Disclaimer, etc. in chapter 1.


Intimacy

The lights were off and the room was quiet when Wilson returned from answering a 911 page. House appeared to be asleep, so he took soft steps to the chair he'd been in and out of all day.

If House was asleep and not agonizing about the impending surgery, so much the better. Wilson had left a top-off of morphine for him when he'd needed the booster before lunch. If it was too much, well, this one time wouldn't do that much damage. He'd rather have House comfortable than hurting and worrying. There, he caught himself again: his judgment was compromised. But he'd already arranged it with Cuddy so that she would be handling House's post-op pain management. All of it. Hopefully. If the biopsy was negative. He wasn't letting himself think about what would happen if it was positive. He couldn't.

Linen rustled next to him. Wilson looked up to find House observing him from behind two tiny slits. He looked so tired. Wilson caught himself about to tell House to go back to sleep before he remembered that that never, ever worked.

House licked his lips. "You're back," he said thickly.

Out of habit, Wilson took House's right hand in both of his. "Thought you were sleeping."

"Sort of," House responded. "Not really."

House made no effort to sit up or move at all. The extra dose had nixed what little physical resistance he'd had left. He assumed that was the idea behind leaving it. But he liked Wilson's hands on his and he wanted Wilson to know he liked them, so with effort he rubbed one of them with his thumb.

Wilson smiled. As much as he didn't want House using hard narcotics at high doses, he had to admit that House was a great dope.

"What time is it?" House asked.

"Almost two-thirty," Wilson answered without having to check his watch. "They'll take you to prep soon."

"Yeah," House replied sluggishly. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, trying not to think, trying just to enjoy Wilson's hands clasping his.

Wilson, too, was content with the silence. Time held itself still between them.

"What was the emergency?" House asked after a while.

"What emergency?"

In the dim light, House could just make out Wilson's brow furrowing.

"You left," House clarified. "You got a page. What was it?"

"You really want to know?" Wilson asked.

"I'm asking."

Wilson sighed. "The usual. Pick any of the usual things. This time it was multi-system failure. Patient's on a vent in the ICU."

House breathed out as quickly as he could, trying to snort. "Your job sucks," he said.

"Sometimes it does," Wilson agreed.

"Like today?" House asked.

"Like today."

"Wish it didn't," House mumbled. "Wish I was…better…at being there."

"You're getting sentimental, House," Wilson teased. "Keep it up and you get a big dose of Narcan."

But Wilson felt warmer inside, even if it was just the morphine talking. Because it wasn't just the morphine talking, and they both knew it.

"Wish…you didn't have to…wait…worry," House added, eyes closed, voice barely there.

Wilson squeezed his hand: it's okay.

House opened his eyes suddenly, having thought of something. "You scrubbing in?"

"Hadn't planned to," Wilson answered, trying to discern what House wanted him to do based on House's bleary gaze. "I can if you want me to."

House closed his eyes and swallowed with effort. "No," he murmured. "You shouldn't. Shouldn't do that to yourself."

"I'm fine," Wilson replied.

House laughed: a quick, short expulsion of air. He blinked heavily at Wilson again.

"You sound like me."

Wilson half-shrugged, knowing that House was right but not wanting to admit it.

"D'you eat?" House asked, his head lolling in Wilson's direction.

Wilson hesitated. "I'm going to."

The bleary stare returned. "You didn't eat," House said. He didn't wait for Wilson to confirm it: he closed his eyes again and swallowed. "You're gonna pass out, Jimmy, then where will we be?"

"Is your throat dry?" Wilson interrupted.

House licked his lips and tried to swallow, not catching the deliberate change of subject. "Yeah."

Wilson jumped up and filled the tip of a spoon with melting ice chips before House could turn his head to see what was going on.

"This is gonna get me in trouble," Wilson said, mostly to himself.

House paid him no attention, gratefully accepting the little bit of moisture. Wilson set the spoon aside and lingered near the head of the bed. He reached out to gently brush House's hair, knowing House probably wouldn't appreciate it but unable to stop himself.

"Want some Versed?" Wilson offered.

House blinked sleepily. "Why would I want to forget this?" he asked, only slightly sarcastically. He smiled faintly again. "You might need some, though."

"I'd take it if I could," Wilson admitted.

He leaned in to kiss House's cheek lightly. "You are so high right now, you know that?"

House laughed quietly. "Whose fault is that?" He breathed in and closed his eyes. "God, you smell good."

Wilson smiled. "One of us has to," he said and kissed House's cheek again.

"You charmer," House said bemusedly. "Really know how to get into a guy's pants."

"That's where I like to be."

Wilson drew back, forcing himself to stop kissing House, even chastely. House was in no condition. House hadn't been in any condition to do anything but make out sloppily in so many long days. A chaste kiss was doing things to Wilson no chaste kiss should ever do. He allowed himself the comfort of rubbing a thumb through House's bristly face, but nothing else.

House savored the contact, eyes closed, remembering how good things were.

"Miss you there," House murmured. "Miss me there."

Eyes opened and searched upward for Wilson.

"Help me kick this stuff, okay?" Serious, honest, intent. "I'm tired of just dreaming about sex."

Wilson smiled wryly. "And I'm tired of washing boxers, sheets, and the back of my legs every morning."

"Funny way of saying yes," House mumbled through up-turned lips. He was vaguely aware that he was smiling much more than he normally did. His face ached from fighting the morphine's demand that his muscles relax.

A tap on the door startled them both. Wilson glanced over his shoulder and beckoned the nurse and orderly in.

"Time to go," he said, brushing House's rough cheek one last time. "Ready?"

"Stupid question," House murmured.

Wilson saw him cringe slightly. He took House's hand again. "You'll be okay. I'll be there. I'll make sure nothing happens."

House nodded and swallowed, clearly trying to keep himself composed. His hand tightened around Wilson's. Wilson squeezed back.

Just as quickly, House's hand relaxed. He opened tired eyes and glanced slowly from his hand to Wilson's face.

"People are going to think we're in love," he murmured as the shuffling of feet and squeak of a gurney's wheels filled the room.

Wilson's mouth quirked. "Heaven forbid."

Wilson pulled his hand back: palm first, then thumb, sliding finger joints, and fingertips last with a reluctant bounce from the warm surface of House's flesh.

House smiled at the care Wilson took. Such small details. Wilson got them so right. He realized slowly that he was really high if he could only think such dopey thoughts. And even more slowly, the importance of the dopey thinking dawned on him. He told himself to get Wilson back in the nastiest way possible for the gratitude he felt right now.

The presences in the room shifted and House sensed that everyone was ready but him. Looking up, he saw Wilson's eyes ask the question again: Ready?

House breathed in and shut his eyes, concentrating on that nasty thing he'd do to Wilson.

"Okay."