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I have no idea where all those reviews came from in

the last chapter, I'm blown away by your kindness!

Thank you all so much, you keep my muse for this

fic going, you're all stars! Enjoy :) xxx

'And I, will love you, baby… always.

I'll be there, forever and a day… always.

I'll be there 'till the stars don't shine,

'Till the heavens burst and the words don't rhyme,

And I know when I die, you'll be on my mind,

And I'll love you, always.'

{Bon Jovi: Always}

-[H]-

Wilson could barely feel his fingers as he fell gratefully through the doors of PPTH into the lobby, the harsh blizzard of stinging snow that had battered him on his way from his car to this drier, decidedly warmer point, having numbed up his extremities nicely.

Numbed them up enough for him to fail to keep a satisfactory grasp on his briefcase as it slipped from his cold fingers to fall to the floor with a resounding thwack, the damn thing bursting open in an almost comical manner and papers flying everywhere with the cold wind that fellow staff and visitors were bringing in behind him, fellow staff and visitors that just seemed to walk on regardless with not a second thought or glance for their unfortunate Head of Oncology.

Wilson was on his knees before he knew it, snatching at his hard work before it flew out of the open automatic door and into the back of beyond, muttering under his breath as he scrambled around the floor, movements clumsy with the numbing cold that seemed to have taken root at the very core of him now.

'Oh, crap… crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap, crap-'

'Here, let me help you.'

Wilson should have felt grateful then. He should have felt relieved. He should have been looking up now with a genuinely appreciative smile and a word of thanks for five words that never failed to bring home the underlying, ever present, sometimes hidden but never failing, humanity of the human race.

What he felt instead was the clammy, horribly familiar sensation of vomit working its way into the back of his throat with the cold, hard fear that balled in the pit of stomach, that froze his heart painfully as he felt his chest constrict, the papers utterly forgotten about now as the voice that had completely destroyed his life in nine devastating minutes floated so casually, so normally, so freely, about his ears.

If he wasn't sure then that this stranger was his rapist, he sure as hell was when he managed to drag his frozen, now stricken gaze from the floor to meet the leering observation of the cold, grey eyes that had haunted him for so long, eyes that even now were still framed with that thick, black balaclava that hid what would surely be an equally leering smirk hidden beneath its knitted depths.

And still no one in the immediate vicinity batted an eyelid at this hooded man who was currently quite obviously threatening PPTH's Head of Oncology on the cold floor of the lobby.

This couldn't be happening.

'Leave me alone,' whispered Wilson in what he'd intended to be an intimidating tone of voice, but instead came out sounding utterly terrified, his lower lip trembling uncontrollably as his slowly ever more tear-filled gaze locked onto the face of his worst nightmare.

He couldn't move for fear.

He couldn't tear his eyes away.

'Hmm… your shaking,' noted the masked attacker, Wilson's plea completely disregarded as he reached out to ever so gently brush his fingers down Wilson's coated arm, the skin beneath crawling nauseatingly in their violating wake.

It was going to happen. He could feel it.

He was going to lose everything all over again.

'Please, just.. just leave me alone,' breathed Wilson shakily, humiliated and sweating clammily now despite the cold that had engulfed him, knowing quite well he was about to vomit everywhere, knowing quite well that his legs might just give way if he tried to stand.

He couldn't stop trembling.

His rapist only chuckled softly under his breath, giving Wilson a disconcerting moment of reprieve before he suddenly snatched a hand out to painfully grip the Oncologist's upper arm, yanking him close enough to brush his cloaked lips over the Oncologist's bare cheek; the startled, and obviously terrified, cry that escaped Wilson then, that echoed horribly around the lobby, failing to pique the attention of any passersby.

How could they be so oblivious?

How could they just.. just.. ignore what was going on before them?

How could they be so blind?

'I could rape you again, right here, right now, and they wouldn't care,' hissed his rapist hotly into his ear, 'They wouldn't stop to help you. Why the fuck would they stop to help you, James?'

Why would they?

They hadn't so far.

He was right.

Of course he was right.

'Get your hands off of me,' muttered Wilson thickly, struggling now, that vice like grip keeping him rooted to the spot no matter how hard he tried to pull away, the panic rising rapidly within him as that dreadful sentence engulfed him, coating him, sinking into him, wrapping around him so tightly that he could feel his breathing quickening, constricting… buckling… the closing of his eyes making none of it go away as he tried to battle uselessly against the tears he could feel trickling down his cheeks, and God he was so fucking weak-

'There's only one person who would stop for you.'

Wilson's blood ran cold at that murmured threat.

'There's only one person who would care for you…'

No.

'Who loves you…'

Please, no…

'Who would trade for you…'

No.

'Who would… die for you?'

'No. No!'

Not him.

Wilson found himself launching forwards before he knew it, screaming and tearing and battering any part of this horrible, horrible man he could get his hands on, fighting back so hard, so fearfully, that he could barely see for the tears that ran freely now, sobbing as he fought so fucking hard to keep this sick bastard away from the one aspect of his life that he just couldn't bare to lose; the one man he couldn't, wouldn't, have this agony inflicted upon in any way, his blows merciless as he lashed out against this.. this-

'Wilson?'

House.

'Wilson!'

God he was here, he'd stopped, just like he knew he would, for him, stupid, stupid man-

'For fuck's sake, Wilson!'

The knife – he didn't know about the knife-

'Wilson!'

He was going to kill him-

'Wilson! Wake up!'

What?

'WAKE UP!'

His hands were wrapped around his wrists.

'Stop it!'

He couldn't get them off, he couldn't get them off-

'Wilson, it's me! It's me! WAKE THE FUCK UP!'

Wilson did then, his wild eyes snapping open to the bewildering vision and sensation of House breathlessly straddling him, his unshaven face just visible through the stilled darkness of House's bedroom only because it was inches from Wilson's, the wide-eyed Diagnostician evidently having pinned the struggling, panting Oncologist to the bed by the wrists in an effort to restrain his thrashing friend as he'd lashed out again and again in his sleep, both hearts racing, Wilson's throat raw and the tears still streaming down his cheeks into the pillow as he stared helplessly up into dimmed but familiar blue eyes that delved into the very depths of him, pulling him back… bringing him home.

'It's me,' insisted House again from above him, his voice much less frantic now, the warm breath of those two softly sighed words wafting gently over Wilson's face as he breathlessly lay there beneath him, arms still anchored above his head and completely stilled now save the heaving of his chest as he slowly calmed down, tear-filled eyes still locked on to House, terrified and confused in the faintly yellow light of the street lamps outside.

'You're alright. It was a nightmare. Just a stupid, pointless nightmare. It's okay.'

It's okay?

It's okay?

'But he wanted you,' whispered Wilson numbly after a few seconds of stunned silence, like that on its own was explanation enough, shit-scared and beginning to lose himself all over again, his very real fear of an event that had occurred only in his head tumbling quickly into a strange kind of indignant, insulted anger with the sheer force of it, 'He had the knife and he- and you- you! You wouldn't go away!'

It wasn't just a stupid, pointless nightmare.

It was his worst nightmare.

And for that moment, it had seemed like a truly frightening reality.

House's gaze softened, the grip he had on a wrought Wilson's wrists lessening as he realized just why his tormented friend had been fighting back so hard.

He was fighting for him.

Fighting for him, because he wouldn't go away and leave Wilson to the mercy of the bastard who'd done this in the first place.

Idiot.

'Damn right I wouldn't go away,' replied House calmly, thoroughly approving of his dream-self's determination to see Wilson safe as he stared hard at his best friend he had pinned beneath him, the feel of Wilson's racing pulse beating beneath his hands, the sound of him breathing so rapidly, so precious a sensation given the fact he could so easily have been lost that night that he wasn't sure he could let go.

'I gave you my word, on the worst night of my life, of your life, that I would keep you safe. I promised you I wouldn't let him hurt you again. That's a promise I won't break, Wilson. Not for anything. So forgive me for being hell-bent on saving your ass, dream-state or otherwise. I save it for purely selfish reasons, I assure you.'

Even as he'd said that, House couldn't keep the pain of that night, of finding the person his world revolved around so defenseless, lying so vulnerably on the floor, from splicing harshly through his words. They both knew what he was actually saying here, the reason for him protecting and caring for Wilson so relentlessly, so exhaustedly, disguised in plain view beneath the barely there front of the usual sarcasm and self-preservation that defined the Diagnostician's hard exterior.

Equally, they both fully understood that that very same reason was exactly why Wilson was so scared of his attacker coming back… he could attack him again, yes. The very thought of it brought the fear of God into him. Into both of them. But what was just impossible for Wilson to even comprehend, let alone fucking dream about, was if he targeted House in some way. That wasn't a possibility. That couldn't be a possibility, in any way, shape or form.

Put simply, both men were under no illusion that one could not be without the other. They'd always known it, they'd always silently taken it for granted that they, House and Wilson, Wilson and House, would always be. It was just the way it was, their way of life, the order of the things. They were the most important person in each other's lives, they had been since House had bailed Wilson out all those years ago. That would never change, no matter what.

And yet it was only now, in this very moment, more than any point during that that awful night even, that they found themselves fully coming to terms with that, neither saying anything for a moment as they stared unblinkingly into the confused, meaningful, and slightly daring depths of the other man's eyes; that whisper of a challenge, of the unknown, that unspoken threat of once of them voicing any of these thoughts hanging between them like a physical presence, pressing and pressing through the night's shadows until Wilson, predictably, could take it no more. The Oncologist eventually broke tearful eye contact with House to blink and quickly glance around him as much as House's weight on top of him allowed him to, eyes sweeping fleetingly over the silhouetted meds and supplies on the floor next to him, mind registering the slight pull of the drip in the back of his hand, before looking up to his friend again, his voice so small, yet so determined, when he spoke.

'Where's Cameron?'

'She left once you'd conked out,' replied House simply, holding Wilson's preoccupied stare as he appeared to acknowledge that before quickly moving on to his next question.

'Where's my cell?'

House swallowed, gazing down with a slight frown into those glistening eyes for a second longer before releasing Wilson's hands to shuffle awkwardly off of him and reach over to the bedside table, switching the lamp on and retrieving one of the two phones that he'd put there together earlier before handing it to Wilson, vibrantly blue eyes going that little bit wider when the younger Doctor dialed three numbers only before shakily holding the phone to his ear, his hand trembling.

'Police, please.'

House couldn't help the swell of pride that rose within him then for his best friend, sighing with long awaited relief as he pushed himself off the bed a moment later to limp painfully around it and take possession of Wilson's other hand, with no resistance at all from the younger man, gently turning it over to inspect any damage to the line that was inserted in the back of it as Wilson hesitantly talked. He wasn't really all that surprised to find it all still intact, the drip still running smoothly like the hand it was attached to hadn't just been flung all over the place, ragging the line with it. Cameron, luckily, had secured it well in place, and House couldn't suppress the surge of appreciation for his ex-fellow's thorough as ever approach to anything she set her mind to.

She'd certainly been nothing less than thorough when it had come to sorting Wilson and himself out earlier on, a fact that Wilson seemed to be very acutely aware of despite saying nothing to House about it.

Good thing she had been really, given that he, Gregory House bloody MD, had suddenly found himself buckling with the appearance of a colleague and friend who could actually do something to help him help Wilson. He hadn't expected to suddenly find himself welling up right in front of Cameron, it seemed to have come from nowhere, but Christ… to have someone just appear at the door, someone he could trust entirely with his best friend, well… it had been more than a relief to be able to just take a breather for half an hour, to say the least.

Wilson had asked for Midazolam himself in the end, undoubtedly thanks to working himself up into a frenzy in House's absence. Fuck knows how far they'd discussed the attack, or if they'd even discussed it at all, but in the half hour he'd been absent Wilson seemed to have withdrawn into himself again when House had limped back in to the room with the fluids in hand, dozing off willingly. Cameron had looked as lost as they all felt as she'd looked up to House, eyes huge and shining with that ever present anxiety, the emptied needle and syringe still clutched tellingly in her hand as she'd sat there, helpless, pale, exhausted and, quite honestly, shocked.

A bit like Wilson was at the moment actually, the younger man clearly on the verge of tears if the jittery panic that ran anew through his suddenly choked voice was anything to go by.

'Oh, God, I.. I don't know, I'm sorry, I can't.. I can't remember. It was about 10pm, but I.. I can't remember the date, I'm sorry-'

'Give it here,' interrupted House softly, sitting on the bed next to him and gently taking the phone from a visibly relieved Wilson to speak to the cops himself, his hand never leaving Wilson's as he squeezed it, reassuringly holding his overwhelmed gaze as he spoke with his usual matter of fact sarcasm to the woman on the other end of the line, eyes dancing with that usual mischievous twinkle as he prepared to well and truly slaughter her if need be for the purpose of Wilson's entertainment only.

'Yes, I'm his friend and attending Doctor. Gregory House. It was two weeks ago today it happened. I don't know, I've had better things to worry about than the damn date. Have you got a calendar in front of you? Well, will you do me a favor and use it?'

Wilson breathed a shaken sigh of both complete relief as he was absolved of any duty, for just that few minutes, to delve further into those truly dark memories and absolute fear for the now inevitable reliving of the most devastating nine minutes he'd ever endured, an account that would have to come tomorrow undoubtedly, closing his eyes and resting his head back to let House's side of the conversation wash over him, wishing wholeheartedly for another shot of the Midazolam he knew was sat in the bag less that a meter away as he tried to breathe slowly past the expected hammering of his heart in his chest.

He couldn't go back from this now.

Just like he couldn't have not done it either.

How stupidly, ridiculously confusing that was.

And the only thing here that was stopping him from screaming until his raw throat bled, or shouting until God stopped and damn well listened for once, or sobbing until he was deplete of every feeling he'd ever had, or just ripping this fucking line so angrily from the back of his hand to lash it anywhere it landed, was the feeling of his hand clutched so tightly in House's, the Diagnostician's thumb doing its usual in ever so gently rubbing back and forth across Wilson's tensed knuckles, silently imploring him to just stay right where he was and breathe.

Just for now, just while he was on the phone, just… breathe.

And yes, House's touch may have been delicate, but it was immediately clear that that tenderness was reserved for James Wilson and James Wilson only, since it was at complete loggerheads with the impatient annoyance that ran through the length of his growled voice, that snarky tone that he employed when dealing with any hapless idiots that wandered unknowingly across his path in full force now.

'Listen, the facts are this. My friend was raped, I acted as his attending to do the examination that same night, and the samples from that examination were dropped off the next day by our boss. Doctor Lisa Cuddy. Of PPTH. Yes, the hospital – where the hell else did you think I meant?'

Wilson was barely listening as he lay there in the stuffy, looming darkness of his own pounding head. He knew he was becoming increasingly reliant on his best friend to keep him anchored, and that knowledge only served to add to his worries as he automatically found himself physically calming somewhat with House's continued tactile plea, as House had known he would, his knuckles tingling faintly with the back and forth motion of best friend's thumb.

It baffled Wilson.

Completely and utterly baffled him.

Where would they be in a week? A month? Because this wasn't them. It was a thought that continually plagued him, knowing that he and House had never been the touchy-feely types, knowing that he and House had become exactly that over the past couple of weeks, the ease with which they'd made that transition both terrifying him and soothing him in a way that nothing else could.

House had been his rock since that night, doing anything and everything to ensure that Wilson was as ok as he could be. So much so, in fact, that Wilson knew he couldn't go back to the way they had been. He didn't want to. He needed something in his life to keep him physically rooted, something tangible to hold onto when his world insisted on crumbling at every turn, turning his life into one giant mind game and, well… that something had taken the six foot, limping, cane-wielding form of one Gregory House.

But what did House make of it all?

What would he say if he had any inkling of the thoughts that ran through Wilson's head constantly?

It was the question that scared Wilson most of all, the answer of which he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

He was in a free fall of conflicting, numbing emotions, and it was just… God, it was just exhausting. He just wanted it to stop. He needed to find the off button and keep it pressed until he switched off from his life and let it re-boot itself.

Life shouldn't be this complicated.

And yet it was.

It was.

The terse sound of verbal abuse ringing irately through the room snapped Wilson swiftly back to the confusing present.

'Have you not listened to a word I've said? Christ almighty, I'd put Wilson back on the phone but he's more used to dealing with the terminally ill, not the terminally stupid.'

'House,' warned Wilson softly, out of complete habit, opening his eyes and, despite everything, finding himself unable to help the stab of sympathy for the poor woman on the other end, knowing quite well she was just doing her job, and knowing full well that her intelligence was, in all likelihood, quite average.

It was just too bad that 'average' and 'House' really didn't get along well.

They didn't get along well at all, especially when the issue at hand concerned Wilson.

House smiled at him then, a fleeting smile of genuine affection for that so normal sounding reprimand, a smile that morphed quickly into his trademark smirk as he half listened to the woman on the other end, rolling his eyes and releasing Wilson's hand as the Oncologist slowly moved himself to get out of the bed, presumably to use the bathroom.

'Thank you,' declared House finally, hanging up and lobbing Wilson's phone on the bed before quickly getting up to grab the bag of fluids that had nearly fully run through, the bag of fluids that Wilson had momentarily forgotten about and almost succeeding in pulling out the back of his hand as he'd taken an unsteady step forwards.

'They're coming at four tomorrow afternoon,' said House tentatively, reaching around Wilson's waist with his free hand to stop him from wobbling all over the place as he guided him towards the door, 'Gives you enough time to have a lie in in the morning, I suppose.'

Wilson nodded, bringing them both to a standstill in the doorway of the bedroom, uncertainty lacing the dreading depths of his destitute gaze when he turned in House's arms to face him then.

'You will.. you will be there, won't you?'

Because I can't do this without you.

Wilson didn't need to say it, it was written all over his face, his coloring cheeks giving away how pathetically humiliated he felt at even feeling the need to utter that shamefully pleading sentence, immediately breaking eye contact with House to stare hotly down to the floor. He couldn't have come this far without House, and he certainly couldn't handle tomorrow if the man who now represented everything safe in Wilson's life was absent in any way.

That still didn't make it any less embarrassing.

Wilson couldn't help flinching when he felt his friend's fingertips at his chin then, startled when House gently brought his gaze back up to captivate him once more in the shimmering intensity of those bright blue eyes, the strength that that one gesture wielded rendering Wilson motionless as he stared, his mouth suddenly dry with the beating of his heart as it pounded through him, shaken breaths halted with the lump in his throat that was suddenly lodged there.

The vow that House made to him then was spoken with such a quiet, steadfast conviction that none of them could have any doubt whatsoever as to whom his allegiances lay with.

It was a promise uttered with such blatant truth that they couldn't doubt for a second who he'd committed himself to, now and for the past God knows how many years.

It was a single word that defined a moment of such unwitting intimacy that Wilson, finally, for the first time in almost two weeks, felt something, actually felt something, piercing warmly thorough the pressing numbness that, conversely, was just so, so painful.

That one word?

'Always.'