Wilson took the back seat of the Rover, out of politeness and preference, letting his anger towards House simmer. House would accuse him of sulking, and House would be right, the way he was always right, no matter how much it hurt those around him.
He was right about Amber, of course. She would have been better off if she'd never known him. A few months of happiness couldn't make up for more than half a lifetime lost. And House undoubtedly wished he'd never picked her resume out of the pile. A fractured skull, cardiac arrest, and massive seizure had been a high price to pay for a relationship he'd barely tolerated. But Wilson still couldn't bring himself to regret any second of their time together.
What he did regret was failing her memory so quickly. She wouldn't have wanted him to run away, but he wasn't sure she would have wanted him to return either. And he knew she would be disgusted that he'd fallen back into old patterns so quickly.
Amber had wanted him to take care of himself, to look after his own needs, but he didn't know how to do that. Maybe if he'd had more time with her, he would have learned. He'd had four months to discover that he needed House as much as House apparently needed him, but a decade and a half of friendship had failed to teach him how to protect himself from the sharp edges of House's personality. Or maybe it was just that his emotional calluses had softened during those four months' disuse.
The anger cooled and dissipated, and he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. It was barely noon and he was already exhausted. Trans-Atlantic flights were hell on the system. But he sat up and unbuckled his seatbelt the second the Rover slid to a stop. He didn't trust Jack not to leave him sleeping in the car.
"We should put him in an isolation room," he said, trotting alongside Jack. "The last thing we want is for the Gwrach to walk into a ward full of sick children, all of them unhappy and in pain."
"Ianto would already have thought of that," Jack said, "but we'll need to secure the entrance to the room. If the Gwrach is a shape-shifter, then we'll have to scan everyone coming in, but at least with you there we can keep the medical personnel to a minimum, barring any emergency."
Wilson nodded and started making a list of everything he might need. Kidneys were next up on the path of destruction, but hopefully dialysis wouldn't be necessary or House would have to talk him through the procedure. Perhaps it wouldn't come to that. "What about his family?" he asked. "How will we keep them away?"
"His mother died in childbirth and his father took off not long after," Gwen replied, her tone making it clear what she thought about that. "He was raised by his grandmother, who died suddenly last week. There's an aunt, apparently, but she works for an international aid agency and they haven't been able to get a message to her."
"That's too much grief for one little boy," Jack said. "It must have made him irresistible." The ever-present smile was gone now, and his body was ramrod straight and tense.
Wilson could understand his anger, but he wasn't certain it was entirely deserved. Whatever the end result, he'd sensed that the Gwrach's intentions hadn't been malicious. But Wilson knew from bitter experience that good intentions weren't proof against causing pain. "We'll take care of him," he said, a promise to both Jack and himself.
Seeing a child in a hospital bed never failed to move Wilson, but years of experience had taught him to bury any trace of pity. His job required him to give treatments that were often as painful as the disease, and he couldn't afford to second-guess himself when every option meant suffering. It had been one of the hardest lessons he'd learned -- and one he was still learning -- but it was the only way to survive an oncology career.
But Gwen had no such constraints and her eyes filled with tears when she saw the still, white figure almost lost in the bedclothes. "The poor child," she said softly. "He must feel so alone and afraid."
"Gwen, why don't you talk to the nursing staff and get a list of everyone working on the ward, and let them know that Dr. Wilson will be in charge of the boy's care." Jack positioned himself at the door. "And don't worry. He's not alone any more."
Wilson picked up the boy's chart and read it quickly, relieved to see that there were no indications of kidney or liver failure so far. The probiotics were either making a difference or they had caught the symptoms early enough. He hoped House would find something definitive in the autopsy.
The boy stirred and moaned slightly. Wilson glanced at the monitors and saw that his heart rate was increasing. He was waking up. "Hello, Wyn," he said, smiling as the boy opened his eyes and focused on him. "My name is Dr. Wilson. How are you feeling right now?"
"My tummy hurts," he whispered.
"I know," Wilson said. "And we're going to fix that for you. But I need you to be a brave boy for a little while longer. Can you do that for me?"
Wyn nodded. "I'm always brave." But his lip quivered and Wilson could tell he was close to tears. "I want my Nana."
Wilson brushed a strand of hair off his forehead. "I know you do. And I wish I could bring her to you, but I'm afraid that's impossible. But we're going to bring your aunt to you just as soon as we can." He wondered if Torchwood could help with the search. Gwen and Ianto seemed to have unlimited sources of information.
"Nana came to me yesterday," Wyn said stubbornly. "She told me not to be sad, because she'd always be with me."
Wilson glanced at Jack, who stepped closer to the bed. "Was this before or after your tummy started to hurt?"
"Before." The boy started to cry. "I want my Nana."
"Shhh," Wilson murmured, rubbing his hand soothingly up and down the boy's arm. "You know what? She was right. She will always be with you. Because you'll never forget her. When you close your eyes and think really hard you'll be able to see her whenever you want. How about you try that now?" He hummed a lullaby his younger patients always found comforting as Wyn's eyes fluttered closed again. Only when the boy's heart rate slowed and his breathing evened out did Wilson straighten up and move back to the foot of the bed.
"You know that's incredibly sexy," Jack whispered. "Is that how you score with the nurses? They must be lined up outside your office."
Wilson ignored him. Jack would have to try harder than that if he wanted to embarrass him. Whispered innuendo was nothing compared to having his sex life discussed loudly in a busy hallway. He checked the IV and catheter bag, glad to have something to occupy his attention.
"I mean it," Jack said, moving up behind him. "It must drive House crazy. He doesn't like to share you with anyone, does he?"
"House might be brilliant, but he's also the most insecure person I've ever met." It kept Wilson constantly off-balance, that contrast between confident physician and uncertain friend, never knowing which side he needed to nurture. He smiled. "He once borrowed increasing sums of money from me just to see where I'd draw the line."
"Where did you draw the line?"
My girlfriend's life, he thought. But that time, at least, House had paid him back in full, with interest. "We're at $15,000 and counting," he said. "Though I'm sure the next time he's arrested the bail will be higher." He moved away from the hospital bed, afraid of disturbing the boy.
Jack followed, and they stood sentry just outside the doorway. "You probably get asked this a lot, but why do you stick around? Why did you come back?" He shrugged when Wilson looked sharply at him. "I knew when you quit Princeton-Plainsboro. And when you turned down the job at Mercy. I keep track of the people I care about."
It was a little disturbing being stalked on both sides of the Atlantic, but it was also flattering. Which went a long way towards answering Jack's question. He repeated what he'd told House after the funeral. "You don't choose your friends any more than you choose your family." He remembered what Jack had told him three years before. "There's a connection that time or distance couldn't break, no matter how hard I tried. You'd have to retcon more than a third of my life to eradicate him from my memories. Your turn," he said, shifting the focus away from him with practiced ease. Being friends with House was a master class in deflection. "You never did tell me much about you. Who's the real Jack Harkness?" Wilson asked. He'd meant it as a joke, but at his words all the laughter fled from Jack's face.
"Someone who died so that I could be a better person." Jack turned and stared down the corridor. "After my father was killed and my brother was lost, I didn't care what I did. I fought as a mercenary, joined an organization that made the CIA look like the Peace Corps, and survived as a con man. And one day, I took the name of an American volunteer in the RAF who went missing in action. It was just another scam, but then I met the Doctor. And he changed everything for me."
Wilson could understand what it meant to meet someone who changed everything. It was another reason he'd come back. "Who's the Doctor?"
Jack smiled. "If I try to answer that we'll end up in an Abbott and Costello routine. You could call him a kind of intergalactic troubleshooter. I was one of his companions for a while, one of the Children of Time. And when he abandoned me, I returned to Earth and was recruited by Torchwood. And I found a purpose again. It's taken a long time -- longer than you can possibly imagine -- but I've tried to make the Institute the kind of organization that he could be proud of."
It was still hard for Wilson to accept Jack's talk of time and space travel, but he'd seen too many things in just the past day to allow him the comfort of disbelief.
Jack touched his ear suddenly and stepped away, talking in a low voice. When he turned back to Wilson, he was grinning triumphantly. "House has a new theory. He thinks the cells you saw in the appendix have been repaired from millennia of mutations. They've gotten into the bloodstream and that's what is destroying the other organs. We need to take the boy's appendix out and then find a way to isolate and destroy what he's calling 'perfect' cells."
"We'll need to book an OR," Wilson said, reviewing the procedure for an appendectomy. He didn't do many of them -- appendiceal carcinoma was relatively rare and most cases were identified during an appendectomy -- but he wasn't confident they could obtain a surgeon at short notice.
"No need," Jack replied blithely. "Ianto is bringing the singularity scalpel."
"The what?" It sounded like something from The Princess Bride.
"Singularity scalpel. We picked it up in a salvage operation a few years back. You can use it to operate without opening up a body. It vaporizes an object within another object."
"Like a tumour." House would accuse him of thinking in the cancer box again, but he'd lost too many patients to inoperable tumours not to immediately see the possibilities.
"Yes and no," Jack hedged. "It's alien technology that we haven't entirely mastered yet. We'd originally thought it was a weapon, but Owen was convinced it was a medical tool. It's only worked to remove something alien from a body, and even then the success rate isn't promising. We have no way of replicating it for widespread use."
"How many times has it been successful?" Wilson asked suspiciously.
"Twice," Jack admitted.
"And you want to use it on a six-year-old boy?" It was the kind of treatment plan House would suggest. Wilson wondered why he was drawn to men who were obviously insane.
Jack, at least, looked a little abashed. "We should consider it as an option," he insisted. "If painkillers affect the progression of the organ failure, who knows what might happen with anaesthetic. But I'll tell Gwen to arrange for the OR as a back-up." He touched his earpiece again and had a quick conversation, pausing only to ask Wilson for specific needs. "All bases covered," he said.
Wilson knew he was being humoured, but caution in patient care wasn't a crime. He was about to point out that a known and safe surgical procedure was infinitely preferable to untried alien technology when Jack covered his ear and frowned.
"Where are you?" he asked. "Okay, leave House at the Hub and get here as soon as you can. It's show time."
Wilson stared at him. "She's here? But it's only mid-afternoon. The pattern's changed."
"Because we changed it," Jack said. "He's not deteriorating, but he's still grieving. I don't think this is the coup de grace -- it's a second attempt." He scanned the corridor. "No sign yet. I want you to go to the nurse's station and wait until I buzz you to come back."
Every instinct told Wilson to do just that, but then he turned to look at the young boy in the hospital bed. "No," he said. "I'm not leaving my patient. What if he needs medical attention?"
"He's only going to need medical attention if the Gwrach gets by me, and that's not going to happen," Jack replied. "Now get out of here."
But Wilson stood his ground. "No," he repeated, planting his hands on his hips and lifting his chin stubbornly. House called it his superhero pose, and Wilson hoped that looking the part might translate into acting it as well. But Jack only looked ruefully amused.
"Fine," he said. "But stay in the room. Don't leave the boy's side, no matter what happens."
That might be a difficult order to obey, but Wilson nodded and retreated into the room, as if acquiescing. He'd learned more than medicine from House over the years. The boy was still sleeping, which was fortunate since he didn't want to risk a sedative. His vitals were still strong and the collected urine in his catheter bag was clear and blood free. He was tucking the blanket more comfortably around the boy when he heard footsteps in the corridor.
He straightened up and carefully positioned himself between the bed and the door. The Gwrach would have to go through both of them before it reached Wyn.
Jack pushed his greatcoat over his hip and pulled out his gun. "Stay back," he said to Wilson, blocking the doorway. As the figure approached, however, he faltered and stepped backwards, shaking his head. "That's not possible," he said.
Wilson saw a tall, slender young man with cropped dark hair and a resemblance to Jack in the sharp bones of his face. He would have guessed who it was even if Jack hadn't whispered, "Gray." A trick of the light and the features aged and roughened, becoming those of his own lost brother. But of course it wasn't anybody's brother, any more than it had been Amber, and Wilson took a step towards Jack.
That brought Jack back to himself. "Stay back," he said again. "And you, back off," he told the Gwrach. "The boy is not for you." He held his gun steady and reached into his jacket just as Gwen came running down the corridor, her own gun held in ready position. "I've evacuated all the ambulatory patients on the floor and secured the others. Are you all right?" she asked Jack.
"Peachy. I was just explaining to our friend here that there's been a mistake. We'll discuss it back at the Hub." He tossed a small object at the Gwrach's feet, and a visible containment field sprung up around it.
And that was it. The boy was safe. They would remove the appendix, find a way to isolate the altered cells, and fly back home to Princeton. Everything that happened would become just another fading memory.
Wilson shook his head and wondered why Jack and Gwen still had their guns out. He found out an instant later, when the Gwrach reached out, shorted the field, and redirected the energy into Jack. The force threw Jack backwards into the room, and he lay splayed on the floor like a broken doll. Wilson couldn't tell if he was breathing, but his eyes were open and unseeing.
"Jack!" Wilson shouted, but he couldn't make his feet move. It was happening again. People were in danger, people were dying, and he just stood there watching.
"Don't," Gwen said, though Wilson wasn't sure if she was talking to him or the Gwrach. "There's nothing you can do. Stay with the boy."
That broke his paralysis. Too much of his career was spent with patients where there was nothing he could do to save them, and yet he still tried. The boy was stable, but Jack needed help. He stumbled over to where he lay and dropped to his knees, his medical training kicking in.
Jack wasn't breathing, and Wilson couldn't find a pulse in his wrist or neck. "Goddammit, Jack, don't do this!" he shouted, and pounded on his chest three times before starting compressions. It was House in the bus, all over again. Wilson thought he was going to cry.
"James, don't," Gwen called out, as she inched towards the Gwrach. "He'll be all right. I promise."
But it was only when the Gwrach swept forward, towards the bed, that Wilson scrambled to his feet. "No!" he shouted, not willing to lose the boy and Jack. "Look at me. Please. Don't touch the boy."
The Gwrach stopped and turned, and Wilson managed to slip between it and the bed. "Look at me," he repeated, and as their eyes met, the Gwrach transformed into the familiar, beloved image of Amber. "You didn't mean to hurt anyone, did you?" he said. "You were threatened, so you lashed out. But the boy isn't a threat to you."
"Wyn Morgan," the Gwrach said, and it was Amber's voice, the voice he still heard in his dreams.
He could hear more running footsteps approaching, and Ianto appeared, gun drawn. Wilson had no illusions that House would have allowed himself to be left behind, so he wasn't surprised to hear a desperate step-thump echoing down the hallway just a moment later. The situation was about to go critical.
And then Jack took a huge gulp of air and sat up. "I told you it wouldn't get past me," he said, as if he hadn't just been lying on the floor without a pulse. "Well, maybe just a little ways," he amended. He stood up and aimed his gun again. "Move away from the boy. I don't want to shoot, but I will if you get any closer."
Wilson wasn't sure what was more insane -- pointing a gun in a hospital room or spontaneous resurrection. He was trying to form the words to ask what the hell had just happened when House chose that moment to burst into the room, blithely unconcerned that he'd just walked into Ianto and Gwen's line of fire.
Jack sighed and grabbed House before he could walk right up to the Gwrach and try to decapitate it with his cane. "One amateur in the way is enough," Jack said, pulling House behind him. "Do either of you listen to anyone?"
Wilson ignored him, keeping his attention focused on the Gwrach. "We're here to help the boy," he said. "Wyn Morgan. He's six years old and he's very ill, but it's not too late for us to save him. But we can only do that if you let us." He took a step closer, reaching out his hand. It was a risk, but he needed to establish trust.
It was too much of a risk for House. "Wilson, get away from there," he shouted, his face twisted with fear. "You're a doctor, not an intergalactic bounty hunter."
Wilson couldn't remember the last time he'd seen House frightened. Maybe now he'd understand how Wilson felt when he provoked men with guns. "I'm not trying to hunt it," Wilson replied. "I'm just talking. And you're not helping." He offered his most soothing smile to the Gwrach, who transformed again, this time into a mirror image of himself. Wilson blinked, unnerved, until he realized that the Gwrach had been responding to House.
"Well, that's appropriate," House observed tartly, though he'd visibly relaxed. "The personification of killing through kindness. No one matches Wilson for leaving a wake of destruction in his well-meaning path."
"Still not helping," Wilson snapped, glaring at House. "If you won't shut up, then go away." Either option was about as likely as holding back the tide, but Wilson would stand his ground and drown if necessary. At least Jack still had one hand clamped to House's wrist.
"Let him talk," Jack said, and pushed House out the door, blocking the frame with his body.
Wilson exhaled shakily. "I know you don't want to hurt the boy," he said. "You were trying to help him. But what you did is killing him. That's not what you wanted, is it?"
He watched himself shake his head and closed his eyes, wondering how many times his face had carried that expression of guilt.
"I wanted to help," the Gwrach said, taking its own form. "To heal. He was in pain."
"I know. But some pain you can't heal," Wilson said. "What he's suffering from is grief, just like the others you tried to help. It's a normal reaction to losing someone you love. And it's a kind of pain that can't be excised like a tumour or cured with antibiotics. It has to be endured and understood, until finally it can be released." It had taken him a long time to reach that point after Amber died, and he'd caused as much pain as he'd experienced in the process, but it had been a self-preservation of its own kind.
"There was wrongness in the body," the Gwrach said, unfurling its wings slightly. "I fixed it. The pain should have gone, but it only got worse. They were suffering. I had to stop it."
"It was the appendix," Wilson replied, his hand hovering over his abdomen. "It's a vestigial organ. Its function diminished as humans evolved. When you changed it, you changed the way the body works, which caused the other organs to fail. But it's not too late for the boy. We can remove the appendix, isolate the altered cells. But I can't let you touch him."
"Please," the Gwrach said. "I can do this. Return the body as it was. Let me fix what I did."
Wilson believed the Gwrach was sincere, but it had killed eight people through good intentions. And yet, if it could reverse the damage without surgery or hit-and-miss alien technology, it would be the safest option for the boy. He looked at Jack, who nodded and lowered his gun. Wilson swallowed heavily and stepped aside, hoping that he was doing the right thing.
The tip of a ragged wing brushed his arm as the Gwrach moved towards the bed, and Wilson was filled with a sense of warmth and peace. "Thank you," it said and leaned over the boy.
Wyn stirred and moaned in his sleep, but settled under the lightest of touches from one bony finger. Wilson watched the monitors closely, prepared to pull the Gwrach away if anything changed drastically, but the boy's heart rate and blood pressure only dipped briefly and then stabilized. When Wilson looked at his face, he could see that Wyn was sleeping deeply and naturally with a slight smile on his face.
The Gwrach stepped away. "It is done." It covered its face in supplication or grief. "So much pain," it whispered. "Always before my kind have stood by, only to weep at the suffering. I thought I could do more. I will not interfere again."
All his life, Wilson had wanted to do more, to help more. He couldn't condemn the Gwrach without condemning himself. But he could offer absolution of a kind, and hope that it was deserved by both of them. "Sometimes it's enough just to know someone else shares your sorrow," he said. "And you gave the boy his grandmother one last time. In time that will help heal the grief."
The Gwrach looked at him and opened its arms. Wilson hesitated, and then stepped into its embrace. "Thank you," it said.
Wilson could feel it change around him, the arms softening and yet becoming surer, that wonderful dichotomy of strength and vulnerability that he had loved in Amber. He buried his face in her hair, allowing himself to both remember and forget. "Goodbye," he whispered, as she pulled away.
"Goodbye," she said and was gone.
Wilson kept his eyes closed, trying to hold onto the sense memory of her arms around him just a moment longer. A hand rested on his shoulders and he turned, expecting to see Jack. But it was House, looking uncomfortable and annoyed and exactly what Wilson had always needed.
