"Taking the rest of the week off. – Just thought I'd let you know before you come looking for me all over New Jersey…" House had stuck his head into Wilson's office, disappearing again as quickly as he'd announced his presence.

"House?!" The oncologist called after him confused by the strange announcement, but his friend had already left.

House didn't answer or return any of his calls for a full two days after that.

The night after that, Wilson decided to finally give in to the strange feeling he'd been having all along and pay his friend's apartment a visit. When a few brisk knocks didn't garner any reaction, he simply used his spare key to let himself in, feeling slightly apprehensive by now. To his relief, he actually found the other man on his usual spot on the couch. He looked tired and a little paler than he should be maybe, but otherwise alright.

"House?" His tone was a mixture of concern and exasperation.

House slowly looked up at him.

"Sure, just come all in… Why bother waiting to maybe actually be let in…?!"

Wilson just rolled his eyes at the comment, hesitantly coming to stand in front of the other man. "You wouldn't have gotten up anyway."

A conceding nod. "True. But you could still – "

The oncologist interrupted him loudly.

"I've been trying to reach you 20 times, House! Why the hell didn't you call me back?!" He frowned when he noticed how unusually still his friend was holding himself. "Are you okay?" Concern clearly dominated his tone now. – Before House could reply anything, he suddenly noticed that his friend's right arm was in a very firm sling construction, much firmer than the one he had been sporadically using before. Wilson immediately raised both eyebrows. "Is your shoulder worse?!"

House steadily met his accusing gaze, hesitating slighty before finally replying confidently: "Better actually. – Had it taken care of…"

Alarm instantly settled on Wilson's features, his tone suspicious. "Taken care of… how?!"

A weak half-shrug. "Athroscopic surgery." Tone light.

In contrast to Wilson's. "What?!" He sounded completely shocked. "When? – And where…?"

House looked almost amused at how flustered his friend seemed; he probably would have smiled openly by now if he hadn't been so obviously uncomfortable. "Yesterday. And Princeton General, to answer your second question…"

Wilson frowned heavily at that. "What… Can… – Should you be home already?"

House's expression conveyed how stupid he found that question. "Well, obviously."

Wilson was still eyeing him critically. "What do they have you on?"

"The usual. Plus some anti-inflammatories." House's gaze finally went back to the TV.

"How did you get here?"

House threw him a surprisingly mild glance at the question. "Cab. Crutch on the left side. – Stop freaking out already, Wilson. It was a minor procedure…"

Wilson eyed him incredulously. "You had surgery on your cane arm in some God-damn country hospital, and you call that a 'minor procedure'?!"

House met his gaze evenly. "Why are you so upset?"

"I'm not… – Why didn't you tell me?" He suddenly sounded almost hurt.

Another half-shrug, followed by a slight wince. "You're not my Mom, Wilson. And you're not my wife. – You don't have to sit by my bedside and hold my hand just because I had some inflamed tissue removed…"

Wilson sighed, rubbing his face, feeling the beginnings of a headache form. "You still should have let someone know. What if something had gone wrong with the anaesthesia?"

The reply came immediately: "Didn't let them put me out."

Wilson reflexively winced at that. He knew what it meant for his friend to be unable to move around, and keeping his leg completely still for at least an hour, maybe two, while conscious, must have been torture.

Noticing the other man's pained expression, House turned towards the TV again. "Didn't wanna suddenly miss a limb afterwards or something…"

The explanation was casual, but they both knew the traumatic background behind the comment.

Wilson slowly nodded. "So… Can I stay a while? Or are you… tired… or something."

House moved very slightly, so as to make some space for him. "Beer's in the kitchen…"

The next day was very hectic for Wilson. He had appointments all morning, then two hours of clinic duty, before a crisis with one of his acutely ill patients cost him most of the afternoon. And so it wasn't before 8 pm that he prepared himself to actually go home, reflexively glancing at his phone after he had put on his coat. It had a voice mail waiting for him.

He immediately frowned when he recognized House's gruff voice.

"Wilson… I don't feel so great. Think I might need an antibiotic for a couple of days. Need you to come by and take a look…" Shit.

He immediately pressed redial. Just the answering machine; of course… "House? I just got your message. – Just wanted to let you know that I'm on my way…" Shit, shit, shit!

He just hoped House was relatively okay. For anyone else, 'not feeling so great' would actually mean 'not feeling so great'. With House, such an admission usually meant he was feeling absolutely lousy. – Shit…!

"House?" As soon as he opened the door to his friend's apartment, Wilson knew that he wasn't in his usual spot in the living-room. It was much too quiet for that.

Quickly checking the bath, he finally entered the bedroom.

"House."

He very carefully sat down on the edge of his friend's bed, instantly aware that he was obviously feverish. "Hey, buddy… Can you wake up for me?" As soon as he gently but firmly touched the other man's forearm, House finally began to stir, focusing on the oncologist with a slight frown.

"Wilson," was all he eventually said, his voice rough. Not 'took you long enough' or any of a thousand insults... – He had to be feeling real bad.

"You look feverish, House… Pain?"

Just a nod. House slowly started to push himself into a sitting position with the help of his good arm.

Eyeing the older man for another moment, Wilson finally laid a gentle hand on his immobilized arm. "So… Let's take a look, okay?"

When House just nodded weakly again, he guided his friend's good hand under his right elbow.

"Can you support the arm while I get the sling off?"

Another nod.

Wilson frowned at that. "You with me, House?"

"Yes!" Definitely annoyed by now; thank God for annoyed… "Get on with it already."

But as soon as he started to remove the sling, he heard House suddenly hold his breath. A second later, House gave a soft moan before stopping his movements with a hand on his arm. "Gonna be sick…" Before Wilson could even start looking for anything to help, he was already starting to retch.

Snatching a towel from the footpart of the bed, Wilson quickly pressed it into his friend's good hand. Luckily, House didn't really bring anything up, except for a very meager amount of fluid.

Briefly touching his forehead confirmed Wilson's suspicion of a low-grade fever.

As soon as House had recovered somewhat from the acute bout of nausea, Wilson started to work on the sling again, after once again guiding his friend's left hand under his right elbow. "Try and hold the arm steady, okay? It'll just be for a minute…"

Once the sling was removed, Wilson started to visually inspect the injured shoulder, before gently feeling the temperature of the skin. – He frowned at how warm the joint felt…

"We need to get you to the clinic, House. Get the shoulder checked out. – It looks like some sort if infection. You might need IV antibiotics…" He carefully started to fasten the sling again.

A very weak nod, then House started to work on turning sideways and swinging his legs off the bed.

Gently helping him put some clothes on, Wilson tried to catch his friend's gaze. "I know you didn't go to PPTH with this for a reason… But I would feel a lot better if Carlson had a look at it now."

House rolled his eyes at that. He wasn't exactly best friends with the head of orthopedics at their clinic, but then again: At least the man clearly knew what he was doing.

"Okay," was all he finally replied weakly. "Whatever…"

Two hours later, House had been given a hospital bed and was already hooked up to a bag of IV antibiotics. Dr. Carlson critically surveyed his lab results. "Well, it's definitely an infection, so you should start feeling better soon. – We're growing cultures, just in case, so if this one shouldn't work, we'll know how to target it more specifically tomorrow."

When House didn't reply anything, he eyed his patient more closely. "House? Everything okay…? – You need more pain meds?"

The diagnostician simply shook his head, very briefly meeting the other man's questioning gaze. "I'm fine. Thanks for coming in…"

Carlson looked shocked at the rare expression of gratitude, but recovered quickly enough. "No problem. Next time, you might wanna consider coming to us directly though."

Just a snort from the other man.

Wilson started rubbing his forehead. "He did."

Carlson frowned at that. "Yeah? 'Cause I get CC'd on all surgical procedures and I didn't – "

Wilson interrupted more loudly now. "Your guys sent him home with a sling and without a diagnosis or an actual treatment plan." He knew he sounded angry, but he couldn't help it.

Carlson's frown deepened. "That doesn't sound like… Who did you see?"

House just shook his head a little, automatically averting his gaze. "Doesn't matter. I'm sure it was a one-time thing. – Seeing as I'm never gonna consult them again…"

Carlson had to suppress a small smirk. Then, completely seriously again: "I still need to know who it was, House. If you weren't treated – "

"Oh, relax… I'm not gonna sue you or your precious department, and I'm sure he's usually the posterboy for thorough evaluations and excellent treatment plans."

Still frowning, Carlson eyed him critically once more. "Speaking of which… How come Princeton General immediately opted for surgery? This would usually be the last of several treatment options for the kind of problems you've been having."

House didn't meet his gaze, but answered readily enough. "Been trying first NSAIDs and then cortisone injections, long before I even consulted anyone. Didn't work – so surgery was next."

Carlson raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You injected cortisone into your own shoulder…? Like, you injected yourself?"

Wilson gave a resigned half-laugh at that. "You're talking to the man who once cathed himself without batting an eyelash; so I, for one, believe him…"

Carlson gave him another long look, before finally nodding slightly. "Just get some rest now and I'll see you in the morning." Then, towards Wilson: "You staying awhile?" He gave him a knowning look.

When he only got a slightly embarrassed nod from the oncologist, he smiled patiently in response. "Okay. – But he's gonna be fine..."

Wilson quickly nodded again. "I know; I'm not worried."

Another mild smile. "Then tell it to your face and get some rest as well." When he had already reached the door, he turned towards his patient again. "And by the way… I'm not worried about a law-suit, but I'll still check your records and have a long talk with whoever treated you here." Without waiting for a reply he turned around again. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Once he had left the room, House turned his head slightly and regarded Wilson with a tired smirk. "Now he's acting like you're my Mom…"

Wilson nodded emphatically. "Worried Mom." Then, with a somewhat wry smile: "We definitely need to work on our image."

"And by 'we', you mean 'you'. I'm not the one who…" And with that, House's voice tapered off and his eyes finally drifted shut.

Smiling softly, Wilson fussed with the IV line for a minute, making sure nothing was tangled or blocked. Then he leaned back in his chair and allowed himself to really relax for the first time since he had received House's message.

Thinking back over the last couple of hours, his eyes automatically went back towards his friend's shoulder, travelling down his arm before finally coming to rest on the slightly swollen hand. This could have all gone horribly wrong, if House hadn't called when he had. He still couldn't believe the idiot had gone through with a secret surgery like that, with doctors none of them had ever even heard of… He was just about to lean forward to check his friend's temperature one last time, when House's rough voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Relax, Wilson." He hadn't moved at all, eyes still firmly closed as well. "I can hear you brooding from all the way over here. Just close your eyes, for God's sake, and let us both get some sleep…"

Wilson actually felt himself blushing slightly. "Sure! Sorry… It's just – "

"I know. – Next time I'll let you tag along. Give the mother-henning a chance to disperse a bit at least…"

The thought made Wilson smile.

"Yeah… Or let's just hope there won't be a next time maybe."

He saw House smile weakly at that, even though his eyes remained closed. "Sure! And why not go one step further and hope that – "

"Shut up, House."

Another small smile. "Night, Wilson."

"Yeah.." The oncologist slowly leaned back again, trying to find a better position in the surprisingly uncomfortable visitor's chair, alarmingly used to the feeling. Exhaling slowly, his eyes once again went to the other man's face that had finally relaxed into sleep. He smiled softly, then allowed his own eyes to drift shut as well. "Night, House."

The end :)