Past The Party Lights

If House had thought Wilson was nervous on Monday before the results came in, he was mistaken. Friday morning, he was a bundle of nerves. It was just as well he wasn't allowed to eat anything before the surgery because nothing would've stayed down anyway.

He was so nervous he couldn't even button his shirt with his numb fingers. Cursing he came into the kitchen where House had escaped to have a cup of coffee and a slice of dry toast standing up at the counter.

"House, would you…?"

"Oh for God's sake, Wilson! Why can't you wear a t-shirt like normal people? Shut up, let me have breakfast in peace and go sit by the door until I'm done. I'll button your shirt before we go. But I'm not getting on my knees to tie your shoelaces, so you either wear something you can handle on your own or you go barefoot."

Apparently Cuddy had decided to play personal driver again because she showed up the moment House lugged Wilson's overnight bag out of the bedroom. He watched her and Wilson exchange a long hug before she turned around to him.

"Hi, House. Are you ready to go?"

He just nodded and walked out the door, leaving Wilson and his bag for Cuddy to worry about. The ride to the hospital passed in silence, at least on House's part. Wilson was sitting in front with Cuddy and wouldn't shut up. House tuned out of the conversation and tried to get a little more sleep because once they were at the hospital, they wouldn't have a minute on their own, as the wheels started turning.

With all the paperwork that needed to get done, it took a while until Wilson got into prep and the noise died down a bit. Cuddy had gone off to the cafeteria. House closed the curtain of the small cubicle to at least have an illusion of privacy. Wilson was settled on the bed, looking uncomfortable. There was no place for House to sit, so he leaned against the foot of the bed. They might not have another minute alone, some nurse or doctor was sure to barge in again any moment. But before House could open his mouth, Wilson did.

"Are you going to watch, House?"

Good question. He wasn't sure if he could.

"Do you want me to?"

"Why do you always have to answer a question with another question? Can't you just say what you want, just for once?"

House grinned. "The real question is why you want me to watch, if that is what you want. To make sure they do their job? I thought they were the best. There's nothing I could do, I'm officially dead, in case you've forgotten. Even if something goes wrong, do you think anyone's going to listen to some relative? Because that's what I am here now. So, why do you want me to watch, Wilson?"

Making Wilson uncomfortable before his big operation maybe wasn't such a great idea. But House really didn't know the answer to his question.

"I don't know." Wilson's voice was quiet. "I guess knowing you're out there, keeping an eye on things makes me feel safer. It's not rational. I know you can't do anything even if something does go wrong. Okay, I'm being irrational. I want you to watch. If you can."

Wilson had finally stopped staring at his hands and looked straight at House. He was afraid. House knew there was no way he would ever be able to say no to that look.

But he didn't get a chance to answer, as they were interrupted by a young nurse opening the curtains with a flourish.

"Good morning, Dr. Wilson. I'm here to remove any hair from the surgical site."

"There's no need for shaving, his voice is barely broken."

The girl flashed House an annoyed look. "Only doing my job. Besides, we don't shave – it increases the risk of infection. We use clippers instead."

She held up a pair of clippers and was about to open Wilson's gown when House intervened again.

"Seriously? The man's got barely any hair left on his head – how much do you think he's still got on his chest? Studies also show that if you want to avoid infection, your best bet is leaving what little hair is left right where it is."

The poor girl looked confused now. She was saved by Dr. Webber poking his head through the curtains.

"Ready, James? Everything okay?"

"Um, yes. I guess. Not sure there is any hair left to clip…" Wilson stuttered.

Webber threw a glance at the nurse. "What? Leave it, nurse; if we have to we'll remove it in the OR. If that's all, then I'll see you in a few minutes, James. Greg, we have an observation room ready, if you want to use it. Up to you. Gentlemen? I'll catch you later."

Greg? So much for staying under the radar, Webber knew full well who he was. Made sense if he offered him an observation room. Relatives normally would not want to see what was going on during surgery.

The nurse gave Wilson a light sedative and then left. "I'll be back in a few minutes to take you to the OR, Dr. Wilson."

"House?"

He took a deep breath.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, okay. I'll watch. I'll make sure they don't mess you up too badly. Not that there's much left of you to mess up, you look like crap already."

Wilson laughed. "Thanks. I guess."

The next twenty minutes flew by and then House was looking through a big pane of glass at a wide-eyed Wilson, surrounded by a surgical team and enough machines to outfit a spaceship. He looked scared, House thought. With good reason. This wasn't going to be a walk in the park. There were so many things that could go wrong in the next couple of hours. And Wilson was aware of all of them. There was a reason why doctors were said to be the worst patients. They knew all that could go wrong.

With more confidence than he actually felt, House nodded at Wilson one last time before he was fully under.

"Why are they going for an open resection? There are less invasive methods." Cuddy was back with coffee for House and tea for herself.

House sighed. "Because he's stage II and it's invaded the tissue around his thymus. Since they can't say for certain how far it's spread, they don't want to take any risks."

"Oh, he hadn't told me."

No, Wilson wouldn't tell unless asked directly. And Cuddy hadn't asked.

They were silent for a long time, watching proceedings in the next room. Webber's team was good, House had to give them that. They moved around Wilson like a troupe of ballet dancers, tuned in to each other to a degree House hadn't seen in a long time. Wilson was in good hands.

He turned around to Cuddy. "So you've got me in a room now, I'm awake and you know I won't leave because I won't leave him. What are you going to do with those two or three hours?"

"I don't know, I hadn't thought of it like that."

Well, if she didn't want to have that conversation he was also trying avoid, that was okay with him. He was happy not to talk. Since this could take a while, he put his feet up on a small corner table, repositioning his chair so that he could still see Wilson through the glass.

"House…"

"Hm?"

"Is your leg worse? I mean… it seems worse. What happened? Was it the, um, surgery?"

He had been remotely aware of Cuddy watching him for the last half hour or so. He also knew that he hadn't had the energy to minimize his limp, not today, not with Wilson there on the table.

"The, um, surgery? Are you making small talk now, Cuddy? Why don't you call it what it was? Moments of madness? Delusions of grandeur? Idiocy? Because that's what it was. Yes, it's worse. And yes, it's my own damn fault. And no, I still don't feel like talking about it."

Cuddy took a deep breath. Trying not to explode, he bet. "Can't we just talk like normal people, House? Can't I express my concern without getting my head ripped off? Civil conversation? Will any of that ever be possible again?"

Normal people? When had they ever been normal?

"What do you want, Cuddy? Don't you think that every time we talk, every time we meet, no matter how much we pretend things are normal, we'll be thinking about what happened? We'll be angry and annoyed, and embarrassed and sad and who knows what else. It'll always be there."

"Why do I feel like I'm the only one who wants to get things back to normal?"

House scoffed. "Normal? Are you delusional? There is no normal between us. Not anymore, I made sure of that."

Cuddy didn't reply. When he couldn't stand the silence anymore, he turned around to her. She was staring half into the distance. Noticing that he was no longer watching the surgery but her instead, she finally spoke.

"Do you regret trying, House? You never said the other day."

Years ago, he had thought about this long and hard and had come to a different result every time. But after the last few days, knowing what he knew now, years after the fact, the answer was suddenly easy.

"Yes."

Cuddy seemed stunned. "Why?"

He knew she wouldn't like his answer, so he explained: "I regret it because we both got hurt. And I knew that we would. I never wanted that. If I could turn back time, I would. Knowing what I know now, at that moment, when you came to my apartment, I'd tell you to leave. If I could change the past, I would. But I can't."

He turned back to the proceedings in the other room, knowing that he had probably just blown up whatever rudimentary bridge they had built over the last week or so.

The surgeon had now started to close Wilson's chest back up and Webber, easily recognizable by his neon green cap with skulls, took a few steps towards the observation room, holding a shallow basin with what he could only assume used to be Wilson's thymus.

"That's it, Greg", his voice came over the intercom, "we've got everything we could find. Your friend's been a model patient, no hiccups. I'll see you outside in a bit."

Webber could have been wearing a tutu for all House cared. Anyone with news like this could look however he wanted.