Disclaimer: Don't own. Just playing with my House and Wilson dolls. I feel like Gillie on SNL. I broke Wilson...Sorry. ;)

A/N: Written for sickwilson_fest

All medical information was researched, but is only as accurate as the internet and my comprehension.

Thanks to my beta, bookfan85, for all her help

Thank you, everyone, for reading. I loved all the kind reviews along the way, and hope you enjoy this last chapter.

Not bothering to knock, House thrust his key in the lock, and threw open the door.

Wilson was in his robe, sitting in his wheelchair in the middle of the living room. He looked up at House, looked down at his watch, and looked up again.

"What the hell's gotten into you? You call. Ask me if I'm all right. I say 'fine,' and the next thing I know you're risking your life racing over here, and breaking into my house. Is there a secret code I should know about? Was I supposed to shout 'fire' to prevent you from coming?"

"Wilson, you fucker, what's going on?! You sounded half-dead on the phone."

"Almost, not quite." Wilson answered, not taking offense, since it was House who was the source of the indelicate remark.

"James? Where are you?" a woman's voice beckoned.

Wilson's cool guise showed signs of cracking as House tilted his head toward the bedroom. "Keeping secrets, Jimmy?"

Before Wilson could answer, a slender, long-legged brunette walked into the room. She was wrapped in a towel, short dark hair still wet from the shower. "James? Aren't you coming back to--? Oh, hello, Dr. House."

"Enjoying your vacation Ava?" House leaned on his cane and savored the moment as Wilson and Dr. Ava Raquel squirmed under his gaze.

"Who decided dating a patient would be unethical? You or him. Spill".

Ava squeezed Wilson's shoulder, kissing him on the mouth, and simply murmured, "You were right." She ignored House and sauntered back to the bedroom.

For some reason, House's jealousy was not getting the better of him. On the contrary, he was inordinately pleased to find Wilson working his way through every female in the medical profession. Better to know the sleepy voice was caused by passion and not by an overdose.

"Are you happy, now?" Wilson hissed.

"Yes, and Cuddy will be too. You're not taking any more extensions are you? Thinking of a quickie trip to Las Vegas?"

"No."

"Then, what do you see in her? Did she breakup with her boyfriend, or discover her husband's having an affair with the pool boy?"

"Shut up, House. She's a smart, independent woman."

"You only strayed once into that unmarked territory with Amber. You can't tell me she's not needy."

Wilson blushed, and whispered so only House's could hear, "Did you ever consider that I may be the needy one?"

"The word is 'selfish' not 'needy,' and it looks good on you. You might get through this stage unscathed by marriage."

House smiled and changed the subject.

"Our game's still on for tomorrow night?" House began limping toward the door.

"Yeah. Ava plans to visit friends while she's here."

House opened the door, "See you tomorrow, Wilson."

"Tomorrow, House."

Two weeks later…

Wilson inspected the doppelganger in the mirror.

Ava had left last night. She was wonderful, and he was going to miss her until they could get together, but he wasn't in love…and neither was she.

He focused back on the image. He was returning to work today, and had spent the whole morning dressing the part of Dr. James E. Wilson, Department Head of Oncology, but something was off.

Of course the wheelchair was a new accessory. He was in the "buggy" as House called it, not the Tumornator.

There was his hair, but that wasn't it. He nuzzled his fingers over the soft tufts and spikes. He liked the easy upkeep and had no intention of going back to blow-drying.

Starting from his feet and traveling upward, he could see nothing wrong with what he was wearing. His French leather shoes gleamed the way they always did. His new brown suit hung properly, the slacks extra long in order for the hems to touch the top of his loafers and not ride up, the jacket accommodating the bulked up muscles in his chest and arms. The same with the ivory shirt.

That left the tie. The green one with the ivory polka dots. He tilted his head and squinted. Why did he ever think this one his favorite? It was hideous. Returning to the closet, he raised a skeptical brow, the rest of the collection was light year's uglier.

Tugging on the knot, Wilson slid the silk away from his collar. There was no reason he had to wear one.

He swung back to the mirror and confronted the-man-in-the-wheelchair.

Had the accident changed him?

Or had his priorities?

He stared solemnly into the mirror, and after what felt like a lifetime, he winked at his reflection.

Sitting with his team in the conference room, House kept an eye on the elevators, waiting for his first glimpse of Wilson. He knew his friend was anxious about his first day back, but now that Ava had gone home, Wilson had no excuse for delaying any longer.

His vigil paid off thirty agonizing minutes later. The elevator doors opened to a crowd of people, all walking toward Wilson's office. House craned his neck for a better look, but he couldn't make out his friend, though he did glimpse a spoke from a sports wheelchair.

Interesting.

He heard and saw nothing of his friend for the rest of the morning. Wilson was probably hip deep in paperwork, playing catch up.

But the clock on his computer monitor indicated that it was nearly noon, and House's "Pavlov's dog" reaction was kicking in. He'd been sitting and waiting patiently, and now it was time for Wilson to reward him.

He dashed off a quick email: 12:00—Lunch?

As soon as he clicked "send," there was a new email in his inbox from Wilson with the same message: 12:00—Lunch?

Good old Wilson.

House was searching the web when he heard the front office door open. "Are you ready, House?"

"More than ready."

House swiveled his chair…Wilson?

In front of him was…his Wilson, but one he never saw before.

Apparently, Wilson came in variety packs.

Wilson wore his lab coat, the burgeoning pocket protector overflowing with pens and paraphenilia like a sackful of toys from Santa.

But the rest…

A deep green henley shirt, jeans, and athletic shoes….

"You do know dressing like me doesn't excuse you from paying for my lunch?"

"Yes, I am wearing jeans and athletic shoes, but no, I'm not dressing like you."

"But you are paying for lunch?"

"Of course, I'm paying."

Reassured, House stood up and walked past Wilson. When he was in the corridor, Wilson easily caught up to him, and despite one needing a cane, and the other requiring wheelchair, they moved as one.

"Some things never change, House."

House nodded his agreement. "Only the little things, Wilson."

~fin~

Thank you for reading! All comments warmly appreciated.