CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Planning

Wilson's drawn the blood, given House his medication, and completed the assessment. The combination of the Compazine and all the activity proves too much for House; as much as he'd like to stay awake to take part in what he's sure is going to be an interesting discussion, his eyes close of their own accord. Perhaps he could have fought it, but he knows there's another factor in play here; for the first time in a long time, he's got a sense of security. He feels, much as he'd like to deny it, cared for, and, he grudgingly admits to himself, it doesn't suck. So he gives in to sleep, and gives in to handing worry, and fear, and even medical decisions, over to the two people who care.

Cuddy and Wilson quietly leave the bedroom. Cuddy sits in the living room while Wilson gets them coffee, and when he returns they look at each other with a mixture of relief and sadness.

"Thanks for your help in there," Wilson says to Cuddy. "I almost blew it, didn't I?"

Cuddy doesn't answer the question directly; instead, she asks two of her own. "How much have you told him about yesterday? Have you put any of what you learned into practice yet?"

"He doesn't seem curious about the session. The only thing I've told him is the part about letting me be responsible for the medical stuff. And that's having some interesting results, good ones, I think." He tells her about last night's incident with restarting the IV, how he'd simply told House how things had to be, how House had accepted it.

"Doesn't really surprise me," Cuddy says thoughtfully. "Goes back to that whole 'peds patient' thing. Kids, even sick kids, crave discipline. That sense of someone being in control helps 'em feel safe. And House… well, the man lives his life out of control. Doesn't matter how old you are, or how smart, that's gotta be scary. I'll bet he actually feels relieved that it's not all on him anymore."

"It never was; doesn't he know that?" Wilson's sad that, apparently, House has spent so many years rejecting concern that, at some point, he'd stopped being able to recognize it, and had wound up feeling alone in his battle. And Wilson feels partly, maybe even largely, to blame for that.

"He knows it now; that's what counts," Cuddy assures him. "We can't go back and undo the last few years; we can only move forward from today, make certain it never happens again." She's silent for a minute, and when she speaks again, she chooses her words carefully. "You realize that we're making a pretty big commitment here? We're… all he has. That means no backing out, no taking a break, no walking away from it, from him, when it gets too tough. Think we can do it?"

Wilson knows that now Cuddy is seeking reassurance, and he feels uniquely qualified to give it. He has, after all, been fighting for over six years to be able to make this commitment to House and his health; he knows many of the pitfalls and responsibilities already. And he knows the fear that comes with agreeing to be House's friend; that fear that maybe you're knowingly setting yourself up to have to deal with the pain of loss before you're ready. For Wilson, that's the hardest part, and it's something he has to face every time House is ill. So he knows what he has to say to Cuddy.

"We can do it. Yeah, it's a big emotional investment, and there are times when you're gonna want to cut your losses, just pull out. I know; been there. But," and here he smiles, shakes his head, "believe it or not, he's got this uncanny way of knowing when he's gone too far. Then, he lets you see a side of him that reminds you why it's all worth it, makes you want to go on fighting for him." Wilson's thinking of the most memorable time it had happened.

He had admitted a homeless woman to the hospital, and—unbeknownst to House—it had brought up painful, emotional memories of Wilson's own missing brother. House had been his usual nosy, insensitive self, even going so far as to pull Wilson's personnel file, trying to find out why Wilson had taken such an interest in the patient. Wilson had felt angry, even betrayed by House. And then, Wilson's memories had driven him to visit the last place he'd seen his brother.

He'd been sitting there, feeling more alone than he'd ever felt, and remembering how he'd failed his brother. Out of nowhere, House had shown up. He'd admitted to following Wilson, and while Wilson had pretended disgust at his presence, he'd actually been surprised, and glad to see him. So he'd told House about his missing brother. And then, for the next hour, they'd sat there, together, in total silence, while Wilson mourned his brother. Wilson had been comforted by House's quiet presence, and deeply touched as well—the night was cold and damp, and he knew that House would pay a high physical price later, just to be there for Wilson. He also knew that House would never say a word about what it had cost him.

Wilson doesn't share this memory of House with Cuddy; he's never shared it with anyone, never even spoken with House about that night. But Cuddy, watching his face, his eyes, can tell that this friendship is more reciprocal than she'd ever thought.

"Don't worry about me," she tells him now. "I can take anything he throws at us. Yeah, he's exasperating, and confusing, and miserable, and he can even be downright cruel. And I'd be lying if I didn't say there are times I wish I'd never met the man. But you're right. Somehow, he's worth all of it."

"So, how are we gonna convince him of that?" Wilson asks. "I'm starting to get a handle on the psych stuff, and it's gonna help. It's the medical aspects that are worrying me now. I'm hoping the blood work will tell us something, and I'm gonna try switching his anti-emetic to Zofran. It's possible the Compazine is causing some muscle rigidity; apparently he's having trouble with his left thigh now. And, of course, he's made it quite clear that he doesn't appreciate the sedative effect. Zofran might still make him a little tired, but it's a lot less likely. We'll have to start monitoring his temp, but overall, the side effects should be less severe."

"I'll bring that at lunchtime," Cuddy says. "Both the injectable and the oral. Let's hope it works; he seems to have lost more weight every time I see him."

"That's another thing. I need your opinion on this. I'm thinking we'll give him another 48 hours to take food and fluids at sustainable levels. At the end of that time, if he's still not showing any progress, what do you think about a PICC line? That way, we could give him total parenteral nutrition, give his digestive system a chance to adjust to the higher doses of narcotics. And if he's on TPN, that'll take the stressor of forcing himself to eat away from him."

Cuddy frowns. "Pretty drastic, but I'm afraid I've gotta agree with you. When I'm at Hospice, I'll go ahead and schedule the mobile radiology service, in case we've gotta go with the PICC. That'll prevent having to put him through the trip to the hospital for the placement x-ray. Hate to think of doing this to him, but you're right. Can't let him continue like this; he'll start having complications based on malnutrition. We've got to prevent that. Have you talked with him about this?"

"No, and I don't plan to. He doesn't need to know. If I thought his refusal of nutrition was just a control issue, then using it as a threat might have some value. But I'm thinking now that this has been an ongoing problem, since the breakthroughs started. He's clearly been losing the weight for quite some time, another thing I wasn't paying attention to." Wilson's expressive eyes are full of hurt; Cuddy can tell it's not for himself, but for his friend.

"To be honest," Wilson continues, "I'm thinking we're not gonna be able to avoid the PICC, even if he manages to increase his intake. Telling him about it ahead of time would only make him anxious, and maybe more likely to try to hide his symptoms. We made a lot of headway this morning. We got him to acknowledge, and we acknowledged ourselves, that this isn't some minor thing he's gonna get over in a few days. I think that, to some degree, we've all been pretending, up 'til now, that all he needed was a few days' rest. He's seriously ill; we've gotta treat him accordingly."

Cuddy nods. "I agree with you. And you know I'll do everything I can. Let's get it clear right now that you will trust me to do my best by him, and that you will not be on duty 24/7. Don't make me have to do that whole lecture again, okay? Your continued health is vital to his health. You've gotta take some occasional time away from it all. Not long; just enough to relax, sustain your own sanity. Understood?"

Wilson knows she's right, knows that, without her cooperation and participation, he wouldn't be able to do this for House. "Yes, ma'am, I hear you, loud and clear. And thanks. For everything."

Cuddy sets her cup on the table and stands. "Okay. I'm gonna get the blood to the hospital. And I'll listen to that voice file as soon as it arrives. Then, we'll work up a treatment plan. And fortunately, neither of you is expected back for six more days, so we have plenty of time to figure out how to safeguard his privacy through all this, for however long it takes. So try not to worry. We will figure it all out, whatever it takes."

"I know. Whatever it takes," Wilson echoes, and as he closes the door behind Cuddy and turns to go check on House, he allows himself to feel the fear he's been trying to ignore, and to realize that at least he's not alone with it anymore.