When Wilson returned to his friend's room, House was dry-heaving again. He was currently in an awkward half-upright position on his left side, holding an emesis basin in one severely trembling hand.

A young nurse, who was standing somewhere close to the side of his bed, shrugged apologetically as soon as she saw Wilson entering the room. "He didn't want me to page anybody…"

The oncologist just nodded, throwing her a small, reassuring smile, while quickly approaching his friend's bed.

"House…? – How long has this been going on…"

Getting no immediate response, he threw the nurse a questioning glance. She shrugged again. "Maybe half an hour?"

Suppressing a wave of involuntary concern, Wilson forced himself to focus on their options. "Okay. I don't think we should give you any more diphenhydramine right now, House; but we could try out some cyclizine, okay?"

Just a weak nod.

A couple of minutes after he had injected the anti-emetic, House slowly started to calm down. Looking up from his friend's chart, Wilson turned towards the nurse again, who was just about to leave the room. "I want to check his electrolytes again, before we hang another bag of fluids." She just nodded and left to get the necessary equipment.

Wilson sat down in the visitor's chair next to House's bed, trying to gauge his friend's condition without being too obvious about it. He was lying on his left side again, still sweating and slightly breathless, still hugging himself tightly around the abdomen. All in all, he looked completely miserable.

"How are you holding up…?", Wilson gently enquired.

House just threw him an irritated glance. "Well, how do I look...?!"

"Let's see…" The oncologist shrugged slightly. "Like you had a particularly rough night at Joey's Bar yesterday. – Otherwise… Not so bad."

That got the intended reaction: House eyed him incredulously for a moment, then gave a weak half-laugh, causing Wilson to smile slightly in response.

A few minutes passed in comfortable silence. When Wilson was just about to carefully inform his friend about the talk he'd had with Cuddy earlier and about her concern regarding his… condition, he noticed that House seemed be having trouble keeping his eyes open. He knew it would be better to fill him in on everything as soon as possible, to prepare him somewhat for whatever Cuddy might come up with, but now was clearly not the time. House needed his rest more than anything else right now…

In a fleeting motion, he very briefly touched his friend's forearm. "Why don't you try and get some rest …"

The older man met his gaze, his expression conveying the exhaustion he felt, but otherwise relatively relaxed for the first time since he had woken up from the coma. "Why don't you try and get some of your paperwork done…?"

To Wilson's skeptical look, he added gruffly: "Knowing you, you've been pathetically sitting by my bedside ever since I was brought in…"

The oncologist raised an eyebrow at that, answering with a sarcastic snort. "Yeah, sure. – Didn't have anything else to do with my time…" In truth, House's assessment was – as so often – frighteningly accurate; but why give him the satisfaction of confirming it …

Apparently sensing his friend's hesitation to leave him alone, House switched to a more sincere tone, giving Wilson something resembling a reassuring nod: "I'm fine. Nothing you can do right now anyway. I'll…", he weakly gestured towards the door, "…page you when I need you."

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And so, Wilson had spent the next couple of hours seeing a few of his patients and catching up on some of the paperwork that was indeed already piling up on his desk.

When he was just about to check up on his friend again - to then decide where he would be spending the night - his pager went off. Shit… It was from the ICU.

Wilson didn't think he had ever crossed the distance between his own office and the intensive care unit more quickly.

The first thing that hit him, when he entered House's room, was the smell of sweat.

The oncologist instantly froze in his tracks, as soon as his gaze fell on his friend, who was currently writhing on the bed in obvious agony. A nurse was standing close to his head, talking to him reassuringly, but House seemed basically unresponsive, completely caught up in the pain that was clearly dominating his whole perception right now.

For a moment, Wilson felt literally unable to move, when he was suddenly assaulted by unwanted images of House during the time of the infarction: Sweating with the effort to suppress his screams of pain; pleading with them to up the dosage of his morphine, even though they just couldn't do that without endangering his life; arching his back, writhing on his hospital bed and trembling in pain for hours at a time; allowing tears to fall only when he was alone and thought no one was there to see them; begging for some kind of relief – or death.

"Dr Wilson…?" He snapped out of it only when the nurse eyed him a look of confusion and mild concern on her face.

He just nodded, quickly approaching his friend's bed now.

"House…!" Lightly placing one hand on the other man's shoulder, he tried to get his attention through the haze of pain. "What's happening… - Talk to me…!"

All House managed in response to the question was a choked sound that briefly interrupted his ragged breathing; then he just jerkily shook his head.

"He had spasms in the right leg earlier and asked for pain medication." The nurse hastily informed him. "We paged Dr Cuddy, who gave him…", she handed Wilson House's chart, "…diclofenac IM and a muscle relaxant. – The spasms stopped then, but the pain kept getting worse… Dr Cuddy isn't in her office anymore. So, I thought I'd just page you instead…"

Wilson responded with a brief nod, then turned towards his friend again. He noticed with some concern that House was breathing shallowly by now, which already reflected in his O2 sat rate. He was clearly in considerable distress.

"House?! Come on; I need you tell me what I can do to help. – Try to calm down a bit; it's gonna be okay… Just concentrate on breathing – it's okay…"

He focused on keeping his tone calm, soothing, but House suddenly had his forearm in a deathgrip. "I can't…" He was still panting heavily. "It's really bad…" He arched his back again, when another intense flash of pain seemed to rip through his bad leg.

Wilson swallowed reflexively, trying not to let on how much his friend's uncharacteristically open admission was affecting him. "I know, House; it's okay…" He needed to get him to calm down a bit, or this would only be getting worse… Squeezing the other man's shoulder reassuringly once more, Wilson took a step towards the foot of the bed and pushed the blanket back to uncover House's leg.

"How much of this is nerve pain, House…" The nerve pain component would be particularly difficult to deal with right now, given the restrictions they were currently facing regarding House's drug options. But he suspected that this acute bout of pain was largely due to the recent injury to the very sensitive thigh muscle, and not so much the kind of chronic pain his friend had to endure on a daily basis. Right now, Wilson cursed himself for not having scheduled the MRI for today after all; then they would at least know by now what exactly they were dealing with here…

House simply shrugged his shoulders half-heartedly in response to Wilson's question, clearly not in the right frame of mind to rationally analyze his pain right now.

The oncologist carefully touched his friend's knee. "Okay… Let's take some strain off the thigh muscles first… - I'll help you elevate the leg on those cushions again, alright?"

No response.

Wilson worriedly regarded his friend's labored breathing efforts. "House…" He addressed him slowly and more loudly now. "Deep breaths… Come on, buddy; you can do this. Slow breaths, Greg… Ty to relax…"

As soon as he carefully moved his friend's leg slightly to reposition it, House gave a small cry of pain. Quickly removing his hands again, Wilson stood back slightly, momentarily unsure how to proceed. This wasn't just the pain – this was panic as well. He remembered his own words during his conversation with Cuddy...

"Listen, House. I would rather not give you any narcotics for another 12 hours or so…" He stressed his next words: "But if we can't get you more comfortable without them, I will do it. It'll be okay; I promise… - But let's try a couple of other options first, okay?"

House completely met his gaze for the first time since he had entered the room at that, his expression guarded.

Wilson instantly discerned the careful look on his face for what it was: Doubt.

He gave the older man's hand a gentle squeeze. "We'll see how you're doing in half an hour, and if you say it's still too bad then, I will inject you with a narcotic. Trust me… You'll be fine. – Just try to work with me here and relax a bit…"

Then he turned towards the nurse again. "I need a couple of ice packs please, and two syringes: 50 mg Demerol, and 75 mg Diclofenac. Also see if you can find a topical analgesic for us; maybe some Mobisyl cream…"

While they were waiting for the supplies he had just ordered, Wilson calmly checked his friend's vitals again. Pulse and BP were still through the roof, O2 sat rate was still crappy, even though House made a visible effort to relax himself.

The oncologist wordlessly started to prepare the nasal oxygen cannula that was part of the standard equipment for every bed in the ICU. "We need to get you on this for a while…"

At first, House seemed about to protest, but then he turned his head slightly to study his own vitals for a minute, before just weakly reaching out for the cannula and applying it himself.

Wilson smiled slightly at that. The other man seemed to slowly center himself again... - They could do this.

20 minutes later, House's leg was iced and elevated, the most badly bruised parts of his thigh covered by an analgesic cream. Wilson had given him another shot of diclofenac, but nothing stronger yet.

The oncologist calmly regarded his friend, whose breathing had more or less evened out by now. His heart rate was still somewhat elevated, but nothing like before...

"You doing a bit better now…?" Wilson needed to hear his friend confirm that he was feeling better. He had meant what he had said, when he had promised House stronger medication if he really needed it. And he wouldn't violate the other man's trust: If he didn't think he could tolerate the pain level as it was now, Wilson would use the prepared syringe of Demerol after all. It was paramount to not let House feel alone in this, helpless with the pain again…

The diagnostician turned his head slightly to meet his friend's warm gaze, finally answering with a small nod. "Much better…"

Wilson slowly nodded as well. "Give me a number for the pain right now…"

A small sigh; then: "About a 6, I guess…" To Wilson's frown, he quickly added: "Nothing like before. It's okay for now…" He continued with a pained half-smile. "Wouldn't wanna provoke another period of immoderate unconsciousness after all, would we… - This is all simply too much fun, to miss out on it…"

Wilson returned a small smile that clearly reflected his relief at hearing the familiar dry humor return to his friend's voice. "Absolutely."

He leaned back in the surprisingly uncomfortable visitor's chair, trying to somehow find a more acceptable position to spend the next 6 or so hours in...

"Wilson…?"

He opened his eyes again to meet House's intense gaze. "What…"

The older man just quietly regarded him for a few moments. Then House simply relaxed against his pillows, slowly closing his eyes. "You're back'll kill you tomorrow, if you stay there like that all night…" Voice once again gruff.

Wilson smiled slightly in response, when he reflected on all the things his friend was and wasn't saying... Then he closed his eyes again as well, his lips still slightly quirked upwards. "Yeah. It will…"