Wilson had been settled into 221B Baker Street, or as settled as he could be under the circumstances. House had suggested that Wilson use his room while he was there and House would take the couch. Wilson, however, had been adamant that he would not drive House out of his own room. In reality, however, that was not the only reason.
Stretching out on House's worn but comfortable leather couch was familiar. It brought back to his memory the brief time that he had stayed with House after his wife had cheated on him. It was an infuriating time, dealing with House's antics but despite himself, he had had fun. The two, Wilson's protests notwithstanding, lived like a couple of frat guys and in the end it had given Wilson the respite from his failed marriage which House knew he needed. It was the familiar Wilson wanted now, even if it was something as simple as his spot on the couch.
House watched Wilson carefully that first night. As the first few hours passed he saw Wilson's pallor intensify, noticed the unconscious but visible signs of pain and nausea he recognized so well. It was disturbingly similar to what he saw when he looked into the mirror on occasion. The pain House dealt with was the last thing he wanted for his friend to have to go through. Gregory House, however, was not one for wallowing; he was ultimately a man of action. Eventually, House made his way to Wilson's side and spoke quietly but clearly.
"Hey, are you going to be okay if I leave for about half an hour?"
"Sure," Wilson said, nodding, "I'll probably fall asleep," he said, his voice already drowsy.
"All right," House said, nodding, "I'll be back soon."
Wilson heard the familiar sound of House's cane as the older man crossed to his door and left. He did indeed fall asleep soon afterwards, but woke up only an hour later to see House sitting across the room from him. Spread out on the table in front of the older man was all manner of I.V. bags and packages of sterile needles.
"How many times do I have to tell you, House?" Wilson said, turning towards his friend, "the black market for hospital equipment just isn't what it used to be."
"Oh you know me," House replied, grinning, "I strictly push the good stuff; crystal meth and crack only."
"What is all this?" Wilson asked, his eyes scanning the table before him.
"Normal saline," House began, pointing to the various I.V.'s as he named them, "metoclopramide, TPN, and, just in case, morphine."
Wilson shook his head.
"Get rid of the morphine, House."
House stared at Wilson, surprise etched on his face.
"You don't know if you'll need it-" House began.
"I don't care," Wilson said with as much force as he could muster in his weakened state.
House took a deep breath, trying to remain calm and speak rationally.
"You know as well as I do that cancer patients need proper pain control."
"You're right," Wilson replied, "and what that is differs for each person. I can deal with pain for what it is; a measure of how well I am or am not recovering."
"Don't be a hero, damn it-"
"I'm not!" Wilson said with surprising vehemence, "the last thing I am is a hero. I know what I can and can't deal with, House, and I'm just acting on that. I can deal with a certain amount of pain a lot more easily than the idea of you anywhere near an opiate narcotic."
House was blindsided yet again. He could not find anything to say, but Wilson's voice cut through the silence.
"Get rid of it, House."
House shrugged, defeated. Opening the valve on the tubing, he emptied the bag of morphine into the soil of one of his houseplants.
"You may regret that," House said, looking at Wilson.
Wilson shrugged in his turn.
"Maybe, but that's my problem."
House shook his head.
"You can be a stubborn ass sometimes, you know that?" he said, looking into the brown eyes.
Even through the haze of illness those eyes glimmered with humor.
"I learned from the best," he quipped, turning on the couch to close his eyes once more.
A/N: Hope you guys enjoy! I think there'll probably be two or three more chapters left after this... TTYL, all! :)