I don't own anything but the plot. 3 to my beta, ShaiWatson, and to my fabulous readers.


House was in the shower, sitting in the handicap shower seat while the hot water beat down on his legs and chest. Ten minutes had passed from when Wilson had left him alone, and his leg was starting to hurt to the point where he'd need morphine soon if he didn't get some kind of relief. He'd talked the male nurse out of coming into the bathroom with him, and prayed that he was out of his room by the time he got done.

He was massaging his leg when someone knocked on the bathroom door, and House stuck his head out of the curtain and called, "what?"

Thirteen pushed the door open and stepped inside, letting cool air in the steamy bathroom. House glanced at the syringe in her hands and bit back a smile.

"Just inject it directly into the IV," he said casually, and pulled the curtain shut. A moment later, the curtain was pulled open again, and he covered himself quickly. "Look, I know you've dreamt of seeing my junk, but give me a few weeks to recover before we rush into this."

"Oh, you noticed my burning desire?" She asked, and he was slightly impressed at the complete control she had on her face as she said it. Typical of her.

"Either come in the shower with me or close the curtain and get out." House raised his eyebrows and tried to be nonchalant, but it was hard to be when he was naked and cold.

"I'm just here to check on you and to tell you that I want to give you a physical when you get out. I'll wait for you out there," Thirteen said, waving the syringe of Vicodin slowly. "I'll give this to you when you're back in bed. It's a strong dose."

"Have I ever told you that you're the best doctor in my crew?" He asked, looking up from the syringe to her eyes. "I might have to have a dance off for Taub and Kutner for second place, but you've always been first in my heart."

Thirteen rolled her eyes and pocketed the drugs, then left the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar. House groaned and forced himself to a standing position to rinse his body off. He jumped out of the shower as quickly as he could, and for the first time since he'd broken his shoulder over a week ago, he got dressed in less than a minute, IV, sling and all.

The doctor was waiting beside his bed in the recliner, rolling the Vicodin syringe between her hands in thought. She looked up at him when he left the bathroom, and she stood up stiffly. She's getting worse, isn't she? The thought made him a little sad, though he had no reason to say aloud what he was thinking, or embarrass her when she just saw him naked.

She held the IV pole still while House climbed into his bed slowly, trying to be careful not to agitate his muscles more. Chemo had been rough today - he had noticed he'd burst a few vessels under his eyes - and his body was aching already. Just one more day he told himself, repeating it in his mind as a mantra. Don't give up now. The end is definitely in sight. Regardless of the test results in a few days, the end of chemo really was in sight now, and now was the time to prove to everyone that he wasn't a coward.

"What did you say?" House asked, snapping out of his thoughts and looking up at Thirteen. Her hands froze with the syringe half twisted into the line.

"I asked if you have been confused or dizzy today. Did you not hear me?" She started to lower the syringe from the IV, and House's mind screamed at him to not let her put the Vicodin away before she gave it to him.

"I was thinking of your hot bod. Whenever I'm in a lot of pain, I focus on the image of you, and -"

"You swear that you were fully aware and conscious?" Thirteen narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and House knew she was trying to find his lie. Everybody lies.

"Yes, mom. I was thinking about my chemo today. I tune everyone out, you should know that by now. Now, please give me those drugs," he said, his voice tight with pain. The pain in his leg was starting to spread. "I have about five minutes left before that amount of Vicodin won't help me at all."

Thirteen placed the syringe in her pocket and started sticking the heart and O2 monitors onto House's body. House grit his teeth together and waited, rubbing his leg in slow circles. It only took her a few seconds, but it felt a lot longer, and he was starting to get nauseous by the time the syringe was screwed onto the IV and slowly emptying into the tube.

He closed his eyes and sunk all the way into his pillows while Thirteen disposed of the empty syringe and started changing the saline bag. She was talking to him again, and he told her to shut it until his pain was gone. She listened and the silence was beautiful.

"Are you feeling better?" She asked after a few minutes, and House forced an eye open to stare at her in response. She nodded, as if it were answer enough, then said, "your heart rate is fine, your O2 is good, so the Vicodin I gave you doesn't seem to be causing any problems." She leaned forward and raised his eyelids, testing his pupils with her flashlight. After pocketing the flashlight, she delicately placed her wrist on his forehead and nodded to herself.

"Satisfied?" He asked, closing his eyes as the Vicodin started coursing through his body. It slowly started taking away his pain.

Thirteen ignored him and picked up his chart and started writing, glancing at the computer screen at times. After a minute, she said, "get some rest before your surgery. Is there anything you need?"

"No." House shook his head slowly, his head feeling fuzzy. "Unless you want to give me a massage?"

"Taub will be here in a couple of hours to get you ready. Sleep."

House closed his eyes and thought I'm not going to fall asleep. He passed out before she left the room.

Several hours later he startled awake with a small gasp. Pain was shooting out from his leg, and for a brief second in his drug induced grogginess, he thought he was in the hospital recovering from the infarction. "Stacy?" he croaked, blinking rapidly against the light. What's going on?

"House?" The words were tentative, and House turned his head quickly, reality rushing back to him. Taub stood beside the bed, holding his chart, with a pen poised over the paper. He was staring at House with a confused expression, and when House realized what he had said, he mentally kicked himself. She's been gone for so long, there's no reason to bring her up now. "Are you okay?"

Nausea rolled over him and he closed his eyes. A moment later, Taub had his fingers on House's wrist and House cracked his eye open to see what he was doing.

"Do you hurt? Are you feeling sick?" Taub asked, taking his finger's away and writing on the clipboard again. He glanced up a few times in concern, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

"I'm ready to run a marathon," House answered, his hand finding his thigh and massaged it with a small groan.

Taub sighed and adjusted the flow rate on House's IV as he said, "we're going to get you prepped for the shunt placement for your dialysis in a few minutes. There will be pain killers when you wake up."

"Chase is doing the surgery, right?" House asked, trying to focus his attention on what he was about to go do, rather than on the pain. Minor surgery to prepare for dialysis. I've recovered enough to have general anesthesia. "Maybe we should wait until after chemo."

"We've put this off long enough. Your kidneys aren't going to hold out much longer. It's today, House. It's a minor surgery. It'll be in your left arm so you still have use of your right one. Tomorrow we'll do four hours of dialysis, and you'll be done with chemo, and you'll have a couple of more dialysis treatments and you'll be back to work in a month." Taub awkwardly patted House on the shoulder and hooked the patient chart on the bed. "I'll go see when the OR is ready."

House watched Taub leave before he forced himself upright to go to the bathroom. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he struggled to form a clear thought. The IV pole was cold when he wrapped his fingers around it, and he leaned on it heavily, forgetting his cane beside the bed.

The lights in the bathroom made his head throb slightly, and he spent a few minutes splashing water onto his face and taking calming breaths, trying to ease his mind and pulse. It's an easy procedure. It didn't change the fact that he was nervous.

By the time he was relieved and as calm as he could manage, Wilson was in the room waiting beside the bed with a wheelchair. He looked up at House and gave him a warm smile, encouraging him silently to keep moving forward. House grimaced with each step, dreading the upcoming procedure; it didn't even count as a surgery in his mind. But there were still risks involved, mainly with the mix of chemo, his recent heart problems, and generally not being healthy.

The wheelchair was uncomfortable, and he thought about pushing himself down the hall, but gave up on the idea when he moved his left arm too quickly and his shoulder sent jolts of pain down his back and arm. Wilson wisely kept quiet and waited until House was situated and holding on the IV pole before pushing him forward.

It wasn't until they were in the confines of the elevator when Wilson started speaking. "Chase is scrubbing in right now. I'm going to be in there with Foreman to assist."

"I thought I sent my mom home?" House asked sarcastically, but was thankful that Wilson would be there. I wouldn't be this good to him. Why is he trying so hard?

"I know it's just a minor surgery and three doctors is overkill, but you matter to us all and if anything happens. . well, you only want me to start your heart back up twice, right?" The question made House's pulse quicken; the casualty of Wilson's voice when he asked it made him look up to make sure Wilson was Wilson still.

"You just go right in for the kill, don't you?" House scratched his forehead nervously as the doors opened and they started toward the OR. "Intubate me during surgery so I can have a leg up on death in case the reaper tries to take me on the table."

Wilson agrees quietly as they approach the double doors. He stopped in front of the nurse who was waiting to escort House into the room and moved around the chair so House could see him.

"This is going to be easy, House. We'll inject the general straight into your IV and give you some oxygen until you're out, then I'll intubate you. I'll see you when you wake up."

House nodded and stood up from the chair with the help of Wilson and the nurse, and he limped into the OR without another word to Wilson. Don't kill me now, guys.

----------*----------

Once House was under anesthesia, Wilson informed everyone that he would be in charge of House's vitals. All he had to do was watch with one of the nurses, and inform Chase if anything out of the ordinary started happening. Foreman had a crash cart ready beside him, prepared to use it in a moment's notice.

"We only bring him back twice if his heart fails," Wilson said firmly, keeping eye contact with each, making sure the two doctors understood the severity of what he was saying. "I'm his proxy right now. You listen to me, no matter how much you don't want to let him go."

"He wouldn't let anyone die without trying, even if they had a DNR," Chase argued, the mask over his mouth moving with each steadying breath he took to try and control his emotions.

Wilson nodded his agreement, but said, "I'm not House, and I can't go against any of my patient's wishes."

"Guess you shouldn't screw up then," Foreman told Chase quietly, and Chase closed his eyes for a brief moment to gather himself. Wilson felt bad for the guy; it was an easy procedure, but it was still a very important surgery.

The minutes passed as Chase worked expertly, cutting open House's arm - he briefly discussed surgically placing House's shoulder since they were already there, but Wilson decided against it - and placed the shunt above House's wrist with no problem. Wilson glanced from the cut in House's arm to his vitals, relieved every time he saw the strong pulse and excellent O2.

It wasn't until halfway through the surgery, when Chase clamped the vein to connect it to the artery beside it, that Wilson thought House might be in trouble. His blood pressure started to drop, and the O2 went down a point before it stabilized again. Chase was staring at the screen hard, holding his breath with Wilson before he continued connecting the vessels. Wilson realized a moment later that he was gripping House's right hand, and he let go quickly. House's blood pressure evened out again, and a relieved sigh came from everyone in the room.

Before Wilson knew it, Chase was stitching up the arm and finishing his work. Foreman hesitated only a moment before moving the crash cart to one end of the OR, keeping it nearby in case House had a reaction to the pain medication the nurse was administering.

"Leave the tube in. He'll still be under general for a little while longer and it won't hurt him to be intubated," Wilson said to the two doctors, and they nodded in agreement. Chase was wrapping gauze around House's arm carefully. When he raised his eyes up after he finished, Wilson bowed his head slightly and said, "thanks, Chase. You did an excellent job."

Chase answered with a brief, "it was nothing," and left the room. Wilson momentarily wondered why Chase was being so short with him, but he blew it off and took off his mask and gloves. Foreman followed suit, and a minute later they were lifting House from the operating table onto a stretcher and they pushed House out of the OR toward his room.

Once House was settled into his own bed, he was coming around. Wilson gently pulled the tube from his throat, and House gagged twice before it was completely out. His eyes were glazed and his lids were heavy from the morphine they'd given him. He smiled weakly at Wilson, blinking slowly, and Wilson knew it was one of the few times House would never feel pain. It made his chest hurt for his friend.

"The surgery went exceptionally well," Wilson said softly, sitting in the vacant chair beside the bed. House turned his head and struggled to keep his eyes open and give his full attention. "You were stable the entire time. There weren't any problems."

"Sucks that I had to do it at all," House mumbled, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. "D'you want to know something funny?" Wilson raised his eyebrows curiously; the best part of general anesthesia - for the most part, anyway - was when patients first come around from it. Sometimes funny stories are told. "That hallucination I had was the scariest shit I've ever seen."

Wilson drew his eyebrows together in confusion. "Why are you telling me that, and why is it funny?" What did he hallucinate that made him scared?

House shrugged, his head dropping to the side for a second before he raised it back up. He had a lazy smile on his face, and Wilson wondered if they'd given him too much morphine.

"Cuddy's eyes were bleeding, and you had no eyes at all. Black chunky stew came out of your mouths," House said, and he chuckled to himself. Wilson almost reached for the phone to call the OR nurse and find out what they'd given him for sure, but House started talking again and he waited. "Just thought you would want to know. It's not so scary when I say it out loud." His eyes closed and he rubbed his leg.

"Does your leg hurt?"

House's hand stopped moving and he laughed. "Not right now. I forgot it didn't hurt."

Wilson smiled at that, though he wasn't quite sure why. It was sad that House's first instinct was to ease the pain in his leg, even when he couldn't feel it.

"Get some sleep now. I'll be back with some dinner in a few hours." Wilson stood up from the chair; he had patients to see to still. He had an hour left of his shift, and Cuddy wanted him to spend a little time in the Clinic.

"Bring movies. Porn preferrably," House said, his words slurring a bit.

Wilson left the room and stopped at the nurse's desk to tell them to make sure to keep an eye on House and to page him if anything happens. He picked up House's OR chart and double checked the morphine dosage they'd given him, and put the file back behind the counter.

"I'll be around," he told the nurses and walked off to go back to work. Just one more day of treatment, and a few days of dialysis and you're clear, House. His pulse raced a little in excitement at the prospect of House being cured and healthy. Or at least as healthy as he'd been before.