God, grant me the serenity.

Wilson came to see House pick up his one-year chip. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't cry, but the sight of his Greg, limping to the lectern to receive a hug and a piece of plastic from his NA sponsor, was almost too much.

Some days he still couldn't believe that House was alive, much less clean and sober. He knew the substitute pain meds he'd been weaned to in rehab gave him none of the succor provided by his old friends.

To accept the things I cannot change.

House still claimed Andre the Giant as his higher power just to piss off the "bible thumpers" at his home meeting in the basement of the All Souls Baptist Church, but it was Wilson who'd been brought back to God the day House finally admitted that he not only didn't want to break their friendship, but that he needed Wilson, James , so much it actually scared him.

The courage to change the things I can.

The confession of need had led to others. Including wanting and loving, which had given House the strength to say that he was an addict and it was a problem. Cameron found the perfect rehab, one where Wilson could get therapy for his compulsive womanizing while House was imbibing the Twelve Steps and being convinced that he could live with some pain as long as he knew Wilson wouldn't go flitting off into another marriage or some pathetic facsimile thereof.

And the wisdom to know the difference.

Now a year later, Wilson stood, not crying, dammit at the back of the crowded room, reciting the Serenity Prayer, just as he and Greg did every night before bed.

Amen

They were still deciding where to use it in the commitment ceremony.