Jensen knocked on the door of Wilson's office and entered at the oncologist's call of, "Come in." Wilson looked up at him with a mix of curiosity and anxiety.

"I just wanted to let you know, Cathy is being discharged this afternoon. We're heading back to Middletown."

"That's great. I'm glad she's doing so well." Wilson looked at his appointment book. "I'll bet you won't have fun rescheduling your practice for the past few days and catching up."

"It will be a challenge, but Cathy comes first, of course. Besides, I already did your session originally scheduled for today last night, and I've spoken to Dr. House a few times. This hasn't been a total break from the job."

Wilson nodded. "Thanks for coming by last night. I'm really trying to work on respecting people's choices for themselves, but it helps to talk about it." He looked up at the psychiatrist. "By the way, I realize you can't tell me content of conversations, but have you heard from House today?"

Jensen shook his head. "No, and I wish I would. Have you?"

"No. That's why I asked. I tried calling this morning a time or two just to check on him. Neither he nor Cuddy answered their phones." Wilson's restless hands fiddled with the papers on his desk. "House ignoring his can almost be standard operating procedure at times, but given how stressed out he sounded last time I talked to him, I wish he'd call back, even if it's just for a minute from the bathroom. And Cuddy ignoring her phone is unheard of."

"I hope everything is all right . . . with both of them." Jensen didn't like the sound of the double silence at all. Still, he couldn't call House, had to let him initiate contact, and for him to call Cuddy would quite likely be interpreted by House at the moment as overstepping his bounds, no matter what their conversation did or did not include.

"So do I," Wilson said in heartfelt agreement. He stood. "I'll walk to the elevator with you. I was about to take this case summary over to House's office and leave it for him anyway. He likes reviewing the odd cases, no matter which department." He came to his feet, and they headed out together. "His office is right over here. Like to see it? It's . . . unusual."

Jensen fought curiosity for a moment, then yielded to temptation. Wilson had a valid reason for entering, after all, and he himself had a direct link to House the doctor now. The hospital was public turf, and just looking around briefly was probably fair enough. Rifling through the desk or such would be crossing the line, of course, but Jensen was interested. He'd been fascinated by his glimpses of House the medical professional in the last few days.

Wilson pushed the door open. "Double suite," he said, indicating the currently empty conference room to one side. "He has the largest office in the hospital, other than Cuddy's. He runs differentials with his fellows in there, and this section is his alone."

Jensen looked around with interest. The first thing that struck him was the books, the second the thinking ball. Wilson had walked over to the desk to put down his case summary, and he followed Jensen's gaze and picked up the ball, attempting to toss it lightly. "He plays with this while he's thinking. And he never does something like that," he continued as the rebellious ball evaded his efforts at catching it and rolled across the room. "He can bounce the thing off the far wall, off the ceiling, catch it backhanded, bat it with his cane, juggle it. He never drops it."

"He is amazingly graceful," Jensen agreed.

"He was a spectacular athlete. Before his leg, I mean." Wilson chased down the ball and returned it to the desk. "Don't tell him I had that. He's used to people coming in and out of his office, but he can be touchy about sharing the ball."

Jensen looked around further, noting the art objects, the Eames chair - obviously a concession to House's leg. He also noticed the television and the sound system in the corner. "He watches TV," Wilson said. "Does that while he's thinking, too. The most mindless, stupid programs, but he says it helps him focus, and it actually seems to work for him. Lots of times, he'll go watch a soap opera for an hour and then come back with a new lead on a case. And of course, he listens to music all the time. Plus the video games." Wilson abruptly picked up the electronic game from the desk. "He left without his game. That's a dead giveaway that something serious was going on. Left his backpack, too. He must have just walked out after he got the call about his mother. Hopefully he had all his meds in his pockets, but I'm sure Cuddy would have checked on that."

The psychiatrist had been careful not to touch anything, but his eyes were absorbing it all. The ball, the games - fascinating reaction from someone who had been mostly denied toys or pure recreation in childhood. The TV was a similar statement. Jensen had never asked, but he could well imagine that there weren't many relaxing family evenings in front of the TV set with John House, even if it had been possible in all the different locations. The pieces of art were a reaction of a different sort - something lasting, something purely beautiful, after a childhood with very little of either. This office felt exactly like House.

Wilson was watching him. "It's like him, isn't it?" Jensen nodded. "You should see his apartment - but that's probably going too far without a direct invitation."

Jensen smiled with approval. "You're getting better, Dr. Wilson." The smile faded as he looked around House's office, noting as Wilson had the backpack in the corner. "I hope he's all right," he said.

Wilson nodded. "I hope they're both all right," he emphasized.

(H/C)

The afternoon had seemed endless. Several times, Blythe's vitals signs suddenly either dropped or elevated, in spite of all the pharmacological efforts to stabilize them. Once more shortly after lunch, she coded, and two shocks brought her back. House had stood back helplessly on the sidelines, Cuddy gripping his arm tightly, as his mother was resuscitated yet again. "What if there's brain damage?" he said suddenly at one point when they were alone in the room again. "What if . . . she never talks again, or we can never have a conversation?"

"I know," Cuddy said, and her tone was so heartfelt that he looked over at her.

"You do, don't you? Did you have a family member with a bad head injury once where you were just left waiting?"

"You might say that. He wasn't as close to me then as he is now, but I'll never forget sitting there wondering if I'd ever hear him again or see his beautiful eyes or have a conversation. There was no way to be sure what the damage was." She gripped his arm tightly and blinked back tears. "That was one of the longest days of my life. But eventually, it turned out okay."

The puzzle pieces clicked. "You're talking about me. But I was just an employee . . ."

She shook her head vigorously. "You were NEVER just an employee, House."

He smiled. "I was glad you were there. I wouldn't have wanted to wake up to anybody else. Not even Wilson - too much guilt tied up with him. I wouldn't have wanted to hit that immediately while still trying to piece together what world I was in. Everything was fuzzy at first when I woke up, all the senses slightly off. I was glad you were there, even if I thought you were only worried about your hospital asset." He turned to face her suddenly. "Did I ever tell you what happened on the bus?"

She shuddered, remembering her own version of what happened on the bus, remembering her horror as House crumpled to the floor in full cardiopulmonary arrest. She had been the first one there, Wilson a close second, and their frantic efforts at resuscitation had taken a frighteningly long time to take effect.

"Hey." He reached out to touch the side of her face. "I'm here, remember? I made it."

"I know." She blinked the tears back. "What were you going to say about the bus?"

"When I was in a coma, I was on the bus with Amber. It was wonderful in a way, because nothing hurt. I knew Wilson would hate me. I never imagined you'd be waiting when I woke up, although I'm glad you were. But I didn't want to go back, to face the pain and the guilt and . . . just being alone again. I didn't want to hurt anymore. Amber told me I needed to get off the bus."

Cuddy shivered again. She'd never really liked Amber, who had struck her as a frightening miniature version of House with less insight, less judgment, and less brakes, but she suddenly felt a wave of gratitude toward her. "That wasn't your fault, you know. And Wilson never hated you."

"I know. I know that now. Didn't then." He looked back at his mother and suddenly was struck with a mental image of Blythe on her own bus and John House as the other part of the conversation, claiming her once again. If she encountered him now, even just a hallucinatory version she created, with her knowing what she now knew, what would his reaction be? Would she for the first time see the full scope of his violence, be the recipient of all that she had missed? Would her subconscious punish herself against John's actions because her son had ultimately failed to protect her after all? House rocketed up to his feet, totally forgetting the crutches. His leg screamed at him, and he half fell, catching himself against the bed rails. "You CAN'T have her, damn it. You had her for 50 years. You can't have her anymore."

"House!" Cuddy had come to her own feet and was behind him, holding him firmly.

House gripped his mother's hand. "If he's in there going after you now, tell him to go to hell. Tell him to go back to hell where he belongs, and you come back to me."

Blythe didn't respond. House sagged against the bed abruptly, totally drained by that outburst, suddenly aware of how much his leg was hurting.

"Sit down." Cuddy's hands were gentle but firm, guiding him back to the chair. He obeyed meekly, letting her get him settled and prop his leg back up, feeling suddenly ashamed that she had been there and witnessed that. He shouldn't be stressing her any more than he already had by his silence of the last week.

She read the thought. "Don't you dare apologize to me, Gregory House." He shut his mouth, biting off the words. She knelt in front of his chair and pulled him over against her. "I'm here, Greg. And I'm glad to be here with you. Not glad it's happening but glad to be here with you. We'll get through it somehow, whatever happens."

Closing his eyes, breathing in her scent, feeling her arms, he almost believed her.