Thanks for the reviews; they keep the muse happy! And yes, I never meant to kill Rachel. I don't as a general rule kill people, just torture them thoroughly (evil laugh). Rare exceptions may apply. Second, some of you may be disappointed at the Cuddy/Jensen interaction immediately, but wait for it. Nobody drives up at night to the hospital bed of a loved one and immediately diverts for a psychiatric counseling session instead. She won't be becoming a regular patient of Dr. Jensen herself, which as someone mentioned is really pushing it to have all three of them seeing one psychiatrist, but they will definitely have their moments. Third, more turmoil and upheaval ahead. Aren't roller coasters fun? :)

Enjoy 25.

(H/C)

Jensen sat in the hospital room watching House, waiting. Wilson had called him back about an hour and a half ago for a further update, although most tests were still pending at that point. He had confirmed that he and Cuddy were leaving as soon as she called to check on Rachel again, which she was doing as he spoke.

Most of the stat tests were back now, and the further tests were being deliberately delayed. Jensen himself had been surprised at the lab tests and realized anew just how good House was at keeping up a smokescreen, probably even from himself. As bad as he'd looked in Jensen's office, he hadn't looked as bad off as he in fact was. His blood work told the tale, though. He was significantly dehydrated, with all electrolytes out of whack, was anemic, was battling an infection that had quite a dogged grip, and clearly had driven himself to the brink of collapse. The anemia wasn't severe enough to merit immediate endoscopy, and the doctors had decided to put off that test tentatively while monitoring his hemoglobin and hematocrit throughout the night. If they were declining sharply, the doctors would proceed, but nobody really wanted to give him Versed for that procedure until his respiratory status had improved.

The chest x-ray showed fairly bad pneumonia in both lungs, and since House's admission, his temperature had been steadily rising. It was as if once he was forced by the accident to stop in his relentless push to complete the week, all the wheels were falling off at once. The head CT was clear, the x-rays mostly clear, with the only acute break being that he had rebroken his left wrist where it had been beginning to heal, although the radiologist also commented on the old fracture. He now had another cast on that arm, and the road abrasions on that elbow and on his face had been cleaned of debris. The impact on the right arm and leg where the car had clipped him was showing impressive bruising, no doubt compounded by the ibuprofen, but there were no breaks. He would be extremely sore, but he was far more sick than he was hurt at this point.

He had not technically regained consciousness, but at what would have been around 1 hour 45 minutes from the crash, he started having nightmares, and this time, weighed down by illness and exhaustion, he could not seem to snap himself awake and end them. Instead, he was just restless and agitated, and Jensen finally wrote an order to give him the zolpidem after consulting with the other doctors on the case. House was not going to get any rest worth having without some chemical assistance, and rest was what he probably needed most right now. That and the two different powerful antibiotics he was receiving IV while they waited for cultures to come back.

Urgent footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, steps on a mission, and Jensen turned to the door to see Wilson preceded into the room by a woman who had to be Cuddy. She looked beautiful, worried, and guilty all at once. "Dr. Cuddy, this is Dr. Jensen," Wilson said, going through the introduction formalities, but Cuddy barely even noticed the man who had been sitting at House's bedside and had stood up as they entered.

She pushed straight on to the sole object of her focus. "House!" She picked up his good hand, squeezed it, and looked anxiously at his face. He was sweating, his breathing somewhat labored now, and nobody seeing him would have questioned that he was quite ill. She looked up at the monitors. His fever was 103.5 at this point.

Wilson came up to Jensen with an apologetic shrug, and Jensen gave him a "nothing to apologize for" smile. Social politeness versus the man you loved in distress was no contest at all. "How is he?" Wilson asked.

"Pretty sick. His injuries from the crash are limited to abrasions and bruising, except that he did rebreak that left wrist in exactly the same spot." Jensen looked back at House. "He's got pneumonia, with significant infiltrates in both lungs, and he's also dehydrated and anemic."

"Anemic?" Cuddy had apparently been listening as she hovered anxiously.

"We think that the ibuprofen combined with not eating correctly this week. . ."

Cuddy groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Damn it, why didn't I see that?"

Definitely guilt there, something Jensen thought was probably routine for her, but he didn't try to say anything at the moment. People sometimes need to punish themselves for a while before any suggestion otherwise will even begin to be heard.

"Did they scope him?" Wilson asked.

Jensen shook his head. "They won't clear him for Versed except on an emergent basis, and his H and H aren't that bad at this point. They're just going to run serial levels through the night and see where we go from here."

Wilson looked at his friend himself and shook his head in exasperation. "I can't believe he took the motorcycle. Even for House, that's stupidity at the moment. I don't know why he likes that thing in the first place."

"It probably makes him feel uncrippled," Jensen suggested. "Nobody looking would know, not while he's riding."

That made sense, Wilson had to admit. "So what happened with the crash?"

Jensen sighed. "He was heading for a motel at the time of the crash, probably the one he was within a block of. Another car pulled into traffic, didn't see the motorcycle. He swerved and apparently passed out at that point - probably illness and dehydration combined - but he didn't have a real chance to avoid it, anyway. The crash was the other driver's fault. I'd convinced him that he really was sick and needed to stay in Middletown to sleep tonight before driving back and then get evaluated tomorrow, but he didn't quite make it to the motel."

"Wow." Wilson was stunned. "You convinced him that he really was sick? And he listened to you? How many hours did that take?"

Jensen half smiled. "Try detached logic instead of emotional reaction. With some people, it works a lot better." He turned to look at House. "He's had the zolpidem for tonight, so he should be out, but his fever's been climbing steadily. If it hits 104, they might have to use ice."

Cuddy jumped, coming to life, unburying her face from her hands. "No ice," she said, one second in front of Wilson.

Wilson touched his jaw, remembering. "He'll totally flip out if you try ice. His dad used it on him. He nearly broke my jaw a few weeks ago when I put an ice pack on his bad leg."

"Maybe they can find some other way," Jensen said. "I'll make a note in his chart to use ice only as an absolute last resort."

"If we do have to use it, it needs to be Cuddy," Wilson added. "He won't hurt Cuddy. No matter how locked up he gets, he's careful with her."

That was fascinating, but Jensen could tell that Cuddy really wanted some time alone with him right now. This was hardly the moment for a psych consult, and Jensen was not a member of the family. It was time for privacy. "Well, I'll leave you two to it."

Cuddy looked back, really seeing him for the first time. "Thank you for being there for him," she said.

"I was glad I was available," Jensen replied. "He'll fight this. You know how stubborn he is."

She nodded, blinking back tears, and turned back to House. Jensen reached out to touch Wilson's arm lightly and then jerk his head toward the door. "Dr. Wilson, I'm going down to the cafeteria to grab a late sandwich. If you come with me, I'll show you where it is, so you'll know where to go for coffee or anything you two need. This hospital is a bit of a maze to people who aren't familiar with it."

"But . . . oh, right. Yeah." The light dawned with a bit of delay. "Thanks, I'd appreciate it. Cuddy?" He waited until she looked up. "I'm going down to the cafeteria to get us some coffee. Back in a few minutes, okay?"

"Okay." She turned back to House.

Jensen and Wilson left the room, stopping at the nurse's station where Jensen wrote a note to avoid ice if at all possible. They then headed down a twisting group of corridors that made Wilson realize that Jensen's excuse for getting him out of the room had only been half an excuse. This place really was a maze. "She's blaming herself," Wilson sighed. "All the way up here. She should have noticed this, noticed that. She was dealing with her daughter nearly dying, for God's sake. She's never cut herself much slack, though."

"Yes, it's ridiculous to blame yourself for things that are clearly beyond your control, isn't it?" Jensen noted.

Wilson started to nod vigorously and then froze in mid-nod, trapped. "Well." He sighed. "Yes, I suppose it is. Regardless of whether it's yourself at alleged fault or not. Are you going to send me a bill for this walk?"

"No charge," Jensen said. "That was free bonus advice. Use it however you want to." His cell phone rang just then. "Excuse me." He stopped and pulled it out. "Dr. Jensen."

"Dr. Jensen, this is the tech on 3A. There's one legal form on the commital on John Doe that wasn't in the chart earlier; we were out of that form and had to get some more faxed over. We need your signature."

"I'm still in the hospital; I'll swing by before I leave. Wait, actually I was just heading for the cafeteria, and that's right on the way. If you'll met me outside the unit door in about 2 minutes, I'll sign it on the run."

"Will do, Dr. Jensen. Thank you."

Jensen snapped the phone shut. "Sorry. This has been a crazy night." They started walking again.

"Odd choice of words for a psychiatrist," Wilson noted.

"I said the night was crazy, not the people in it." Jensen couldn't resist probing just a little bit. "How long have Dr. House and Dr. Cuddy known each other?"

"About 20 years. They met in med school."

"And have they always. . ."

"Oh, yes. It's like watching a chemical reaction. She's as stubborn as he is, and they both have tried denying it, but I was hoping they were almost ready to give in. Since then, though, the world just won't let them alone. With special help from me," Wilson sighed. "I swear, I thought last Saturday was the right move." He stopped in horror. "Oh, Lord, somebody has to tell his mother." He looked desperately at Jensen.

"Sorry. I'm authorized to talk to you and Dr. Cuddy as his emergency contacts, but not to her. By the way, does one of you have proxy?"

"She does. And that's a BIG deal with House. It was the misuse of the previous proxy that left him crippled."

Jensen rounded another corner and stopped at a securely bolted door. "Just a minute. I need to sign something quickly." The psych tech came through the door a few seconds later and presented a chart, and Jensen glanced over the form, then signed neatly at the bottom, one of the few doctors who had an absolutely legible signature. He handed the chart back, but as the tech turned to reenter the ward, she stumbled slightly, her foot not quite making the pivot with her, and the chart spilled its contents onto the floor. Jensen immediately dropped to help her, and they shuffled papers back together. Wilson bent to pick up one which had nearly landed on his foot, but as he started to hand it back over, he froze, captured by the Polaroid picture on the face sheet that was pasted under the name John Doe #3. His heart stopped for a moment, then restarted with a rush.

"DANNY!"