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There's a pounding in House's head, that pulls him out of the darkness and into the brightly lit hospital room.
He doesn't know why he's here. He doesn't know much of anything, it seems, as he tries to dig through his memories and comes up empty.
He does know he's in pain. His head, his leg.
The head is new. The leg, House vaguely remembers, is always bad. It makes him feel unpleasant, though, to think about it, and he decides to let it go. Maybe it's sometimes good not to remember things.
A door slides open and House hears footsteps approaching. He wants to sit up, but it makes him feel dizzy.
"How are you feeling?" a man's voice asks and House does manage to turn his head enough to face the speaker.
"My head is killing me."
The man has brown hair and brown eyes. He looks serious, and a bit sad, and, studying his face closely, House can tell he's been crying earlier.
"That's normal. You're going to be fine."
He doesn't sound very reassuring, and House feels like he's trying to mostly convince himself.
He does have a nice voice. A nice face.
"You're not my doctor, are you?" House observes and the man shakes his head, grinning faintly.
"Not unless you have cancer, no."
"You're an oncologist?"
The man looks like House has just slapped him.
"Are you– House, do you remember who I am?"
"No. Should I?"
The man looks terrified, and House thinks he sees those brown eyes glistening wetly.
"I'll be right back," the man says, before storming out of the room.
House leans his (still hurting) head back and stares at the white ceiling.
He wonders who the man was, trying to remember anything at all.
But it's like all his memories are behind a wall of fog and it's fucking frustrating.
The man seemed kind. He cared about House. House feels almost guilty for not remembering, for inadvertedly being the reason for that man's worry.
He'd prefer to see the man smiling. For a reason he can't pin down, he's sure the man has a nice smile.
The door opens again and the man returns.
"I spoke to Doctor Singh. He says the amnesia is most likely temporary and nothing to worry about."
"Cool," is all House can think to say and the man's lips twitch.
But still no real smile.
"So. You're not my doctor, but you are in my hospital room. Therefore, we're close."
"Yes, we are."
"Did we bone?"
It's mostly meant as a joke, although House doesn't think he'd mind being boned by this man. Brunettes have always been his type, after all.
"Seriously?" the man asks. "That's your first question?"
"What do you think my first question should be?"
"You could ask for my name. Or you could ask what happened to you, why you're here. You could even ask what hospital this is."
"Fine," House says. "I ask you all of those, right now."
He doesn't think he imagines the flicker of affection in the man's eyes.
"I'm Wilson. James Wilson. You're here because you decided to drive your motorcycle in the rain like an idiot, instead of letting me give you a ride." He glares at House, who for some reason feels a wave of shame and guilt wash over him. "Oh, and we're at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital."
"Anything else you wanna tell me?"
James Wilson tilts his head.
"Anything else you want to know?"
House thinks for a moment. Then he asks:
"How did we meet?"
Wilson blushes, which House finds sort of unfairly adorable.
"You. Erm. Bailed me out of jail."
House grins.
"I hate that I don't remember that."
Wilson waves his hand dismissively.
"It's not a big deal. It was an accident, really." Then he sighs. "I broke an antique mirror because I was drunk and angry."
"Awesome," House says. Then he tries to lean closer, which doesn't really work and just makes him dizzy. Still, he flashes Wilson what he's sure is a winning smile. "You know, I've always had a thing for bad boys."
Finally Wilson smiles. No, not just smile, he laughs, loudly with his head tilted back.
House licks his lips. It might be the most attractive laugh he's ever witnessed.
When Wilson stops laughing, he looks at House fondly.
"I'm glad to see the amnesia hasn't changed you."
House raises his eyebrows.
"You mean I'm always trying to get in your pants?"
Wilson grins.
"Pretty much. Although," he says and spins around once, "who can blame you?"
"Certainly not me. Trying to get into your pants seems like a great use of my time. Have I ever succeeded?"
Wilson giggles. (A grown man giggling should not be cute, but for some reason it is).
"Fortunately yes."
Hearing that makes House unreasonably happy. But like Wilson said: who can blame him?
"We're dating, then?"
Wilson gives him a fond little smile.
"Married. Since last year."
That revelation sends House's world spinning. It feels both weird, yet completely right, that he's married to Wilson.
"And you're not tired of me yet?" House jokes, but Wilson just shakes his head.
"I could never be tired of you."
He squeezes House's hand and House feels his heart swell.
He's glad to have Wilson by his side, even if he doesn't remember the man.