Some conversations occur entirely without words. Sometimes words get in the way. The moment House followed Cuddy into Wilson's office Wilson knew that House's situation had clearly become much worse, and he knew what had to be done.
"Did you unpack that bag?" Wilson asked.
House shook his head. Cuddy was puzzled, but said nothing. "OK," Wilson said. "I'll make a call. I just need to write orders for a few patients. I'll be back." He strode out of the room with hasty purposefulness, closing the door behind himself to prevent curious passersby from seeing House.
"He knows someone, a guy he went to school with, director of a facility near Philadelphia." House answered the question she hadn't asked. He had to sit down. The pain in his leg was picking up tempo. He sat on the sofa. His stomach started to churn.
From his slightly ashen color and the perspiration that appeared like dew on his face she knew that he was beginning to experience withdrawal. His addiction was far worse than she thought. How could she have missed that it had gotten so out of hand? She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway just far enough to get Wilson's attention.
"We need to give him some Zofran, or if he doesn't throw up in your office he will throw up in your car." she whispered. "Can you grab some?"
"There should be some sample packs of Zofran ODT in my desk." Of course an oncologist would have samples of anti-emetic drugs, and, of course he was fine with giving some to House. He certainly did not want House to vomit on his Volvo floor mats.
"House, how are you feeling?" she asked closing Wilson's office door.
"How does it look like I am feeling?" he snarled through gritted teeth. Agitation... yet another symptom of withdrawal.
"Nausea?" she asked opening Wilson's desk drawers one after the other searching for the blister packs of Zofran.
"Yeah." he didn't have the energy to continue to be snarky, and the combination of the withdrawal and the anxiety about what he was about to do was really turning his stomach.
"Here," she said handing him a small white tablet. "Zofran."
He took it gratefully, but wished she had offered him something for the pain too. Watching him struggle not to let that pain show on his face was unbearable, but she knew it was best to leave his pain management to an addiction specialist. He started pressing into the gnarled muscles of his right thigh with the heel of his right hand.
Cuddy still felt guilty for having suggested the surgery that crippled his leg. If she hadn't mentioned it to Stacy at all he might have been fine. Of course, he also might have died, and with his death so many others whose only hope was his brilliant diagnostic mind would also have died. But was it fair to him, to live his life in agony for the sake of the other lives he would save? Then again, she sighed, wasn't it about time that she stopped kicking herself for that?
Wilson popped his head back into his office, "It's going to be a few minutes more, Taub just called for a stat consult in radiology."
House winced. That consult was for the clinic patient whose pancreatic cancer he should have recognized much sooner. Cuddy misread the wincing as an increase in his leg pain, and he was startled by her response. She sat down on the sofa next to him and slid her left hand under his right hand as he kneaded his thigh muscle, and began expertly pressing her smaller fingers into the knotted flesh along the uneven line of the scarred incision. When he gasped out of surprise she started to lift her hand, but he pressed it back down with his.
"Please, don't stop." he whispered. Most of the time House didn't want anyone else to see or touch his scar, but there were moments, mostly desperate moments, when it was a relief. He continued to rest his hand on top of hers, guiding her movements to the places along the scar that once pressed and released alleviated the most pain. He could have sat there for hours, eyes closed, letting her touch his leg, and everywhere else for that matter, but he knew that Wilson would soon return and he would have to go home, get his suitcase and go to Pennsylvania.
He curled his fingers around her hand and squeezed, stopping her kneading motions. The sudden knot in his throat kept him from thanking her, which is what he really wanted to do. But, she saw the gratitude in his expression and the tears starting to fill his eyes before he looked away.
She didn't say anything, just nodded and smiled almost apologetically as she stood up and walked over to look out the glass door to Wilson's balcony. Some things did not need to be said.
Sitting in Wilson's desk chair, Kutner nodded and smiled. Amber sat on the corner of the desk rolling her eyes. House was relieved that neither of them seemed to have anything to say just then, because he was in no mood for arguments with hallucinations, parts of himself or otherwise.
Wilson returned trying to hide a somewhat grim expression. House knew then that he was right about the patient's pancreatic cancer. He felt guilty.
"That's what you will feel like all the time. Every time one of your decisions hurts someone, increases someone's pain, ruins someone's relationship..." Amber gloated. House glared at her.
Wilson and Cuddy both looked at the empty desk at which House was glaring and then quickly at each other. They really needed to get him into treatment.
Kutner sat cross-legged on the floor next to the sofa and said in a hushed tone, "It will be better for you to acknowledge that you feel something than to continue to pretend that you don't feel anything at all." House glared at him too. He didn't like being analyzed by a dead guy/part of his own subconscious any more than he liked being taunted by a dead girl/part of his own subconscious.
Wilson pursed his lips and nodded towards the door. "Everything is all set. We can leave now, stop at your apartment to get your bag, and you'll be able to check in as soon as we get there."
House could feel the panic rising in his chest. Maybe he could still get out of this somehow? But, then he looked at Amber and Kutner whom he knew were only there in his mind. He thought about the ease with which he had fallen for his delusional mind's fictitious, fantastic reality. He really was not OK. And he looked at Cuddy and Wilson with their concerned expressions and remembered that these two people more than anyone else actually cared about him and they were trying to save his life. He pulled himself up on his cane.
Cuddy took another Zofran blister pack from Wilson's desk and handed it to House. Wilson pursed his lips and looked down. He knew he was about to witness an intimate moment between two people who clearly, for inexplicable reasons, just could not acknowledge their true feelings for each other.
Wilson was surprised that it was House who made the first move to embrace her after he took the medication from her. He wrapped his lanky arms around her tiny frame, and she simultaneously returned the gesture in kind. It was a quick, but heartfelt gesture. Upon breaking away from House Cuddy promptly embraced Wilson too, a sign of affectionate solidarity.
"Drive carefully." she said. Wilson nodded and smiled somewhat gravely.
The three doctors walked out of Wilson's office together, Wilson and Cuddy on either side of House whose pain caused him to move more slowly. Instead of accompanying House and Wilson to the elevators Cuddy feigned a need to use the restroom. The truth was she didn't want House to see her cry for him, and she was dangerously close.
Wilson and House rode the elevator to the lobby in silence. When the doors opened he looked out at the busy lobby, memorizing the scene. He wondered if he would ever see it again.