Disclaimer: I do not own House, M.D. or any of the related characters.

Tragedy Strikes

The streets of New Jersey were dark and slick with rain as the lone figure staggered across the street. It was very late and no one seemed to see this stranger walking through their streets; had anyone spotted him they probably would have thought him to be drunk and dismissed him as some random bum. In all fairness they could hardly be blamed for thinking such a thing the way he staggered and weaved his way around, seeming to just barely keep his balance.

Every now and then the man would pull out a grimy piece of paper from a pocket of his filthy jacket and, shielding it from the rain, star at it a moment before looking once more at his surroundings. After a time though he seemed to find the place he was looking for and he stopped, staring up at it.

It was just a simple apartment building, plain by all accounts, but the stranger seemed pleased to find it. Slowly he dragged himself up the front walk and into the building to stand in the foyer, where he again pulled out his slip of paper before starting up the stairs. He walked around the hallways for a bit until he found the particular apartment he wanted and raised a hand up to knock on the door. Just as he was about to however he gasped and crumpled to the floor.

Dr. James Wilson, Department Head of Oncology, walked down the halls of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. He was headed to the Diagnostics Department where he knew he would find its head of office, his best friend, Dr. Gregory House. It had been a late night, Wilson reflected as he neared his friend's office, it was now approaching midnight and he was only just leaving. As eager as he was to get home and collapse into bed he still felt compelled to check on House first. He knew his friend's leg had been bothering him more than usual lately, and while he may not admit it, he most likely wasn't feeling up to riding his bike to his apartment.

Arriving at the glass doors of his friend's office he could just hear the faint notes of music seeping out of the doors and in the darkness just make out the faint outline of House, arms up and fingers dancing as he mimed playing the piano. Opening the door Wilson stood quietly for a moment, just watching his friend.

"Leaving a little late tonight aren't you?" House said without opening his eyes, fingers still dancing.

"Three year old girl dying of a brain tumor," Wilson told him by way of explanation.

"Sad," House remarked, sounding as though he didn't really care as he slowly lowered his leg to the floor, trying to hide a wince of pain as he regarded his friend.

"Yeah well, she's coping and so are her parents, as well as can be expected at least," Wilson commented, noticing the wince but deciding it was safer not to draw attention to it. "Want a ride home?" he asked casually instead.

"Thought you'd never ask," House said glibly, leaning heavily on his cane in order to pull himself upright.

Wilson almost winced in sympathy, however years of experience with House helped him to remain impassive. Once House was standing beside him he walked off at a pace not obviously slow, but not fast enough to pain his friend. All part of the rules of friendship with Gregory House, he thought wryly to himself and suppressed a grin.

"A dying three year old still doesn't explain why you're here so late," House said abruptly. "Is she dying tonight?"

"No, but she did have a seizure tonight and her parents were worried. Wanted me to run some extra tests to make absolute certain she was as alright as could be, considering her condition and if it makes them feel a little better I figured I could take the time to do it," Wilson explained.

House snorted in contempt, "Parents are terminally stupid."

"Yeah," Wilson said slowly, "Darn them for worrying about their kids."

"There's a difference between worrying and being stupid," House insisted as Wilson rolled his eyes.

It was about 12:30 in the morning before they arrived at House's apartment building. "Here we are," Wilson stated, turning the car off.

"Oh my God, really?" House said sarcastically, pretending to do a double take of the building. "I would have never realized that this is where I live!"

"Right," Wilson muttered tiredly. "So I guess you'll need a ride to work in the morning?"

"Well you could always go back to the hospital now and ride my bike back here for me, but then you wouldn't have your car so this is a dilemma…" House trailed pretending to think about it for a moment. "Yeah," he said finally, "I guess I will need a ride tomorrow."

"I'll be here at nine tomorrow morning," Wilson said as House maneuvered himself out of the car. "Make sure you are ready to go!" he called after him.

"All right Mom," House snarked as Wilson rolled his eyes and pulled away, waving quickly as House limped into his apartment. Reaching his door he managed to unlock it by shifting his cane to his left hand and digging in his pocket for his keys. Finally entering he quickly shut his door and leaned against it, sighing in relief. He felt miserable and his leg hurt like hell, he was glad to be home.

He had been sitting in his office for hours, waiting for Wilson to show up, as he had known he would, not trusting himself to ride his own bike home. Pushing himself up from the door he headed slowly toward his bedroom, grimacing in unhidden pain as he went. Once in his room he closed the door before painfully limping to the bed where he sat gratefully and propped his cane against his bedside table. Shifting slightly he managed to procure his bottle of Vicodin and dry swallow three of them before falling back on the bed and hoping they would work. He had taken two only an hour ago, so rationally he knew he shouldn't be taking even more now but the pain was all he could manage to think of right then.

Wilson sighed as he pulled up in front of his apartment building at last. It was quarter to one in the morning and all he wanted to do was fall onto his warm bed and sleep. Trudging up the stairs he was only thinking of how long the day had been and how glad he was to be home, which could perhaps account for his complete shock at seeing the man slumped against his door.

"Jeez!" Wilson exclaimed, jumping back with a yelp as he took in the ragged figure that for all intents and purposes seemed to be unconscious in his doorway. "Excuse me sir, are you all right?" he asked, stepping closer in an effort to attract the man's attention. His clothing was very grimy and he had a greasy baseball cap pulled low over his already titled head, obscuring any possible view Wilson may have had of his face.

Wilson sighed when the man didn't answer and stepped forward to take his pulse, but as he neared he felt a peculiar sense of uneasiness and he wondered at it, trying to shrug it off. The feeling however, was nothing compared to the instant shock he felt when he lifted the man's head and caught a glimpse of his face.

"Jerry!" he gasped in complete surprise and shock. "W-what the hell?" he stuttered as he stumbled off the floor where he had tripped and fell in his shock. "Jerry wake up," he said, all thoughts of taking the man's pulse gone from his head as he pushed uselessly at his shoulder in a vain effort of waking him.

"God," he muttered, forcing himself to stop pushing at him, "What am I doing?" Panic seized his mind though and for the life of him he couldn't think of anything more productive to do to help the man he had called Jerry.

"Help," he suddenly muttered to himself, "I need help, got to get help!"

House's leg was still hurting; even after the three Vicodin he had taken 20 minutes ago. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could manage to stand, he couldn't sleep, he couldn't even find a comfortable position. The steady throb in his leg was slowly overcoming him and it was all he could think about.

Night was always worst, even on his good days. During the day at least he could lose himself in a case. During the day there was TV, music, and video games. During the day he had his three ducklings to torture, Cuddy to annoy, and of course Wilson for both of those and more. At night though, in his bed, there was just him and time.

House sighed, shifting painfully. It was definitely worse tonight and the Vicodin was barely helping. He was contemplating the morphine he had tucked away on the very top of his bookshelf, covered in medical journals and textbooks; he tried not to use it often though. Just for emergencies, one of the reasons he stored it in such a difficult place for him to get to.

Just when he was starting to seriously consider it though, his cell phone went off and out of reflex he made a grab for it, squinting at the bright blue glow amid the darkness. Wilson. What the hell was Wilson doing calling him at this time? He had just seen him and was going to see him first thing in the morning? Couldn't whatever it was wait? He had half a mind to put it down and ignore it but it kept ringing and he sighed, flipping it open. If nothing else it was a distraction from the pain. "This better be good," he snarled once he'd put the phone to his ear, free hand massaging his wasted thigh.

"I need help!" Wilson's voice said, sounding upset and half panicked.

"The kind that can't wait until morning?" House snapped, trying not to show how much Wilson's voice worried him and the pain in his leg getting the better of him.

"Greg… please," Wilson said pathetically and House sat up in his bed. It wasn't often that Wilson called him by his first name.

"What's wrong Jimmy?" House asked, voice softer now as he painfully swung his leg off his bed.

"My-my-my b-brother," Wilson stuttered, his panic overtaking him. "Here, un-unconscious I think!"

"Calm down Jimmy, did you take his pulse?" House asked calmly, switching to doctor mode since Wilson seemed unable to at the moment.

"Pulse, right," Wilson muttered on the other end, "I knew that. Um… it's very faint, hardly there."

Wilson sounded desperate and House decided to step in again. "Listen to me Wilson," he said firmly in order to attract his friend's attention. "You need to hang up the phone and call 911. I'll meet you at the hospital."

"The hospital. Okay," Wilson said, his voice sounding a little clearer now and perhaps a little embarrassed. "Bye," he said and flipped his phone shut.

Closing his phone as well House sat still for a moment, his leg forgotten as he thought of Wilson. He had never heard him quite so panicked before. All because of his brother. He frowned then, considering, it just hadn't sounded like he was talking about Johnny. A sneaking suspicion began forming in his mind as he snatched his cane and levered himself to his feet.

Having hung up his phone Wilson mentally hit himself; he was a licensed doctor, he should have known what to do on his own. Quickly he dialed 911 and told them of the situation and that they needed to go to Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. 911 kept him on the phone until the paramedics arrived, which he supposed was a good idea since he suspected that without the voice in his ear his mind would go completely blank again.

The paramedics loaded Jerry into the ambulance and Wilson climbed into his car to follow, hoping against hope that he had enough control to get to the hospital. Luckily for him though, following the ambulance was a task that didn't require much conscious effort on his part without really remembering much of the trip he was there.

House, he noticed, was already standing by the ER entrance waiting for him. "You didn't have to come back out here. I wasn't thinking straight," Wilson muttered awkwardly.

"Eh, couldn't sleep anyway," House waved it off, not willing to admit how worried he had been.

"Wait a minute, how'd you get here anyway?" Wilson asked, suddenly remembering he had been the one to drop House off so his bike was still here.

"Turns out there's this new group of people who call themselves taxi cab drivers," House told him.

"Excuse me, I know you two are doctors, but we have to take him to stabilize him. Are you going to come or go to the waiting room?" one of the ER doctors said, interrupting them.

"Um, the waiting room," Wilson said after a moment of brief hesitation, watching his brother being rolled away.

Once they were standing alone again House glanced at Wilson, noting his uncomfortable expression. "You do know we really could have went in after them. We are doctors."

"Truth?" Wilson asked nervously.

"You're going to open up to me now aren't you?" House groaned.

Wilson rolled his eyes and said, "When I saw him lying there on the floor and I realized who it was I couldn't think, I couldn't even move, hell forget moving, I couldn't even breathe. House, I've been to medical school the same as you, and I've been a board certified doctor for years now, but I just froze, my mind was completely blank. I couldn't go in there now and risk that happening again. House, I didn't even remember to check his pulse until you told me to! I've always thought I was a pretty good doctor." Wilson shook his head and stopped, staring into space.

"You are a good doctor," House said after a moment, glancing at Wilson awkwardly and meeting his eyes before looking away and continuing. "It's a natural response to freeze up when it's someone you care about. It happens to the best of us." House paused for a moment, considering, and with a sideways look at Wilson said, "Especially when it's someone we haven't seen for years and never really expected to see again." He was just guessing here, going along with his suspicion that it was Wilson's missing brother and not Johnny that he had found.

Wilson started slightly and glanced quickly at House, "I didn't say it was Jerry! How did you know that?"

House shrugged, "Just a hunch," he muttered, knowing this area was sensitive for Wilson, he'd only ever heard him talk about it once after all. "When you talk about Johnny you normally say his name but on the phone you just said your brother, also you sounded more shocked than would be warranted if it were Johnny."

"Ah," Wilson murmured tiredly, running a hand over his face. "Hey listen, I'm going to go splash some cold water on my face and get some coffee from the cafeteria, you want any?"

"You paying?" House asked, never one to miss an opportunity for free stuff.

Wilson sighed and rolled his eyes, "Yeah sure," he said.

"Then of course," House grinned, leaning back in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs as Wilson walked off. Once alone he closed his eyes in wince, his leg still hurt and he massaged it with one hand while his other fished for his pills. It had been about an hour and a half since he'd last taken them he reflected as his hand closed around the bottle. Did he really think another would help much when they hadn't been all day?

Before he had decided though an ER doctor walked up and introduced himself. "Dr. House, I'm Dr. Tyler, do you happen to know where Dr. Wilson is?"

"Not here at the moment," House said briskly, pulling himself to his feet. "I'll be sure to tell him whatever he needs to know though."

"Well maybe it would be best if he heard it from you," Dr. Tyler said reluctantly as House's ears perked up.

"What happened? What would be best if he heard it from me?" House demanded immediately.

"It turns out the patient had a very high amount of crystal meth in his system and he went into cardiac arrest very shortly after his admittance. We're guessing it wasn't the first time and unfortunately there was nothing we could do for him, the pressure on his body was just too much and he died. Perhaps if he had gotten here sooner, but…" Dr. Tyler trailed off apologetically and House nodded impatiently, understanding what had happened. "We'll of course need Dr. Wilson to sign some papers, just stating he knew the man and his personal information."

"We know procedure," House interrupted.

"Of course, sorry. Habit you know, used to talking to family's of patients without any medical training," Dr. Tyler said quickly.

House didn't respond, just sat back down, already dismissing the doctor in his mind as he turned his thoughts to Wilson who would undoubtedly be very upset at this news. He didn't relish the task of breaking the news to him.

Seeming to sense he had been dismissed Dr. Tyler excused himself and hurried away. House showed no sign that he had noticed his departure, his gaze was fixed firmly on the door that Wilson would soon be coming back through.

Returning to the waiting room a few minutes later Wilson sat down beside House and handed him a cup of coffee. "Thanks," House muttered, still trying to think of how to break the news to Wilson. Damn. He sucked at this. It had been remarked upon before; he didn't have anything even remotely resembling a bedside manner. Breaking bad news was Wilson's strong suit, not his.

"Someone should have come by now!" Wilson said suddenly, impatiently. "I want to know what's going on with my brother!"

House shifted, he had to tell him now. Clearing his throat he said, "Yeah, they came while you were gone."

Wilson started, "Why didn't you say something earlier! What did they say?"

"I'm sorry," House said, a rare sincerity on his face. "He's dead."

Wilson stared at him in shock, "Dead?" he repeated faintly. "But… he… how?"

"Drug overdose coupled with a heart attack he had shortly after he was admitted. His system couldn't take it, it was too much," House explained, his eyes searching Wilson's, trying to convey the concern he wasn't sure how to express. "There wasn't anything anyone could have done for him."

"If I had gotten there sooner…" Wilson murmured. "If I hadn't frozen…"

"No," House said firmly, "Don't do that to yourself. There are never any guarantees; you know that. Your brother was a very sick man.

Brown eyes met blue and after a moment Wilson nodded. "You're right," he said softly and he sighed, putting his head in his hands. "The hospital will need verification of his identity and some of his personal information filled out. Funeral arrangements and calling my family will have to wait until day time," he said tiredly, his voice muffled by his hands.

Awkwardly House rested his hand on Wilson's shoulder and they that way for a few minutes until Wilson sighed again and got to his feet. "I'm going to see what they need for tonight," he said, for the time being his emotions under control. "I'll probably be back in half an hour or so, wait for me?"

House nodded and watched his friend walk off, then he sighed and pulled out his cell phone to call a cab and tell them when to come. He didn't trust either himself or Wilson to drive them home. His friend would only be able to keep his control for so long, and why test that behind the wheel of a car? Himself because of his still throbbing leg and so he called the cab.

That done he sighed again, leaning back and once again massaging his thigh muscle. Taking out his Vicodin bottle he dry swallowed two; maybe this time they would have more of an effect, then he closed his eye and waited.

Twenty minutes later a haggard looking Wilson sat down beside him. "Everything else can wait until day," he muttered, his eyes glazed and unfocused.

"Then lets go," House said, forcing himself to his feet.

"Go… but…" Wilson started but House interrupted.

"We'll be back in the day time. You need some rest."

"Rest," Wilson repeated vaguely, also climbing to his feet and following his friend.

Five minutes later the cab House had called showed up and 15 minutes after that they were at House's apartment. "See you tomorrow then," Wilson said, still seeming unfocused. "Thanks for coming."

"Uh uh, you're staying with me tonight," House said, tugging Wilson out of the cab with him and paying the driver.

Once they were inside Wilson blinked and looked at House with faint surprise. "You paid the cabbie," he said suddenly.

"Yeah, you didn't look like you could find your own wallet," House said. "Don't worry, you can pay me back later," he said with mock assurance.

Despite himself Wilson chuckled a little, sitting on House's leather couch and seeming to relax for the first time in hours.

"Beer?" House asked, offering his friend one.

Wilson accepted it and they were both quiet a few minutes. "You were right you know," Wilson said abruptly.

"Well good," House said after a moment, not having the faintest idea what Wilson was talking about.

"Earlier, when you said I never really expected to see Jerry again," Wilson clarified, seeming to pick up on House's confusion. "You were right." Wilson stared at his half empty beer for a moment. "I had hoped I would of course. Even told myself I would. I never really believed it though." He sighed and shook his head. "Jerry was never really happy with us. He never seemed happy anywhere really. I don't think he ever felt right, like he fit. The day he left he cursed us all, telling us good riddance, and I don't think anyone was really surprised. In our hearts none of us really expected to ever see him again."

Wilson stopped, remembering, and lifted his beer up mechanically to take a drink. "Must have been hard," House said, feeling as though he should say something supportive but not knowing what.

Wilson chuckled humorlessly, "I think it nearly killed my mother. She stayed in bed for months." He shook his head in sudden anger, "And now, after all these years he shows up on my doorstep and dies! Why? I don't understand why!" he shouted, slamming his beer on the table.

The two men stayed quiet for a while after that, one in grief and confusion, the other trying to keep him company in a consoling silence. "How am I going to tell my mother and father?" Wilson eventually asked. "They're going to be heartbroken. Then I need to make funeral arrangements too! How am I going to get through this?" Wilson said desperately, seeming to be on the very edge of tears.

"You'll get through this because that's what you do and because you have to," House told him.

"Gee thanks!" Wilson snorted, not looking in the least comforted.

"You won't be alone though," House said quietly after a moment, his eyes locked on Wilson, who turned to look at him in surprise of this sudden declaration. "I'll be with you whenever you need me to be. You're my friend, I'll support you through this."

A tear rolled down Wilson's face and he smiled at his friend, knowing how unimaginably hard it must have been for him to say that, to be so open. "Thank you," he choked out, and his friend nodded, looking a little uncomfortable with himself now.

And so they sat, through the rest of the early morning hours, sometimes in silence and sometimes talking, but together. Sometimes Wilson would tell stories of his older brother, just remembering. Sometimes they were happy, others sad, and the important thing for both of them was that they were each able to draw a measure of comfort from the other.

The sun would come up soon, and the day would start. It would be hard, but Wilson knew how he would get through it now, and as he leaned further into the couch, House beside him, he closed his eyes briefly and smiled.

Fin

A/N: I'd love to know what you think, so please review!