It felt like he had been by a truck. Then that truck backed up and ran over him. His thigh was on fire, blazing pain searing in the flesh. That's what he felt as soon as he woke. But at least it was a change from his usual chronic leg pain. Too bad it wasn't a change for the better.

When he had fully woken, House evaluated his surroundings out of habit as he did every morning. He never knew if he had drunk too much and ended up passed out behind a bar. It happened a few times.

He was lying on the couch. At least he knew the explanation to that. He had let Wilson take the bed because it was too soft for his ribs. The amount of light he could see through his eyelids and the position of the window from which it came told him that it was still early morning.

He was just about to gather enough energy to push himself further up onto the arm of the couch when he felt something brush against the fingers of his left hand. He opened his eyes and found Wilson curled up on the floor beside the couch, his head resting by House's left elbow and his right hand placed beside the older doctor so their fingers touched. With a fond sigh, House ghosted his fingertips across Wilson's brow. The oncologist stirred slightly but didn't wake. Instead he latched onto House's hand.

"Wilson, wake up." House tried to shake his hand free but Wilson held on too tightly. "My God, Wilson. I never knew you were so needy."

"M'not." The oncologist mumbled. He shifted slightly but didn't open his eyes.

House used his free hand to tug at one of the brown locks. "You really should wake up. I know for a fact that sitting like that isn't comfortable."

Wilson raised his head and rubbed sleep from his eyes. "'M up."

"Why are you sleeping on the floor?"

The oncologist looked up at him quizzically. "You don't remember last night? You were crying."

That's right, he did. He could remember now. Wilson had helped him onto the couch then insisted he gave House at least a small dose of morphine after he screamed in agony as soon as his leg touched the surface of the couch. After a few minuets of House yelling that he could handle it and Wilson denying it the pain only intensified and he finally caved letting Wilson gave him a small enough dose so he would be able to sleep.

His sky blue eyes closed and he drifted off, lulled to slumber by the drugs coursing its way through his system. The peace could last though. It never did. Early in the morning, the sky still dark, House could recall having a vivid nightmare. The feeling of dread and pure terror smothered him like a blanket and, despite the blazing pain in his body, he did everything he could to escape. His throat hurt from the screaming and he could vaguely remember lashing out and hitting something hard with the back of his hand. Wilson had held his face in his soft hands. He used Wilson's voice like a guide helping him back to reality.

"I remember." House said softly. He licked his lips slowly, refusing to look at Wilson and his brown eyes filling with tears.

"You said-"

"I know what I said Wilson. I don't need to talk about it and you don't need to analyze it. Now, get the hell off my hand." He said as he pulled his hand away.

Wilson rose to his feet and crossed his arms the way he did when he tried to get his way. "You should talk about it."

"I don't want to talk about it. I want to eat. Make me something to eat Florence Nightingale." House smirked.

"I'm not letting this go." Wilson responded. He turned his back on House and went to the kitchen.

The diagnostician listened to the diminishing footsteps and grabbed the remote to focus his attention on the TV. He tried to appear absorbed in the show but he had no clue what was going on. He couldn't ignore Wilson slamming pots and pans around as he muttered unintelligible words under his breath.

"Wilson, would you just shut up?" House said softly. He didn't think Wilson actually heard him but he must have because it was suddenly quiet and Wilson softly padded back into the living room.

"Do you need some morphine? Just enough to take the edge off." Wilson lay one hand on the couch near House's head, the other rubbed at the back of his neck.

House looked up at him, frowning slightly. "What I need is for you to go back to work so I don't have to hear you whine and complain about a nightmare I had."

The oncologist crossed his arm firmly. "It wasn't just a nightmare and you know it. You've hinted at things in the past. Maybe I should've paid more attention or pushed you. At least the maybe you'd talk about things now."

"Go away, Wilson. Stop telling me what you think your faults are. Go to work, go shopping, I don't care just get the hell away from me." House yelled despite the pain of his ribs and his growing headache.

"I'm just-" Wilson was cut off as he dodged a pillow House had thrown his way.

"I swear I'll throw something at you if you say anything more." House warned with a cold stare.

Wilson held his hand up in defeat. "Fine. I'll go check my patient files and be back in an hour. Do you want me to draw up some morphine before I go?"

"I don't need any! Get the hell out of here." House yelled throwing another cushion. He watched Wilson beat a hasty retreat, clumsily throwing on his shoes and jacket before heading out.

House breathed a sigh of relief at the welcome solitude but soon squirmed as the silence became oppressive. His thoughts inadvertently turning to Wilson. He wondered where exactly he was, what he was doing. He thought of Wilson beside him on the couch and he wish he could go back and freeze time for that single moment.

AN – Sorry I haven't updated sooner I've been sick… really sick. I'm better now so updates will come more frequently and the next chapter will be longer.