I know I said originally that there would be 8 chapters, but the more I look at the story, I think it'll be less. It's complete, but if I stretch it out to 8 chapters, some of them will be extremely short. Thanks for reading and reviewing :)

"Wilson?" Foreman asked, as he watched Cuddy guide Wilson into the diagnostics conference room.

"Yes, I'm blind," he said with a sigh.

"House?"

"Are you only capable of stating one word names, Foreman?"

"What happened?"

"Well, you've graduated to two word questions. Get the rest of the team up here and then we can figure out why Wilson's blind as a bat."

"We're going to run a differential with the patient in the room?" Foreman asked.

"Wilson stays," House said, his tone unwavering and determined. "Get him started on prednisone."

"You're going to start treatment before you've diagnosed me? Prednisone?"

"Do you want to risk permanent blindness or trust my judgment?"

"Why prednisone?" Cuddy asked.

House raised his voice, "Prednisone is-"

Craning his neck in her direction, Wilson frowned. "Used to treat temporal arteritis. But this is my sight we're talking about. I can't just recklessly hand over my trust and disregard my own medical knowledge. What if it's not arteritis? The side affects from prednisone alone can be…."

"Foreman, why don't we go find the rest of the team?" Cuddy asked, not taking no for an answer. Foreman glanced between House and Wilson and nodded, allowing Cuddy to pull him into the hall.

House stood at the whiteboard, marker in hand, jaw set. "Fine, if you don't trust me, you might as well go find someone else you do trust."

"Do you think this is easy for me?"

"If you don't trust me, I can't help you." House replied.

Wilson sat with his eyes closed. It wasn't supposed to be this way, none of it. Amber wasn't supposed to be dead. House wasn't supposed to be angry with him; Wilson should be angry with House, or at least frustrated, annoyed, humiliated or any other number of things, as it had always been. And Wilson was supposed to have his vision. But he couldn't think clearly. Did he trust House? Wilson couldn't think of a single instance in which he hadn't, including during Amber's final hours. He also couldn't think of a reason why he shouldn't trust him now. "I think I'm running a fever."

House wrote the words, "Fever, migraine," and, "blindness," on the whiteboard before pressing his hand to Wilson's forehead. "Low grade."

"Any ideas?"

Before House could answer, his team walked into the room, sat themselves around the table and began rattling off possible diagnoses. It was obvious Cuddy and Foreman had warned them, as not one of them glanced at Wilson, nor hesitated in the differential.

"No glaucoma, we said that already," Foreman said.

"Run the test anyway." House turned towards Wilson, "Any joint pain?"

"No."

"Any other pain?"

"No."

"Vasculitis?" Kutner asked.

"He's too young," Thirteen said, shaking her head.

Foreman looked to House. "Do you want us to start the prednisone?"

House studied Wilson, tuning out everyone in the room, including the potentially sight saving discussion. His team seemed to fade away, leaving just Wilson sitting at the far side of the table and House, standing at the other end. Wilson sat with his eyes closed, head tipped slightly to the left and House found he couldn't tear his eyes away from him, wondering what he would do if a cure couldn't be found in time.

"House?" Foreman asked. "House."

Wilson jerked his head from left to right, trying to hear as best as he could. "House," he said, wondering if he had wandered off.

House couldn't bring himself to look away from Wilson, but he shook his head. "Scan his brain," he said in a monotone voice as he walked into his office. "Test him for diabetes and glaucoma, get a CBC, CHEM seven. Do a full work up." House turned towards his office and mumbled, "Hold off on the prednisone."

_______

Cuddy waited for Wilson and the team to disappear down the hall before approaching House in his office. She stood on the threshold between the conference room and his office, watching as he massaged his temples with his eyes closed.

"You need to talk with him," she said.

"What I need is my vicodin."

Pursing her lips in slight frustration, Cuddy retrieved the vial from the conference room table and placed it on his desk as she sat down opposite him.

"He's scared to death."

"He should be," House said, eyes focused on the bottle of vicodin.

"That's not what I mean."

"Not now, Cuddy."

"Do you really think he wants your fellows running the tests?"

"Well, I'm sure it's not me he wants down there. He's the one who left, remember?"

Cuddy stood from her chair and walked towards the door. "And you're the only one who can bring him back," she said giving him one last glance before leaving him to his thoughts.