The parade of nurses in and out of Wilson's room tapered off after midnight. By then, House had his chair pulled up to the window, feet propped up on the sill, and his body turned somewhat so he could keep an eye on the patient.

"Dr House."

He jerked awake, his head snapping up and pain rocketing through his leg. He tugged on his jeans, and winced as his feet hit the floor. "Haven't you gone home yet?"

"You know how it is." Cuddy waved her hand dismissively. "His stats look good."

House scrubbed a hand over his face. The other gripped his thigh. Subtly. "I'm not leaving."

"Sitting up like that, all night…"

"Isn't good for my leg. I know." Blue eyes flickered to the bed. He blinked to clear his eyes, to see the output of the heart and pulse monitor. "Just like sitting up with me all night wasn't good for his marriage six years ago. I'm not leaving."

Cuddy sighed. He knew she wouldn't argue that. She was as sensitive about his infarction as he was, because she'd been the one to pick up the slack. She'd been the one to cut into his leg, to try and clean up a mess neither of them made.

"House…" She started, but stopped when he drew his hand over his face, followed through to his pocket and his bottle of Vicodin. "At least let me get you a cot…"

"Doesn't matter. Still not much support. I'm fine. I just need to stay here." He dry swallowed a pill.

Her expression softened. He looked away. Her hand on his shoulder drew his focus back to her. "Hey. He's going to be okay."

"Yeah." House nodded and sighed and looked up at her. "I know. Go on. Get out of here."

"I'll be back first thing in the morning." He caught her hand as it slid away from his shoulder, and gave a gentle squeeze.

Cuddy left, and after a quick but thorough look at Wilson's stats, House inched his chair closer to the bed. He propped his feet up on the mattress, body angled out of the way of the nurses who would be in to check the patient's vitals.

As he settled into a restless sleep, his mind attempted to reconstruct the bathroom scene. Wilson walking in –innocently. There were three of them. A meeting, a drug deal, something no one was supposed to see. One of them panicked, stabbed him, and they all ran.

Except they weren't running. They walked out casually. Blood on their shirts. At least one of their shirts. And they broke his fingers. Why did they break his hand?

He sat up, struggling for breath. Sweating. Leg throbbing in time with his heart thumping in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, rocked through the spasms of pain.

"Dr House?" As the crushing waves subsided, he looked up at the nurse, Bridget. He hadn't realised she was there, but thought now he must have woken when she came in the room. "Are you all right?" She asked, her voice gentle and soothing.

"Fine," he snapped. He decided against further comment, since she was changing the IV bag attached to Wilson's arm. "What time is it?" He tugged on his right pant leg to move his foot to the floor, and again bit back a hiss of pain.

She held her arm up to get a good look at her watch. "Nearly six thirty. Do you want a breakfast tray, Dr House?"

"No." He leaned forward, lay his hand against Wilson's cheek. There was no reaction, and even though he didn't expect a reaction, it still stung. "How's he doing?"

"As well as we can expect, Dr House. Dr Hicks will be in about nine to check on him. So you need anything? Are you sure you don't want a tray? It's no problem. Dr Cuddy said you should get one."

"Dr Cuddy has a big mouth." House sighed and slid Wilson's left hand between both his. The knuckles were bruised, where he punched the wall at home. He remembered standing at the bottom of the stairs. Dreading the climb, but willing to push himself because he thought James might have hurt himself. That seemed so long ago. "I'm really fine."

Bridget nodded. "All right." Yeah. Like she was going to argue with Dr House. She'd tried. She'd done her part like Dr Cuddy asked. "Maggie will be on in half an hour."

"I'll be here."

"I'm sure you will," she called over her shoulder as she slipped out of the room, and House hoped Wilson had never flirted with her. She didn't seem like his type, but then House wasn't really sure that mattered.

He turned the television on just before 8:00. One of the early morning news and talk shows, showing footage of the Great San Francisco Quake. He used it as a distraction, numbing his mind, so he wouldn't think about the pain in his leg. He wasn't due for another pill for a couple hours, and resisted taking one. Maybe after he got up, he'd reward himself. Right. So much for distraction.

He gave a mental count, muttering i one, two, three /i under his breath. Hands braced on the arms of his chair, he mashed his lips together and heaved himself up. His leg jolted and spasmed, and threatened to buckle and send him either sprawling forward on the floor or right back down into the chair. He held steady, and stayed on his feet.

He swayed a bit more than he would have liked as he groped for his cane. Steps slow and painful, carefully paced and placed, he maneuvered to the bathroom. When he came out, Cuddy was there looking over Wilson's chart.

Two cups of coffee stood side by side on the bed tray. "You sleep at all?" She returned the clipboard to its hook by the door.

He gave her a once over. "Looks like you didn't."

"In my office," she waved a hand dismissively at the coffee. "Would have lost more than an hour of rest with the driving."

"Yeah." He nodded and reached for one of the cups of coffee, and hoped she didn't notice his hand was shaking. "Thanks." He muttered and held the Styrofoam cup under his chin for a moment before taking a sip.

Cuddy inched closer to the bed and took Wilson's left hand in hers. "I'm giving your team a few days off," she looked across to House. "I assume you plan to stay with him."

"Yeah." He sipped at the coffee.

Cuddy nodded. She leaned over and whispered something in Wilson's ear, then backed off. "Take it easy, House." She put a hand on his arm, a gentle squeeze. "And call me, page me, if you need anything."

He nodded, and shifted his focus to Wilson. Cuddy nodded and left the room.

He attempted a few stretching exercises in the small space at the foot of the bed. His leg seemed to tighten, rather than loosen, and he surrendered to the call of more Vicodin after three repetitions.

He estimated it was close to nine. Hicks would be in any minute. He desperately wanted to sit down, but he thought he should stay on his feet. At least until Hicks came and left. He didn't want to struggle to get up in front of the surgeon.

"Dr House." House's eyes flashed to the door as Dr Hicks walked in. "How's our patient this morning?"

"Holding steady." House pulled his hand across his face.

"Excellent." Hicks reviewed the chart, the nurse's notes, the current statistics on the monitors. "I have to tell you, Greg. He's doing better than I expected."

"He's going to be fine." House insisted, and looked over at Wilson.

Hicks put a hand on House's shoulder, but before he could say anything, the day nurse, Maggie came in. She hovered at the door, looking very much like she had something to say, but was hesitant to interrupt. Hicks was the one to acknowledge her.

"There is a police officer here to speak to Dr House," Maggie explained. Turning to House, she nodded. "Officer McGinty. He says he spoke to you last night at the scene."

House rubbed his left hand across his face. "Yeah. Tell him I'll be right out." Because he knew it was going to take him a minute to cross the room.

"Go on, I'll stay with Dr Wilson," Hicks said. He may not have really known House before this, but he could see the man's dedication to Dr Wilson quite plainly.

House bit his lower lip to stifle grunts as he walked. He felt sweat bead on his forehead, and reached up to wipe it away before easing into the hallway. "Officer McGinty."

"Dr House," McGinty answered and put his hand out to shake, shifted to take House's left hand since his right was wrapped around his cane and wasn't about to let loose. McGinty inclined his head toward Wilson's door. "How's he doing?"

"Holding his own. I hope you're here to tell me you got the men who did this to him."

"Not yet. We've got a couple leads, but no one wants to talk."

House sighed, rubbed his hand over his face. He idly wondered if he could rub his chin smooth, if he repeated the gesture enough times. "Typical. It's the uniform. Scares the guilty. What can I do for you then?"

"We found this in the bathroom at the bar. Thought it probably belongs to the doctor." McGinty held out a plastic bag. House squinted to see what it was. McGinty handed him the bag. He opened it, removed a small gold disc, caressing it with his thumb. One side bore the American Medical Association emblem, the other carried a personalized message. 'James, Congratulations. You're a real doctor now. Greg.'

He closed his eyes. Relived the moment he'd given it to James. He'd carried it in his pocket for days, waiting for Wilson to tell him he'd passed his Boards. He still remembered the look on Wilson's face. Touched. Thrilled, that House would do something like that. Something so personal and intimate.

"Yeah. It's…" He swallowed back the lump in his throat. "It's his. Thanks for bringing it over."

"No problem. We'll be in touch." McGinty nodded and stepped back. House leaned against the wall for a moment before pivoting carefully on his left foot to head back in to Wilson's room.

"Anything?" Hicks asked him as he tucked the blankets around Wilson's legs.

House's thumb pressed against the gold disc in his hand. "No. Nothing. A couple leads, maybe, but no one's talking."

"They'll get whoever did this to him, House." Hicks touched his arm. "I'll be around today, if you need me. Take it easy, Greg."

"Yeah." House hung his cane on the end of the bed and hopped another couple steps to the side of the bed, where he could take Wilson's hand in his and ease the gold disc into his palm. He curled Wilson's fingers around the charm, and as he sat, he held Wilson's fisted hand up to rub the battered knuckles against his forehead.