A/N: This chapter has been completely rewritten; I feel that this was where I started to get off track. Chapters eleven through fourteen are going to be back later today, with minor variations, and tomorrow there will be a new chapter, and we'll be back to normal. I apologize profusely; you've all been so loyal—don't wanna let you down, so knew I needed to fix things a bit. Thanks, kids! mjf

CHAPTER TEN: Confusion

When Wilson enters the living room with his coffee, House is staring thoughtfully at him, and continues to stare as Wilson takes a seat. Finally, Wilson becomes uneasy, pinned under his unwavering gaze, and breaks the uncomfortable silence. "Something wrong? Why do I feel like I'm on a microscope slide?"

"What've you got?" House's gaze has become appraising in nature; he seems fascinated with Wilson's hands, curled around the coffee mug.

"Huh? A cup of coffee. Want some?" Wilson is pleased that House is interested in drinking something. He starts to get up. At this point I'd almost offer him a beer if I thought it meant getting fluids into him.

"Sit. I said, what've you got? You were gone seven hours. That's a lot of tests."

Wilson is confused, and is about to explain the length of his absence when House suddenly pales and gasps. Wilson sees a hand go to his left thigh. "What is it?"

House's left thigh is pulling, clenching up. Uh-uh. Not about me now, it's about him. House wills this new pain into submission. "Nothing. Just a little stiff." Now, even now, lookin' at me with those worried eyes, and Wilson never comes first; gonna come first this time, Jimmy. "Don't wanna talk about me. Answer the question."

"House, I don't have anything, I went on a little trip, sorry I was gone so long, but--"

"Don't lie to me. Your hands, the tremors, I can see 'em now, and you're pale, and--"

"Congratulations! You've just diagnosed 'fatigue.' I'm not sick, House. Stressed out, yeah. Worried; that too. And tired. But sick? No."

"But you said, you asked me, if you were sick, very sick--" Not cancer; that'd be too cruel, he knows too much.

"It was a hypothetical, House. Trying for some empathy; foreign concept, I know, but try to stay with me on this." Wilson's concerned now; House is pale, and his breathing's too rapid.

"Look, stop trying to protect me, okay? Brain's still working. Whatever it is, we'll get through it, gonna be there for you all the way, whatever it takes, this is—" House's eyes are bright, intense, and he's talking a mile a minute.

"Will you just calm down and let me talk a minute? I am not sick. I was using that as an example. Trying to get you to understand why I… went to… see a friend today." Wilson, you're a coward; he thinks you're sick, just tell him….

House still looks confused, and he's still studying Wilson, trying to decide if Wilson's telling him the truth, or trying to protect him. "You went to see a friend. Okay. And the hypothetical?"

"I've been… concerned. For a while. About your… state of mind. And this weekend, after your hallucination, the talk of suicide…."

Now House is getting angry. "You and Cuddy were talking suicide! Not me."

Wilson shakes his head, decides he'd better just get it over with. "I went to see my old college roommate. He's a psychologist, House."

Anger and relief are battling in House's mind. I really don't care who Wilson went to see, because Jimmy is all right! A psychologist? He still thinks this is all in my head? He's the one who's crazy. "I thought you believed me," he says coldly to Wilson.

"I do. It's… not about that. I…. House, there've been issues since the infarct. After what's happened, your pain getting out of control, my part in letting that happen, well… just wanted some objectivity, and… more for me, really."

"Yeah, and I'm sure all you discussed was you. My name never came up," House sneers.

Wilson is up and pacing. "Yes, your name came up. But this is about how I deal with this. Didn't do you any favors the last few months. Told you I wasn't gonna let that happen again. This is part of making sure it doesn't."

House thinks about this, decides that maybe it's okay if Wilson talked to somebody about Wilson; he can live with that, especially if it means Wilson'll get off his back a little, about… well, everything. And now that the anger's receding, the relief is coming back, and he has to admit that Wilson had him a little nervous there, for a second, about being sick. House closes his eyes. "Do me a favor?" he asks.

Wilson closes his own eyes for a moment and tries to gather some patience, dispel some worry. "Depends," he says gently, and allows some humor to creep into his voice. "Not gonna go TP Cuddy's house; outta the question. Other than that, maybe."

House manages a small smile. "No; fun as that would be, this is way more important. Don't ever get sick, okay? Not allowed. New rule; just made it up myself. And all you gotta do is follow the rules."

Wilson can tell that House is on the verge of sleep again; he tells himself that it's the meds, the weakness. But he knows that's not right. Wilson watches him a moment, worried about something he can't even put a name to. Not getting better, not even trying to get better. Not acting like himself, not fighting. Aw, House, what's up with you?

He decides that, first thing in the morning, he'll draw some blood for a Chem21; maybe there's an electrolyte imbalance, something easy to fix. That would explain so much.

If his potassium's down, House's apathy, the mild confusion, the apparent leg cramps can all be explained. And corrected. But House had to know; he isn't keeping anything down, he knows the logical result of that. Dick's wrong; hiding the vomiting, knowing what the risks are—doesn't sound like he wants to live, sounds like he's just quit caring. He really didn't even react appropriately to the whole shrink thing.

Wilson knows that Cuddy's waiting to hear how the conversation about Wilson's visit had gone. And maybe talking with Cuddy will help him put some of this concern into perspective. House is really asleep now; it's a good time to call her. One more look at House, and he goes to make the call.