he doesn't apologize. Nor does he reach out. He wants answers and he is gonna get them, goddamnit.

"I… I'm so sorry." Wilson tells him between sobs. He sounds so broken House wishes he was different person – someone who could fix this – but he wasn't, so he just sits there, letting the tale unfold.

Chapter Text

Charlie is pacing the room. Knox is sitting in a chair next to the bed where Todd is sitting up (despite his dizzy head begging him to lie down). None of them say a word.

Charlie's steps give a steady rhythm to Todd's erratic thoughts

Step, step, step-

So Neil died.

Step, step, step-

But he's here.

Step, step, step-

In PPTH.

Step, step, step-

What do those letters stand for again?

Step, step, step-

That's irrelevant.

Step, step, step-

He looks the same.

Step, step, step-

Did Todd look the same?

Step, step, step-

Not really.

Step, step, step-

Obviously he's older.

Step, step, step-

He has facial hair now.

Step, step, step-

Also irrelevant.

Step, step, step-

Or is it? Todd worked hard on his beard resembling scruff.

Step, step, step-

Yep, definitely irrelevant. 

Step-

Out of nowhere Todd just leaps out of the hospital bed, surprising his friends (and quite frankly, himself) in the process.

The quick movement makes him see black and he groans in pain. Knox and Charlie rush to his side, trying to force him to lay back down.

"No, you- Neil's alive!"

Todd is struggling against their soothing.

"Todd, please just sit down." Charlie pleads.

"He's alive! That's a good thing!"

"Yes, but… We had a funeral, it's… We have to…"

Thoughts of the funeral come back to Todd alongside a wave of nausea. He throws up on the floor and sobs, curling up on the bed. He is so physically and mentally drained. Knox mutters a soft curse and goes to get a nurse.

Welton didn't hold a funeral for Neil, the school just tried to shove the whole thing under the rug. The dead poets were also very unwelcome at the one his parents organized. They had a funeral of their own instead. Charlie got them vodka, and each read the most morbid poems they could find. It didn't go very well – they just yelled at Cameron most of the time (he only deserved some of it).

Charlie wipes Todd's mouth with a napkin. He sits next to him on the mattress, causing the springs to creak. Charlie wraps a hand around his shoulders and Todd feels like a grieving boy again.

Knox returns with a nurse in tow. She glares at them, but her face softens when she sees the two men crying.

She cleans up the vomit, replaces the bucket, and even asks Todd whether she can "get you anything, sweetheart?" to which he replies with a shake of his head.

 After the nurse leaves, Knox collapses on the foot of the bed theatrically. As he lays there on his back he covers his face with his palms, elbows pointing towards the too-bright fluorescent light.

"We need a game plan." Charlie says, willing to jump into this head first, as always.

"A game plan? That's a pretty big name. We just need to find Neil and then…" Knox trails off, because none of them actually knows what then.

"All I know is…" Todd begins, his voice is hoarse. "All I know is, that Neil, he's alive. That… That has to mean… something."

Knox is peeking from between his fingers and looks at Charlie. They are both having a mental conversation that Todd is clearly not invited to.

"Todd," Charlie says gently after some silence. "Were you in love with him?"

The question is far too big for the calm manner in which it had been asked. It floats around the room, and Todd is confused. Charlie is asking whether he was once in love with his best friend, his roommate, a boy they all loved and Todd had no right to fall for. A question like that is supposed to change the entire texture of the air, it's supposed to make his friend take his arm away, and it's supposed to make some kind of… Todd doesn't know… an explosion?

Todd has no idea what he was expecting. Or, well, maybe he has too good of an idea. None of it changes the fact that when he replies: "Yeah.", the world doesn't end.

**

Todd had figured out he was "different" long before he ever got to Welton. He didn't always know the reason for it, but once he learned the term "homosexual", it became pretty clear.

So he did what every 13 year old boy on the verge of a sexuality crisis did: shoved it deep down and resolved to never address it.

That plan fell flat when he met Neil Perry. He was 15, and something awoke in him. Suddenly, he understood what all the boys around him meant when they talked about girls. He understood the fuss over crushes and butterflies in your stomach. It was so cliché, so pathetic, and yet he couldn't seem to get enough of it.

Neil was beautiful – absolutely breathe taking. Back then Todd was ashamed to think him pretty – It was feminine, and ridiculous– But as he struggled to fall asleep at night, listening to his friend's steady breaths, he could admit to himself that, if boys can be beautiful, the proof of that is lying in the bed across from his.

Sometimes he let himself believe that Neil felt the same. When he kept catching his friend staring at him during class, when they walked side by side on their way to the cave with their hands almost touching, when Neil kept telling him nice things. He was always so kind. Todd had never been treated this kindly before.

They kissed once. It was on Todd's birthday. Both boys couldn't stop giggling on their way from the bridge to their dorm room. They could hear Dr. Hager yelling at the "disregard that kids show towards school grounds", not suspecting bright Neil Perry and reserved Todd Anderson at all. Once they reached their room they could finally let out genuine laughs.

Todd smiled so hard his mouth hurt. He couldn't remember the last time he was happy on his birthday. Neil was the most incredible person he'd ever known. Light hearted, warm, welcoming, accepting. As Todd listed all his friend's positive qualities, his eyes wondered towards him.

When Neil noticed him looking, his eyes and smile softened. Todd was in awe. He mapped out every inch of Neil's face, and the latter just watched. He'd long ago come to find that his favorite detail in the brunette's face was the tiny little beauty mark on his chin. As Todd's eyes landed on his lips, they parted, and the smile disappeared.

Disappointed, Todd looked at Neil's eyes, but they didn't meet his gaze. Instead, they were focused on his own lips. Before the anxious boy could bite them, his friend approached him. All laughter was gone now. The air was tense, and Todd forgot how to breathe. Neil kept getting closer and closer. He then pressed his lips onto Todd's. It was so soft, and undemanding, questioning.

Todd forgot to move, forgot to react, to reciprocate. And then it was too late. Neil took a step back, huffed a humorless laugh and left the room.

Todd slowly sunk to his bed, he cried, cursing his fucked up brain for fucking it up. Out of fight or flight, his useless body chose freeze.

Neil came back right before lights out. They didn't speak to each other, and the next morning everything was normal again. They never acknowledged the kiss, and it was killing Todd inside. Because for at least one second, Neil thought that he, Todd Anderson, was good enough for him, and what did his pathetic excuse for an existence do? Proved him wrong.

But Neil kept looking at him like that, and Todd kept looking away.

During Puck's final monologue in "Midsummer Night's Dream", Todd became overwhelmed with his feelings. He saw his best friend up on the stage where he belonged and something bubbled in his chest. It was an intoxicating cocktail of pride, and love, and hope. In his mind, he had decided that if Neil can be this brave, so can Todd.

The plan was to confess his feelings later that night. The dead poets were supposed to have a meeting to celebrate their friend's achievement. Todd planned to wait until the early hours of the morning, when it was just the two of them in their dorm room.

He was so nervous, but buzzing with excitement while he waited to greet Neil as he exited the theater. But then – Well, we all know what happened then.

Chapter Text

From "The Champion 2: Jewells of the Sun", by Todd Anderson:

When Icarus reached the sun he burnt. I envied him my whole life. After all, isn't that the goal? To go big and leave something spectacular behind you? Because yes, Icarus fell, but what a sight it must have been. If I ought to leave this cruel earth, I aspire to do so while staring down God itself. Unfortunately, I was always more of a Sisyphus. I would reach the atmosphere and be lured away by gravity, before the sun could even greet my sore eyes. Before it could make them ache even more.

But now I've got it figured out. I have found the route for glory and as I pace around the entrance rays of light envelope me, calling for me to come home. How ironic is it that the person guiding me is my sister, right from the "home" we both escaped. We each crawled our way out with knives between our teeth and dirt beneath our fingernails. The knowledge that something else is there, waiting for us somewhere in this vast universe, was the only light source leading us out.

***

It took Wilson some deep breaths before he could begin speaking of Welton. Once he did his voice remained steady, only silent tears betraying the weight of the story. Up until the part of his suicide attempt, House's comments concluded to this:

"An all-boys boarding school!?"

"Gay."

"Destroying textbooks? In this economy?"

"Of course. Sneaking out at night to read poetry. How heterosexual of you."

"Are you talking about the guy who wants in my pants?"

"Daddy issues."

"GAY."

Wilson was grateful for his friend's (somewhat inappropriate) remarks. It lightened the mood to the point of a small smile on his part. His tears have dried by now to faint red stains on his cheeks. He waits for House to pop a Vicodin before getting to the hard part. Actually, he's waiting for the part to get easier, but his friend's urging glare reminds him that it never will. 

"So… after he dragged me home, and told me I'd be leaving for military school, I was just so tired. I think the idea of ending it had lived in my mind for a while by then. I was so tired, and that's when I realized: I'll never get a chance to rest. I'll keep going, I'll be perfect, and it would finish me completely, but no one would care. Especially not my father. It seemed so logical at the time – I'm never going to truly live, so I might as well make it official."

Wilson hurries with his next sentences, knowing that otherwise House would have to express his less then sympathetic opinions.

"So after my parents went to bed I went downstairs to my father's office. I knew how to find his gun. That wasn't even the first time I went looking for it. But… I don't what happened. I guess my hands were shaking so bad I somehow missed!" He lets out a bitter laugh.

"And of course by then the gunshot had been heard. And of course my father rushed to his office. And for a fleeting second I thought that maybe, just maybe, he'll be sorry. But then he started yelling, calling me useless, pathetic, attention seeker. All the things I already thought of myself and much, much worse." He breathes.

There's a silence between them. When Wilson finally dares to make eye contact he sees House looking at him attentively, chewing the inside of his cheek.

"How the hell did you miss?"

"What?" Wilson huffs out a surprised laugh. When his father said something similar, he meant it as an insult. House, however, is genuinely curious.

"I don't know but… I'm glad I did. Because all that crap they tell you when you are a teenager, about how things will get better, it's true. Or, well, at least it was once I escaped my father."

And it really did get better. Back then he was suffocating and felt as if the world was ending, and in a way it was. He was a teenager and his entire world was confined to his boarding school. That's not to say it was a small life or by any means meaningless, just that it was easier to take away.

House nods. Wilson knows it means he's happy he missed, too.

"After that my father sent me to live with my uncle in Canada. I guess he told the school and everyone else I died because it was less embarrassing than the truth."

Living with his uncle was different. Neil arrived there as a shaking, terrified kid, and was met with an enveloping hug from his aunt. His hair was then affectionately ruffled by his uncle. He cowered under both touches. His two small cousins immediately came to the door talking at a humanly impossible pace about the absurdity of their classmates believing that Santa Clause exists.

"So Hanukah is better because we don't lie." Concluded five year old David.  

The kids' restless energy balanced their parents' gentle and worried looks. Neil was so overwhelmed he couldn't even speak. And he didn't. Not while his aunt told her kids that they would see him later, not when she ushered him through the halls of the house to his new bedroom, and he still didn't speak when she deposited him to sit on the bed and crouched on the floor in front of him.

He only held eye contact because she refused to break it. Her kind brown eyes looked up at him, and she spoke softly, as if to a child, as if to her own. His aunt carefully explained that she wants him to go to therapy, and that that much is non-negotiable. She promised to him that whatever's on his mind, he can always come to her or his uncle, knowing full well that he won't take her up on that promise.

"They were a real family, y'know?" He tells House.

"They were loving and caring and all those other things parents are supposed to be. It even made up for eating kosher."

Wilson's mother was Jewish. His father wasn't. Marrying outside religion was frowned upon is both sides of his family, so he grew up somewhat neglecting his Jewish heritage. Welton didn't have any Jews, anyway.

"They sent me to therapy, been there for me through episodes of depression, let me act in school plays-"

"So why didn't you go on to become an actor?" House inquires.

"I don't know. Biology isn't so bad once no one is breathing down your neck, and… I wanted financial stability and independence, maybe even to pay back my aunt and uncle one of those days – they are still very much my parents."

His friend nods thoughtfully.

"Well, I've gotta go diagnose your boy crush." House told him while abruptly getting up from the balcony's floor.

"I'm still not gay."

House always had a fondness for challenging his friend's heterosexuality, but Wilson really hopes he wouldn't do something as insensitive as telling his long lost best friends that he has a crush on one of them. Oh, wait, it's House we're talking about.

"Listen," He frantically gets up to follow the diagnostician into his office. "I don't really mind you making gay jokes about me, but I don't know how well they'll land in this crowd. So please, for the love of god, don't go around talking about… that."

Besides he isn't even gay. How could he be? He has three ex-wives.

"Right… jokes." House doesn't use air quotes, but the rising of his eyebrows does it for him.

"House, I'm serious-"

"You paged me?"

Foreman walks in, looking irritated and uncomfortable. Well, all he really did was furrow his eyebrows and shift his eyes between the two of them, but that was a strong facial expression coming from him. Wilson gapes at his friend. He can't even recall House using his pager.

"Yes." House says and starts walking past his fellow.

"I'm joining you at the patient's house. You drive." By the time he says that he's already halfway to the elevator. Foreman sighs and follows his boss.

Wilson stays standing in the office, and tries to find it in himself to be surprised. He spilled everything he never told anyone, and his best friend in the entire world just leaves him here alone. That's just their friendship, Wilson knows that. And yet, his mind goes back to the friendships he once had with the poets, how different they had been not only from his one with House but also from one another. He's not even angry at his friend for leaving, just longs for the connections he once had. It's almost as if having only one friend is unhealthy or something. Almost as if you need a variety of people in your life who can each connect to different sides of you. Who would've thought?

Chapter Text

Foreman curses under his breath before following his boss into their patient's house. He usually waits for the car ride home to start swearing, but it's important to indulge yourself sometimes. At least that's what Cameron said in a weak attempt to flirt with House. What sane woman could ever want that guy?

Maybe Cameron IS insane… Foreman contemplates once standing in the foyer. House had immediately made a beeline for the stairs, undoubtedly looking for the bedroom, being the pervert that he is. It's a nice house, Foreman thinks. Granted, it's cluttered and without much natural light – but nothing the finished basement doesn't make up for. He steps through the hall leading towards the kitchen. The walls are filled with framed pictures and mismatched lamps. It looks as if all of the lamp shades were either thrifted or hand-me-downs, since each one of them is ugly in its own unique way.

Foreman has a good taste. It's a fact he clearly shows with his wardrobe, the people he dates, and the general way in which he holds himself. Good taste though, always comes with judgement, and Foreman has a lot of both and absolutely no outlet for the latter. He often despises the way some of his colleagues show their dismay towards patients, though. The way House acts all high and mighty when he discovers an affair, the way Cameron cares too much about everyone else's business, and the way Chase - for unknowable reasons - really hates fat people.

But Foreman holds himself to a higher standard, and keeps most of his opinions to himself. It's hard, because he has more opinions than all of the diagnostics department combined and is only half as petty. But he likes going into patients' houses, and he likes judging their personalities by seeing where they live, and he likes to do it by himself, without his boss, who seems suspiciously interested in this particular case.

So Foreman sighs, refrains from making any further useless observations from the interior, and bends down to check underneath the sink for mold. If he had kept to his usual routine and checked the fridge for interesting magnets, he would've noticed a slightly crumpled old photo of a class. If he were to squint at said photo, he would've thought to himself: Huh, that kid on the left really looks like Doctor Wilson.

***

House had learned a lot in the last hour. Take that, the math teacher in high school who called him lazy. He wonders what Mrs. What's-her-face is up to these days. Maybe he should send her a picture from his medical school graduation. Regardless, he can now see a clear connection between the challenges Neil Perry faced, and the ones written in The Champion, and just has to test his theory.

Foreman can look for environmental factors all he wants. House on the other hand, is going to do something useful - like uncovering Todd Anderson's sexuality. Interestingly enough, his search doesn't involve looking for dildos and rainbows in the nightstand. He does check, but that's only for his own piece of mind. Everything else is for Wilson's.

His best friend always denied the gay allegations and (even worse) assumed House was joking. But now Wilson's just… being an idiot. House should tell Cuddy not to ask him for sperm, or else she will get dumb babies. Maybe she should reconsider Wilson as the head of oncology, too, while she's at it. Despite his on growing frustration, he never pushed too hard, and mainly hoped Wilson would come to the conclusion on his own, but judging by the story he heard today, his friend is long overdue a sexuality crisis.

So, House's plan is pretty straight forward: Prove his patient used to have feeling for Neil Perry (and by extension for James Wilson), and get Wilson to admit his own blatant homosexuality in response.

And, if the two of them decide to give their relationship a shot, all the better. House may be an asshole, but he can recognize the concept of "The one that got away". The way he sees it, Wilson didn't even "get away", he sprinted away and never looked back. That's just unfair.

 After failing to find any evidence in the bedroom, he decides to take a stroll around the house. The bathroom's messy. The 3 in 1 shampoo, conditioner & body wash bottle doesn't mean anything. Gay people can be sloppy too, you know. There's a guest bedroom, and an unpacked suitcase is laying on the floor. House doesn't bother looking inside it. Instead, he walks downstairs and browses the photos in the hall. He sees a wedding picture featuring a happy couple surrounded by their loved ones. It displays one of his patient's friends (the one not flirting with him) as the groom. It's a bit odd, since as far as he could tell this morning none of the three wore a ring. Maybe it makes sense though, considering the bride is just so much hotter than the groom.  

Foreman's in the kitchen, and House doesn't want to run into him on his way to the living room, so the basement is next. He takes the somewhat rocky wooden stairs to it and feels the wall besides him in search for a light switch. He turns on the light and… he is met with what is probably the nicest basement he had ever seen. You could trap children in there and they wouldn't even cry for their parents. A mini fridge, couch and a big screen TV are assembled by the farthest corner of the room from him. And yes, the men cave doesn't help prove the author's homosexuality. However, it does prove he's a cool dude.

The basement is enormous, so the previously mentioned set up takes very little of the room. House wanders over to the big wooden desk holding a computer. It is scattered with papers, yet none of them contain coherent sentences. Anyway, House is much more fascinated by the murder board above it. He doesn't think the author is trying to solve a crime, but the amount of post its and strings on said board could've fooled even the brightest of mind (a category House obviously belongs to). He takes a step closer and sees the board is filled with poems. Some crumpled and torn from a notebook, some written with an elegant pen on a white crisp paper. But there's more on the board – random sentences, quotes, plot points in the book, and most surprising of all: sketches. Absolutely terrible sketches showing stick figures and far too strong strokes of pencil.  Todd Anderson should really stick to his day job. But nonetheless, House recognizes one. It's a doodle of a boy looking outside a window at pointy leafless tree branches. Behind him are floating glasses.

It's the first scene of The Champion, House suddenly realizes. He remembers liking that scene. The Champion is looking out of the window right after his sister ran away, and his father (the glasses) is scolding him for day dreaming.

He begins to recognize other scenes. The cave the protagonist finds, his sister's new house (which is really just a square with a triangle above it), torches, stages, practically every important scene in the series. Then House's eyes are drawn to a low corner of the board. The old paper pinned there shows a face and is titled The Champion. The face has no distinctive features. None, but a beauty mark on the chin, right beneath the mouth.

Bingo.

Chapter Text

One of the hardest things James Wilson ever had to do, was to listen to Mrs. Adelman speak of her daughter's pregnancy. It's not that she went into graphic details – She did, but he is a doctor, he's seen way too much shit to be disgusted by anything ever again – More that he had to sit there, smiling and nodding as if his entire existence, the one he worked so hard to build, wasn't torn to shreds a mere hour ago.

But he likes Mrs. Adelman. She is a great patient, and he is so proud of the progress she is making. He also knows how important it is that she feels comfortable enough to share details about her life that are completely unrelated to her illness. And yet, now that she left his office, he realizes how little he cares. And what a terrible thing it is. To not care. He remembers not caring. He remembers lying awake at Welton thinking about how little he cares for being alive, and he remembers accepting his indifference.  Now though, as an emotionally stable adult, he is terrified. Caring is what he built James Wilson's identity around. If it goes away, all that's left is…  Well, nothing good. Maybe he should go take a walk.

He is on his feet and at the door in a heartbeat. Usually he would take the elevator, but something in him needs to feel excreted, so he takes the stairs. His office is on the fourth floor. When he was younger he could've ran up and down there without breaking a sweat, but now it takes a toll on him, as he emerges from the stairwell panting and exists the lobby slower than ever. It feels good to have his lungs burn and his calves ache, so once he is out in the cool New Jersey air he keeps a fast pace and races through the campus of PPTH.

He keeps on going through grass patches and corners of buildings, and decides to pass by as quickly as he can once smelling cigarettes. So he keeps walking with his eyes trained on the floor until he accidently crashes into the smoker. He begins to form an apology when -

Oh. It's Charlie.

"Oh." Says Charlie, because one of them needs to keep their wits about them. An awkward silence stretches above them, as Wilson knows he can't run away now.

They stand there side by side with their backs against a wall, the only movements are Charlie taking drags out of his cigarette. For Wilson this is a conversation he has to start, but everything in his mind seems too big to be put into words. Every explanation is an excuse, and every part of the story is written in a language Charlie doesn't speak.

"Those things will kill you." He says dumbly.

"Yeah, unlike a gun shot." Charlie's eyes widen as he instantly regrets his words "Sorry, I didn't –"

"No I… I deserve that."

There's a silence again. Wilson really does think he deserves it. Any harsh word the poets want to throw his way he will pick up and keep in his heart, because he hurt a lot of people, and now he has to deal with the consequences.

"I get why you did it."

Charlie is looking down at his shoes while they make patterns in the dirt. Still, he must feel Wilson's quizzical look because he soon starts to elaborate.

"Killing yourself, I mean. We were kids, and we were trapped and everything seemed so unfair. Each complaint was met with an accusation towards us and… and I wanted an out, too. Doesn't mean I was suicidal, though."

"I'm not sure we even knew what it was." Wilson replies quietly. It goes without saying that mental health wasn't discussed when they were younger. It's clear Charlie thought of the topic a lot since then.

"But you didn't kill yourself, you ran away. You ran away from us too and I… I always thought we were a good thing in your life – kind of a family even, that – We wanted to protect you so badly…"

"You were. You were a good thing in my life." Charlie still won't look at him, and Wilson is tired, because how could he not know how much the poets meant to him?

"Then I don't get it. We loved you, Neil, why did you run from us, too? How could you have led us to believe you were dead?"

There are two ways people talk about death. The people who won't even say the word, and the people who will say it loud and angry and clear, as if they dare it to try and hurt them. Charlie was always braver than Neil. Probably braver than James, too.

"It wasn't enough." Wilson says softly. He knows that his friend, although angry, is old enough to understand that the "power of friendship" isn't a cure for depression.

"I know." Charlie admits in a pained voice and finally looks up at him. His cigarette is forgotten in a loose hand, and his eyes are a little wet.

"I did try to kill myself, actually." Wilson tells him now. Charlie tilts his head as a signal for him to continue.

Wilson explains what happened with as little words as possible. Someday, maybe soon, he would like to get drunk and spill his heart to Charlie. But now wasn't the time. There was trust to rebuild and energy to restore and even with the other man looking at him with patience and understanding, Wilson is terrified of overwhelming him.

"I should've seen it."

What can be said to that? Charlie couldn't have seen it, no one had. It wasn't his fault and it needs to be screamed towards the sky. But Wilson has no scream left in him right now. He can't talk about this right now.

"So, um, what's your life like, right now?" he gives an obvious subject change.

"It's good, I guess. I'm a therapist now. I work with schools." Charlie gives him a look, and Wilson understands it. Charlie is trying to help… him, in a way.

"Oh, oh! I have to tell you!" He says suddenly, remembering something. "Knox and Chris – You remember Chris, right? – They got married! And then divorced!" His expression is a combination of outrageous and shock.

Wilson exhales in disbelief. "Now that I think about it, his entire pursuit was pretty… messed up." And that to say the least.

"Yeah. No means no didn't really exist when we were kids, huh?"

They sigh. The subject of feminism is very much unrelated to their previous topic. Oh well. It's nice to catch up as if they are only old high school buddies (which they technically are).

"And what about you?" Wilson asks. "Marriage? Kids?"

"The real question is what about your doctor friend."

Huh. House did make a joke about that earlier. He didn't realize that Charlie was in on it, too. Most of House's bits were pretty one sided, but if this one wasn't… Well, there's no reason Wilson can't also participate.

"House? He is chronically single."

They chuckle for a second, then Charlie's face darkens.

"I, uh… I should really go back."

Yeah, he should. Because Charlie didn't abandon those people. He didn't abandon Todd.

But it's tense again, now that everyone else is mentioned – that others' hurt feelings are acknowledged. Neil's best friend walks away, and James just can't leave it at that.

"WAIT, CHARLIE?" he turns around.

"Are we… are we good?" What a pathetic question. I made the guy believe I was dead for years, and now I want to make sure there are no hard feelings?

"Damnit, Neil!" Charlie looks angry. Of course he's still upset. Of course he thinks the entire story is BS, and of course he won't forgive him –

"… The name's Nuwanda." The poet declares and breaks into a smile.

James lets out a happy, chocked sob, and runs to give his old friend a bone crushing hug. It's good. It's so good to be hugged and reminded of the good parts from his youth. Charlie pats his back awkwardly, but that doesn't make the hug any less genuine.

"We'll fix it, okay?" Charlie promises him. "It'd take some time, but we won't lose you again."

And yeah, James believes him.

Chapter Text

Todd grunts as he lowers himself onto a chair by the window. This is the weakest his body had ever felt, and he has a hard time remembering why it's usually an easy motion. He enjoys the silence of his hospital room. He asked for it actually, and his friends reluctantly left him alone for the time being. He thought they should all process this new… turn of events, by themselves.

So the writer sits alone by the window of his hospital room, sweaty, weak, and miserable. He thinks to himself that it's quite a tragic picture. Since there's no starry night for him to dwell on, he settles for observing the grounds bellow him. Todd is asking himself how he would've written this view. Maybe he would've described it as a puzzle, made of grass and stone. He would've been able to use the words lonely, or isolated. Most of all he thinks of it as a façade – A nice, welcoming garden you walk through to reach this depressing place. Wow, being sick makes him incredibly dramatic.

He leans his forehead against the cool glass, too tired to stay upright on his own. His eyes almost shut close when he sees a commotion outside. The writer is immediately alert and presses his whole face to the window, trying to get a better look on the situation. A flock of birds is chasing something on the ground. The flapping of their wings is frantic and their chirps are loud and demanding. Todd tries to spot the object that had offended them so deeply, his eyes following them as they go. He sees a black cat running from the birds. But why would they -? Oh.

From the cat's teeth a wing is fluttering. The bird is still alive enough to resist, but Todd can see the way it's lodged in the cat's mouth, probably bleeding heavily and fighting purely on adrenalin. The cat runs with its prey, escaping the birds. It is much faster than the birds, but they greatly outnumber it. The cat ducks under benches, and circles trees, yet the pack is always on its tail. But soon enough the bird would die in its mouth, and all that effort will be for naught.

Todd closes his eyes. No one can save that bird now. Neil would've saved it, Todd knows. Neil who had a big heart and never let those kind of things go. He probably would've found a poem about a bird to read at the next society meeting. He would've tried to keep it at the cave and heal it. The way his mind always comes back to this dead boy makes Todd chuckle. Except, when it came down to it, Neil was the bleeding bird fighting for its life, and all his friends could do for him was flap their wings and scream.

Todd wonders if the doctor Neil grew up to be would save a bird. Probably not. He hears muffled shouts from the grounds bellow and opens his eyes. A robe clad figure is now also chasing the cat, calling for it to stop and drop the bird. This only encourages the cat to go faster until it disappears into a narrow space between two buildings. The figure stops running and his shoulders slump. He looks up, as if asking God to give him a break, and runs a hand down his face. Todd recognizes him instantly. This answers his question then: Grown up Neil wouldn't save a bird, but he will try.

***

"Aha!"

Wilson's office chair spins to reveal House with his cane pointed. He shoves it accusingly in the oncologist's face, who in turn just blinks in annoyance.

"Dr. Wilson, I almost didn't recognize you." Wilson dead pans and sinks in the small sofa across from House, who had his own office with the right name on its door, thank you very much. And still, he smiles a little. He feels lighter after talking to Charlie, the dark pit inside his stomach significantly shallower.

"Glad you could join me, doc. I'm here today to share with you my most recent findings." House says in a mock serious voice and put a thin folder down on the desk. Wilson crosses his arms and nods for his friend to continue.

"I present to you… Sketches." House hands him the folder looking way too smug for it to be safe. And still, Wilson takes it and starts to browse.

"Okay… Those are pretty dark drawings for a five year old." The lack of color and sharp strokes look very upsetting with the juvenile skill level. Does House think a patient is being abused? They were trained to see those signs, after all. It's a little strange that House approached him with this, instead of just yelling at the parents. It's even stranger that his obsessive best friend had moved on to matters other than… well, everything that happened today.

"Ah, but no! At a first glance you may think these are the drawings of an extremely untalented toddler, when actually they are the sketches dictating the plot of a beloved series, written by our favorite author –"

"Fuck, no."

"- Todd Anderson!"

"House!" He hisses.

This is just wrong. He can't look at these. They aren't for his eyes, nor are the poems he once loved and neither is the man himself.  Todd is not a part of his life anymore. Todd deserves better than meeting James. He deserves to write poems, and be healthy in some cabin in the woods surrounded loved ones. And James Wilson isn't a loved one. He threw that opportunity away a long time ago. 

"House, I don't want to see it." He looks away and hands the papers back. Unsurprisingly, they stay in his hand.

"You do. You are dying to know what your childhood crush has been up to. I just handed you the most private thoughts of the guy on a platter, and you won't even look at it for the sake of what? Chivalry!?" House sounds outraged.

"No, for my own sake! For his sake, too! Todd shouldn't have me, of all people, looking through these things. They are private and –"

"What do you mean? If you think even one of these isn't about you, you are insane. I bet you would've seen all of it had you not faked your death and ran away from someone who loved you!"

"He didn't love me, House! He was my best friend, who moved on, became an adult, and wrote a book about whatever. Unlike you, I know the entire world doesn't revolve around me!"

"But his does. Just look at this." House shuffles through the papers and gives Wilson a drawing of a head.

 "What the hell am I looking at?"

"Yourself, idiot."

"Are you sure? Because last time I checked my eyes weren't dots."

His friend rolls his eyes. It's nice to frustrate him back.

"Look at the chin."

"I see a mole."

"That's what it looks like, but don't let it fool you. It's a beauty mark. Your beauty mark."

"That's the dumbest evidence you ever had."

House looked stumped, as if he was sure this would be enough to convince Wilson he will get the forgiveness he craves, or that there's any hope to even trying. He bounces back quickly, though.

"Well, that's not all I have. I read the entire series. The whole thing matches perfectly to what you told me earlier. Boy runs away from his evil father's expectations. Boy joins cult. Boy overthrowing the leaders of said cult. Boy being hunted down by the newly reformed cult. Aside from a few minor details that's practically your life story."

Wilson buries his face in his hands. House's bullshit is getting to him, and he needs to pause for a second. It makes sense that Todd written about Neil.  They were close. But the thought of him still being affected by what happened after all those years is… unsettling. A part of James loves the thought of leaving such a mark on someone, and another part hates ever existing long enough to cause anyone pain. He sighs.

"Did you know he was in love with you?" House asks quietly with uncharacteristic tenderness.

"What?" James lifts up his gaze. The question doesn't surprise him, but the concept does.

"No, he… Todd wasn't gay."

"Are you sure? Can't you think of any signs? Late night conversations? Arm around your shoulder? Kissing lessons?" House asks only half mocking.

"It was an all-boys school, not girl on girl pornography." Wilson retorts absentmindedly.

Todd was different. He was quiet and never participated when the others talked about girls. Come to think of it, Neil never participated much either. But that was only because he always tried to either involve Todd or engage him in a different discussion. Todd was more interesting than girls anyway.

Wait! At that sentence something comes back to him. It's foggy, but he seems to remember telling Charlie those exact words once.

"So you are really not coming? You have the chance to go to Ginny Danbury's birthday party, meet some girls for once, but you'd rather stay in and study history with your roommate, who you hang out with every day?"

"Yes." Neil answered wholeheartedly. He liked Ginny well enough, but he had a long week and really wasn't in the mood for all those people. "Todd is way more interesting than girls, anyway."

Charlie turned quiet at that, which was very rare.

"What?" Neil questioned Charlie's silence instead of just accepting the blessing that came upon him.

"Have you told him that?" Charlie asked.

"No, of course not. Why would I?"

And that's all he really has of that memory.

House's pager beeps and he gets up after checking it.

"Well, got to go. It looks like your boyfriend is seizing."

"Wait, what?"

Chapter Text

Todd slowly comes back to his senses. He lays there with his eyes closed, calmed by the way the muffled voices around him match the statics in his head. He opens his eyes eventually to a bright light and a blurry view, blinking a lot slower than he normally would have.

"What…?" He asks eventually, not sure what the question should be, but certain the vague figures around him could answer it regardless.

"You were seizing." A man said after some silence. Todd blinks.

"The day?" He asks in confusion. He has a hard time thinking of what else he could've seized. Charlie once joked about seizing boobs, but Todd's pretty sure he didn't seize that.

"Do you not know what day it is?" A different man enters his view frowning. Todd recognizes him. It's the doctor he met this morning.

"It's Wednesday." Todd says, not sure what lead doctor blue eyes to that conclusion. They freak him out, yet they are the thing he sees the clearest right now with the man leaning directly above his face.

The first voice is speaking again, now accompanied with a figure entering his sight. "No, House, he meant –"

Todd cuts him off with an unintelligible noise. That can't be right. He might be hallucinating, but that man standing in front of him looks like an adult version of Neil. Neil, who has been dead for about 20 years now.

Even with the white coat that tries to make it look like he belongs in this hospital room, he stands out. Remarkably so. Because even with the grown up look he has now, he's… Todd doesn't even know how to describe it. Despite all his years as a writer, he never quite found an adjective big enough to describe Neil Perry. There's probably a long German word that would satisfy him, but his brain usually settles for extraordinary. That would have to do for now. Adult Neil is simply too extraordinary for these white walls.

"Focus." The doctor obnoxiously snaps his fingers in Todd's face making him tear his gaze away from the strange hallucination.

"You had a seizure. Do you remember where you are?"

"Uh y-yeah, I'm at PPTH. But… I think I blacked ou-out for a bit." He lets his eyes wander back towards Neil, who looks at him intently. He doesn't say anything about him yet, because once he will the doctor will give him something that would make Neil disappear again.

Doctor House sighs.  "Let's go, kids." He says and marches out of the door followed by three younger doctors Todd didn't even realize were in the room. It doesn't matter. He's just glad that he is alone and can talk to Neil without being dragged out of there in a straitjacket.

The first words out of his mouth are: "I missed you." Followed immediately by "Hey, don't cry!" as Neil's eyes overflowed with tears. Why is Neil crying? He's here, safe, with Todd.

"Come here." Todd tells him. Neil reluctantly listens to him, approaching the bed and sitting on a chair beside it. But once he's there he brings his hands up to his face, covering it entirely. Well, Todd can't have that. He needs to see that face as much as he probably needs the tube that's apparently attached to him. He brings his own hands up, prying Neil's open and taking them in his lap.

"There. I can see you now." He whispers to the tear stained face next to him, trying to be reassuring.

Neil blinks at him a couple of time. "You are not mad at me?" He asks quietly. Even if there was anyone else in this room, they wouldn't have been able to hear those words. He sounds surprised, and he is looking at Todd as if he wants to beg for forgiveness. But Todd will never blame him for leaving. As hurt as he was back then – as hurt as he still sometimes is – he could never pass an opportunity to be by Neil's side again. Even if it's just in his head, even if it's medically induced, or short lasting, this is everything he'd wanted since that day a single shot was fired.  

"You are too important for that." He tells him, and brings a hand up to his friend's cheek, the other one still clasping both of Neil's. Neil leans into his touch the tinniest bit, and Todd starts to run his hand through his brown hair, smiling to himself. It's just as soft as he had always imagined it.

"What do you mean by that?" Neil asks him, a little breathless, eyes never living their joined hands.

"I mean," Todd starts and tilts Neil's face up to make eye contact. "I mean that I missed you. That when you died I laid awake at night and tried to imagine you were in the bed across from mine. I mean that I cried every time I realized it wasn't true."

Neil widens his eyes at that. He opens his mouth, but Todd isn't finished. He can finally say all these things with no consequences whatsoever, even if it's just to his deluded mind – especially to just his deluded mind – and he won't stop until this Neil shaped mirage hears everything.

"A part of me died that night with you. I think it was my innocence. I never blamed you for killing it, but you did, because I let you. I am now a fully grown adult that still looks for your face on every side walk. I care about you so deeply that even though I'm hallucinating you, I don't care."

"Wait, Todd-"

"Let me finish." Todd says and squeezes Neil's hand to try and calm the frantic look on his face.

"I don't care, because after all those years I get a chance to apologize and confess – I get to tell you that I loved you, and that when we were teenagers I was an idiot. You kissed me, and I didn't kiss you back not because I didn't want to, but because I wanted to so much it hurt. I panicked, and…"

Now that he said mostly everything he wanted he wasn't sure how to finish it. Neil looks at the verge of tears, not comforted at all. His eyes are filled with pity, and he clearly has something to say. Todd remains silent for now, glad to get it all of his chest. Maybe his confession was never heard, but it was said. That's good enough.

***

Wilson has nothing to say. Well, that's not true. He has plenty to say, he just desperately doesn't want to burst this bubble he found himself in. He was so relived to get Todd's forgiveness, but only now does he realize it was never actually granted to him. Todd's words were meant for the writer's own ears alone. Then there's something else. A memory triggered by the words: You kissed me, and I didn't kiss you back.

He doesn't know what the fuck is wrong with him. He really does have the vaguest recollection of kissing Todd. He remembers just a second of it, of kissing the other boy standing in their dorm room. It makes him so frustrated to not remember every second of it, to not have remembered any of it until this very moment. He knows, trust him that he knows the effects trauma and depression can have on one's mind, he has been dealing with them almost every day since his adolescent years, and yet each time he learns of a new thing that makes him broken.

So he sits there in silence, looking at Todd and holding his hand. It makes sense that he was in love with that guy. It makes so much sense that Wilson wants to laugh. Neil probably had a sexuality crisis all these years ago, and it's a real shame to ignore all the hard work he must've done, but Wilson wants to search his entire mind for the signs. Wants to know and remember everything he missed.

He wants to say something, anything when –

"Hey!" Charlie and Knox rush through the door. Knox just stands uncomfortably at the entrance looking at him, but Charlie immediately comes to Todd's other side.

"The nurse said you had a seizure, are you okay?"  He doesn't sound panicked, just concerned.

"Yeah… I can't even remember it honestly…" Todd tells his friend and gives him a small smile.

"Can we… uh…?" Knox asks. Wilson really wishes he actually was a hallucination.  

Maybe he should just… rip the band aid.

James stands up and uses his doctor voice – the one that makes patients trust him – to say: "Todd, you said you are hallucinating me, but you are not. It really is me, just… older, and go by a different name but…" He takes a shaky breath "If you really did mean to tell Neil all these things, I want you to know that he heard them. That I took them to heart and… that I'm sorry. That I want everything you said to be true and that I want to prove to you just how sorry I am for as long as you will be willing to hear me ramble on about it."

He looks down at Todd, who in turn just watches him in shock and sadness.

"I think I want you to leave." He says, and James thinks that the sound of his heart breaking might be louder than Neil's gunshot.

Chapter Text

From "The Champion 3: The Valley", by Todd Anderson:

Love is mundane. Should it be mundane? Or should it lift you up and meet you with a bang? I've seen all sorts of love since I left home. The cult members loved their leaders with equal parts devotion and excitement. The cult leader loved his followers, too. Perhaps in the same way my dad loved me – conditionally. My sister loves me almost like it's easy. I understand that, because it's the same way I love her. She loves her husband in a supportive way and he loves her in an adoring one. But none of these fit the definition of how I feel about him.

***

Charlie's first instinct after Todd dismissed their very hurt, very earnest friend out of the room, was to scream at him: "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!", but the therapist in him recognized that a gentler approach might be more appropriate. That Todd is going through a lot, both mentally and physically, and that he needs someone by his side. So Charlie clasps Todd's hand and simply asks: "what happened?"

***

The weeks after Neil Perry reached his aunt and uncle's house, his aunt slept on the couch. At first, he didn't get why - she and his uncle had a happy marriage, and none of them snored so really there was no reason for her to greet him from the couch every time he got up at night to go to the bathroom. Except one terrible night, he actually got it. He couldn't fall asleep. He twisted and turned and his head ached each time with his father's harsh words.

He called me a faggot Neil remembered and sat up straight in his bed, tears streaming down his face. He really was one, wasn't he? His father's voice was still there, screaming at him, but now it was joined by his own voice, blaming him for being put in this position. At some point he couldn't even tell which one of them was saying what.

If you could've just been a man. Maybe if you dated a girl... Was the studying really that hard, you idiot? You had everything and you messed it up! What the fuck is freedom? Faggot! Pathetic! Weak! The worst person on this fucking planet. You can't even sleep. You can't even kill yourself, you worthless f...

Neil then hit his head, hard, in an attempt to shoo the thoughts away. Once on his forehead, once on the back, twice on the left side. He felt terrible. He missed his friends, and he missed being a good son. He missed pleasing someone who hated him with every fiber of his being, and how much of a terrible person do you have to be for your own father to hate you? The thoughts and voices still bugged him. His mind never once let him forget any mistake, and Neil, in some sick way, liked it. He liked having his mind punish him, even though it hurt like a bitch, and even though it was only half of what he deserved.

The first time he felt like this was on his 13 birthday. His father wasn't pleased with his accomplishments at school, and instead of wishing him a happy birthday, or letting him finish his cake, he made his dissatisfaction much known. So that night, Neil gave himself a little nick with the honors pin from school that he didn't even get the chance to show his father. It was extremely shallow, but sometimes Neil could still see the tiny white mark it left on his wrist. You wouldn't have even noticed it if you didn't know to look for it.

Neil thought of the silence his mind got after he cut. The way it quieted down for a bit, dimming the punishment sufficient for now. He got up and turned on the light, looking for anything that might be good enough to leave a mark. It was a home office though, with a mattress on the floor. Even the ruler on the desk was wood and not metal. Neil was so tired. He just wanted to make the voices stop. So he stepped out of the room, being careful and quiet. He decided to go to the kitchen, and had to tiptoe through the living room. The couch was empty, for the first time in weeks, and he was relieved. It didn't last for long though, because as he walked towards the kitchen, he saw the lights were on, and as he entered he was greeted by a bleary eyed aunt gripping a cup of water like it's the only thing keeping her awake.

"Hey sweetheart, you can't sleep?" She asked, sounding so concerned. Neil wanted to cry. He didn't deserve this gentleness. He came here for unspeakable, almost sinful stuff, and instead he got this loving, warm treatment.

He probably did cry, because his aunt got up from her chair and took him into her arms with a soft "oh, honey." She rocked them back and forth with her embrace. After a while she let go, sat him down in a chair and brought him a glass of water. Then he understood - his aunt sleeps on the couch for him, so she can be there for him in a crisis.

Neil never quite grasped the fact that he deserved someone to support him during bad mental health episodes, but through the change in his identity, James had reached for help a couple of times during bad nights. Because James, unlike Neil, knew he was a good man that deserved help. And right now, he really wishes he had someone to turn to. It's been a while since he harmed himself, so he breathes, drinks a glass of water like his aunt brought him all those years ago, and reminds himself that Todd loved Neil. That Todd has a hard time. That things will get better, and that he's a good man, who doesn't deserve to be hurt. He repeats that last part a few times, trying to really let it set in.

He believes himself just enough to remain standing in the hall next the water fountain – breathing and existing there in peace.   

***

That morning had been a roller coaster, and Todd really can't be blamed for not keeping up. Of course, now that the initial disorientation from his seizure cleared, he recalls that they actually did meet Neil-fucking-Perry today and it wasn't just some twisted fever dream and well… Isn't that awkward?

It's definitely awkward until he breaks the silence following Charlie's inquiry about what happened, and tell his friends: "I don't think I'm really mad at him."

That surprises him the most. He's really not mad at him. Charlie clears his throat and Knox finally approaches his bed, instead of just standing there like a deer in headlights.

"I…After Neil… died, I used to – I don't know – talk to him. Like he was there and, well, obviously he never was, but… Sometimes I imagined he was there. I had stop it eventually though, i-it wasn't very good for me."

He doesn't explain how the mental distress led him to episodes of actually seeing strange things – what Dr. House called Todd's syndrome.

"I'm just… embarrassed.  I-I told him… a lot. Thin – Things I thought I would never admit, but… He is alive. That's the most important thing right now."

"I talked to him, too." Charlie admits, glancing at Knox who now looks even more shocked.

"I think that if the boy who died all those years is somewhere out there, we owe it to the boys that died in us to reconnect with him."

Yes! Charlie gets it. He lost a part of himself with Neil, too. They all have. They need to find him.

Chapter Text

"What did the tests say?" House asks while he storms down the corridors towards his office, his fellows following close behind.

"Negative for Epstein – Barr." Chase answers.

"And?" House prompts, possibly right before Chase was about to continue.

"They also show thyroiditis. If it led to a seizure, it could mean we're dealing with Hashimoto's encephalopathy."

"But," Foreman interrupts "I found in his house an almost empty bottle of Tylenol. If he just had a viral infection and took too much, it could explain the thyroiditis, the enlarged liver, and the seizure."

"Interesting." House says while opening the door to the outer office. He makes his way to the board without holding the door open for his fellows. "The neurologist doesn't think it's a brain thing!"

"Do you have any idea how rare HE is?"

"Yeah. You think all these medical textbooks are just for show?"  House answers. He adds the words seizures and thyroiditis to the board.

"What about a thyroid storm?" Cameron asks "It might also be rare but it fits all the symptoms."

It could be anyone of these options and possibly a countless more. House knows how important this case is. He takes a Vicodin to calm the way his leg is acting up.

"We need to start by treating his thyroiditis." He tells his team "give him prednisone to control his symptoms."

Cameron continues to discuss possible diagnoses as Chase goes to admit the steroids and Foreman goes to reserve the MRI machine.

"Is he a friend of Dr. Wilson's?" Cameron suddenly asks.

"No." House answers honestly.

"Well, he looked at him funny earlier." She says insistently.

"Nah, he was just turned on. Wilson's eyes has that effect on people." Please let her be satisfied by this answer. House has very little to no regard for his patients' privacy, and the same usually goes for Wilson's as well. But Cameron doesn't need to hear about his gay tragic back story. Cameron may think that having good intentions is an excuse to everything, but his friend doesn't need her all up in his business.

Before she has the chance to say anything else, House goes to his own office and closes the door.

***

James stands by the water fountain for God-knows how long. Occasionally, he takes a sip of his plastic cup or bends to refill it. He offers friendly nods to coworkers passing by, but the frantic energy of a hospital makes sure no one has the time to notice him. He's relived by the lack of attention. His brain is buzzing restlessly. It's a little annoying, but it serves to block out the guilt and despair.  He shouldn't be alone right now, but there isn't exactly a line of people willing to deal with his bullshit. He settles for being in a public space. Even back at Welton, he never directly asked for help on bad nights, sometimes he'd keep Todd awake or summon an impromptu society meeting. Sometimes he'd just be left alone and give in to his harmful urges.

None the less, James knows he has been standing in the hall in silence for a while before Charlie comes to his field of vision and asks: "Neil… Can you come with me, please?" He sounds so nervous – His usual confidence entirely obscured by the enormity of the day's events.

James thinks of answering him, but the very idea of talking makes his gut twist and his throat clench. He just nods, and follows his old friend down the hall. He's not sure what will happen now. Charlie promised him they'll fix it, yet Todd all but shooed him out of his sight. A small part of James hopes Charlie is going to beat him up. He probably won't though.

They walk in silence, Charlie never once looking back, because he trusts Wilson to follow him. It's more trust then he deserves, but it's just enough to keep him going all the way over to Todd's room.

Wilson steps through the door and stops in his tracks. Todd looks into his eyes from where he is sat up. The pillow is framing his head like an aura and makes the sad hospital bed look like a throne. Todd's dark blonde hair is matted, his skin glowing with sweat, his scruffy beard making his face look dirty. Neil's heart belonged – belongs – to him. His blue eyes, unlike the rest of his disheveled appearance, are clear. And all their beauty, all their attentiveness, all their shine are directed at James until he is Neil again – 17 and in love.

James doesn't approach the bed, but he steps farther into the room. Charlie closes the door and only then does he realize the blinds are closed as well. He can feel his old friend walking to stand behind him but doesn't turn around until the man clears his throat.

"Thank you, everyone, for coming to this Dead Poets society meeting. I'd like to welcome our newest member, James Wilson, and welcome back our old friend, Neil Perry." Charlie says and nods to him. James is too shocked to react to the gesture. A meeting?

"I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately…" Charlie recites. Wilson's bewilderment doesn't stop him from mouthing the rest of the verse along, doesn't stop him from closing his eyes and picturing the cave, and it doesn't stop him from sneaking a glance at Todd, like he always did at society meetings. Todd is already looking at him, and he looks exhausted. James steps gingerly to sit at the edge of the bed while Charlie finishes.

"… Discover that I had not lived." Charlie finishes. Cheers erupt from the MacBook in Knox's lap and they startle James off the bed. Knox then turns the screen in his direction, smiling.

"Meeks? Pitts?" James immediately scrambles towards their faces. He is crouched on the floor near Knox's chair just to get the best possible look he can. Meeks is smiling kindly and he has Pitts' arm around his shoulder.

 "I… Where are you?"  Behind them is a huge home library overflowing with books, there are framed science posters on the wall and everything is illuminated by a warm light. It's exactly where Neil always hoped they'd end up.

"Harvard." Meeks tells him. He looks taken aback by the question – As if he is doubting its relevance.

"They are professors." Knox supplies. And – It's great. It's awesome. He is so insanely proud of them for getting to their dream school, and he tells them so.

"We are proud of you, too." Pitts tells him quietly, and –

"What?" He failed. There's no denying that. He didn't become an actor, he ruined every relationship he's ever had, until today he was too much of a coward to even admit to himself he likes men, he has no support system, and reverts back to self-harm at any crisis – What is there to be proud of?

"We are. You survived. Your life was hell back then, but you made it out alive – successful, even. None of those are synonyms for 'happy', but you worked hard to get to where you are right now."

Murmurs of agreement are heard across the room, and Knox places a hand on his shoulder. He barely even looked at James today, but now he seems to have accepted it all, to not be so afraid – to see Neil underneath it all.

"Thank you." He tells them. He looks behind him to see Todd watching with the softest smile on his face. And it's time to be brave – He's been through hell, he can't back out now – so James sits on the bed next to him and takes his hand. Todd looks up at him, still smiling, still soft.

"How are you feeling?" James asks him.

"Tired." Todd answers.

"We won't keep you up long." Said Charlie. "We'll just wrap up the meeting and then we'll leave you to rest, or… you know," - He glances at James - "…Talk."

Todd nods, and they do just that. Meeks makes a comment about needing to sneak back in without Hager catching them, Pitts tells him they'll see him soon, everyone exchanges their goodbyes, and Knox and Charlie leave for the day.

"One of us we'll be back for the night." Knox tells James while Charlie makes Todd promise to call if he needs anything.

And suddenly James and Todd are alone again. With their new found privacy to shelter them, Neil – James – Whoever he is at this moment –lifts his hand to cup his friend's cheek. Todd closes his eyes in content.

"Stay, please." He asks and James thinks he'd have to be physically dragged out of the building before the thought would even occur to him, but then Todd turns his head and presses a kiss to his palm, and his brain goes silent.

"I'm not Neil anymore." He whispers to him. Todd opens his eyes, and James should really let him sleep.

"I'll love James, too." He mumbles before drifting off." And love is a strong word, but god, James wants to believe it.   

Chapter Text

Soft murmurs and James's fingers in his hair lull Todd from his sleep. Still foggy from his nap, he only manages to catch glimpses of the hushed conversation, and his mind doesn't dare to try and process it.

What does House think it is?

We… need to do an MRI.

I'll take him.

It's not…

It's fine, I'll clear it with House.

Todd try to open his eyes before realizing – he doesn't give a fuck what's this all about. He is tired, he is in pain, he is miserable, but right now, asleep with the warmth of James seemingly everywhere – This is exactly where he wants to be. So he drifts back to sleep, and hopes to never move again. Or, well, at least not for the foreseeable future.

Sadly, after not nearly enough sleep, Todd's shoulder is being jostled and his name is being whispered gently in his ears.

"Hnggh?" He asks eloquently and opens his eyes just enough to see Neil's face above his. He's so pretty. Or maybe James is pretty? His eyes are definitely Neil's – young and warm and hopeful – but both the smile and frown lines are purely James's. Lines he earned by laughing and fighting in ways Neil was simply too young to do.

James straightens but keeps his hand on Todd's shoulder. "We are taking you to do an MRI." He says and looks behind him where a female doctor stands behind a wheelchair.

She seems nice. She's young, brunette, and pretty, but the thought of being pushed around in a wheelchair with her towering above him makes him very uncomfortable for some reason.

"I mean… I'm sure I can walk there." Todd tells the doctors lightheartedly, because it's not like he minds, he'd just… rather not.

"Sorry Todd, but you're officially a fall risk." James tells him with an amused smile, even though he does sound at least a little bit sorry.

Todd purses his lips into a thin line and raises his eyebrows at him, he doesn't know entirely what he's trying to communicate with it – mainly faux annoyance.

He gets up and sits on the chair with his friend's help. His head gets so dizzy and his legs wobbly that he has to agree the wheelchair is probably a good idea.

"Okay, we're ready to go Mr. Anderson." The female doctor says and begins to turn him around towards the door.

"I got it, Doctor Cameron." James tells her and swoops in to push Todd instead.

He smiles to himself and leans his head back, happy to have his friend in such proximity. They don't speak on the walk, but the clickety-clack of Doctor Cameron's heels fills the silence rather nicely. It's also hard to ignore the curious glances she keeps sending the both of them. Todd catches her eyes and smiles. She turns a little red at the prospect of being caught, and stares straight ahead for the rest of the way.

James puts a hand on his shoulder for just moment, prompting them to share an amused look. James then shifts his gaze onto his forehead from above, contemplating something.

He looks like he wants to kiss it, Todd thinks. But he knows that it's not the other doctor's presence that is stopping him from this display of affection. They haven't… well, some things are out in the open now, and James is acting so caring, and Todd knows it can lead to something this time – that it absolutely has to – because there is no way he's going to let this opportunity pass this time around. But he also knows they have to be delicate about it. They need to proceed with caution, and nurture whatever it is they already have in order to create something new. At least, that's how he articulates it to himself as they enter the room with the MRI machine.

So something will happen, but not right now. And when Dr. Cameron will go into the attached room, and James will get him settled into the machine, there will be no calming palm on his cheek, and no gentle kiss to his brow. There will merely be a pat to his shoulder, and a small smile, both men hoping it's the start of more.

***

James heaves a sigh as he sits next to Cameron. It's not because he is sad or tired by any means – He's just already hit that age when you have to acknowledge every small relief from the torture that is standing up.

Despite the small sound, she is very pointedly looking at the monitors and not at him. He presses the button at the base of the microphone and tells Todd all the normal stuff. That it's noisy, that he can't move, that the two doctors would be there watching him the whole time… all the things that after years of saying them it's almost an instinct to do so as soon as he sees an MRI machine. Although, he usually doesn't smile nearly as much during that explanation as he does right now.

They sit in silence for a couple of minutes. Cameron clasping both hands under her chin, and James alternating between looking at the monitors and at the machine. He knows in his bones that today has been monumental. He is almost entirely sure that the best thing that has ever been near him is laying in the machine right behind the glass, and even better, he is almost entirely sure he didn't fuck it up so badly last time that he doesn't get another shot. Neil knew companionship, sometimes it seemed like all he had going for himself. For James it's different, because James understands its significance. Because James is not willing to let go this time.

Cameron seems to not have as much to mull over, though, because she clears her throat and levels him with a curious look, breaking the silence.

"Do you know this guy?" She asks, gesturing with her head to said guy.

"What makes you say that?" James asks calmly. There are many ways to answer her question, half of them not even being lies. He just wants to figure out what she's getting at before… you know, uncovering his deep, dark secret past to a random coworker.

"I don't know, just…" she narrows her eyes thoughtfully "… the way he looked at you after the seizure, like you completely took him by surprise. Also, earlier, when you called him by his first name and everything and it just… seemed like you two were familiar with each other, that's all."

She is still looking at him with her hopeful, naïve, young eyes, and damnit James is about to tell her. Because even though she is his coworker, she is also one of the sanest people in the hospital, and before he even know it he starts talking.

"Did you know I went to boarding school?"

The only indicator of her surprise are slightly raised eyebrows. Other than that, she lets him continue without further prompting.

"Well, I did. For most of high school. It was this very strict all boys prep school. Not really the best environment… I ended up doing my senior year in a public school, and that's just… a really long story." He smiles a little. He's already shared this story today, so all he really needs to get out is the answer to the specific question she asked him.

Cameron nods and smiles back at him kindly.

"So, Todd Anderson-" he gestures with his hand "was my roommate there. Only for about 3 months before I left, but we got close. You pretty much have to at a place like this, especially when you share a room with each other. Also, I think it's just who he was. I couldn't help but wanting to get close to him."

James looks at her, hoping she gets what he is trying to say. She probably does, and just doesn't react because she wants him to say it.

"I'm pretty sure he was my first love." He's not even ashamed to admit it. How could he be when his first love was this brilliant and pure?

"Anyway, I haven't seen him in twenty years. Ever since I left. Seeing him here is… pretty eye opening. To say the least."

Cameron exhales slowly and smiles wider.

"So?" She asks. "What are you going to do now? Ask him out?" She seems so excited for him, but he is just not so sure it's that simple.

"Yes, but, it's been a really long time, and he is sick, and I didn't really leave in the best way, and I'm just… I want it to work." He sighs and looks out the glass. They should be done with the machine in a few minutes.

"It can't work if it never starts."

And yeah, James knows that. He will ask him out, and he will do everything in his power to be with Todd Anderson. He nods at her, and speaks into the mic.

"Just a little while longer, Todd."

Chapter Text

The moment they finished with the MRI machine House barged into the control room.

“My Office. Send the images over to my computer.”

“We can just have a look here-“

“No.” House dismisses his fellow and starts to walk out the door. “I don’t want to miss it.”

James sighs but doesn’t argue. He goes to return Todd to his room and tells House he will join them in a little while. Truthfully, he’d rather stay with Todd at least until either Knox or Charlie come back, but he is a doctor, and if he can do anything to help his friend look less dead on his feet, he obviously would. He makes a deal with himself:

He’ll help House’s team solve the case, and when Todd is all better he’ll ask him out. He will make a big confession about Neil’s feelings, and who he is now, and how happy he would be for a second chance to be there for the other man. That’s not too intense of a way to start a relationship, right?

As he goes to leave the room, having already helped Todd back to the bed, he looks at his friend and wonders what he’ll say to him. Todd doesn’t seem to be picking up on that, just a little anxious. He’s picking at his nails and looking up at James, saying nothing. A thought accurse to James, that maybe Todd is anxious from his company, and not of his leaving.

“I’m going to look at the images from the MRI. Do you want…? Can I come back here after I’m done? We don’t have to talk about anything, but I would love to be here. To wait with you.”

Todd frowns in confusion only for a second, and then it’s gone.

“Yeah, Of course, I… come back here. Once you’re done, I mean. Just… go figure out what’s wrong with me.” He smiles a little.

James nods and goes to the office, hoping to return with some answers.

***

James Wilson often wonders why he ended up practicing medicine, or, rather, he often wonders how he would've explained it to Neil. Neil sacrificed so much for his dreams, and James not continuing in his journey felt… violating, in a way. As if he is ignoring the wishes a man made on his death bed. But James had to be an adult. He had to grow up, and make a responsible choice.

Maybe he never lived up to his full potential, but that's okay. Some people are meant to truly live, and some are meant to make a living. Would he have been happier pursuing his passion? Maybe. He asks himself that question every day and still he has no answer. However, when Todd spoke out his poem that day in Keating's class, Neil knew that the guy in front of him is the type that needs to live. He knew Todd could never be complete in that suffocating, narrow minded environment. And Neil was the same. Maybe that’s why he felt so protective over him.

So now, James doesn't know how to apologize to his younger self, how to explain his decision to give up on adventure and trade beauty with practicality. But staring at the book in House's office, the one that's imprinted with the name Todd Anderson, he takes solace in the fact that the school and its misguided one-fits-all mindset can't break everyone's spirit.

“Earth to Wilson?” House glares at him. “Come look at these. It’s your high school boyfriend we’re trying to cure here.”

Wilson looks at the diagnostics’ team outer office, just to make sure the fellows who are there looking at the same photos aren’t listening. Once he is satisfied the glass wall separating them is sound proof enough for House’s comments, he makes his way towards the computer.

He looks over at the open image and points towards a bright white spot “That’s… not normal.” He tells him. He kind of wants to throw up. Really, he can read an MRI better than that, but there’s… It’s different when it’s for someone you know. It’s different when you’ve already seen hundreds of cases starting out like this, and progressing into something much, much worse.

“Thank you, Wilson. That was useless.” House tells him, unimpressed. “Didn’t know a pair of blue eyes is all it took. Is that why you’ve been writing my prescriptions all these years?”

James sighs and rounds the table to sit in front of House. It’s clear he is not going to be as much help as he intended to. “Can you really blame me for being unfocused?”

“Of course not. You just had your long overdue gay awakening and reunited with your teenage sexual awakening in the same day,” House tells him and chews on a pen on a bit before adding “It’s the permission your mind has been waiting for to think about gay sex.”

Despite the unpromising start of the sentence, Wilson was not expecting the conclusion. He takes a long suffering breath and fixes his friend with a disapproving look.

“It’s not that.” James suspects that House, unlike him, does get off on emotional anguish.

“No. It’s just that, aside from finding out I’m not straight, and that apparently I already knew that and repressed it like twenty years ago, it’s also a reminder of an entirely different person I used to be and worked hard on drifting apart from. Neil had all these feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing. He never learned all the lessons I have. Now it’s like all those things are coming back to bite me in the ass.”

House perks up in his seat. He has this look on his face, and Wilson can almost see a thought bubble next to his head saying "Eureka!"

He looks something up in his computer, and jumps up in a way that’s bound to hurt him later. He opens the door leading to his fellows.

“I need fresh blood works. Look for anything that a boomerang sign indicates.”

House lets the door close behind him, leaving his friend, once again, in awe of his ways.

***

James comes back for him, just like he promised. Todd smiles. He feels a little like he has the upper hand here. Well… it might be a little ironic, given the fact that he is bound to a hospital bed in all ways but literal, but still, he is very aware that James is, for once, anxious. And yes, maybe Todd shouldn’t enjoy that, but this is a very uncommon occurrence. It’s as if their dynamic from high school has been reversed.

James is standing there, awkward and fidgety, while Todd is just sitting up, at peace. He can’t help it. His favorite person, the one he’s been missing for the past 20 years, is here. But he is standing nowhere near close enough.

Todd can see the guilt in his friend’s eyes, and he forgives him. Because James Wilson doesn't deserve to hurt for the fact that he survived.

"I never read your books." James says suddenly, before Todd can even begin to think of a way to express that sentiment.

"That's okay." Todd answers honestly. "You didn't even know I've written them." Maybe it's for the best. They were originally meant for Todd's eyes alone. He told himself it was to continue Neil's legacy, write a novel about your dead best friend living up to his full potential like a lunatic. It wasn't. The entire time he tried to explain what happened to himself. Maybe if he wrote him, he would understand why he left. He did, and it broke him. He loves being a writer, that's his life's calling, but sometimes he would write and write and pray to god that his perspective is wrong. That this is not an accurate description of Neil's mental state, but a figment of his own imagination.

"Mr. Keating convinced me to publish them. That's why they are dedicated to 'Oh captain, my captain'."

"I'm sure they are incredible." James tells him, not quite making eye contact.

"Dr. House seems to like them."

"Yeah… He kind of thinks that they are… you know." He vaguely gestures between the two of them. Todd frowns.

"About me." He says. More like asks, actually. He looks very uncomfortable, shifting his weight between his legs, eyes fixated on Todd's crossed arms.

"Oh." This is… not ideal. For many reasons. As the years passed by he learned to take pride in his work, and he sincerely believes his writing is worth something. However, his books had never been tested by the only eyes that really matter.

"He's right." Todd admits. "I started writing them the year after. It was supposed to be therapeutic, but it ended up being really fucking frustrating. So I've been kind of writing it on and off, usually during stressful times, and by my second year of college I had a first draft ready. From there it just kind of… grew."   

James is making eye contact, and he is finally about to say something, when Doctor Cameron walks in. She then immediately stops in her tracks.

"Sorry, I didn't know you'd be here." Dr. Cameron tells James. "Should I come back?" she speaks quietly, as if it will stop Todd from hearing. Honestly, he kind of likes the thought that she is aware of this somewhat complicated situation. Not because it suggests that James has spoken to her about him, but because it means he has someone to speak to. It immediately makes Todd like her.

"It's alright." He tells her, even though the question wasn't directed at him. James frowns a little, contemplating something.

"Hi Mr. Anderson. I'm just here to draw a new batch for blood works and then I'll be out of your hair" she smiles at him and prepares the needle.

She does as she says and leaves. Todd is just a little bit desperate to continue their conversations, and almost groans when James gets paged.

"Sorry." His friend tells him and looks extremely apologetic. "I've got to go. I'll see you later." He then rushes out of the room. Todd sighs and lies down from his seated position. He will hardly be able to fall asleep now.

***

"You!" Dr. House says barging through the door.

Todd immediately startles. It's been a couple of hours since James left and he has been dozing off and on for almost the entire time. He is reminded of the doctor's intimidating initial impression and feels justified for feeling… well, intimidated.

Dr. House takes a deep breath and paces in front of the bed, his cane makes a rhythm against the hard floor. "Have you been out of the country recently?" He stops abruptly to glare at Todd.

"Uh… no? I… I've already been… I've already been asked that." The stuttering is not as bad as it was this morning, but feeling threatened doesn't really bode well with coherent speech.

"Yeah, well. Everybody lies." Dr. House tells him definitively.

This confuses Todd, since he isn't lying. He spent the past three months working on his book and doesn't really travel aside from his book tours. He tells House as much, watching as the doctor's forehead creases with more and more frown lines.

He mumbles to himself something about health codes and New Jersey and exotic my ass, all while Todd sits there, not exactly enjoying the show but not really opposing to it either. That's when Charlie walks through the door, greeting the pair.

House snaps his gaze to him, looking particularly murderous, and asks: "Do you have a suitcase?"

Charlie blinks. Todd can practically sees the cogs in his brain move as he tries to figure out the smartest, wittiest, sexiest and most charming response to that question. Evidently, he gives up and answers: "Uh… yeah." Smooth.

"Are you visiting here?" Dr. House asks, not even a beat after Charlie's answers.

"Why? Are you offering a place for me to stay?"

The doctor immediately looks more annoyed and almost yells repeating his own question, dragging out each word obnoxiously. Charlie immediately straightens, a little embarrassed. The flirting, as good and appropriate as it was, apparently did not work.

"Yes. I'm on a trip and came to stay a couple of days with my friends here. I live in San Francisco."

"And did you come here from there, or some other place?"

"I came here from a trip in central America."

"And which friend have you been staying with? For how long?"

"With Todd…" he gestures towards the man in question. "I've been here for about a week now."

"Of course you have." The doctor suddenly loses all of his fight, and massages his temples as if he is the most long suffering man in all of history.

He begins to walk towards the door where Charlie is still standing.

"You both have typhoid fever. Only it stayed dormant in one of you, and almost caused liver failure to the other one. A nurse will come to give both of you some antibiotics." He sighs, disappointed in… stupidity? People?

"Nice job infecting your buddy." He tells Charlie right as he passes through the exit.

Charlie immediately rushes to Todd's side, who's already planning to say something along the lines of are you okay?, when his friend sprawls on the bed, fanning himself and exclaiming:

"But why was the yelling hot?!" 

***

"Just diagnosed Lover Boy." House walks into Wilson's office, letting him know because it's polite. His friend doesn't seem to appreciate it though, and quickly apologizes to the middle aged man sitting opposite him. He glares at House and then the words seem to register.

"Wait, what is it?" he says, only sparing his patient the slightest worrying glace.

"Typhoid Fever. He got it from your friend who keeps hitting on me. I started them both on treatment. Your gay awakening could be released as soon as tomorrow."

"I'm sorry for the interruption, Mr. Fields." He tells his patient, and like a hypocrite who doesn't regret the interruption at all, he turns to House.

"Thank you." He tells him, smiling and overall looking relieved. House wants to tell him it was all a part of the job, but really, it wasn't. He cares for Wilson, and this case was a way for him to prove it. Actually, it was such an incredible deed on his part he probably never has to get another birthday gift ever again.

"Just go get your man." House tells him dismissingly, after having decided to let the presents issue come up later. He limps out of the door and leaves Wilson to something he is sure will be a very strange appointment.

***

Charlie comes to get James the next day's afternoon, when Todd is getting discharged. He has already seen him last night before going home, and today first thing in the morning.

"Hey!" Todd tells him, smiling. He still looks a little week and pale, but also better. He is sitting on the side of the bed tying his shoelaces, having already changed from the hospital gown to jeans, a dark red t shirt, and a faded black jacket.

"Hi." James replies, smiling back. "I picked up your prescription" He says and hands it to him. Todd takes it and thanks him. James starts to move his hand back to his pocket, but Todd holds it in place.

"Wait." He says, tone equal parts sheepish and calm. He looks up at him from where he is sitting, and James turns with his whole body towards him to show attentiveness.

"So… We both apparently live in the same city, and… Shit. That sounds like I'm looking for a booty call… Which I'm not! I just…" He sighs, and laughs awkwardly.

"I just mean: what happens now?" His blue eyes are hopeful, and his brows are raised in question. He looks so young like that. Seeing him yesterday was such a complete shock to James that he didn't even stop to appreciate his older look. His hair is longer, stopping just past his ears. It's also a bit darker, but you can still tell it used to be blonde. He has a scruffy beard now, too, which James has to admit is not a bad look. Not at all. He vaguely remembers the attraction Neil had felt for him, but it was different. A new feeling he wasn't exactly able to name at the time. They were so young and naïve and so new to life. But now he… well, he wants. He really wants that guy, this handsome adult man sitting in front of him. And he also wants Todd, the boy he once loved and can now see so clearly in the man's eyes.

"I… Listen," James tells him and sits next to him, their hands still joint. "Until you told me yesterday, I didn't even remember kissing you. I do now, but having a sexuality crisis was not on my agenda that day. When we were kids I was… well, I was in love with you. I mean, of course I was. You were talented and attentive and beautiful…" He could go on and on about all the reasons, but for now he chooses to end the list by bringing their clasped hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to Todd's.

"Seeing you is… so incredible. I can't believe you are actually here, where I work. I mean, we've apparently been living in the same city for God knows how long, that's insane! Look, I know I have a lot of trust to earn after… everything, but I'll try. I really want that. To be part of your life again, so… yeah."

All of this has been said in an extremely quiet and gentle manner, and has been met with the softest smile James has ever seen.

"Okay." Todd tells him. "Will you walk me outside? And can you maybe come see me once you are done working? I will probably… I mean I'm kind of tired and will probably fall asleep the moment I get back home, but… I really want to see you. Is that okay?"

"Yes. Yes, of course." James answers and smiles in genuine disbelief.

He helps Todd onto a wheel chair, which is now there for insurance reasons instead of an actual concern. James wheels him to the elevator, and then through the lobby, smiling for the entire time and keeping a hand on his shoulders. They are whispering sweet nothings to each other, only they are all sentiments from their childhood, of all the good, wonderful parts of it. They get out of the doors and Todd can officially stand up now, which he does. He turns to James, and looks at him with such fondness, James is not even surprised when he leans in for a kiss. It's short, and chaste, and it's great. It's everything, and James lets out a laugh once it's over.

"I will see you later?" Todd asks, with his hand on James's cheek.

"Yeah." He sighs, wrapping Todd up in a hug. Todd leaves for Knox's waiting car as soon as he lets go. James is so insanely delighted, knowing he will see them all again.