CHAPTER TWO: Trust

Wilson enters the bedroom quietly. It's 6:30am, and House is still sleeping, undisturbed by the beeping IV pump. Wilson hangs the new TPN bag and administers a dose of Zofran. As he turns to leave the room, House stirs and opens his eyes.

"Go back to sleep," Wilson tells him. "Just hung a new bag; you're good to go. Too early to be up."

"You're up. Besides, I went to bed around nine; been sleeping over nine hours. Can't sleep much more. "And," House brightens; "I'm up early enough to catch Blue's Clues from the beginning! Ya miss that first clue, you're screwed for the rest of the show. 'Course," he frowns thoughtfully, "hasn't been the same since they replaced Steve with Joe. That was so cold."

Wilson stares at him, open-mouthed. "You're serious?"

"Always been a big supporter of educational TV. Gotta admit, though, never did get into those Teletubbies; Tinky Winky just... weirded me out." He shudders.

Wilson considers the advisability of pursuing this conversation, and decides, firmly, against it. As a matter of fact, he'd prefer to pretend it never happened. "Umm… so, you ready to hike to the living room?"

"Yeah; that's where the TV is," House grins wickedly. Then his face grows serious. "And… we need to talk."

"About what? 'Cuz I'm really not up for an in-depth debate about SpongeBob Squarepants' tastes in music; we covered that pretty thoroughly already. And Cuddy, by the way, was not happy about being pulled into that discussion. "

"Can we… do this over breakfast?" House asks; he looks almost nervous.

"Sure." Wilson's worried about the left leg; he wants to observe House walking. "Let me disconnect the IV and get your cane, okay?"

House nods, reluctantly.

When Wilson hands him the cane, he sees House eye it almost fearfully. But House stands and makes his way out of the room without apparent difficulty, and settles himself easily on the couch in the living room.

Wilson goes into the kitchen, puzzled. He can't imagine what House wants to talk about, but it sounds serious. He prepares eggs and toast, and carries the plates to the living room.

It's midway through breakfast before House begins to speak. "There may be a little problem with my leg. The… left one. Sure it's nothing." He puts down his fork, and watches Wilson's face carefully.

"You're probably right, but why don't you tell me exactly what's been going on," Wilson says. He keeps his voice casual, and continues to eat. He brought it up himself! Progress, real progress.

"I've been having some… uh… pain. Since Monday, I think. Pain feels kind've… familiar."

"Like it did during the infarction?" Wilson has to force the words past the sudden fear that's closed up his throat. It hadn't previously occurred to him, but if House is describing thigh symptoms as 'familiar'…. Wilson puts down his fork, drops all pretense that this is just a casual conversation, and focuses his full attention on House.

"No, not like that. More like the way the right leg's felt the last few months. Spasmodic. Clenching." There's a long pause. "Bad."

Wilson is still studying House. "You're certain it doesn't feel like it did… then?"

House actually rolls his eyes, but it seems to Wilson that he's too quick to dismiss the idea. "You think I'd be sitting here, calmly discussing this, if I thought it could be an infarct?" House asks him.

I really don't know; wish I did. But since you're actually telling me about it, well… makes it easier to believe you're telling the truth. "How often is this happening?"

"Few times a day. Not so bad if I watch my stride."

Ah, so that explains the controlled gait Cuddy and I've been seeing since Monday! "Does it happen when you're not walking?" Silence, as House looks away. "House…" Wilson says quietly.

"Yeah. Sometimes." House takes a deep breath and looks back at Wilson. "But it's probably nothing. I took that fall the first night home, and again Monday night. Or all the vomiting. Either of those things could've caused a pulled muscle."

Yeah, but the fall Sunday was minor, harmless. And Cuddy noticed the changes in stride before the Monday incident. And if you thought that's what it really was, you wouldn't be looking at me like that, almost pleading with me to agree with you. "It's… possible," Wilson finally says. "But we need to get it figured out. When I draw the labs this morning, I'll get some extra blood, have 'em run enzymes and--"

"I told you it's not an infarct!" House interrupts angrily. Too angrily, in Wilson's opinion.

Wilson smiles at him almost gently. "Humor me. We're not taking any chances, that's all. If it's a severe muscle pull, your enzymes'll be elevated anyway. And I'll get us scheduled at Princeton General for some x-rays, an MRI. I think we can get it done this evening, after hours. Don't want you to have to wait too long."

Still protecting me, keeping it all private. Thanks, Jimmy. "You think all that's necessary? Sounds like a lot of trouble for muscle strain."

"Hey, you're getting healthy, and I'm getting bored. Just let me feel like a real doctor for a little while." Wilson smiles, but House doesn't smile back.

"What do you think it is?" House asks quietly.

I'd tell any other patient that there's no sense speculating and worrying until we have more information. And any other patient would buy that, because they'd want to. He's scared right now; maybe he needs that same kind of hope. "Not gonna make myself crazy guessing. Let's just wait until we have some concrete results. We'll deal with it from there," Wilson says, and the confidence in his voice pushes back a little of the fear in House's eyes.

As Wilson stands to gather the supplies for the lab draw, he says, "I'm gonna move the labs to twice a day now, 8:00am and 8:00pm. And you're stable enough that I feel comfortable putting the vitals and assessment on the same schedule. That okay with you?"

"Yeah. What I wanna know is when you're gonna schedule the TPN for overnight only." House is clearly glad of the subject change, and Wilson knows he's looking for the diversion of an argument; he's eyeing the extra blood tubes Wilson's filling.

"I think once you've gained twenty-five pounds, we can go to night feeds."

"Twenty-five? That'll take too long. Fifteen," House states firmly.

Hiding his smile, Wilson plays along. "Nope. Twenty-five. You've already gained six, according to that antique bathroom scale of yours. That's only nineteen more."

"It'd be only nine more if we were shooting for fifteen," House says stubbornly.

"Tell ya what," Wilson says. "Let's split the difference. Twenty. You're only fourteen pounds away. About a week."

"Guess I can live with that," House says grudgingly.

As Wilson reconnects the TPN line, he's biting the inside of his cheek to hide the smile. Cuddy and Dick are right; the 'precocious kid' approach is a winner. Why couldn't they have shared that little secret years ago? "Twenty it is," he tells House as he bags the tubes. I actually feel like I finally have things under control with our favorite four year old.

"What about the Zofran?" House asks.

"What about it? Another couple of weeks on that. Non-negotiable."

"Not what I meant. When can we switch it to oral? Nausea's pretty much under control; no reason to keep getting it IV, is there?"

Wilson's been waiting for this; it's another victory in House's recovery. House has not only just acknowledged the continued need for the anti-emetic, he's also indicated a willingness to take it himself. Wilson pretends to consider House's request. "I suppose we could try that," he says after a moment. "You sure you're gonna take it?"

"I said I would, didn't I?" House sounds irritable about the issue, and Wilson thinks he may have pushed it too far.

"Okay," Wilson says. "You're now officially in charge of your own oral meds." He ceremoniously hands the bottles of hydrocodone and Zofran to House, and is touched by the oddly pleased expression on House's face. It's such a small thing, but to House it means regaining some of the control he's been forced to give up.

"Sure you don't wanna count the pills before you give 'em to me?" House asks sarcastically.

Wilson starts guiltily; he'd actually considered doing just that. He meets House's eyes. "Are you kidding?" he asks his friend. "That's so unnecessary. Around here, trust is the order of the day!" And he almost believes it.