House-fic: Altruism (A House/Saw crossover) 6/6

Title: Altruism (A House/Saw crossover)
Author: Silver
Website: http://silver.glasscases.net
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: FRAO (adult only) for intense angst and suspense
Spoilers: none. I'm just borrowing the concept of Saw, no plot details.
Warnings: This is a dark story. It features some grisly violence in later parts which is not for the faint of heart. I'll warn specifically when it comes up.
Disclaimer: The characters of House were created by David Shore. The concept of Saw came from the twisted minds of James Wan and Leigh Whannell. No profits are being made from this story. Read Part 1 for a more detailed disclaimer.

Summary: In the hands of the Jigsaw Killer, House finds himself faced with the biggest challenge of his life: finding out what's killing Wilson before it's too late. READ THE WARNINGS.

Crossposted to house_wilson (here) and house_slash (here).

Previous parts: Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5



The steady beep was the first thing he heard when he woke up. It crept into his consciousness, naggingly, and wouldn't let him rest. With a slight twinge of annoyance he thought that the microwave must have finished a long time ago and wondered why Wilson hadn't gotten his ass into the kitchen yet.

The second thought crossing his mind was... His eyes flew open. Something was stuck in his throat, preventing him from speaking. Looking around the room frantically, he realized that he was at the hospital. The nagging beep picked up in speed as the memory returned.

Cuddy appeared in his field of vision, looking every bit the worried Chief of Medicine she should be, but there was a distinct air of exhaustion about her that he couldn't quite place yet.

"Calm down, House," she said appeasingly, putting a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder and keeping him from struggling. "You're still intubated. Hold on." She disconnected the tube and pulled it out of his throat with one fluent, well-practiced movement.

The gag reflex set in with full force. House started coughing and retching, tears springing to his eyes. He drew a shuddering breath, filling his lungs with air. When he tried to speak, it wouldn't come out right at first, the pathetic croak he managed only adding to his feeling of helplessness. "W..." was all he managed.

"Ssssh..." Cuddy cooed, her motherly behavior both annoying and comforting him at the same time. She offered him a drink from a feeding cup. House took it gratefully, the water soothing his throat.

"We don't know what happened yet," Cuddy explained while he was drinking. "I assume you'll be able to tell us a few more things in due time, but right now I just want you to relax and give yourself time to recover. The police is checking in daily to see if you're awake, but I'm keeping them off your back for now."

Finishing his drink, House waved the cup away impatiently, her useless drivel on banalities annoying him. "Wilson," he finally managed to say.

The brave smile Cuddy put on made his stomach clench for a second, but her next words washed over him like a calming breeze. "He's going to be okay, House. We're keeping him subdued for now to aid the detoxing process. His body will need some time to recover, but there are no lasting damages to be expected. You saved his life."

House closed his eyes for a moment, feeling overwhelmed by all the information. Then he said hoarsely, "How... did we get here? What happened?"

"An anonymous 911 call led the emergency response team to your location, an abandoned warehouse near the university campus. They had been informed about your... your condition and were able to react swiftly. You were both unconscious. Wilson crashed again on the ride to the hospital, but the paramedics were able to stabilize him and he's through the worst part now. You were delirious and unresponsive from the blood loss and we probably pushed enough blood into you to feed an entire army of vampires, but here you are."

House nodded. His glance inevitably wandered down to the foot of the bed where his leg was resting in a tunnel underneath the blanket. "What about my foot?" he asked quietly.

A quiet, pained expression hushed across Cuddy's face. He had seen that expression once before. She didn't even need to say it, he already knew. "You did a good job amputating it yourself. Even Dr. Johansson would have been impressed by that job, I'm sure. And yet... they were unable to reattach it." She took his hand and to his own surprise he let her. "I'm sorry, House."

House considered the idea for a moment, then he said, "It's okay. It was dead meat anyway."

The confusion was apparent on her face, yet she nodded guardedly.

"I want to see him," he said evenly, his tone allowing no objection.

Cuddy tried anyhow. "House... you should focus on your own recovery first. There are things we need to talk about. We need to decide on a course and..."

House interrupted her. "Look, we both know how this is going to turn out. Either you're helping me with this or I'll be out of this bed the second you leave the room, probably leaving a not so ornamental trail of blood on the linoleum. Your call."

Cuddy sighed deeply, but then she nodded, motioning for a nurse to help her. She removed the pads for the heart monitor while the nurse took the IV bag and put it next to him. Then they both released the brakes on the bed and wheeled him out of his room.

"I can take it from here," Cuddy said to the nurse, then continued to push him down the corridor in silence. House just stared at the ceiling, hating every minute of the bumpy ride. When the bed finally stopped moving, he tried to sit but realized that he was too weak for that.

Cuddy was by his side instantly and helped him sit up. He could read on her face that she was dying to point out the fact that he was at her mercy completely, something she'd been wanting to happen for years now, but inexplicably to him, she stayed quiet.

He was facing the glass cubicle of the ICU. Inside of it, he could see Wilson lying between the white sheets, connected to various machines, still, almost peaceful. The monitors produced a soothing soundtrack, calming his fears. Wilson was going to be okay.

"He'll be fine," Cuddy repeated his thought, her voice having adopted a certain tremble as she had joined him in his observation. For a moment he wondered if she was just trying to appease herself.

"I know he will," he said firmly. Without another word, he lay back on the bed, waiting for Cuddy to take him back.

"Tell me how the department is doing," he said when they were back in his room and Cuddy was busying herself with hooking him back up to everything.

"It's just been three days since you left your office, House. Even though you clocked out an hour early, if I may add. Regardless, it's doing fine. No amazing cases waiting anyway, so your team is just doing clinic duty and catching up on the paperwork that you've been neglecting," Cuddy said, adjusting the flow of the IV drip.

House nodded. "If this... takes a lot longer I want you to put Foreman in charge again."

Cuddy didn't really look surprised when she asked, "Why him?"

A shrug. "I've got my money on him turning into a mini-version of me any time now, spreading my reign of terror across the land."

"Right. I'll keep you posted when that happens," Cuddy commented dryly. "Oh, before I forget, your parents are on the way here." She looked contrite. "I'm sorry, but when I called them we just didn't know yet... It just seemed like the right thing to do. I can tell them that you need rest and they can't see you, if you..."

House lifted a dismissing hand. "No, it's okay. It'd be nice to see them."

If Cuddy was surprised, she did a good job hiding it as she just nodded.

"Now, what was it you wanted to talk about? It's about my foot, isn't it?"

Cuddy nodded. "We should decide on the course of action soon. We can do reconstructive surgery on the... the stump, making sure the nerve ends scar properly, you know the drill. You can get a transtibial prosthesis then, but I have to warn you. With your already existing impairment trying to walk is going to be very difficult for you."

She hesitated, falling out of her professional drivel for a moment. "Dr. Johansson expects that you might need to learn to use an underarm crutch now. But we can still preserve some of your mobility." She gave him a carefully measured look. "You'd best talk to Dr. Johansson about all your options. I can send him over right now, if you want."

House listened to her talk, but somehow he didn't pay attention at all. When she was finished but lingered behind he gave her a sizing look. "Is there anything else?"

She hesitated, biting her lip. Then she said reluctantly, "I know it's too soon to talk about this, but this is driving me crazy. This call... why would anyone do this? Put you through all this and then call an ambulance?"

Looking out of the window, House thought about this for a long time. Then he shrugged dispassionately and said, "He got what he wanted." Slowly, he turned back to her. "Lisa, I need you to do me a favor."


The following days went by in such a haze that House could hardly distinguish them from one another. After seeing his parents he asked Cuddy to make sure nobody else was let through to him, especially not Wilson. It was another decision that was met with a worried look, but she just pressed her lips together and nodded. So he spent his days lying in bed, watching TV or staring at the ceiling, waiting for his recovery.

Yet, whenever Cuddy came to his room to check on him, he'd inevitably maneuver the conversation to the subject of Wilson, asking about his progress, which medication he was taking, how he was doing, and she would patiently answer all his questions even though her look suggested that he should just talk to Wilson himself. But she never actually said it.

At some point Wilson appeared outside of his room, peering through the glass wall that separated it from the hall. He was just standing there quietly, not attempting to come inside. House watched the expression on his face when Cuddy approached to talk to him, probably informing him of House's decision. Brown eyes met with his then, combining hurt, anger and confusion. House just turned his head and looked away.

But Wilson kept returning to his sentinel, watching him quietly, bidingly. At first he was looking pale and withdrawn, with hollow eyes and deep lines around his mouth as he sat there on a chair, lost in his white fleece robe, his fingers playing absent-mindedly with his IV-drip. But slowly, he started changing back into the old, familiar Wilson who was charming and flirted with the nurses as they walked past him, probably in an attempt to circumvent the gag order House had put on all of them regarding his case.

Sometimes House did his best to ignore him, going as far as asking a nurse to draw the blinds. Sometimes he pretended to be asleep so he could glance at Wilson through half-closed eyes, wondering when he would grow tired of waiting.

Wilson was still on his sentry when Dr. Johansson came by to do the usual post-op checks on him, and House could see his friend's eyes narrow in suspicion as he observed their conversation. Abruptly, Wilson got up and left, and House couldn't help but feel a pang of regret.

"So, how are you doing today, Dr. House?" Dr. Johansson asked, writing something down on his clipboard. The surgeon had a proficient way about him which House found slightly unnerving, but at the same time he was grateful that he didn't need to deal with eyes full of compassion and understanding.

"Same as yesterday," House replied boredly. He suffered through the rest of the standard questions and let the surgeon lift the covers and remove the tunnel to inspect the healing of the stump.

"I think you've made the right call," he said matter-of-factly, without a smile of reassurance as he pulled up the blanket again. "With your preexisting condition a life in a wheelchair would have been quite likely. Now you've got a realistic chance of learning to walk again and relatively pain free, too. I will make sure that you get the right prosthetic to aid you in that cause."

House nodded. "Thank you, doctor."


Soon, the rush of life-changing decisions faded and boredom set in. Predictably, the police appeared in his room to question him about the details of his ordeal and he helped them as much as he could, but the lengthy interviews were exhausting and did nothing to fill his day with excitement. So House asked to see his team, hoping they'd provide him with some form of entertainment.

They filed into his room, looking uncertain and eyeing him warily. Cameron shot him exactly the look of sympathy he didn't want and he felt himself grow a little annoyed and reassured in his former decision to not see anyone.

When no one spoke, House said loudly, "Dr. Cottage, so good to see you!"

Foreman raised one eyebrow and commented, "They weren't mentioning any memory lapses when I was asking how you were doing."

House gave an apologetic smile. "You know, cottage... small house, Cuddy telling me you've turned into me..." Looking into three bewildered faces, House waved with his hand defeatedly. "Never mind. I suppose I've lost my snark somewhere along the road during my exciting adventure. I guess it's directly proportional to my body mass and since I've had quite a bit lopped off it must have suffered."

His team exchanged a glance, then Chase stepped forward and said with a grin, "You forget you're talking to Foreman here. He goes into a closet to laugh."

"Yeah, I bet you know all about closets, don't you, Dr. Chase," House blurted out in reply. The stunned look on his team's faces made him laugh. "Hah, I've still got it! What a relief. Now I just need to come up with a crack on Cuddy's boobs, Foreman's criminal past and Cameron's ill-fortuned crush on me and we're all set. Come to think of it, just imagine the appropriate comment... now. There, saves a lot of time."

It felt as if the room was literally deflating with the tension that had been palpable just a moment ago as a chuckle went through his team.

"It's good to have you back," Cameron said gently.

"Well, not quite yet and not quite all of me, but yes, I appreciate the notion," House said benevolently. Then he slapped his hands together and rubbed them. "Sooo, any interesting cases you've been working on while I was out?"

Foreman gave him a short summary of what they had been working on over the past three weeks, but House soon realized that Cuddy had been right and he really hadn't missed anything. It seemed as if all the mystery diseases had decided to take a break until he was back on track.

After his team left, House lay back in his bed and looked out of the window, taking note of the first leaves turning yellow as they were swaying softly in the late summer breeze. He heard the click of the door as it was opened and turned his head. Wilson was standing at the door, his back pressed against it, looking at him with penetrating eyes.

"You're meeting with your team, but you refuse to see me?" he said hoarsely.

"How did you get in here?" House asked softly, not really surprised or upset by the fact.

Wilson walked over to the window and pulled down the blinds. "I knew that my intimate knowledge of the nurses' schedule would come in handy some day. They're so inattentive when they're busy changing shifts. A little bit of sweet talking to the girl at the desk was all it took."

With the blinds lowered and the sun already starting to set, the room was wrapped in semi-darkness now. House reached for the switch to turn on the light, but was halted by Wilson who was suddenly by his side, covering his hand with his own. "Why won't you see me?" he whispered.

"I would, but you won't let me turn on the light!"

Ignoring the quip, Wilson said, "You've been avoiding me for weeks."

Resigning to not being able to read Wilson's face during the conversation, House relaxed and said, "Because I didn't want to be another one of your hopeless cases. I don't want to feed your craving for neediness."

He heard Wilson breathe in sharply. "You think that is all that's drawing me to your side?"

"Well, there's a good portion of guilt thrown in for good measure, too, I'm sure."

There was silence for a while. Then Wilson said, "Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I needed to see you, too, needed to know you're okay?"

House shrugged into the darkness. "That wasn't my top priority." He saw Wilson reach up to his face, probably to pinch the root of his nose like he usually did when he was struggling for patience.

"Do you have any idea," Wilson said slowly, clearly losing the battle, "how it felt to wake up from all this, not knowing what happened, not seeing you anywhere? Then there's Cuddy with her cataclysmic mannerism, telling me that you've... that you've sawed off your own foot to free yourself from the cuff and perform CPR on me!"

He let out an exasperated sigh. "It's a nightmare, but somehow I'm not waking from it! And even worse then is finding out that I'm not allowed to see you, not even allowed to know how you're doing unless I'm sneaking my way into confidential patient files!"

House listened to his friend's heated speech and then he suddenly found himself saying something he thought he never would. "I'm sorry."

An extensive silence followed. House thought he saw Wilson's hand move up to his face once more, wiping across it.

"I'm coming by here tomorrow and we will talk," Wilson said quietly, not allowing any objection. Then he got up and left the room.


True to his word, Wilson appeared in the door the next day. "Let's go," he said, leaning against the jamb.

Casting him a sour look, House motioned into the general direction of his right leg and said, "I'm a little indisposed, in case you haven't noticed."

"Oh, don't worry, I have." Wilson reached to the side and pulled out a wheelchair, pushing it across the room until it came to a halt right in front of House's bed. "Hop in."

Not willing to show any insecurity at Wilson's challenge, House tossed back the blanket, grabbed the overhead trapeze and swung his body around. He could feel Wilson's eyes resting on him, no doubt staring at his right pant leg, but he didn't care as he tried to maneuver himself over to the wheelchair, balancing on his left leg.

The wheelchair moved and House almost fell back on the bed. Wilson was by his side in an instant, grabbing him firmly around the waist.

"I can do that myself," House snapped irritatedly.

"I know," Wilson replied, unfazed, as he helped House into the wheelchair. "But it gives me a good excuse to feel you up some."

Despite himself, House found himself laughing at the comment while Wilson helped him into his robe.

They pushed along quietly, not talking until they had reached the narrow paths that wound their way through the nearby park. Wilson halted the wheelchair at a picturesque spot where they could glance at a small pond.

"You're not going to break out the pieces of dry bread now, are you?" House commented as he watched a duck swim by expectantly.

Wilson laughed. "No, don't worry."

Silence spread out again. The duck got disheartened and swam off.

"Why the entire leg?" Wilson suddenly asked.

House cut him a sidelong glance. "Do you really need to ask me that? If I recall, you were the one who tried to convince me for weeks after the infarction that I should have the amputation after all."

"Yes, but I also recall that you were rather adamant about keeping it. So why now?"

Considering the question for a couple of moments, House then simply replied, "It was time. Call it a priority shift, call it detachment... But I just realized I had to let go."

Wilson nodded. Then he said quietly, "So... why cutting me off along with it?" He gave House a firm look, the need to know so present in his face.

House hesitated. Then he answered truthfully, "Because I don't need you anymore. I'm going to be fine now. I'll be a little wonky on my feet for a bit, but I'm going to hire a nurse to help me through the rough start and once I get my prosthetic leg fitted I'll be doing just fine."

Drawing a shuddering breath, Wilson said, "Is that the only reason why you were with me? Because you needed me?"

"No..." House shook his head softly. "But I thought that was the reason why you were with me."

Wilson made a strange sound and buried his face in his hands. A shudder went through him and for a terrible second House thought he was crying. But then he recognized the short, ragged sobs of laughter that shook the other man's shoulders.

"Well, I'm glad you find that amusing," House said grumpily, not sure how to take this. "Either way, I don't want you to stay with me out of an ill begotten feeling of guilt."

"Oh, House," Wilson said finally, still chuckling. "You know what they say, right? 'There is no greater misery in life than the one that man inflicts upon himself.' Here I am, worrying about all sorts of reasons you might come up with why we can't be together anymore and then this is the best you've got?"

In an attempt to hide his confusion, House glared at Wilson from under heavy-lidded eyes, but the other man didn't seem to care.

"Why should I feel the slightest bit of guilt over you losing this leg when I'm so fucking glad it's gone? You think I was with you because of your leg when in fact I was with you in spite of it! Sometimes I felt as if I was living in a threesome which involved you, me and 'The Leg'. It was dominating our life and every day it seemed to steal a bigger part of you away from me, demanding more of your time, more of your peace of mind. I'm so glad you've finally hacked the damn thing off!"

House just stared at Wilson in disbelief. "Wow. Nobody else has dared to say this to me."

Laughing softly, Wilson put his hands on his hips and stepped in front of House. "But I bet that's what they were all thinking!" He sank down on his knees in front of House until their eyes where on level. "So you don't want any special treatment because of your leg? No problem. I'll ignore your attempts to get out of bed one-legged while fishing for your prosthesis without as much as raising an eyebrow. I'll put my car on your disability parking space every day and let you walk to the hospital from mine. I'll google for all the peg leg jokes I can come up with and tell them to you until you can't stand them anymore. I'll even sprinkle itching powder on the socket of your prosthetic leg when you're not looking."

Wilson reached for House's hands and entwined their fingers. "You want me to move out? Fine, I'll do that, too. I'll give you all the space you need. Just don't break us up for reasons that don't exist."

Looking into Wilson's face, so full of hope and confidence, House's heart was thudding in his chest so painfully that he thought it was about to burst. He squeezed Wilson's hands tightly. "What about 'Jessica Simpson'?"

"She's no longer an issue. Her records have permanently left the charts. She's been dropped by her label and embarked on a farewell tour through Siberia."

House let his glance wander across the pond. He saw that the duck had been joined by a second one and they swam along, quacking happily. He took a deep breath and looked Wilson straight in the eyes. "I want you to go ahead and call Mike."

He saw a spark of defiance in Wilson's eyes for a second, but then he slumped his shoulders and nodded.

"I want you to call him and tell him he can take you off his business contacts. You've already got a place."

Wilson looked up again, his face lighting up as a bright smile spread across it. "I'll do that right away." He got up and leaned forward, but was halted by House's hand against his chest.

"Remember what I told you about public displays of affection?"

"Yes," Wilson replied and kissed him anyhow. Then he walked off.

"Hey, where are you going?" House called after him.

"I've got a phone call to make!" Wilson called out over his shoulder.

"And how do I get back to my room?"

Wilson turned on his heels. "You'll figure something out."

"You jerk!"

With a laugh, Wilson lifted his arms in a carefree gesture, spun around and walked off.


Sitting in his wheelchair looking across the pond, House let the past couple of weeks go through his mind.

As soon as he had made it back to his room that day Wilson had stranded him - snapping at various helpful people on the way who had tried to assist him - he had called Cuddy and asked her to set him up with a prosthesist as soon as possible. He had had a preliminary prosthesis fitted the next day and gotten started on physiotherapy right away. Not because he had thought it necessary, but because the prosthesist, or 'Gimp Pimp' as House liked to call him, had insisted on it and House had been forced to grudgingly comply with gentle pressure from Cuddy.

True to his promise, Wilson had refrained from fussing over him and had limited his support to accompanying House on his way to recovery, smuggling junk food past the nurse desk and providing various ways of relaxation when House felt particularly tense and stressed out.

He had been discharged soon after receiving his preliminary prosthesis to recover at home while returning to the hospital every other day as an outpatient for physiotherapy. All the while he'd been milking his admittedly very generous sick leave for all that it was worth, using the 'Vicodin withdrawal' excuse whenever it was convenient such as when there had been a General Hospital marathon.

Eventually, Chase and Foreman had taken on the habit of carrying the whiteboard into the training room whenever he was doing his exercises under protest, hoping for his input. Soon they had started working on cases again with House sending his team around, ordering unnecessary tests, insulting surgeons by proxy and driving Cuddy up the wall while brilliantly solving the medical mysteries. In a way, it was as if nothing had ever changed. And yet his entire life had changed and he had to thank it all to the machinations of an insane mind.

Casually, his hand wandered to his breast pocket where a card was resting safely tucked away from everyone's view, close to his heart. It had arrived together with a bunch of flowers shortly after he'd regained consciousness. He had ignored it for a while until curiosity had gotten the better of him and he had plucked the card off the wilting bouquet.

By now he had read it so many times that he had memorized it. Still, he took out the glossy white card that had the shape of a jigsaw puzzle embossed into it. He rubbed across it with his fingers thoughtfully as he recited the message in his mind.

'So you are capable of altruism after all. Congratulations, you've won the game. Enjoy the prize.'

Thinking about these words filled him with anger and confusion. Part of him wanted to see whoever had done this to them brought to justice. He wanted to look that man in the eyes and demand the answers he knew he'd never get. The police hadn't been very encouraging in their prognosis. The thought that he'd never know the truth made him want to scream in frustration. This man had almost ended both their lives, and he was going to get away with it. And yet, in some odd and twisted way he couldn't help feeling a bit grateful too.

"What's that?" Wilson's voice rang out behind him and he slipped the card back into his pocket quickly.

"It's nothing," he said in a bored tone that would rouse no suspicion. He smiled when Wilson put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. They both looked across the park, appreciating the way autumn had reached out for the trees completely, dipping their leaves in bold hues of orange and red.

"How did the appointment with the Gimp Pimp go?" Wilson asked behind him.

"Okay. Won't be needing to go back there for a while now. This one's final now."

His little duck friend swam by, hardly glancing in his direction as he had unsuccessfully tried to coax food out of House many times before. Now, House reached into his pocket and produced a cracker he had saved from dinner the other day. He broke it into pieces and tossed it into the pond. The duck quacked excitedly and plunged for floating chunks. Wilson laughed.

Without really noticing it at first, House's hand moved down to his thigh, rubbing it in the way he had been used to doing for so many years. It was only when he felt Wilson's eyes on him that he realized what he was doing and he thought once more how odd it was to feel the mix of silicone and titanium steel where his crippled muscle had once been.

"That was my leg," he said softly, wistfully. "I wanted it to be with me till the day I die."

"I know." Wilson leaned in and kissed him gently. "But you've gotten something better in return." He patted his shoulder softly. "Are you ready?" At House's nod, he stepped behind the wheelchair and put his hands on the grips, holding them tightly.

Taking a deep breath, House put his hands against the armrests of the wheelchair and pushed himself out of it. He stood a little wobbly on his feet for a moment, not quite used to the sensation. Then he turned to Wilson and said, "I feel no pain."

With a sigh of relief, Wilson smiled at him and handed him his cane.

House looked at it for a moment, rubbing his fingers across the polished wood. Then he grabbed the handle and put the rubber tip down on the paved path. He felt its support instantly. "Let's go!" he said to Wilson. "Race you to the entrance."

Laughing softly, Wilson walked up next to him and took his hand. "I think I've chased you long enough. Let's walk side by side now." He looked over his shoulder, eyeing the wheelchair. "What about the chair?"

House shrugged. "We'll tell one of the nurses at the entrance to get it."

"Somebody will think a patient has drowned himself in the pond."

A devious grin spread on House's face. "Come to think of it, let's just leave it there."

They walked up the path slowly.

"You know... I'm sorry about the job," House said softly, keeping his eyes trained on the path ahead of him.

Wilson cut him a sidelong glance. "That's okay. I don't mind that so much, really. I wouldn't have wanted to move to Vancouver anyway... tell me a reason for not moving to Vancouver."

"It's Jason Priestley's hometown?"

Wilson laughed. "That works." He stopped and turned to look at House. "I'm sorry about Jessica Simpson."

Returning the serious look, House waited a moment before he replied. "Yeah, me too. I wonder who the hell told her that she could act. What the fuck was that with The Dukes of Hazzard?"

The look of relief that spread on Wilson's face spoke volumes.

"Well, I'm sorry about not wanting to go to that funeral with you," House continued. "I promise to make it up to you some day."

"Oh, don't worry," Wilson said with a dismissive shrug. "I think I've had my share of brush with death for now." Burying his hands in his pockets, he added, "I'm sorry about lying to you about the fever."

"That's okay, all my patients lie. And the next time you get an offer for a fantastic job away from me, we'll talk about it, okay?"

"Deal."

They started moving up the path again.

"I'm sorry for showering all my love and affection on Steve instead of you."

"That's okay, rats have bigger needs than oncologists. I'm sorry for shaving his fur when you weren't looking. "

House stopped abruptly. "What? And I believed you when you said that biotin deficiency often causes rats to lose their fur! I spoon-fed him vitamins for weeks!"

With a slightly guilty look, Wilson turned to him. "What was I supposed to do? You were playing the piano for him when he was upset, for crying out loud!"

House returned Wilson's look thoughtfully. "Well... like I said, I'm sorry. I'll try to be more attentive from now on. I'll probably still try to bail out of having dinner with your folks and I'll never learn to pick after myself, but I'll try to be better."

Wilson gave him a smile. "I'm sorry I never told you how I felt. I probably should have tried that first before looking for an apartment..."

"How about," House interrupted Wilson gently, "we just stop this 'Who's sorry most' poker and get right to the part where get started on a new, improved relationship based on mutual love, respect and understanding?"

Wilson cast him a guarded glance. "Love?" He asked softly.

Feeling a slight blush crawl up his cheeks, House nodded curtly. "Yeah... that too."

With a playful look, Wilson said, "This reminds me when I was supposed to tell you this..."

"Now there's a good way to start!"

"I've got nothing else to be sorry about anyway," he said with a soft laugh.

"Oh really?" House replied softly, stepping closer. "In that case I guess I need to spend the rest of my days making you very, very sorry." He pulled Wilson into a deep kiss.

They were interrupted when Cuddy charged past them.

"Hey, careful! Gimps crossing!" House shouted after her.

Cuddy turned around, a stressed out look on her face. "There's been a call that there's an abandoned wheelchair at the pond."

Wilson gave House a reproachful look who just grinned in return.

"Oh of course, I should have known," Cuddy said resignedly, putting one hand against her hip.

"Hey, if you're changing into your skimpy bathing suit, can I watch?"

Rolling her eyes, Cuddy said, "Very funny, House."

"You know, I could help you bathe. I bet my peg leg makes for a great floating device."

Cuddy shot him an annoyed look. "Go back to work, House. You've been lying around in bed long enough. You're way behind on your clinic duty."

House put on a shocked face. "What? You'd make a traumatized cripple like me do clinic duty?"

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "If you're strong enough to stroll in the park, kissing and holding hands, you're strong enough to work. Wilson's been back to work for three weeks now." House threw Wilson a look that said 'traitor'. She continued. "But now that you mention it, you could use this opportunity to get counseling like I told you weeks ago.

Biting back a curse, House said quickly, "Oh dear, I think I just remembered a couple of very important cases that have been piling up on my desk. I should better go check them out right now." With that he grabbed Wilson's hand and pulled him along the path, ignoring Cuddy's attempts to continue the conversation.

"You know... this reminds me of the joke I read on my ampulove community this morning," Wilson said casually as they walked through the main entrance.

House groaned. "Oh God, please stop. I've really heard all the bad jokes I can take." They entered the elevator. "I take back everything I said earlier. I'd rather have you coddle and fuss over me than this." The door closed.

"I wish you had told me this before you left me alone with your leg this morning..." Wilson cast him an innocent look. "Is it itching yet? Just kidding."

They parted in front of House's office. Fingering his cane absent-mindedly, House asked, "What time are we going home?"

Wilson shrugged. "Around five. I'll knock on your door. We'll pick something up at Wendy's, I guess?"

House reached for Wilson's hand awkwardly, brushing across his fingers discreetly. "Sounds good." He pulled his hand back quickly as he became aware of their surroundings. Wilson's chuckle made the corners of his mouth twitch.

When House closed the door behind him he felt as if he'd just left his office the other day. Everything looked exactly as he'd left it. Except perhaps for that large pile of file folders that was indeed lying on his desk.

With a sigh, he walked over to it and sat down. His eyes brushed across the folder at the top of the pile. It caught his attention because it didn't look like the usual hospital files. Curious, he picked it up and opened it. His blood ran cold when he recognized the handwriting on the plain sheet of paper.

Dr. House,

Apparently you have decided to be a better person, doctor and mate to Dr. Wilson, and that is why I have allowed the both of you to live. Middle grounds have never been your strong point, but in this case you've made a wise choice. If anything causes you this much pain, it's time to get rid of it.

Good luck with your new life, but know that I will be watching. If you ever fall into your old patterns again I might just take my prize back.

There was something attached to the back of the sheet with a paperclip. House pulled it out. It was a Polaroid picture of his doorstep. He stared at it for a moment, then a grim smile spread on his face as he closed the file and stuck it into the deepest end of his drawer.