Jack drove over to Providence Park the next morning. He'd instructed Tosh and Owen to hold the fort until he got back and they had assured him that they'd be fine and he should stay with Ianto for as long as he wanted.

Of all the times he'd visited the psychiatric hospital Jack had never felt as nervous as he did now. When he entered the foyer and went up to the desk it felt strange to be asking for Ianto Jones. He was so used to asking for Gavin.

One of the nurses (who he'd never seen before so he guessed she must be new) led him along the corridor towards Ianto's room.

"He's in the room next to his brother's," she explained. "Now, I have to ask you, do you have anything sharp on you? Anything that it would be possibly to break skin with?"

"Nope," Jack shook his head. He'd left his great coat in the SUV and his pockets were empty of most things, except the keys to the SUV and his ear piece.

"Sorry, we just have to check," the nurse said. "We don't want him cutting himself again."

Jack nodded. He understood. The nurse opened the door and Jack followed her inside. Ianto Jones was sat on the bed, staring out the window. He was dressed in a purple hoodie and black jeans, an IV drip inserted in his right hand. He still had dark circles under his eyes and didn't look like he'd slept properly in days.

"You've got a visitor Ianto," the nurse began. "Mr. Harkness has just popped by to see how you are."

Ianto glanced momentarily away from the window, looking between the nurse and Jack, but he didn't say anything.

"I'll leave you to it," the nurse smiled at Jack as she left.

Jack wandered round the bed, coming to a stop by the glass window that led out onto the patio and the back garden.

"How are you?" Jack asked finally. It was a stupid question and he cursed the words the minute they had left his mouth. Ianto shot him a look that told Jack he thought just as little of the question.

Jack sighed and carefully walked towards the bed, sitting down on the edge, looking down at his hands. He wished so desperately that he could make things better and if he knew all those months ago that going to America would result in him losing his lover to an alien then he never would have taken Ianto.

"What's the drip for?" Jack didn't know what else to say. He just wanted to engage Ianto in conversation.

"It's a banana bag," Ianto said after a moment's pause. Jack looked at him surprised, having not expected the Welshman to answer. "It's just full of proteins and vitamins and things. The medication they've put me on means I can't keep any food down. So I'm hooked up to this until my body gets used to it."

"Oh," Jack nodded. He opened his mouth to say something but then decided against it.

"I don't blame you," Ianto sighed, knowing what Jack had been trying to say. "I know... I'm not well... I'm just sick of being ill."

Jack almost smiled. That sounded so much like the old Ianto it made his heart ache.

"As soon as you're well enough to come home we'll do something together," he promised.

"Together?" Ianto raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well... yeah..." Jack glanced at him. "If... if you want to?"

"I thought what we had was just no-strings-attached fun?" Ianto asked. "I didn't think you did 'love' and comfort and domesticity."

"I didn't leave your side all the time you were in hospital, I've moved into your flat to help you through your recovery and I was the only one who thought maybe that girl was real," Jack smiled shyly. "I might've changed my priorities."

"What sort of thing did you have in mind?" Ianto sat up a little straighter, holding his arms gingerly. The cuts he'd caused were still sore.

"Anything you want," Jack shrugged. "Dinner, movie..."

"As long as it doesn't involve an office I'm fine with it," Ianto smiled ever so slightly.

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House lay staring at the ceiling. He was in pain again and struggling not to cry. Slowly he took one hand away from his thigh and reached across to his bedside table for his Vicodin bottle. He knocked it onto the floor and cursed loudly.

"House?" Wilson sat up beside him looking at his friend, concern etched over his face.

"I... I need..." House gestured helplessly at the floor where his Vicodin bottle had rolled to a stop.

Wilson got out of the bed quickly and dashed over to retrieve the drugs. He opened the bottle and took out two pills handing them to House and holding out a glass of water.

House dry swallowed the pills but gladly recieved the water from Wilson and took a grateful gulp. Wilson climbed slowly back into the bed, watching House carefully.

"I was just dreaming about us," Wilson began, deciding that talking would be the best way to keep House's mind of the pain.

"Why Jimmy," House smiled at him weakly, the hint of sarcasm barely detectable, though whether that was due to the pain or something else it was hard to tell.

"I dreamt that you left Princeton in search of something," Wilson continued. "I don't know what you were looking for, but I followed you. You kept trying to push me away and I kept telling you that I'd-"

"Never leave me," House finished.

"How did you..?" Wilson frowned slightly.

"You talk in your sleep," House said. "It's quite endearing really. Especially everything you say about me."

Wilson looked at him wide eyed and House burst out laughing, hissing as he moved his leg and caused a sharp jolt of pain.

"I don't really talk about yo-things do I?" Wilson asked going pink.

"Not really," House shrugged. "Though..."

He hesitated not really sure if he should let his friend know what exactly had been said. Wilson seemed to know already though and he quickly interrupted before House could ask anything.

"I mean... I spout a lot of rubbish in my sleep..." He gabbled. "And... I've been known to say things that aren't always true..."

"Mm, yeah... well..." House nodded.

The two men fell silent for a moment, House taking another gulp from the glass of water.

"I was just thinking..." House said, sounding braver than he felt. "Maybe... maybe we should do more together... you know... outside of work..."

"House we live together," Wilson chuckled weakly.

"I know," House shrugged. "But I'm sure Cuddy would probably tell us that it's bad to be cooped up all the time."

"What... what were you thinking of?" Wilson asked tentatively.

"I dunno," House shrugged. "Movie... dinner..."

Wilson nodded.

"Ok," he said. "Yeah. Sounds good."

They trailed off into silence again and eventually settled back down to go to sleep. The pain in House's leg had subsided enough for him to lay on his side, watching Wilson, who stared right back.

"You said a lot of things in your sleep," House said quietly. "I think if I talked in my sleep I'd probably say the same things."

"Really?" Wilson asked. A few months previously Wilson would've assumed that House was just teasing him, mocking the fact that the Oncologist had probably spilled his darkest secrets, but now...

"Yeah," House nodded. His heart was pounding but he spurred himself on and sought out Wilson's hand, tracing his fingers across it lightly and squeezing gently for a moment.