Title: Physical
Author: dyingwithdignity
Pairing: House/Wilson, non-slash
Rating: T, for medical content that may scare the kids
Spoilers: None for the TV show (may be spoiler if you have not read 'The Contract' by DIY SHEEP
Warnings: Medical terms, which include discussion about genitals, some graphic descriptions

Summary: Somewhere in the middle of 'The Contract' by DIY SHEEP, House has returned from prison. Wilson finds a bleeding sore on House's arm and patches him up before performing a physical (hence the title).

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING! Don't own House, Wilson or the premise of the story, which belongs to DIY SHEEP (which I mentioned above).

Note: Read 'The Contract' first please! It will be worth your time (just look for it in my favorite stories). In addition, you can find other stories that some very awesome people have written by going to http, colon, two back slashes, the name of the author of the contract (diysheep) period livejournal period com back slash 16483 period html (I wasn't sure if I could list links here so… sorry if that was confusing). AND I tried my very best to proofread, but I am sure there are a million mistakes! ENJOY!

PHYSICAL

House sat silently, knees pressed to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs. He was rocking slowly, back and forth, back and forth, like he was quietly trying to sooth a baby, but no baby lay in his arms. Wilson sighed as he watched from the doorway. The room was dark, the only light seeping in from the hall in which Wilson stood.

Summer was approaching and the sun was staying up later and later, it wasn't until 9pm that the sky was finally bare. But as night rolled around, it was always the same. Any small step forward during the day would be met with two steps back at night. The smog from Trenton hid the stars and Wilson knew that even they would not be enough to keep the fear away. Wilson had gotten House a nightlight at a local toy store, and House seemed to like it, although there was really no way to know. It was a translucent teddy bear sitting on a sliver of a moon. Wilson thought it was cute. His two year old niece had one just like it.

Wilson crossed the room and sat down on the bed, House's bed, which House rarely slept in these days. Wilson had made sure that House would have extra blankets if he was cold, a small fan if he was hot, water if he was thirsty, and a soft railing that prevented him from falling out of bed if a nightmare hit.

He had just taken House home from the hospital and he was still on TPN at night. House's weak body needed all the help it could get. A G-tube had been placed in House's abdomen in the first weeks of House's stay at the hospital, but he pulled it out nearly every night. He was restrained from 9pm to 4am until Wilson caught wind of it and subsequently the staff caught hell. With the failure of the G-tube, House had been placed on TPN all day. When he had gained 10 percent of his body weight, the hospital had released him into Wilson's care.

"Dr. Wilson, you really should think about this. He still needs around the clock care. Just because he is out of the woods at the moment…"

"I can take care of him." Wilson said and quickly signed all necessary paperwork.

The bed, however, remained made, the pillows without a dent, and the railing in place. House had refused to sleep in it, favoring the floor. Wilson had tried, but House would forcibly knock over the railing and fall to the floor without giving a thought to the pain that it would cause. Seeing this, Wilson had checked over House, to make sure that he had not broken anything and bought an air mattress the next day. House with a PICC line, for the TPN, in his left arm would sleep on the mattress, his body taunt with anxiety every night.

House's bedroom had become very different in the years since House had independently occupied it. It was funny, to Wilson now, to think that House had been House, not a lump in the corner, rocking. He expected to blink and have the body turn around, make a sly remark, and ask him what was for dinner.

"Chicken again? Come on, let's get some pizza… on you," House would stand and grab his cane effortlessly. "Why the hell are we in my bedroom anyway?" He would say, limping quickly down the hall. "Want a beer?" House would yell as he entered the kitchen.

"Hey, House," Wilson said, a hint of a smile on his lips, "Chicken or pizza?" There was a moment of silence that lengthened. The smile dropped from his face. Of course it would be nearly impossible anyway. House's hand had been damaged beyond recognition and he could barely handle finger foods, not to mention a fork that would be required to eat chicken. "Not hungry hmm…" Wilson thought for a moment. "How 'bout a beer? Fridge is fully stocked," Wilson said pointing to the hall, but House only continued to rock. Sighing silently, Wilson got down on the floor to sit next to House. An air mattress cushioned the ground, along with extra soft pillows, a warm quilt and several small blankets intended for a child's crib. Wilson had seen the blankets a couple of week before. They were very soft, Wilson could practically feel the comfort emanating from them. He knew that House would love them and Wilson would do anything in his power to comfort House.

House's body was turned slightly and in the dark room, he was a little more than an outline against the white wall. Wilson had been talking to House's back, and made an attempt to see his face. Finding that it was too dark to see much of anything, Wilson slowly stood up again so that he would not startle House and turned on the nightstand lamp. Half the room was now flooded with light. Wilson blinked a couple of times, allowing his eyes to adjust. House made no such move.

"You ok there buddy?" Wilson asked softly letting his hand fall onto House's shoulder, House immediately flinched, his eyes shut tightly, and his respirations increasing. Immediately concerned, Wilson pulled House's shoulder back slightly so that he could get a better look at the man in front of him. Moving House's shoulder, moved the rest of his arm enough to see deep red stains on the front of House's knees. With his left hand, Wilson lightly brushed against House's knee and legs. House had no reaction. Pulling his hand back Wilson saw that a smear of blood lay on his fingertips. Gently, Wilson took House's left arm and turned it over. The wounds that had been there for years, were never given a chance to heal.

House was chained by rope, steel, and iron to the walls, floor, and ceiling of the prison. The restrains had been too tight and the skin on House's wrist had worn away. C. perfringens, a bacteria that causes necrotizing fasciitis, had infected the wounds and surgeons had to remove House's right hand. Wilson was almost relieved that House was stuck in his own world. If House had known, Wilson was sure that he would have never heard the end of it. Thankfully, House's left hand had been salvageable. Because it had not been his dominant hand, House hadn't struggled as much and the infection hadn't gotten as deep.

Wilson looked at the top of House's wrist first, the deep gashes were still present, but not bleeding. However, as he looked at the underside of his wrist, Wilson found the source of the bleeding. The wound was simply weeping, one of the scarred scars, separating from the skin. It was ugly, there wasn't much of House's body that wasn't at the present moment, but it was fixable.

"Does that hurt?" Wilson asked, immediately kicking himself for asking. To a normal, non catatonic person it would have hurt quite badly, and even to House, Wilson could tell, it was stinging, but there were so many healing, but not-yet-healed areas on House's failing body, that it probably wasn't much more than an annoyance. "Be right back. I'll fix you up, don't go anywhere." Wilson said standing, House made no move to track Wilson. He just let his arm fall onto a pillow next to him and looked at the wall.

Walking into the living room, Wilson found the medical bag full of supplies that he had taken home from the hospital. This one contained mostly gauze and dressing, along with tape, and saline bags. The other equipment, the TPN bags, the medications, and emergency kit lay next to it. Wilson looked around the living room, missing the old days when House's coffee table was filled with medical journals, old cups and dishes, and rings from beer bottles left unattended. Wilson could still see the faint outline of a ring. It was like House, only a shadow of the past.

Wilson grabbed the gauze and Neosporin and then thought better of it and picked up the entire bag. "Hey," Wilson said as he approached his friend. He had found that it was better to speak before getting close to House.

He knew that his friend could see him walk into the room, hear his footsteps coming down the hall, but no matter how short their separation House always seemed surprised that Wilson had returned. "I'm going to fix up your wrist there," Wilson said, his voice cheery. That seemed to help. "And then I'm going to look you over. Give you a bit of an examine, ok?" Wilson said. He was concerned that House was hiding other problems, problems that were much more serious than a cut on his arm.

Wilson tapped House's arm. House automatically turned his wrist over and continued to stare at the wall. They had been over this several times. When House's right forearm needed a dressing change, Wilson had requested House's arm every couple of hours or so. Finally, Wilson could just touch House's arm gently and House would respond. The first time it had happened, Wilson smiled, he knew that House was inside there and took the action to be a step in the right direction. House wasn't just a body, he was in there. Wilson was sure of it.

"Ok, tell me if I'm hurting you and I'll stop," Wilson said gently placing House's arm, palm up on a pillow that he had covered with a small sterile sheet. House didn't respond, but Wilson knew that he wouldn't.

Wilson took out a pair of gloves and began to put them on. He hated the sound that the latex gloves made, and he imagined that House did as well. He couldn't imagine being in House's place, to hear the snap of latex and to have to sit, passively, waiting for what one could only imagine to be more pain. He poured some alcohol onto a cotton ball. "This is going to sting, I'm sorry buddy," Wilson said as he swabbed the area that was still oozing blood. He looked at House's face, no reaction. He quickly fanned the area with a corner of the sheet, trying to take the string out. Wilson may have imagined it, but he could swear that House relaxed just a little bit.

He placed the sterile gauze on top of his wrist, being sure to place a little bit of pressure on the bleeding until he was satisfied that it had stopped. Taking tape out of the kit he made sure that the bandage was tight enough to stay on through a potential nightmare, but loose enough for comfort.

"I'm go to begin the exam, ok? I'm just going to listen to your heart," Wilson said taking off the gloves and tossing them into a nearby waste basket. The manufacturer hadn't intended it for medical waste, but of course, the manufacturer had never been to this apartment.

Wilson took out his stethoscope and leaned in before he realized that House was positioned too awkwardly. "I'm gonna to turn you around to face me and take off your shirt," Wilson said, as soothingly as possible.

When House had returned from the hospital, he didn't like the feel of the clothes on his skin and Wilson was immediately saddened, imagining that House had been at least partly undressed for his five year stay at the prison. Wilson wouldn't have had a problem if House didn't want to be clothed, had it not been for the fact that the man was only skin and bones and shivered most days even with two or three blankets. Wool was the first option, because it was so cold, but of course this was the worst possible material. It would rub against the cuts and scars causing too much discomfort. Finally, Wilson decided that layers were best. He had found the most comfortable materials and eventually, House got used to the feel of the soft cotton against his scarred skin.

Wilson pulled House, one hand on his left shoulder, the other on his right hip until House was facing him. His body was at least, his eyes were focusing on an invisible point on his pants. Wilson gently lifted House's shirt where it lay near the belt loops of his jeans. House had been wearing one of his old t-shirts, feeling that it would make House more comfortable in something that was familiar. Wilson had gone out and bought new clothes for House upon his return, but enjoyed seeing House in his old clothing. It made him remember the past and that was always a great comfort for Wilson.

House was no help, lifting up his arms slightly after Wilson had managed to navigate the shirt over his head. Wilson looked at House's right hand, or lack there of, and a pain hit his heart. He wished that hadn't had to happen. All of House's scars were ugly, Wilson knew he could do nothing but help them heal, but the hand he felt responsible for. He hadn't been the one to make the final decision. That had been Cuddy, only because Wilson couldn't. He couldn't spend the rest of this life knowing that he had given the surgeon the knife. That didn't help, Wilson still felt responsible.

Wilson placed the stethoscope's ends into his ears and rubbed the metal on the other end. It was still cold as he placed it on House's chest. The man didn't flinch, but he could see the shiver that ran through his body. Wilson listened and the room was silent. House's heart sounded good. No murmurs, which Wilson had been surprised to discover.

"Nothing can hurt my heart," House had said to Foreman years ago. He had been set to prove his arch nemesis wrong by testing a migraine medication on himself.

The pain then, when the medication had failed, wasn't half as bad, Wilson imagined, as the pain House was in now. The fentanyl patch on House's arm had only done enough to dull the pain enough to be tolerable, Wilson knew.

"Ok, lean forward," Wilson said as he pushed House forward slightly to have access to his back. Wilson felt funny manipulating his friend like this, and he was sure House would be embarrassed if he knew. Of course, Wilson had been taking care of House for months now, bathing him and changing bandages. This was nothing.

"Take a deep breath," Wilson said in a whisper, but House didn't respond. Wilson listened. It sounded like House's lungs were wet, but without a deep breath, Wilson couldn't be sure. "Deep breath," he said again, but there was no response. "I'm sorry," Wilson said pushing his fist into House's sternum and rubbing up and down a couple of times. The man responded with a gasp of pain and Wilson got his deep breath. Yep, some fluid. It wasn't much, but House wasn't coughing so he would be unlikely to clear it on his own. He would have to order some medication tomorrow. "I'm sorry" he said has he took the stethoscope off. House was breathing normally again and Wilson made a mental note to give him an extra cc of morphine later.

"I need you to lie down back," Wilson said shifting so that he was no longer sitting on the mattress. It wiggled slightly and then wiggled again as Wilson helped House lay down on his back. House starred at the ceiling, Wilson starred at House. With House's shirt off Wilson could see all the scars covering his friend's body. It was times like this that made him want to cry. He knew that House had been hurt badly, but it wasn't until it was displayed in front of him that Wilson could really see how badly House had been injured. His ribs had been broken again and again, left to set at unnatural angles. His arms had been broken, and they too were set horribly. His muscle had been eaten away by his own body and his torso was pale and thin. He was 6'2", but he couldn't have weighted more that 120 pounds, even now after months of weight gains.

Wilson palpated House's abdomen gently. There were scars everywhere and he took the time to look at every one to make sure there was no bleeding, no separation from the skin, and no new injuries. A scar ran across House's chest, crossing over his nipple and ending just before his body began to curve into his side. This, unlike most of the other wounds, which were ultimately superficial, was deep and the scar had never quite healed.

It had been treated at the hospital and had to be explored several times when it would not heal properly. It was a clean cut, which Wilson had guessed was made by a scalpel. The wound had been opened again and again superficially by an amateur playing doctor. The adipose tissue, the fatty layer beneath the skin, had been cut and then allowed to heal, before it had been cut again. Finally, the pectoral muscle had been cut in a meticulous line before it too was allowed to heal before being reopened. The same person had practiced surgery on House, removing House's nipple and then suturing it back into place.

Wilson tried not to imagine House's screams as all of this went on. He wiped a tear away from his face and a wince from his lips. House just stared blankly in front of him as if Wilson weren't even there. His eyes remained unfocused on the ceiling. Wilson looked at the scarring, brushing his index finger lightly along it. It was still weeping slightly along the edges, but there was no redness, no sign of infection. Wilson made small circles around the wound checking House's face for pain. There was none and so Wilson sat back on his heels and reached over to the medical supply kit again.

"Just going to clean this," Wilson said, softly tapping House's chest as he donned a second pair of latex gloves and took a sterile piece of gauze from the kit. He put a small amount of alcohol on it and lightly dabbed the area, removing dried and fresh blood, as well as, dead skin. Lines appeared around House's eyes, but the man made no move to pull away from the pain. Wilson knew that pain had been inflicted upon House many times and wished that he would not have to be a source of it. He fanned cool air onto the cut once he was done and felt House's body relax slightly.

"I know it hurts buddy, but it will make you better," Wilson said. He tried to smile and rub House's bony shoulder. His patient did not respond. He bandaged the wound and threw the trash into the waste basket next to him. "I have to take off your pants now," Wilson said and reached over House to grab a small child's blanket to cover the upper half of House's body to preserve warmth and a little dignity.

Wrapping the blanket under House's chin and down to his belly, Wilson began to unbutton and unzip House's jeans. "Lift your hips," Wilson instructed, automatically lifting House's hips up. Wilson could feel House helping a little bit. Once he had the jeans down to his ankles, he could feel the little bit of help disappear. House lay limp as Wilson tugged the jeans carefully over House's feet. House still had his underwear on, a pair of loose boxers a size or two too large.

Wilson remembered House wearing boxer briefs years ago, finding them on the floor of House's bedroom when Wilson had spent the night on the sofa. He had bought a couple of pairs of boxer briefs at the local Walmart, finding ones that were extra sofa, but House was not comfortable in them. Wilson had found House lying on the floor, his bottom out, a couple of times before he realized that the underwear had been too constraining. Wilson remembered his cousin, after having hernia surgery, saying that boxers were much more comfortable while he was healing. Since House had, had the equivalent of dozens of surgeries, Wilson had found soft, cotton boxers, buying them a couple of sizes too large. He knew that House would need to grow into them and he hoped he would put on enough weight to fill out the waistband.

Wilson kept the underwear on for now, trying to preserve as much of House's dignity as he could. Wilson looked at his legs. His right leg was much worse than his left, as it had always been. The large, jagged scar on his right femur had stood out in years past, but now it seemed to blend with the rest of his bitten and torn leg. Wilson quickly felt for any breaks or bumps that he had not felt before. He looked at House's face. No reaction.

Satisfied with that, he moved onto his left leg. House's leg muscles, like the rest of his body, had atrophied. Wilson slowly began to massage House's left leg like he had done with the right, looking for any changes while giving House's muscles a bit of a break.

PT had been ordered at the hospital, but House's condition had been unstable for a long time. While, he did receive some PT then, Wilson made sure that there was someone coming to the apartment when he felt that House was up to it, to continue the PT. Right now, because House would not follow directions it was only passive PT, something that Wilson was glad to at least start with.

"I'm just gonna take this off," Wilson said softly, as he lifted House's hips to remove his underwear. This time, House made no effort to help. Wilson sighed slightly, trying his best not to blush. He had none this a hundred times, he was a doctor who had examined hundreds of patients, but somehow this was different. This was his best friend and he knew that House would be embarrassed if he ever knew. Wilson pulled the blanket on House's chest down a little bit farther, preserving some dignity, although he was sure it wasn't enough. "Don't get too excited there pal, I'm not Stacy," Wilson joked, House just starred at the ceiling. Wilson dropped the smile from his lips and palpated House's groin.

House's gut had, had problems digesting any food placed there by the G-tube. It took several days before they realized that House had a bowel obstruction that required surgery. Wilson looked at the surgical incision, it was much cleaner than the scars surrounding it. Wilson pushed down softly. His belly, abdomen, and bladder were all soft. He pushed down again on his bladder, observing his urethra, there was no leakage of urine and Wilson was relieved.

"You doin' ok there buddy," Wilson asked, although he expected no response. "You have to pee?" Wilson asked, looking up at his friend.

House had, had a Foley catheter for the first couple of weeks out of the hospital. With House sleeping on the floor, the catheter was not provided with the gravity it needed to work, consequently, Wilson had to change it much more often. After those couple of weeks, Wilson decided that House was well enough to try an intermittent catheter, which could be inserted and then removed on command. After a couple of accidents, House was able to retain urine as long as Wilson checked on him every hour or so. Wilson also felt that this arrangement would be much more comfortable for House.

His bladder felt rather empty and Wilson made a note of it in the back of his mind. He had catheterized House 45 minutes before, getting about 100 mL of urine, which was a healthy amount.

"Ok, this is going to feel a little bit funny," Wilson said as he examined House's urogenital area. This was another indication that House had been left without clothes. His genitals had gotten frostbitten and although everything had remained intact, the points farthest from his body had been badly scarred and deemed useless. Wilson touched the tip of House's penis, wondering silently if House had been circumcised before his incarceration. He could remember House joking about how unlucky Wilson had been to be Jewish and to have been circumcised as a baby, but he couldn't remember if House himself had been.

They had spent many times in the bathroom together, standing at urinals, side by side. The first rule of being of man precluded him from looking down however. It seemed to Wilson that House would have been, because it was cleaner, but cleanliness had never been one of House's top priorities.

In any case, House was now circumcised. The area was clean and looked professional. Wilson wondered if House's chest had been practice for the man with the scalpel and this had been the test. Wilson shook his head. It was better not to think about it. There didn't seem to be any farther problems and Wilson decided to leave it at that.

"I need you to roll over onto your chest," Wilson said, pulling the small blanket down so that House's lower body was covered. Wilson slowly pushed and pulled until House was on his side, and gently, lowered him on his belly. House turned his head so that he was not facing Wilson and pulled his arms from under his body and placed them so that his head was resting on them. Wilson felt House sigh silently, getting into a comfortable position. He smiled, rubbing circles around House's back. If Wilson didn't know better, he would have thought that House was content, that is if his eyes hadn't been blank and his muscles hadn't been so tight.

Wilson grabbed another blanket and laid it over House lower end. He looked at the scars, gently rubbing House's back as he looked for abnormalities. House's ribs, which had been broken and reset badly, poked from under his pale skin. In addition to being lines along his back, Wilson could feel several lumps where the ribs had been broken. The bumps lay in a line, like a bat had been used, and broken several ribs at once. He pushed the blanket up a bit to get a better look at House's bottom. Scars lay across each bony cheek. He moved the blanket back slightly and looked at House's legs, pressing down on the thin muscle and bone beneath.

"Still ok?" Wilson asked softly. He knew that it probably hurt to have so much pressure on his front, since there were so many scars and broken bones that had never healed properly. Wilson gave one last glance to House's back. He wanted to give House's chest a rest from the added body weight as soon as possible, although the air mattress had a lot of give and Wilson hoped that helped. "Just need you to roll back onto your side," Wilson said, pulling House's left shoulder and hip slightly so that House was on his right side, facing away from Wilson.

Wilson took the two blankets that had been around House and quickly draped them over the top half of House's body. Taking another blanket, he pressed it against House's front and then got an extra pillow from the bed and leaned it against House's middle. He pushed House forward slightly so that he could lean on the pillow and he didn't have to keep himself balanced and support that awkward weight.

"I know you don't like this part," Wilson said quietly, but House didn't move, didn't tense.

There was one final examine. This was the part that Wilson hated the most. He knew the lawyer had come before House had been arrested. The lawyer had come and beaten House, but all of that didn't seem as bad as rape. Wilson knew that everything House had gone through was horrible, beyond horrible. If it were him… well he just didn't want to think about that. But rape was different. It was hurtful to the mind and body, it was something that Wilson felt was worse than any other forms of torture. Wilson also knew, and had seen the tapes, that House had been repeatedly violated in prison, by guards and prisoners alike.

"Just bring your knees up a little bit," Wilson said softly as he took hold of House's legs with his left hand and gently placed his right hand on House's back to keep him still.

He swallowed hard despite himself. The repeated rapes had caused quite a bit of damage. House was incontinent when he had first been discovered and for a short time in the hospital. However, with recovery House had gained back his ability to control his bowels. He had an accident every now and then, when Wilson couldn't get him to the bathroom in time, but by and large he was all right.

The problem however lay in hemorrhoids that House may have had a while before prison. Vicodin had the well known side effect of constipation. The condition was made worse after that, however. Wilson had found blood in House's underwear many times and was concerned. The bleeding had gotten so bad that House had become anemic and his daily fluid intake had to be increased, as well as, the iron in the TPN. House had received surgery to shrink the hemorrhoids, but Wilson still noticed bleeding daily, although it was less. In his fragile state, House could not afford the fluid lost. Scarring had also occurred, making it more difficult and more painful for House to relief himself.

But, perhaps the worst, was the damage to House's prostate. Wilson imagined objects had been used and he had to take another deep breath to will away that thought.

"Just try to relax," Wilson said, putting a smear of petroleum jelly on his gloved right index finger. He placed his left hand on House's back. House didn't relax farther, nor did his respirations increase. He just silently laid there, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. House blinked, flinching slightly at the cold intrusion. Wilson looked up at a higher point on the wall, feeling the area. House grunted slightly and Wilson quickly looked down. "I know…" Wilson said, his voice dripping with sympathy, "I'm almost done." Wilson moved his finger a little, checking the prostate. House's hip bucked slightly, his external sphincter locking down.

House started to whimper and Wilson removed his hand taking his gloves off quickly. House rarely made a sound, saving it for when he was in extreme pain or discomfort. This, Wilson knew was House's most sensitive area, both physically and emotionally. Even with the intrusion gone, House continued to make small sounds of pain. Wilson started to rub his back in slow circles, watching as House's eyes clamped shut.

"I know, I know," Wilson whispered, he hadn't meant to hurt his friend, but he hated to have a small problem become worse. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know it hurts," Wilson whispered, cooing for several minutes until House had opened his eyes again and the whimpering stopped. Wilson continued to rub House's back for several more minutes, placing another blanket over House's bottom. He hadn't finished the examine, but knew that he couldn't now. There didn't seem to be any problems and so he figured he could leave it at that for now anyway.

"I'm sorry," Wilson said, "But it's done. No more," he said finding the clothes that he had taken off of House. Wilson looked at his friend. His eyes were blank again. He didn't know what to do. He thought about trying to take House into the bathroom to clean up, but figured that that would be too traumatic. He knew he would want to be alone if he were in House's shoes, but he wasn't sure if House would want to be alone. He didn't think House would ever want to be alone again. "I'll leave you to rest," Wilson said. As he started to stand, he felt a tug on his shirt. It was House, his hand wrapped around a piece of cloth below Wilson's collar. House didn't say a word, but Wilson knew.

"Ok, let's just get you dressed. It would be weird if I sat next to you like this," Wilson joked and picked up House's shirt. Once he was clothed again, Wilson laid down next to his friend who had barely let go of Wilson's shirt the entire time. "It's going to be ok. Jimmy's here," Wilson said with a smile. He could have sworn that he saw a hint of a smile on House's face as he closed his eyes.