A/N: Short chapter today, but an important one!

Thanks to all commenters/alerters/favoriters, your feedback is much appreciated.

"Wilson! Are you mad?"

House hadn't bothered knocking, just banged the door open and was now shouting, painfully aware that his face was an interesting shade of purple. His stomach informed him that he was hungry, and his brain labeled the fact as irrelevant.

"Why? I finally accepted you were saying the truth, and decided to support you, as you had asked me to do."

He sat down on Wilson's bed and hung his head in defeat, trying to replay recent events in his mind and find out how he could have gone so completely wrong.

"Not this way, Wilson, not this way. Tell me now, how did you talk them into it?"

Wilson pretended not to notice House's emotion, and answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

"It was very easy, really. I'm much healthier than you, younger, never had any addiction, and am very familiar with pain issues nevertheless. I was basically the perfect candidate."

"That's not what surprises me. How did you get them to decide to put the fetus in you and still give me the corresponding benefits? They're such ethics freaks I would have thought it would be impossible. They flat-out refused to answer my questions about it."

Wilson's answering smile showed the guy could give lessons to a poker player and the Mona Lisa at the same time.

"If they did, then I guess so should I. Not that I have anything interesting to say anyway, mind you."

House turned to his friend, who was still in bed, the blanket coming to his midriff, his torso propped up on two pillows, and held both his shoulders firmly.

"Please don't, Wilson. How would I feel if you were to die? Or have serious health issues or even just (just, Christ) unbearable pain for six months?"

Wilson didn't try to free himself or argue, nor did he drop his gaze from its current direction, aimed straight at House's face. He closed his eyes briefly, breathed, and answered in a soft, level voice.

"House, it's the least I can do. You deserve a chance, and I just hope it works. Plus... I've so often wished that I would be able to take some pain off your life and I'm delighted that it might finally happen."

As the words sank in, slow like molasses, House felt his unease grow.

"This is sick, and you know it. Pain cannot be shared."

"You'll be surprised. While we wait, should I make some pancakes?"

"No, don't bother. I don't think I can eat. Hell, I feel like I'm not going to eat ever again. Are you really sure? Have you thought this through?"

Fear cursed through House's brain. What if Wilson got scared when faced with the real experience? He still seemed wondering whether this all was just House's imagination. What if the pain was eventually too much for him to bear? What if something went wrong and he (correctly) viewed it all as House's fault?

Wilson's voice was still calm and soothing, he probably was employing the same tone that made cancer patients thank him even when he delivered death sentences.

"House, I'll be fine. I just considered the situation carefully and took the most logical decision. If your whole purpose in collaborating was a pain-free life, it may as well start now instead of in six months."

Wilson's hands rested on House's, and the gesture felt absurdly intimate - probably because they scarcely touched each other normally. On an impulse, House squeezed them, marveling at how delicate, almost feminine the skin on Wilson's strong, skillful fingers was. Wilson smiled openly now, then spoke, starting with the same sentence he had just used.

"I'll be fine. Now let me get to the bathroom and I'll prepare a celebratory breakfast. You may have to end up cooking for me every day, you know? I'm so looking forward to that."