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Hope you enjoy this chapter! xxx

'Reborn, and shivering.

Spat out, on new terrain…

Unsure, unconvincing.

This faint, and shaky hour…'

{Alanis Morissette: Not As We}

House's stomach dropped when he felt Wilson slump unconsciously against him, swearing and thanking Christ that Cuddy, after a brief moment of horrified disbelief as she'd numbly processed the dreadful news of the attack, had somehow managed to quickly pull herself together for Wilson's sake as House had known she would and jumped into Doctor mode; the pair of them taking perhaps two minutes to list everything they would need as she'd hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans and her coat over pajamas before grabbing her keys and slamming her front door behind her.

Cuddy's parting words had been that she'd be here within the hour, and to get Wilson ready for when she arrived – the quicker they got him sorted, the better.

House wasn't sure that he could have handled this had she reacted any differently, relying on her inherent professionalism to get him through the next few hours whilst they treated their mutual best friend.

Their mutual best friend who wore his heart on his sleeve, so naively really, worrying about everyone except himself.

Their mutual best friend who'd been taken complete advantage of and violated in one of the worst possible ways.

Their mutual best friend who was now a rape victim.

'Fuck,' muttered House angrily from behind closed eyes, taking a sickened moment to swallow the horror of that thought before doing as Cuddy had done and pulling himself together in preparation for what had to be done tonight, moving to very carefully lie the unconscious Wilson back on the floor so he could pull himself up, wish wholeheartedly for at least two bastard Vicodin pills at the pain that flared wearingly through his right thigh, and limp off towards his friend's bedroom to retrieve his comforter, blankets and pillows.

If Wilson's theory of House's leg pain being wholly psychological was correct, then House could predict, with dreaded resignation, that his leg was going to be more than aching for a good while to come yet.

Spotting the small bin sat in the corner of Wilson's bedroom, House didn't think twice about emptying it out on the floor and taking that along with the bed clothes, sadly confident that it would be needed at least one more time tonight.

House returned to his motionless friend a minute later, dropping down once more to spread the comforter out on the cleaner floor next to Wilson, placing a pillow where his head was going to end up and three other pillows stacked on top of each other at the other end ready to prop his friend's feet up on, bolstered higher still with some of the cushions from the couch.

He needed to prevent Wilson's blood pressure from dropping too low… the more cushions he had to raise Wilson's legs above heart level to get the blood flowing back again the better-

'House?'

At the unexpected sound of Wilson's small voice cutting through his automated thinking process, House jumped slightly, looking up to meet the newly awake, and thoroughly scared, gaze of his usually calm and in control friend, the trembling of his lower lip giving away just how hard Wilson was working to stay on the brink of sanity, to stop himself falling into the screaming abyss that seemed so tempting right now as he shook from head to toe, curled up coldly amidst his own stale stomach contents on the hard floor.

God… he was a mess. A complete and utter, bewildered… mess.

'Come here,' instructed House softly, scooting across the made up bed to slowly help Wilson sit up, the shaking, dazed man allowing House to help him remove his soiled shirt, his instinct to protect himself evident in the subconscious gripping of House's jacket that was the only thing keeping his shredded dignity vaguely intact.

House worked mechanically and as quickly as possible, tossing the ripped, dirty shirt aside and wrapping a blanket around Wilson's cold shoulders; every wince-causing touch, bruise counting observation and uncomfortable intake of breath forming a hurried, yet thorough, examination in House's head as he assessed what he could of Wilson's injuries.

He didn't miss the telling, shallow slash on Wilson's throat, the straight edge of the blade that had held him hostage, that had enabled this, clearly imprinted there.

House couldn't help it, pausing for an internally enraged moment to ever so gently run his thumb over the forcibly sliced skin, his glistening eyes terrified at the thought of what a little more pressure could have so easily done, severing his best friend's lifeline to leave Wilson bleeding out alone on the floor of their Condo.

It just didn't bear thinking about.

'I'm sorry,' whispered Wilson faintly as he watched the raw jumble of emotions playing so vividly in House's eyes, that instinct to help wherever he could, like he did routinely everyday, surfacing even in his current state as he reached for House's stilled hand. The gesture would normally have had both men running, terrified, in opposite directions, but right now it was the only thing keeping Wilson anchored to his horrifying reality.

His sudden, so normal, intuitive confirmation of the 'what-if' thoughts that were so obviously racing around his friend's head snapped House very swiftly back to the present, the Diagnostician's cheeks coloring slightly when he realized Wilson was trying his best to make this less painful for him, trying to act as a bloody buffer in a situation that had robbed Wilson of a part of himself that he would never get back.

If anything, Wilson needed House to be that buffer now, not the other way round.

'No, don't.. don't apologize,' mumbled House, squeezing Wilson's cold hand back whilst simultaneously fighting the equally strong urges to either just hug Wilson as tight as possible and never let him go, vomit and then hyperventilate or take himself off as far away as he could, via whatever means, from this horrible situation that had been so breathtakingly close to realizing his worst nightmare. Alcohol, Vicodin or just plain old-fashioned walking with his cane, he didn't really care.

He could feel it now, they both could - that unspoken, subtle, possessive streak that ran so reflexively in both men, usually just an undercurrent that never kept one far away from the other for long, weaving their lives so casually together that they now came as one of a pair, becoming an extension of each other whether they liked it or not. To have someone force themselves so violently in between that, in such a cruel manner, had only served to brutally yank that unspoken undercurrent to the confusing surface, magnifying it tenfold and leaving neither man with a clue as to what the hell was meant to happen next.

'Cuddy'll have me on permanent clinic duty if I don't get my act together,' said House softly, taking a deep breath before reluctantly releasing Wilson's hand and carrying on, asserting himself in the situation once more as Wilson's attending, treading medical ground that was familiar to both of them.

'So… judging from the blood on your face, I'm guessing the majority of the stuff you've got me swimming in is from your nose and your mouth,' continued House, mechanical once again as he moved on to maneuver an ashamed Wilson's trousers and boxers from around his ankles to throw them with the shirt, 'I don't think your nose is broken. Did you bite your tongue somewhere along the line?'

Wilson nodded tiredly, his mortified eyes following every move House made, wanting nothing more than to just let the ground open up and swallow him whole as he fought the dizzying urge to vomit.

'Okay – well, I'm voting no to internal bleeding for now, given that sitting you up didn't have you screaming, and your vomit's clear of blood. But I meant what I said before, I'm taking no chances. Not with you. So if you feel anything, anything at all, then you tell me. Alright?'

Another barely perceptible nod.

'Good,' affirmed House, marginally happier now that he mostly knew what he was dealing with and crawling awkwardly along the comforter to end up next to Wilson, who didn't resist at all as House slowly guided him off the cold floor and onto the relative comfort of the comforter, 'You're going into psychological shock. I'm going to get your feet raised and get you warm again and hopefully you'll start to feel like you don't want to chuck up all over the place, okay?'

Wilson nodded again, stopping quickly and clamping his mouth shut as he realized that House's reassuring words had perhaps come too late, gratefully grabbing the bin that was thrust in front of him and unwillingly retching, vomiting nothing but bile at this point as his stomach continued to heave painfully.

Wilson hadn't even noticed House leaving him for a moment until a glass of water was dangled in front of him.

'At least you didn't take aim at the floor this time,' reproached House lightheartedly, busying himself with positioning the pillows under Wilson's feet, looking up just in time to see an appreciative, fleeting smile cross Wilson's battered face before he raised the glass to his lips, wincing.

'Sips only, please,' instructed House, relieved beyond measure that a glimpse of the old Wilson had shone through even if only for a few moments, 'You know the drill - Doctor's orders, and all that.'

As it was, Wilson simply swilled his mouth out with the water, focusing on taking deep, uncertain breaths and setting both the glass and the bin down next to him before easing himself onto his back, never having appreciated the bliss of a blanket as much as he did when House threw one over his lower half to add to the warmth and coverage of House's jacket and coat.

'Hang on while I get another blanket, I'll only be a min.'

When House came back into the dimly lit room a minute later as promised, third blanket in hand, it was to find Wilson lying where he'd left him, the blanket that had been around his shoulders now bunched up tightly in his fists as he hid most of his face in it. Only his stricken eyes peeped out over the top to stare, unwavering and lifeless, at the back of the sofa that had provided the backdrop for his attack; his own, telling crimson hand prints a startling contrast to the cream fabric, silent tears streaming down his bloodied cheeks and into the pillow as his ravaged mind cruelly replayed every single, soul shattering detail over and over again.

Wilson couldn't help his eyes numbly following the smudged trail of blood that ran down to the ground.

The shameful evidence was there for all to see, smeared disgustingly into the grain of the wooden floor that he'd absolutely loved when he bought this place, a beautiful wooden floor that now had the sordid essence of his attacker seeping through the cracks, never to be scrubbed away; always, always there to taunt him of the nine appalling minutes that would haunt James Wilson for evermore; reminding him every minute of every single day of the reason why his skin crawled constantly, why he felt so dirty, so thoroughly contaminated, that no one in their right mind would ever touch him again… why he'd never feel what it was to be happy anymore, content in himself, constantly balancing on this painful knife edge between absolute despair and overwhelming, repulsed shame.

House could see every heartbreaking thought that flashed through Wilson's hollow eyes as he watched him, making his choice right there and impulsively moving slowly forward after a few seconds to purposely intercept Wilson's line of vision as he fixed his leg to lie down next to him, throwing the blanket over them both and giving in to that urge to just pull his shivering wreck of a friend close, Wilson's cheek coming to rest on House's chest where he gave in and wept, feeling connected to nothing in this world except the man who held him so safely now, apologizing over and over again as he gripped House's shirt.

'It's not your fault, Wilson,' murmured House defiantly, his chin resting lightly in Wilson's hair as he wrapped him in his arms, 'I promise you, this is not your fault. You've got nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all. And once Cuddy's here with the stuff we'll get you sorted as quickly as we can, okay?'

Wilson nodded, scrubbing the tears away with the palm of his hand and taking a few shaken breaths in an attempt to calm down, his feeble voice saturated with dread and embarrassment when he could bring himself to ask a question he'd been dreading for what seemed like forever now.

'Will you… will it be you or Lisa who.. who do the.. the-'

'Me,' intervened House softly, knowing what Wilson was trying to get at here, the thought of having to examine for and take evidence of rape from his own best friend thoroughly nauseating to think about, but attempting a shot at light humor anyway in a bid to make this easier for both of them, 'Wilson, as the person responsible for getting you pissed off your face, and consequently pantless, many a time, I think it's safe to say that I've seen your rude bits more times than is healthy for a normally functioning friendship. Luckily, our friendship, as you point out on a daily basis, is at the very least dysfunctional. Add that to the fact that me knowing you have a mole on your left butt cheek means I can outbid Cuddy every time in the best friend stakes, and we have ourselves a winner, don't you think?'

'But you've… House, you've never had to swab me before,' whispered Wilson shamefacedly, tempted to stop fighting the continually overwhelming urge to just get up now, throw himself into the bath and forcefully scrub away the slick mess that he could feel drying to his inner thighs, crawling coldly over his flesh like some sort of live disease, permeating his skin, his nostrils, everything.

'No,' admitted House thoughtfully, quite aware of the revolted shudders that intermittently ran through Wilson as they were speaking, and had been for some time now, 'But I do vaguely remember me and you doing the Full Monty on the bar of that club, finally dropping our pants and you missing the correct placement of the cowboy hat that woman gave you, realizing what had happened pretty much at the same time I did and promptly falling onto your ass behind the bar. Fuck knows, we must have been tanked-up pretty good 'cause you kept whining about your broken ass as we staggered home and I actually agreed to examine it when we got back to mine to make sure you hadn't done anything serious. As a Doctor, I'd like to think I examined your back as well as your backside, but all I honestly remember is noticing you have that tiny mole on your left butt cheek before drunkenly declaring your ass medically fit to be discharged from my care. You were happy with that and whined no more, passing out on my bed about ten seconds later.'

'You promised we'd never speak of that night again,' groaned Wilson quietly, smiling for a second despite himself at the fuzzy memory of it.

'I'm merely pointing out that you have nothing that I haven't seen before… well, you didn't then. You haven't acquired anything new that you're gonna surprise me with, have you? Or, God forbid, given Cuddy a sneaky peek of the mole during one of your many House analysis sessions in her office?'

'No!' laughed Wilson weakly, amazed at the ability House had to bring a smile to his face even in circumstances as horrifying as these.

'Well then,' affirmed House, 'I'll be seeing nothing I haven't had front row tickets to before. The Nurses from Pediatrics who were on a hen do that night, however…'

'House!'

'Okay, okay, I'll shut up about it now. You've always wondered why every Nurse in the tri-state area loves you, though – well, now you know. Put simply: you're the Head of Oncology who didn't leave his hat on. That's all I'm saying.'

They were interrupted quite suddenly then by a light knock at the front door behind them, any hope of progress House had made with his traumatized friend quickly undone as the ominous noise that had signaled the end of life as he knew it brought the fear of God back into Wilson's eyes, the frantic man scrabbling back from a momentarily stunned House as he immediately panicked, his breath coming in wheezing bursts as he realized he couldn't breathe, sitting up now and clawing desperately at his throat, forgetting everything but the band of crushing pain that was wrapped around his chest, squeezing and squeezing ever tighter, not even feeling House's hands shaking him by the shoulders as he shouted his name, trying and failing to calm Wilson down.

'House, it's me, let me in!' called Cuddy anxiously from the other side of the door, only knocking louder upon hearing the commotion on the other side and feeling utterly helpless to do anything, not realizing that her banging on the door was only further fuelling Wilson's terror within.

The door was ripped open a few seconds later where she came face to face with her furious Head of Diagnostics, his bright blue stare filled with devastated anger at the cold realization that all Wilson's rapist had done to gain access to their Condo and violate his best friend in such a cruel manner was knock.

Something so fucking normal as answering their front door had led to the event that had evidently shattered Wilson into a million pieces.

House was beyond seething, because now, now he could see, with appalling simplicity, just how irreversibly broken his friend was, all for the sake of some primal, sick act that had spawned as much savage pleasure for one predatory party as it had pain for the other.

How the hell were he and Cuddy supposed to bring Wilson back from that?

By this time, Cuddy had hastily dropped the stuff she was carrying at the open door to quickly push past a seemingly frozen House and drop down in front of Wilson, forcing herself to ignore his struggling and take his battered face firmly in her hands as she spoke, steadfast in keeping him there when he instinctively tried to pull away, her voice professionally calm despite the horror that was welling up inside her at the destroyed sight of him.

'Wilson, it's me. It's me. You're having a panic attack. You need to try and calm down, alright? Calm down.'

It took a while but finally, after what felt like forever, she could feel him slowly starting to relax in her grip as her words registered, his breathing still labored and shallow as he finally relented to cover her hands with his own, hands that were absolutely freezing and shaking as she gently thumbed away warm tears from his blood smeared cheeks beneath them, willing him to do what seemed to be so hard and just open his tightly squeezed shut eyes.

'Wilson – look at me… James, look at me.'

What Cuddy saw when Wilson finally did calm down just enough to drag his tired eyes open broke her heart, the warm whorls of dark brown that usually held such comfort and peace within now buried completely beneath utter exhaustion and bewildered terror. They were just so incredibly… lost. That inherently innocent, content spark that had always been there no matter what, that spark that made Wilson the wonderful, kind hearted, soulful man he was in everything he did was just… gone.

The wrecked man before her was now a battered shell of the man he used to be, his shining eyes so empty as they screamed out for a lifeline, begging for someone to please, just… help.

'Oh, sweetheart…' whispered Cuddy sadly, giving in to the lump that was growing bigger in her throat and allowing her own tears to finally spill over as she leaned forward to press a kiss to Wilson's clammy forehead, pulling back and never for a moment breaking panicked eye contact with him as she eased him through it, his hands that still covered hers shaking hard now as he focused on his breathing, his chest opening up again now with every passing second.

Cuddy didn't hesitate to gladly hug Wilson to her when he was finally released from his panic attack, hopeless exhaustion seeming to drain from every pore as he collapsed heavily against her, sobbing so helplessly that it was all Cuddy could do to not sit there and cry along with him, looking up to see this sentiment reflected right back at her in the anxious gaze of House, the gloves already on his hands and the kit spread on the floor in readiness for the examination.

They needed to just get this over with now.

'Wilson-'

'Please, just… just do it,' came Wilson's choked plea, pulling back from Cuddy with a shuddering intake of breath, where his tearful gaze came to rest on the various clinical elements of the rape kit spread out at the foot of his make do bed.

House was already moving to grab the discarded bin, any hint of color that had been evident beneath the dried blood on Wilson's cheeks having swiftly drained away at the sight of the medical kit before him.

The bin got there just in time, Wilson's already aching stomach offering little warning as he promptly vomited into it, the feeling that was suffocating him now so beyond shame that he felt almost numb. He barely felt Cuddy gently pulling him down to rest his head in her lap after that, stroking his hair and his cheek so softly that his eyes drifted shut. He was barely aware of House messing with his legs to get him into the fetal position ready for the examination. He didn't realize how hard he gripped the blanket that he was covered in, replacing House's coat and jacket to hold at least some of his dignity intact.

He didn't know just how violently he was trembling as House began, tears coursing down his cheeks into Cuddy's jeans from behind closed eyes, every shamed breath so shuddered that his chest hurt.

Working as quickly as he could for Wilson's sake, barely there and working on autopilot, House could think only of the millions of people who repeatedly laughed and joked about wanting to 'curl up and die' as they relayed to their friends embarrassing incidents in life that had had them momentarily flummoxed. Hell, Wilson himself had flippantly said that himself a good few times over the years, usually because of something House had done. Cuddy too, for the same reason.

But in that moment, at the very real state of his friend, House couldn't help but feel that the scene before him illustrated the true nature of that phrase, only knowing now, with sickening clarity, what it truly was to witness someone who would rather be dead than to carry on for a second longer in their own personal hell.

And it wasn't funny.

It wasn't funny at all.