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Cameron persuades him to join them one evening. "They'd like to see you," she says earnestly, and then she adds, "House won't be there" - as though that's a pro rather than a con.
It's only when she says it aloud that Wilson realizes it's not. That House is really the only one he wants to see, as fucked up as that is.
Still. When he talks to his (current) therapist about it, she thinks it's a good idea. "They knew Amber," she points out. "Maybe not in the same way you did, but -"
"They said goodbye to her," he says suddenly, cutting her off. Not a thing he usually does, with therapists - unlike House, he knows how to behave - but it's only now coming back to him. The team, one by one, offering hugs and hand-squeezes and platitudes.
House has no time for platitudes, but Wilson understands why they're needed. When everything's falling apart, they're something familiar to cling to. It doesn't matter if they're clichés. They're clichés for a reason. People repeat them over and over because they're the best anyone can do, faced with catastrophe.
It's that memory of those platitudes, slotting back into his still-frazzled brain, that allows him to make his way to the bar that night. Cameron hugs him immediately, murmuring "it's good to see you." Chase offers a man-hug; Wilson expects Foreman to go for a more formal handshake but is pleasantly surprised by a repeat of the quick clap-on-the-back.
He sits down, and nods at the others; it's still hard not to think of them as the ones who stole Amber's job. Wilson is sure that Taub, Kutner, and Thirteen are competent doctors; he's worked alongside each of them. But it's one of many what-ifs that haunt: what if House had picked Amber? What if she hadn’t been able to pick up the phone that night because she was at the hospital, part of the elite diagnostic team under the legendary Dr Gregory House?
There is drinking, and complaining about work, and a half-competitive, half-gossipy discussion about recent articles in medical journals. "I've fallen behind," Wilson admits, and before Cameron can offer up some painfully kind reassurance, pardoning him on account of his recent loss, he adds, "I mean, I can catch up. 1992 was last year, right?"
It's a feeble joke but he'd rather pity-induced laughter than pity.
Later in the night, and many drinks in, Chase asks, "How are you doing? Really."
"Really?" Wilson raises an eyebrow at Chase, and then observes the rest of the table. They're all waiting to hear this. He laughs; he can't help it. "Tell me House didn't send you - "
"It's just us," Cameron says quickly.
"He probably wants to know," Chase puts in, a little too inebriated for deception. "But we're here for you, mate, not him."
"We recognize you're a separate entity," Thirteen adds, with a little smirk, and in that moment something familiar flickers in Wilson. (In the morning he'll realize: it's the kind of thing House might say, if he was slightly more inclined toward not-being-a-dick.)
Wilson finds it oddly reassuring that Kutner, Taub, and Foreman don't immediately join in with the reassurances; that Foreman is clearly two seconds away from suggesting they change the subject.
"You don't have to answer," Foreman says. (Maybe one second.)
Wilson shrugs. "What can I say? One of the only people I've ever loved died horribly."
Awkwardness descends. He's had enough to drink to be okay with that, instead of trying to fix it.
"It sucks," Kutner offers.
Wilson nods. Yeah. That's it, really, isn't it?
"But at least she was with you when -" Kutner continues, and this is where Wilson has to stop him.
"No silver linings. Not tonight."
It astonishes him, even now, how she was at the end. He'd been prepared for rage, for demanding to speak to someone in charge, for filing a complaint, for - for - for something that would find a way, somehow, to make things happen. He loves her even more for how quickly she understood: no wrangling could make her live. He loves her for being the smartest, kindest version of herself at the end.
But none of that makes it okay.
Thirteen clears her throat. "Another round!" she declares.
"My turn," Wilson says automatically.
"I got this," Foreman reassures him, and then somehow - okay, Wilson is aware he's kinda drunk at this point - the table is mostly empty, and Thirteen is looking at him.
"What?" Wilson snaps, and he's aware how like House he sounds in that moment.
"Who were the other people?"
"What?"
"You said, um, you said Amber was one of the only people you'd ever loved." Thirteen is slightly slurry, slightly hesitant, and Wilson prefers this version of her. "Who were the others?"
Wilson looks at his hands, even though they're currently free of wedding rings. "I've been married three times."
"Not what I asked."
"I loved them," he says, because it is true when it's in the past tense. "I've never married anyone I didn't love."
Already he can imagine House responding, that's your problem.
"Okay. The wives." Thirteen seems genuinely interested. "Amber, of course. Who else?"
Wilson looks at her. His skin is too tight, suddenly. "I think if you're asking that question, you already know."
She offers up a half-smile. "You said, people."
Even though his brain is now marinating in booze, he gets it. "I didn't say women."
"We kind of - try to avoid being specific, at first," Thirteen says.
Wilson isn't sure how much he likes this 'we'. This attraction is something he considers a personality flaw, rather than a sexual orientation. "I don't think I'm -" He stops, reaches for his glass. Empty. Damn. "It's just House."
"That’s enough," she says, knocking back the rest of her drink.
He senses she has more to say on the matter, but then the others return, and he tries to pay attention to the things that spill out. Now that they've been drinking for several hours, they're less careful about avoiding references to House; Wilson gets an overview of the recent squabbles over patient tests as the others talk, while he keeps drinking.
It occurs to him, not for the first time, how much closer these guys are than any of the oncology staff ever were. They have the shared horrific experience of being one of House's fellows; it's like being in one of those disastrous airplane crashes that lead to cannibalism. Trauma bonding.
And then it's the end of the night and Cameron's looking at him fondly. "I'm going to hop into the cab with you and make sure you get home safe, okay?"
"I'm fine!" Wilson insists, because this is how he feels at this moment.
Cameron nods. "Yeah, I know, but, um, you did spend an hour telling us about New Orleans, and you still have that dreamy look in your eyes, so just let me… okay?"
"Oh," Wilson says, because the last couple of hours are a little fuzzy, and he knows he shouldn't talk about that first night with House, that's been an unspoken rule for years, but -
"Okay," he says when he realizes a prompt answer is needed.
This is the kind of drunk that normally involves a House party. In the cab, he leans over to say this to Cameron, and she smiles indulgently in a way that makes him understand he has already made this point tonight.
Fuck. Who was there when he started talking about New Orleans? Taub left early, he remembers.
Does it even matter? They all talk. It doesn't mean it'll get to the rest of the hospital. Anyway - he remembers this with a jolt - he doesn't work there anymore.
New Orleans. The first time he met House. The first time he fucked House, because of course he was grateful to the sardonic guy who'd turned up to bail him out of jail, and he never thought he'd see him again, and he was still a little drunk and eager for some kind of connection, skin against his own. It was - he remembers this now, in the cab with Cameron, his face heating up - good.
Really good.
He doesn't regret it. Regret is pointless, anyway (at this, the House in his head smirks approvingly). No one can rewrite history. The thing is to move on, and learn from the experience. Wilson's learned it's possible to fuck House without it becoming a big deal. That's useful, isn't it? Better than falling in love with him.
House will hate that his team knows about New Orleans, Wilson realizes as the cab draws close to his building. (Amber's building.) It'll make it seem as though House actually has feelings.
He wonders if he'll get a phone call. If there'll be some elaborate prank waiting for him at home, some day -
"Wilson. You're here." Cameron's tone is kind, indulgent. He snaps out of it and wonders how long she's waited to nudge him.
"Thank you," he says, meaning it.
She squeezes his hand. "I'm glad you came out tonight."
He doesn't have the energy to do more but squeeze back.
She takes a breath. He knows what she's going to say before she says it. "You should go see him - "
Wilson inhales. Chooses to ignore this. Gets out of the cab and punches his code in at the door panel. He doesn't look at the vehicle driving away.