Security caught up with him a few steps inside the Emergency Room doors. "Sir, can I help you?" He was young, looked like he should be sneaking cigarettes in the boy's room, not toting a gun at the entrance to a busy ER.

House flashed his hospital ID. "Dr Gregory House. I'm here to see a patient."

The guard looked him over, eyebrows arched. "You're not hurt?" His eyes flicked to the cane, back up to House's face. He balked at the intensity of House's stare, but didn't back down. Even if he looked like he was about to wet himself. "I can't let you go in there looking like that."

"I was at the scene. It's the patient's blood."

"Sir…" The guard started again. House was in no mood for this kind of resistance. He shifted his weight, intending to raise his cane. He had no reservations about poking this guy in the gut, he just couldn't coordinate his body to do it effectively.

"Is there a problem?" Dr Lisa Cuddy came up behind House. She didn't spare the guard so much as a glance as she reached a hand out to House's arm. "Thanks, Frank. I've got it from here. Dr House, we've been waiting for you. I sent Dr Cameron to bring you some clean clothes. In the meantime, let me update you on the patient's condition." She led him away from the doe-eyed guard.

He looked down at her hand on his arm, but didn't comment.

"You look like shit," Cuddy observed. His eyes closed, and he stumbled. Her hand tightened on his arm to catch him.. "House…"

House stopped, unaware his right hand gripped his cane perhaps a little too tight. He raised his left hand to scrub at his face. "I'll change as soon as I can. After I see him."

"You can't see him. He's in surgery. You'd contaminate everything."

"Did you send Cameron for clothes?" he asked, tilting his head, with a look that indicated he was only just then processing what she'd said a moment ago to the guard.

"No. But I will. I said that for Frank's benefit.."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "There's probably a T-shirt up in my office. I don't know about pants."

"You could always wear scrubs. We have plenty of those around here."

House took a few steps toward a row of chairs backed against a wall. He tried not to wince or groan as he sat down, but couldn't stop his hands from going to his thigh, fingers pressing into the skin, massaging the aching muscles.

"What do we know?"

"Only what I've already told you. He's stable, but it's touch and go. We'll get an update when he gets through the surgery. I told them to let me know if anything went wrong. I haven't heard a peep." Cuddy sat in the chair next to him. She studied him a moment. His head was tilted back, eyes closed, mouth drawn in a tight line. "You said you weren't with him when it happened."

House sighed. She was just concerned about his leg. He could read her like an open book. Large print. "He went to the bathroom. I stayed at the table."

"If it's still bothering you when Wilson gets settled, I want to have a look at it."

"It's fine," House insisted. He attempted to make his point by lurching to his feet and making off down the hallway, but he didn't quite make it. His leg screamed at him and he went back down into the chair with a sharp cry.

Cuddy nodded. "Point taken."

"I went down hard on my knees when I saw him. Doesn't take much to strain the leg. It's fine." He moved his hands away from his leg, trying to illustrate his point.

"If you say so," Cuddy gave him a look to say she didn't believe him.

House clawed at his face, leaving red streaks. "Just find me some clothes."

"You should go upstairs and take a shower. The heat will help."

"Maybe later." His hands dropped to his thigh, palms pressed against the strained muscle, trying to find relief in a different arc of pressure.

Cuddy shook her head. "No. House. Now. Once he gets out of surgery, you're going to be right there with him. You won't leave him to take a shower. Do it now. Use the time you have."

House gnawed on his bottom lip as Cuddy's words rolled around in his head. She seemed to know more than she was saying about Wilson. House sighed. He was too tired to argue with her, and she had a point. A good point, much as he hated to admit she was right. "Fine. You made your point, Mommy." He would grill her after his shower. He had to believe she would tell him if it was anything serious. Could have been anything, really. Could have been about a patient and not about Wilson at all.

He moved carefully to the edge of the seat, taking it slower this time. Both hands on his cane. He took a deep breath.

"Do you need me to help you?"

He held her gaze for a moment, then sucked in a breath and looked down. Eyes closed for extra concentration, he gave himself a silent count. One. Two. Three. He bit into his bottom lip as his right leg balked against the pressure of his weight. The cane helped him steady himself. "Where is he?"

"OR 4."

House nodded. He felt like his feet were incased in cement, both legs aching, screaming with every step. He was glad Cuddy didn't move to walk with him, he wasn't in the mood for company.

He avoided his office completely, and went straight to the supply closet for a set of scrubs. He chose light blue, and headed to the showers. He knew the heat would help his legs, but he wouldn't be in there long enough to make a real difference.

He took far too long getting out of his soiled clothes, so that by the time he actually got in the shower, he was feeling anxious and antsy. He needed to be with Wilson, not worrying about how clean he was behind the ears.

Foreman was sitting with Cuddy in the waiting room. Neither commented on the scrubs, but he saw how they looked him over. Foreman was the first to look away.

"Tell me," he demanded, eyes boring into Cuddy.

Cuddy stood. "There's swelling around his spinal chord. It's too early to tell. But Dr Hicks is concerned."

The entire waiting room fell away into blackness. Only Cuddy remained in his line of vision. He swayed, and his grip on the cane was the only thing that kept him upright. He dug his fingernails into his palms to keep himself centered.

He blinked, brought the room around him back into focus. A woman was walking toward him, controlled panic on her face. His tongue skated across his bottom lip. "Stacy. Glad you're here. I need a favor." He nodded. "I found Wilson's wallet at the scene. All his credit cards are missing. I could assume Julie took them, but since Wilson was at work when she left I doubt that's likely. I need you to check his office, possibly go to his house, and find the statements. I'll need his mortgage statement and bank records too, so you'll have to trek to his house anyway. Here's the key." He dug in his pocket, fishing around his wallet.

Stacy Warner reached for it, brushing her hand against his. He shifted his weight and offered his cell phone to her. She hesitated, her eyes searching his face.

"Here's my cell. I want you to call the little Missus and inform her what's happened. She's under BITCH in the address book. She left him today, so don't give her too many details. Just let her know he's been hurt, and the credit cards were stolen, so I'm taking the initiative to close down the accounts. Tell the creditors the hospital will fax them whatever information they need regarding Dr Wilson's condition."

"House, you should sit down," Cuddy interrupted. She reached out to touch his arm, he jerked away from her instinctively.

"I don't want to sit down," House looked over his shoulder at her.

"Greg." One word. His name. The sound of her voice. His composure cracked. His face fell. His arm shook against the cane. Hands on his arms, guiding him to the nearest chair. Foreman jumping out of the way.

She knelt in front of him, hands on his thighs. He whimpered pitifully and curled himself around her. Her arms snaked up and around his waist, he pressed his face to the top of her head.

"Shhh," Stacy cooed, one hand moving up to caress his back.

/\\/\\/\\

"What? Stacy, no." Wilson took both her hands in his, dark eyes locked on hers. "You can't…he's upset. He's confused. He's scared, and he needs you. He doesn't know…"

"He knows exactly what he's saying, James." Stacy squeezed his hands. "The way he sees it, I did this to him. I'm the enemy now. I did this to him."

"You saved his life!" Wilson argued, voice cracking as helplessness mounted.

"And now I have to let go and let him live it." She pulled one hand away from his grasp and lay her palm against his cheek. "I love him, James, and maybe one day he'll understand what I've done. For now, I'm trusting you to take care of him. He'll let you, if you're careful. If you don't force it. Let it happen on his terms."

"You can't…Stacy, please. He needs you."

Stacy shook her head. "He can't even look at me, James. I did this to him. This is exactly what he didn't want. I'm sorry. Tell him that. Tell him I'm sorry, tell him I love him." Her voice cracked then, and the tears spilled down her cheeks.

He reached up to thumb them away. "Don't go, Stacy. Please."

"Goodbye, James." She turned away, and slowly put one foot in front of the other.