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'And I'd give up forever to touch you, 'cause I know that you feel me somehow.

You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be, and I don't want to go home right now.

And all I can taste is this moment… all I can breathe is your life.

When sooner or later it's over… I just don't want to miss you tonight.'

{The Goo Goo Dolls: Iris}

-[H]-

'Do I really want to know why you've dragged me out of work, in the middle of the night, on the pretense that I'm sick, with a car full of illegally swiped meds and hospital equipment?'

Allison Cameron's tone was reproachful, resigned and yet somewhat relieved as she finally, after two weeks of knowing precisely nothing, found herself facing the only man she would do this for at his front door, the pair of them tiredly, but firmly, standing their ground in getting the other to accept that neither of them were going to back down here.

She was not going to hand over the meds if House didn't at least bring her into the picture a bit.

He was not going to tell Cameron a jot about Wilson – ideally, he wanted to take the meds and shut the door in her face so he could get on with the more pressing matter at hand of hooking his deteriorating best friend up to some much needed fluids.

Unluckily for House, Cameron, like the other ducklings, had worked out long ago that Wilson was the Department Head who was sick, and not their egotistical boss. She could walk away with these meds right now if she wanted to, and they both knew it. It wasn't the most important person in her life who needed them, after all.

'They're for Wilson,' offered House eventually, choosing his words carefully, 'he's sick and doesn't want to be admitted. Understandable, really – I wouldn't want you lot gawping like idiots at me either.'

Cameron raised a skeptical eyebrow, seeing straight through the insult that thinly veiled that clear half-truth.

'So you both decided it would be more convenient to just put my job, my license, on the line instead? You, I'd believe that of. Wilson – no. I'm sorry, but if all he needs are fluids and Cyclizine, then he's obviously vomiting a lot, can't keep fluids down, and needs them IV instead to prevent dehydration. He could be in and out of hospital within a few days for that, and you both know it. There's something you're not telling me, for whatever reason, and I don't think it's fair that you risk my career without even telling me why. So what the hell am I doing here, House?'

House stared at the defiant blonde, breaking eye contact only for a moment to lean himself against the open door and take some weight off his leg, his gaze roaming quickly to the coveted bag of meds she clutched tightly, before he wearily regarded her once more.

He didn't have a choice.

If Wilson was to get the treatment he needed, then he'd have to tell her.

He'd have to tell her everything.

'Wilson was raped,' sighed House bitterly, his stomach turning as the vile words that should never have been a reality left his mouth, 'Some bastard knocked on our door a couple of weeks back. He didn't stand a chance. I found him unconscious on the floor when I got home. I called Cuddy, she came over with the kit, I examined him and he's been with me ever since. Now is that explanation enough or do you want a step-by-step analysis?'

He couldn't find it in him to say it in any more detail than that, hoping she'd sense his gruff reluctance to elaborate any further in the sarcastic tone of his voice. He couldn't put into words the utter carnage, the cold horror, that had assaulted every one of his senses as soon as his foot had slid in that congealing, blooming slick of Wilson's blood. Wilson's vomit. That tangy, cloying, iron smell that had seemed to seep into the very core of him, clogging his nostrils, his throat, choking him. The devastating sight of Wilson collapsed on the floor in a torn heap, stripped almost bare and so horribly pale beneath the blossoming purple bruises and streaks of dried blood that the tears had fallen away so goddamn easily. Wilson's body so, so cold beneath his touch, his breaths so shallow, a precious sound so swallowed by the panicked thunder of blood that had rushed in House's ears, that he'd thought, for a split, shattering second, that Wilson was dead.

It was the most frightening moment of his life.

And it had haunted him every single day since.

'You've… you've got him on… you've got him on prophylactics, I take it?'

Cameron's shaken questioning was barely more than a horrified whisper, and yet it cut through the trail blaze of destruction that assaulted House's memory as effectively as any startled cry could have, his eyes burning as he locked gazes with his ashen-faced ex-fellow and nodded.

It was to her credit that she didn't ask him any questions then, or make any stupid remarks, or lay on the pity party for Wilson, and House was eternally grateful. He could see in the unshed tears of her shining eyes the absolute revulsion for the man who'd done this to Wilson, compassion reeling off her in waves for her ex-boss and his best friend, and the steadfast determination to help bring about a return to normality for two colleagues and friends she respected and cared for hugely.

It was a grounded response to a wholly mind-blowing revelation that had torn them all to pieces, and House, not for the first time, silently thanked his lucky stars that he'd hired Allison Cameron as one of his fellows in the first place.

'And that's what's making him sick,' concluded Cameron quietly, ignoring the too-quick thumping of her heart as she pieced together this whole sorry tale for herself, feeling sick to the stomach but knowing quite well that her feelings amounted to nothing in comparison to what House must be feeling here.

She couldn't even imagine what Wilson was going through, understanding immediately just why he didn't want to be admitted anywhere. The reason in the first place for his admission would have to be established, he'd have to give a truthful patient history somewhere along the line… they all knew the damage a non-accurate patient history could do, and if it wasn't just the prophylactics making him sick it was a chance that Wilson couldn't afford to take. He would have to tell someone other than House that he'd been raped. And eventually, inevitably, he would surely be mentioned, talked about, discussed in every Doctor's lounge, at every Nurse's station, in every Janitor's closet, every staff toilet, every lift, every stairwell, in the corridor, cafeteria, car park… what if his patient's got wind of it? Had he even told his family?

Would he ever tell his family?

Probably not.

After all, the person he wanted through all this, the only person he needed, as usual, was House.

And he was already in the thick of it.

Doctor James Wilson, the well respected, youngest ever Head of Oncology, would be judged, shied away from, and pitied in equal measure through no fault of his own, losing his identity in the process and probably losing himself somewhere along the line too.

It was little wonder House had called her with his request to fleece the ER in a last ditch attempt to spare Wilson the indignity of it all, and Cameron, despite her initial irritation with the pair, couldn't help but now feel glad that he had. House's schemes might be absolute madness at the best of times, but she knew quite well that he always did it for the best of his patients, hospital policies and protocol be damned. The fact that his current patient was none other than his best friend was obviously only going to serve to intensify that wild streak in him… he wouldn't stop until he had Wilson back on form again, no matter how much it cost him.

He'd sacrifice everything for Wilson if need be.

Everything.

'Here,' she instructed quietly, calmly getting herself together to reach into the bag and pull out the saline and giving set, holding it out for her unsettlingly helpless ex-boss, 'you get that ready while I do the rest. Where is he?'

'I got him to the bedroom,' sighed House, taking the bag and stepping back to let her in before clicking the door shut behind her, 'He passed out in the bathroom when I called you before – he's hardly had anything to eat or drink for two weeks now, anything he does eat just comes back up again, and he's running a fever. Plus he's not sleeping at all through the night 'cause he's shit scared. I half dragged him, half walked him to my bed. He barely made it. He's.. Wilson, he's.. he's not good, Cameron.'

His voice caught on that last part, leaning heavily on the door and closing his eyes briefly with the tired tears that welled there suddenly, the sight of such blatant emotion, from a man who was usually nothing short of severe in all social aspects of his life, completely disconcerting for Cameron.

She'd never seen her usually purposefully unemotional, sarky, indiscrete, brash ex-boss so openly vulnerable. His eyes were ringed with dark circles, sunk exhaustedly into the shadows of his face, the worry for his best friend etched hard into every contour. And yet it didn't actually surprise her in the least to find him like this. They all knew that Wilson was the one part of House's life that actually mattered to him, that he actually cared about… she'd go as far to say that it was the one part of his life that he loved dearly. Wilson was House's other half, the one man who provided everything House had never had from his own family… he was everything.

To have that snatched from right under your nose, so cruelly, was just beyond comprehension. It was little wonder he was finding it hard to cope.

Her heart went out to him. To them both.

And yet she could make an educated guess that a hug would most likely not go down well here. This was still Gregory House MD, Head of Diagnostics and detester of openly expressed emotion, after all.

'I'll meet you in there,' suggested Cameron quietly, offering him a small smile in a bid of reassurance before turning to make her way carefully towards the bedroom, hearing House shuffle to the kitchen behind her where he could get himself together somewhat under the pretense of running the fluids through the line.

She'd seen that look every day in the eyes of her patient's relatives – anxious, scared out of their minds, helpless and totally exhausted. A ten minute break certainly never erased all that emotion, it didn't undo the neglect that they'd subjected themselves to since their relative had been rushed into the ER, but it did equip them to carry on until their relative, her patient, was stable enough for them to relax a little, to sigh with cautious relief.

Yes, a quick coffee could mean the difference between staying strong for their loved one, or breaking down on the spot. It was an insight that all medical and nursing staff were aware of, and one that she knew House would be appreciative of at this moment in time, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

Whether Wilson would be, Cameron wasn't so sure.

'Wilson?'

Her call was soft as she peeked around the door, despite the feeling that her heart was slowly pounding its way into her throat. She didn't have a clue what to expect, having never really known Wilson outside of the Head of Oncology/House handler capacity she was used to in work.

To see her senior colleague vulnerable due to sickness was one thing. To see him so completely cut open thanks to a personal violation of the cruelest means was quite another, her intrusion into the bedroom causing her to blush slightly with the invasion of his privacy as her eyes fell to the mess that was the bed.

As it was, she received no response from the tightly curled up shape under the crumpled bedclothes. From the looks of things, House hadn't been the one to place those on Wilson either, the twisted sheets and cover that were wound so tightly around him giving away the panic that obviously ensued in House's absence, and completely undermining the open window and the fan that hummed uselessly from the corner of the dimly lit room.

Cameron couldn't help the lump that rose in her throat then, the vision before her sharply reminding her of nights she'd spent as a small child trying to hide from the dark, wrapped so tightly in her covers that she'd ended up sweating the night away in a stuffy make shift tomb that she could barely breathe in, her heart beat thumping in her head, resounding through her, burrowed so deeply within the bedding as she had been, her bedroom wall only inches from her face as she'd willed herself to fall asleep against the fear that had taken root deep inside her chest.

And yet, even then, she'd known that her fear was born simply of imaginings that had spawned from her nightmares. Even as a child, she'd known there wasn't actually anything lurking in the dark, creeping in the shadows, waiting to jump out and ambush her. She'd known that. It still didn't stop her being absolutely terrified. The only thing that stopped that was the light going back on, a measure she often resorted to when her fear of the dark overshadowed her fear of being a total baby.

But what if the creatures in the dark had been real? What if one had jumped out one night? What if her worst nightmare had come true, catching her at her most vulnerable, when she least expected it? What if it didn't go away, no matter how many lights she switched on?

Cameron was quite sure that in that scenario, under that level of terror, she'd be nothing more than a tightly curled up shape under the crumpled bedclothes, hiding and hiding in such a vulnerable, child-like manner, despite the non-existent protection those covers physically offered. They were no more actual use than putting your hands over your face, or shutting your eyes.

In fact, she was quite sure she'd look exactly as Wilson did right now.

And so it was that she found herself walking over to the window and gently shutting it for him, before making her way over to Wilson to kneel down next to him and lightly pull the covers back from his face.

He was asleep. Pale, sweaty, exhausted and frayed looking… but still, asleep.

It was with a sad smile that Cameron reached out to him then, softly placing the palm of her hand on his warm cheek and brushing her thumb across it, wiping away the sheen of mingled tears and sweat that glistened beneath his dark lashes. Wilson barely jumped, reluctantly expected as she was, stirring only to sleepily open his muggy eyes and wearily meet the concerned gaze of his junior colleague, as grateful to see her here as he was utterly humiliated.

It took some of the burden off House at least.

It was a thought he clung to above all else, the one thing he held on to through the haze, the one startlingly clear notion that ran through him as strongly as the fever did.

God, he felt like crap.

'Hey,' whispered Cameron, pushing the covers off his chest and reaching down to his limp hand to squeeze it in both of hers, feeling the burn of tears simmering behind her eyes and willing them away as Wilson blinked tiredly back at her, the small smile that he offered then barely reaching the chocolate pools of his eyes that were just so frozen in a turmoil of sadness.

'House told me what happened… Wilson, I… I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry.'

Wilson laughed faintly at that, a small, bitter, humorless chuckle that conveyed everything he could never put into words, a weak laugh that rapidly died off into a heavy sigh as he gazed resignedly back at Cameron, his voice barely more than an embarrassed mumble when he spoke.

'Life's a bitch, I guess.'

Well, that was one way of putting it.

'I guess it is,' said Cameron quietly, smiling sadly as she let go of his hand to get the meds out of her bag, knowing they were both putting on a brave face, both putting on their work face, as she rooted, 'I'm hoping you'll feel a bit better by tomorrow after this lot though. I know House will.'

Wilson's heart lurched at that, hating that he was putting House through this, hating that it took so much fucking effort just to string a sentence together, his voice exhausted when he eventually managed it.

'Where is he?'

'Getting the saline ready,' replied Cameron distractedly as she got out everything she needed, purposely not looking at him, hoping Wilson would accept that half truth and not question any further into the reason for House's absence, employing a tactic they all used to placate patients where necessary.

She couldn't help feeling that she was patronizing him.

Wilson nodded vaguely, more to himself than anything, taking note of Cameron's diversion tactics and attempting to try and push himself up a bit, stopping after a few tries with the nauseating head spin even that small effort sent him into.

'Cyclizine?' offered Cameron, helpfully holding up the coveted syringe and needle she'd obviously been preparing while he'd been dutifully attempting to do the gentlemanly thing in not upchucking all over her.

'Please,' whispered Wilson appreciatively, giving up to tiredly lie back down again and close his eyes while she quickly injected his upper arm, praying that the drug would just do its job over the next twenty minutes or so in rendering him a little more lively than he was with the hopeful kick-assing of the nausea.

By the sounds of it, Cameron was getting the cannula kit out now and spreading it on the bed, the harsh orange glare of the ceiling light piercing his closed lids with the click of the light switch before she took his arm to prod around for a suitable vein, turning his hand over this way and that before seeming to settle on the site she wanted to insert the line.

'You okay if it goes in the back of your hand?'

Like he was going to say no.

He nodded, opening his eyes a few seconds later to casually observe the needle gauging smoothly into the back of his hand, the short, sharp pain a welcome distraction through the constant dull ache that plagued him, his weary gaze drifting to stare fixedly at an unaware Cameron as she focused wholly on getting the cannula in on the first attempt.

'House has been a long time getting the saline ready,' pointed out Wilson quietly, bringing the conversation back round to the Diagnostician once again and letting Cameron know in no uncertain terms that Wilson's thought process, as per usual, had never really left his best friend in the first place. She should never have been so stupid as to assume it had.

'He won't be long,' murmured Cameron, checking the inserted cannula and purposely focusing on it so as not to have to meet the probing gaze of her senior colleague that she could feel boring into her.

Wilson didn't say anything to that. He didn't have to – she could feel his unease emanating off him in waves less than a minute later as she fixed the dressing in place, everything from the preoccupied sigh, right down to the fidgeting and wriggling as he tried to get comfortable, saying everything.

Cameron sighed, finishing what she was doing quickly to sit back and finally meet the gaze of an anxious, and still nauseas, looking Wilson.

'Don't you think you've got enough to worry about here without worrying about House? He'll be fine. You, on the other hand, are the one who's sick and needs treatment.'

Wilson's face colored hotly at that, with a completely undeserved, faultless level of mortification that had previously been unknown to him, hot, stabbing shame that tore his eyes downwards to his lap as it coursed through him on a familiarly humiliating track that had been so viciously beaten into him over the past two weeks.

He'd never get used to this.

No matter how much time ticked past, no matter how many times he thought about it, felt it, experienced it all over again in his head, he knew he would never get used to being sick thanks to those pills. Pills that he had to take for one reason only. Pills that he took because he'd been raped.

Raped.

It was a disassociating, horrifying term that would never sink in, always festering, digging, eating away at him, isolating him from his own life, his own body… but never, ever quite sinking in.

No… he'd never get used to this.

Just like he'd never gotten used to constantly worrying about, thinking about, that beloved, madman Diagnostician in the next room, factoring his needs into the equation long before his own, for years now, no matter what anyone said or did, no matter what he himself had drunkenly yelled at House that night, and so many other nights before that… And if House ended up not being to handle this, if he crumbled in any way, if he couldn't cope… well, Wilson knew what he could resort to. What he would resort to. What he would turn to.

Pills solved everything these days. They both knew that.

Even those that rendered you an addicted wreck, admitted to a psychiatric in patient unit, barely a shadow of your former self.

Even those pills were so worth it, just for the tiny, tiny bit of relief they could bring you from the physical pain.

Pills that could be taken for the unrelenting pain in your ravaged right thigh, say.

God, the mere thought of it just broke Wilson, guilt crashing fiercely through him, stealing his breath away.

'Worry about yourself for a change,' pressed Cameron gently, the lump coming back into her throat with the shuddered breath Wilson took then, the biting of his lower lip doing nothing to stop it trembling as he shook his head, his eyes glistening with guilty tears as he looked to her.

'He'll-'

His voice broke, his throat constricting with the guilt that pulsed through him with every anxious beat of his heart, his words when he was eventually composed enough to speak thick with unshed tears.

'He'll hit the Vicodin.'

Cameron's heart went out to him.

'He'll hit the Vicodin and it'll be… God, it'll be because of me.'

He was devastated.

'No, Wilson-'

'He will,' insisted Wilson, his voice choked and breathless as he tried so hard to get across what he was saying, shivering and sweating and fuck knows what all at the same time as he sat there, baulking and aching and trying so hard not to cry like some pathetic idiot in front of his junior colleague, his head pounding with the effort to not vomit, to not give in, to not just scream the loudest scream he'd ever screamed in his entire life, tearing himself to shattered, tortured pieces from the inside out.

'Wilson… please, just listen to me,' pleaded Cameron, clutching his warm hand tightly in hers, the rapidly intense descent their conversation had taken completely giving away how anxious Wilson had been about this all along, 'If there's one person in this world House would stay off the Vicodin for, it's you. He wouldn't go back on it whilst running the risk of making you feel even remotely guilty. If he ever goes back on it, it'll be through his own doing. No one else's. He wouldn't do that to you. Not now.'

Wilson could only shake his head at that, pulling his hand from Cameron's to cover his face as he crumbled, hands trembling with the pent up fear and anxiety that were only amplifying the debilitating side effects of the meds.

'He wouldn't hurt the one person who means the world to him, Wilson,' stated Cameron earnestly, keeping her voice low, 'he might not always show it, but you mean more to him than those pills ever will. None of this is your fault. He won't do anything to make you feel guilty in any way, least of all going back on the Vicodin. Deep down, you know he wouldn't. You know that.'

Wilson slowly dropped his hands at that, bringing them into that distressed, almost prayer like position on his chest as he absently nudged his lips with his fingertips, worrying at them, fidgeting with his hands, in a gesture that Cameron realized was just so typical of a torn Wilson; his wondering, tear-filled gaze shining with self-blame as he stared hard at the door, undoubtedly willing the usual focus of his thoughts to come limping through it.

God, how he hoped she was right.

When he didn't say anything back to that, Cameron sighed, frustrated in knowing that no matter what she said he may never truly believe he could be at the center of someone else's world, least of all House's. Three failed marriages and numerous failed relationships lay as testimony to that, a history that had done nothing for his self esteem and had been consolidated so vilely with the rape that had seen the Oncologist so violently used and discarded in a matter of minutes. He would always blame himself if House ended up relapsing on the tail end of this, like he always did for other people's failures, despite the fact that all and sundry knew House would go without Vicodin if it meant disadvantaging his best friend in any way.

It was something he would do for Wilson, and Wilson only.

Because House sure as hell wouldn't put himself through that for anyone less than the person he loved most in this life, just as Wilson had allowed the disintegration of every meaningful personal relationship he'd ever had, until the unlabeled relationship he and House shared took rank above all others.

They'd each sacrificed so much to keep the other at their side.

And to Cameron, well… didn't that say everything?