Hi, readers! Couple of notes. Several of you have asked if there is another story after this. There might be. I'm not sure yet, just have to see what my muse decides. I really have no control over her at all. There is definitely room for one, because House's therapy, for instance, is going to be a LONG-term process. Totally unrealistic to "fix" him in a few weeks, or even to "fix" him at all. If I do write another, though, you can trust when you see chapter one go up that there is a definite road map from there to the end. I don't develop things as I go. If I even start to share something, it's got a quite-firm blueprint already complete. I can't write otherwise; my muse doesn't work on the "play it as you go" system.

About Desperado, it is now Monday in story time. Desperado ends Saturday night, story time, and I hope you all love the last scene in this story as much as I do. It's been right up there with House falling asleep in Jensen's office as one of my favorites from the beginning. I know a lot is mixed up at the moment, but there are several chapters left, and it will be much less mixed up by then, although again, not totally "happily ever after and not a problem left in the world," because that isn't realistic. I know it's fanfic, but I do want to at least attempt to be realistic. (Something I wish TPTB would do, cough, cough. Seriously, I thought Broken was a great episode if House's main problem had been depression. But his main problem, developed so extensively through multiple episodes last season, was psychosis with hallucinations and delusions. That got totally swept under the rug, just an "all better now." Then keeping him as an inpatient in a psych ward for 3 months for something that wasn't even his main admitting complaint while he is functional and not a threat? What kind of insurance does he have? People with ACUTE problems can't stay 3 months without jumping through hoops of fire and pleading with the insurance, and often can't even then. Ah, well, Hugh Laurie was great in the opener, as always, but as a continuation of last season, that one lacked a whole lot of realism and continuity aspects. Okay, sorry, off soapbox.)

So 6 days left (story time, almost certainly longer actual time) in Desperado. Sounds short, but do you realize the entire story has only covered a week and a half (Thursday night to Monday morning) so far? No wonder they're all tired!

Enjoy, and as always, thanks for the reviews.

(H/C)

"I'll be back in a few hours with Rachel," Cuddy said, and the door closed behind her with a slight echo through the rooms.

House and Wilson looked at each other. House was on the couch, Wilson standing across the room. It was the first time since Wilson's betrayal that they had actually been alone together in a private setting.

"So. . ." Wilson grasped frantically for something to do. He still wasn't satisfied with his apology letter, and anyway, cowardly, he really wanted to deliver that at some point where he could immediately make his escape and leave House to think things over on his own.

House sighed. "Go do dishes or something. I probably need to call my mother." Wilson gave him a sympathetic look and headed for the kitchen, and House pulled out his cell phone and then counted to ten in every language he knew before dialing. Part of him realized, too, that this call had another purpose. Nothing like defusing an uncomfortable situation by comparing it live to a much more uncomfortable one.

"GREG!" Blythe obviously had looked at caller ID. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm fine, Mom," he said, ignoring the second question. "I just wanted to check in and let you know I was okay."

"You've been gone since Friday night. I was frantic."

"You know I'd been sick last week, right?"

"Yes, Greg, anybody could have seen that. I kept telling you you needed to slow down."

"I had to get Rachel's case solved, but Friday night, once that was over, I basically just collapsed. I've been just resting since then, taking my meds, working on getting better, but I've still got some ground to make up. So I'm not going to be home just yet."

"You are getting better though?"

"Yes. I promise, I'm really getting better now. I just think I need to stay away from the hospital and everything for several more days, because I wouldn't be resting there. Something would come up, and I'd get drawn into it. I'll try to call you every day, okay?"

"All right, Greg. I'll try to stay busy until then, but do keep in touch, please?"

Something about her tone at stay busy set off alarms. "What have you been doing, Mom? Did you enjoy Philadelphia Friday?"

"Oh, yes, it was wonderful. So many things to see. And then Saturday, I was . . . well, I was looking for you. I was worried. Then yesterday and today, I've been cleaning and organizing your things."

House sat straight up on the couch so abruptly that he set off all of his bruises. "Mom, I DON'T want you moving my things."

"Greg, I'm your mother. I'm just tidying up a bit."

Limits, Jensen had said. Strict limits. "I realize you're my mother, but I'm grown up now, and that is MY apartment. I DO NOT want you changing things. Is that understood?" He flinched heavily, suddenly hearing his father in the last words - he was actually sounding like his father - and went into a coughing fit.

Startled oblivion was immediately replaced by concern. "Greg, are you okay? Greg?"

House was trying desperately to regain control of his breathing. Wilson came back in from the kitchen with a glass of water and handed it to him, then hovered anxiously at his side. He at least was silent, unlike the cell phone.

"Greg? GREG!"

House took another gulp of the cold water and handed it back. "I'm fine, Mom," he assured her, the wheezing tone and his ragged breathing giving him away. Wilson rolled his eyes. "Perfectly fine. I just need to rest and work on getting better, like I said. And I'm not going to be able to rest if I'm worrying about what is happening to my apartment. So LEAVE MY THINGS ALONE!"

Blythe was now in concerned mother mode, not just mother at loose ends. "Okay, Greg. It's all right. Calm down. Please, just rest and get well, okay? I'll stop."

Stop? How much had she done? "Mom, you need to do something. Go shopping. Take a tour of the University; they have a tour that's pretty good. Did you know they have an oil painting of George Washington that's painted from life?"

"Really? That must be rare. Okay, Greg, I'll stay busy, and I'll leave your things alone from now on. You just focus on getting better. Don't worry about me at all. Please, Greg."

"I'll try. I'd better go now, but I'll call you tomorrow briefly. Okay?"

"Okay. Goodbye, Greg. I love you." Blythe hung up.

House hit end on his cell phone and just sat there for a minute, breathing still a bit ragged. Wilson offered him the glass of water again, and he took another drink. "She's rearranging your apartment?" Wilson asked.

House nodded. "Straightening up and organizing, she called it."

"I could go over there after Cuddy gets back. Damage assessment. Try to fix things." His tone was reluctant but martyred, willing to throw himself into the lion's den for the cause for which he had been the catalyst, and House grinned with some real humor behind it that time.

"No, I need to deal with this myself, her and the apartment both. But not until I'm well."

"Right," Wilson said with relief. "I really do apologize for all this, House."

"One thing you could do is go to the Holiday Inn and check me out. I've been checked in there since Tuesday night, and there's a suitcase full of clothes, too. I bought some new stuff while I was gone Monday and Tuesday, so I wouldn't have to go back to my apartment yet. But then Rachel got sick. That would get me some clothes, at least. They have my credit card on file, so they've probably just been charging on the nights."

"I'll pay," Wilson promised. "My fault, anyway. But I'm not going over there until Cuddy gets back. Trust me, it's more than my life is worth to be caught leaving you alone right now. She'd cut me into small pieces and roast me over a fire. You really aren't well yet."

"I know," House replied. Every move of his body reminded him of that, not to mention that his breathing still wasn't normal. At least the fever was practically gone. The antibiotics were doing their job.

"Meanwhile," Wilson continued, "I brought over a set of old sweats of mine this morning. They won't quite fit, but it's something. I knew you would need more clothes from somewhere, and I was going to do that later after Cuddy returned, but I thought it might feel good to take a hot bath. Work out some of your sore spots." The suggestion was made tentatively, and he didn't add the obvious fact that there was no way currently that House could manage a bath on his own.

House debated. It did sound good, but he knew he would need extensive help from Wilson. On the other hand, Cuddy would have Rachel later, and requiring that level of care from her would just make things more difficult. It would be hard enough for her anyway with two of them without him being that demanding. "Okay," he said.

Wilson's slight relaxation showed just how much he was aware of the inward debate there. "I'll go get a trash bag to wrap your cast. We'll just pull the IV for the moment, I think. That one has been in for a few days anyway, probably needs to be changed." By the time he returned from the kitchen with a trash bag and duct tape, House had hauled himself painfully to his feet and taken a few steps toward the bathroom, leaning on the IV pole. Wilson hovered on the other side, not quite wanting to help without being asked, but when House stumbled slightly, he came in anyway, pulling his friend's left arm across his shoulders. "A bath should help you feel better," he said again.

House just nodded. He was concentrating on walking at the moment, and he was irritated that he was out of breath by the time they got to the bathroom. He closed the toilet lid and sat down, and Wilson turned the tub on, closed the door to keep the drafts out, and then carefully pulled the IV line out of House's right hand and unwrapped the Ace bandage from that arm. While he was neatly recoiling it, House managed to get his shirt off and unzip his jeans, and Wilson helped him pull them off.

House studied the entire impressive display of his bruises. It looked about like it felt. "If this was a low-speed collision, I don't think I want a high-speed one," he noted.

"Of course, if you'd been in a car instead of on a motorcycle, you would have had some protection for your body from the impact," Wilson pointed out, then caught himself. He had been responding as if things were normal, forgetting for the moment that they weren't. He busied himself with the cast, wrapping that arm, going well up over the dressing on the bad abrasion on House's elbow, which didn't need to be getting wet. "I'll change that dressing once you're out, too. Or would you rather have Cuddy do it?"

"You can." House's eyes were on the far wall.

"She doesn't mind you here, you know. She wants you here."

"It's just a lot for her to deal with."

Wilson sighed and left that alone for the moment. He tested the tub water and turned the tap off. "Okay, you ready?" House got shakily to his feet, hanging onto the IV pole even though the IV was disconnected, and his bruised arm immediately noted the lack of the Ace bandage. Wilson had him from the other side, helping him, and slowly they shifted over until House was sitting on the edge of the tub. Wilson then moved down to pick up the bad leg, trying to be gentle. Just looking at House's scar surrounded in blue, purple, and red made his own leg hurt in sympathy. Finally, he had moved the leg across the rim and into the tub, and slowly House slid down into the water.

The heat immediately started soaking into the sore spots, washing away at least some of the pain, even feeling good on his sore chest. House leaned back and closed his eyes and wished momentarily that life could stay here.

(H/C)

Cuddy entered diagnostics. The team was seated around the glass table, doing paperwork or reading the paper.

"Good morning!" Kutner said brightly. "House isn't here yet."

"He doesn't usually get here yet," Foreman added.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Cuddy said. "House called me and told me he was taking a few days to rest up and get well. Considering how bad he looked last week, I don't think he was faking it."

Taub nodded. "We tried to ask him if he was okay, but he said he'd fire the first person who did."

Cuddy had a private grin for that, behind the administrator front. "Anyway, he won't be in until further notice. He'd had pneumonia himself all last week, apparently. He's on strict rest and meds, and NONE of you are to bother him. Understood?" She met each of them in turn with her steady gaze, making sure that had soaked in. Satisfied, she continued. "I'm going to be out myself this week because Rachel is being discharged today. I'm going to watch her for a few days at home. Given how sick she was, I just don't feel comfortable turning her over to the nanny immediately." That made sense to all of them. "You can, however, contact me for any emergencies that come up. And thank you all for your hard work on Rachel's case."

"It was House," Kutner said. "He half killed himself to solve that one."

"I know." For just a moment, the administrator front slipped, and Cuddy's tone softened. She immediately pulled it back up. "Don't take a case for the department without consulting me, but I'm sure there are plenty of clinic hours as well as paperwork to be done."

'I'm sure we won't be bored," Taub replied. She nodded at them, turned, and left, heading down for Rachel's room.

Back in the conference room, Foreman tried to put on an air of being in charge. "Okay, you two" - he nodded at Thirteen and Kutner - "can do clinic hours this morning. Kutner? Kutner! Pay attention."

"What?" Kutner had been lost in thought.

"Clinic," Foreman repeated.

Kutner gave him a grin that told Foreman fully that Kutner knew he wasn't House but was choosing to humor him anyway and stood up. Thirteen had already left the room. Kutner headed for the elevators, pushed the button, and then stood there waiting with an expression that would have reminded anyone watching of House, though he was not thinking about a case. He was replaying the conversation Cuddy had just had with them. He had no doubt that House really was sick, and he had no doubt that Cuddy wanted to watch Rachel, but he didn't believe for a minute that those were taking place in isolation. Whatever it was was their business, but still, a broad smile settled across his face as he entered the elevator. Both of them deserved something good for once. Whistling, he headed for the clinic.