A/N: Many thanx for all your kind, funny, perceptive reviews; they truly do make the writing easier for me, thus better for you. To bmax, who made me think, and Jazelle 1996 who patiently held my cyberhand when the reaction to chapter 14 was underwhelming and I was getting nervous, and to those who review regularly and encouragingly—YOU GUYS are why I update so promptly! And to DIY Sheep, whose fic "Ode to Love" had me laughing so hard at 3:00am that I actually had the energy to finish this chapter; check "Ode" out, especially if you (like me), normally run screaming and rending garments whenever you see the dreaded initials HC. /end mushy rant

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Facing Fears

Wilson is trying to keep the mood light as he sets up, but he sees House withdrawing into himself, and that's not good. Let's just confront this head on, get the elephant outta the living room already.

He goes over to the recliner, holding the dreaded patient gown. "Are you ready to get changed? It'll be easier with all the equipment." He wears his matter-of-fact doctor voice.

"Do I have a choice? What if I say no, I'm not ready?"

Good! There's the opening I've been waiting for. "Of course you have a choice. If you're not ready, then we'll just wait until you are." Wilson keeps his voice soft, his tone mild; "This isn't six years ago, House. And it's not a coma." He sees House flinch, and knows he's pegged the problem correctly. "This time around, you're calling all the shots. Absolutely nothing's gonna happen to you that you don't know about, and nothing at all will happen until you're ready." He tosses the gown onto the monitor stand and sits down next to the recliner like they have all the time in the world. He doesn't look at House as he continues to speak.

"If I were you, I'd be pretty damned scared right now. I'd be wondering if I was making a mega-mistake, wondering if I could back out. Well, like I said, this is your call all the way, and if you change your mind, then you change your mind. That's not backing out, not when you're the one in charge." Wilson stands, still not looking at House, and walks to the window. You're taking a chance here, Wilson; what'll you do if he calls your bluff and changes his mind?

"Of course, on the other hand, keeping the prize in view would probably mitigate a lot of my fear. I mean, I can't imagine what you've been going through. I just know that I want it to end for you. And just knowing how much better it'll be, well, that's worth conquering a few fears, right?" He chances a look over at House, and is astonished to see him grinning back at him, vastly amused.

"You've got a good bedside manner, Jimmy. About as transparent as Cuddy's turquoise blouse, but very calming—unlike that blouse," he leers.

"House!" Wilson explodes. "Just how long were you going to let me continue my pathetic Marcus Welby impression?"

"Don't worry, I was gonna stop you before we got to the hand-patting and the lollipop." He's still grinning at Wilson, and his eyes are bright with gratitude. "Now let's grab that gown and get on with it. Eyes on the prize, right, Jimmy?"

Wilson shakes his head, smiling. "You're exasperating, you know that, House?" he says as he helps him out of the scrubs and attaches the monitor leads to his chest. He slides the gown on and replaces the O2 as House continues to chatter happily.

"Yeah, I mighta heard that word paired up with my name one or three times. 'Course, that was yesterday. I don't have the count in for the whole week yet." House is looking pretty damned pleased with himself, isn't even paying attention as Wilson turns on the monitor, winds the automatic BP cuff around his arm, places the pulse oximeter on his finger. So far so good, thinks Wilson, but it's not real to him yet.

As he's reconnecting the IV tubing, Wilson says casually, "Would you mind if I start another line? With the drip going, I'd like to have another port."

"Jimmy, what is wrong with you? I know you need another port; lucky for you I've got veins comin' out of my ears—well—my arms, anyway." He sticks his arms out, turns them over, and presents them proudly to Wilson.

Wilson is laughing so hard he couldn't get a needle in if a vein stood up and waved at him. "House, you are absolutely snockered on that last dose of morphine!" Wilson knows a good situation when he sees one, and quickly gathers the supplies for the IV.

As he's preparing to insert the cannula, he tells House, "I'm gonna go ahead and pull some blood for a pre-anesthesia panel, save you another stick, okay?" Instantly, he feels House's arm tense up in his hand. "What's the matter, you suddenly acquire a fear of needles?" he laughs, unable to look up from the insertion of the cannula.

"How's the blood getting to the lab?" asks House—and the tone of his voice gets Wilson's attention. He glances up; House's face is tight, closing off again. What the hell just happened? he wonders. He quickly grabs a syringe, draws the blood, flushes and caps the site.

"House, what's the matter? Did I hurt you? Is it the leg?"

"I said, how's the blood getting to the lab, Wilson. Can you just answer the question?"

Uh-oh. "Cuddy'll take it. She'll run it herself, no records. She's being unbelievably cool about all this, House, you'd be proud of her. Before this is all over, we'll have her converted over to the fun side."

"You're not going?" There's a faint hitch in his voice that only Wilson would catch. Ahh, okay, so that's it; I thought of everything-- except assuring him that I won't leave him alone. Careful, Wilson, let's fix it….

"You're kidding, right? I go out there and twenty people are going to need forty things from me. I've got the dream situation right here; I get to play doctor with only one patient to focus on. Why would I wanna screw with that?" He sees just a little of the tension leave House's face. Not good enough. "You're stuck with me; I'm not leaving this room until we leave it together."

The rest of the tension leaves House; Wilson sees him close his eyes for a second to compose himself. "I guess I'll just have to live with that, then," House says. "Being cooped up with you for all those hours…I s'pose it's a gift I'll be knocked out through most of it. Might make it bearable."

Wilson breathes an inward sigh of relief. Got past that pretty well. But he's coming down off that morphine high; everything's beginning to sink in. Tread carefully here.

The key turns in the lock and Cuddy comes in. She's carrying a large cardboard box, the words Plainsboro Hospice printed prominently on the side. "I knew it!" House says. "This is all a devious plot to kill me and steal my priceless cane so you two can ride off into the sunset together!" Cuddy looks a question at Wilson; all he can do is raise his eyebrows and shrug at her. House's mood changes are lightning-fast and pretty disorienting; Wilson's feeling just a bit seasick.

"You'd better be nice to her, House—that's your happy juice she's got there."

"And she's wearing the turquoise blouse! Cuddy, you're too good to me."

This time when Cuddy looks to him for help, Wilson wishes he'd thought to knock House out earlier. With his priceless cane.

"I don't know what he's babbling about," he tells Cuddy, trying very hard to keep his eyes trained upward, on her face. Finally, he gives up and changes directions entirely so that he can glare menacingly at House. That's futile too, as House is busy trying out all his nonverbal flirting techniques on Cuddy, who is by now studiously ignoring both men.

She's spotted the blood-filled syringe. She picks it up. "What tests do you want me to run on this?" She's all business, Wilson thinks. Wonder what's bothering her? She seems in a hurry to leave, so Wilson scribbles out a lab slip. "After I run this, I'll be in my office if you need me."

"I always need you, Cuddy!" House says. But Cuddy doesn't take the bait, doesn't even smile. She just stares through him, says "Good luck, House," then turns quickly and leaves. Wilson is worried, but it'll have to wait. It's time to ease House into la-la land.