CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: Interlude

Once House has been settled again, the sedation Cuddy had given him enables him to quickly fall asleep. His heart rate is still slightly elevated, and the monitor continues to show an occasional PVC, but he's clearly out of immediate danger. And when the lab at Princeton General calls with the results of the bloodwork, they discover that increasing the rate of the potassium infusion, and even the dose of magnesium Cuddy had given during the near-code, were the right things to do. Cuddy and Wilson look at each other in satisfaction as they quietly leave the bedroom to speak in private for a few minutes.

As they sit in the living room, Wilson looks gratefully at Cuddy. "Thank you," he says, simply.

"For what?" she asks. "I'm the one who should be thanking you, and House, for allowing me to be a part of this. It's been frightening, and fulfilling, and… remarkable. I've felt like a physician again. I've watched House recover a little of his trust in the human race—or at least in us. I've seen one of the most incredible friendships in action. And I even feel like a friend, myself. To both of you." She smiles and shakes her head. "Never would've thought he'd let me in this way."

"Cuddy, if you hadn't supported this, from the beginning, it could never have happened. Your decision to allow this, and to participate in it, saved his life. I'm convinced of it. If we'd wound up having to hospitalize him, odds are the ethics committee would've turned down our request for the pain control procedure. Once they turned us down, we'd have been able to treat only his acute pain, and the whole place would know he'd moved up to morphine. At best, he'd have left the hospital with his pain only partially controlled, and with half the staff considering him impaired. At worst, he'd have been forced into a treatment program he doesn't need, for what's viewed as an addiction. And if he'd lived through it, he'd have come out even more bitter, and less trusting, than he was when we started all this. Now, because of what you did, his privacy's been protected, his… dignity. With House, those things are just as important as his health."

Cuddy looks seriously at Wilson. "We're far from being out of the woods, you know. He's debilitated; his condition's still quite serious. We made it through this crisis, and we're all feeling pretty good right now, but we can't afford to lose sight of how much work there still is to do, how much care he still needs."

"I know, but it's like I told House this morning; if we hadn't done the pain control procedure, we still wouldn't be aware of how much his general condition's deteriorated. And God knows how much further…." Wilson doesn't need to continue; both he and Cuddy strongly suspect exactly how much further House's health would have fallen before he'd have said anything to anyone.

"And there's something else," Wilson says. "You need to know how much easier you're making it today, for me. I'll be honest; I resented it when you pulled rank this morning. Hell, I didn't just resent it; I was angry. And… you turned out to be right. I was able to be there for him during the v-tach, and it was a relief to be able to concentrate on supporting him without having to juggle the medical side of it, too. These next eight hours, they're a gift, really. House has so many medical problems right now that sometimes I forget what it's like just to be his friend. He's accused me of that, ya know. I deny it, of course, but… he's right. And… well… thank you."

Cuddy reaches over and squeezes his hand. "It's okay. Really. You're worried about him, and you want to make it better—you're trained to make it better, so it's natural to act on that. But… sometimes, it's more important for you not to look at him through a physician's eyes. I like to tease him that you're his only friend, but… it's not a joke. He's been so successful at pushing everyone else away that his reliance on you, well, it's gotta be scary sometimes. And especially right now, trying to play both roles, when both are equally important… I know it's tough. Glad I could help."

"Me too," Wilson smiles. "Just hope he realizes now that you're on that short list too. Funny thing is, I think he does."

"Yeah, well, to quote the other person on that list, I'm not in this for the gratitude." Cuddy looks thoughtful. "Have you ever figured out what it is that makes us care about him, despite him? Because I've given that a lot of thought recently, and I'll be damned if I can figure it out."

Wilson has to laugh at this. "Stop trying; you'll never figure it out. But if you do, let me know. All these years, I still wonder."

There's a moment of amused silence, and then Cuddy asks, "When are you gonna tell him about the PICC line?"

"So you agree there's no way to avoid that?" Wilson asks. He knows that it's going to be necessary, but he'll feel a bit better about it if Cuddy thinks so too.

"No question," she says immediately. "Apparently, the pain's depressed his appetite for so long that his body no longer recognizes the normal hunger signals. Now that the pain's under control, that'll come back, but we need to get some weight on him. The man's got no reserves left."

"I can't tell him today, not with his 'lytes out of whack; wouldn't be fair. And I wouldn't do it anyway; why raise his anxiety? I'll tell him tomorrow, just a little while before we actually do it, give him a few minutes to yell, then just get it done. Not looking forward to it. What time's the mobile x-ray scheduled for?"

"Two o'clock. I can reschedule if you want me to."

"No," Wilson says slowly. "That's over 24 hours from now. He'll be as recovered as he's gonna get from the electrolyte imbalance. No sense putting it off." He stands and rubs at the back of his neck. "Gonna go sit with 'im a while. Don't want him to wake up alone."

Wilson returns to the bedroom. Before he sits, he studies the monitors, and then House. The monitor display tells him that House's recovery from the current problem is now progressing uneventfully. But a look at his sleeping friend doesn't bring as much assurance.

House is still too pale, despite the oxygen. His eyes are sunken into a face which grows more gaunt daily. He looks sick. He looks… old. Wilson lowers himself quietly into the bedside chair. "Oh, House," he whispers, sadly. "How did we let this happen?"

"Stop it."

Wilson startles; House has opened his eyes and spoken, and now he's looking at Wilson, and he looks angry.

"Just stop blaming yourself," House continues. "I know it feeds your martyr complex and all, but it's wrong. I'm a grownup; I've even got a medical degree. If anyone 'let this happen' I did. But I didn't. And neither did you, or Cuddy, or anyone else. Yeah, maybe I ignored some things. And maybe you did, too. But you didn't set out for this to happen… or did you?"

Wilson is startled by the question until he sees the old sly grin sneaking its way across House's face. "Yeah, well, you said I have this need to be needed; had to feed the need," he parries back.

"Next time then, just ask me to get a head cold or something, okay, Jimmy? This is just a little drastic, don't you think?"

"Amen to that!" Wilson smiles. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"What, and miss all this one-on-one time with my best bud?" House's face becomes serious. "We're gonna be able to fix this, aren't we?" The question isn't asked with confidence; Wilson hears real fear.

"House, you once told me that you and I could rule the world! Believe me, we can handle a little mechanical problem. And about that head cold?"

"Yeah?"

"As I recall, last time you had one of those, you O.D'd on Benadryl, and you made sure that everyone in the building 'felt your pain.' In spades. Next time, let's just go with a simple hangnail, 'k?"

House's grin isn't sedative-induced; it's real, and it's grateful. Wilson grins back.