http://mnstrtruckslash.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] mnstrtruckslash.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] sick_wilson2016-12-07 08:41 pm

A Leg to Stand on Chapter One of Four

Title: A Leg to Stand On
Summary: I’ve been rewatching season 7 and cringing. So I changed things up a bit. Hose’s surgeon makes a logical decision and amputates. Wilson, still depressed over losing Sam (and House), is left to pick up the pieces. Without his right leg, House can’t drive a car. So no jail. Cuddy will probably still leave but I’m not sure. Right now it’s a close friendship piece but everything is leading up to slash. Oh, and I’m messing with the timeline. It’s mid October in this chapter.
Rating: PG for mild swearing and drug use but overall pretty mild. I might change it later.






I woke up at my usual time. When I discovered the messages on my phone, I skipped over my morning routine, threw on some clothes, and raced to the hospital. House was still in the OR. I stepped into the gallery. Dr. Gould was completing an amputation on my best friend.

My heart sank, and my stomach did flip flops. Cuddy was standing and watching the surgery with tears in her eyes. I wanted to slap her. I hated myself for sleeping through House's calls. This is as much your fault as it is hers, I thought.

"I need you to tell him this was the only option," she begged. I rolled my eyes, before examining Greg’s file. Gould took the leg just to be safe. I'd have done the same thing for most patients. They'd done a biopsy on one of his tumors. Benign.

So, in theory there was no need to amputate. Keeping the leg would have meant significantly more pain. It would have meant a lot more trouble getting around. More Vicodin. Maybe something stronger.

If I hadn't been asleep, I would be the one treating him. I would have followed his wishes. He probably would have made it anyway. More painful and more dangerous, sure but he's tough. He could survive a nuclear holocaust.

"I'm not going to lie to him for you," I shouted. "You did this because you think you know what's best for him. I can't believe we're going through this again!" I was overreacting. Sort of. Maybe not. I'm not sure. She nodded, wiping her eyes.

I sat by Greg's bedside for hours. Exhausted both physically and mentally, I passed out around noon. House woke me up as he regained consciousness. I opened my eyes when I heard a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper. He had a hand on the stump.

"Okay," he murmured, voice. quiet and hoarse. "It's okay. Just another dream." He took a deep breath. House shook his head. "Wake up now. Wake up. Wake up!" Each time he repeated the command, his voice grew louder and more frantic. I jumped up, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Greg," I started to say. My voice trembled. He mouthed the word, 'oh.’ I wasn't sure what else to say. Any other friend, I'd tell them everything was going to be okay. Even if I knew better. Those words would make most people feel a lot better. It lets you know I care. But when talking to Gregory House, it was the worst thing I could do. "I'm sorry," was all I could think of to say. He nodded, crying silent tears.

"Can we save the lecture until after the surgical wound heals? This is surprisingly painful."

"No lecture," I told him. "You are going to need some time to recover physically. I'm taking over your case from here. I'm going to prescribe a few rounds of chemo. Make sure we get all the tumors. Make sure nothing comes back. Then, you'll need a lots of physio to get you up and moving around again. Maybe a..." House cut me off mid-sentence.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm a doctor too. Are you seriously not going to tell me how stupid my in-home surgery was?"

"Well, one you already know. And two, I would have helped you," I told him. His eyes went wide. "But yeah. You've been tortured enough. I get that you don't want anyone to see you as less than the persona you've created, but I'm not just anyone. Am I?"

"I thought you said no lecture?" House complained. I faked a smile. "And you can forget about me moving back into the loft. Not letting you take care of me like some poor, wounded puppy."

"I was going to offer to do the treatments at my place, but it you'd rather be here with everyone watching..." I let my voice trail off.

"What?" he asked bolting up as best be could. “Seriously?"

"You're going to be getting a relatively small amount. So, if you'd be more comfortable in the loft, I’m okay with it. Besides you'll do a lot better if you’re comfortable.” Plus, I'd never seen House happier (or at least less miserable) than the few months between when we moved in and when I got back together with Sam. And that included his time with Cuddy. If we’re being honest, the start of my depression most likely corresponds with his moving out.

"I'm not over getting dumped. I need you at least as much as you need me. And who else is going to put up with your crap?"

"Okay." Greg switched on the tv. "Hey Wilson, can I ask you a question?" I nodded, bracing myself for an abrasive insult. "Think I have a shot with Nora now?" I burst out laughing. "Also, why is your hand still on my shoulder? It's been, like, fifteen minutes. This is getting weird. Even for us." Thinking back, I think this was the moment everything started.

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