On the fifth day, House spiked a fever and Wilson thought the worst. The body was at it's most vulnerable, the immune system was being eaten alive by the chemotherapy and even the smallest infection or virus could have massive effects on the patient.
"His fever's 103," the nurse told him. "He's pretty quiet, refusing to eat much and he's still needing six hourly anti-emetics. I asked him if he knew what could be causing it, but he refused to talk to me. I think he's slightly depressed."
"Wouldn't you be?" Wilson asked, picking up Greg's chart and flicking through it. His white cell count was up which indicated that it was some kind of infection that they were dealing with. House's moods had slowly been getting lower as the chemo went on. The pain was increasing and it was becoming too much for him to cope with. He saw no point in eating when he was throwing up so much and the only person that could get him to open up was Wilson and even that was getting harder.
"I'll go and check him over, can you page Cuddy and let her know that he's spiked a temperature and depending on the result we might need a clean room for him."
"Certainly, Dr. Wilson, let Dr. House know that we're all thinking of him, we've tried to get him to eat but, I guess he just doesn't see the point right now."
Wilson smiled at the sentiment and thought briefly about sharing it with Greg before deciding against it. Mean as it may sound, Greg was feeling too selfish to care what other people were thinking about him at the moment in time.
He slid open the door to House's room and stepped inside. House was lying on his back, one arm over his eyes and the other over his stomach. Wilson could tell just by looking at him that the fever was high and bothering him. The tips of his ears were red and his forehead was sweaty.
"Hey," he said, softly. "I hear you spiked a temperature."
Greg shrugged; he didn't even acknowledge that Wilson was in the room.
"You know I gotta find out why, don't you?"
That got a short nod.
"I'll be as quick as I can," Wilson promised, gathering supplies to draw some blood from Greg's central line so that they could test it for infection. House didn't even move as Wilson drew the blood, which concerned him. He'd seen it happening, seen House withdrawing over the past few days but he didn't think it had gotten Ithis/I bad.
"Tell you what, I'll go out and get you whatever you fancy for lunch, sneak something contraband in…would you like that?" he asked, labelling the tubes for the lab.
"Not hungry," House replied, his voice flat.
"You need to eat something, I don't want to have to start IV feeding."
"No point, I'll only throw it up."
"We can try something different for the sickness, see if that helps," Wilson offered. House just shrugged.
"You in any pain?"
"No more than normal."
"Is it any worse because I can top up your morphine dose with some fentanyl, my other patients say it works wonders."
"I don't care."
Wilson frowned. "Okay, you let me know though and I'll draw some up." He got his stethoscope and listened to House breathe. "Deep breath for me, buddy," he said. House obeyed and Wilson heard the beginnings of what sounded like pneumonia.
"I think I found the source of your temperature, you've got a crackly chest," he told House. House said nothing, just kept staring at the wall. "I'll get some anti-biotics started, should have you feeling better soon."
Wilson stared at what was very rapidly becoming a shell of his friend. He pulled over a stool and sat down next to him.
"Talk to me, Greg. You can't go on like this. Tell me how to help," he said, half-whispering.
House did something then that Wilson never thought he'd see Greg do. He started to sob, and not just a small sob either, a gut-wrenching one. He didn't know what else to do but stand up and pull his friend close and hug him.
"I know it sucks right now, but the chemo will help and you will feel better and this is the best way for you to beat the cancer."
"It hurts, Jimmy, I can't move without it hurting, I can't sleep, I can't eat without being sick, my stomach pulls when I throw up, and I'm scared, I'm so scared I'm not going to get through this without being scarred again."
"Like with your leg?"
"I don't want to end up with half my brain missing."
"You won't, I wouldn't let that happen to you," Wilson soothed.
"It hurts, Jimmy, make it stop, please," House sobbed. Wilson tried to pull away in order to get some more painkillers for Greg, but House clung onto him. "Don't leave me, Jimmy, I can't do it alone."
So, instead of doing it himself, he pressed the buzzer on the side of Greg's bed and waited for a nurse to appear.
"Can you get me 20mg of morphine, 50mg of fentanyl, and some Vistaril please?" he asked the nurse. If she thought anything of the fact that Wilson was pretty much cradling House she didn't say anything and to be honest, Wilson wouldn't have cared if she had. His main concern was that he dealt with House, made him comfortable.
"I'm gonna order you some IV feeding, just for a couple of day, as well as some Vancomycin for your chest, hopefully that'll have you feeling better soon, that okay?" Wilson asked, gently.
House just nodded, the sobs had eased, but he still wouldn't let Wilson go, for someone who was growing increasingly weak, he had a surprising amount of strength when he needed it.
"I know it's hard, but you've got to try eating as well, promise me, you'll try?" Wilson asked, gently pushing House, scared that too much would make him break. He felt House nod against his chest and the grip loosen.
The nurse cleared her throat as she re-entered the room with the drugs Wilson had ordered, Wilson nodded at her, "Can you draw up a loading dose of Vancomycin? Get me some IV calories and make sure those bloods get to the lab asap?" he asked. She nodded and left again.
"Greg, the drugs are here, you wanna lie back and see if we can get you more comfortable?" Wilson said.
"Okay," House replied. He sounded nothing like himself, more like a small child scared out of his mind.
Wilson waited until he was settled back again his pillow before stepping away and picking up the two syringes and the IV bag. "The Vistaril should kick in pretty quick and might help you get some sleep," Wilson said as he hooked it up to House's central line.
He uncapped the morphine and slowly pushed it, watching Greg's face for any change, it didn't seem to have much of an effect though some of the lines visibly relaxed. "The fentanyl will make the dose stronger, okay?"
House nodded, waiting as Wilson uncapped the second syringe and started to push the drug. It could feel it wash over him and slowly the pain in his head ebbed away and tiredness overcame him. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was Wilson watching him closely. He relaxed into the sleep the drugs were pushing him into, knowing that whatever happened, Wilson would keep him safe.