A/N: I never knew how mean I could be. I really do love Wilson. Honestly, I do. This chapter is a bit shorter.

Chapter 8

House watched his friend push the food around his plate, not once taking a bite.

"Not hungry?"

"Your cooking actually sounds good right about now."

"It's that bad?"

"Here." He stabbed a piece of …something… and held it out for House. "You tell me."

House put up his hand waving away the food. "I'll have Chase bring you a sandwich from the Carnegie Deli."

He shook his head. "I'm not very hungry anyway."

"How about some chicken soup? May clear up that concussion altogether."

Wilson smiled. "Okay. You get something too….we'll eat together."

House picked up the phone to page Chase, the phone ringing almost immediately after he hung up.

"You certainly have them well trained," Wilson said, rubbing his temples.

"They know who's king," the older man said, answering the phone. As he spoke to Chase, he kept his attention on his friend, concerned as he watched him continue to massage his temples, his head down.

Chase was still talking when House hung up on him. He quickly approached the bed. James had shifted onto his side covering his head with both arms, his eyes tightly closed.

"Jimmy, what's wrong?"

"Just leave me alone," he cried out. He started to pull at the IV needle inserted in the back of his hand.

"Jimmy!" House grabbed his wrists attempting to keep him from tearing out the IV.

"Just get away from me. I don't want your help!" he yelled, managing to push House away from him, the older man almost losing his balance. As he attempted to catch himself, House watched helplessly as he ripped the IV line from his hand. Blood streamed out from the resulting wound, dripping onto the blanket and pristine white linens. Finally getting his bearings, House pushed the nurses' call button.

"Someone get in here!" he yelled at the same time.

Dr. Foreman and Nurse Jackson came running into the room as House attempted to calm Wilson down as he struggled to get out of the bed.

"Please….no. Just leave me alone…." he screamed.

"Two milligrams Ativan…stat!" House barked.

Nurse Jackson ran out of the room to retrieve the medication while Foreman went to assist him.

"Wait," he said, shaking his head to stop Foreman.

James had stopped fighting. Turning onto his side, he lay quietly with his eyes squeezed shut, his breathing labored from exertion. House had a firm grip on his wrists.

After a few moments, he slowly released him.

When Nurse Jackson returned with the Ativan, he motioned for her to place the syringe on the bedside table and leave. She hesitated, but followed his orders.

"Are you in pain?" he asked as he lightly stroked Wilson's hair.

There was no response.

"Jimmy."

"No." His voice was weak.

House glanced up to find Foreman standing there looking bewildered.

"Get me something to clean this up." He turned his attention back to his friend. Wilson's eyes were open now, still laying on his side staring straight ahead, a vacant expression on his face. House remained silent as he gently stroked his friend's hair.

Within seconds Foreman was back with antiseptic wipes and towels. Handing them to House he looked at him questioningly.

"Stay here," he said quietly as he used the wipes to clean up Wilson's wound.

"He's going to need a few stitches," he said, as he examined the gash on his hand.

James rolled onto his back, glancing at Foreman but not acknowledging him. Lying quietly he peered up at his friend.

"What happened?" House asked softly.

"I just… I felt scared."

"Of what?"

He slowly shook his head. "I don't know." He glanced down and saw the blood that had stained his hospital gown, the blanket and sheets. Scrunching up his face he looked back up at House. "Am I bleeding?"

"You don't remember pulling out your IV?"

He shifted his eyes to his hand, which was now wrapped in a towel. "No," he said quietly.

House looked over to Foreman. "Page Dr. Roth."

tbc