The phone rang.

Wilson glanced at the caller ID screen and folded his paper before setting it aside.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Wilson said, grabbing his coffee and taking it with him as he rose from the outside café table. He walked over to the nearby park in an attempt to give himself a tad more privacy. The park was narrow, but long, going on for a few blocks between streets. A large sundial surrounded by segregated rows of bright flowers dominated the view from the restaurant. “What’s up, Doc?”

House scoffed. “That’s bad.”

“You laughed.”

“I didn’t.”

“Scoffed. Completely different neural response.”

“Whatever. What’s up?”

“What’s up is that it’s Saturday, the day of rest, and I’m awake at 8:30 because you’re alarm clock went off.”

“Sorry, must have hit the wrong button.” Wilson’s alarm clock had recently started toying with him, to the point were Wilson was starting to suspect outside influence. Hobgoblins, poltergeists or, most likely, House was messing with him.

“This leads me to the further question of why is it you’re out and about at 8:30 in the morning on a Saturday. Why aren’t you here? You know, sleeping? Or at least getting me a sammich, woman!”

“Because I’m not 16 and I don’t feel the need to sleep until noon on Saturdays just because I can. You do know it’s actually easier if you get up everyday at the same time?” The sundial was an abysmally bad piece of landscaping. Wilson turned his back on it and wandered off toward a cluster of trees.

“Sure, and next you’re gonna tell me nicotine is addictive.” House sighed long and loud into his end of the receiver.

“You’re extra grumpy today. You’re leg hurts?”

“Yes, my leg hurts. It’s going to rain.”

“Can you give me a number on your pain?”

“35.”

“It’s 1 to 10.”

“10, then.”

“You always say 10.”

“Well, then stop asking!” Wilson heard House breathe deep again, then slam the conversation back on track with such force that there was no way it could sound natural. “So, where are you?”

“Planet Earth. North America. United States. New Jersey.” Wilson took a sip of his coffee, leaning his back against a recently transplanted tree. Woodchips protected the young roots and kept him from taking a seat in the shade. “Need me to be more specific?”

“That’d be helpful.”

“I’m meeting a friend for breakfast. I’m little early, so I was sitting outside and reading the paper. Now, I’m talking to you.”

“Having breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“With her?” The tone of House’s voice at this word was so familiar that Wilson felt suddenly like he’d fallen back in time to a relationship ago.

“No, not her.”

“Who then?”

“Katie.”

House sighed. “That’s what I said, her.”

“I thought you meant Julie.”

“Why would you be having breakfast with Julie?”

“I dunno. That’s why I said no.”

“Her is Katie.”

“Well, her used to be Julie.”

“It’s Katie now.”

Wilson curled his arm, pressing the warm Styrofoam cup to his chest. “I’m confused.”

“Get over it.”

“Am I still Wilson?” he asked, going for a joke.

“I sure hope so, or I really pissed off some stranger in the shower last night.”

“I wish. The last thing I got in the shower was a bucket of ice water.”

“It was supposed to be funny.”

“Yeah, hilarious.”

“But isn’t that supposed to be romantic, all the little things I do to show I care?”

Wilson took another long drink, tilting his head back to coax the last drops out of the bottom of the cup. He glanced around the park and, spying a wire trashcan some distance away, set off down a bike path.

“So,” House said, “What are you doing after breakfast with the missus?”

“Why? Got plans?”

“Always.”

“What’s the plan for tonight?”

“The same thing we do every night, Pinky; try and take over the world!”

“Sounds exciting.”

“How about a movie night?”

“If you want,” Wilson said as he approached the trashcan and dropped his cup into it. He turned then, a sudden desire to spend the day outside flooding through him. He shook it off just as quickly. “Sound’s good. Just none of those super-violent Japanese flicks you like to giggle through.”

“I do not giggle. I have a manly guffaw.”

“It’s still disturbing. Some guy with no feet is being forced to drink vomit and you’re manly guffawing through it.”

“It’s the subtitles. The translations are so bad!”

“Yeah, but that’s only funny to you.”

“Philistine.”

Wilson raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you want to get technical…” he began, but let the sentence trail off.

It felt good to walk in the sunshine and Wilson took advantage of it, breathing deep the air and smiling.

“Whatever. What do you want to see? And none of that ‘I took two years of film appreciation in college’ crap.”

“Wait, am I a Philistine or am I pretentious?”

“You’re a pretentious Philistine. The worst kind.”

“I don’t care. Just no foreign limbs being chopped off, okay?”

“Fine, fine, fine.”

Wilson glanced at his watch, flinched, then looked back the long trail to the restaurant. “Damn, I gotta go.”

“What?”

“I’m late. I wandered away while we were talking and now I’m late. Damnit.”

“It’s just Katie. What’s the big deal?”

“I’m late, that doesn’t look very…never mind. I’ll be back later, alright.”

“Doesn’t look very what? What are you trying to look?”

“Nothing. I’ve gotta go now. Talk to you later.”

“But…”

“Love you, bye.”

“But…”

Dial tone.