I don't own House or Wilson and this fiction is not intended to violate the owners' copyrights. This is contemporaneous with my story, "Letters to Lisa." Ted Rosenberg is an original character.

All I Want to Hear

Wilson reclined in the chair in the chemotherapy suite at Roswell Park Cancer Institute. The window had a view of the treed park of the grounds and the green avenues of one of Buffalo's older residential areas. The chair was comfortable, the medical equipment the same he had used many times. Odd, that an oncologist should be so nervous in such a familiar setting.

House was just as nervous, sitting by him in another comfortable chair, bouncing his cane up and down until Wilson couldn't hear anything else.

"House!" he barked, finally.

House started and looked down at his hands. "Sorry," he murmured.

Wilson jerked around to look at him. House never apologized. "That's okay," Wilson assured him, slipping effortlessly back into caring. "It's getting to me, too. Hard to go through it after what we did in your apartment. At one point, I thought I was going to die."

House shook his head. "I was afraid, too," he muttered.

"It will be all right: different drug cocktail, lower dosages, fewer side effects. Ted said that there shouldn't be much nausea, actually. The radiation last week wasn't bad."

"Wilson, anything would be better than those three days in my apartment. I was getting ready to call an ambulance, despite what you wanted."

"You said you would stick with me to the end, when we were on the road."

"A lot had changed by the time we were on our road trip and I made you a promise. I would have kept it."

"I know." Wilson sat up when the technician walked in and began to set up the infusion equipment. Ted Rosenberg followed with a cart. The medication rested in IV bags.

"James," he said. Rosenberg was a jovial gnome, barely five-foot-six, bearded, with a nose to rival Taub's, a twinkle in gray-blue eyes, and with a fading red beard. His wild, gray, and red curls were tamed only by a fairly short clip. His white coat was tidy. He wore a black turtleneck beneath it. "Welcome to my lair." He nodded to House. "So shall we begin?" he asked Wilson.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Rosenberg stopped, set the equipment down, and walked in front of Wilson. "James, I think we caught it in time."

Wilson nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak.

"Rosenberg," House rumbled, voice deeper than usual in his agitation, "better get the drip going, or I'm going to have to keep him from bolting. And I'm not very fast."

"You got it," Rosenberg agreed. He readied the infusion and connected the IV to the port already installed in Wilson's arm. House watched as the first drops of the solution moved down the clear, plastic tubing.

Rosenberg set a basin on the table. "You shouldn't need it, but just in case," he told Wilson. He set a hand on Wilson's shoulder. "We'll beat this thing. I'm glad you came to me. By next year at this time, by the High Holy Days, probably, if not, by Chanukah, you'll be in remission, and your friend, here, will be a lot easier to get along with."

Wilson's head jerked up at that. "He's been on good behavior."

"That's not what the legend says. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone he's here."

House and Wilson looked at each other.

"James, you've told me enough stories about him over the years. I used to read some of your e-mails to my wife. She laughed out loud." He looked at House. "You're a legend," he commented.

House was flushed and Wilson thought he could hear his teeth grinding. Wilson had to defuse the situation. "Ted, thanks for everything. But I'm here because of him."

"Maybe your instinct for self-preservation kicked in, too, but I'm not a snitch. Don't worry and I doubt any of my staff have any idea who he is."

Wilson settled back. "Thanks."

Rosenberg nodded. "I'll be back to check on you in a half hour or so."

House watched him leave, then turned back to watch the yellow liquid in the IV. "Nice guy. Do you trust him?"

Wilson considered House's question for a moment. "You know, I do. He has no reason to turn you in, and he has no reason to damage our friendship. We roomed together at McGill."

Both settled back in their chairs. After a few minutes, House turned to Wilson. "Remember what you wanted me to tell you, when you decided to let yourself die without a fight?"

"How could I forget? I asked you to tell me that you loved me, and that my life mattered. You wouldn't."

"No, I said I wouldn't until you allowed your cancer to be treated."

"Well, here I am."

House climbed to his feet. "Here you are." He took a deep breath, and looking Wilson in the eye, he said, "Wilson, I love you. Your life matters to your patients. It matters to your family." He cleared his throat. "And it matters to me. It matters very much to me."

Wilson looked up. House met his eyes defiantly. They stared at each other for a minute. Then Wilson looked down and up again at his best friend, and said softly, "Thank you. Thank you for that, and you don't want to hear it, but thank you for this."

House sat down again and got out the Gameboy that Wilson had bought him to replace the one left in his condo. Wilson turned on his tablet computer. Side by side, they waited out the first chemotherapy treatment.