Wilson had expected House to be more than a little overwhelmed by suddenly finding himself surrounded by so many people, after his long isolation. That was the dual reason for the sedatives – both to keep House relatively calm, and to provide an explanation to anyone who might ask about his distant, unusual behavior.

House stayed close to Wilson as they walked into the funeral home, his eyes downcast, his shoulders hunched forward as if to shield him from the rest of the world. As they reached the doorway of the room where the service would be held, Wilson reached over to gently squeeze House's arm to let him know that he would stay close.

It was both reassurance and warning.

Naturally, Blythe House was the first to approach her son as they entered. House tensed, not looking up as his mother embraced him.

"Greg… I'm so glad you came."

"Where else would I be?" House replied, but his voice was empty and hoarse, and his gaze never left the floor at her feet.

Blythe frowned, searching her son's face with concern. "Greg?"

"Mrs. House," Wilson interrupted discreetly reaching between them to gently take her arm and lead her a few feet away. "He's… not taken the news very well, I'm afraid. He's far more shaken by it than I expected, and I've had to… to prescribe him a sedative."

Blythe sighed, glancing past Wilson to her son with a look of sorrowful resignation, as if it hurt her to see him in such a state, but she could fully understand the reasons for it. Wilson continued in a hushed, respectful tone, drawing her attention back onto himself.

"I've never seen him cry before, Mrs. House. Not in thirteen years of friendship. But… when I told him about his father… he lost it. He couldn't get control of himself until I gave him the sedative. I'm very sorry; it seems to make him a little bit out of it, but… but its better than… the alternative…"

"Yes, of course," Blythe agreed with a nod and a sympathetic look in her son's direction. "Whatever he needs…"

"I know you wanted him to speak at the service, but I'm afraid… in this condition…"

"It's just not possible," Blythe concluded. "I understand, James. Honestly, I just appreciate your finding him and getting him here." She returned her tearful gaze to the younger man and embraced him firmly, speaking against his shoulder. "Thank you so much for taking care of my son… for making sure he's okay. I was so worried."

Wilson froze for a moment within her arms, eyes widening slightly over her shoulder, a slow swallow in his throat. He knew she had no way of knowing of all the trouble he'd gone through over the past few weeks to ensure House's safety, but it seemed that somehow she'd managed to sense how much he cared, and appreciated him for it anyway. He felt a warm rush of vindication and reassurance that he was indeed doing the right thing for his reckless, damaged best friend.

Blythe returned to her son, putting her arms around him again, one hand reaching up to caress soothingly through his hair before drawing back to meet his eyes. "I love you, Greg," she softly assured him. "Everything's going to be all right."

Wilson watched closely as House's blue eyes welled with tears, and he swallowed hard before his lips parted, trembling and hesitant.

"Mom… I…"

Wilson took a step behind Blythe, into House's line of vision, a single brow raised in warning, one hand edging toward his empty waistband, where he had kept the gun when he'd shown it to House. Of course, he didn't have it now. How ridiculously disrespectful would it be to bring a gun into a funeral chapel?

However, House had no idea of that.

There was a visible flash of fear in House's eyes before he looked down again to meet his mother's gaze with a weak, sad half-smile.

"I know," he finished quietly. "Everything's gonna be… just fine."

After a few moments, Blythe found herself drawn away by other sympathetic mourners, and Wilson politely excused himself and House to go inside and find seats. They were barely through the door when Wilson spotted Cuddy across the room. She spotted them, too, almost immediately, rising from her seat and making her way swiftly toward them with a certain urgency to her movements.

Crap. What is she doing here?

"House!" Cuddy's voice trembled with relief as she reached them and impulsively embraced him. "Oh, my God, you're here!"

"Of course I'm here," House replied, his tone strangely level and blank. "My… father died."

Cuddy was a little taken aback by his blunt words, not quite sure how to take them. Under normal circumstances, it would have seemed like House's usual brand of utterly inappropriate sarcasm; but there wasn't a trace of humor or mockery in his tone – or any other emotion, either, for that matter.

She frowned, opening her mouth to speak, but Wilson quickly cut her off, glancing toward the platform, where the minister was approaching.

"I'm sorry, we really need to find our seats. We can talk after the service, all right?"

Cuddy reluctantly agreed, biting her lower lip in hesitation for a moment before turning and going back to her seat, allowing Wilson to lead House to the seats reserved for the family of the deceased. As they sat down, Wilson reached out a gentle hand to rest on House's knee, leaning in close to speak softly next to his ear.

"You're doing very well. Just stay calm and quiet and act normally, like you're doing."

House nodded silently, his eyes downcast. He jumped slightly when Wilson's hand tightened, and his tone took on a sharp, warning edge.

"And I don't want to see any more moments of uncertainty like that one back there with your mom. You're going to keep your mouth shut, so I don't have to hurt anyone you care about – aren't you, House?"

House closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard, nodding in hurried, submissive agreement. Wilson watched him for any sign of deception, relenting in reluctant satisfaction when he saw no indication that House was anything less than sincere.

"Good. Now quiet… the service is about to start."

Several curious glances were cast in their direction as the funeral goers found their seats and readied for the service to begin. Wilson knew that many were probably expecting House to say a few words in honor of his father; many were unaware of his recent "disappearance" and had no reason to think that anything was out of the ordinary. Even House's mother had mentioned on the phone that she would like for her son to give a eulogy.

Wilson had made it quite clear to her that that would not be possible.

As the minister began to speak, Wilson settled back in his seat, allowing himself to relax a little bit. They had made it this far without incident. Maybe everything was going to be all right, after all.

****************************

As the minister spoke about House's father, regaling the assembled mourners with references to his courage and dignity and integrity, House ordinarily would have been focused on the bitter irony of the fact that those traits were not the ones of his father that he knew most intimately. John House had not been anything remotely resembling the loving, expert father and husband the minister was making him out to be.

At the moment, however, House's thoughts were focused elsewhere.

Wilson's staying so close… watching every move… there's no way I'll get a chance to say anything to anyone… Maybe Cuddy… She seems… suspicious… but…

He glanced over his shoulder and across the aisle to where Cuddy was sitting, accidentally catching her eye for a moment, due to the fact that her gaze seemed to have already been locked onto him. He held her gaze for a moment before turning around again and facing forward, his eyes lowered in response to the severe, suspicious stare he felt Wilson giving him.

Can't let him catch me trying to tell her… can't let him hurt anyone because of me…

His thoughts were a little hazy, not coming together quite as quickly as they would have otherwise, but Wilson had been careful not to overdose him. He had obviously wanted House to seem as normal as possible; and thankfully, House was still enough aware of his surroundings to be able to think with a reasonable amount of logic.

At least, it would have been a reasonable amount… had he been anyone else.

As it was, he felt frustrated, limited by his lack of focus and the fine haze that seemed to coat his thoughts, keeping his attempts at planning from ever quite coming together.

If there was a way to get Mom and Cuddy out of here… maybe… maybe it'd be worth it… He only has so many bullets… and he'll kill me eventually if I can't get away. Is my life worth less than these people's, somehow? But… how? How can I get their attention and get them out without him catching on?

Before he knew it, the ceremony was over, and Wilson was gently nudging him to rise from his seat and make his way toward the aisle.

"We'll talk to a few people as briefly as possible, and then make our excuses and go home," he stated quietly. "We won't give anybody a chance to get too curious. They've all seen you; they know you're here, and you're okay. You've met your social obligations, and there's nothing more anyone can ask of you…"

"House… wait a second…"

"Damn it," Wilson muttered under his breath as Cuddy approached them, heading them off at the end of their aisle.

House tensed at Wilson's reaction, but forced a semi-cordial half-smile to his lips, nodding once in greeting.

"Cuddy."

Her tone was hurried and trembling with mingled relief and concern as she reached out a hand to rest on his arm, as if trying to reassure herself that he was really there.

"My God, House, I've been so worried! I'm so glad to see you're all right. You just… disappeared, and… and when I realized you weren't visiting your parents, I just… I didn't know what might have happened to you…"

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine," House assured her, not quite meeting her eyes. "I'm safe. I just… needed a little time to myself, after the… accident. I needed to… to get away for a little while. So that's what I'm doing. You couldn't reach me because… I don't want to be reached right now. I wouldn't even be here, if not for… well…"

House shrugged awkwardly, glancing around the room, his head bowed self-consciously.

Cuddy nodded slowly, an expression of sympathy on her face as she studied his expression, her hand running slowly up and down his arm in a gesture of comfort.

"I understand. I just… anything could have happened to you, and no one would have…"

"Wilson knows where I'm staying. I'll be fine," House cut her off abruptly, and a little impatiently, though his words came slurred and with a bit of difficulty. "If you… need to get a hold of me, you can… call him."

Cuddy's brow creased into a troubled frown, and she let out a sigh of resignation. "Right. Of course. Well… as long as you're safe, House. House… I know this is a rough time, but… are you all right? I mean, you sound a little…"

"He's sedated," Wilson explained quietly. "He's taking this kind of hard, so… I gave him a sedative."

Cuddy's frown deepened and she looked to House with surprise. House could well imagine what she was thinking. Over the years, despite his addiction to Vicodin, House had consistently refused any form of medication for mental or emotional symptoms. Anti-depressants had been gently suggested, and not-so-gently rejected, more than once. It only made sense that sedatives would fall into the same category.

Which meant that it didn't make sense for House to consent to take them.

"House… I… can we talk?" she asked hesitantly. "Just for a minute. I really would feel better if I could…"

"No," House snapped, acutely aware of Wilson's invisible disapproval, his silently oppressive presence, watching House's every move. "I don't have time for your impromptu, amateur therapy session. We need to get… get going…"

"House, I'm serious. Just give me a couple of minutes…"

"I said no…" Icy tendrils of fear began to creep through House's veins, his mind able to focus on nothing but Wilson's displeasure as he struggled to find a way to put her off. "Cuddy, just back off. I d-don't need you… well… just don't need you. Period. So get out of my face!"

He lurched unsteadily away from her, leaving her confused and worried and more suspicious than ever. His refusal had been a little too strong to avert her concerns. Ordinarily, House would have been willing to go with her at least for a few minutes, if only to get the chance to later mock her attempts at psychoanalyzing and "helping' him. The note of panic in his voice only served to make matters worse.

Wilson followed after him, just as troubled and concerned as Cuddy.

Or at least… that's how he appeared.

House and Wilson both knew that Wilson was, in reality, quietly furious.

He was just waiting until he could get House alone to show it.