CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: Negotiations

House wakes up, for real, during the 11:30am assessment. He keeps his eyes closed, works on keeping his breathing even as Wilson finishes auscultating his lungs, checks both IV sites, does something with the pump carrying the morphine.

"Ya know what's really cool about being a doctor?" Wilson says in a normal conversational tone. "If you happen to have a stethoscope to someone's chest as they wake up, and if you're really, really skillful, you can actually detect the change in their breathing pattern from sleep to waking! Whaddaya think, House, cool, huh?"

House smiles and opens tired eyes. "Busted. And I didn't even get to hear anything juicy."

Cuddy walks over to the bed. She isn't certain how House wants to play this—she'll take her cue from him. She doesn't have to wait long.

"Cuddy! You're here; I'm touched! And you brought the twins; those two are getting bigger every day."

"Cute, House. So happy to see the lobotomy hasn't affected your enjoyment of the little pleasures in life."

"Little? Nothin' little 'bout those babies. Now, you three get over here. I need some help getting' rid of all this paraphernalia, and I figure if we do this just right, the view oughtta be spectacular. For both of us." Wilson shakes his head, smiling, as he walks over to the desk.

"House, I know this'll be a real challenge for you," Cuddy says, "But try, just this once, not to be stupid—you're not getting up, you're not going anywhere—got it?"

"Sorry, places to go, people to ignore—if you're really nice, I might even let you pull the cath." He lifts his eyebrows, smiles suggestively.

"House, I'm glad you're back with the program," Wilson interrupts in his best professional voice as he returns to the recliner, carrying a folder. "I need a second opinion on a patient—got a real problem."

House looks interested. "Listening. Shoot."

"Forty-five year old female, malignant melanoma left ankle. Had a wide-excision removal yesterday; damned resident nicked a nerve. Poor woman was in screaming pain, said she felt like her leg was on fire. Admitted her overnight, put her on a Dilaudid drip which we discontinued an hour ago. Now she wants to leave AMA, says she's gotta get home before her kids tear the place down."

"Send your common sense on that vacation to Tahiti, Jimmy? This one's so easy, even Cuddy here could handle it. You're the doctor—she's just the idiot you got stuck with. She stays. How tough was that?"

It takes House a full minute to realize that both his colleagues are just staring at him, arms folded, bemused expressions on their faces.

"Ooh. Ooooh. But you--she—me—I—but—" Cuddy's and Wilson's smiles are growing wider. "Oh, that was just so wrong, on so many levels." He wags his finger at Wilson. "Jimmy, I'm impressed!"

"Hoist by his own petard!" Cuddy mutters to herself—she's enjoying this.

"You're still on the morphine, House. I've got it down to 5mg now, and it's gonna stay there for another couple hours. You had a rough time of it, not gonna take any chances." Wilson doesn't mention that House is a lot weaker than they'd expected; he'll figure that out on his own soon enough. "Just lie there quietly, enjoy the extra two hours. And, in case you haven't noticed—it worked."

House's eyes widen slowly as he carefully—and then not so carefully—moves his right leg around, bends it, rubs the thigh. Wilson and Cuddy turn in tandem away from the recliner, suddenly very busy at the desk, their backs to House as they exchange smiles. Wilson gives House a couple more minutes' privacy to process the news before he turns back to the bed.

House's eyes are closed; there's a grin on his face—and one small tear, easy to miss, leaking from the corner of his eye. Wilson doesn't miss it. "Glad you're pleased. Pretty gratifying, gotta say."

House opens his eyes, glances a brief, wordless thanks at Wilson. Then he starts to remove the nasal O2.

"Leave it, House." As House continues to remove the tubing, Wilson tries again. "Leave it, or I'll super-glue it to your face." House finally lowers his hand.

Next he starts to worry the monitor leads on his chest. "These are really buggin' me. Can we at least—" He winces sharply; he's found the sternal bruise. "What the hell?" He pulls open the top of the gown and peers down. He looks up into his friend's guilty, crestfallen face. Same friend who's killing himself making sure I live a few more years...

"Sometimes," House says slowly, quietly, "sometimes we have to do medical procedures, necessary medical procedures, and the results are…unpleasant for the patient. But that doesn't negate the need for the procedure." Now it's Wilson's turn to look a thanks at him. "But really, Jimmy, you woulda gotten much quicker results just threatening to take away my GameBoy!" When Wilson and Cuddy both dissolve into laughter, he's pleased with himself.

"I'll remember that, should we ever find ourselves in that situation again," Wilson says wryly. "And no, nothing comes off, or out, until you're off the morphine, so do us all a favor and give it up."

House gazes imploringly at Cuddy. "Don't look at me," she says. "I'm just second chair here, and besides, I concur with Dr. Wilson."

"Cut it out, House," Wilson says. "If you keep it up, I'm gonna forget to deflate that little balloon holding the Foley in when I yank it out. Operative word here being yank."

"Ouch, Jimmy, no need to get nasty." House pouts, crossing his arms—gingerly—across his chest.

"Aw, cheer up," Cuddy tells him. "I'm gonna go arrange for you to have a week off, seeing as how you completed all those charts and everything." She rolls her eyes at him. The time off hadn't been in the plan—but neither had House's coming out of this so frail.

"So I wasn't hallucinating about the charts; no one else knows what happened?"

"And Dr. Wilson," Cuddy continues as if House hadn't spoken, "I've decided you need a little time off to work on writing up that research grant you've been talking about. I figure about a week'll do it."

She and Wilson smile at each other, giving House the time he needs to figure out that his privacy's been protected; he won't have to face questions, or pity, on his return.

"Dr. Cuddy, would you mind leaving us alone for a while? I need to have a word with my patient," Wilson says after a moment.

"Of course; I need to go arrange for that time off anyway." She looks again at House, and tries not to feel pained at how wrung-out he looks. "Good luck," she whispers to Wilson on her way out.

Once she's gone, Wilson takes a seat next to the recliner. "I'm not gonna like this, am I?" House mumbles, as he turns his face away and closes his eyes.

"This can wait, if you'd like to take a little nap. Just rest; it's okay. I'll be right here when you wake up."

"I'm sure you will. Which is exactly why we might as well get whatever it is over with now." House opens his eyes and turns around to face Wilson. "Listening," he says. His expression as he gazes at Wilson is carefully neutral, but Wilson can see defiance already creeping into the weary blue eyes. "Spill it, Jimmy."