"I'm going to be sick," House said, trying to sit up, but failing to get the energy. Wilson acted quickly, placing the basin below his chin and catching the first heave.
The chemo had started four hours ago and since then House had been throwing up and sweating. He had a headache, his stomach hurt and his leg was really acting up. Wilson had given him some Demerol but it didn't seem to have any effect.
"I'll get you some more companzine," Wilson said, once House had finished throwing up.
"Doesn't work, just kill me now," House moaned.
"You still in pain?"
"My head is killing me and my leg feels like it's on fire," House complained.
"We can try some morphine, Greg, if you think it'll help," Wilson told him, quietly.
"Only real cancer patients get the morphine," House said, but he wasn't saying no, right then he would have gladly taken a gun and shot himself if he thought it would end the pain.
"I'll draw you some up with some cyclizine, it should help with the nausea."
House nodded as another wave of sickness came over him. He opened his mouth to say something, but it was too late and he threw up down himself. The shivers started shortly afterwards and he was shaking as Wilson tried to make him more comfortable.
"It's fine, Greg, I'll get a nurse to come and clean you up while I draw up the drugs," Wilson said, sympathetically.
"Don't leave me," House half-whispered as he shook.
"I'm just going to get you something to make you feel better," Wilson told him, though his heart pulled, he hadn't said anything more to Greg about the conversation they'd had last night. The ultrasound had shown nothing of concern, and the chemo had started as normal, though it hurt him to see the man he loved in this condition he knew it was the only way to make Greg better.
"I can't do this, Jimmy, I can't survive this poison, just cut it out and be done with it," House moaned, trying to roll onto his side to get more comfortable.
The neurotin had worked so far and there had been no more seizures but Greg's behaviour was worrying him, he was sure there wasn't a bleed but his BP was low and the way he kept moving around worried him that he'd tear the stitches or something.
"It's the only way, Greg. I know it's hard."
"You don't have a Ifucking/I clue," Greg snapped as he grabbed his abdomen and groaned.
"Let me get a nurse, she'll make you more comfortable and I'll get some meds that will help with the nausea and pain. House didn't say anything, just continued to shake and groan as the chemo did it's job.
Wilson left once the nurse had arrived and went to the drug lock up to draw up some morphine. He hoped it would make House more comfortable, even if it was only a tiny amount – anything had to be better than watching him battle through the way he was now.
They had cleaned House up by the time he appeared with the morphine, but his friend was still turned onto one side, shaking slightly and clutching his stomach.
"Hey," he said, holding up the two syringes. "I got you morphine, it should take the edge off a little."
"Did you mean it?" House asked, looking Wilson dead in the eyes.
"Mean what?"
"When you said you left Julie for me, did you mean it?" Wilson tried to break eye contact and go about with administering the drugs, but House pulled away before he could even think about injecting.
"The morphine will help."
"I want to know the answer first."
"What if I'm not ready to tell you?"
"Then I'll suffer in pain."
"Greg, I…"
"Don't. Just, leave," House said, clutching his stomach tightly. "I don't need this crap on top of everything else. You'd think you'd be honest with me now that you know I have a fucking tumour but if you can only be honest when you think I'm unconscious then I don't want to talk to you."
Wilson sighed and looked at House. He was pale, sweating slightly and still shaky and Wilson didn't like the way he was holding his stomach, but he knew that unless he wanted his hands bitten off there was no way that Greg would let him near him until he gave him an answer.
"I meant it," he half-whispered. "I was going to tell you, I just…"
"Thought it was better to tell me when I couldn't answer back?" House interrupted.
"No, I planned to tell you again, just everything kept going wrong. First the bleed, then the tumour, there never seemed to be a right time."
"Promise me something," House asked.
"What?"
"Promise me you'll never lie to me again, just tell me okay?"
Wilson nodded. "You want this morphine?"
"I think I'm going to be sick again," House murmured, turning – if it was possible – paler. Wilson grabbed a bowl and managed to get it under House's chin before he started vomiting. There was little left to come up seeing as he'd not eaten all day and he'd been vomiting for most of it.
Wilson waiting until he'd finished heaving before starting to push the anti-emetic. "I'll push the morphine straight after, okay?" he told House, wishing he could do more to ease the discomfort his friend was in.
House nodded, but still clutched at his stomach, which raised red flags in Wilson's mind. He slowly pushed the morphine and watched as Greg visibly relaxed, his eyelids dropping slowly.
"That better?" Wilson asked. House just nodded. Wilson put his hand on Greg's shoulder. "I'm gonna do an ultrasound, check for a bleed." Greg nodded again, which worried Wilson more because he usually had to fight to get agreement on things like this.
Greg relaxed as the morphine hit his system, the dull ache in his head receded and for once the twinges in his leg had gone too…he lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes. Wilson could do what he liked to him because all he wanted was to sleep before the sickness monster re-appeared.