A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating...!! I've moved to another town and the whole thing's been keeping me kind of busy. :)
So... I hope you'll enjoy the next chapter! We're slowly but surely approaching the end of this story, but there'll be about one more chapter to come.
And before I forget: A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL OF YOU!!!
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It had taken both Wilson's and Foreman's assistance to move House into the car. His futile attempts to walk on his bad leg had left it on the verge of cramping again, and sitting in the cold for hours had done nothing for the leg's overall stiffness. They settled the diagnostician on the back seat, wrapped in Wilson's thick winter coat; he was seriously shivering by now.
Once in House's apartment, Wilson dismissed the neurologist and helped his friend get rid of his wet clothes to take a long, hot bath. If House was feeling embarrassed by any of this, he didn't show it.
When the diagnostician eventually emerged from the bathroom again, Wilson was relieved to find him looking somewhat better, if still exhausted. The hot water seemed to have done him some good; he appeared to be much calmer, more centered again.
House made it to his bed unaided, even though his pace was markedly slower than usual. Wilson quietly regarded him, trying hard to suppress a new wave of concern when he noticed how much of his friend's usual posture and demeanor was missing, how laborious every movement appeared to be. He seemed so vulnerable right now. It didn't suit him...
Instead of verbalizing any of this, Wilson simply went to organize a second blanket, giving the other man some space to get settled in his bed without anybody watching him. When he returned and gently covered the diagnostician with the additional blanket, House was already half asleep. Lightly brushing the back of his hand against the older man's cheek reassured him that his body temperature was slowly returning to normal.
He quietly regarded his friend a moment longer, contemplating on whether it was a good or a bad sign that he had apparently accepted whatever was to come now so readily. He'd been so quiet ever since they had left the bus stop. In fact, he had hardly said a word since then.
For once Wilson would have paid money to hear one of the colorful insults the other man was so liberally distributing among whoever happened to be around... Hell, he'd even volunteer to be the target of such a verbal attack right now, if only his friend would say something!
Wilson was interrupted in his musing by House's unusually raspy voice.
"Kind o' creepy, trying to fall asleep while you're staring at me..."
Wilson knew it was a somewhat feeble attempt to lighten the situation, but he tried a small smile in response. "I'm not staring at you. – I'm just... trying to decide whether you're still dying from hypothermia, or if it's safe to assume you'll be okay for now." Tone slightly accusing.
The other man's mouth gave a tiny twitch in response. "If I'm dying, you could at least have the decency to let me do it in peace." Then, quietly: "I'm fine, Wilson. I just wanna get some rest..."
The oncologist nodded, almost absent-mindedly. He turned towards the door, then stopped one hand already on the handle. Without turning back towards his friend: "Can I leave you alone with this almost full bottle of a potentially lethal narcotic...?" Half-jokingly, but the underlying serious implication was clear.
A soft snort behind him was the only reply he got. He hesitated, only satisfied when the other man finally spoke again, voice heavy with fatigue: "Someone needs to stay around and keep you on your lazy toes after all..."
Wilson smiled slightly, for real this time, somehow feeling that it would be okay now. They would find a way.
They would have to...
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Both men had taken the rest of the week off.
The following Monday, Wilson once again found himself in Cuddy's office.
"So..." She eyed him somewhat uncomfortably. "What's the plan?"
Wilson met her inquiring gaze, his expression calm; certain. "I called in a couple of favors and got him an appointment with Dr Shaminsky." Cuddy slowly nodded. The pain specialist in New Jersey.
The oncologist quietly continued: "He examined House and... made a treatment proposal."
Another more impatient nod from his boss indicated him to continue and come to the point.
"He agrees with Greg's position in that the medication will probably have to contain a narcotic. But he proposes to supplement it with something that more specifically targets the nerve pain component. – Maybe Gabapentin; but in a much lower dosage than what House has been taking recently. This way he thinks House will eventually be able to cut back on the Vicodin and avoid the side effects of the Neurontin he has been suffering lately. – He also thinks a low-dose anti-depressant might help to further alleviate some of the pain. Would help with his sleeping issues, too; certainly couldn't hurt him mood-wise…" The last part of the sentence was muttered quietly, as if to himself.
Cuddy nodded again, hesitantly, voice rough. "There's more?" The question came out wearily.
Wilson gave a very small nod. "For now, he will need some PT to get the leg back to where it was before... all this. – But he can't do this with just the Vidodin. His leg can't tolerate any sort of strain at the moment, not even with the maximum recommended dosage."
Cuddy cringed at that, guilt now openly showing on her face. "And that means...?"
Wilson met her gaze again. "He'll need to get on something stronger for now. For the rehab, until the muscle has been strengthened somewhat again. – Shaminsky thinks we should try out Percocet first; or maybe a Fentanyl patch supplemented by another short-acting narcotic."
The dean of medicine now closed her eyes. "Great...! – A little well-meant intervention, and I cause him to go directly from wine to whiskey...!" Sarcastic; self-derogatory.
Wilson shook his head slightly, eyeing her with as much compassion as he was capable of at the moment. "You did mean well. – And on the bright side, he'll probably be on a much more effective combination of drugs in the long run."
Cuddy nodded. "Yeah... Why not make someone suffer a couple of months if it means..."
Wilson held up a hand, effectively interrupting her. "This doesn't help him."
Then, quietly: "Another thing is that he of course refuses to go somewhere stationary for further assessments and the adjustment of the meds. – He's apparently afraid to give up any more control... Can't blame him really..."
His boss frowned at that. But before she could even start to voice her protests, Wilson calmly continued. "That means I'll stay with him for a while, until everything's under control. Just in case… - He's okay with it, so… that's good."
Cuddy eyed him for another long moment, her expression unreadable; then she gave him a pained half-smile. "You know…? He's really lucky to have such a good friend."
To her surprise, Wilson just shook his head smiling slightly, while at the same time looking close to tears. "He's…" He averted his gaze briefly, before meeting Cuddy's eyes again, an intense look on his face. "I'm very lucky, too." With that he turned around and left.