The days that followed were good to House. The drug regime worked and he stayed as pain-free as was possible. The neurotin had stopped the seizures and the anti-biotic was doing its job and working hard on the pneumonia. The chemo still had a rough effect on him, but overall Wilson was pleased with the progress he was making and arranged for House to be allowed one night at home. They would keep his room free for him to return to and he understood that he was being discharged into Wilson's care and that should anything, Ianything/I at all cause Wilson concern he would be brought straight back – by ambulance if necessary.

"Come on, Jimmy, I wanna get out of here," House said, unable to sit still. He'd agreed to being pushed out in a wheelchair because he knew it was the only way he was going to get out of the hospital and he knew he was coming back the following day but he didn't care. One night at home was better than anything the hospital had to offer him.

"I'm just making sure I have enough of everything, I don't want to have to bring you back early because I've forgotten something," Wilson said, double checking all the medications and syringes in his bag. Once he was sure he had enough of everything – including drugs to stop a seizure should Greg have one whilst out of the hospital – he grabbed hold of the handles and pushed House out of the hospital and towards his car.

There hadn't been much discussion about what would happen once they got back to House's apartment, they both figured that it wasn't what they said, but what they didn't say that would answer any questions the other may have.

House slept on and off for the whole drive home. The Vistrail had been stopped for the journey and already he could feel the all too familiar feeling of nausea creeping up on him.

"Greg, you okay?" Wilson asked as he parked outside House's apartment.

"Feel pretty sick," House admitted.

"That's coz we stopped the Vistrail and also coz you've done more moving around in the past thirty minutes than you have for the past ten days. Let me know if it gets any worse. Can you make it inside?" Wilson asked, slightly concerned and mentally berating himself for not thinking to give House an injection of something to cover him for the journey.

"I'll be…" he started, but stopped, turning out of the car and vomiting on the pavement. Wilson was by his side in an instant, rubbing his back. "Sorry about that."

"Don't apologise. It's fine. You think you can stand or do you want to sit for a while longer."

"I want to get in before my neighbours see me and the last of my street cred is blown away," House muttered.

They took the stairs slowly, Wilson making sure that House was safely on the couch before heading back to unload the car of the medical supplies he'd need to keep Greg comfortable for the next 24 hours. He'd arranged for him to have a day off chemo so he was home for a whole day and night. Wilson had cleared all his other patients and made sure that unless there was some kind of emergency (and by that he meant life and death) he was not to be disturbed.

Once everything was inside, Wilson helped make House comfortable on the couch. "You sure you wouldn't feel better in bed?" he asked.

"I've spent the past ten days in bed, let me enjoy this for a little while before you ship me off there again."

Wilson watched as House fidgeted and winced.

"Give me a number."

"It was just a twinge," House moaned.

"You're refusing drugs?" Wilson asked, incredulous.

"They'll knock me out."

"If you need them, you need them. I can lower the dosage, or just give you morphine to take the edge off it."

"I'll tell you if I need it," House promised as Wilson set about making a coat stand into a make-shift IV pole and restarting the IV calories, the anti-biotic, the Vistrail and some normal saline. "I feel like a bag lady," House complained.

"No one has to know," Wilson told him. "You want me to switch General Hospital on?"

House nodded and they settled down to watch the soap.

Wilson had closed his eyes for a second when the second commercial came on and had drifted off. House lay on the couch watching his friend sleep. He needed something for the pain and his head felt foggy, but he didn't want to wake Wilson, he knew that he needed the sleep.

He tried to think back and pin point the moment he'd realised that what he felt for his friend had been something more than a platonic friendship, but he couldn't think properly. It hadn't always been that way, it was as if one day he'd just woken up and it was there – a love for James Wilson, something that he had to keep secret because he had no idea how the other man felt and he thought that he was happily married – well, married, if nothing else.

A sharp pain in his head made his gasp loudly and he knew that he had no choice but to wake the sleeping beauty.

"Wilson? Wilson, wake up!" he said, loudly. He could just about reach out to poke him if he leaned off the couch and balanced in a certain way. The stitches from his previous surgery had been removed, but it still hurt if he tugged the wound in a certain way.

"Wilson, please wake up," he cried, leaning over slightly too far and landing loudly on the floor on his right side. He swore and grabbed his leg. Tears of pain appeared in his eyes and he cursed out loud.

"House, what's wrong? What happened?" Wilson asked, waking and appearing at his side in seconds.

"I fell."

"Where does it hurt?"

"My leg, I think I twisted it underneath me," House moaned, tears streaming down his cheek.

"Stay there, don't move."

"Jimmy, it hurts," House complained.

"I know, I'm just getting you some morphine."

"I don't feel too good," House said, his speech slurring. He fell back on the floor and his head hit the hardwood flooring.

"House, stay with me. Greg, stay with me," Wilson said, pulling the medical bag along with him as he tried to get to House before the seizure could take hold.

He ended up with his knees around House's head to keep his airway clear while he drew up some ativan with his teeth and one hand. He managed somehow to push the drug and House's movements slowed. Part of him knew that he should take House back to the hospital now, should get another MRI and check that the tumour hadn't grown or spread, but he always knew how much his friend needed this time at home so instead he took House in his arms and lifted him, carrying him into the bedroom and lying him down. He moved the IV's slowly, checking Greg's eyes each time to see if he was coming round from the relatively short seizure.

"I have to go back, don't I?" House asked, his speech still slightly slurred after twenty minutes had passed.

"That would be the best idea, yes."

"Why aren't you packing everything up?"

"I wanted to give you the choice. It was short seizure, probably caused by the shock of falling on your leg, you've come round and are pretty much competent. I only had to push one mg of ativan to stop it. I'm leaving this one up to you, Greg," Wilson explained.

"If I stay here will you do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Will you sleep with me tonight?"

Wilson thought about what he was being asked and slowly nodded. "I will, but only if you get some rest first."

"Hurts."

"Give me a number."

"Nine."

"Okay, I'm gonna give you both the morphine and the fentanyl then."

"Sounds good."

Wilson pushed the drugs and waited for House to fall into a drug-induced sleep before he kicked off his shoes, and lay next to him, gently stroking his cheek as House's muscles relaxed. He could feel himself drifting too, but made no effort to move, he just lay curled up with House, glad that whilst in this condition, House was as pain free as possible.