AN – I'm back! Huge apologies for the long delay, I've been rather under the weather and it's given me even worse writer's block than usual. But after much anticipation, here's chapter 7 at last, I hope that you enjoy it.

To KKBK2: Thank you so much! I'd hoped that it was all in character and I'm glad that you found it realistic. Hopefully you'll enjoy the ending.

To OldSFfan: I suppose not, but this is a feels fic after all! At least the condition is something treatable.

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House couldn't deny that being the Head of Diagnostics certainly had its perks. While his adenoma was not immediately life-threatening, Cuddy nonetheless had managed to get his surgery scheduled for within 48 hours, anxious to have him return to work as soon as possible. Although he was not particularly looking forward to it, he was glad that at least it would be over soon, especially since Wilson was insisting that he remained in the inpatient ward until his hyperthyroidism was cured. House knew that the oncologist feared a relapse of his cardiac problems and wanted to keep him under observation, so he didn't argue the matter, realising it would be pointless, and instead tried to make the most of his hospital stay. He took pleasure in being a difficult patient, hassling the nurses as much as he could just to get a rise out of them, and found it particularly gratifying to annoy Wilson whenever he was in the room, a small punishment for delaying his return home. Wilson did his best to ignore House's frequent jibes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a response, but this only spurred House on until Wilson had no choice but to confront him.

"House, you do know I'm only here to help you?" Wilson sighed after yet another of House's mocking remarks.

"I know. It's just more fun this way," House replied smugly, leaning back in his bed as he smirked at his friend.

"I get it. You hate being here. You're miserable. But you don't have to make me miserable."

"I'm not miserable," objected House.

"Well whatever you are, you're not happy," observed Wilson. "House, what's going on?"

"Hmm, let me see. I'm bored, I'm in pain. I've been in the same room for almost a week. And I'm about to get surgery tomorrow to get a tumour cut out of my neck. Have I missed anything?"

"If you're worried about the surgery, you just need to tell me. Don't keep trying to play these games."

"What's there to be worried about? It's a straight-forward procedure, the surgeon's done it a thousand times."

"You don't even like the surgeon!"

"The man's an idiot, but he's a practiced idiot. He may be stupid enough not to agree with me when I say something's urgent, but he can take care of a simple adenoma."

"So if this isn't about the surgery, then what is it about?"

House hesitated, unsure exactly what to say in response. He hadn't really figured out what was bothering him, he just kept having this nagging feeling that something was wrong. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I guess I'm just fed up of being stuck here." He paused before adding, "and I'm not looking forward to having to use that thing for the next eight weeks," gesturing to the wheelchair parked in the corner of his room as he spoke.

"It won't be that bad," reasoned Wilson. "You'll get to boss me around even more than usual."

House scoffed. "Cuddy won't let you take time off just to push my chair around."

"Then you can get one of your lackeys to do it."

"Yeah, there's no way that could go wrong. Foreman and Chase would probably try to kill me, and being around Cameron for that long would make me want to kill myself."

Wilson sighed, feeling defeated by House's usual pessimism. "I'm sure you'll figure something out," was all he could offer. Then, anxious to change the topic, he added, "you've got just under 24 hours until your surgery. Given your medical history, I've prescribed a dose of heparin to prevent blood clots from breaking off and causing another infarction." He could see House visibly wince at the mention of an infarction, so he continued swiftly, not wanting to dwell on the subject. "The nurse should be in soon with the first treatment, we'll keep you on it for twelve hours just to be safe."

"Thanks," House replied absentmindedly, his thoughts beginning to focus on all the things that could go wrong during the procedure. His sharp mind could list every fault that could occur, and, while he wasn't one to panic, he felt the apprehension beginning to build in his chest. Wilson noticed immediately and stepped forward to lay a reassuring hand on House's arm.

"House, you know everything's going to be okay."

"I know." Wilson could tell that House was trying to project confidence while masking the uncertainty underneath, but he didn't want to press the issue, knowing that House would deny it if he did.

"Is there anything I can get you?" he asked instead.

"A hooker would be nice," House answered without even thinking. "Preferably one who doesn't speak English."

"House, I'm serious," Wilson admonished.

"But mom!" House's voice carried his signature playful whine, which he dropped when it was met by nothing but an unamused glare from Wilson. "You never let me have anything," he huffed, adding a small smirk at the end to lighten the tone.

"Maybe I should rephrase this," sighed Wilson. "Can I get you anything that Cuddy will allow into the building?"

"How about a coffee?"

"That I can do. I know how you take it, I'll be back in a minute." Wilson turned to the door, walking purposefully out of the room and down the hall towards the cafeteria, leaving silence to descend in his absence. The only noises remaining were the steady beeping of the pulse monitor, which Wilson had insisted House didn't remove ever since his episode of cardiac distress, and the distant chatter of voices from the neighbouring rooms. In his usual curious manner, House tried to eavesdrop on the conversations, listening out for any interesting medical topics to occupy his mind with, but they were too faint for him to hear. As he strained to catch anything that was being said, he was surprised when the first thing he could make out was the mention of his name, before he recognised the distinctive voices of Chase and Foreman, drawing closer by the minute. He peered through the doorway to see his subordinates striding down the corridor, and let out a frustrated sigh as he realised what they had come to do.

It wasn't long before the hiss of the door opening signalled the arrival of the two doctors into the room, and House immediately gave an audible groan. "You're here to stick needles into me, aren't you?" he complained.

"Only a couple," chuckled Foreman. "We need to do your pre-op blood workup."

"Why didn't Cuddy make Wilson do it? He's been here all day anyway, he might as well have made himself useful."

"Wilson's not in charge of your case," Chase explained. "Technically, you are. It was a diagnostics case, after all. But since you're also the patient, that puts us in charge." He gave House a grin that, while appearing innocent, still managed to convey his pleasure at being in control of his boss, albeit temporarily.

"Just remember that I can still fire you," House warned, quick to notice Chase's appreciation of his new power and squash it. The flash of panic in Chase's eyes caused House to be the one with a smile on his face, while his subordinate's disappeared completely. As the two men began trying to stare each other down, Foreman rolled his eyes and quickly stepped between them, eager to intervene before the situation escalated.

"Come on, let's just get the tests done," he reasoned, Chase hurriedly agreeing with him to avoid a confrontation with House. Removing the necessary instruments from the nurses' tray nearby, they swiftly and skilfully syphoned off several vials of House's blood, the diagnostician making sarcastic remarks throughout the entire process. Once they had finished, Foreman gathered the samples together as he announced, "we'll send these down to the lab and get them checked as quickly as possible. They haven't fully processed your first sample yet, but preliminary tests show elevated T-4 as we predicted."

"You mean as I predicted," House corrected pedantically, unwilling as usual to share credit for his diagnosis.

"Goodbye, House." Foreman's reply was his usual mix of dismissive and mildly amused, and he afforded one last smile before carefully wrapping up the blood samples and whisking them off towards the lab, Chase hot on his heels as the pair exited the room.

As they started off down the hall, the two doctors soon struck up a conversation about their latest diagnostics case, causing them to nearly collide with Wilson in their distracted state as the other man was returning from the cafeteria. The oncologist exclaimed as he narrowly avoided spilling the entire cup of hot coffee he was carrying down his lab coat, prompting hasty apologies from Foreman and Chase, before the three men continued on their respective paths.

Wilson slid open the door to House's room and entered quietly, placing the cup beside House as he glanced over his shoulder at the retreating forms of his friend's subordinates. "What was that?" he enquired with one eyebrow raised, knowing that there could be multiple reasons behind the team's visit.

"Vampires," House quipped. "They needed to feed. I was helpless to stop them."

"Blood tests for your surgery tomorrow?" Having known House for so long, Wilson was improving his skills at interpreting the man's bizarre comments.

"You make it sound so boring."

"So, did they say anything… interesting?"

"Chase is secretly a ballerina. Oh, that's not what you meant. No, of course they didn't. There's nothing to say!"

"Actually there's plenty to say, you just don't want to talk about it."

As if to prove Wilson's point, House reached for his coffee and glared defiantly at his friend as he took a long gulp, ignoring the scalding sensation it brought to his mouth as he sipped it rapidly. Wilson folded him arms across his chest and stood with an exasperated expression on his face, waiting for House to finish trying to irritate him. Sometimes he felt like he was dealing with a child, and a very persistent one at that; he knew the best tactic would be to deny the reaction House craved, so he said nothing.

When House realised that his behaviour wasn't having its desired effect, he returned the coffee cup to the nightstand and held Wilson's stare for a moment with a confident gleam is his eyes, before replying, "fine. You want to talk, let's talk."

Wilson stuttered for a moment, not expecting House to give in so easily, then began, "alright. Why are you deflecting every question I ask you about the surgery?"

"Straight to the point. Good," House remarked with a subtle appreciative smile. "But you're missing the most important detail. In case you didn't notice, I'm not avoiding having this discussion. I'm avoiding having this discussion with you."

This took Wilson momentarily by surprise, and he furrowed his brow as he replied sceptically, "why?"

"Because you want me to be worried so that you can do your whole caring thing. You need my neediness, even if I don't have any, so that you can spend all your energy reassuring me and make yourself feel better about me being stuck here in the first place."

"You're saying I… want you to be miserable?"

"I don't know what you want me to be, but you want me to be something. You keep asking me about the procedure in the hopes that eventually I'll admit some deep, dark insecurity, and I simply don't want to be your enabler. I'm trying to help you, Wilson, teaching you how to live without some broken soul for you to comfort." House's voice carried its usual sanctimonious undertones, and Wilson had to restrain himself from slapping his friend in an effort to remove the smug glint from his eyes.

There was a long silence as Wilson tried to figure out what to say, not even sure where to begin addressing the ludicrous claims House had made. Eventually, he settled for, "you're insane, House."

"Maybe. But I'm not wrong."

"Of course not. God forbid the great Gregory House could ever make a mistake. You know, not everyone has the same twisted outlook on relationships as you do. Just because you don't understand the concept of feeling concern for another human being doesn't mean that it always has to be some perverse form of self-gratification. I was trying to be a friend, House, but if you're going to be such an ass then I'm leaving. I've got work to do."

True to his word, Wilson turned his back on the diagnostician and stormed out of the room, leaving House to gape after him without having the chance to respond. He hadn't expected Wilson to be so sensitive on the matter, and began to regret raising the issue in such abrupt terms, admitting to himself that diplomacy may have been a better tack to employ with his friend. But he still stuck by his analysis of Wilson's behaviour, refusing as usual to accept true culpability for the disagreement, so he chose to pursue the only course of action that he considered suitable; he settled into his bed, picked up his cup of coffee and waited patiently for Wilson to come crawling back to him.

So tempers are beginning to get a little frayed in PPTH as a result of House's condition! I know this chapter was a bit more character- than plot-focussed, but I hope that you enjoyed having a bit of variety. I'll try and come back with an update soon.

In the next chapter, will House and Wilson put their disagreement behind them in time for the surgery, or will House be left to face it alone? You'll have to wait and see!