February

The following weeks passed relatively uneventfully. House's health had stabilized enough for him to work the same amount of cases he usually would, and by the end of January, Cuddy had even used her well-tried charm-meets-threat technique to get him to spend a few hours a day doing clinic duty.

And Wilson was relieved to note that – while House didn't really look any better than he had a couple of weeks ago – he at least didn't seem to be getting any worse. So his initial concern regarding an imminent major health crisis had apparently been unfounded. Which was very good, since he really had a lot of other things on his mind right now…

For some reason – and he couldn't for the life of him come up with one – things between himself and Amber had slowly started going downhill some time ago. It felt as if they might be in some serious trouble in the not so far future, but Wilson was determined not to give in that easily this time. He had been in this position often enough. This time, he would fight for his dream of a family. Of happiness. Of a sense of… completeness.

It felt bad right now. But giving up would feel even worse… He just had to hang in there. Show her he was serious. – He really loved her, after all… Why did it always become such an effort at some point though?

Maybe all he needed was an evening on House's couch. Some beer, a bad movie… Just some breathing time. To relax. Get his mind off things…

. . . . .

He was abruptly pulled from his thoughts, when Kutner knocked on his office door one Friday morning.

"Can I… talk to you for a minute?" He seemed a little nervous.

Wilson eyed him curiously. "Of course." He gestured towards the chair opposite his desk. "What's up?"

The younger man hesitantly entered the room, apparently uncomfortable. He sat down but didn't say anything for a moment, before finally forcing himself to meet Wilson's gaze.

"I… got a call from House yesterday."

Wilson frowned slightly at that. "What; as in… yesterday after work?"

A small nod. "Around ten. Told me he'd had a minor accident and that he needed some assistance."

Wilson's frown deepened, but he didn't say anything, just nodded for the other man to continue instead.

"He told me to use his spare key. – I found him in the kitchen..." Kutner seemed to hesitate briefly, before taking a deep breath and continuing his explanation. "There was a lot of blood." He tried to ignore Wilson's shocked gaze. "From a cut on his forearm. Close to the wrist really. – Said he'd accidentally cut himself…" He briefly looked down, before seemingly forcing himself to continue. "I also saw an empty bottle of Aspirin on the kitchen counter…"

Wilson now paled slightly, trying very hard to keep his composure. "What are you saying…"

Kutner slowly looked up to meet his gaze again. "I'm not saying anything. I'm just telling you… - He needed 14 stitches."

Wilson almost didn't find his voice again, his throat suddenly tight. "Did he seem…"

Kutner interrupted him. "He seemed normal. Well, normal for him anyway… – But he refused to go to the ER. Had me stitch him up at his apartment. – I think he didn't want anyone else to know…"

Wilson replied with a slow nod. "So you are saying… that you think he… did this on purpose." Not really a question.

The younger man just shrugged. "No, I'm... I just thought you should know. – He's been… I don't know. – All I'm saying is; you're still his friend, right? Maybe you should talk to him."

Wilson suddenly felt himself starting to sweat. "Of course I'm still his friend…" He abruptly stood up from his chair. He needed to get out of here... "But I don't think he – " Deep breath. "He wouldn't do something like that. And if he did, he wouldn't do it with a knife and some Aspirin…!" He slowly shook his head, forcing himself to calm down a bit again. "And if he'd really intended to kill himself, harm himself, whatever… Why would he call anybody then?"

Watching Wilson from where he was still sitting, Kutner finally replied with a small shrug even though he was frowning slightly by now. "Maybe he just changed his mind. Maybe he was… confused or something when he did it. Or maybe it really was just an accident. – Just… Will you talk to him? Please?"

"Hey…"

House briefly looked up from his PC to find Wilson entering his office and sitting down in the chair across from his desk.

"Hey."

A brief moment of silence, during which Wilson firmly kept his gaze on his friend. When he finally spoke again, his tone was suspiciously neutral. "I hear you've injured your arm…"

House calmly returned his intense gaze.

"Yes." Tone light. – Holding up said arm slightly, he indicated the bandaged wound site. "Already stitched up though, so everything's good."

Wilson slowly nodded at that, eyes lingering for a moment on the pristine white bandage. "You gave Kutner a scare…"

House snorted slightly at that. "With a cut?! Guess I should reconsider my hiring decisions then…"

Wilson didn't take his eyes off the other man. "He says you'd taken Aspirin before..."

House just shrugged at the comment. "So what. I had a headache."

"House." The older man's expression was already stubborn; Wilson continued anyway. "How depressed are you?"

"I'm not depressed. – And I didn't try to kill myself." Voice calm, but firm.

Wilson eyed him incredulously. "You honestly think I believe you that you cut yourself badly enough to need fourteen stitches… accidentally?!"

House's expression suddenly turned into a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "I was drunk, okay?!" When Wilson didn't reply anything immediately, he continued more quietly. "I fell with a glass in hand. – It was an accident."

An awkward silence settled between them. Then Wilson apparently found his voice again.

"How much have you been drinking lately? You know that your pills in combination with alcohol don't make a very good – "

"Oh, for Christ's sake…" House started to wearily rub his forehead. "Will you just stop?!"

Wilson just looked at him for a moment. When he finally spoke again, his tone was very quiet. "If it really was an accident… Then, why didn't you call me. Why Kutner?"

House briefly averted his eyes at that, before apparently forcing himself to meet Wilson's slightly hurt gaze again. "Maybe because I wanted to avoid exactly the conversation we're having right now. Maybe because I knew that you'd be physically unable to not make a big deal out of it…"

They both knew that wasn't the whole truth. – Maybe it wasn't even part of it…

Wilson was just about to reply something, when they were interrupted by Chase, who had suddenly appeared in the doorway.

His gaze travelled from one man to the other, clearly aware of the tension between them. "Sorry… Should I come back?" He gestured slightly towards the corridor, apparently ready to just leave again.

"No." House nodded for him to come in. "This enormously stimulating conversation has just come to its long-overdue ending anyway…"

Wilson threw him a disapproving glance at that, but didn't say anything. – He also made no move to leave…

Still a little uncertain about how appropriate the moment was, Chase finally started to speak a little hesitantly.

"Cameron is going to try her hand at a pot roast tonight."

The statement was so unexpected that both House and Wilson needed a moment to process what had been said. Chase was eyeing House expectantly, apparently waiting for some sort of response.

House finally just raised an eyebrow. "Uh… Good luck with that?"

The younger man smirked at that, patiently clarifying: "We could use a third stomach…"

When House was still staring at him uncomprehendingly, Chase raised his eyebrows slightly. "We'd like you to come." He sounded as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Wilson's gaze went from Chase to House, expression incredulous. "That was… unexpected."

Simply ignoring his friend's comment, House now shook his head slightly, eyes on Chase. "No."

"Just… 'No'?! – Why not?" Chase sounded honestly surprised by the flat dismissal. Maybe even a little disappointed...

"Hmm… Why don't I want to leave my apartment and drive 20 minutes to get to a place I've never been to before, just to eat some pot roast of dubious quality in the company of two of my ex-employees. ––– Where to begin?"

Chase regarded him with a small frown. "So, you don't feel like leaving your apartment, having company, or eating?"

House tilted his head slightly in mock thought. "I'd say: Two out of three actually!" With that he turned towards his PC again, hoping to signal both men the end of this strange meeting…

He was actually surprised when Chase simply went on, tone casual: "Okay, so... I guess we could either come by your place then, bring you some food and leave again; or we could come and keep you some company, while eating everything by ourselves." He finished with a small shrug. "So... What's it gonna be?"

Shaking his head again at that, House briefly glanced towards the ceiling in obvious frustration. "I don't believe this…" Then, gruffly: "Okay. 8 o'clock. My place. – But don't you dare forget the food… And absolutely no kissing or holding hands!"

Chase smirked again at that. "With you or Cameron?"

Before House even had a chance to reply, he turned around to leave the room. When he had already reached the door, he half-turned around again, curiously nodding towards House's left side. "What happened to your arm?"

To House's threatening glance, he then just shrugged slightly again, pushed the door open and left.

After a very brief moment of silence, Wilson turned towards his friend again, the look on his face incredulous. "What the hell was that?"

House returned his gaze wearily. "What was what. – You heard him. They have food; they want to share. End of story…"

Shaking his head slightly, Wilson still sounded stunned. "I can't believe you're actually going to have dinner with Cameron and Chase…! – You don't even like them!"

House just shrugged at that. "I like food…"

That obviously wasn't good enough for the oncologist. "I didn't even know you had any sort of private – "

"Wilson!" House was clearly becoming annoyed now. "What the hell is wrong with you?! – First you're upset about a cut on my arm, then you're upset because I'm having dinner with someone. One could almost get the impression you were trying to be upset about something."

Wilson looked stunned at that. "I'm… – No. Of course not. Why should I…" Then, shaking his head defensively: "I mean it's great that you're… meeting people. It's good. Great."

"You're repeating yourself."

"I'm just surprised, House! You're not really the most sociable guy in New Jersey…"

House suddenly narrowed his eyes in suspicion, gaze intense. "You're not actually jealous, are you. – Because I'd lack the vocabulary to express how ridiculous that would be." He hated the mixture of anger and bitterness that had unbiddenly entered his voice.

Wilson looked completely taken aback. "I'm not… That's not the point, House. – I just find it curious. I mean… Pity is the most unacceptable feeling on earth, but it's okay when it comes from Cameron and Chase?!"

Flinching sharply at those last words, House actually looked as if he had been slapped in the face for a moment.

Wilson seemed shocked by his own words as well, because he now quickly added in an almost apologetic tone: "That… didn't come out quite as I had planned it…"

Before he could even come up with some further explanation or apology, House had already pushed himself to his feet, expression once again impassive; stony even. "Get the hell out of here, Wilson." He jerkily nodded towards his office door.

His tone didn't leave much room for bargaining. Still, Wilson didn't want to just leave things between them like this. "House…"

"I mean it, Wilson. Get out. Now!"

Briefly opening his mouth again, Wilson finally just shook his head dejectedly, before somewhat stiffly pushing himself to his feet and reluctantly leaving the room.

. . . . .

House's head was pounding, causing him to lean on his desk heavily the moment his office door had fallen close again and he was finally alone. The only thing he could still hear at this point was his own pulse, which was right now giving a very convincing impression of a metronome set for the Flight of the Bumblebee.

He didn't feel well, but couldn't exactly place his discomfort. Maybe it was just the waves and waves of pain his leg was right now sending as sharp reminders of his much too abrupt movements when he had so impulsively pushed himself to his feet a minute ago…

Instinct made him suddenly lurch to the side, causing him to land awkwardly in his desk chair again, head directly above the trash can now. Seconds later, he was retching miserably, until he had lost everything he'd had that day, which was basically lots of coffee and half a bagel...

He needed to go home. Which wasn't good because that would require quite a bit of actual movement. – At the very least, he needed to lie down…

Pushing himself to a shaky stance again, he groaned the moment he leaned onto his cane to take a step. There was just no way that his shoulder was going to adequately support his weight today, unless he wanted to keep moaning with every single step he took. Come to think of it, the same seemed to be true for his leg…

Reaching for the phone, he quickly punched in a couple of numbers, waiting impatiently for someone to pick up. He felt sweat breaking out on his face and across his back.

As soon as he heard a female voice on the other end of the line, he bit out a little more harshly then intended: "We need a pair of crutches up in diagnostics. Stat."

Not even waiting for a reply, he simply hung up again, before quickly hop-stepping his way over to his recliner, sinking down on it with a barely suppressed moan.

Dammit! He was beginning to feel seriously light-headed. What was it with him lately…?!

Still trying to catch his breath, he made a conscious effort to calm down a bit again. If he could just relax for a couple of minutes and gather his strength, he'd be okay to leave.

Giving in to the exhaustion he'd already been battling all day, he finally allowed his eyes to fall close; just for a moment... He would just rest here for a while; give himself a few minutes to recover a bit…

In the end, the nurse from orthopedics who had taken House's call found him passed out in his chair. Frowning slightly at the clear signs of sweat on his shirt and the paleness on his face, she gently reached out to take his pulse. Satisfied with the steady beat of his heart and his regular breathing, she finally just shrugged, leaning the crutches she had brought against the arm of the chair.

She wondered if he might actually be ill…

He certainly looked it.

Maybe she'd just come back again in an hour; just in case...

Tbc… :)