A/N: I had a hard time with this chapter. Coming attractions: shocker coming up in Chapter 6. Not only am I perverse, but I'm a tease as well.

Chapter 4

House limped into his bedroom, stopping short in the doorway at the sight of his best friend sitting on the edge of the bed holding his head in his hands, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Headache?"

James didn't reply, didn't even acknowledge the other man's presence. Concerned, House limped over to the bed and sat down next to him.

"If your head hurts, I can give you a shot of sumatriptan," he said quietly.

"Just…please just leave me alone. I don't want you sticking me with any more needles," he said, his tone edgy. He avoided looking at his friend.

"If you have a headache….."

The younger man's head snapped in House's direction, his eyes narrowed.

"I said no." His voice was threatening.

House sighed. "You're feeling agitated because of the concussion. Let me treat your headache…."

"What are you, deaf?" he raised his voice, scowling. Not wanting to provoke him, House leaned into his cane and stood, backing away. "If you need anything, I'll be in the living room."

"Thanks," he said, seemingly calmer now. Hesitating, the older man turned away and approached the door, shaking his head.

"And what the hell was that?"

House stopped in his tracks turning back towards his friend, clearly troubled by his behavior. Wilson was standing with his hands on his hips, glaring at him.

"What was what?" House asked, attempting to sound understanding, yet angry with himself for allowing his friend's volatility to get to him. He was well aware that his behavior was due to the effects of the concussion.

"You have a problem?" Wilson asked, his demeanor cold.

House shifted his weight as he leaned onto his cane. "No…no problem," he said softly, trying to keep his friend calm.

"If I'm getting on your nerves, why don't you just tell me to leave?" he asked, attempting to spur his friend into an argument.

House looked at him. "Jimmy…… " He paused, casting his eyes towards the floor. "You don't get on my nerves."

"I'm really tired of you saying one thing and then denying it when I call you on it."

House looked directly into his eyes. "You're confused…."

"Stop patronizing me!" He took a step forward.

House cast his eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry," he said quietly as he turned to leave the room. Reaching the doorway, he felt compelled to face his friend, turning to find him sitting on the edge of the bed again clutching his head in apparent distress.

"I didn't mean it. I'm sorry," Wilson said, his eyes closed as he massaged his temples. House could see the physical and emotional pain etched on his face. "I don't know what the hell's going on with me."

The older man approached him and sat down on the bed again, reaching his arm around his shoulder and pulling him close. "Let me give you something for your headache," he said.

Wilson rubbed his hand across his forehead avoiding his friend's eyes. He nodded.

Getting to his feet, House limped to the bathroom to retrieve the sumatriptan and alcohol wipes. When he returned Wilson was lying on his back, his arm resting across his eyes. He limped over to the bed and sat on the edge waiting until the other man was ready.

James moved his arm away from his face and stared apologetically at his friend. "I…I'm….."

"It's okay," House said, his voice low and reassuring. "Let's do something about that headache."

James smiled sadly as he rolled onto his side away from House, pulling down the waistband of his sweats allowing the other doctor to inject him, grimacing as he did. Shifting onto his back, he closed his eyes inhaling deeply, his breath hitching. House leaned onto his cane, slowly getting to his feet. As he turned towards the bathroom to discard the empty syringe, Wilson reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"I can't help it."

The older doctor stared at his friend for several moments before sitting down again. "Dr. Roth talked to us about this," he said quietly. As he spoke, he gently took the other man's hand to reassure him that he wasn't angry.

James scrunched up his face. "I don't remember," he said, his voice breaking.

"Everything you're experiencing is symptomatic of a grade three concussion.…the mood swings, headaches, memory loss…" He hesitated. "Personality changes." He squeezed his friend's hand. "We'll just have to wait and see what happens. It can go away….."

"Or it can get worse."

House sighed. "It can."

"What if it does?"

"If it gets worse…or if it doesn't subside….you'll have to be admitted to the hospital for re-evaluation." Wilson turned his head away. "Try to get some rest," House said as he stood.

Approaching the door he turned back to find his friend lying on his side almost in a fetal position. Resisting the urge to comfort him, he turned around and left the bedroom, limping towards the living room where he picked up the phone to call Dr. Roth.

tbc