Scout's Honor

Title: Scout's Honor

Author: pgrabia

Disclaimer: House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

Warning: I am attempting to post this at my LJ and then link to it from different communities but I've never done this before so I may screw up on a few attempts before I get it right. I ask for your patience and helpful suggestions while I figure this out!

Pairing(s): House/Wilson pre-slash (UST), starting with some House/Cuddy and Wilson/Sam (but ending up H/W.).

A/N: A three-part story written in response to The Tic-Tac-Toe Challenge for Camp Sick!Wilson at the Sick!Wilson community at . The locale is set in Banff National Park and the Town of Banff, Alberta, Canada. I've tried to be accurate, but even though I go there every year I am prone to making errors! If you catch any, please forgive me.

UnBeta-ed. All mistakes are completely my own.

Spoiler Alert: This story includes spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season 6 Ep. 22 "Help Me". This takes approximately two months after the events of the Season Six season finale.

Word Count: 5996

Rating: T for mature themes, sexual language, coarse language, mild violence.

The men sat in the Starbucks in a comfortable silence, sipping at their drinks and watching through the storefront windows as tourists to the mountain resort set deep in the Canadian Rockies walked past in groups or as pairs, hand in hand. Their women were out shopping along the town's Banff Avenue; a dollhouse had been spied in one of the many gift shops that lined the main drag that ran through the town of Banff, Alberta and neither woman could rest until they had investigated their find. Their men, however, had absolutely no interest in gift shops or dollhouses and had only come along to pacify their mates.

"Ten bucks says Cuddy buys it for Rachel," Dr. James Wilson said as he blew on his Caramel Macchiato. He really didn't care what his boss did, but he felt like talking and figured it was as good a conversation starter as any. It had been literally months since Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital's Chief of Oncology had had a chance to sit down outside the setting of the hospital to talk with his best friend of nearly twenty years. He missed their banter and bullshit, which had taken the back burner now that both he and his diagnostician friend were involved in serious romantic relationships which seemed to dominate what free time they had outside of their careers. There had been a time when both men had been single and spent almost all of their free time both at work and at home together; living together had made that a natural state of being. Now they barely saw each other anymore.

Dr. Gregory House looked away from his people-watching to smirk at his friend. "Why don't I just open my wallet and let you pick out the bill you want yourself?"

"Because you didn't bring your wallet, remember?" Wilson retorted bitterly. "You conveniently remembered that you had left it in your hotel room after we ordered our drinks."

The older doctor slurped at his Mocha-Chip Frappuccino before answering. "Oh yeah-forgetful me! I had more interesting things on my mind before we left." He suggestively waggled graying eyebrows over sharp, azure blue eyes.

"Please," the oncologist told him, raising a protesting hand, "if it has anything to do with trying to find Cuddy's thong from wherever you flung it in your…enthusiasm…I really don't want to hear about it. Although, it would explain why you two were twenty minutes late joining Sam and I in the lobby."

"Aww!" House whined like a petulant five-year-old, "but I really wanted you to guess where it ended up! Pleeease!"

Wilson gave him a dirty glare and nothing more as he tentatively took a sip of his steaming coffee. "I didn't think we were going to spend all of our free time between sessions waiting around for Sam and Cuddy like this," He complained after a few moments. "If I'd known I'd have stuck around the hotel and taken in a round of golf on such a beautiful day."

House scowled at him in disbelief. "You've been married how many times and you didn't think we'd lose two women in the first store they hit? I'm disappointed in you! Besides, if you were golfing who would I have to keep me company?"

"You could have ridden along in the golf cart and drank beer while I played?" Wilson suggested, only earning a dirty look from his friend. "O-kay…well, there's pay-per-view porn in every hotel room," Wilson told him. "I would think that would keep you busy for at least, oh, fifteen minutes at least."

"Perish the thought!" the Chief of Diagnostic Medicine told him, feigning shocked indignity. "At least twenty! Besides, some of us don't need to entertain ourselves these days. Of course, if you and Sam have lost a bit of the original spark-."

"We're sparking just fine, thank you very much," Wilson assured him dryly, cutting him off; he couldn't help but frown a little, however. He would never admit it to his friend for fear of being mocked mercilessly, but most of the sparking between Sam and him took place as they argued rather than as they frolicked between the sheets. The first few months after they 'had found each other again', his lovely girlfriend-slash-ex-wife and he had done little else when they were together but make-love, but lately…well, lately the kindling had been a little on the damp side so there hadn't been as much fire as at first. More and more they squabbled over the most ridiculous things, but each row became more and more intense and took longer and longer to forgive and forget. It was a trend that bothered Wilson a great deal; it was far too reminiscent of the last couple of months of their marriage.

Wilson had hoped that this week-long medical conference in romantic Banff National Park would be just the trick to ease some of the tension that had been building up between them and reignite some of the original passion, so he had insisted Dr. Samantha Carr cancel a couple of her seminar dates back in New Jersey and join him on the trip. She had hummed and hawed about coming, waiting until the very last minute to agree. Fortunately Wilson had already made plane reservations in anticipation of a yes; it would have been easier to cancel them at the last minute than to book them. Always 'Be Prepared' was a motto of his that he had stolen from the Boy Scouts; he had never been a Scout himself, he just liked the idea behind the saying.

House had actually been glad to hear that Sam had agreed to tag along. He never did explain the reason for his unusual enthusiasm concerning her presence, but the oncologist had a feeling it had something to do with giving Dr. Lisa Cuddy someone else to play with so the diagnostician could find a few minutes alone to spend with him during the trip. At least, that's what Wilson chose to believe, because that thought had crossed his mind for bringing Sam as well. He wanted to end the estrangement between House and him that had begun the day the older man had found out that Wilson and Sam were seeing each other again.

Wilson was startled from his reverie by the pain caused by House's cane whacking him in the shin. He yelped loud enough to draw the attention of every other customer in the room.

"You okay?" House asked him, frowning with genuine concern, which was an oddity coming from his misanthropic friend. "You turned at least four shades paler than your normal pasty self."

Wilson looked at him in confusion. He had paled? He felt fine, he had just been thinking. Well, there was that persistent gnawing in the pit of his stomach, and the occasional need to vomit, but other than for that, he felt fine.

"Yeah," Wilson told him. Shrugging, "I'm fine. I was just lost in thought. Why, were you talking to me?"

"Shouting at you, to be more precise," House snorted, trying to appear indifferent but unable to completely lose the worry from his eyes. "I thought you were going to faint and fall on your face on the floor; which, come to think of it, would have been the most entertaining thing to occur all day."

Wilson smirked and shook his head. He knew it was House's way of expressing affection.

"Serious, though," the older man said, his eyes scanning him as deeply as any MRI ever could. "You on a diet? You've been swimming in your ties lately."

"It's probably Sam's cooking," Wilson muttered uncharacteristically nastily. "It's tough to keep down sometimes. All whole-grain, non-fat and sugar-free. Sometimes I feel more like a ruminant than a human being."

"Without the four stomachs," House retorted, smirking. "You look like you want to bring up the cud right now and you haven't been eating her cooking for nearly a week."

The oncologist responded, growing uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, "I don't feel nauseous. Look, we've only got one full day left here after today and this is the first time we've been together all week without Cuddy or Sam hanging around—and they're due to be meeting us here very soon. We need to do something while we're still here, mano a mano. Like old times."

Pursing his lips briefly, House nodded approvingly. "Interesting deflection; good job!" he sighed and added, "Your idea sounds good. What do you suggest?"

"I saw a brochure back at the Visitor Center for fishing tours," Wilson told him with more enthusiasm than he had felt all week. "What do you say to us hiring a guide, renting some gear and taking in a day of fishing at one of the lakes around here tomorrow rather than attending another set of boring lectures?"

"I don't fish," House told him flatly, looking at the younger man as if he were looking at a lunatic newly escaped from the nearest psych ward.

"You can start," Wilson insisted, trying to sell him on the idea. "Think about it: the fresh air, the peace and quiet-."

"—the mosquitoes, the sunburns," House interjected sarcastically, finishing his thought. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"I'll buy the beer and munchies," the oncologist insisted, trying his hardest to hook his friend by bribing him with booze. "We'll bring insect repellent and sun block. Just Bros, no Hos. We'll get up at the crack of dawn, stuff ourselves with pancakes, eggs and bacon and then hit the liquor store before we leave town!"

"Hmm," House hummed as he pretended to seriously consider Wilson's offer. "The beer sounds right…but no." He sighed, looking almost sad. "I promised Lisa that I'd have lunch with her and a couple of old friends of hers from Michigan State whom she met up with here at the conference. If I want to keep getting morning nookie I don't dare skip out on this—and I really like morning nookie, Wilson! No morning nookie makes Little Greg a very unhappy guy!"

Wilson rolled his eyes and shook his head; he actually felt nauseous at the unwanted mental picture generated in his head by his friend's assertion. "TMI, House, really!. Now I do feel sick." In fact, he felt more than sick; he felt strangely unsettled, irritated and he wasn't certain why.

"Besides," House added, as if he was trying to find additional reasons why it wasn't a good plan outside of Cuddy and himself, "I'm certain Sam wouldn't appreciate you spending the whole day drinking with your 'degenerate' friend."

Sighing, Wilson shook his head. "She never said you were a degenerate, House!"

"Hello?" the diagnostician argued. "And I quote, 'James, I thought you were brighter than that, allowing that degenerate to get you drunk enough to walk home from the bar without your pants', end quote! I suppose she forgot that this degenerate was standing just outside the open door when she said it."

Remembering the incident his friend had just recounted quite well, in spite of the advanced stage of inebriation he had been in at the time, Wilson hung his head a little guiltily.

"House," he began, "I'm sorry about that-!"

"Don't!" the older man told him with quiet resolve and a serious expression, pointing a finger in the younger man's face. "Don't apologize for her! Besides…I don't give a damn what she calls me. The point I was making was she would be unhappy with you spending the entire day with me rather than with her and then she'd give you shit about it the entire flight home. I don't want you to have to face the wrath of the Harpy over little ol' me."

Wilson hated to admit it, but House was right about that; Sam would be incensed and he would have to put up with her petty passive-aggressive punishments the entire way home to Princeton, and probably for a couple of days after that. It pissed him off that she was so jealous and resentful of his friendship with the diagnostician. Sam had known going into this reconciliation that House was a part of his life and always would be; at first she had pretended to be accepting of that and he had been naïve enough to believe that she really was. Shortly before he had asked House to move out of the loft, however, she had begun to allow her resentment of the older man to show; if he was honest with himself, which Wilson rarely was, he would have to admit that her silent pressure on him in this way had led to his decision to ask his best friend to leave. Thinking back on it now, the oncologist felt very much like a skunk for giving in to her that way.

If he was really honest with himself now, he would have to acknowledge the fact that their entire marriage had been silently manipulated by Sam and despite her claims to have changed since then, she hadn't.

"What do you mean by 'little ol'' you?" Wilson asked him suddenly, his voice sharper than he had intended it to be. "You don't think your friendship is important enough to me to be willing to put up with a little flack from her?" The oncologist leaned across the table, getting his face into the diagnostician's. "House, you're worth that to me and more. I don't give a damn what Sam has or has not to say about it! You're my best friend—if I want to spend the entire week with you, she has nothing to say about it! Okay?"

House stared back at him, wide-eyed and speechless for several moments before he found his tongue again.

"Okay," the older man answered softly, nodding once, his eyes unwaveringly staring into Wilson's. The oncologist almost smiled when he saw a look of…was it? Could it be? It was. Wilson saw a very brief glimmer of joy in those blue orbs looking back at him.

They stared at each other for what seemed forever that way before the sound of two shrill female laughs cut through the air, breaking up the moment instantly. Both men looked up distractedly to see their respective girlfriends walk into the coffee shop carrying shopping bags and laughing over some private joke or another—probably at their boyfriends' expense. Cuddy sauntered up to House, set her bags onto the floor at her feet and then pressed a kiss to his lips. Wilson looked away uncomfortably at the smile that spread across his best friend's face. Sam walked up to the oncologist and placed a quick peck on his cheek; he was actually glad about that brief show of affection—her lipstick, which she applied quite liberally onto her large lips, tasted like some kind of toxic chemical soup and he was certain it was safer on his skin than in his mouth and down his throat into his body. Wilson raised his hand to his face and quickly wiped off the coral pink goop.

"I'm glad to find you two still here," the blonde told the men with an impudent smirk, behind which Wilson knew what a hidden scowl. "I have expected to be searching the bars for you!"

"Since when do I drink before noon?" Wilson asked defensively; the tone of his voice drew startled stares from House and Cuddy. His girlfriend glared warningly at the oncologist but forced a smile onto her lips.

"Uh," Cuddy spoke up quickly, exchanging a quick glance with the diagnostician. "We should probably head back to the hotel and have lunch before this afternoon's general assembly. If we leave now we should have enough time."

"Good idea," House said with a nod, unusually agreeable. "I'm starving!"

"You're always starving!" Cuddy told him with an amused frown. She pressed another kiss to House's lips, lingering a little longer this time; Wilson could have sworn he saw the older man stiffen slightly and roll his eyes.

The younger man felt queasy and looked away. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before rising a little too quickly to his feet. His vision was overcome with white snow, there was a painful buzz in his head, and he felt like he was spinning. He felt himself fall back into the chair and then felt two pairs of hands on his left arm and shoulders. Gradually his vision cleared and the buzz went away. Wilson saw both House's and Sam's faces in front of him. His girlfriend looked puzzled and his best friend looked concerned. House seemed to be searching the younger man's eyes for something.

"Take it easy!" House told him gruffly but his voice was quiet and his hands on Wilson's shoulders gripped him gently. "Breathe slowly. You're white as a sheet!"

Wilson shook his head and frowned angrily, feeling very self-conscious.

"I'm fine," he muttered, swallowing hard. "I just got up too quickly, suffered a drop in B.P.; nothing to worry about. I'm probably just a little dehydrated-too much coffee, not enough water."

"I'll go grab you some," he heard Cuddy say and then heard her shoes click away. House didn't release his hold on his shoulders but Sam let go of his arm and backed up a few steps. She crossed her arms across her chest.

"James," she 'tsked', shaking her head disapprovingly, "how many times have I told you to reduce your caffeine and alcohol intake? They both are very dehydrating."

"You nag about it all the time," the oncologist sniped bitterly, looking down at his hands in his lap. "I'm fine, House-really. Quit looking at me like I'm one of your puzzles to figure out. I'm dehydrated and hungry; no puzzle here."

Obviously unconvinced, the diagnostician released his hold on his friend nevertheless and stood up straight. He frowned down at Wilson, silent. It was obvious House didn't believe a word he said. The younger man heard the clicking again as Cuddy returned carrying a sweating bottle of spring water. She handed it to him and he smiled up at her.

"Thanks," Wilson told her and then twisted off the cap and gulped down a couple of mouthfuls of the cold liquid. It felt good as it flowed down his dry throat and after a few more swallows he felt like a new man. "I feel better already. Let's go get some food into me as well!"

Wilson rose more slowly to his feet this time and without incident. The two couples made their way back to one of the several public parking lots that were scattered across the town and drove the rental car back to the Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel where the medical convention was being held and they had rooms. Each couple made their way to their respective rooms to freshen up and change before meeting again at the Rundle Lounge located in the hotel for lunch. They had a little over an hour to eat before the next assembly.

"(~*~)"

Once again it was Wilson and Sam waiting on House and Cuddy to arrive. They had been seated at a table next to a wall of windows looking out over the incredible vista of the Bow Valley nestled between majestic snow-capped mountain ranges on three sides. Instead of talking with Sam as they waited, the oncologist practically had his nose pressed against the glass that separated him from the incredible beauty outside. In fact, they hadn't spoken a single word from the time they parted from House and Cuddy in the hotel lobby until now. It was ever increasingly that way between them.

A server came and took a drink order from them while they waited for their lunch companions. Sam ordered a non-alcoholic Pomegranate Lime Fresh while Wilson ordered a draught, not surprisingly to his girlfriend's disapproval; she approved of very little he did so the oncologist had decided not to care about what she liked and didn't like anymore. It was becoming too stressful trying to read her mind.

Ten minutes after their arrival, the two tardy doctors joined them. Wilson saw House look at the nearly empty glass of beer in front of him without any expression or word. The diagnostician ordered himself a bottle of Heineken while Cuddy ordered a tall club soda with lime on ice.

Things were very quiet at the table as they looked over their menus and when their server returned to take their food orders Wilson ordered a double scotch neat before staring out the window again. He didn't feel much like eating and he really didn't feel much like socializing; his stomach hurt again. What he really wanted to do was to take a long walk outside in the fresh mountain air and try, for a while, to forget how dissatisfied he was with his life lately.

Every day he woke up with a sense of dread for the day ahead, went through the motions at work, sat alone in his office at lunch while House would regularly eat lunch with Cuddy either in his office or hers. On a couple of occasions House had invited him to join them but Wilson had always felt uncomfortable doing so, being the third wheel, so to speak, and had found an excuse why he couldn't each time. He knew that House never once bought his excuses, but nor did the older man press the issue, either. Sam went to the gym at lunch most days, not that Wilson was complaining; he was a big boy and didn't need to have his hand held as he ate—although most times he would think wistfully about the lunches he used to share with (have stolen by)the diagnostician and miss those days more than he ever thought he would.

After work he'd poke his head into House's office long enough to say goodnight before driving home to an empty loft apartment and wait for his girlfriend to stroll in around seven at night. Sometimes she had already caught a bite to eat with one of her girlfriends and so he ate alone while she watched him and picked at the nutritional value of his meals or interrogated him about his day. He'd usually end up on the couch, drinking beer until he was buzzed, with Sam glaring at him every so often as she watched some inane evening talk or reality show; feigning exhaustion, he would excuse himself and go to bed alone. On the odd occasion that Sam came to bed at the same time, they might have sex before sleep, but it was just as likely that they wouldn't. He usually fell asleep wondering if the next day would hold any more excitement than the one he'd just completed, knowing that chances were it would not.

He was in a rut; Wilson knew that his relationship with Sam was on the ropes and he not only didn't know how to save it, he wasn't certain he wanted to. He smirked to himself. House had been right. House was always right, and it made him sick. What was there for Wilson once it was over between Sam and him? He would be alone. He had driven House away and caused their growing estrangement; now that House had Cuddy, the older man had no need to be kept company and entertained by him. He had someone to take care of him and keep him out of trouble. Wilson needed to be needed by somebody, and there was no one left who did.

Their food came and Wilson ordered another scotch as well. He tried to ignore the slight frowns which had broken out on the diagnostician's and Sam's faces; he was more concerned about the older man's reaction than hers. He picked at his food, taking a few obligatory bites and washed each one down with his drink, which was much more appealing to him than the untouched water at his place. The conversation was light and mindless and was dominated mostly by the women with House occasionally throwing in the odd sarcastic response to something that was said or an original insult about a few of the other diners around them; the diagnostician looked bored out of his skull. Wilson barely said two words the entire time.

After their meals were cleared away, his mostly untouched, the dessert menus were brought to them. Having no appetite, Wilson finished his scotch and then rose carefully, excusing himself and making his way to the men's room seeking a few minutes of refuge. He used the urinal and then entered a booth and simply sat there, without using the toilet and took a few deep breaths. He could feel the effects of the alcohol on his basically empty stomach, burning away like the pits of Hell. His head was beginning to swim and his heart ached. All he wanted to do was run away.

He heard the bathroom door open a few times as different patrons came and went. The bathroom was empty but for him for a few minutes; Wilson was about to emerge from the booth when he heard the door open and the familiar syncopated foot and cane fall enter, take a few steps inside and then pause. The oncologist held onto his breath for a bit, waiting for House to speak. When he didn't, Wilson exhaled loudly, flushed the unused toilet and then emerged from the booth and moved deliberately to the sink, saying nothing to the tall, ruggedly handsome man watching his every move without comment. As he washed his hands, Wilson avoided House's gaze. He turned off the sink and then went to grab a paper towel to dry his hands. As he reached out to toss the towel into the garbage receptacle, the older man grabbed his wrist and held it firmly.

Wilson couldn't help but look up at his friend with empty dark brown eyes and sigh. House's penetrating gaze met his.

"Liquid lunches aren't easy on the stomach," the diagnostician told him with an air of authority. "They're lousy for dehydration, too."

Looking down at House's grip on his wrist, Wilson tried to free his arm but House wouldn't let go.

"You sound just like Sam," the younger man said quietly, an angry edge to his voice. He tugged his arm ineffectively. "Let go."

"Not until you tell me what the hell is wrong with you!" House replied, his voice just as quiet and angry. When Wilson didn't reply House released his grip on the oncologist's arm and grabbed his chin tightly in one hand, forcing him to look into the mirror.

"Let go of me, House!" Wilson growled but the other man ignored him, stepping up behind him and loosely pinning him against the vanity.

"Look at yourself!" the older man commanded, his eyes blazing. "Really look at yourself!" Wilson diverted his eyes rebelliously.

"Let's do a differential, shall we? First, the symptoms being presented: Compared to your normally anal attention to your appearance you're practically disheveled; You're pale, you've lost weight everywhere but around your middle, you've been hiccupping on and off all week, I haven't seen you eat an entire meal yet this trip but you're drinking heavier than I've seen you do in years. Low B.P., dizziness, mood swings, stiffness of the joints when you move, and I'll bet you a hundred bucks you've been vomiting up coffee grounds! Look at the whites of your eyes—damnit Wilson! Look! Their turning yellow! It's yellow under your tongue too, isn't it?"

When Wilson refused to speak House jabbed the handle of his cane with moderate strength into the upper right quadrant of the oncologist's abdomen, just under the rib cage. Wilson gasped at the intense pain that nearly incapacitated him and caused him to double over. He felt dizzy and vomited involuntarily into the sink; the coffee grounds that were blood proteins denatured by the acid in his stomach told tales on the younger man.

House reached with one of his long arms and grabbed a handful of paper towels, handing them to Wilson; he then moved aside, unpinning him. When the waves of pain and nausea passed, Wilson ran water into the sink to wash the vomit down the drain. He cupped a handful of the flowing water and scooped in into his mouth and swished. Spitting that out, he turned off the tap and then wiped his mouth with the towels.

"Now the differential!" House said harshly, but his face no longer looked angry. It looked worried. "Any suggestions, Wonder-Boy Oncologist? Hmm? No? How about alcohol-induced gastritis and hepatitis to start? Sound familiar, Doctor?"

"Shut up, House!" Wilson said warningly, feeling his anger grow. How dare he follow him into the men's room only to assault him and then judge him for having a few drinks now and then to settle his nerves! He, of all people, had no right to be self-righteous when it came to heavy drinking! House had practically made it an official Olympic sport! Besides, it wasn't like the older man really cared about him anymore. He and Little Greg had their new life with Cuddy; nookie morning day and night! Intimate lunches together every day! Quiet, domesticated evenings at home changing diapers, washing the dishes, taking out the trash and fucking each other's brains out after Rachel went to sleep for the night!

You pushed him away first, Wilson's conscience told him. You put Sam first, you tried to move on with your life—why shouldn't he have the same right? The oncologist moaned silently—this was yet another thing he wasn't ready to be honest with himself about.

"It wasn't enough to have half of your liver cut out for an ingrate," the older man continued lecturing cynically, "but now you have to pickle the rest of it before it's even completely healed? Oh well, you'll probably bleed to death from your stomach lining long before what's left of your liver begins to fail!"

"I don't need to listen to this!" Wilson growled, feeling his head begin to throb, his face turn hot and red and hearing the blood rush through his veins so loudly that they were beginning to drown the diagnostician out. The oncologist had to get out and away from the older man before he ended up smashing his fist into the other man's face. He moved quickly towards the door but House blocked his way, moving surprisingly quickly for a cripple.

"How much and how often have you been drinking and for how long has this been going on?" the diagnostician demanded of him. "Every day? More than three drinks a day? More than five? For a month? Since you kicked me out of the loft? Do you feel anxious without it? Damn it, Wilson! If you're so damned miserable with Sam then do something about it but don't try to kill yourself slowly like this!"

"What the hell do you care?" Wilson yelled in his friend's face, unable to restrain himself anymore. "I've barely seen or heard from you for over two months! I try to call you but you're never at your apartment and when I try to call you at Cuddy's all I ever get is her voicemail! At work, when you're not working on a case you're hanging out in her office or obediently working in the clinic with your tail between your legs! When we do talk it's all about your favorite sexual positions with our boss! I tried to make plans with you for tomorrow, but you're tied up having lunch with people you don't even know in order to keep Cuddy happy and the sex flowing!

"You want to know how much I've been drinking? Fine! Every day, four or five drinks a night! Sometimes more! I keep a bottle in my bottom desk drawer for when things get to be a little too much at work and a flask in my jacket pocket for the rest of the time! I can't wait to get home to drink. Some nights I don't bother returning to the loft at all. I go to some bar and drink myself shitfaced until I get cut off; I don't bother calling Sam for a ride because she's probably already mellowed out on the Valium she pops like Tic-Tacs! I quit trying to call you after the third time I got a recording. I try to walk back to the apartment but I usually find myself the next morning passed out in some alley or door well somewhere! I can't even begin to tolerate Sam's harping and complaining unless I have a serious buzz going first. I don't want to end it with her because once she's gone, I'm all alone; I've tried my damnedest to talk to you about this, but you're never available anymore! So don't stand here so self-righteously and lecture me about ruining my health because you know what, House? I don't give a flying fuck about my health or anything else anymore. I've fucked up my life—again! You were right—you're always right! But don't worry, it's not like I'm your concern so go back to the table and have dessert with Cuddy—and and do what you do best these days: Leave me the hell alone!"

With that, Wilson shoved House aside and marched out of the bathroom, not sticking around long enough to see the Diagnostician trip and hit the wall, nearly falling to the floor. He didn't return to the table but instead stormed out of the lounge altogether, hurrying as quickly as he could without running back to his room like a little girl having a hissy-fit. Fuck the general assembly! Fuck the conference and fuck House, too! He felt tears of anger and pain sting his eyes but he'd be damned if he gave anyone the satisfaction of seeing him cry! Besides, he knew he didn't deserve anyone's sympathy; he'd brought this all down on himself!

He was glad when he reached the room he and Sam shared without being followed. Wilson didn't want to hear any more lectures or sarcastic remarks made at his expense. He dug through the pockets of his suitcase and pulled out a brandy flask filled with bourbon, a little trick he'd learned from House. He shoved it into the inner pocket of his light jacket, exchanging it for an empty one, which he packed away in the suitcase. He then changed his clothes, donning a grey polo and a pair of comfortable jeans, sports socks and a pair of running shoes. Shrugging on his jacket, Wilson then grabbed the keys to the rental car and left the room, heading down to the main lobby. A valet approached him automatically and Wilson handed him the keys. Within a matter of minutes the hotel worker pulled up to the front doors in Wilson's car and then hopped out of the driver's seat so the oncologist could hop in.

Driving without a destination in mind, the oncologist simply pulled out onto Spray Avenue, the main road leading from the Fairmont Banff Springs to touristy Banff Avenue which he followed out of town and headed towards the Trans Canada Highway. He'd heard a couple of other conference attendees talk about a nice lake with hiking trails just across the highway. It sounded just like the place he wanted to be just then. Instead of turning off onto the main highway back to Calgary he kept on the road he was on; a road sign said that he was heading in the direction of Lake Minnewanka and Two Jack Lake. He recognized the latter as being the location he had overheard being talked about. Wilson followed the road signs until he found himself pulling into the day use area along the lakefront of a pristine mountain lake.

He parked the rental in the designated area, jumped out and walked towards the shore.

End Part One