CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: Conditional Changes

The afternoon and evening pass too quickly; House and Wilson have fallen easily into the old rhythms of their friendship, and both men are actually able to forget House's current circumstances, for a while.

Cuddy tries to be unobtrusive as she carries out assessments and lab draws and tends to House's medical needs; she doesn't want to intrude any more than necessary on this short period of relaxation for the men. When Wilson refuses dinner, though, the illusion of normalcy threatens to shatter. He knows that Cuddy hasn't wanted House to eat today; food in the stomach puts added strain on the cardiovascular system. And House had been right, of course—if they'd needed to intubate, an empty stomach was far safer for the patient. "You've gotta eat something," Cuddy says. "You skipped lunch, too."

Wilson tries to send a message with his eyes and a slight shake of his head that he doesn't want to eat in front of House, but House catches it. "Go ahead, eat," he says. "Won't bother me; not hungry. I won't even try to steal anything," he says with a very small smile.

When Wilson again refuses, Cuddy and House both become annoyed. Finally, Cuddy says, "Look, I want House to try a little soup; I think that'd be okay now. We'll make it a contest; first one to finish gets to pick the next program." She tries to sound playful; she'd seen the sad look that had crossed Wilson's face as he realized how long it had been since House had stolen food from his tray at work—another clue he'd missed.

"Now you're appealing to my competitive nature!" House tells her. "Hey, Wilson, you gonna let the cripple beat you in a race?"

"No way!" Wilson says, getting into the spirit of the game. "I lose, you'll force me to watch something sappy on Lifetime, won't you?"

"Worse!" House says. "I Tivo'd the whole Mother's Day Movie Marathon, just for you. Been saving it for a special occasion."

Wilson groans. "He means it, too," he says to Cuddy. "Bring on the food, and wish me luck—or you'll have to suffer through it too."

In the end, although Wilson's eaten as slowly as he could, Cuddy has to declare him the winner. But at least House is feeling well enough to favor them with a full-on pout. Wilson lets him sulk for a while before announcing, "In recognition of your heroic effort in surviving Cuddy's cooking—which, by the way, was delicious—I've decided that we'll be watching…" he pauses for dramatic effect, "…'The O.C.'"

Cuddy and Wilson both are certain that House's triumphant grin is more enjoyable than the show's going to be, and they smile secretly at each other like indulgent parents. While House attempts, without much success, to explain the goings-on in the O.C. to Cuddy, Wilson excuses himself to make a phone call.

He goes into the kitchen and removes Dick's card from his wallet, looking for the scribbled home number. When Dick answers, Wilson apologizes for bothering him.

"James, I told you, call anytime. How are things going?"

"That's the reason I'm calling; I'm a little confused about some of the things you suggested, wanted to find out what I'm doing wrong." Wilson explains that taking charge of House's health has apparently been the right thing to do, and that House doesn't seem to mind it that much, almost seems to be comforted by it. Then he tells Dick about Cuddy's taking over today, and his being able to return to his role as House's best friend. "And it's really been beneficial to him, I think; I've enjoyed it, too. But it worries me. Won't it undermine my authority as his physician while he works through all these changes in his health?"

Dick laughs. "James, you haven't changed a bit since college! You're still as literal-minded now as you were then. I didn't say you had to be friend or physician; I said you should separate the two in your own mind. I told you to 'take over' as his doctor, and apparently you've been able to do that. That's great; I'll bet it's given him a sense of security he hasn't had in a while. Now you need to give yourself permission to be his friend as well, and to realize that, difficult as it is, you can be both at the same time."

Wilson laughs. "Yeah, guess I did take you a bit too literally. I was afraid I'd mess everything up by letting him see me as anything other than his doctor. And I gotta be honest; it was killing me to treat 'im like that. He might like to pretend he doesn't need the friendship or the comfort, but I need to offer it. And honestly, he does seem to be fighting it less these days."

"There are reasons they tell us not to treat our friends or family, James. And you're finding out what they are. But sometimes it just can't be avoided; this is one of those times. It's an emotionally difficult time for you, and it's a lot of hard work, on a lot of different levels. Not easy, but very much worthwhile."

Wilson smiles, remembering helping House through the v-tach, remembering House's laughter as they'd snuck into the living room. "You got that right, Dick. Hey, thanks for clearing things up for me."

"Any time. Give me a call in a couple of days, will you? Let me know how all of you are doing, okay?"

"Will do." Wilson hangs up the phone and returns to the living room, where House and Cuddy are happily engaged in arguing the merits of The O.C. versus some science fiction show that turns out to be Cuddy's secret vice.

"Hey guys," he interrupts them. "Look there!" He indicates the cardiac monitor, which indicates, for the first time all day, normal sinus rhythm. Cuddy and Wilson smile and look at House, who's studying the monitor.

"Well, whaddaya know?" House says. "Among her other attributes, turns out she's a decent doctor, too."

"High praise, coming from you," Cuddy says, and they can tell she's pleased with the awkward compliment. "And that reminds me, we need to get the final blood draw for tonight; the courier will be here in thirty minutes."

House makes a face. "Four times today. Trying to give me anemia?"

"Quit complaining; just give me an arm," Cuddy says as she gathers the supplies. "If you were in the hospital, it'd be some inexperienced lab tech with personal instructions from me to miss on the first few tries. Since I have to draw it, figured I'd spare myself the pain of having to listen to you if I missed. So you're lucky; look at it that way."

"Most perverse definition I've ever heard of 'lucky,'" House says, but he obediently holds out his arm, and even spares Cuddy his usual exaggerated expression of pain as she pierces the skin and draws the blood. "Not bad," he says, quietly.

Cuddy and Wilson look at each other, puzzled by House's subdued, almost polite behavior.

Can't thank 'em, House is thinking. Least I can do is maybe not give 'em such a hard time. At least once in a while.

"Are you getting tired?" Cuddy asks him solicitously; she's trying to come up with a reason for his new demeanor.

"Yeah, maybe a little," House responds. "Been a long day."

House is able to walk to the bedroom. The fact that he's able to do this only because he has one arm looped around Wilson's shoulders, and the other around Cuddy's, bothers him, of course. But not as much as it should; gonna have to work on that.

After House and his monitors and his medicines are settled, Cuddy says to Wilson, "I'm officially returning our patient to you. Gotta get home, but I'll be back about 7:30 tomorrow for the morning labs."

Wilson sees her out, then returns to the bedroom. He sits, wearily, in the bedside chair, gives House a tired smile.

"Go on to bed," House says gruffly. "Or in your case, couch. Be fine here; go on."

"I think I'll just sit here a little while, wait'll you fall asleep, okay?"

I'm kind've gettin' used to this whole weird 'caring' thing you and Cuddy've got goin' on; who'd have thunk it? "If you insist," he grumbles, and closes his eyes.