It's a week before House wakes up again.

"Hey poohbear." Warmth fills you as his rough, crackling voice calls you by your pet name.

The pet name. It had started over a year ago when House stumbled across an old Whinnie the Pooh cartoon at some ungodly hour of the night (he might have been drunk but you can't remember). He usually only used the name to irritate or embarrass you but on rare occasions, his name calling is actually out of pure affection and today, when he calls to you, you can feel the love behind it.

"You look like shit, Jimmy." And he's right, you do.

Your clothes are wrinkled and fit poorly from the 5 or 10 lbs you know you've lost. Your eyes are red and bloodshot from lack of sleep and crying and your "Jew fro" as House so crudely puts it, is hanging limply on top of your head from lack of proper primping. You've only been catching quick showers in the bathroom in his room every now and then so your hair has been forced to dry naturally.

Not that you give a damn about how your hair looks but House sure does, or at least that's what he's trying to make it seem. That everything is normal because he can tell by the look on your face that it's not.

"Greg-" You start but he cuts you off.

"Seriously Jimmy, you couldn't have asked Cameron or Cuddy or-hell-even Chase to borrow a blow dryer so you could look hot for me when I-"

"Greg," You say again, this time with more force. He shuts up quickly and you can see his bottom lip quiver slightly. "You had another infarction. Your leg-"

"I know, James. I know." He turns his head away from you. "I knew when the pain started." Your stomach sinks as you see the tears gloss over his eyes. You grab his hand, expecting him to pull away but instead he grabs it tighter, pulling you closer. When the first tear falls down his cheek, you pull him into your arms and hold him as he sobs heavily.

"I'm sorry, James. I should have told you when the pain got worse. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." His words are muffled by your shirt but their meaning isn't.

House knew. He knew and yet he said nothing and you noticed nothing. Somewhere in your mind you know you should be upset, guilt ridden and maybe even hurt but you're just too damn emotionally drained to care. Besides, even if House had told you earlier the outcome would still be the same. There was little muscle left after the first one, the second one just finished the job.

You continue to hold and rock and soothe House until his sobs become hiccups and then his breathing finally evens out. As you lay him back on the bed, you graze your hand over his cheek to wipe away the remaining wetness. You then place a chaste kiss to his forehead.

"I love you, Greg." You back away and are almost out the door when you hear his murmur.

"Jimmy…love you more."