He'd spent the better part of the night stretched out in his yellow
chair with the TV on mute, flickering above his head while he read out
loud from Dickens' Great Expectations. He glanced at Wilson at every
natural break, hoping for some reaction. Some sign that his friend was
still fighting within his shattered body.

He knew he'd regret getting up, the shift in pressure, the change in
blood flow. He'd consumed far too many Vicodin, and not a bite of
food. He pressed his left hand to his rebelling stomach as he sat up.
His right leg balked, forcing him to tug on the pant leg to force his
foot to the floor.

He doubled over, pain radiating from both his leg and his stomach. His
eyes scanned the room frantically, finding the trash can slightly
beyond his reach. He held his breath, fighting the nausea, eyes
squeezed shut.

Bile rose in his throat, he swallowed it down. He did not want to puke
on the floor and have to call a nurse to clean it up. There'd be no
way in hell he could get down on the floor and clean it up himself.

The spasms in his leg dropped off, he chanced standing up. He kept his
back curved, left hand pressed to his stomach, right hand on his angry
thigh. He needed his cane, but there wasn't time. He needed the toilet
more.

He barely made it, hands gripping the cold porcelain as his stomach
rebelled. For a long moment, he didn't dare move for fear his right
leg would completely give out on him.

"Dr House?"

"I'm fine, Maggie," He pulled his head up. He wasn't fine. He was far
from fine. He took a deep breath, flushed, moved carefully, quickly
shifting his hands from the toilet to the sink for much needed
support.

He could hear Maggie moving around in the room, no doubt checking
Wilson's stats. "Are you sure you don't need any help?"

He closed his eyes, swayed against the sink. Honestly, he wasn't sure
he wouldn't hit the floor as soon as he let go. "I'm fine." He grit
his teeth, and his mind flashed on the first steps he'd taken after
his infarction. Balanced between parallel bars, letting go, weight
bearing down on his dead leg…

He grabbed the door handle, but the hinges made it too unstable to
support him. With a grunt, he heaved himself forward. His chair seemed
so far away. Too far. He wasn't going to make it. He could feel his
leg buckling, thigh pulsing.

Pain gripped him, a vise on his leg. "Dr House!" Maggie yelped, rushed
to his side. The ruined muscles in his thigh spasmed painfully,
pressing against the tight wall of skin.

Sweat dotted his forehead, stained the arms of his shirt. Maggie slid
under his right arm and helped him to his chair. He needed to lie
down. The chair was the best he could do.

"Can I get you anything?" Maggie carefully raised his right leg and
set it on the ottoman.

"A bottle of whisky?" He pressed both hands to his thigh, fingers
rubbing against the dead tissue.

"I don't think so. How 'bout some water?"

House nodded. "Yeah. Lots of ice."

He worked methodically, so focused on his task that he no longer felt the pain in his leg, the nausea bubbling in his stomach. He was only vaguely aware of the bedrail biting into his hip - he didn't care about his own comfort at all.

He lifted Wilson's left leg, carefully but deliberately, sensitive to the slightest resistance. He hummed along with the classical music playing on his iPod, fingers occasionally playing out a scale and melody on Wilson's skin.

His eyes darted up briefly as the door slid open. Seeing it was only Lisa Cuddy, he didn't lose his concentration.

"We have people trained to do that," Cuddy set a Styrofoam box on the tray beside Wilson's bed.

"Tell the nurse I'm ready."

"Ready for what?" Cuddy tossed the box from earlier into the trash can without comment.

House checked the output from Wilson's Foley then flipped the blanket back into place over Wilson's legs but didn't tuck the corners. He stood, both hands braced on the bedrail, hoping Cuddy wouldn't notice just how tight his grip was. "His bath."

Cuddy shook her head. House was afraid for a moment that she'd come around to his side of the bed and put her hand on him. "You can't do this by yourself. You're exhausted, house. You can barely move. You're not-"

He extracted one hand from the bedrail, groped for his cane which hung on the end of the bed. He stabbed the floor with it, eyes dark and challenging. "You want me to step aside and let some inept idiot from PT come in here and do half a job..."

"That's not - You're not trained..."

Left hand still gripping the bedrail, he held his cane up, jerked it angrily toward his boss. "Not professionally, no. I have experience. Or did you forget that?"

Cuddy sighed. She couldn't fight that topic. And she really didn't want to go there. She pushed a hand through her hair, and House closed his eyes, allowing the tension of the moment to pass quietly.

"I brought lunch. You should-"

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat." Cuddy thumbed the box open. A sandwich, chips, no pickle. At least she remembered to hold the pickle. He sneered at it, Cuddy sneered at him. He sighed, hooked his cane on the end of the bed again, and picked up the sandwich, left hand maintaining its grip on the bedrail.

He sniffed the sandwich. Roast beef and cheese. Iron and protein. He sneered again before taking a small bite.

"How's your leg?" Her eyes flickered to his hand on the bedrail.

"Fine," he answered, mouth full of sandwich.

"I'm actually more concerned about your hip."

"Funny, I'm more concerned about James," House answered coolly. "If I promise to eat the damn sandwich, will you tell Maggie I'm ready for her?"

Leaving Chase and Foreman to their indepth discussion of baseball in the conference room, Cameron took her mountain of paperwork and relocated to the quiet sanctuary of House's office. She could see them through the glass walls, could hear their excited chatter as their voices raised above normal conversation tones, but for the most part she could tune them out.

For a man who did little actual doctor-to-patient work, Dr Gregory House amassed a great deal of paperwork. Cameron had been at it five minutes, maybe ten, when the main door opened and a very beautiful woman stepped into House's office. She work a sleek navy blue pant suit which looked like it might have cost more than Cameron's entire wardrobe.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Dr House," the woman announced, her voice smooth as honey and well matched to her suit.

Former patient? Wife of a patient? Daughter? Mistress? The possibilities rolled around Cameron's mind. She didn't dare look toward the conference room. "Dr House is with a patient," she explained, though the words and the concept were foreign to her.

"I really must speak with him at once." The woman insisted.

Cameron stood because it seemed like the thing to do. "I'm sorry, he has asked not to be disturbed. You're welcome to wait here, and I'll give him a message."

The elegant woman rolled her eyes with irritation. Cameron assumed she didn't like to be dismissed, but there wasn't much she could do. No way in hell she was going to go bother House now.

"My name is Julie Wilson."

"You're..." Cameron blinked. "You're Wilson's wife."

"Yes. Now do you think you could run along and tell Dr House I'd like to speak with him?"

Cameron nodded. "I'm sure he'll make an exception." She shot a glance through the glass walls to the conference room. Chase and Foreman looked like randy schoolboys inappropriately lusting after the new teacher.

Should she tell Mrs Wilson about her husband? She'd seen James. She knew it wasn't looking good for him. She also knew how it felt to lose a husband, but she didn't think Julie would feel even an ounce of what she had felt for her husband.

"Mrs Wilson, there's something you should know." Cameron stepped to the front side of House's desk. "The patient...It's James. He was stabbed two nights ago. That's why Dr House has been trying to get in touch with you."

"What?" Julie balked. She stepped back, colliding with a chair. She dropped into it. "How is he?"

"Stable. House has been with him since it happened. And Dr Hicks is a really good doctor."

"Yes, yes. I'm sure he is." Julie straightened her posture, ran a hand over her hair as if to make sure every strand was in place. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak with Dr House."

"Of course. Follow me."

House was nearly asleep when the door slid open, moaning on the track. He shot up, pain gripping his damaged thigh. He bit back a cry, and grabbed his damaged leg with both hands. Sweat beaded his forehead, and for several seconds he cold only rock back and forth to ride out the vise grip deep within.

Cameron knelt in front of him, hands on his knees to try to steady him, eyes raking over him, helplessness surging through her veins. "Dr House, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," she said after a moment, as he settled down.

He blinked repeatedly, his hands rubbed at his thigh. "What is it, Cameron?" he asked through clenched teeth as soon as he could force the sound past his throat.

"Julie Wilson is here to see you."

His eyes darted to the door, and back to Cameron. "Shit." He closed his eyes, took several deep breaths. Cameron got to her feet and moved to the side of Wilson's bed, keeping her back to House to give him some dignity. A string of frustrated curses brought her back around to face him.

He gripped the arms of his chair, a determined look on his face. Sweat beaded his forehead, and in all truth, he looked defeated. "Let me help you," Cameron offered and moved to his right side.

"I don't need any god damned help," House insisted and jerked his arm at her. "Go tell Julie I'll be right out."

"If you're..."

"I'm sure. Now go!"

Cameron lingered a moment, but the intensity of his gaze convinced her he would not allow her to help him no matter what. She turned and stepped out of the room.

He scooted to the edge of his seat, leaned forward to grab the bedrail. Hopefully he wouldn't jar Wilson too much, but he had no choice. Feet planted firmly on the floor, he took a deep breath and heaved himself up.

His leg screamed, he tasted blood in his mouth where his teeth sliced into his cheek. He was on his feet, but unable to move while his leg spasmed. He took several deep breaths before reaching for his cane.

The first step was tentative, reminding him of a clumsy child just learning to walk. His hand gripped his cane far too tightly, but he had no choice. His leg couldn't take his weight, he had to redirect it to his arm.

"Hello, Julie." She was impeccably dressed, as usual, giving the world the impression of a perfect socialite wife, though House knew the truth.

"Greg," she answered, eyes taking him in. He set his left hand on his cane, leaning forward slightly. "How is he?"

"What is this? Wifely concern? A little late for that, don't you think?" House glanced at Cameron. "Why are you still here? Go sit with him. I won't be long." He shifted his attention back to Julie.

"I want to see him."

"No."

"You can't...I'm his wife."

House blinked at her. "Is that why you left a note for him to find? For God's sake, Julie. You took his dog. What kind of woman takes a man's dog?"

"He's got you."

House almost laughed. He probably would have laughed if he hadn't felt so close to the edge. One false move and he knew he'd be on the floor looking up at her. "Touche," he said simply.

"Move out of the way, Greg."

Whatever reserve of energy he had kicked in. He straightened himself, effectively blocking the doorway. "No."

She glared at him for a long moment. He felt himself drifting. He closed his eyes. He wanted to just give up. Sink to the floor and forget everything. "Dr Cameron," he called without glancing backward. He kept his eyes locked on Julie.

"Yes, Dr House?" Cameron appeared behind him.

"Will you please escort Mrs Wilson away. Take her to the cafeteria. Take her to Cuddy so she can lodge a complaint. Take her anywhere but take her away from here."

"This isn't over, Greg," Julie spat.

"I know." He turned, hissing with pain as his right thigh clenched. Cameron stepped back, giving him room. He reached for the bedrail, needing the extra support.

"Dr House?" Cameron started.

Tettering on a very thin balance, House glared at her. "Go, Cameron." He watched, to make sure she didn't linger anymore.

He fell into his chair, leg heavy and uncooperative. He shifted carefully, biting his cheek again, curling his fingers into the chair to fight the screams in his throat.