Recovery

by Rennie51

Chapter 1

House couldn't concentrate on the medical journal in front of him. Finally giving up, he rested his head on the back of his chair studying the shadows as they skittered across the ceiling. His eye was caught by the orange glow of the digital clock. Glancing at it he noted the time...eight AM... and thought about his friend, James Wilson, who lay sleeping in his bed in the next room.

Discharged from the hospital the day before, he was still experiencing symptoms from his injury.... severe headaches, confusion, dizziness.... and what concerned House the most... uncharacteristic hostility that lead to angry outbursts. His neurologist, Dr. Jack Roth, had mentioned the possibility of post concussion syndrome, and House couldn't help but worry that his friend might be falling victim to this enigmatic disorder. Wilson had not had a good night, sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning until the early morning hours when he finally fell into a deep sleep. House was reluctant to wake him but finally relented realizing the importance of assessing his alertness and orientation.

Leaning heavily onto his cane, he dragged himself up from his chair, quietly groaning more from exhaustion than from the pain in his leg...the pain that had evolved over the years into a constant presence. Pausing, he leaned down and picked up his bottle of Vicodin from the coffee table, removing the cap with one hand and quickly swallowing a pill. He sighed as he reminded himself that the pills no longer took away his pain but merely diluted its venom. It was usually worse on mornings such as this ...mornings when he hadn't slept the night before for whatever reason, this occasion being concern for his friend lying next to him in his bed.

Limping into his bedroom he took note of the stillness in the room except for the muted sound of Wilson's steady breathing. He limped towards the window tilting open the blinds allowing the morning light to stream into the room. Wilson was sleeping soundly on his back, his head listing to the side, one arm under the covers while the other rested across his midsection. As House sat on the edge of the bed, he studied his friend's face. The bruises on his cheek and forehead were fading only to be supplemented by ominous dark circles under his eyes, their grey shade appearing more exaggerated in contrast to his pale complexion. Sighing, he gently shook his friend.

"Jimmy, wake up," he said, his voice soft. Wilson quietly groaned, his arm twitching slightly. House tenderly shook him by the shoulders again. "Jimmy."

Wilson slowly opened his eyes, blinking as he attempted to focus. Frowning, he stared past the other man towards the window, a vacant look in his eyes. "Jimmy, look at me."

He shifted his gaze towards his friend, squinting as he attempted to recognize his face. House stared at him, his stomach knotting up from the confusion and trepidation he saw in his friend's eyes. His heart pounding, he lightly touched his cheek. "Jimmy, it's me." Wilson shook his head ever so slightly, uncertainty in his eyes.

"Don't do this to me," House murmured under his breath. He continued to stare into his friend's eyes for several moments lightly stroking his cheek, willing him to remember.

"Greg."

House sucked in his breath upon hearing his friend say his name. Recovering quickly, he smiled continuing to caress his cheek with his fingers.

"Morning," James said quietly, smiling tentatively as he reached up and squeezed his friend's hand.

"Do you know where you are?"

He furrowed his forehead. "Hospital?" House didn't reply, managing to keep his concern from reaching his face while the acid in his stomach threatened to sear his throat. James glanced around the room. "Oh...yeah. I forgot. We're at your place."

"How can you possibly confuse my castle with a hospital room?" House asked, attempting to keep the mood light.

James sat up slowly. "I have a note from my doctor." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't recognize you," he said, his voice wavering.

House cast his eyes down towards the bed. "You know what Dr. Roth said... It can take time for you to...."

"Then why are you so worried?" James asked, interrupting him. House looked up to find the other man cautiously eyeing him.

"I'm not worried." He smiled. "My feelings are hurt. How would you feel if the guy you slept with the night before couldn't remember you?"

Wilson drew his legs up resting his arms across his knees. "You need to talk to me." He reached out and lightly brushed his friend's hand.

House squeezed his hand in return. "It's only been 72 hours. While it doesn't do much for my ego, it's still not unusual." James looked past him, nodding in understanding.

"Okay," he said quietly shifting his eyes towards House. He tilted his head as if something had just occurred to him. "I'm starving."

Brushing a piece of stray hair from his friend's forehead, House leaned onto his cane as he slowly stood. "I'll meet you in the kitchen."

Chapter 2

House sat across the table from his friend watching him eat his breakfast.

"I thought you said you were starving."

"I am," Wilson said, munching on a piece of toast.

"You didn't eat your eggs."

Wilson stopped chewing and stared at his plate. "Eggs?"

"What else?" House asked, his attention drawn to the plate of food.

The other man shrugged. "I thought it was leftover Chinese."

House placed his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his hands. "What is it with you and my cooking?" He took a drink of his black coffee taking a moment to savor the slightly bitter taste.

"Not sure." Wilson scratched his head. "This is just a guess but maybe your cooking actually does suck."

House appeared offended. "You keep reminding me. I happen to be a great cook."

"Right. You put ketchup on chicken."

"Your point being?"

"Your taste buds are fucked up. Probably from all that Vicodin." He spread some jam on his toast, taking another bite.

"The Vicodin that you continue to write for me." House reached into his pocket and retrieved his Vicodin bottle, holding it up and peering into it as he lightly shook it. "Speaking of which...I'm just about out."

Wilson dropped the toast onto his plate. "Already? Didn't I just write you a script two weeks ago?" He reached his hand out motioning for the other man to hand him the bottle. House put it back into his pocket.

"You're confused. Must be the concussion thing."

The oncologist shook his head as he leaned back in his chair. "You're taking advantage of me."

"If I wanted to take advantage of you, I would've done that last night. And it would've been a hell of a lot more fun." He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you won't have to write another script."

Wilson narrowed his eyes. "Is that a challenge?"

"That depends." House eyed the plate of food. "Will you eat the eggs?"

Wilson stared down at his plate and made a face. He looked back up at his friend. "Seriously?"

"I told you...I'm always serious."

"And if I eat these....eggs....does that mean you'll cut back on the Vicodin?"

House shifted in his chair to get more comfortable. "I didn't say that."

"I seem to be having a problem remembering. What exactly did you say?"

"I didn't say anything."

Wilson took an exasperated breath. "Okay, spell it out for me. If I eat these....eggs....what will you do?"

House sat forward and peered into his friend's eyes. "I'll explore other pain management options."

The other doctor was dumbfounded. "It's that important to you that I eat?"

"It's that important to me that you eat my cooking."

Wilson looked up towards the ceiling in thought. He smiled, reaching his hand across the table towards his friend. "Deal."

House leaned forward and shook his hand. "Deal."

Picking up his fork, James cut a small piece of the half scrambled, half fried eggs. He quickly swallowed it, scrunching up his face.

"Well?"

He dropped the fork onto the table and wiped his mouth with his hand. "Bring me my pad...I'll write you a new script."

House smirked.

"You weren't serious anyway," James said, shaking his head. "Have you no honor? We shook hands on it."

House shrugged. "At least I got you to take one bite."

"Actually, they're not half bad." He picked up his fork and sliced off another piece of egg, a larger one this time. He quickly chewed and swallowed the food, opening his eyes wide in appreciation. "Yum. Reminds me of the good ole days." He continued to eat.

House was happy. "The good ole days....as in your Mother's cooking?"

"Nope....as in my undergraduate dorm days. We took our lives in our hands when we ate there too."

House laughed as he studied his friend, bringing to mind Wilson's pronounced confusion upon waking that morning. He did a good job of hiding his concern, smiling as he watched him eat.

Chapter 3

House picked up the remote from the coffee table and clicked off the television. "Why are you pouting?"

"I'm not pouting."

"You are. Now tell me why."

Wilson crossed his arms in front of his chest. "If you must know, I'm still hurt from getting the brush off last night." He stared at his friend waiting for a response.

The older man sighed loudly. "We went over this. I was concerned about you."

"So you said." He scratched his head. "I think your exact words were, 'a concussion is not conducive to having sex.'"

"Sounds familiar."

Wilson uncrossed his arms and leaned back on the couch spreading his arms across the back. "I know how you can make it up to me."

"I didn't realize I had to." Wilson stared blankly at him. "Okay, how?"

"I think you should come over here so we can make out."

House grinned, totally caught off guard by his friend's suggestion. "You want me to go over there so we can neck?"

"I didn't say 'neck', I said, 'make out'."

The older man furrowed his brow. "There's a difference?"

"Different rules."

"There are rules?"

"Yep." Wilson tilted his head. "You didn't know that?"

"Nope."

He shook his head. "I have to teach you everything."

"Apparently so," House said, rubbing his chin. He raised his eyebrows into a question.

Wilson began to explain. "Necking means you can do anything above the neck."

"Well, that narrows the field down considerably."

"Pretty much."

"And making out?"

"Anything above the waist."

House leaned his elbow on the armrest of his chair, resting his chin in his hand as he contemplated the information. "That does make it more interesting, but still excludes some very integral parts of the process."

"Could be fun though."

"What's next?"

He scrunched up his face in thought. "I guess dry fucking comes next."

House raised an eyebrow. "Now that's a concept I'm familiar with."

"Yeah, but you can get into a lot of trouble with that if you're not careful."

"How so?"

He continued his explanation. "It's the dry aspect....can be a problem."

"In what way?"

"There can be times when it's really difficult to keep it....uh...dry."

"Aah....right. So by definition, it's no longer dry fucking."

James smiled at his student's quick grasp of the subject matter. "Exactly."

Both men sat silently mulling over what they had just discussed, House finally speaking. "So, you want me to come over there so we can make out."

"Could be fun."

"You said that already."

"I really like making out."

House grinned as he leaned forward in his chair getting ready to stand, but changed his mind and sat back down. "Can I count on you to stick to the rules?"

"I'm nothing if not a gentleman." Wilson patted the cushion next to him. "Now get over here."

House sighed. "The things I have to do for you."

He placed his palms on the armrests of his chair giving him leverage to stand. Wilson watched as he limped towards him without benefit of his cane. As soon as he was seated, the younger man swung his leg over his lap and sat on his thighs facing him, being careful not to place his weight on his right leg.

"Hold it! I thought there were rules."

Wilson held up his hands. "I didn't even touch you yet."

"Right. And if my leg begins to twitch for some unknown reason, you wouldn't feel it below the waist." He shook his left leg for illustration.

"Oops...forgot about that." Pushing up to his knees Wilson rested his hands against the back of the couch on either side of his friend's head. House laid his head back and the two of them stared into each other's eyes for several moments.

"I guess I wasn't thinking," Wilson finally said, his voice low.

"Not thinking can be a problem."

The younger man leaned over and lightly touched his lips to House's, running his tongue along his mouth and slipping it inside as he parted his lips. The kiss grew more intense as their tongues met, sliding across teeth, tickling their gums. House held him by his waist as the two men practically devoured each other, the sound of soft moaning blended with labored breathing resonating in the otherwise quiet room.

Realizing he was slowly sinking down towards his friend's lap....a clear violation of 'the rules'....Wilson pulled back, opening his eyes and staring down at the other man. The expression he saw on his friend's face almost caused him to lose his bearings altogether. He had never seen House this vulnerable before, his eyes closed, lips slightly parted, his mouth swollen and damp from the kiss. Slowly opening his eyes, House smiled at him as he hovered above him.

Without speaking House maneuvered his friend over his lap and onto the couch, scarcely having enough time to remove his hands from his waist when Wilson hungrily attacked his mouth again, grasping his t-shirt and pulling him closer. House readily complied, totally caught up in the raw emotion and physical pleasures of kissing his best friend.

Chapter 4

House limped into his bedroom, stopping short in the doorway at the sight of his best friend sitting on the edge of the bed holding his head in his hands, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Headache?"

James didn't reply, didn't even acknowledge the other man's presence. Concerned, House limped over to the bed and sat down next to him.

"If your head hurts, I can give you a shot of sumatriptan," he said quietly.

"Just...please just leave me alone. I don't want you sticking me with any more needles," he said, his tone edgy. He avoided looking at his friend.

"If you have a headache....."

The younger man's head snapped in House's direction, his eyes narrowed.

"I said no." His voice was threatening.

House sighed. "You're feeling agitated because of the concussion. Let me treat your headache...."

"What are you, deaf?" he raised his voice, scowling. Not wanting to provoke him, House leaned into his cane and stood, backing away. "If you need anything, I'll be in the living room."

"Thanks," he said, seemingly calmer now. Hesitating, the older man turned away and approached the door, shaking his head.

"And what the hell was that?"

House stopped in his tracks turning back towards his friend, clearly troubled by his behavior. Wilson was standing with his hands on his hips, glaring at him.

"What was what?" House asked, attempting to sound understanding, yet angry with himself for allowing his friend's volatility to get to him. He was well aware that his behavior was due to the effects of the concussion.

"You have a problem?" Wilson asked, his demeanor cold.

House shifted his weight as he leaned onto his cane. "No...no problem," he said softly, trying to keep his friend calm.

"If I'm getting on your nerves, why don't you just tell me to leave?" he asked, attempting to spur his friend into an argument.

House looked at him. "Jimmy...... " He paused, casting his eyes towards the floor. "You don't get on my nerves."

"I'm really tired of you saying one thing and then denying it when I call you on it."

House looked directly into his eyes. "You're confused...."

"Stop patronizing me!" He took a step forward.

House cast his eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry," he said quietly as he turned to leave the room. Reaching the doorway, he felt compelled to face his friend, turning to find him sitting on the edge of the bed again clutching his head in apparent distress.

"I didn't mean it. I'm sorry," Wilson said, his eyes closed as he massaged his temples. House could see the physical and emotional pain etched on his face. "I don't know what the hell's going on with me."

The older man approached him and sat down on the bed again, reaching his arm around his shoulder and pulling him close. "Let me give you something for your headache," he said.

Wilson rubbed his hand across his forehead avoiding his friend's eyes. He nodded.

Getting to his feet, House limped to the bathroom to retrieve the sumatriptan and alcohol wipes. When he returned Wilson was lying on his back, his arm resting across his eyes. He limped over to the bed and sat on the edge waiting until the other man was ready.

James moved his arm away from his face and stared apologetically at his friend. "I...I'm....."

"It's okay," House said, his voice low and reassuring. "Let's do something about that headache."

James smiled sadly as he rolled onto his side away from House, pulling down the waistband of his sweats allowing the other doctor to inject him, grimacing as he did. Shifting onto his back, he closed his eyes inhaling deeply, his breath hitching. House leaned onto his cane, slowly getting to his feet. As he turned towards the bathroom to discard the empty syringe, Wilson reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"I can't help it."

The older doctor stared at his friend for several moments before sitting down again. "Dr. Roth talked to us about this," he said quietly. As he spoke, he gently took the other man's hand to reassure him that he wasn't angry.

James scrunched up his face. "I don't remember," he said, his voice breaking.

"Everything you're experiencing is symptomatic of a grade three concussion....the mood swings, headaches, memory loss..." He hesitated. "Personality changes." He squeezed his friend's hand. "We'll just have to wait and see what happens. It can go away....."

"Or it can get worse."

House sighed. "It can."

"What if it does?"

"If it gets worse...or if it doesn't subside....you'll have to be admitted to the hospital for re-evaluation." Wilson turned his head away. "Try to get some rest," House said as he stood.

Approaching the door he turned back to find his friend lying on his side almost in a fetal position. Resisting the urge to comfort him, he turned around and left the bedroom, limping towards the living room where he picked up the phone to call Dr. Roth.

Chapter 5

House sat in his chair talking on the telephone to Dr. Roth. He purposely didn't place the call from the kitchen for fear that James would accuse him of trying to keep secrets from him. Normally it wouldn't be an issue, but with his friend's volatile nature resulting from the concussion, he didn't want to take any chances of upsetting him.

"He's still suffering from confusion and headaches. But I'm even more concerned about his hostility." He shook his head. "His personality changes."

"Alright, let's start with the confusion. Is it worse than before?"

House closed his eyes as he remembered waking Wilson earlier that day. "I'm afraid it is. It took several minutes for him to recognize me this morning." He paused as he heard Dr. Roth scribbling down notes.

"And the headaches?"

"They seem to be more frequent, and they're just as debilitating as before. That's when he's especially irritable which isn't surprising."

"Anything else?"

House sighed. "Sometimes he's not steady on his feet, he's experiencing recent memory loss and he's very fatigued. His tiredness also seems to bring out the volatility. And then there are the times when he's fine, alert, his usual self...which is most of the time."

"What about his appetite?"

"That doesn't seem to be a problem anymore."

"Well I hate to say it, but what you describe sounds like it could be post concussion syndrome. Even though it's only been 72 hours since his injury, he is experiencing different and more severe symptoms than earlier."

"Do you think I need to bring him in?"

"Well, I'll leave that up to you...you're the person closest to him. What do you think?"

House thought back to when he originally fought Cuddy against admitting Wilson to the hospital. "I'm afraid I'm letting my personal feelings cloud my judgment. But I'd like to give him more time."

"There's nothing wrong with that. It's not like we have definitive treatments for PCS; all we can do is treat the symptoms specific to his condition and keep an eye on him."

"What's the next step if I do have to bring him back?"

"Well, as you know there are no particular tests to diagnose PCS. My colleague, Dr. Jensen, is a neuropsychologist who can perform an in-depth assessment of Dr. Wilson to determine the presence or absence and extent of any impairment."

He sighed again. "Thank you, Dr. Roth. I'll be in touch."

"You're welcome, Dr. House."

He hung up the phone and rested his head against the back of his chair. He would tell his friend about the conversation when he felt he was in the correct state of mind to discuss it.

A few minutes later Wilson walked into the living room, his hair disheveled from sleeping, his t-shirt twisted around his torso.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked, rubbing his eyes and dropping down onto the couch. He yawned.

House hesitated. "Dr. Roth."

"You still think he's an idiot?" Wilson asked scratching his head.

He shrugged. "I'm warming up to him."

Wilson looked at him. "Was he checking in?"

"No. I called him."

He squinted his eyes. "Why?

"Because I'm worried about you."

Wilson leaned forward. "You told me this morning that you weren't."

"That was this morning."

"What's changed?"

"You mean you don't know?" the older man asked, his concern compounding.

Wilson sat back on the couch, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't say anything.

This was too important for House to let go. "Jimmy, don't you remember earlier this evening?"

Wilson looked at him with total confusion on his face. "What did I do?" he asked, his voice wavering.

House shifted his position in the chair. "Don't you remember getting angry?"

He slowly shook his head. "I had a headache."

House tried to help him remember. "You were upset.... You raised your voice....."

He continued to shake his head. "Jesus. I can't even remember what happened an hour ago." He looked at his friend, his face scrunched up. "What did I say?"

"It's not important. You were agitated, probably because of the headache. I know how painful they are."

James leaned his elbows on his knees holding his head between his hands. He let out a short laugh. "I only remember kissing you," he said quietly. He quickly looked at House. "Did I imagine that?"

"No, Jimmy, you didn't."

He cast his eyes to the floor without saying anything. Both men sat silently for several minutes.

"I have to go back to the hospital, don't I?"

"I don't know. I think we can give it more time."

"How much time?"

"Couple days."

Wilson stared past his friend, a blank expression on his face. Slowly getting to his feet, House limped over to sit next to him. He reached his arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

Chapter 6

It was a little past eleven PM, the two friends sat in House's living room watching the post hockey game show. It had been a close contest ending with the Devils losing to Toronto in overtime. During the entire evening, House had kept an eye on his friend monitoring his behavior. Everything had gone well; Wilson was relaxed, enjoying the game, making jokes, snacking on popcorn and drinking pepsi. His drink of choice was actually beer, but House had given him such a hard time, he grudgingly gave up the idea. As a compromise, the older man abstained from drinking beer and stuck with iced tea.

"So, what do you think?" House asked, flipping the TV to the local news station as he lowered the volume.

"About?"

"Oh I don't know. Life."

Wilson tilted his head. "You're in a philosophical mood tonight."

"Happens."

He pointed to the glass of iced tea. "Lack of alcohol."

"That must be it," House said, quickly downing a Vicodin.

Wilson looked at him. "Drugs make up for it?"

"Drugs aren't always the answer."

His eyebrows went up. "Did I just hear you right?"

"What?"

"You live on drugs."

"That doesn't mean they're always the answer. Sometimes they're the question."

"That makes no sense," Wilson said, scrunching up his face.

"Makes perfect sense."

"Okay. I'll remember that the next time you try to stick me with one your needles."

House's face became serious. "I do that for your own benefit."

"I think it's more for your perverse enjoyment."

"Can't we both get something out of it?" the older man asked, smiling.

He laughed. "Let's go to bed."

House leaned into his cane and slowly stood. "You go ahead, I need to clean up some things in the kitchen."

By the time House came into the bedroom, Wilson was in bed lying on his back with his arms behind his head. "Took you long enough." House paused on his way to the bathroom, unsure of the other man's mood.

As he brushed his teeth he studied his reflection in the mirror, noting the weathered skin on his face, the scruffy three day growth, wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He leaned against the sink thinking about his friend in the other room and how quickly their relationship had changed over the past three days. Again he wondered if Wilson had allowed him to get closer because of his recent vulnerability or if it was something he had wanted all along. He couldn't deny that he was happy about it, but also couldn't enjoy the benefits as long as his friend was suffering from the after effects of his injury.

"Hey, I'm lonely out here."

He smiled as he switched off the bathroom light and limped into the bedroom.

"Nag," he said, placing the bottle of Vicodin on the night stand and carefully lowering himself to the bed.

"Did you just call me a nag?"

"It's a term of endearment."

"You mean like asshole?"

"Yeah, like that."

House reached up to switch off the lamp as he lay down on his back allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. The moonlight peeking through the cracks in the blinds was the only illumination in the room.

After a few minutes he felt the bed dip as Wilson slid closer to him. Shifting his eyes to the side he found his friend resting his head on his elbow watching him, smiling. House noticed how young he looked in the dimly lit room, the bruises and circles under his eyes concealed by the darkness. He reached up and gently brushed back the wisps of hair that fell onto his friend's forehead, continuing to slide his hand to the back of his head and pulling him down for a kiss. James was very willing, lifting his body partially onto the other man's as their lips came together.

Something was wrong. "Jimmy, wait...."

Wilson's kisses were forceful, even hurtful. House turned his face away. "Jimmy.....stop."

James climbed further on top of his friend claiming his mouth again, unmindful of his damaged right leg. Wincing, House hissed into his mouth from the pain. Grabbing his wrists and forcing them over his head, Wilson continued what could only be called his assault, biting the other man's mouth aggressively and working his way down to his throat. House tasted blood on his lips.

"Jimmy, stop now!" House yelled as he tried to toss him off, but was almost powerless from the stabbing pain in his right leg, the one his best friend was leaning on with his knee. He stopped struggling, lying still underneath him waiting for the opportunity to push him off. That moment came when James shifted his body, his knees now straddling House's legs.

Using all his energy, House sharply pulled his left leg up managing to forcibly knee his friend in the groin, grimacing as he felt his knee hit its target.

Wilson cried out in pain, falling onto his back. Rolling away from him he curled up on his side groaning. House hurriedly sat up, deciding it best not to turn on the light. He was familiar enough with his friend's erratic behavior to know that his outbursts usually subsided quickly. He reached over to the night stand and grabbed some tissues, holding them to his bleeding lip.

"Oh god." James covered his eyes as it dawned on him what he had just done to his best friend.

House placed his hand on his shoulder to console him. He shrugged it off.

"Jimmy...."

"Don't... Greg. Please...I...." He stopped talking.

House was at a loss. He never could have imagined being in a situation like this with anyone, let alone his best friend, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it. He thought about it. Maybe he had overreacted. No, he hadn't. But his biggest concern now was Jimmy, his closest friend who was struggling...had been struggling for days.... it now being abundantly clear that he was unable to control his actions. His heart went out to him as he watched him lying quietly on his side, his back to him. He decided to try again.

Moving closer, he placed his hand on his shoulder again. This time he allowed him to keep it there.

"I'm.... so...sorry," Wilson said, barely getting the sentence out, his voice hitching after each word.

"I know." House's voice was soft and reassuring.

Wilson rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, the moisture in his eyes shimmering in the narrow streams of moonlight. He wiped his face with his hand.

"I need to go back to the hospital," he said, his voice barely a whisper. It was almost as if he was talking to himself.

"We'll go in the morning," House said, squeezing his shoulder.

There was silence in the room for several minutes. Wilson sat up facing the other side of the bed. "I'll sleep in the spare bedroom," he said as he started to slide out of bed.

"No." House grabbed his shoulder again. "Don't...stay here with me."

He let out a small sob. "I can't even look at you."

"Jimmy, I'm telling you that it's okay. I want you to stay here with me tonight."

Without saying a word, Wilson lay back down on the bed, his back still to his friend.

House slid closer to him, gripping his arm and giving him a small tug, drawing him closer. He pulled the blanket up over both of them, resting his right arm across his friend's chest. James tentatively intertwined his fingers with House's, the tension slightly easing from his body as he felt the other man squeeze his hand in return.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep. House lay awake listening to him breathe as he slept.

Chapter 7

"When did Dr. Roth say he'd be here?" Wilson asked, rubbing his tired eyes. He had been in his hospital room for two hours and was growing restless.

"He had rounds...said he'd be here before noon," House said, lightly stroking his friend's hair. "You okay?"

Wilson looked up at the other doctor, his eyes automatically drawn to the bruise on his lip. He looked away.

"Stop doing this to yourself," House said, his voice low. "You have to let it go."

He slowly shook his head. "I wish I didn't remember."

House was relieved to see Cuddy walk into the room. She was smiling. He knew her well enough to realize it wasn't a real smile.

"Dr. Cuddy...nice to see you and your entourage," he said, eyeing her blouse. She ignored him.

"How're you doing?" she asked the patient, walking to the other side of the bed.

"I'm okay." Not very convincing, she thought.

"Dr. House." She greeted him with a small nod of her head. She turned her attention back towards Wilson. "The nurse will be in shortly to set up a line."

James glanced at his friend, then back to Cuddy. "Is that necessary?"

She looked a bit flustered. "Well... it is standard procedure with all admitted patients."

"I'll do it."

Surprised by the offer, she looked at House who was watching her from the other side of the bed, apparently ready to take her on if she objected.

"That's fine." She frowned. "What happened to your lip?"

"Wilson decked me. He really has a problem with my cooking."

Smirking, she glanced towards the other doctor expecting to see him in on whatever joke they shared. She was surprised to find him staring blankly towards the floor.

"I'll be in later to see how you're doing," she said. Wilson nodded absentmindedly not really hearing what she had said.

"Dr. House," she said, turning to leave. He gave her a small smile, noticing the apprehension in her eyes. When she reached the door, Nurse Jackson came in with the medical supplies for Wilson's IV.

"Just give everything to Dr. House. He'll set up the line." Nurse Jackson nodded curtly to Cuddy as she walked into the room.

As she handed the supplies to House, he smiled wickedly at her. "Wilson here is too sick to give me any...you interested? I'll buy you dinner first."

She responded by flashing him her standard professional doctor smile, which then morphed into her standard professional patient smile as she glanced over to Wilson.

"I spoke to Dr. Roth. He said he'd be here within half an hour."

"Thanks, Mary," Wilson said quietly.

House watched her walk out of the room. "She still scares me."

He got to work setting up the line. Even though he hadn't done it in many years, he worked proficiently, quickly finding a vein in the patient's hand and inserting the needle virtually without discomfort.

"Thanks," Wilson said as he leaned back against his pillow. He looked at his friend.

"Are you going to tell Dr. Roth?"

House could see the trepidation in his eyes. "No reason to. We'll tell him what he needs to know." He squeezed his hand. "It'll be okay."

Wilson smiled sadly, rubbing the back of his neck. He closed his eyes.

"Don't let me fall asleep."

"I'll wake you when Dr. Roth gets here."

"Okay, thanks." He fell asleep almost immediately.

He awoke to the sensation of pressure on his shoulder, his eyes fluttering open. "Jimmy."

Glancing to his side, he found House gently squeezing his shoulder. He blinked a few times, taking several seconds to focus his eyes on another man...a doctor....standing next to House.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor asked.

He frowned, peering up at his friend who was watching him.

"I'm...I'm okay." He slowly shook his head. "Who...."

He stopped talking as he saw the doctor exchange glances with House.

"Do you know who I am?"

He stared at him without answering.

"Dr. Wilson?"

"You're.... Dr. Roth," he said, his voice unsteady.

"You're not sure."

"No, I am. You're Dr. Roth."

The doctor furrowed his brow. He picked up the bed control, pushing the 'up' button. "I'm just gong to sit you up so I can examine you."

Wilson shifted to get more comfortable as the head of the bed slowly lifted. Dr. Roth retrieved a pen light from his pocket and shined it into his patient's eyes one at a time. He proceeded to conduct his standard neurological exam, testing for coordination, sensation and concentration, finishing with the usual questions.

"Can you tell me what year this is?"

"Two thousand five."

"Month?"

"April."

"Do you know where you are?"

"Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital."

"Who am I?"

"Dr. Roth."

"What's my first name?"

Wilson stared at the doctor, his eyes blinking.

"Do you remember my first name?"

He didn't reply.

"Dr. Wilson?"

"No."

"Alright. We're almost finished."

"Where did you sleep last night?" A momentary flash of anger flickered in Wilson's eyes. Dr. Roth saw it. He was trained to see it.

"Dr. Wilson, where did you sleep last night?"

"I slept at Dr. House's apartment," he said with impatience.

"Is something wrong?"

Wilson caught himself. "No. Are we done?"

"For the time being, yes." Dr. Roth started writing something on his chart, speaking as he wrote.

"I'm scheduling you for another MRI this afternoon. My colleague, Dr. Jensen, won't be able to see you today, but he'll be here tomorrow afternoon, which is actually better as we'll have the MRI results by then."

"I don't know him," Wilson said, his voice short. Dr. Roth stopped writing and looked at his patient.

"That's right, you haven't met him yet."

"Why do I need to see him?"

"Dr. Jensen is a neuropsychologist. He needs to evaluate you to determine and evaluate the presence of any impairment."

"Fine."

Dr. Roth put his chart under his arm. "How are your headaches?"

Wilson wanted the exam over. "I get headaches. You know that. I'm sure Dr. House has been feeding you information." He fired an angry glance towards his friend. House didn't react.

"Do you have one now?" Dr. Roth asked, his voice calming.

He sighed. "Yes." He didn't look at him.

"Okay, we'll take care of it." He smiled. "Thank you, Dr. Wilson. We'll talk again after we get the results of the MRI."

He didn't respond, glancing blankly at the doctor. Dr. Roth turned towards House, nodding as he left the room.

Wilson sighed again. "He is an idiot." He looked at his friend who was staring at him with a bemused expression on his face.

"What?"

House scratched his head. "I think this concussion is turning you into me." Wilson smiled, unable to hide the pain on his face.

"I'll get your medication," House said as he limped out of the room and towards the nurse's station. As he walked back to Wilson's room with the syringe, he stopped at the counter where Dr. Roth was writing his instructions.

"He's not like that," he said.

Dr. Roth looked up placing his pen back into the pocket of his lab coat. "I did notice some agitation and it's clear he has anger issues. That's atypical behavior for him?"

"Profoundly atypical."

Dr. Roth shook his head. "Sounds like classic PCS."

"What do you expect to see on an MRI?"

The neurologist shrugged. "Nothing really. But sometimes anomalies show up later. His initial MRI was clean so we have a baseline to compare it to."

House signed, nodding his head.

Retrieving his pen, Dr. Roth returned to writing his instructions whileHouse limped back to Wilson's room to administer the medication.

Chapter 8

House watched his friend push the food around his plate, not once taking a bite.

"Not hungry?"

"Your cooking actually sounds good right about now."

"It's that bad?"

"Here." He stabbed a piece of ...something... and held it out for House. "You tell me."

House put up his hand waving away the food. "I'll have Chase bring you a sandwich from the Carnegie Deli."

He shook his head. "I'm not very hungry anyway."

"How about some chicken soup? May clear up that concussion altogether."

Wilson smiled. "Okay. You get something too....we'll eat together."

House picked up the phone to page Chase, the phone ringing almost immediately after he hung up.

"You certainly have them well trained," Wilson said, rubbing his temples.

"They know who's king," the older man said, answering the phone. As he spoke to Chase, he kept his attention on his friend, concerned as he watched him continue to massage his temples, his head down.

Chase was still talking when House hung up on him. He quickly approached the bed. James had shifted onto his side covering his head with both arms, his eyes tightly closed.

"Jimmy, what's wrong?"

"Just leave me alone," he cried out. He started to pull at the IV needle inserted in the back of his hand.

"Jimmy!" House grabbed his wrists attempting to keep him from tearing out the IV.

"Just get away from me. I don't want your help!" he yelled, managing to push House away from him, the older man almost losing his balance. As he attempted to catch himself, House watched helplessly as he ripped the IV line from his hand. Blood streamed out from the resulting wound, dripping onto the blanket and pristine white linens. Finally getting his bearings, House pushed the nurses' call button.

"Someone get in here!" he yelled at the same time.

Dr. Foreman and Nurse Jackson came running into the room as House attempted to calm Wilson down as he struggled to get out of the bed.

"Please....no. Just leave me alone...." he screamed.

"Two milligrams Ativan...stat!" House barked.

Nurse Jackson ran out of the room to retrieve the medication while Foreman went to assist him.

"Wait," he said, shaking his head to stop Foreman.

James had stopped fighting. Turning onto his side, he lay quietly with his eyes squeezed shut, his breathing labored from exertion. House had a firm grip on his wrists.

After a few moments, he slowly released him.

When Nurse Jackson returned with the Ativan, he motioned for her to place the syringe on the bedside table and leave. She hesitated, but followed his orders.

"Are you in pain?" he asked as he lightly stroked Wilson's hair.

There was no response.

"Jimmy."

"No." His voice was weak.

House glanced up to find Foreman standing there looking bewildered.

"Get me something to clean this up." He turned his attention back to his friend. Wilson's eyes were open now, still laying on his side staring straight ahead, a vacant expression on his face. House remained silent as he gently stroked his friend's hair.

Within seconds Foreman was back with antiseptic wipes and towels. Handing them to House he looked at him questioningly.

"Stay here," he said quietly as he used the wipes to clean up Wilson's wound.

"He's going to need a few stitches," he said, as he examined the gash on his hand.

James rolled onto his back, glancing at Foreman but not acknowledging him. Lying quietly he peered up at his friend.

"What happened?" House asked softly.

"I just... I felt scared."

"Of what?"

He slowly shook his head. "I don't know." He glanced down and saw the blood that had stained his hospital gown, the blanket and sheets. Scrunching up his face he looked back up at House. "Am I bleeding?"

"You don't remember pulling out your IV?"

He shifted his eyes to his hand, which was now wrapped in a towel. "No," he said quietly.

House looked over to Foreman. "Page Dr. Roth."

Chapter 9

Dr. Roth reviewed the MRI results with House, Wilson and Foreman. House had requested Dr. Foreman be in attendance to observe.

As Dr. Roth spoke he looked at the light board. "There's some very slight swelling that didn't appear on the first MRI," he said, pointing to the affected area. He looked at Wilson.

"Is there any chance you hit your head again?"

He slowly shook his head. "No, I don't think so." He turned to House for help.

"I didn't see any evidence of that," House said turning his attention to Dr. Roth.

"You're thinking second impact syndrome," Foreman said.

"I was, but since Dr. Wilson hasn't experienced a second injury this could just be delayed swelling which does happen."

"So the swelling accounts for all my symptoms?"

"I'd say most of them. The others would be a result of the original blow to your head which would be consistent with PCS."

"So what now?" Wilson asked.

"The swelling is very minimal so we'll wait and see if it subsides. I'll schedule another MRI in a few days to check. If the swelling doesn't go down, surgery may be indicated, a bone flap removal to relieve pressure."

Pausing, he looked at his patient to see how he was taking the news. Interestingly, he appeared to be unaffected by the possibility of surgery.

Dr. Roth continued. "In the meantime we'll monitor you closely for any changes to your symptoms which, hopefully, will eventually taper off."

House glanced over to Foreman who nodded his head in agreement.

"Can I go home?"

Dr. Roth shook his head. "I'm afraid you can't, not as long as there's swelling. And I'm concerned about your panic attacks...."

"Attack." House interrupted. "He only had one."

"Correct, and we can always hope there won't be a recurrence, but I anticipate there will be. Fortunately, your episode was of very short duration and didn't require medication. The less meds we pump into you the better."

Dr. Roth scanned his patient's chart. "I guess that covers it for now." He looked at Wilson. "Do you have any more questions?"

He shook his head. He was tired. He just wanted to sleep.

"I'll check in with you later." Dr. Roth gathered the records and test results and turned to leave, signaling to House to follow him out.

House glanced over towards Wilson whose eyes were now closed. "I'll be right back," he said quietly to Foreman, as he limped out of the room.

Dr. Roth was waiting for him outside; they walked to the nurse's station together. Dropping Wilson's chart into the inbox, he looked at House. "I'm recommending the use of restraints."

"No."

Dr. Roth sighed. "Dr. House, no one wants that. But we can't keep him sedated all the time and he will have another panic attack. We can't have him tearing out his IV every time or risk other injury to himself."

"I'll be there with him."

Dr. Roth eyed the other doctor. "You won't always know when he's about to have an episode. And even if you do, do you honestly think it would be better for him if you physically hold him down yourself? You are aware that second impact syndrome is potentially fatal."

House remained silent, casting his eyes towards the floor.

"He won't need them all the time. If you notice that he's becoming agitated it would be in his best interest to put on the restraints."

"Why haven't you told him this?" He eyed the neurologist.

"Because there's no reason to. He may not even remember having them on afterwards. Use them as necessary. He doesn't need to know beforehand."

House sighed. "Alright," he said, hating himself for agreeing. He turned around and limped back to Wilson's room.

Chapter 10

Wilson watched as House slept soundly on the recliner Dr. Cuddy had ordered for him. As he studied the older doctor's face, he remembered how he had awakened him several times during the night to monitor his orientation, which meant he hadn't slept. It definitely showed. He was glad to see his best friend finally getting some sleep.

He turned his attention to the other side of the bed where Chase sat sprawled on a chair watching a soccer match on television. It had dawned on him that he hadn't been left alone since the panic attack. Dr. Roth had said he would probably have another one, a prospect he dreaded. He didn't remember very much about the attack, just that he had been terrified and apparently ripped out his IV, of which he had no recollection. Thus, the constant babysitters.

He looked up as Foreman walked into the room. "How're you doing?"

He shrugged. "Okay, I guess." He tilted his head towards House. "Better than him."

"I heard that." All three doctors turned towards the older man to find him stretching in his chair, yawning. Retrieving his cane from the side of the nightstand, he slowly leaned into it and dragged himself to his feet groaning loudly.

"Which one of you drugged me in my sleep?" he asked, his voice groggy as he quickly shook his head attempting to wake up. "Not that I'm complaining." He reached down to the nightstand and snatched up his bottle of Vicodin.

"How long was I out?" he asked Wilson as he downed a pill.

The other man glanced up at the clock. "About an hour and a half."

"That would explain the rigor mortis in my leg." He grimaced as he shifted his feet in an effort to get comfortable.

"I have a message from Dr. Roth," Foreman said, directing his attention to James. "Dr. Jensen won't be coming to see you today."

"Why the change in plans?" House asked.

"Jensen wants to wait to see what happens with the swelling before confirming a diagnosis of PCS."

"It's okay with me," Wilson said feeling relieved.

"Yeah, me too," House agreed. "Word on the street is he wears women's underwear. I don't think I can trust a man who wears a thong."

The sound of Dr. Cameron clearing her throat attracted the attention of all four doctors. They turned to find her standing in the doorway with her arms crossed in front of her.

"Stripper's here....the party can start now." House announced. "Can someone loan me a dollar?"

She scowled at her boss as she approached the bed, smiling warmly at Wilson. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Good, I'm good." He smiled back at her.

House narrowed his eyes. "Are you here to make nice with Wilson or are you here to strip? Because if you're here to make nice you can just go back to work."

"What about Foreman and Chase?" she asked, her hands on her hips.

House scrunched up his face. "I'm not particularly interested in watching Foreman get naked and Chase is just too darned shy. But thanks for asking."

She rolled her eyes. "Fortunately I have clinic duty." She looked at Wilson. "I'll see you later."

"Sure." He smiled as she left the room.

"What's this 'I'll see you later' stuff? You two have a date?"

"Yes, House, we do. She's coming to my room tonight to have sex with me in my bed."

House's eyes lit up. "Can I watch?"

Wilson smirked as he glanced up at the television. "How much longer will this be on?"

Chase shrugged. "I think it's almost over." He glanced at the clock as he motioned to his colleague. "Foreman, let's go... that workup won't finish itself." He looked at the patient. "We'll see you later." The two doctors quickly left the room.

Wilson clicked off the television. Closing his eyes, he settled back against his pillow. Just moments later House noticed his right hand quivering.

"Jimmy, are you okay?"

He didn't reply.

"Jimmy." His hand continued to shake, his face suddenly veiled with tension.

"Jimmy."

Still no response.

Moving closer to the bed, House lightly touched Wilson's arm, causing him to cry out, his eyes snapping open. He appeared to be highly distraught, his breathing accelerating and becoming shallow.

Not wanting to take any chances, House quickly leaned over the bed and secured the restraint around his friend's right wrist. As he took hold of his left wrist he felt James resisting.

"What are you doing?" The younger man was staring in shock at the leather strap in House's hand as he frantically tried to pull his hand away.

"No!" he cried out as he fought vehemently against his friend. Unable to free his hand he watched helplessly as House secured the restraint around his left wrist.

"Greg....." he pleaded, his voice breaking.

House's initial reaction was to unfasten the restraints. But he couldn't take the chance of him hurting himself. The potential cost of second impact syndrome was too high.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy." He spoke quietly, his eyes locked with his friend's in a battle of wills. His attention was drawn to Wilson's wrists, feeling powerless as he strained against the thick leather straps, his hands tightly clenched in fists.

"Take them off." Wilson's voice was hoarse as he fought with the restraints.

"Jimmy..."

"No! Take them off!" he shouted, anguish clear in his voice. "Why are you doing this?"

House slid a chair closer to the bed and sat down, reaching out to stroke his friend's hair in an effort to calm him.

"You tore out your IV."

"I won't do it again, I promise. Just take them off," he pleaded as he struggled against his confinement.

House shook his head. "You weren't even aware of it, Jimmy. I can't risk you hurting yourself again. Try to relax...don't fight it."

Wilson let out a strangled breath, tears welling in his eyes.

"What's happening to me?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

House continued to stroke his hair, gently taking hold of his forearm with his other hand. "You just need some time. Try to calm down."

The two men stared into each other's eyes. After several tense moments, House felt the churning in his stomach subside as he watched the panic slowly diminish from Wilson's face.

"Okay," James said softly resting his head against his pillow. Still scared and confused, he placed his trust in his best friend knowing he would never hurt or lie to him. He sighed quietly. "Okay," he said again, closing his eyes forcing the tears to overflow and run down his face.

Chapter 11

House sat on his recliner with his feet propped up on Wilson's bed eating a roast beef sandwich. He glanced over towards his friend who was sitting in bed with his legs crossed enjoying his turkey breast on rye with mayo. He was wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt House had brought for him from his apartment. The good luck coin the older man had given him years earlier when he was about to take his ABIM oncology certification exam was laying on the night stand.

House placed his sandwich on the paper plate, taking a drink of iced tea. He studied his friend.

"You want to talk about it?"

"No." Wilson kept his attention on his food.

House picked up his sandwich and took another bite, both men eating in silence for several minutes.

"I think we should talk about it."

Wilson sighed loudly. "It's not your call."

"This isn't only about you."

Wilson dropped his sandwich onto the paper plate and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You think something needs to be said."

"Don't you?"

Gathering up his half eaten sandwich along with the paper plate, napkin and unopened bag of potato chips, Wilson placed everything on the wheeled bed table. "You did what you thought was right."

"I didn't just think it was right.... It was right."

"Maybe from your perspective."

"Jimmy....."

Wilson glared at his friend. "I thought we weren't going to talk about this."

"Obviously, we need to."

"Why? It's done," he said, absentmindedly tearing apart the napkin he had just placed on the bed table.

"Because it could happen again. And because it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do."

"I know it was," Wilson said sighing. He gathered up the pieces of paper he had just torn apart and tossed them into the trash can.

"You know and you're still pissed at me?"

The younger man raised his voice. "I'm not....." He stopped talking and took a breath to calm himself down. He stared at his friend. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to do that to me?"

House looked away for a few moments. He dropped his left leg to the floor and used his hands to lower his right leg, shifting in the chair to get comfortable. He looked at the other man.

"Dr. Roth felt...."

"You discussed this with Roth?"

"Yes...he's your doctor."

Wilson's face grew tense, his eyes narrowing as he cast them downward towards the bed. "You discussed this with Roth, but not with me." He looked back up at his friend. "Did you think I couldn't handle it?"

"No, that's not it."

"Then why didn't you talk to me?"

House shrugged, shaking his head as if he had no answer to that question. "I listened to Roth. He told me he was certain you'd have another episode and that when you did, it would safer for you if I used.... those." He pointed to the restraints now lying open on either side of the bed. He said there wasn't any reason to tell you beforehand, that you probably wouldn't remember."

Sighing, Wilson shifted his eyes up towards the ceiling. "Why is it I seem to remember all the wrong things?"

"I know I didn't use the best judgment."

Wilson looked surprised. "You're actually admitting it?"

"I'm new at this."

He shook his head, eyeing his friend questioningly. "New at what?"

"Usually I don't give a damn. But this...this is totally different.... I can't be objective when it's you."

Wilson looked directly into his friend's intense blue eyes. "Would you do it again?"

"Yes."

"What if I asked you not to?" the oncologist asked, his eyes again cast downward.

"I'd do it anyway."

Wilson angrily shifted his eyes back towards the other man, raising his voice. "Look, Greg, I'm telling you that I don't want....."

"Jimmy, listen to me. I can't take the chance of you hurting yourself. You know the potential risks of second impact syndrome. I couldn't live with myself if....." His voice trailed off as he leaned back in his chair, quickly averting his eyes.

"You don't know what it was like for me," Wilson said, his voice almost a whisper.

"I do know."

"How could you?"

House looked at his friend. "Because I know you."

Turning his head away, Wilson leaned back against his pillow and closed his eyes. He heard the familiar rattling sound of House's Vicodin bottle as he retrieved it from his pocket and dry swallowed a pill.

After several minutes of silence, he sat up and glanced over towards House who was resting his head against the back of the recliner, peering up at the ceiling. He grabbed the remote from the night stand, hesitating as he spotted his lucky coin. Picking it up, he placed it in the drawer and clicked on the television.

"So what do you want to watch?"

Chapter 12

Wilson picked up the remote and clicked off the television.

"Hey, I was watching that."

"You were sleeping."

"No...I was watching television."

"So what was on?"

"Crap."

The younger man raised an eyebrow. "Okay. I guess you were watching."

House smiled as he pushed down the lever on the side of the chair to adjust it upright. Sitting up, he yawned, quickly swallowing a Vicodin.

"I think you should go home," Wilson said, noting how tired he looked.

"And I think Carmen Electra should do me, but it's not gonna happen."

Wilson smirked, leaning back against his pillow checking out the pattern in the ceiling tile. After several minutes of silence he rolled his head towards House.

"What do you think it would be like?'

"Carmen Electra doing me? Nice."

"No. You and me."

"You and me as in......"

"Having sex."

"What makes you think we haven't already?"

"As messed up as I am, I'm pretty sure I'd remember that."

House smiled in appreciation of his friend's logic.

Wilson eyed the recliner. "That was really nice of Cuddy to order that chair for you."

"Yep. Remind me to give her a big old hug and a French kiss the next time I see her."

"There's room for two on that thing," Wilson said tilting his head one way and then the other as he examined the chair.

House surveyed the chair underneath him. "Just barely."

"That's what's so fun about it. How 'bout I come over there and join you," the oncologist said, his eyes sparkling.

"How 'bout you don't."

"Would you say no if I was Carmen Electra?"

"Nope."

"And why not?"

"Because Carmen Electra doesn't have a concussion."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Fifteen minutes."

"Five."

"Ten."

"Eight."

"Deal."

Smiling at his victory, Wilson slid out of bed and walked the three steps it took to reach the recliner.

With some difficulty House shifted over to make room for his friend. He looked up to find him still standing, staring towards the door.

"What?"

"What if Mary comes in?"

"Mary?"

"Nurse Jackson."

"There's isn't any room for her." He glanced over towards the bed. "We might be able to squeeze her in on the bed."

Wilson placed his hands on his hips. "We can't let her see us."

"Why? Will her eyes melt right out of their sockets?"

"Because she's the biggest gossip in the hospital."

"Okay, so I'll make something up," House said scratching his head.

"Like what?"

The older doctor thought a moment. "I'll tell her I'm taking your temperature."

"Yeah, like that's going to work."

"Why not? There are many ways to take a person's temperature."

"Won't work, House," he said shaking his head.

House rolled his eyes. "Okay. I'll tell her we're having sex."

"What? Are you kidding?"

"But the thing is, we won't be having sex. I'll be making it up." He furrowed his brow. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"

"I'm confused," Wilson said, scrunching up his face.

"It doesn't matter anyway. Time's up. Back to bed."

"House."

"We had a deal. Eight minutes," the older man said, as he pointed to the large clock on the wall.

Wilson looked up at the clock and noted the time. "It hasn't even been five minutes."

"I gave you a four minute penalty for keeping me waiting."

"Fine." He walked back to the bed and dropped down onto the edge, appearing dejected.

House looked at him and smiled. "I love it when you pout."

"I'm not pouting. How much do you love it?"

House laughed as he retrieved his cane from the side of the chair, placing all his weight onto it as he carefully stood. He limped the three steps it took to get to the bed, slowly sitting down on the edge next to his friend. Leaning over he lightly kissed the other man on the lips.

Wilson grinned.

"What're you so happy about?"

"It worked."

"What worked?"

"My plan to get you into my bed."

House's mouth fell open. "So...this whole thing was a trick just to get me over here?"

"Yep."

"I have a wacky idea. Couldn't you just have asked me?"

"You would've said no," Wilson said, lightly running his hand up and down his friend's arm.

"And you know this because....."

"Because you're a pain in the ass."

He cocked his head. "You're not as confused as I thought."

Smiling, Wilson leaned into the other man kissing him again, this time lingering as he slid his tongue along his mouth, slipping it between his parted lips, forgetting everything else.

Chapter 13

House gently shook Wilson by his shoulders. "Jimmy, wake up." The younger man rolled onto his stomach towards the other direction.

"Go 'way," he mumbled into his pillow.

"Jimmy, you need to wake up," Gently rubbing his back, House's hand gravitated to his upper arm, lightly squeezing it.

"I don't want to."

"You have to."

"Go 'way."

"Don't make me slap you."

Wilson's head popped up. Groaning, he rolled over onto his back, his eyes still closed. "You're a mean son of a bitch."

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it," he said, his eyes still closed. He yawned. "What are you doing here in the middle of the night? Did Julie let you in?"

House's stomach lurched. "What?"

"Where is she?" he asked, slowly opening his eyes, blinking against the light in the room.

"Where's who?"

"Julie. Where is she?' His eyes were squinting as they slowly adjusted to the light.

"Jimmy, do you know where you are?"

Wilson blinked a few times as he attempted to focus on his friend's face. "I'm sorry...what?"

"Do you know where you are?"

Rubbing his eyes he slowly raised himself up onto his elbows. "Is this a joke?" he asked, his voice groggy.

"No."

"What time is it?"

"Jimmy, you need to focus." House grabbed him by his upper arm and pulled him up to a sitting position.

"Ouch." He rubbed his arm. "Jesus, House, are you trying to break my arm?"

"Tell me where you are," House ordered, his voice sharp.

He scrunched up his face. "Why are you so mad?"

Sighing, House tried again. "Listen to me, Jimmy. Look around the room and tell me where you are."

"Okay, okay," he said, looking around the room, "but you still didn't tell me where Julie...." He stopped talking as it finally dawned on him. His eyes opened wide. "Hospital?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

He started to panic. "I'm not sure. Did something happen to Julie?"

"No, nothing's happened to her."

House was on the verge of panic himself. His mind was on overdrive as he furiously thought of the best way to handle this. He wasn't sure whether his friend was confused as he often tended to be upon waking or if he was suffering from retrograde amnesia, a delayed symptom of his concussion. It would be too traumatic to come right out and tell the other man everything that had occurred. He had to do it slowly, allowing him time to remember.

He took a deep breath. "You have a concussion. Sometimes you're a bit confused when you wake up. So, let's just talk a while and see what comes back to you."

"I have a concussion?"

Casting his eyes to the floor, House tried to gather his thoughts. He stared at his friend. "What month is this?"

"What?"

"Tell me what month this is."

"It's.... " Wilson laughed nervously. "That's just plain weird. I'm not sure what month this is." He looked at his friend for help.

"That's because of your injury."

"My injury."

"Don't you remember?"

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to remember what House could possibly be talking about. "Just give me a few minutes." He opened his eyes. "Maybe Julie can help me remember. Is she here?" he asked, looking past House towards the glass walls.

House slowly shook his head. There had been instances when his friend awoke with no issues at all, and then there were the other times when it took him a few minutes to orient himself. But this was the most severe and unsettling state of confusion he had seen him experience so far.

Wilson rubbed his eyes again. "I'm really tired. I just need to lie down for a minute." Curling up on his side, he rested his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. "Wake me when Julie gets here," he said as he dozed off.

House pulled the blanket up over his friend and watched him sleep. It was late, twelve-thirty in the morning, but he needed to page Dr. Roth. It would be bad enough if Wilson's disorientation had worsened, but it would be devastating if he had developed retrograde amnesia. He hadn't seen this coming.

He pushed the nurse's call button, impatiently waiting for a response.

"Can I help you?" the efficient sounding voice came over the speaker.

"Yes, this is Dr. House, can you please bring in Dr. Wilson's chart?"

"Of course, Doctor."

House squeezed Wilson's hand as he watched him sleep. He dropped his head to his chest and took a deep sobering breath. If his friend was suffering from retrograde amnesia, it would mean that everything they had shared these past few days had essentially never happened.... at least for Wilson. And if that were true, it would also mean he had just lost the only part of his life that truly made him happy.

He heard the night nurse come into the room. Turning to face her, he accepted Wilson's chart nodding briefly in acknowledgement. As he read Dr. Roth's instructions he spoke to the nurse.

"I need you page Dr....." He stopped talking, wrinkling up his face.

He looked at the nurse. "What medication did you give Dr. Wilson at ten pm?

House's tone unsettled the young woman. "He told me he had a headache so I gave him what Dr. Roth had instructed on his chart."

"Is this what you gave him?" House showed her the chart, pointing to her notes.

She looked at her handwriting. "Yes, I gave him Indocin."

House shook his head. "That's not what Dr. Roth had instructed. He ordered Midrin for Dr. Wilson's headaches." House showed her the chart again.

Glancing at the instructions, the nurse's face blanched. She looked at House. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. I don't know how I could've made such a mistake."

House was angry that the night nurse had dosed his friend with the wrong medication. But he was more relieved than angry, knowing that one of the potential side effects of Indocin was intense confusion, especially in someone with a concussion. It also meant that when the drug wore off, he would have Wilson back in the same condition he had left him the night before.

He looked at the young woman noting the fear on her face.

"Fix it," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"Change the chart and initial it. If anyone questions you just say you wrote down the wrong medication."

She looked at him, her face distorted in a mask of bewilderment. "You want me to change it?"

He sighed. "You made a mistake. The potential fallout of any mistake can be disastrous. In this case, you were lucky. First, because Dr. Wilson will recover from your idiotic blunder. Second, because I was the one who found it. And I can say with confidence that you'll never screw up like this again." He handed her back the chart.

"Thank you, Doctor...thank you so much." The extent of her relief was obvious.

House turned around towards his friend, effectively dismissing her. After she left the room, he took Wilson's hand in his and watched him sleep.

Chapter 14

House leaned back in the recliner fascinated by the show Wilson presented as he ate his breakfast. The young oncologist sat cross legged on the bed treating each food item as if it had been tainted with some kind of mysterious...and foul...food additive. In truth, he was more bellyaching than eating. He snapped off the plastic lid from the bowl on his tray, immediately making a face as he peered inside. Carefully picking up the bowl, he brought it up to his nose and sniffed its contents, wrinkling up his face.

"Do you always smell your food before you eat it?"

"I do when I'm not sure it's food."

"This isn't room service at the Waldorf. Eat the damned....whatever it is," House said pointing in the general direction of the tray.

"It's supposed to be oatmeal."

"So, eat the damned oatmeal."

Wilson looked at his friend, exasperation on his face. "It looks terrible."

"So, close your eyes and eat the damned oatmeal."

He placed the lid back onto the bowl pushing it away. "Call Chase and tell him to bring me...us...something from the Carnegie Deli."

"Already did. He should be here in about half an hour."

Wilson smiled appreciatively at his friend. "I guess I can drink this...coffee?" he said, peering into the cup before bringing it to his lips. "I need the caffeine."

"You tired?"

"Didn't sleep very well."

House eyed his friend. "Do you remember me waking you last night?"

He shrugged, shaking his head as he studied his coffee. "The nights are one big blur...you wake me up.... you ask me what month it is...or where I am....or who my doctor is....whatever, and then I go back to sleep. Last night was no different, I'm sure." He took another sip of the coffee, making another face.

"Do you have to make a face every time you take a sip?"

"I have no control over it."

House smirked. "Last night was different."

Wilson looked up from his coffee. "Really? How?"

"Well if I must tell you, we had sex in your bed. Then I asked you questions."

"Oh yeah, I remember now," he said, his eyes inexpressive. He turned his attention back to the strange brown liquid in his cup.

House's eyebrow went up. "That's all you have to say?"

"Oh, sorry. You're the best I ever had. How was that?" he asked, tilting his head questioningly.

"It's a start," House said, smiling at his friend.

Wilson had been slightly disoriented when House had awakened him that morning, but, fortunately, he appeared to have suffered no after effects from the mix up in his medication. The older man recalled how panicked he had felt when his friend had demonstrated signs of retrograde amnesia.

"Something wrong?"

"Hmm?" House looked up, unaware that he had been staring at the floor.

"You look like something's upsetting you." He glanced down at the food on his tray. "I'm the one who should be upset."

"Uh....no. Just need these," House said, retrieving his Vicodin bottle from his jacket pocket and quickly downing a pill. He smiled at the other man. "All better."

House grabbed his cane, leaning into it to stand. He limped over to the bed, efficiently snatching a piece of toast from Wilson's tray. As he took a bite he glanced down at the nightstand and frowned, reaching down and moving the phone with his free hand, continuing to lift items off the table one by one.

"Not necessary to clean up after me...they have people who do that."

House scratched his head still concentrating on the table. "Where's your coin?"

"I put it in the drawer."

"Why?" he asked, opening the drawer and retrieving the coin, rolling it around in his fingers, examining it.

"It's not working anymore."

"Well, you know how these lucky coins are. You half melt them....they lose all their magical powers." He looked at his friend. "Why do you say it's stopped working?"

"You have to ask me that?"

He shrugged. "You still have me."

"That's encouraging." Wilson thought a moment, resting his elbow on the bed table and staring past his friend. "I know the coin melted in the accident, but I don't remember how it ended up in my possession again."

House put the coin down and carefully sank down on the edge of the bed, quickly abducting the glass of orange juice on his friend's tray. He held it as he spoke. "You told me you went to the accident site. You don't remember?"

He slowly shook his head. "No."

"Maybe it'll come back to you if we talk about it."

Taking a sip of the orange juice, House instinctively made a very similar face to the one Wilson had earlier. He put the glass back onto the tray.

He turned his attention back towards the coin, addressing it. "So, I guess you're being retired." He looked up at his colleague. "What do you do with a retired good luck coin? Bury it?" Cocking his head, he went on about the good luck coin. "It does have sentimental value though.... the fact that it came from me...."

"I think I fell," Wilson said, wrinkling up his forehead.

House turned to his friend to find him resting both elbows on the bed table, his chin supported by his hands. "You didn't fall. You were whacked on the head... knocked unconscious."

Wilson lifted his head. "No, when I went to the accident site...something happened."

"What do you mean 'something happened'?"

"I remember going down...falling. And then the next thing I knew I was sitting on the curb with the coin in my hand."

House grew concerned. "Do you think you passed out?"

He slowly shook his head. "Don't think so. I probably just didn't see the curb." He squinted his eyes. "Maybe I hit my head."

"That would explain the swelling."

"And it could also mean that some of my symptoms are a result of the fall, not from the original injury." He spoke slowly, unraveling the scenario as he spoke.

House looked impressed. "Very good. You'll be back playing with your little bald headed people in no time."

Wilson's expression turned somber as he pushed the wheeled bed table away and leaned back against his pillow. He rubbed the back of his neck.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me," House said, placing his hand on Wilson's leg.

"I'm worried about going back to work....that I won't be able to..." His voice trailed off as he peered into his friend's eyes searching for reassurance.

House sighed. "You need to give it more time."

He cast his eyes towards the floor. "I'm not so sure that's all I need," he said quietly. He looked back into his House's eyes. "The two most important things in my life are you and my job. And as important as you are, you're not enough."

House lightly rubbed his friend's leg. "Jimmy, you're doing much better and you'll continue to improve. Trust me." He reached over and picked up the coin from the night stand. "In the meantime, don't write this off yet," he said, handing it to him.

The younger doctor smiled sadly as he took the coin from his friend. "Maybe it still does have magical powers. After all, it did come from you."

Chapter 15

Wilson massaged his temples, his face wrinkled up in pain. Carefully stretching out his legs he leaned back against his pillow and closed his eyes.

House limped over to him and touched his hand. "Headache?"

He nodded slowly. "When are these going to stop?"

House pressed the nurses' call button, using his other hand to gently stroke his friend's hair as he lay with his eyes closed.

"May I help you?"

"Yes, Dr. Wilson has a headache. Can you bring in two Midrin?"

"Yes, Doctor."

Wilson opened his eyes painfully. "Thanks," he said quietly.

A few minutes later Nurse Jackson entered the room with a small plastic cup containing two capsules. House poured some water into the plastic drinking cup, watching as she approached the bed.

"Here are your pills, Dr. Wilson."

"Can I see those please?"

Both Nurse Jackson and Wilson looked at House with puzzled expressions.

"Of course," the nurse said holding out the plastic cup for House to see.

Quickly inspecting its contents, he handed his friend the cup of water.

"Here's some water," he said, nodding at Nurse Jackson giving her his permission to administer the medication. Handing the plastic cup to the patient, she turned and left the room without waiting to see if he took the pills.

Wilson looked at his friend. "What was that about?" he asked, swallowing the capsules.

"Just being safe. Thousands of people die each year due to hospital personnel screwing up medication."

"Yeah, like that's going to happen," Wilson said, placing the cup on the bed table.

House lightly brushed his arm. "You want to sleep?"

"No. Just need to close my eyes until the pills take the edge off," he said as he laid his head back on the pillow.

House continued to lightly brush his fingers up and down his friend's arm, bringing his hand up to run his fingers through his hair and down his arm again. Wilson opened one eye peering up at his friend.

"You're doing this now while I have a headache?"

He shrugged. "It's the only time I can do it without you trying to take advantage of me."

"You keep doing that and damn the headache," the younger man said, closing his eye again.

"Stop, you're making me tingle all over."

Wilson smiled as he lay with his eyes closed.

Limping to his recliner, House rested his cane against the side and slid down into the seat, retrieving a copy of Motorcycle Magazine from the night stand. He settled back to do some reading.

Half an hour later, Chase walked into the room carrying a bag of food from the Carnegie Deli.

"How's he doing?" he asked quietly, assuming that he was sleeping.

"I'm fine," Wilson answered with eyes still closed, startling Chase.

"Brought you some breakfast."

He opened his eyes and slowly sat up, crossing his legs into his favorite position.

"How's the headache?" House asked, removing the food from the bag and placing it on the wheeled bed table.

"Floating around but not nearly as bad as it was."

"Good. Eat," he said, glancing over to find Chase still standing there. Frowning, he surveyed the food he had just taken out of the bag. "There's only enough for two here."

Chase looked at him with a blank expression. "It was twelve dollars."

"For two bagels with cream cheese and two coffees? Are the bagels diamond studded?"

Chase shrugged.

"Wilson, where's your wallet?" House asked, removing the lid from his cup and taking a sip of the hot coffee. "Good," he said, savoring the taste.

About to take a bite of his bagel, the young oncologist sighed. "It was in the Volvo," he said quickly taking a bite.

"Oh, yeah..forgot." House looked at the intensivist. "I'll catch you later."

"Yeah, sure," Chase said as he left the room. "Enjoy your breakfast."

"He doesn't think you're going to pay him," Wilson said taking a sip of his coffee.

"He's right. You are."

The younger man couldn't help from laughing. He was feeling better, House noted.

After they ate, House placed everything into the bag and tossed it into the trash can.

"What do you want to do now?" Wilson asked, absentmindedly playing with his good luck coin.

"What do you feel like doing?"

He eyed his friend. "I feel a lot better."

"Good to know."

"Come over here and sit by me."

"I love when you take control," House said, smiling as he limped over to the bed and sat down next to his friend. He glanced up at the clock.

Wilson scowled. "What...you have a date or something?"

"No, but you do."

"I have a date?"

"With an MRI machine in about ten minutes."

"Fuck."

"Ooh, talk dirty some more."

Leaning forward, Wilson grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, lightly kissing him on the lips. "Hmm...cinnamon raison, he murmured against the older man's mouth. "Tastes good."

At that moment Nurse Jackson popped her head in, placing her hands on her hips. She cleared her throat.

Both men jumped. "I was just taking Dr. Wilson's temperature," House said, wiping his mouth.

"Uh huh. They're coming to take you down in five minutes," she said, smirking as she turned to leave.

"I told you she wouldn't believe that."

"You're the one who was picking bagel bits out of my teeth."

Wilson frowned. "That's just disgusting."

"In a kinky kind of way."

He leaned back against his pillow. "When is Dr. Roth coming back?"

"After he gets the results of the MRI," House said as he retrieved his cane from the side of the bed and stood. "He wants to give you another exam. Depending on that and the MRI results, he may or may not call in the neuropsychologist."

"Dr. Jensen?"

"Right. Dr. Thong."

1111111111111111111111111111111

House sat in his recliner as Roth finished his examination of Wilson, watching as the neurologist jotted down some notes in the patient's chart. The doctor looked up, obviously pleased.

"Well, you did great... I see a lot of improvement. That and the fact that the swelling has subsided means I'll be releasing you tomorrow."

House watched as the look of relief came over his friend's face, both men briefly making eye contact.

"When can I resume my normal activities?"

Dr. Roth closed the chart. "I don't see any reason why you can't go back to work on a limited basis. I wouldn't be making any major decisions for a while; you should take your time getting up to speed with your cases. Avoid as much stress as possible. You'll know when you're ready to take on a full load, but make sure you don't do too much too soon."

The neurologist continued with his lecture. "As far as sports, I'd prefer you wait at least a few months before you engage in any athletic activity where you can potentially injure yourself. You may not be as lucky this time. The fact that you've experienced second impact syndrome with resultant swelling, and that you're recovering without surgical intervention means someone...or something... has been watching over you."

House noted Wilson glancing at his partially melted good luck coin laying on the night stand.

"No restrictions on diet, of course," Dr. Roth went on. He opened Wilson's chart and scanned it. "I'll prescribe Percocet for your headaches. And as for sex...." He hesitated, glancing over towards House.

"It's okay... he's my social director," Wilson said. House smiled.

"Well, then as I was saying, you may engage in sexual activity but no swinging from the chandeliers." He chuckled at his own joke.

"What about ceiling fans?" House asked.

Wilson rolled his eyes. Dr. Roth smiled stiffly. He looked at his patient. "I'd like to see you in my office in one week." Wilson nodded.

"Any questions?"

"Nope."

"Good, I'll see you tomorrow." He briefly made eye contact with each man as he walked out of the room.

House watched him leave. "I was wrong about him. He's not an idiot."

"But?"

"He has no sense of humor. Hard to trust a man with no sense of humor."

"Doesn't make him a bad doctor."

"True." He limped over to the bed and sat on the edge. "So, I get to take my boy toy home and really get to play with him now."

"Why wait?" Wilson said, his dark eyes shimmering.

"You want to risk Nurse Gossip walking in on us again? You do work here you know."

"So do you."

He grinned. "I don't care if she thinks I'm sleeping with my mother. It's you I'm thinking about."

Wilson closed his eyes shaking his head. "Thank you for putting that image into my head. You've managed to effectively spoil the mood."

House smiled, leaning in to kiss his friend gently, running his tongue teasingly along his mouth. "Just wait 'til I get you home," he murmured, sliding his tongue between Wilson's welcoming lips.

End.
Please post a comment on this story.

Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of Fox Television, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.

The House Fan Fiction Archive

Recovery