House frowned, leaning against the wall as he watched Wilson bend over a clinic chart, peering down at it.
Wilson stood, turning towards him.
He saw House standing there and turned around, going to take the stairs instead of the elevator.
House sighed, watching him go.
A few days later, Cuddy came into House's office, holding a sheet of paper.
"Can you read this?" she asked, handing it to him.
He rolled his eyes.
"You know full well my vision's been fuzzy ever since--"
"Just look at it."
House looked at it.
The odd thing was, he could read it. Because it was huge type—bigger than he printed things these days. It was about some cancer trial.
"Yeah..."
"I saw Wilson *peering* over that earlier."
House looked at her.
"You think something's up with his vision?"
She nodded.
"I was noticing that myself, but I couldn't tell if I was seeing it right... what do you want me to do about it? He won't even look at me, I can't get him to spill...."
Cuddy sighed, sitting down in the chair across from him.
"I'm sorry, it was just habit..."
He shrugged.
Just because Wilson wasn't speaking to him didn't mean *he* didn't still consider the younger doctor a friend.
"I don't mind, but what do you want me to do?"
Cuddy looked at him.
"I... I don't know."
House smirked.
"I think I've got an idea."
Cuddy tilted her head, not liking the tone of his voice.
"What?" she asked, cautiously.
He just grinned evilly.
"Wilson!"
Wilson glanced over his shoulder, but didn't stop walking or respond.
"Hey, moron, just 'cause you're not speaking to me personally doesn't mean you can blow me off as head of diagnostics!"
Wilson sighed, stopping and turning to wait for House.
House caught up, finally, and handed him a chest x-ray and a file.
"I think it's probably a carcinoma, but I can't tell for sure, I can't see it clearly enough. And the file, I think might be lymphoma, but I need an oncologist's opinion."
Wilson held the scans up to the ceiling light, frowning at them.
"Hang on, I need to look at these on a light box."
House nodded, following him into a nearby exam room.
Wilson snapped the x-ray up to the white box, peering closely at it.
He stood there for at least a minute, before making a small, frustrated sound in the back of his throat, and looking back at House.
"Let me see the file." House would have printed it big enough for himself to read, so Wilson would at least have a chance of reading it. God, he really needed glasses.
He frowned. It was printed at normal type size.
He looked at House.
House was looking at him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, mouth set.
Crap. This had been a setup.
"I know you don't want to have anything to do with me anymore, but that doesn't mean I'm giving up on you. You're getting an eye exam. Right now. And then you're getting an MRI. If that's clear, I'll leave you alone. But your vision's been deteriorating steadily for the past month, and that's not a good thing. So like it or not, you're getting checked out. Only choice you've got is whether or not you're restrained for the eye exam and drugged for the MRI."
Wilson sighed, leaning against the wall.
"Cameron."
Cameron looked up, blinking.
"Yes?"
"Need you."
She got up, following House out the door of the emergency medicine lounge. House had asked her once or twice before to look at something he needed someone with actual diagnostic experience's opinion on when Foreman was busy, and she had decided privately that she wasn't going to turn him away—he had enough pride issues with asking for help that she didn't want to make it any harder for him than it already was.
She blinked, however, when they entered the eye lab, and she saw Wilson sitting miserably on a chair.
She looked between the two.
House shook his head, "His vision has been steadily deteriorating over the last month. He needs a full eye check, and an MRI. My team is busy with the patient, and I can't do either of those things."
Cameron hesitated, looking at Wilson.
He nodded—it was ok.
She nodded to him, then to House, and sat down at the vision test station.
Wilson came over and sat on the other side of the machine, placing his chin on the rest.
House left the room—he didn't like being around Wilson like this. Cameron didn't comment on the fact he was going.
Half an hour later, House shoved his pager in Cuddy's face.
"Says go to the MRI room," she said calmly—this was routine, now.
"Whatever," which meant thank you.
House limped away.
House sat down next to Cameron, peering at the screen.
She waited.
"I give up. What's on there?" he asked, after a few long moments.
"Tumor. Optic chasm, extending down the optic tracts."
House swore quietly.
"Any hypothalamic involvement?"
"None."
He sighed, sitting back in the chair.
"You ok with telling him?" he asked after a while.
"I'd really rather not."
House looked at her.
She sighed.
"I know. I'll tell Chase, he tells Wilson?"
House shrugged, but Cameron knew he was ok with it.
She stood, gripping him briefly on the shoulder.
"I'm sorry."
"Whatever."
She left to find Chase.
"Cameron?" asked Wilson, from inside the MRI, "You gonna let me out of this thing?"
"Cam left." said House, sighing.
Silence.
"Did you find anything."
"Did the half-blind guy find anything on the visual scan? Uh, what do you think?"
"I meant...."
"You don't want to hear it from me."
another long silence.
"So there's something."
"Just... shut up. You don't want to hear it from me."
"Then how am I gonna hear it?"
"Cameron went to get Chase."
A third silence.
"Then... I'm guessing it's cancer."
"Dammit Wilson, stop pushing, you don't want to hear it from me!" snapped House, pushing the button to slide the table out of the machine and limping quickly out of the room.
Wilson, still lying on the table despite it being out of the machine, took a deep breath, biting his lower lip. He was angry. But.... House had been his best friend for well over ten years. Pushing him away like this was hard.
"Dr. Wilson?" asked Chase's voice, as the young doctor entered the MRI room, "Why are you still on the table?"
Wilson sat up, "Sorry Chase. I was... thinking. What did they find?"
"Ask House."
Wilson blinked.
"I did. He told me I didn't want to hear it from him. Three times."
"Then tell him that you do want to hear it from him. I'm not telling you. This is stupid. He risked his life and ended up with permanent health problems trying to save amber. He never did anything wrong. I'm not enabling you to keep ruining his life."
Chase walked out the door.
Wilson stared after him, blinking.
"House?" asked Wilson, tentatively, pushing open the balcony door.
House turned towards him immediately, a hopeful expression on his face.
"Chase won't tell me what's on the MRI."
A silence.
"Oh."
....
....
"There's a tumor at the optic nerve chasm. No hypothalamic involvement, at least according to Cameron."
Wilson sat down, shaking.
"Are you... ok?" asked House, hesitantly.
"Leave me the hell alone!" yelled Wilson.
House stood up, leaving.
Wilson sniffed, head in his hands.
House stood, just outside the door to his office, watching Wilson cry and cry and cry.
He kept reaching for the door handle, but his hand wouldn't touch it. He knew how Wilson would react.
Cuddy stood, just peeking around the corner, watching House reach again and again for the handle, never touching it.
It was heart-wrenching to watch, how much he was hurting.
Cameron stood, partway down the hall, watching Cuddy hold her hands to her mouth, sad and worried for House.
She hoped House would manage to open up to Cuddy, in Wilson's absence, for his own state of mind, if nothing else.
Chase stood at the corner, watching Cameron peek around the corner, wondering what she was going to do to help House.
He hoped she didn't try any matchmaking, that was doomed to fail.
Foreman stood at the vending machine partway down the hall, watching Chase stand, obviously worried.
He sipped his coffee, wondering what, if anything, Chase was planning.
Thirteen stood at the corner, waiting for Foreman to go forward—she hadn't been in the office yet today, but Foreman had told her what was going on with Wilson.
She hoped Wilson didn't stay mad at House for much longer, it had already been two months.
Taub stood partway down the hall, yawning, as he waited for Thirteen to head towards the diagnostics office.
He wished he had brought a book.
Kutner stood at the corner, tilting his head as he watched Taub waiting.
He jumped, as he was nearly knocked over, and turned around.
"Uh... House? Are you ok?"
House rolled his eyes, climbing back to his feet, "Didn't see you. What are you doing standing in the middle of the hall, anyway?"
"Uh, watching Taub."
House looked past him at the hazy figure a few yards away.
"What's Taub doing?"
"Watching Thirteen, who's watching Foreman, who's watching Chase, who's watching Cameron, who's watching Cuddy, who was watching you, because you were watching Wilson and she's worried about you."
House snorted.
"Great. Glad you're all being so useful. How about you go talk to Wilson instead?"
Kutner blinked.
"Me?" he asked, pointing to himself.
"Do you see another overly-optimistic dork standing around here somewhere?"
"Why me?"
"Because you're an overly-optimistic dork and Wilson's a completely depressed dork, and maybe you'll cancel each other out, now go."
Kutner nodded, hurrying into the office.
House sighed, watching him go and rubbing his forehead. He was getting a headache, he had been straining his eyes all day—which was particularly stupid, because it wasn't his eyes that had the problem. Unfortunately, it was instinctual.
He shook his head, digging in his pocket.
Crap, not enough change for the bus—which he was ironically supposed to ride because he couldn't see well enough to drive.
A hand rested on his shoulder, and he spun around, losing his balance and nearly falling.
Cuddy's hands gripped his shoulders though, and he sighed, regaining his balance.
"Want a ride?" she asked quietly.
He paused, eyes closed, then nodded.
"Yeah. Uh, my backpack's in... forget it, I'll be fine."
"It's in your office?"
He nodded.
"I'll get it."
He sighed, nodding, and she went to get his pack.
A few minutes later she came back, an odd expression on her face.
"Kutner's in there. He's talking to Wilson. Wilson's listening."
House sighed, relieved.
"Told him to go talk to the moron, thought his never-ending optimism might cheer Wilson up a bit."
Cuddy smiled, shaking her head.
"Why do you only take care of people when they're trying their very hardest to stop you having anything to do with them?"
House shrugged, taking his pack from her, "It's not that, it's just that I've got a clue what I'm doing with this. I don't know how to act, but I do know how someone who's sick and facing something major like vision loss feels. I don't have to have any empathy to know that."
Cuddy laughed a little, pressing the down button as they reached the elevator.
The door opened, and she and House entered.
"Wilson's probably going to need to stay with someone for a while after they operate." said Cuddy, as the doors opened.
House didn't get out.
"What, are you asking for permission, or something?"
Cuddy blinked.
"What? no. I meant he might have to stay with you, if everyone else turned him down. And yes, there is a wink attached to that."
House looked at her, expression happier that it had been in months, for a very brief moment.
Then the happiness disappeared, and he looked away, obviously upset.
"No... I... forcing him to be around me won't solve anything. It'd just...." he trailed off, pushing past her and limping quickly towards the front door.
Cuddy didn't stop him, just went to get her purse out of her office.
When she came out, House was sitting on one of the benches in front of the hospital, hurriedly wiping his face on his sleeve.
Cuddy placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"It's ok." she said quietly.
He nodded, sniffing.
She squeezed his shoulder, and he stood, following her to her car.
House had just sat down in the passenger seat, when his pager went off.
"What's it say?" he asked, showing it to Cuddy.
"Says get to your office immediately."
House frowned, getting back out of the car.
Cuddy followed him back to the building, hurrying past him to hold the elevator door open.
"Is that all it says?" he asked, looking at her.
"Yes."
He grimaced, fidgeting with the plain wood cane someone had bought him in the hospital gift shop.
The elevator doors opened, and he limped as fast as he could towards his office, ignoring Chase standing right outside the office.
Cameron was in there, sitting next to Wilson on the floor, arms around his shoulders.
Kutner was standing a few feet away, looking worried.
House looked at him, "What the hell happened?"
He raised his hands, shaking his head.
House looked at Wilson and Cameron.
Cameron looked up at him.
"What happened?"
She shook her head, looking at Wilson.
House knelt hurriedly, ignoring his thigh's protests against the fast movement.
"Wilson?" he asked, hand on his friend's shoulder, "Wilson, what happened?"
Wilson opened his eyes, raising his head.
"Everything's dark."
House looked at Cameron.
She swallowed, nodding.
House turned his head, looking at Cuddy.
She bit her lip, placing her hand on his shoulder.
House closed his eyes, lowering his head.
"I'm sorry, Wilson." he said, quietly.
Wilson just sniffed.
House sighed, standing up in the gallery above the OR Wilson was currently lying unconscious, in.
Cuddy was standing next to him, as was half the oncology department, and at least twenty women Wilson had no professional relationship with.
Foreman and Chase were both in the OR, the kids were somewhere in the back of the crowded observation room on the other side, and Cameron was off getting Wilson's post-op room set up.
House leaned close to Cuddy's ear.
"What's going on down there? It's all fuzzy, I can't see anything. All I can tell is where Foreman is." he whispered.
"They've finished the initial incisions, they're trying the minimally invasive route. From the monitor, it looks like they've got about half the tumor off." she whispered back.
He sighed, nodding.
An alarm suddenly went off below, and House grabbed Cuddy's hand, instinctually.
She squeezed back, whispering what was going on to him—mild bradycardia, the anesthesiologist lowered the drip rate, and it ended.
House sighed, but didn't let go of her hand.
Cuddy didn't comment, just kept returning his pressure.
Wilson groaned, opening his eyes.
He swallowed.
Nothing.
It was dark, everything was dark.
He started hyperventilating, hands reaching out, he didn't know where he was, there was something on his finger, things on his head.
"Wilson! Hey, calm down, you're out of surgery, calm down, it's ok!" familiar. House.
He turned his head towards the voice.
"What... how...."
"You'll have to ask Cuddy how it went, I couldn't see what was going on."
Wilson blinked.
"You watched my surgery?"
"Uh... well, I watched all the fuzzy shapes moving around in the OR, I didn't actually watch the surgery itself because I couldn't see it, but for all emotional purposes, yes, I watched your surgery."
"Why?"
House blinked.
"What do you mean why? Why the hell wouldn't I watch your surgery, that's what friends...." he stopped, taking a deep breath, "That's what people do when people they care about are sick."
Wilson bit his lip.
He had heard just how much House's voice had trembled when he had forced himself to say the second part.
That... this was enough.
House didn't deserve this. House had never deserved this.
"I... House... I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
A long silence.
"You're angry. You loved her. She died. You have to be angry at someone. I... I'd rather it be me than yourself. I'd still more rather you be angry at someone else entirely, or even just at god... but better me than you."
Wilson heard the pain in House's voice, and felt tears on his own cheeks.
"House...."
"I know. I'm sorry, I'll go."
Wilson heard rustling, then rubber and mismatched footsteps on tile.
"House... wait."
The noises stopped.
"Can... can I sleep on your couch?"
Wilson grunted, as House practically tackled him with a hug.
House was hugging him.
House didn't hug people.
Had he really driven House—driven his friend—that far?
Wilson hesitantly patted House on the back.
He felt tears dripping onto his shoulder, where House's hug was pulling his hospital robe aside.
"I'm glad to have you back." said House, huskily, still not letting go.
Wilson bit his lip.
"I'm sorry I pushed you away."
"That's ok. It's ok. You're back, I don't really care anymore—I don't want to think about it."
"Ok."
House gently, carefully let go, and Wilson felt hands smoothing his hair down, gently wiping the tears off his face.
"Are you ok?" Wilson asked, frowning. House didn't hug, but one time after being pushed that far was understandable. The gentle touches he was giving the younger doctor now made Wilson think he was still crying.
"Yeah. Fine." definitely still crying.
"Why're you still crying, then?"
A long silence.
"Because you're blind, you moron. Can't play fooseball if you're blind."
Wilson smiled.
That was better.
That was the House he knew...and missed.