Hey, Wilson. It's me.

Author's Note: I got a new computer today so I was deleting all my files off my old one and came across this fic that I started months ago. So I thought I'd finish it. It's pretty sad, for me. I might do a Wilson version as a Part Two at some point, just to take the edge off. Let me know if I should.
Spoilers: Wilson's Heart and Dying Changes Everything.
Summary: A series of voicemails from House to Wilson that begin two weeks after Amber's death.


Hey Wilson. It's me. I know that you said you needed to be alone. And you know, it's fine. I get it. And I know you're probably standing there like, "If you get it, then why the hell are you calling me?" I don't need you to call me back. I just wanted to talk to you. It's been a week now that you asked me to stay away, and it's . . . Well, harder than I thought it would be. I feel like I have all this stuff that I want to tell you, but I know you're not really there. So I figure I'll just call you every two weeks. That's not being an annoying pain in the ass, right? And if you really can't even stand to listen to voicemail from me, I mean, you could always text me and just say so.

But, anyway, I thought you should I know I finally beat your bowling score. Don't get all stressed out-I haven't met a new friend. I've just been bowling alone, to practice. I figured you'd slack off while you're on sabbatical and if I get really good I could show you that I'm a threat. So whenever you want to come back… I'm just saying I'm ready. If you were waiting on me, I'm ready.

I haven't really had any new patients. I didn't tell you. I went down to the E.R. last night and tried to illicit an interesting case, but it was a huge failure.

My mom called me last night but I didn't call her back. I know it's about my dad, and I'm not ready to hear that news just yet.

Okay, so I'll talk to you in two weeks.


Hey Wilson. It's me. Okay, I have huge news. Take a deep breath, my friend. The father of Amy's baby is… Josh, from the Cath Lab. When I saw her in the cafeteria last night I did the whole "caring doctor" thing– which she fell for, thank you very much. Anyway, she said that when she told him he went out and bought a minivan and now she can't figure out how she's going to ditch him. I refrained from giving her advice, in your honor.

Our tickets to the Monster Truck Show came yesterday, but I just gave them to the janitor. He said he had been wanting to ask this guy out from his building anyway, so it was romantic, sort of. Don't ask me.

Oh, and I saw they published one of your articles in the New Jersey Medical Magazine. I didn't know if you'd seen it yet or not, so I cut it out and it is now lying on the counter in my kitchen. So that way, as soon as you come over, I can start making fun of the picture they used of you. I can't wait. Oh, don't get all weepy. You'd make fun of me too, if I ever wore the tie you're wearing in this shot.

Okay, I gotta go. But I'll call you in two weeks.


Hey Wilson. It's me. Nothing new to report here. Well, except that I was watching the O.C. last night and it was the one where Ryan and Taylor are sent to the alternate reality, and they have to, whatever, reunite all the couples so that they can be sent back to their regular world. And it made me think. I mean, how lucky are they that they even know Seth? If it wasn't for him they wouldn't have any sort of clue about alternate realities. They'd still be stuck in a coma, watching Sandy and Julie feel each other up at all his political conventions.

So I hope they bought the kid something expensive for his birthday.

Cuddy came by yesterday to "check on" me. Please. As if I can't tell that that's her new euphemism for panty peeling. I didn't go to the door, though. I wasn't in the mood to hear "oh God, I feel so bad for you, House." If I wanted tear-stained cheeks I'd go find Cameron.

I guess you're still out there trying to find yourself. And it's fine. There's no hurry. I can be patient until you get back.

Talk to you later, Dancing Queen.


Hey Wilson. It's me. Well, I get pretty bored these days, so I bought a Wii. This girl online swore that it would cure me of the long hours of silence. And I even asked her, wouldn't it be manlier to get something like a 360 or PS3? But she was like, "Oh, no, no. The Wii is way better. Nintendo ftw." Whatever the hell that means. But I assumed it meant something good, so I drove over to Best Buy and went ahead and bought one. Stood in line for fucking ever. And so I put the thing in my backseat, and then realized that, of course, I'd need some games to go with it (I was not going to play anything called Wii Sports). So I got this game, Resident Evil. The guy at the store said that it was some sort of special deal because apparently it was originally made for some other console-type-thing and it had been remade for the Wii.

Wilson. Oh my fucking god. I'm really not even 100 percent sure what the game is about. You're with this unit that drops you in the middle of nowhere and they fly off without you, leaving you with these man-eating dogs that killed me six times before I realized that it's better to run from them than try to fight them off. And you go to this mansion and every room has zombies and shit in it. It's hardcore.

I slept with the lights on last night. Tell anyone and I'll pull your eyes out of your sockets.


Hey, Wilson. It's me. Well, Resident Evil hasn't gotten any easier. I killed like 500 zombies in the house with my little handgun, and then something happened and they turned into these things called Crimson Heads - which, in case you were wondering, are worse. Instead of just hobbling after you like a normal undead person, they come running at you like a fucking . . . I don't know. Whatever runs fast. Cheetah, I guess. Only more gross.

I need you to hurry back. If the world gets taken over by zombies I definitely won't stand a chance.

And it's not really the same around here without the Boy Wonder Oncologist.


Hey, Wilson. It's me. I should probably warn you that I'm a little drunk. I'm at home, and they have this Alfred Hitchcock marathon was playing on AMC and . . . You know, they showed Vertigo, and it was hard not to think about how I couldn't even remember the last time I watched it without you. I miss you, Wilson. I know I'm not supposed to be trying to coerce you into calling, but I miss you. I miss you to a point where I really think it's going to kill me. I hate this stupid life, with its boredom and lack of best friends. I can't handle it if this is the way it's going to be.

Wilson, I swear, I'll wait for you as long as you need. I mean, if you decide you want to be gone for three years, but at the end of those three years you want to come back, that's completely fine. I . . . miss you. Look, just call me back. This one time. I need to hear your voice; I need to know that you're alive out there. Wilson, I swear I won't ask you again. Just please . . . Please call me back.

I'll be up all night. Just please call.


Hey, Wilson. It's me.

I'm sorry about my last call. I . . . don't blame you for not calling me back. But I'm probably going to stop these biweekly interruptions in your life. Nothing's changed – I'm still eagerly awaiting your return. And that will be the case for however long until you come back. But getting drunk the last time I talked to your voicemail made me see that this whole thing may not have been such a good idea. One of those things that sounds great in theory, but not so much in actual execution.

I do just have one request. At some point, come back. Whenever you're all put back together, and think you can stomach being around here, come back to Princeton. I know you might not want to stay at Amber's place at first, but that's why your best friend has a big lumpy couch. And I won't ask you to make me breakfast, or buy me dinner. We can eat Fruit Loops out of the box, if you want. Just . . .

Just don't give up. We can get through this. We always have. We always do.