Authors Note: Apologies for the wait. I just want to thank everyone who has read and taken the time to comment on this story.

I know some people weren't keen on the medical info but I was attempting to keep as close to the show as I could and I kind of liked the explanation scenes they used to do in the earlier series.

Chapter four.

As Tuesday crawled into Wednesday, House lay unresponsive in the ICU. His blood pressure hovered unsteadily, his temperature threatened to rise above normal and his heart rate seemed poised to race.

His team had come through for Cuddy and by extension House himself. After a particularly disturbing incident, when Cuddy had come upon the unfortunate Dr Richardson stripping in the corridor outside of surgery, they had discovered the neurosurgeon had, had a bad reaction, to toad eggs of all things.

This meant that the ER and ICU could remain open and the patients didn't have to move.

And as the day had worn on, it was clear that a move would have killed House. It was a constant battle to keep him stable, his body tiring despite the help of the machines that tried to help him. The nurses had been under strict instructions to notify her every time his condition changed and as a result she had been up and down to his room all day.

However she had been unable to cross the threshold of his room. Every time her eyes landed on him she felt choked, with guilt. Instead she had watched though the glass as Dr Scott treated her… friend.

Wilson had ended up sitting in the relatives chair on and off during the day, staring in silence at his friend. Even he could not seem to approach the bed.

There was a surprisingly steady flow of visitors to his room. Chase, Foreman, Taub and Thirteen would stop by regularly to check on him. Even a few other hospital employees had stopped by.

The infection in Houses body seemed to be winning. They hadn't found the right combination of antibiotics yet, but he seemed to be hanging on.

Wilson had left after an urgent page from his team and House was alone. At three am the floor was mostly quiet. Only the bleeps of the monitors and heavy breathing of the ventilator breaking the near silence. Giving herself a stern talking to, she pushed open the door and entered the room.

House didn't even flinch, still lying unnaturally still in the bed. Walking closer to the bed she took in the still unhealthy pallor, pale yet slightly flushed. His chest was bare under the sheets, a thin sheen of perspiration almost hovering over the skin. And a darkening purple bruise that covered a large chunk of his chest.

She stared at it, struggling to remember how his chest had looked Monday night, as she had stitched up the laceration on his collarbone. Was his chest bruised then? She couldn't remember. She was sure she had checked. No matter how angry she might have been at House she would have done her duty as a doctor. Wouldn't she?

She let out a long sigh which almost ended in a sob. She reached out, with an uncertain hand, vaguely noticing that it was trembling and rested it on one of his. It was cold and clammy, the doctor in her frowned, moving her other hand to his forehead, meeting the raging fire on his brow.

Almost on que the machines let out a squawk of protest as his vitals finally breached their acceptable parameters. His breathing rate was too high as was his pulse.

Dr Scott was in the room at a quick jog, Nurse Henley by her side.

"I was just on my way." She told Cuddy, who had whipped out her stethoscope and was examining Houses chest. "Labs finally came back on the sputum samples, the antibiotics he's on won't do the job, and I'm starting him on some new ones."

Henley had quickly stepped round the pair and hooked up the IV bag in her hand, attaching it to the patient with well-practiced ease, talking softly to House as she did.

"I want another X-ray," Cuddy told the younger doctor, tapping on Houses chest, her clinical front asserting itself fully. "His breath sounds are worse and I think he's developing a plural effusion."

"Agreed." Dr Scott seconded after taking a moment to check her patient herself. "He may need a chest drain to take the pressure off his lungs.

Half an hour later, Cuddy was stood by Houses side as the skilled doctor inserted that chest tube into his battered chest, wincing not just in sympathy from watching the procedure, but from the lack of reaction from House.

As blood tinged, cloudy fluid slowly flowed through the tube and into the canister on the side of the bed, Cuddy found herself watching both House and the monitor's fiercely, until an hour later when the House began to stabilize further.

As Wednesday bled into Thursday, House continued to improve, his body beating back the infection, his lung function showing signs of improving and his temperature staying within acceptable limits. Cuddy had a quick visit home to change her clothes and to talk to her daughter on the phone. She would have to pick her up tomorrow. She could hear the strain in her sister's voice and couldn't impose on her any further.

She returned to see a quietly beaming Chase who showed her House's latest test results. His blood gases where much improved as were his vitals. They had started to reduce his sedation…and he was starting to fight the ventilator.

The world wouldn't wait for House thou.

A fourteen year old girl had been admitted when her heart had stopped during a skating rally. And they had no idea why. Now her kidneys were failing. The team were stumped.

House was needed.

That was why Taub had decided to read the case file aloud as he sat by Houses bedside. He needed some space from Foreman who was running the team with his usual cautious but micromanaging style. He was still moping about Thirteen's disappearing act which wasn't helping matters. And he shot down ideas like Taub's scare test. House would have liked that idea.

"Looking for some inspiration?"

Wilson came in and sat in his usual chair near the door, the cup of coffee in his hand an attempt to overcome the tired bags under his eyes. His eyes swept over his friend, and then the machines before fixing on Taub.

He wasn't comfortable in this room. Being here and trying to ignore the whispers in his head that he didn't deserve to be here.

"God's sake, Wilson. You really span the chasm from wishy to washy. If you're going be an ass, be an ass. Stick with it."

"You've not been such a great friend yourself these last few months. You PAID people to babysit him! To get him out of your hair. You don't think that would have hurt or humiliate him."

If House had still been living with him, if he hadn't wanted to avoid Wilson and Sam so badly, maybe he wouldn't be here. He wouldn't have been sat in the park for hours in the cold…on his own. Chase had taken him aside and told him what House had confessed that night.

His best friend was almost on the verge of relapsing and he hadn't called him. He hadn't wanted to call him. Part of him was angry. He had spent so much time over the past year, trying to help House find his footing after Mayfield. Has his recent actions really make that redundant?

It seemed that it had. Because House had decided that sitting on a picnic table was the safest place to be…and it might have ended up killing him. If Chase hadn't decided to walk home…

"We could do with some." Taub admitted. Dragging his attention back to the room. "At the moment we're thinking amyloidosis…"

At that moment his pager went off, grumbling he shuffled the files off his lap, dumping them on the end of the bed.

"Crap…It's not amyloidosis. She's developed hemothorax. Can you…" He gestured to the files, barely waiting for the acknowledgement before bolting out of the room. Uneasily, Wilson approached the bed, picking up the files before sitting down in the chair recently vacated by Taub.

"Ok, House. In case you didn't hear the first time… Fourteen year old girl collapses after…"

XxXxX

Thursday turned into Friday and House's ventilator was removed. His face now obscured by a mask delivering high concentrations of oxygen. But as his lungs were recovering, Della was receiving a donor lung.

Three hours later, the donor lung started to fail. The diagnostic team scrambled for a diagnosis that fit or a treatment that could work.

Cuddy was by Houses bed, reading Della's case history aloud and discussing it with the team who had somehow congregated in his room when it happened.

So focused on their discussion they didn't see his eyelids flicker and slowly open. It was only at the deep hoarse groan that tore painfully through his mouth that their attention snapped back on him. Cuddy was immediately there with an ice chip, asking questions but a weak hand waved them away before dropping to the mattress.

He tried to speak a few words but the sound was muffled by the mask. Foreman pulled it off slightly and he tried again.

"Re…cent…his…tory…" His words broken up by his breathlessness.

"House, now is not the time…" Cuddy started but at the same time Chase broke in,

"She has none." Earning himself looks of disbelief from those gathered around but he shrugged unrepentantly.

House quirked an eyebrow in response.

"Parents say she's never sick…"

House shook his head slightly. Raising a hand to pull back the mask, cheeks darkening in embarrassment as his weak arm refused to rise to the challenge.

Foreman again pulled the mask back and House whispered

"Every…body…lies."