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sick_wilson2007-05-19 10:27 am
lady-insanity.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2007-05-19 10:27 am
Entry tags:
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Title: Not Okay
Rating: Very Child Safe G-PG
Summary:Wilson passes out and House learns that there are still things Wilson won't tell him
Pairing: None, House/Wilson Friendship
Warnings: Vague mention of the Tritter arc, nothing specific
Notes: Thanks to my beta,![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
housepiglet, who encouraged me and fixed it for me. All mistakes are mine, where I didn't take her advice.
Rating: Very Child Safe G-PG
Summary:Wilson passes out and House learns that there are still things Wilson won't tell him
Pairing: None, House/Wilson Friendship
Warnings: Vague mention of the Tritter arc, nothing specific
Notes: Thanks to my beta,
housepiglet, who encouraged me and fixed it for me. All mistakes are mine, where I didn't take her advice.“Wilson! I nee...are you okay?” House had entered Wilson's office with a file in hand, obviously hoping to convince Wilson to go along with some cock-and-bull scheme. What he found was Wilson curled up into a ball on the floor.
“No, House, I'm obviously not okay.” Wilson remained curled up, pain visible in his brown eyes. House knelt beside him, doing a cursory examination.
“Did you fall? Black-out?” Wilson felt his friend place reassuring hands on his shoulders and try to pull him up into a sitting position. Lacking the strength to resist, Wilson obliged.
Touching his hand to his forehead for a brief second, Wilson began to answer House's question. “I'd just finished meeting with a patient. I stood up to put some files away and my head started pounding. It felt like the room was spinning. I guess I fell and yes, I guess I blacked-out for a couple seconds.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and flinched, obviously still in pain.
“Did you hit your head?” House asked, looking at Wilson's eyes. Wilson shook his head. “Is this the first time that you've had a headache this bad?” Wilson shook his head again.
House pulled Wilson up and helped him over to the couch in his office. Wilson flinched. “Did you need something?” he asked.
“Wasn't important,” House said. He worriedly sat down next to his friend. He felt a little bit bad, about the only reason that he came to see Wilson being something somewhat selfish. “I knew you had headaches, but I didn't know they were this bad.”
Wilson shrugged. “You didn't need to know.”
House pulled Wilson to his feet, supporting him. “Come on. I'm taking you to the clinic, to check you out.” House considered admitting Wilson, but decided that further examination was probably a good step. “Talk to me. How long have the headaches been this bad?”
“You know I've always had them, but they didn't start getting really bad until just before last Christmas.” Wilson looked away from House, which made House feel even worse. Of course. The whole Tritter debacle had probably done more lasting damage than House had originally thought. Now that he thought about it, Wilson was more strung out this year than he had been before. His face was paler, the dark circles under his eyes more profound. Yet he hadn't noticed until now, when it was being shoved in his face.
Wilson attempted to walk, wobbling like an injured deer. He fell again, narrowly avoiding pulling House down with him.
House recovered quickly and knelt beside his prostrate friend, rolling him onto his side. He made a few quick calls with his pagers. Two black-outs within minutes of each other was probably worthy of admittance.
.......................................................................................................................................................................
There were times when Chase couldn't understand his job. He was definitely having one of those moments right now. His boss was hovering over his shoulder after dragging him all the way to the general ward to admit the Head of Oncology and administer oxygen for extreme headaches, possibly migraine or cluster headaches. Not weird at all.
He removed the oxygen mask and touched Wilson on the shoulder. “Dr. Wilson?”
Wilson opened his eyes slightly. He seemed confused and disoriented. “What happened?”
Chase set the mask down and began fixing the IV lines. “You passed out. You're okay now, but we think you should stay here for a couple of hours for observation.”
Wilson nodded. He closed his eyes and curled up on his side in fetal position. Chase glanced at House, who looked back at him. “Okay, Chase, you can go. Thank you.” Chase nodded and slipped quickly out of the room, while trying to figure out if House had really just said “thank you”.
House dragged a chair over to Wilson's bed and sat. He reached out and touched his curled up friend's shoulder. “Why didn't you say anything?”
“It wasn't important.” Wilson opened his eyes again, staring at House. “You didn't need to know.”
House withdrew his hand. Still the same old Wilson. “I've been your friend for so long, and you never told me. Not even when they got worse.”
“Would it have really made any difference? Would you really have been more supportive if you had known?” He flinched and rolled over onto his other side. “Go away, House. This is making my head hurt worse.”
Normally House would have argued, but this time he just stood and walked out into the hall.
Out of unconscious habit, House found himself wandering towards Oncology, thinking about Wilson the whole way. Wilson had had a hard time this year, between dealing with House, his own department, and House's department. It was enough to give anyone a headache.
House considered the facts. Migraines are chronic and can be life-long. They can be triggered by many things including light, loud noises, and certain foods. Depression and anxiety are also suspected migraine trigger. What was Wilson's trigger?
House could remember that when Wilson talked to him, he almost always either briefly put his hand to his head or rubbed the back of his neck. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Stress was Wilson's trigger, and if House was anything, he was a walking ball of user-friendly stress.
House was awakened from his thoughts by running into one of the pathologists, who glared at him and scurried off. House glared back at her and turned as he reached Oncology.
He slipped into Wilson's office, leaving the door slightly ajar. House walked across the room, slowly, taking everything in. The lights were dimmer than normal, and some of Wilson's files were just sitting on his desk, instead of being neatly filed away. How could Wilson work like this? Why did Wilson hide his pain so well?
House made his way to the balcony and stared over at Wilson's office. Keeping things inside. That was what was causing Wilson's pain. House stared at the office for another long minute.
By the time House got back to Wilson's room, Wilson had his head buried in his pillow. He looked up when House came, but said nothing. House stood over him. “Does it still hurt?"
Wilson nodded reluctantly. “It's more like pressure, behind my eyes now.” He was looking up at House, trying desperately to convince him that he was okay, but his eyes were giving him away. House shook his head. He reached out his hand and let his fingers rest on Wilson's forehead for a brief second. What am I going to do about you? he thought hopelessly. Out loud, he said, “I'll get you some medication and then you can get out of here. Just try not to fall anymore.”
Wilson smiled slightly. “I'll try.
.........................................................................................................................................................................
House had decided with no little certainty that Wilson was going to come stay with him rather than go back to that blasted hotel. He was dead set on it, and Wilson only put up weak protest. He really didn't mind at all. Wilson moved into House's apartment the next day.
House had been “helicoptering” as Wilson put it, though he tried not to be obvious about it. Wilson was laying on the couch with House sitting beside him, surreptitiously glancing over at him every ten minutes. Wilson sat up and glanced at House. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
House hesitated. “Don't know. I figured I shouldn't give you anything more to be a martyr about.”
Wilson sighed and rubbed his head. House glanced at him again. “Do you need more meds?”
“The stuff you gave me at the hospital hasn't worn off yet. I'll be fine.” Wilson reached out, groping for the water he had set around there somewhere. House grabbed it and handed it to him. Wilson stared at him. “Would you have treated me differently if you had known that they were getting worse?”
House thought about it, and as he did the doorbell rang. “Nah. Give me your wallet.”
“I think you still have it.”
“Oh. Right.” House dug Wilson's wallet out of his pocket.
Wilson shook his head. “I don't understand you at all.”
House headed towards the door. “The feeling is mutual.”
“No, House, I'm obviously not okay.” Wilson remained curled up, pain visible in his brown eyes. House knelt beside him, doing a cursory examination.
“Did you fall? Black-out?” Wilson felt his friend place reassuring hands on his shoulders and try to pull him up into a sitting position. Lacking the strength to resist, Wilson obliged.
Touching his hand to his forehead for a brief second, Wilson began to answer House's question. “I'd just finished meeting with a patient. I stood up to put some files away and my head started pounding. It felt like the room was spinning. I guess I fell and yes, I guess I blacked-out for a couple seconds.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose and flinched, obviously still in pain.
“Did you hit your head?” House asked, looking at Wilson's eyes. Wilson shook his head. “Is this the first time that you've had a headache this bad?” Wilson shook his head again.
House pulled Wilson up and helped him over to the couch in his office. Wilson flinched. “Did you need something?” he asked.
“Wasn't important,” House said. He worriedly sat down next to his friend. He felt a little bit bad, about the only reason that he came to see Wilson being something somewhat selfish. “I knew you had headaches, but I didn't know they were this bad.”
Wilson shrugged. “You didn't need to know.”
House pulled Wilson to his feet, supporting him. “Come on. I'm taking you to the clinic, to check you out.” House considered admitting Wilson, but decided that further examination was probably a good step. “Talk to me. How long have the headaches been this bad?”
“You know I've always had them, but they didn't start getting really bad until just before last Christmas.” Wilson looked away from House, which made House feel even worse. Of course. The whole Tritter debacle had probably done more lasting damage than House had originally thought. Now that he thought about it, Wilson was more strung out this year than he had been before. His face was paler, the dark circles under his eyes more profound. Yet he hadn't noticed until now, when it was being shoved in his face.
Wilson attempted to walk, wobbling like an injured deer. He fell again, narrowly avoiding pulling House down with him.
House recovered quickly and knelt beside his prostrate friend, rolling him onto his side. He made a few quick calls with his pagers. Two black-outs within minutes of each other was probably worthy of admittance.
.......................................................................................................................................................................
There were times when Chase couldn't understand his job. He was definitely having one of those moments right now. His boss was hovering over his shoulder after dragging him all the way to the general ward to admit the Head of Oncology and administer oxygen for extreme headaches, possibly migraine or cluster headaches. Not weird at all.
He removed the oxygen mask and touched Wilson on the shoulder. “Dr. Wilson?”
Wilson opened his eyes slightly. He seemed confused and disoriented. “What happened?”
Chase set the mask down and began fixing the IV lines. “You passed out. You're okay now, but we think you should stay here for a couple of hours for observation.”
Wilson nodded. He closed his eyes and curled up on his side in fetal position. Chase glanced at House, who looked back at him. “Okay, Chase, you can go. Thank you.” Chase nodded and slipped quickly out of the room, while trying to figure out if House had really just said “thank you”.
House dragged a chair over to Wilson's bed and sat. He reached out and touched his curled up friend's shoulder. “Why didn't you say anything?”
“It wasn't important.” Wilson opened his eyes again, staring at House. “You didn't need to know.”
House withdrew his hand. Still the same old Wilson. “I've been your friend for so long, and you never told me. Not even when they got worse.”
“Would it have really made any difference? Would you really have been more supportive if you had known?” He flinched and rolled over onto his other side. “Go away, House. This is making my head hurt worse.”
Normally House would have argued, but this time he just stood and walked out into the hall.
Out of unconscious habit, House found himself wandering towards Oncology, thinking about Wilson the whole way. Wilson had had a hard time this year, between dealing with House, his own department, and House's department. It was enough to give anyone a headache.
House considered the facts. Migraines are chronic and can be life-long. They can be triggered by many things including light, loud noises, and certain foods. Depression and anxiety are also suspected migraine trigger. What was Wilson's trigger?
House could remember that when Wilson talked to him, he almost always either briefly put his hand to his head or rubbed the back of his neck. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Stress was Wilson's trigger, and if House was anything, he was a walking ball of user-friendly stress.
House was awakened from his thoughts by running into one of the pathologists, who glared at him and scurried off. House glared back at her and turned as he reached Oncology.
He slipped into Wilson's office, leaving the door slightly ajar. House walked across the room, slowly, taking everything in. The lights were dimmer than normal, and some of Wilson's files were just sitting on his desk, instead of being neatly filed away. How could Wilson work like this? Why did Wilson hide his pain so well?
House made his way to the balcony and stared over at Wilson's office. Keeping things inside. That was what was causing Wilson's pain. House stared at the office for another long minute.
By the time House got back to Wilson's room, Wilson had his head buried in his pillow. He looked up when House came, but said nothing. House stood over him. “Does it still hurt?"
Wilson nodded reluctantly. “It's more like pressure, behind my eyes now.” He was looking up at House, trying desperately to convince him that he was okay, but his eyes were giving him away. House shook his head. He reached out his hand and let his fingers rest on Wilson's forehead for a brief second. What am I going to do about you? he thought hopelessly. Out loud, he said, “I'll get you some medication and then you can get out of here. Just try not to fall anymore.”
Wilson smiled slightly. “I'll try.
.........................................................................................................................................................................
House had decided with no little certainty that Wilson was going to come stay with him rather than go back to that blasted hotel. He was dead set on it, and Wilson only put up weak protest. He really didn't mind at all. Wilson moved into House's apartment the next day.
House had been “helicoptering” as Wilson put it, though he tried not to be obvious about it. Wilson was laying on the couch with House sitting beside him, surreptitiously glancing over at him every ten minutes. Wilson sat up and glanced at House. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
House hesitated. “Don't know. I figured I shouldn't give you anything more to be a martyr about.”
Wilson sighed and rubbed his head. House glanced at him again. “Do you need more meds?”
“The stuff you gave me at the hospital hasn't worn off yet. I'll be fine.” Wilson reached out, groping for the water he had set around there somewhere. House grabbed it and handed it to him. Wilson stared at him. “Would you have treated me differently if you had known that they were getting worse?”
House thought about it, and as he did the doorbell rang. “Nah. Give me your wallet.”
“I think you still have it.”
“Oh. Right.” House dug Wilson's wallet out of his pocket.
Wilson shook his head. “I don't understand you at all.”
House headed towards the door. “The feeling is mutual.”
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And migraine!Wilson ! *melts some more*
And guilty!caring!House ! *is ded now*
*gg* I loved this fic. Hope to see more soon! :)
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