RICE in Reverse

by Phate Phoenix

AU of ‘The Greater Good’ caused by a simple… twist. What if Wilson had discovered that Dana Miller was House’s patient just an hour earlier? Cuddy won’t know what hit her. House/Wilson, canon!House/Cuddy

1. E: Engage

fTitle: R.I.C.E. in Reverse [1/4]
Author: Phate_Phoenix
Prompt : 9. House/Wilson – "When everything is wrong, I'll come talk to you" (My Best Friend - Weezer)
Pairing: Canon House/Cuddy, House/Wilson
Rating/Warning: PG-13; Swearing, Spoilers for 'THE GREATER GOOD', Vengeful!House, Hurt!Wilson
Summary: An AU of 'The Greater Good' caused by a simple… twist. What if Wilson had discovered that Dana Miller was House's patient just an hour earlier? Cuddy won't know what hit her.
Beta: Cielo_Claro at LiveJournal.
Disclaimer: DO NOT OWN.
Notes: Written for the House_Of_Fanfic (of LiveJournal) Annual Contest.

XXXX

E: Engage
To enter into conflict or battle; To draw into or involve

"…And her abdominal cavity was filled with blood."

House nodded, striding forward ahead of his group of fellows. Taub had paged him to deliver the panicked news that their patient's stomach had filled with blood, which was caused by her liver just bleeding. He pursed his lips, glancing upwards as they made his way towards his office. How odd. "So," he asked, "what causes lungs to deflate like… me after a cold shower, and—"

"House!"

House stopped dead in the middle of the hallway. Behind him, he heard the fellows scuffle and stumble into one another, bringing a smirk to his face. He twisted around to watch as Wilson jogged to catch up with him, his brown eyes wide.

"You rang?" House said, arching an eyebrow. Wilson gestured to the file Taub held in his hand, looking curious and nervous.

"I was just in the ER, and Cameron said you had the Dana Miller as a patient?" he said.

House nodded shortly, but glowered to the side. "Cameron has a big mouth."

Kutner scowled. "It isn't like what you're thinking, Doctor Wilson," he grumbled. Wilson's eyebrows furrowed, and he shot House a questioning glance. House sighed.

"She quit," he said swiftly, watching the look of pure confusion flash across Wilson's face. House shrugged, limping forward and towards his office once again. Wilson stayed a few steps ahead of him, walking backwards.

"Hold on," he said, "you mean to say that Dana Miller just quit?"

"Oh, no!" House said, and Wilson blinked. "She quit eight months ago."

Wilson's face flushed slightly, eyes flaring. "You're kidding," he said turning forward. Thirteen shook her head.

"No, we aren't," she said. "She told us herself."

Wilson glowered. "I can't bel—URK!"

There was a strong 'twang' that rang through the air, like the noise a guitar makes when just one string is plucked. As if the sound had been a signal, Wilson seemed to hurl himself into the air, vaulting through House's doorway. House almost expected him to do a flip and then stick the landing, with roses falling from the sky. However, Wilson merely belly-flopped onto House's grey carpet and went still.

The five doctors standing just before the door were stunned into stillness for several seconds. House regained his senses first and attempted to step into the room, putting his cane forward, and found himself repelled. He looked down and tried again, spying a shimmer of something hanging in the air. Foreman stepped over the invisible barrier while Taub crouched down to inspect it, handing the file off to Kutner. Foreman pressed a hand to Wilson's shoulder.

"You conscious, Doctor Wilson?" he asked. Wilson groaned in response, his hands twitching.

"Yes," was the muffled reply. "I didn't hit my head, just winded me."

Meanwhile, Taub was plucking at the piece of wire strung in the doorway. "Tripwire," Taub declared, glancing at House, before he attempted to remove it.

Kutner and Thirteen stepped around House and into the room. They walked over to the other side of Wilson, but Foreman waved them off. "He tripped," he said, frowning. "He doesn't need three doctors hovering over him. Let him catch his breath."

Annoyed that Taub was taking too damn long to remove the wire, House firmly placed his cane on the ground and pushed down on it heavily as he hoisted his right leg over the wire. He moved his cane over next and, with a pained grunt, House quickly hopped his left leg over. After swallowing a Vicodin, House limped next to Foreman, watching as Wilson tried to regain his faculties. He glanced over at Kutner and Thirteen, eyes narrowed. The two glanced at one another.

"Not Foreman or I," Thirteen said.

Kutner gestured at Taub. "We were with the patient."

Wilson chose that moment to let out another low groan, pushing one arm under his body. "Ow," he moaned. Then he slowly tried to roll onto his back, but stopped short when he jostled his right leg. "Ow!" He flopped back onto his stomach, hissing.

Foreman, noticing his distress, held Wilson's foot steady as the man turned over. "It looks sprained," he said unnecessarily, which was told to him by the annoyed glance Wilson threw him.

"Thanks," he said shortly, reaching forward and touching his ankle gently.

House smirked down at Wilson before he reached out and poked the offending ankle with his cane, earning a sharp inhalation. "You know," he began, "if you keep testing these doorways for me, you won't have any ankles left to ruin."

Wilson gritted his teeth. "Anything for a friend," he said. With a bit of fumbling and cursing, Foreman managed to get Wilson to his feet and then onto the small brown chair pulled up to the front of House's desk. Once there, they propped his legs on top of the glass desk. House leaned back against the glass wall adjacent to the conference room, watching as Kutner divested Wilson's right foot of its sock and shoe and inspected Wilson's swollen ankle.

Kutner stood up, shrugging slightly. "It's sprained," he said. "Not a horrible one, but you should definitely wrap it and at least get some crutches."

Wilson hit his head back on the metal behind him repeatedly. "I can't believe this," he stated. "I have patients to see today, clinic duty to do… how am I supposed to get all that done on a sprained ankle?"

House raised an eyebrow, tapping his cane against the glass behind him. "How do those cripples do it?" he asked, and Wilson frowned at him.

"You've had years of experience," he countered. "I'm just getting my training wheels."

House smirked, and twirled his cane. Then he said in a low tone, "Teach you the ways of the cripple I will, Padawan."

Wilson groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Please, no Yoda," he begged.

House looked around his office, seeing the annoyed faces of his fellows. Taub stood with his hands on his hips, having taken the tripwire down minutes prior, and stared at House. "Why aren't you freaking out about this?"

House gave him a bland look as he moved around to his desk. "That someone got to Wilson before I could? Ha! I could tell you tales—"

"Speak," Wilson warned, arm still over his eyes, "and I'll tell them where you moved your spare key to."

House glowered at him. "You're a cranky cripple…"

Taub frowned. "You should be obsessing over who tried to get you," he said, eyes narrowing. "Someone booby-trapped your office. The only reason you wouldn't be is…" his eyes widened, "if you knew who it was."

Wilson lifted his arm and stared at House with narrowed eyes while the diagnostician dug through his desk for a compression bandage. House lifted his head and stared at the group in front of him. "As much fun as it is trying to figure out who's trying to kill me and failing, we have a chef-in-training whose liver is bleeding for no reason and her lungs keep deflating. Anyone get her a liver MRI?"

Kutner gestured to the scan in his hand. "Uh, we did, and there are no cysts, or tumors, so…"

Foreman took the scan from him, and held it out to the light. "There's a small spot on the caudate lobe," he murmured, and Thirteen turned her head to look as he continued. "Could be a granuloma."

Thirteen nodded. "Which could be caused by blastomycosis that we agitated into something more aggressive."

"Great!" House said, standing straight and holding a tan bandage in his hand. He gestured to his fellows with it. "You three go biopsy her lung for blastomycosis and stick it under a black light. It glows, and we're in business." The three turned to leave while Foreman stared at his boss. House limped around his desk and held the wrapping out to him. "Foreman, help me deal with the One-Trip-Wonder here." Foreman glowered before taking it from his hand.

Wilson scowled, but it turned into a grimace as Foreman began to wrap the tan bandage around his ankle. "Seriously," he began, "who'd you piss off?"

House stared at him, affronted. "Why do you assume I did something?" he asked. "You wound me!"

Wilson rolled his eyes and winced again. "Yeah, well, whoever's after you just wounded me," House's mouth twitched as Wilson continued, "so I'd like to know who to avoid whenever you're near."

House frowned, leaning against his desk. "Someone who has the power to have the elevators shut down whenever I make an appearance, and order the janitors to set up tripwires in my office."

Wilson grunted as Foreman moved his foot without warning. He then looked at House, eyebrow rising. "Cuddy?" he asked. House shrugged.

Foreman glanced at him. "What'd you do?" he asked. House, however, scowled and gestured back at him.

"We," House began, bright blue eyes flashing, "are not talking about what I did. You," he prodded Foreman's shoulder with his cane when he turned away, "have a problem."

Foreman's eyes darted to Wilson, who looked quite interested in the conversation. He turned back to House, grinding his teeth. "I told you—"

House's eyebrows jerked upwards and he leaned heavily on his cane. "Then you really have a problem." House gestured to the MRI on his desk a few inches from Wilson's foot. "The way Thirteen turned her head to look at this…"

Foreman's hands stilled, and Wilson's eyes darted between the two of them. House watched the neurologist's eyes as he stared at him, a shadow of fear darting through them. "You think she's losing her peripheral vision?" Foreman asked, and House could only shrug. Foreman stared down at his hands and quickly finished wrapping Wilson's ankle, ignoring the man's questioning gaze. He then left without another word.

"What," Wilson began, staring at House over the top of his foot, "was that about?"

House smiled at Wilson, baring his teeth. "Oh," he began, looking upward, "just an exchange between fools in love."

Wilson blinked at him, eyebrows furrowing. "I can't tell if you're being sarcastic or if you're just being an ass."

"Can't it be both?" House asked, as if the thought of not being an ass was insulting.

Wilson leaned his head to the side, his eyes narrowing. "Is it both?" he asked. "I mean, there must be a reason you haven't retaliated against Cuddy yet…" House sneered at the wall, his blue eyes bright. Wilson suddenly knew he had spoken too soon. "Uh, House?"

"Well," House began simply, grinning like a four-year-old, "I was planning on just waiting her out," Wilson went slack-jawed at this, "but since we now have collateral damage…" House looked at Wilson's bound foot with a sick pleasure, "I think I've earned the right to some… return fire."

Wilson attempted to sit up, but his aching foot inhibited any sort of major movement. "Oh no," he said, wincing as he tried to grab his leg to move, "I am not being the enabler this time!"

House smiled at him, tossing his cane between his hands. "Now, now, Jimmy!" he said pleasantly. "I'm doing this for you!" House pressed his hand to his chest, looking upward into the lights overhead. "I will not let you go gentle into that good night!"

"I'm not dying, House."

House, however, spun around and started to limp towards his office door. He paused on the threshold and looked back at him. "I'll go get a nurse to bring up a set of crutches." He paused. "And a sack for your papers, because I doubt you'll follow the whole 'R.I.C.E.' acronym anyway. Then we can go eat lunch. We'll be limp buddies!"

Wilson gave House a rather horrified look, mouthing the words 'limp buddies' to him. House just smiled back. Wilson rolled his eyes, and then paused, frowning. He looked at House with a narrowed, inquisitive gaze.

"Were you just looking for an excuse to get back at Cuddy for this?" House scowled at him, and Wilson grinned. "You were! It's your… sick way of flirting, isn't it? Reverting back to your childhood impulses to push and pinch the girl because you can't figure out another way to get it across!"

"Do you have to psychoanalyze everything I do in terms of how it relates to Cuddy?" House said. He then lifted his eyebrows. "People will think you have feelings for her."

Wilson lifted his right leg up and set it gently on the ground, turning to better face House. "Well, it's either that," he began, "or you're doing something nice for me, and the last time you did I ended up on speed."

House beamed at him. "Well then, I wouldn't drink any coffee today, huh?"

With that, he strode from the room, leaving a startled Wilson in his wake. Wilson sat in the room for several minutes before he heard two sets of footsteps—the quick clacking of what must have been a nurse and the slower, harsher noise of House—coming towards him. He peered through the glass to spy House leading a harassed-looking Cameron down the hall.

"—And I think Cuddy was trying to kill me, but she got Wilson instead! Thank God for Foreman, who was able to disengage the swinging log trap she had set. I'm sorry to say Chase didn't make it, though."

Cameron merely rolled her eyes as House talked, lugging a set of metal crutches in her arms. "I'm sure House," she said, stepping into the room. Her eyes softened when she saw Wilson sitting in his chair, though, and set the crutches off to the side. "Let me check the wrapping."

House leaned against the doorway, twirling his cane. "Foreman did it," he tattled, and Cameron sighed, adjusting it slightly.

"It's just fine," she said, standing up. She held out her hands and pulled Wilson to one foot before handing him the crutches. "I know better than to tell you to take it easy," Cameron said, smiling knowingly, "but could you at least keep the moving to a minimum?"

Wilson nodded, putting his weight on the crutches. "Yes, Doctor."

Cameron smiled, shaking her head a bit. "Well, I'm off then." She turned to walk past House, but stopped, pointing at him. "Whatever you're planning on doing to get back at Cuddy, leave the ER staff out of it." Message delivered, Cameron strode from the room. House watched her go before shaking his head and turning back to Wilson. He gestured out the door and towards the elevators with his cane.

"Think you can keep up with me?" he said, sneering. Wilson jabbed out with his left crutch, smacking House's good thigh.

"I don't doubt it," Wilson said, smirking when House attempted to hit him back. He missed, of course—the cane had less reach than Wilson's crutch.

The two of them gimped out together, with Wilson on House's left side to avoid any catastrophic cane-crutch collisions. House scowled at how easily Wilson moved on the metal crutches, and contemplated smacking one of them out from under him. He decided against it, however, and slid into the elevator a step ahead of Wilson. Pressing the button for the ground floor, he turned and frowned at him.

"How'd you get so good at that?" House asked, eyebrow arching. Wilson looked up at the lights, smiling a little.

"You caught me, House," he droned, face deadpan. "I've been spending all my time practicing for just such an occasion. I can even walk across a tightrope if necessary."

"Useful skills," House admitted, also looking up at the floor sign above the doors. He then nudged Wilson a little, causing the other doctor to almost lose his balance. "Seriously, what's up with that?"

Wilson shrugged, settling on his feet as their floor approached. "Honestly, House, I don't know. Maybe I was Tiny-Tim in a past life."

House's eyes began to roll, but then they paused. They narrowed a bit, and then House smirked. Wilson frowned at him.

"What are you planning?" he asked.

House sneered back. "C'mon, Tiny-Jim," he said as the door opened. "I know how I'm getting back at Cuddy. Really play it up—I need a sympathetic cripple, and the nurses hate me."

Wilson frowned at him, eyes narrowing. House held up his cane, leaning his head to the side slightly. "I will hit your bad leg with this, or you play along. Either way, I win."

Deciding against further injury, Wilson sagged onto his crutches, wincing as he swung himself forward. House watched as Wilson hissed at any slight pressure placed upon his right foot. He was utterly hamming it up, and House had never been so proud. Instead of saying so, he turned around and limped ahead of Wilson and towards the clinic.

"Hey!" he called, drawing the attention of several nurses. He gestured to himself and Wilson lagging behind. "Anyone help a couple of gimps with their lunch?"

The nurses took one look at Wilson—who smiled and winced at the same time, that damn flirt—and two of them came scurrying over, the others looking on in envy. A young redhead brushed past House and went immediately to Wilson, her black-haired friend only a few paces behind.

"Oh my goodness, Doctor Wilson!" the red-haired harpy gasped. "What happened to you?"

Wilson, still smiling awkwardly, shrugged as best he could. "I, uh, tripped."

"Tripped?!" House shouted, and several nurses threw him a curious glance. "You didn't just trip," he continued. He turned to the black-haired nurse whose nametag—which was clipped to her chest, practically inviting him to ogle her—read 'Jenny Grey'. He looked back at her face though, to say, "Someone set a tripwire."

Jenny gasped. "What?! Who would do such a thing?!"

House shrugged, looking around a little. "Well, I don't know for sure, but whoever it is has power over the janitors. I mean, this morning the elevators were out of service on and off." Jenny and the redhead exchanged a glance. House leaned forward a bit. "It's like whoever set the wire wanted Wilson to have to use the stairs after he sprained his ankle."

Wilson flushed immediately and shook his head a bit. "No, now you're just making a scene," he grumbled, and looked to the ground. The redhead—Bethany, House read on her boobs—shook her head quickly.

"No, no! We saw that this morning, too! Remember, Jenny? The janitors were all over the elevator doors. I saw some yellow paper on them. Was that what it was all about?"

House nodded. "Yup. I had to take the stairs myself." Jenny spared him a sympathetic glance that caused House to swallow the scathing retort that immediately leapt to his mind. Instead, he just shrugged. "What can we do? Whoever's behind it has way too much time on her…" House paused, looking to the side, "or, uh, his hands. Who knows what else they have planned for Wilson?"

House looked up to see both nurses looking at one another, dawning comprehension in their eyes. Jenny glanced at Cuddy's office, and House struggled not to smirk when she looked back at him. "I don't think she'll have a lot of free time on her hands today," she said, and trotted off, back to the main clinic desk. Bethany stuck by Wilson, patting his shoulder.

"C'mon," she said, "I'll carry your tray for lunch."

Wilson smiled at her, dimples showing. "Thank you," he said. He led the way with her by his side, and House followed, still basking in the glory of his absolute victory.

Once they had a table and Bethany had left them to their own devices, Wilson pointed at him with a French fry, obviously fighting a smile. "I can't believe you did that," he said.

House stole one of Wilson's fries and gave him a bewildered look. "What?"

"You," Wilson began, "the most hated doctor in the whole hospital, managed to turn Cuddy's nurses against her. And you didn't even have to outright lie!" There was something akin to admiration in Wilson's gaze, mixing in with the exasperation. "You are truly a master."

House grinned at him. "Well, without you it wouldn't have worked," he admitted. Wilson's eyebrow arched, and House shrugged. "You're very pretty, and flirt with anything that has a pulse. You're boyish charms kept them from asking too many questions."

Wilson scowled, shoving another fry into his mouth. "I'm not sure which I should be insulted more about: that you used me like that, or that you just called me pretty."

House frowned, leaning his head to the side as he speared another one of Wilson's fries with his fork. "What would you prefer?" He took the fry into his mouth and began to chew. "Beautiful? Gorgeous? Perky?"

Wilson ran a hand over his eyes. "How about something more masculine?"

"…Butch?"

Wilson stabbed his salad, mouth twitching into a smile of its own volition. "Gee, thanks," he said.

Their conversation trickled through several topics—the next monster truck rally, the newest member of Prescription Passion's cast, the new Monster Truck special airing on Thursday in four nights, Cuddy, Cuddy's breasts—before Wilson finally crossed his arms and leaned forward a bit.

"So," he began, "Dana Miller?"

House, who had been waiting for him to bring up his newest patient since they had sat down, nodded, spearing another fry with his fork. "Yup. She hath cast off the shackles, binding her to her laboratory, and taken up the Sword of Sustenance."

Wilson stared at him before scowling at his half-a-sandwich. House quickly snatched it off his plate, causing Wilson to glare at him. "Hey! I was going to eat that!"

House wiggled the sandwich in his hand before taking a bite out of it. "You were glaring at it," he said with a full mouth, "like you were trying to make it burst into flames." Wilson looked away and House swallowed the bite down before continuing. "I know you think you're Superman, but, really, you're not."

Wilson stared at him. "But… my parents said—"

"Lies," House affirmed, nodding sagely. Wilson looked away, into space.

"All this time…" he whispered. Then he snickered, glancing over at House. "Which room is she in?"

"Huh?" House said. "Oh, cancer lady. Or, rather, light-on-the-cancer lady. Two hundred forty-seven." Wilson nodded, laying his fork onto the side of his plate, his eyes narrow. House squinted, smiling, and turned his head slightly. "You're not going to harass my patient, are you?"

Wilson shuffled awkwardly to his feet, blinking innocently. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, and pushed himself away from the table. He settled his crutches beneath his arms and limped to the exit. Just as he reached the doorway, a voice called out to him:

"Don't kill her until after I've diagnosed her, okay?!"

Wilson rolled his eyes, sighing at the few nurses who gave him a second glance. "It's House," he explained, and they nodded, smiling sympathetically.

Wilson trekked across the ground floor and slipped into the open and recently emptied elevator, pushing the button for the second floor. The doors began to slide shut and Wilson settled against the back of the metal box, slouching against the crutches.

"Hold the elevator!"

Wilson started, jerking straight up before using his crutch to jab the open button just before the doors slid closed. They bounced open, and a frantic, haggard-looking Cuddy stood on the other side, holding a stack of files in her arms and a bag hanging off her elbow. She smiled at him without actually seeing him. She stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor before heading to the other corner and sagging against it.

"Thanks, Wilson," she finally said before flipping through her files. "It was peaceful this morning," Cuddy grumbled, pausing on a file and reading it over. "Then about twenty minutes ago, I'm swamped, and all of the nurses are busy. I've never seen anything like it before. I have about fifteen files to take to legal." She looked up at him and her eyes widened at the set of metal crutches Wilson had been using. He merely grinned thinly at her. "Oh my God," she whispered, closing the file in her hand and taking a few tentative steps forward. "What happened, Wilson? You didn't have these this morning!"

Wilson shrugged, raising his eyebrows and shaking his head. "It only happened about an hour ago," he said, looking at Cuddy. His brows furrowed and he looked towards the floor. "I managed to sprain my ankle."

"How?" Cuddy asked, standing in front of him and looking him over. Wilson scowled darkly and glared off to the side, clutching his crutches tighter.

"Some psychopath," Wilson spat, careful to keep his eyes off Cuddy, "put tripwire in House's doorway!" He ran a hand over his face, feeling his real frustrations rise to the top. "What if I hadn't gone first? What if House had walked through his doorway?" he asked, glancing at Cuddy to see her face carefully blank. Wilson looked away, feeling disgust crawling across his face. "At least I can still use crutches if my leg is injured. House could have ended up in a wheelchair! Or even exacerbated his thigh!"

Cuddy remained silent, looking down at the files in her hands. Wilson wanted to smack her with his crutches, but he refrained and merely looked back at the numbers. "Do you think you could have someone looking into it?" he asked. "I'm… worried."

Cuddy cleared her throat as the doors chimed and slid open. Wilson pushed himself past her and through the doors. He looked over his shoulder at her and she gave him a strained smile. "I," she began haltingly, "I… I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you," Wilson said, and smiled at her as the door shut. Once the elevator was on the move to the fourth floor, Wilson glared at the doors before swinging around and limping down the second floor hallway and towards the intensive care unit. The room holding his target was several yards down the hallway, and he had to endure the pitying gazes of several nurses before he managed to reach the door. He was beginning to understand what House meant about 'hating pity'.

It wasn't until Wilson slid open the glass door and awkwardly hopped into the room that he realized he had no idea what he was going to say. Dana Miller looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes, eyebrows furrowed as she took in the crutches he was adjusting under his arms. She smiled, watching him as he swung himself to the foot of her bed.

"Ah, Doctor Miller," he began, straightening and resting most of his weight on his left foot, "I don't know if you remember me—"

"Doctor James Wilson," she said, smiling slightly, "from the adenocarcinoma conference in Chicago, right?" She winced and reached up to scratch at her temple.

Wilson's eyebrows rose and he smiled weakly. "Huh, good memory."

Dana's smile was just as weak, as if she knew why Wilson was actually there. "You gave a very memorable presentation."

Wilson nodded, glancing off to the side. Finally, he turned back to her, eyes hardened. "Why did you quit?"

Dana sighed, dropping her hand onto the bed and looking at the wall for a moment. "Certainly not for the sheer abundance of goodwill I receive for doing something that makes me happy."

"What?" Wilson asked, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. "Do you want me to send you a hallmark card?" Bitterness leaked into his tone as he continued. "'Thanks for leaving us, have a good life'?"

Dana sat up straighter, frowning. "I didn't leave anyone. My research can be continued just as easily by some other cancer specialist. You can even continue my research." She scratched at her scalp again, wincing. "Life is far too short to allow yourself to be unhappy."

Wilson's eyes clenched shut and he inhaled deeply. Then he looked back at her, scowling. "If doing something that makes you happy hurts others, then it's disgusting. If you have to sacrifice someone for your happiness, then it isn't worth it!" he snarled.

Wilson blinked a few times and ran a hand over his face, inhaling shakily. Dana set her hands to the side and looked at him, as if trying to see through him. "Are we still talking about me, Doctor Wilson?"

Wilson winced and turned away. "I… I…" he stuttered, "I… have to go. Good luck." He stumbled as he hurried from the room, hissing when he put too much pressure on his right foot in the rush. He didn't bother to close the door after he hopped through it, knowing that a nurse would be there momentarily to do it for him.

Wilson gimped to the elevator, trying to clear his mind of the sympathetic look Dana sent him as he scurried from her room like a scared mouse. He could only hope that if he stayed in his office for the rest of the day, House would be too busy to interrupt him. If Wilson saw him anytime soon, he was sure the sheer guilt of what he had done to his friend even months ago would suffocate him.