Disclaimer: House and Wilson aren't my creations and I therefore make not a penny from writing about them. Woe is me.

"I was nine, House. I didn't have a clue. I thought they were...cool." Wilson's leaning against the cabinets near the coffeemaker, trying to figure out how to explain without digging his grave even deeper. House has latched onto this thing hard; this is the fourth time he's brought it up, and it's getting old.

"And after all these years you still remember that? Their wardrobe changes?" House is giving him that smug, knowing-yet-questioning smirk.

Sometimes -- sometimes, the best thing to do about House is to tell him more of the truth than he probably wants to know. Otherwise he'll make stuff up, and when House makes stuff up it's always far worse than reality.

"I was nine --"

"We've established that."

"-- and my brother was fifteen. He took me to a music festival, one of those cheesy outdoor things at the amusement park. Bought me cotton candy. We rode the big rollercoaster, and then he had a jolly old time teaching me to love the Village People. They were, as you may have gathered, playing there that day."

House is softly chuckling. That may or may not be a good sign. He hands a mug of coffee to Wilson, who takes it gratefully; it's been a long week and this morning he's in desperate need of caffeine. He looks around to make sure that no one else is approaching the Diagnostics lounge before he continues.

"He knew all about them, that rotten kid," he says, avoiding House's stare by carefully adding cream and sugar to his coffee. "But he pretended that he loved them, and he told me how they were about being able to do whatever you wanted with your life. Like being a cowboy. As opposed to being flamingly homosexual, which wasn't something I'd have understood, even if he had told me. Which" he says, and pauses to take a soothing sip of coffee, "he didn't. And I, God help me, was a fan for a while."

To the questioning look on House's face, he responds, with a grimace, "A year, okay? About a year. And I never knew the truth until much later. By then--things were really bad with my brother. So as awful as it is, I guess I hung onto all those memories, because of him." Wilson sighs and leans back against the countertop. Morning, and he's already so tired. "And now you know why the esteemed Doctor Self-Righteous is a fountain of useless trivia about a gay disco band. Happy?"

"Almost," House replies, stretching luxuriously as he settles into his chair. "Just one thing. This would've been the brother who's now missing?"

"Yeah."

"Who maliciously taught little Jimmy that the Village People were cool?"

"Yeah. That would be him."

"And you're still looking for him?" says House, squinting and scratching his head. "Why?"

"Because," Wilson says, and smiles just a little, "Because I'm kind of stupid that way."