Yes, it's short, but I was watching something and was thinking about Bible study last night. Naturally, 'Bible' somehow coorelates to 'WilsonHouse-ness'. Rated for what you have to assume Wilson is doing.

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In some religions, it is believed that, after death, one returns to one's perfect state. One relives that moment in which one attains true happiness.

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He walked up to the wooden door, barely noticing the golden letters reflecting Dr. James Wilson, oncologist back at him. His leg hurt like a bitch, and he was going to get himself a free pass to Vicodinland. He looked for the nice lady who took messages for Wilson, who usually tried to stop him before he just walked in. She wasn't there.

He put his hand on the doorknob, and heard a moan. He froze. Oh, for the love of God, his receptionist was in there? Dammit, Jimmy, try to control yourself. Deciding to just wait, he leaned against the wall and 'stood guard'. It was the least he could do.

Fifteen minutes later, he was really getting uncomfortable. They were still going strong, from the sound of James' moaning, and the receptionist was unusually quiet. She was always so bitchy to him that he had just assumed that she would be a screamer.

Then, down the hall, he saw the pretty little thing herself, carrying a coffee and donut from the clerical lounge. Hmmm. That was odd. Who was Jimmy in there with?

Very, very quietly, he got his answer as James cried out a name.

With that name came the true happiness, and he remembered himself for a moment. Oh, right, he was dead, and God was being a cad and having him relive that stupid mistake of his when he had walked through the stupid wooden door and ruined his and James' friendship. He remembered. This was when he found out that Wilson loved him.

His perfect state was as a cripple. His truest happiness had led to his biggest mistake.

Welcome to Hell, boys and girls.