"What time do we have to be back?" House asked, enjoying just lying in bed with Wilson curled up next to him.
"I told Cuddy I'd have you back by mid-afternoon. You'll need a new MRI at some point just to check the tumour hasn't spread."
"Right, coz of the seizure?" House asked.
"Yeah."
"Okay."
"How you feeling?" Wilson asked, propping himself up on his elbows.
"Pretty shitty. I vaguely remember you shooting me up at about 4am this morning," House told him.
"You were in a lot of pain," Wilson reasoned.
"You just wanted me to shut up so you could sleep," House told him, a smirk appearing on his face.
"Well, there was that," Wilson replied. If House could joke about things then maybe he was feeling better emotionally than he had done in a long while. It made him feel better to know that he was right – the trip home had helped House.
House punched Wilson lightly in the shoulder. "Ow, that hurt you know," Wilson protested.
"You deserved it," House said, rubbing his temple. "My head hurts," he pouted.
"Give me a number," Wilson said, slipping back into doctor mode.
"I'm fine, just feel sick with it, is all."
"I'll put up a new bag of Vistrial." Wilson got up from the bed and headed into the living room where he'd left all of the medical supplies. The empty ampoules of morphine and fentanyl were lying on the side where he'd left them. He picked them up and put them in the disposable sharps bin he'd brought with him as he dug around for a new bag.
"You sure you don't want anything?" he called out as he open a new bag of saline and added the Vistrial to it. There was no reply, which worried him slightly, so carrying the bag with one hand and the syringe with the other he headed back to the bedroom.
House was lying down, rolled up in the fetal position and hugging his stomach. "House! What's wrong?"
"Feel icky," House replied, pouting some more.
"I'll draw you up some morphine," Wilson replied, turning to head back to the living room.
"I don't want to go back to sleep," House complained.
"I won't give you too much, and I won't give you any fentanyl, that should just ease off the pain." He hung the new bag of Vistrail, hoping that it would work fast and stop Greg from throwing up. He drew up the morphine, giving House a small enough dose that it shouldn't interfere with his level of consciousness, but large enough that it would ease any discomfort that he felt.
He swabbed the injection port of the central line and House pulled away. "No, don't want to sleep," he said, wincing as he moved.
"You're in pain. You need this."
"I don't want it."
"You're refusing drugs?"
"I don't want to sleep away my time at home, please Jimmy, just let me suffer in silence."
Wilson sighed. "I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't watch you suffer. I can't see you in pain without it hurting me too."
"So give yourself the shot of morphine instead then," Greg quipped.
"Greg, it's not the same and you know it. I promise you it won't send you back to sleep."
"You swear?"
"I swear, and I'll keep you awake even if it does."
"How do you intend to do that?" House asked, raising his eyebrows at Wilson.
"I'm sure I can think of something," Wilson replied, pushing the morphine and watching House visibly relax. "See, that wasn't so bad was it?"
House thought for a moment. "I feel sleepy. Wake me up."
Wilson dumped the two syringes in the sharps bin and lay next to House. He leaned over and kissed him gently.
"You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that," he half-whispered.
"bYou/b have no idea how long I've wanted you to do that," House replied, laying back and relaxing in Wilson's embrace.
"If that's the case then I better do it again before you get withdrawal," Wilson said, leaning over and kissing House again. That would certainly keep him awake.