A/N: I thought I'd be nice and give Wilson a little break. I don't want him to hate me. Some fluff in the next chapter (that's the plan anyway).

Chapter 11

House sat on his recliner with his feet propped up on Wilson's bed eating a roast beef sandwich. He glanced over towards his friend who was sitting in bed with his legs crossed enjoying his turkey breast on rye with mayo. He was wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt House had brought for him from his apartment. The good luck coin the older man had given him years earlier when he was about to take his ABIM oncology certification exam was laying on the night stand.

House placed his sandwich on the paper plate, taking a drink of iced tea. He studied his friend.

"You want to talk about it?"

"No." Wilson kept his attention on his food.

House picked up his sandwich and took another bite, both men eating in silence for several minutes.

"I think we should talk about it."

Wilson sighed loudly. "It's not your call."

"This isn't only about you."

Wilson dropped his sandwich onto the paper plate and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You think something needs to be said."

"Don't you?"

Gathering up his half eaten sandwich along with the paper plate, napkin and unopened bag of potato chips, Wilson placed everything on the wheeled bed table. "You did what you thought was right."

"I didn't just think it was right…. It was right."

"Maybe from your perspective."

"Jimmy….."

Wilson glared at his friend. "I thought we weren't going to talk about this."

"Obviously, we need to."

"Why? It's done," he said, absentmindedly tearing apart the napkin he had just placed on the bed table.

"Because it could happen again. And because it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do."

"I know it was," Wilson said sighing. He gathered up the pieces of paper he had just torn apart and tossed them into the trash can.

"You know and you're still pissed at me?"

The younger man raised his voice. "I'm not….." He stopped talking and took a breath to calm himself down. He stared at his friend. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to do that to me?"

House looked away for a few moments. He dropped his left leg to the floor and used his hands to lower his right leg, shifting in the chair to get comfortable. He looked at the other man.

"Dr. Roth felt…."

"You discussed this with Roth?"

"Yes…he's your doctor."

Wilson's face grew tense, his eyes narrowing as he cast them downward towards the bed. "You discussed this with Roth, but not with me." He looked back up at his friend. "Did you think I couldn't handle it?"

"No, that's not it."

"Then why didn't you talk to me?"

House shrugged, shaking his head as if he had no answer to that question. "I listened to Roth. He told me he was certain you'd have another episode and that when you did, it would safer for you if I used…. those." He pointed to the restraints now lying open on either side of the bed. He said there wasn't any reason to tell you beforehand, that you probably wouldn't remember."

Sighing, Wilson shifted his eyes up towards the ceiling. "Why is it I seem to remember all the wrong things?"

"I know I didn't use the best judgment."

Wilson looked surprised. "You're actually admitting it?"

"I'm new at this."

He shook his head, eyeing his friend questioningly. "New at what?"

"Usually I don't give a damn. But this…this is totally different…. I can't be objective when it's you."

Wilson looked directly into his friend's intense blue eyes. "Would you do it again?"

"Yes."

"What if I asked you not to?" the oncologist asked, his eyes again cast downward.

"I'd do it anyway."

Wilson angrily shifted his eyes back towards the other man, raising his voice. "Look, Greg, I'm telling you that I don't want….."

"Jimmy, listen to me. I can't take the chance of you hurting yourself. You know the potential risks of second impact syndrome. I couldn't live with myself if….." His voice trailed off as he leaned back in his chair, quickly averting his eyes.

"You don't know what it was like for me," Wilson said, his voice almost a whisper.

"I do know."

"How could you?"

House looked at his friend. "Because I know you."

Turning his head away, Wilson leaned back against his pillow and closed his eyes. He heard the familiar rattling sound of House's Vicodin bottle as he retrieved it from his pocket and dry swallowed a pill.

After several minutes of silence, he sat up and glanced over towards House who was resting his head against the back of the recliner, peering up at the ceiling. He grabbed the remote from the night stand, hesitating as he spotted his lucky coin. Picking it up, he placed it in the drawer and clicked on the television.

"So what do you want to watch?"

tbc