A/N: Wanted to go ahead and get this up, as we're battening the hatches for Ernesto here in Central Florida. mjf

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: Heading Home

Wilson and Cuddy stare at each other in stunned silence, then move as one towards the living room. But Cuddy stops short and grabs Wilson's arm. "No," she says. "You stay here; give yourself a few minutes. I'll go give him the standard lecture about getting up unattended."

Wilson starts to speak, but Cuddy interrupts him. "Don't worry; I know he's… vulnerable right now. And you are, too. What just happened, though, it was… good. I'm glad it happened. Give me a little while with him, and then come join us."

"I don't know what to say to him." Wilson still looks stunned.

"You will," Cuddy assures him. "You'll know." She smiles reassuringly and leaves Wilson to process what just happened.

House is attempting to sit on the couch when Cuddy enters, but the IV pole doesn't provide the support he needs to lower himself. Wordlessly, Cuddy grasps his arms at the elbows, giving him the counterbalance he needs to sit. Then she settles next to him.

"What do you think you were doing?" she asks him gently.

He looks down, a naughty, upset little boy who's been busted. "It was boring out here. Just wanted to see what was going on. Didn't mean to interrupt."

"I'm glad you did. But I'm not happy that you got up on your own. It's gonna be a couple more days before you can do that safely. Just a couple of days, House. Please. Just play it safe, okay? Let us know when you want to get up."

House still hasn't looked up. "Not gonna yell about the eavesdropping?"

Cuddy shakes her head. "No. I think it's the best thing that could have happened. How much did you hear?"

"Not much." Enough. "I wasn't gonna let him think anything was gonna change. I don't resent him. Couldn't." Finally, House is able to look up and meet Cuddy's gaze, and she knows he's searching her eyes for the answer to a question he can't ask.

"What you did, what you said, it was… right," she answers that question. "Wilson knew you were allowing all this, and I'm sure he even thought you might have appreciated it. But for you to say it to him, even in your… umm… roundabout way, and to let him know that this isn't going to cost him his friend, his family, well… it means something to him. It means a lot," she finishes with a kind smile.

House still looks uncomfortable. "Why is he doing all this? Why are you helping him? Not like either one of you has a lot of free time on your hands."

Cuddy suppresses a sigh; hadn't she already covered this with him? "Let's look at this from another angle. Would you do it for him?"

"Of course," House says immediately. "Stupid question."

"And would you expect me to do it for him?"

"Yes. Yeah, I would."

"And you'd be okay with all of it? You wouldn't need to analyze why you were doing it? You wouldn't wonder why I'd agree to do it?"

"Wouldn't need to be analyzed. It's Jimmy; we'd do it."

Cuddy isn't going to force the issue; House isn't ready, may never be ready, to admit that there's at least one person whose needs he'd put before his own. "There's your answer, then. 'It's House; we're doing it.' Answer enough," she continues cautiously, "when people care about someone. Whatever it takes."

House's eyes are suspiciously bright in the second before he closes them and leans his head back against the couch. "Okay."

Wilson walks quickly through the living room without looking at either of them. As he closes the front door, he says over his shoulder, "Be back."

"Not sure he should be driving," House says without opening his eyes. "He's worn out. Say where he was going?" He opens his eyes, lifts his head, and looks at Cuddy.

"No, he didn't. I'll call him in a few minutes, make sure he's all right. In the meantime, let's get you more comfortable. Report got lost in the… uh… conversation, so I guess you get to tell me what's going on after all." As she speaks, she stands up and looks to House for permission to help him swing his legs up onto the couch. When he shakes his head, she watches as he attempts to do it himself.

House is able to get his right leg up, but as he moves the left leg, there's a flash of pain in his eyes. He pauses for just a moment, tries again, and succeeds.

"Left leg still bothering you?"

"Nah. Just the injection site; it's sore, maybe a little indurated. Not a problem." House puts his hand protectively on his left thigh, and looks defiantly at Cuddy, daring her to push the issue.

We'll follow that one up later. "How are your vitals?"

"Dunno. Sure Wilson wrote 'em down somewhere; he didn't tell me."

And, amazingly, you didn't ask. When you decide to trust, you don't do it halfway, do you? Doesn't surprise me, though. You don't do anything halfway. "I'll check and see; if not, I'll need another set." Cuddy heads to the bedroom and returns carrying the makeshift chart.

"You're right; they're here, and they look good," she says as she gathers the supplies for the lab draw and shuts off the TPN pump.

---

Wilson is headed towards the interstate. It's quiet in the car; he needs to think. He realizes that he should call Dickinson, let him know he's coming, so he picks up his cellphone. Wait a second; what am I doing? The reason for this visit… talked it out with Cuddy. And House; he must've heard most of it and… well, it's all right. All right. Hard to believe, but House understands. He said so. In words. Funny, I don't see any flying pigs…. With a small smile on his face, Wilson puts his cellphone down and turns on the car's blinker.

---

"You haven't called Wilson yet," House reminds Cuddy as she closes the door after handing the lab package to the courier.

"I'll take care of that in just a few minutes," she promises him. "First, I want to make you an egg, a piece of toast maybe. Just a bite of each, okay? Gotta start getting your body used to food again."

House considers. "I might be a little bit hungry. An egg sounds good. Fried?"

"How 'bout we start with scrambled, see how you do with that, before we get fancy?"

"Is that an actual question? As in, you're giving me a choice? Or is it a statement, deceptively phrased as a question, to make me think I have a choice?" House's grumble sounds good-natured, almost amused.

Cuddy laughs. "Busted. Yeah, okay, I was trying to make the statement sound like a question. You're getting scrambled. Clear enough?"

"Now, see how easy that was? Statements are so much less ambiguous when not phrased as questions. 'You're getting a scrambled egg' would've covered it nicely; no confusion."

On her way to the kitchen, Cuddy stands before him, hands on her hips. "Enough, House. Or the next statement you'll hear will be 'you're wearing a scrambled egg.'"

House smiles. "Threatening to assault me with food; now I know I must be getting better."

Cuddy smiles back at him, and both smiles are warm and genuine, and when Wilson opens the front door and sees them, he feels like he's just come home.