House limped slowly into the hospital reception, his rucksack over his shoulder and a coffee in his hand. Wilson waited for him at the desk with a steely expression on his face.

House looked at him. "Oh god, you're pissed at me aren't you?"

Wilson folded his arms and shook his head. "No,"

"You're body language tells me otherwise." House said. He held out the coffee for Wilson to hold as he straightened his bag on his shoulder.

"I saw Stacy on the bus to work this morning," Wilson said, uncomfortably.

House looked his friend up and down for a moment.

"What do you want, a medal?" He limped off to the elevator, Wilson following behind him. "You took the bus?" He stepped inside and pressed up. Wilson dodged a few nurses as the doors began to close.

"House, she's moved on, she has a place in Shorthills, a boyfriend called… Martin… Marcus… or something or the other," Wilson said as they ascended up the hospital.

House looked at his friend again, wearing the same non vacant expression.

"You took the bus? Why?" He sighed. "What? You want me to tell you that you're a terrible friend for talking to her? You guys were friends long before we started dating. This isn't kindergarten anymore." House adjusted his weight slightly.

Wilson looked worried. "Are you okay?"

House glared at him. "I'm fine. Look at me. I'm always, fine."

The elevator halted and the doors slid open. House hobbled down the corridor to his office, Wilson following a few steps behind. He was confused at House's reaction.

"So when are you actually getting your office here?" House asked, dropping his bag onto his desk.

Wilson scratched his head. "Next week, I think." He said. "I apparently get the office next to yours."

House gave him a sideways glance. "So you can keep an eye on the big bad man?" He asked in an annoying voice.

"Yes," Wilson replied, not holding back. "House, are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," House replied.

"You don't look it,"

House sighed. "Are you going to be annoying all day?"

"House, please," Wilson said. "Talk to me, no one remains on good terms with their exes. Trust me I know."

House said nothing.

"Greg," Wilson said. House looked around; it was always a bad sign when Wilson started calling him by his first name. "Talk to me, I'm here for you,"

"I don't need babysitting, Wilson!" House shouted. "I don't need your obnoxious annoying niceness, it's boring and it gets old!" He slammed his cane down on his desk to show his pent up fury. "I am no different than I was before my leg."

"So, you think you haven't changed?" Wilson said. He put his hands in his pockets. "That's interesting…"

"No, it's not," House muttered angrily. "The world isn't the sun-shining daisy world that you tell your cancer kid's all about. It's a brutal non-changing existence. I couldn't care less about Stacy when there are more important things I have to deal with,"

"I think you do care about her,"

"We're not going argue about this, Wilson." House said. "She was in my life, now she's out of it. And I doubt she will be returning. But, I don't care."

Wilson sighed. "She's moved on from you House. It's about time you did the same."

He sighed then left.

House watched him leave. Then he sat on the chair, his hands shaking with anger. He clenched them tightly, his nails biting into his palms perhaps breaking the skin. He gritted his teeth and rubbed his forehead.

Wilson was right.

Bastard.

........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

And I think I'll finish Therapy there. It was initially supposed to stop after House tried to commit suicide then there be a lead on from Fellows. That's why I have already published two chapters of it. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, because I am crap at writing especially endings. I hope I got everything American right, cause I'm from Britain and technically speaking we are a lot different to you Americans. I'm not saying we have eleven toes or webbed feet… Although because of the weather here, webbed feet might not be a bad idea…

Love Megan x