Author's note: You may notice that some of the details of this case have been borrowed from a case that was on the show. Normally, I wouldn't do this, but given that the story I am telling is House's story, I don't feel all that guilty. I hope you don't hold it against me.

Chapter 24: Sheila

The rest of the afternoon, Wilson was busy with patients, but he'd kept on eye on House's team. All day long he had seen them running around and performing a battery of tests on their patient. At 4 PM, he managed to swing by Diagnostics to check up on House and their patient. By that time, Barry had already returned from their apartment, and was cautiously optimistic that the IV fluids and clear liquids were doing their job. The team had also settled on a diagnosis: the problem was due to a clot that originated in the defective mitral valve in Sheila's heart. Wilson breathed a sigh of relief, in that it wasn't due to the pregnancy, and that they wouldn't need to abort the fetus. The procedure to fix her heart was scheduled to begin in less than an hour. He returned to work, finally able to fully concentrate on his own patients.

When Wilson entered the apartment, he found House sound asleep on the couch. Quietly he crept into the kitchen to begin dinner – chicken broth for House and the rest of the chicken and vegetables for himself. When dinner was ready, he went out to the living room. He reached down to brush his thumb across House's cheek. "Hey, you. Time for dinner." When Greg opened his eyes, he asked, "how are you feeling?"

House shrugged. "Haven't puked all day, but haven't drunk anything but ginger ale. And whatever crap they're pumping into me," he said, gesturing to the IV in his left arm. They sat on the couch eating (and drinking) their dinner while watching monster trucks.

Wilson looked down at the empty coffee cup that had contained the chicken broth. "Do you want any more?"

"No. Don't want to press my luck."

"Feel up to some chocolate Ensure?"

House only shook his head and lay back down on the couch.

"Why don't you go to bed. You look tired."

"After the IV's done. Barry said I could be unhooked for the night."

When the monster truck show was over, the IV was nearly finished, so Wilson removed the IV from the port, and made sure that the tubing was taped down, so that it would be fine overnight. One last trip to the bathroom, and then they went to bed. House was asleep almost instantly, even though it was barely past nine. Wilson was awake a little longer, worrying about House, and the toll this latest case was taking on him.

The next morning, Wilson reattached the IV line, and was pleased when House decided to stay in bed for a few more hours. Wilson's good mood was shattered when he passed the Diagnostics lounge on the way to his office. Barry and House's fellows were clearly in a heated argument, and as he entered, ostensibly to get his morning cup of coffee, he could see House on the videoconferencing screen, also a part of the discussion. He glanced at the whiteboard, where "Maternal MIRROR Syndrome" was scrawled across the top. As he poured his coffee, he could hear them listing possible causes, most of which would be fatal to the fetus. He tried to tune out their words as he stirred milk and sugar into his coffee, but then he heard House state, "The only way to get an MRI is to paralyze the baby."

Wilson looked over at Barry, who, surprisingly, was agreeing with the idea.

Barry stood. "I guess I'm the most qualified person to explain the risks to the patient."

When Barry exited the room, Wilson followed him. "Are you sure this is OK? Paralyzing the baby?"

Barry nodded. "It's only for a short time, and while it is somewhat risky, it really is the only way to diagnose what's wrong with the fetus." He sighed. "Chances are, whatever we find won't be treatable, but we'll cross that bridge when the time comes."

Wilson sighed. "You'll keep me posted, OK?" Then he went to his office, trying to pull himself together so he could concentrate on his own patients. By the afternoon, all that he had learned was that the baby had a urinary tract blockage, but that they were waiting to see how the baby's kidneys were functioning.

When Wilson arrived home, it was to find Barry and House on a teleconference call with the team. He was just in time to hear Cameron announce that the third bladder tap had come back normal, proving that the kidneys were OK, and that Sheila was being prepped for immediate surgery. At her words, everyone in the room visibly relaxed.

When the conference call was over, House turned over onto his back and hiked up his shirt so that Barry could begin his examination. He applied the ultrasound gel, and then began moving the wand across House's belly. Wilson watched in fascination as their daughter seemed to flinch and then began to roll away from the external pressure, a move that could be seen on the screen and the ripple across House's belly.

Barry was quietly muttering numbers under his breath as he moved to various spots across House's abdomen. He looked up, "amniotic fluid levels are fine, and the baby looks OK." He handed House some tissues to wipe the gunk off his belly, and then pulled out his stethoscope to listen to House's heart and lungs. He then proceeded to take a blood pressure reading. He frowned, and then took another reading on House's other arm. "Blood pressure's up a few points from the last reading. We'll need to keep a close eye on this."

House seemed to take no notice of Barry's words, and Wilson decided that making a fuss over it could only exacerbate the situation. He sighed and went out to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Tonight he heated up some organic beef broth he had purchased at the grocery store, wishing he had picked up the low sodium variety. For himself, he made a sandwich out of last night's chicken leftovers.

Tonight House seemed to have a little bit more of an appetite, drinking down 2 ½ mugs of the broth. He even decided to try the vanilla Ensure, but after one sip, he handed the mug back to Wilson, who took it back to the kitchen. It had been over 48 hours since House had thrown up, but he obviously wasn't ready for anything other than clear liquids. They stayed up until after 10 PM, watching several episodes of the L-word, laughing and making dumb jokes like they used to before life had become so damn scary.

The next morning, the phone rang at 5 AM. Wilson fumbled for the handset that was on his nightstand. "Yeah?" It was barely more than a grunt.

"Sheila's liver is failing." It was Chase, sounding way too awake for that time of the morning.

He looked over and saw that House was awake. He handed over the phone, making a mental note to kill House's team at the earliest opportunity. Might as well get ready for work. He headed into the shower as House and his team began discussing this newest unwanted development. When he was dressed, House had moved out to the living room, and they were still discussing the potential causes and the best way to biopsy her liver. Without missing a beat, House held out his left arm so Wilson could reconnect the IV. Before he left for work, Wilson reheated a cup of broth, setting the mug down on the coffee table with more force than was truly necessary.

Damn Sheila Carstairs and damn House's team for failing to recognize the limitations of House's body.

By the time he arrived at work, he was feeling more rational. It wasn't Chase's fault that the woman was critically ill, dying even. And Chase had an obligation to let House know, so that House could have enough time to try and come up with the miracle cure that would save her. Wilson just cursed the fates that had brought her into their lives when House's health was so precarious.

For a few hours, Wilson managed to forget about Sheila Carstairs, but when he had an unexpected break in his schedule, he found himself walking down to her room. "Hi. I'm Dr. Wilson."

He really wasn't sure what he was doing there, so he began flipping through her chart, while surreptitiously studying her. She looked younger than 42, and she was pretty in a way that reminded him of his first wife, except for the orange color that permeated her skin, a clear sign that her liver was failing fast. He found himself staring down at two words on the page—21 weeks. He sighed. The same gestational age when House had almost lost the baby back in December. He looked up from the paperwork and saw her hands spread protectively over her belly, as if that gesture could ward off what was to come.

She was looking at his name badge. "Do I have cancer?"

"No, not at all. I often work with House's team." He knew the answer sounded lame, and he really couldn't explain why he was here, so he went back to reading her chart. He saw that she had begun having contractions during the liver biopsy, and had been put on tocolytics to stop the contractions and corticosteriods to develop the baby's lungs, in case the contractions couldn't be stopped. "When was your last contraction?" he asked, desperately trying to look like he had a reason to be here.

"About two hours ago," she estimated.

He nodded, trying to look encouraging. "Good." He closed the chart and exited as quickly as he could, wondering if his impulsive trip had been a good idea. Now she was a person, and not just some name on a chart.

For the rest of the morning, Wilson tried to immerse himself in his work. For once, he was able to finish up his patient notes in between appointments, and he was actually running slightly ahead of schedule. When he found out his noon appointment had been rescheduled, he decided to go home for lunch.

When he walked into the living room, he found that he had inadvertently stumbled into a battle zone. As he listened to the argument playing out between House, Barry, and the members of House's team via teleconference, he pieced together what had happened. House and his team were convinced that the problem was with the baby's lungs, but it couldn't be seen because they were underdeveloped. So they had administered a second course of steroids, which had caused Sheila to have a pulmonary embolism, and she was currently on a ventilator. House was pushing for more steroids, and Barry was vehemently objecting, and some of House's team were beginning to agree with Barry.

As Wilson watched the monitor, Lisa Cuddy stormed into the diagnostics conference room, demanding to know what was going on, and the argument began anew.

Wilson escaped to the kitchen, where he tried to block out the sounds of the two men arguing in the living room. He tried to eat the egg salad sandwich he had prepared for lunch, but it tasted like cardboard and he could barely choke it down.

Finally the voices in the living room fell silent, but Wilson stayed in the kitchen, trying to sort out how he felt about House playing Russian roulette with this woman's life. There was only a miniscule chance that they could save the baby, and that in all probability, both the mother and baby would die in the next 48 hours. So many times in the past, he had been the voice of reason, pulling House away from doing something dangerous and crazy, but this time, he honestly didn't know what the right thing to do was anymore.

When he finally returned to the living room, he was surprised to find Barry sitting alone on the couch. "Where's House?"

"I sent him to lie down for a while."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"His blood pressure's 155 over 91. I know it's just a one time reading, but his BP has been trending up for the past two weeks. Even though it has only been two days since the last test, I am ordering another urinalysis to check for proteins."

"You think it's pre-eclampsia?" Wilson asked, feeling his stomach knot.

Barry shook his head. "It's probably just the stress of this case, but I can't ignore numbers like that. We've come too far to screw things up now. We only have 5 days to go until he's at 34 weeks, and I don't need to tell you how important it is to make it until then. If his BP isn't down by tonight, he's off the case."

Wilson nodded. "What can I do?"

"Get him to rest. He needs to relax and not put so much strain on his body. I know this case is personal, but I'll have no choice but to get him off the case if I feel that continuing to work is putting him at risk."

"I'll do what I can."

When Wilson walked into the bedroom, he could see House was curled up on the left side of the bed with his back to the center of the bed. The IV pole was pulled up next to the nightstand. Even though he was lying down, House looked far from relaxed.

House opened one eye. "So they sent you to convince me to change my mind."

"No," Wilson replied, sitting down on the other side of the bed.

"Why not?" House asked, sounding petulant.

"Do you think this is what she wants?"

"Yes."

"Is this the best chance to save her baby's life?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's all I need to know." Meanwhile, Wilson had removed his tie and toed off his loafers.

House was silent, pondering Wilson's words. Wilson lay down behind the older man, sliding over so that their bodies were almost touching. He reached out with his right hand to knead the whipcord muscles in House's neck and shoulders. Silently, he worked for a long time until he could finally feel House begin to relax. He moved closer until he could wrap his arm around the other man, his hand resting on House's belly. He smiled, feeling the movement under his fingers, and then he decided that there was no harm in closing his eyes for a moment.

When he opened his eyes, it was dark in the room. He slowly eased away from House, trying hard not to wake the older man, moving so he could see the alarm clock. 7 PM. Shit!

He started searching for his pager and cell phone, before he finally realized they were out in the kitchen. He practically sprinted out to the kitchen, and there, propped up beside them, was a piece of paper. He recognized the writing as Barry's. "I think you both need the rest. Johnson is covering your two procedures that couldn't be rescheduled. Take House's BP when he wakes up. –Barry"

Much relieved, Wilson began putting something together for dinner. When he took the food out to the living room, he found House checking in with his team. At least this time no one was yelling. While House was somewhat distracted, Wilson took his vitals. 148 over 87. Not great but certainly an improvement over this afternoon. The conversation was still going as Wilson handed Greg his dinner – a mug of chicken broth.

They sat side by side on the couch, eating their dinner just like old times. When House asked for a refill, Wilson took the mug out to the kitchen, refilled it, and put it in the microwave to heat. On an impulse, he filled up the kettle and put it on the stove. He reached up to the top shelf of the cupboard and took down the canister of hot chocolate.

He walked out to the living room with both mugs, handing one to House. They both drank in silence, until House noticed the mug in Wilson's hand. "What are you drinking," he asked, knowing that all forms of coffee had been banned from the house.

"Hot chocolate," Wilson admitted.

"I want some," House begged, doing a credible imitation of a three-year-old.

"I don't think empty calories are what Barry had in mind."

"Fine. Then gimme some of that chocolate crap that's in the fridge."

Wilson tried to hide his grin as he went to retrieve a can of Ensure from the ice box. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as House slowly drank the entire can. "How are you feeling?"

"So far no puking," House stated the obvious.

"Ready for bed?" Wilson asked.

House rolled his eyes. "Come-on mom. I had a six hour nap. Can't I stay up with the adults?"

Wilson laughed. "Alright. But I'm going to bed at 11. I've got a department meeting at 7 AM."

"Well, whose fault is that? You're chair. Have it some other time!"

"I like mornings," Wilson protested, knowing it would always be something they would never agree upon.

They watched TV in silence, and when Wilson next looked over at House, he found the older man fast asleep on the couch. When the evening news came on, Wilson nudged him awake. "Time for bed."

"Just a few minutes more," House whined, but he was already getting up from the couch. By 11:15 they were both in bed, curled up together in their usual sleeping position. Five minutes later, they were both fast asleep.

At 5 AM, House got up to go to the bathroom for the second time that night. He also made a phone call. When he returned to bed, he reported, "no change so far. Still can't visualize the baby's lungs."

In the morning, Wilson silently crept out of the apartment, leaving House fast asleep in bed. The rest of the day was a rollercoaster of emotions. A surge of joy when Cameron reported that they could see lesions in the baby's lungs. He stood by as they made plans to remove the lesions while keeping the baby in utero. He decided to join the group of doctors observing the surgery, and it felt like his heart stopped when Sheila went into cardiac arrest, and it only started beating again when they shocked her heart back into action. The rest of the surgery was uneventful and they were able to successfully remove the lesions. Because the week had been filled with unsuccessful cures and false hopes, he waited around until they saw some concrete proof that Sheila was finally showing signs of improvement, and tests showed that the fetus had tolerated the surgery.

Wilson was smiling when he opened the door to the apartment, but his smile faded quickly. House was sitting, hunched over, his hands spread across his belly. "What's wrong?" The tightness in Wilson's stomach eased when House looked up, his expression not showing apprehension, but puzzlement.

"I can't figure out if she loved it or hated it."

Wilson finally realized that House was sitting in front of the piano. "What were you playing?"

"St. Louis Blues. I stared playing, and it was like she was playing soccer, kickboxing, and doing gymnastics all at the same time. She's finally stopped."

"Try it again." As House began to play, Wilson knelt down, wrapping his arms around House's waist, so his hands were splayed across House's belly.

"Wow, you weren't kidding." He was silent, thinking. "I think she's dancing."

"Yeah right."

"I'm serious. Barbara, the senior nurse on the oncology ward, insisted that her kid danced in utero. After he was born, any time he would hear music he would dance, even when he had just barely learned to walk. They finally gave in and enrolled him in drum lessons at the age of four. Kid had too much rhythm to not take advantage of it."

House seemed to be considering it. "Too bad you don't play an instrument. We could form a rock group."

"I do too! Of course a clarinet isn't too high on the coolness scale." At House's incredulous look, he shrugged. "What can I say? I was a band geek."

House laughed. Even after twelve years, there was still more to learn about Wilson.

As Wilson got off the floor, he realized that something was missing. "Where's the IV?"

House grinned. "Permanently disconnected, as long as I supplement meals with Ensure for a few days. I've been eating regular food all day."

"What do you want for dinner?"

House thought for a minute, at the almost unlimited possibilities now that solid food was an option. "Chicken broccoli casserole," he finally decided.

Wilson breathed a sigh of relief. At least House had picked something that they had all the ingredients for.