Another chapter, folks!  Enjoy.

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Wilson thought that House was asleep, but when the phone rang, he picked up his head and oriented toward the sound, before dropping his head back to the pillow with a groan.  Wilson gave him a pat and got up to answer it.

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When Wilson woke up, House was on his back,, ripping at the bandages around his hands with his teeth.  Wilson propped himself up on one elbow and took another look. 

Yes, that was what he was doing.  “House?” he said tentatively.  House had slept through the night—morphine was good for that, at least—but this didn’t look good. 

A/N:  Another chapter!  Hope you guys are OK with the frequent, short updates--I think that's the best way to make sure I don't lose interest and peter out again.  I'm planning to keep going until I finish the story.  


Chase was afraid House would have gone to sleep by the time Foreman finally agreed to call him—when the patient was maxed out on morphine and still in agony, with the pain putting stress on her heart—but when he did call, Wilson said he was up, having a drink in the lobby after the keynote address opened the conference.  Chase felt a little foolish, like he’d been going up a flight of stairs and misjudged the number, so he expected a step when he was really on level ground.  The last time he’d seen him, House had been far too weak to have anything like a social life. 

Look--you didn't have to wait another year for the next chapter!  The pacing of the rest of the story is going to be a bit brisker than the first 51 chapters were, but I don't think I'm up for another 50 chapters--I hope to finish it in another 10 chapters or so.  

Later, Wilson called Clarence to let him know House was okay. Clarence wasn’t due to come back on duty until Monday, another two days, but Wilson knew he’d want to know. They’d been through enough together--Clarence was family.

When Wilson said, “He’s fine,” Clarence let out a huge sigh and said, “Thank God.” And--unlike if he or House had said it--it sounded like a prayer, and not a bit of casual blasphemy.

A/N:  I know, I said yesteray I was gonna do some drabbles before I went back to Pencils, but then Bmax reminded me that I'd left House dangling off the edge of a cliff, and I was the only one who knew he was going to be OK.  So I dug deep and wrote this.  Tomorrow, I'm not sure what I'll write--could be Pencils, could be one of the suggestions I got in the other thread, could be my Charity Fics. 

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“We don’t absolutely have to do this today.”

Wilson’s voice jolted him out of his reverie. He turned his head toward Wilson and said, “Yes. We do.” That was one of the many things Wilson just didn’t get. If he didn’t do things because he was afraid of them, he’d never do anything.

“Dr. Ahn called today,” Wilson told House over dinner, a few days later. “Your permanent bridge is ready.”

House stuffed a shrimp into his mouth. “Great,” he said glumly.

“He wants you to be awake when he fits it,” Wilson reminded him. “What do you want to do?” It was going to be difficult, there was no way around that, but he definitely wasn’t going to make the same mistake he had last time, of making plans for House’s well-being without consulting House.

Somehow, he hadn’t thought ahead of time about how he’d be likely to feel about a stranger coming into the apartment and messing around with tools, making all kinds of ominous noises.

The one good thing about it was that he’d explained in detail what he wanted done when he’d made the appointment on the phone, so he didn’t have to deal directly with the electrician.

As the workman started carrying his tools in, he turned his head toward Clarence and, willing his voice not to shake, said, “Take me to my room. I want to lay down.”

“Engh! Uh, uh, uh, uh, nu, uff--”

Wilson was already rolling of the bed as he woke to the sound of House’s distress. He slapped on the light and knelt next to the air mattress. House was curled up in a ball, up on his knees and elbows, whimpering and shaking. “It’s okay, House, it’s okay,” he said, patting him. “Can you wake up? It’s okay. You’ll feel better if you wake up.”

This wasn’t House’s first panic attack since he decided to stop the Ativan, but the others happened to have taken place on Clarence’s watch. This was the first time Wilson had had to see House like this, without reaching for the syringe. All he could do was wait and watch, patting House’s back and repeating soothing words--none of which seemed to have any effect.

Wilson hung up the phone, pleased with how his prank had gone. House had fallen for it without falling apart, which was what he’d hoped for. Retaliation seemed likely--something he could have done without, but it would keep House busy.

The only thing that troubled him, a little, was just how well House had taken the “news” that he’d never graduated college. He was pretty sure that in the old days, House would have done a lot more swearing, shouting, and vowing that he’d have the job of the hapless government drone who’d had the misfortune to tell him the bad news.

Since House had emphatically refused his offers to stay at the hospital until his meeting with Cuddy was over, Wilson had little choice but to go home as scheduled and wait for news. It was the first time since bringing House home that he’d been there when House wasn’t, and the apartment seemed oddly empty.

On Thursday, Wilson’s room was still full of balloons. Enough helium had leaked out that they were now lying in sad heaps on the floor, instead of clustered on the ceiling. This was something of an improvement, since the balloons were less lively now, and only tumbled lazily out the door when he opened it. The down side was that the hallway was still littered with the previous escapees.

“Three more’ll make a hundred,” Clarence said. “And then I’ve got to take a break--my fingers are getting a cramp.”

“Okay,” House decided. “I’m bored anyway.” Wilson’s reaction to the room-full-of-balloons would be totally worthwhile, but listening to Clarence fill up all those balloons wasn’t exactly enthralling. “How full is the room?”

“Let’s say, it’s a good thing we got 300 balloons.”

“Clarence?” House called, yanking the earbud out and turning off his tape player.

His bedroom door opened. “Yeah, Doc?”

“Did you find the helium yet?”

“Yeah, they’re going to deliver it at nine thirty. It’s sixty-eight dollars,” he added. “Plus a two hundred dollar deposit that we get back when they pick up the tank. I put it on the credit card.”

Finally, a Pencils update!  Here we go.

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It seemed like House had barely gotten off the phone after solving the case when Chase called back. “There’s a problem,” he said, breathing hard, as if he’d literally run to the phone.

Of course there was. “What?”

“Evans doesn’t think it’s paraneoplastic pemphigus, and doesn’t want us to administer the immunosuppressants.”

“Go to Cuddy. She’ll--”

“Tell me we can start them when the test result comes back, or when we find the tumor, whichever comes first.”

House continues to work on his case.  Suitable for all readers.

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Wilson stood in the doorway to House’s room, watching him as he listed the new patient’s symptoms with his magnetic letters. Despite the rough start to the morning, he seemed to be doing all right now.

Returning to the living room, he told Clarence, “You might as well take off. It looks like he’s fine.”

“Okay, if you don’t need me.” He shrugged. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”