ext_28194 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
alanwolfmoon.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sick_wilson2007-07-15 10:09 pm
alanwolfmoon.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2007-07-15 10:09 pm
trash cans beware (ch 20, 21, 22, 23)
Title: Trash cans beware (ch 20, 21, 22, 23)
Pairing: House / Wilson
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alanwolfmoon
Rating: PG
Summary: In honour of the '200 members' prompt onsick_wilson
The prompt was "Today wasn't the first time Wilson had been a little late for work recently, so House didn't give it much thought. Especially since the patient Cuddy had found for him was turning out to be more than just a case of intestinal flu, after all."
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Notes: Only my seccond attempt at fanfiction. Ever. Reveiws and flames alike are welcome.
in honor of....um...something.... oh, yeah. in honor of the fact you guys have been puting up with me all the way to chapter twenty, i am posting the four chapters i managed to write today in one post.
(more like in honor of my lazyness, but who cares.)
and now....a word from our snarkers
Pairing: House / Wilson
Author:
alanwolfmoonRating: PG
Summary: In honour of the '200 members' prompt on
sick_wilsonThe prompt was "Today wasn't the first time Wilson had been a little late for work recently, so House didn't give it much thought. Especially since the patient Cuddy had found for him was turning out to be more than just a case of intestinal flu, after all."
Disclaimer: MINE! ALL MINE!....uh, no. Not mine.
Notes: Only my seccond attempt at fanfiction. Ever. Reveiws and flames alike are welcome.
in honor of....um...something.... oh, yeah. in honor of the fact you guys have been puting up with me all the way to chapter twenty, i am posting the four chapters i managed to write today in one post.
(more like in honor of my lazyness, but who cares.)
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wilson/54379.html#cutid1
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wilson/54379.html#cutid1
and now....a word from our snarkers
Tch 20!!!
“House?”
“What?”
“I don’t feel very good.”
House looked up.
Not only was the fact that Wilson had found this unusual worrying, but the fact that he had said something before he had suffered for days was very unlike him.
“Not very good how?”
“Not very good...as in...it’s not serious.”
House blinked.
Wilson turned around and started to leave.
“What? You incontinent or something?” asked House, trying to figure out if Wilson was embarrassed because of the problem or because he wasn’t seriously ill but was still complaining.
“No...it’s nothing like that...it’s just boring actually.”
Wilson grinned at House.
House didn’t buy it.
“Right. Stupid. Spill.”
“House, it’s really not worth it.”
“Uh-huh, yet you came all the way here to mention it.”
Wilson, to House’s confused surprise, was blushing slightly.
And who could blame him?
He had come to House because he had gotten a fever.
He was still perfectly able to deal with it himself, he was still able to stand, and he wasn’t moaning at every sound.
He was simply somewhat ill.
House wouldn’t care if he had a *fever* of all things.
Because House was House.
And House didn’t coddle people.
He made sure they didn’t totally kill themselves because they couldn’t see straight, but he didn’t make chicken soup and wipe their forehead.
“Wilson, what the heck is the problem? You puke on somebody who got mad and beat you up?”
“No...”
“Then what?”
“I’ve just...got a fever. It isn’t serious, ok? I told you it was stupid.”
“Yeah, it is stupid. As are you.”
“I said I was sorry for bothering you, ok?”
“That’s not stupid. Getting a fever and not telling anyone for at least half a day is what’s stupid.”
House had noticed that despite how calm Wilson was acting, he was shivering and flushed.
“Not like it’s the first time I’ve gotten sick.”
House rolled his eyes.
“You have enough balance problems without extra dizziness from a fever, idiot.”
Wilson sighed, and leaned his hand on House’s desk, feeling slightly lightheaded.
“Right. And making me wonder whether you think there’s something big wrong with me is really much better fo...for...my...”
House frowned.
Wilson was blinking rapidly, breathing quickly, and his face was rapidly paling.
“You’re what? Wilson?”
House stood up, now slightly worried.
“My...I don’t...House...”
Wilson suddenly fell, House barely managing to keep him from hitting the carpet covered concrete floor at full force.
“Wilson?! Wilson, are you ok?”
Wilson’s labored breathing was loud in House’s ears, the shaking of his friend’s shoulders reverberating through his hands.
“Wilson?!”
“Sorry.” sighed Wilson, faintly.
House sighed.
“Hey, how long have you been sick?”
“Few...days.”
“Jesus Wilson! And you just brought it up now? I told my mom you weren’t all that sick.”
“Yeah...well...I...I...”
“Wilson?”
“I wasn’t.”
House snorted.
“You are so messed up right now that you remind me of me.”
Wilson laughed faintly.
“Seriously. Don’t keep doing this. You’re going to end up killing yourself.”
Wilson blinked.
“Since...when...you...care?”
“Uh, since about fifteen years ago when you figured out who kept gluing gray’s anatomy diagrams of genitalia on the security cameras.”
Wilson sighed, and closed his eyes.
“Hey, come on, I can’t get you all the way to the couch by myself and Foreman and Chase already left.”
Wilson opened his eyes again, shocked by House’s tone.
“There. Now keep doing them open till we get there.”
Wilson nodded, and House awkwardly helped his woozy friend stand.
“House.” breathed Wilson, his voice barely audible.
“What?”
“Thanks.”
“For what??”
“For...the last...month...and a...half.”
“What about the last month and a half?”
Wilson nearly fell again, causing House to overbalance and stand mostly on his right leg.
“Ow.”
“S-sorry.”
“Answer.”
“That...”
“What do you mean?”
“Not...leaving me...sleep...in ele-elevators...’n stuff.”
“I may be a misanthropic bastard, but even I’m not that mean.”
“Still...thanks.”
“Stop talking and start walking.”
Wilson chuckled faintly.
“You...are...that mean...usually. At least...you...act it.”
“Can we please halt this train of conversation before it builds up so much heat that it ignites all the coal it’s carrying?”
“I like...fire. It’s....pretty.”
House looked at his puffing friend, wondering exactly how to answer that statement without stating the obvious cliche.
“And...before...you answer...I...don’t mind...ge-getting...burned.”
As he helped Wilson lower himself onto the couch, House watched Wilson’s flushed face, thinking.
“Says the guy with a fever high enough he almost passed out.”
Wilson grinned, looking tiredly up at House.
Just then, the phone rang.
House jumped slightly, then winced.
He limped over to the phone, glared at the caller id, and sighed.
“It’s my mom.”
House didn’t hear his answer, but he saw Wilson nod, before he picked up the phone.
“Hey mom, what’s up? No. Well...yes. No, it’s just that there’s been a fever going around since some guy walked into the clinic with it about two months ago, and it seems Wilson is it’s most current victim. No. Oh, come on, if I was lying you would know. Fine. No, I’m not just trying to avoid seeing dad. Ok, look. Or listen, I suppose.”
House limped over to Wilson again, putting the phone near Wilson’s mouth.
“Say hi to my mom.”
Wilson rolled his eyes, and weakly pushed the phone away.
“You don’t...want me...breathing...on...that phone.”
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t care if the ducklings get sick.
“You...though...”
“Say hi.”
Wilson rolled his eyes again.
“Hi...Mrs...House.”
House put the phone up to his own ear again, and sat down, leaning his back against the front of the couch.
“That satisfy you? Ok. See, I do tell the truth occasionally. But no, I don’t. Yeah. Do you blame me? Right. Well, bye. Oh, and please, please don’t tell Cameron embarrassing stuff, ok? Thanks mom. Bye.”
“She called to ask if I wanted to go to dinner with her, my dad, and Cameron.”
“Why’d...you...say no?”
“Because you can barely breathe.”
“Don’t...risk...Camer–“
“Oh, stop being the hero and go to sleep. You need it.”
“House...”
Wilson was thinking about what House had told his mom.
Two months ago House had been forced into massive two week clinic duty by Cuddy, but halfway through he had called in sick.
This would not be remarkable, other than the “halfway” part, except that Cuddy had actually given him the sick leave.
Which meant that either House’s acting skills had improved dramatically, or he had actually been sick.
He hadn’t come back in for five days, and Cuddy hadn’t complained.
Which meant he had been sick for sure.
Anything over three and Cuddy would stop by to check that he wasn’t being “sick” by being on some sort of high.
Wilson put the pieces together, concluding that House had been doctor to the stupid feverish clinic patient and had come down with the fever, and been out of commission for at least five days, maybe up to nine.
He hadn’t so much as called.
And judging by how he felt, Wilson guessed that House would have been unable to get up from whatever horizontal surface he had ended up on for most of the time.
Which explained the pronounced increase in vicodin intake he had demonstrated upon returning to work.
House winced as he saw the gears turning in Wilson’s head.
He hadn’t mentioned how sick he had been to Wilson, and he had asked Cuddy not to as well.
Wilson hovered too much for House’s liking all the time, much less after House had been sick.
“I’m...not..an idiot...if...you’re...not.”
“Yes, you are. Low sodium and low liquid diet plus balance disorder plus fever does not equal a good combination.”
Wilson blinked.
He hadn’t though of that.
House rolled his eyes.
“And if you add a oncologist that doesn’t manage to think about treatment interactions, you get even worse of a mix.”
“It’s...not...like...I’m...mes-messing...up...someone’s...chemo...drugs...”
“No, you’re messing up all the effort that has been so far put into the goal of keeping you from killing yourself.”
Wilson sighed, coughing.
House sighed as well.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Where...you–”
“You’re not going to sleep on that couch all night.”
“I don’t...mind...”
“Yeah, but I mind sleeping on the floor.”
“You...don’t....have to....”
“Uh-huh. Tell me one way you think Cuddy would not bite my head off if I left you with a fever, lying on a couch, in a part of the hospital that’s deserted at night.”
Wilson sighed again.
“Sorry.”
“Shut up. You’re boring when you’re sick.”
“House....”
“What?”
“How...’re you...planning...on...getting....me all....the way....to the...car?”
House sighed.
“With my never ending optimism.”
Wilson grinned, and laughed faintly.
House sighed again.
“You’re really sick, aren’t you?”
“You...would...know.”
House shook his head, smirking slightly.
“Sometimes I wish you didn’t know me so well. Actually, I wish that a lot of times. Why do people always say ‘sometimes’ when they really mean all the time?”
“To...be....polite.”
“Oh. But that doesn’t explain why I said it.”
Wilson just grinned tiredly.
“You know...it’s a lot more fun to be around you when you can actually talk. Which, now that I think about it is contrary to the many times I have wished you would shut up.”
Wilson didn’t change his grin.
House sighed yet again.
“Look....I don’t think you have some big scary medical condition. You can stop worrying about that.”
Wilson blinked.
“But what...?”
“No more dear, you’ve had enough cookies before dinner.”
Wilson looked at him strangely.
House shrugged.
Wilson then understood it to mean that House still wasn’t comfortable talking about whatever it was.
“You know.....thanks.”
“You already said that.”
“I know...I...know.”
House blinked.
Wilson seemed to be falling asleep, despite his efforts to the contrary.
As Wilson closed his eyes, House limped back over to his desk, and pulled out his ipod.
“Wilson, seriously, if you want me to be able to stand up to make breakfast tomorrow, I really can’t sleep here.”
Wilson nodded sleepily, and sat up.
House ended up calling Cuddy and Chase, figuring that Cuddy would love the opportunity to coddle Wilson, and Chase would get why House hadn’t just left him there.
ch 21
“He really doesn’t look too good, does he?” asked Chase as he and House stood back after Cuddy had shooed them off so she could properly baby Wilson.
“You say that every time you see him these days.”
“Yeah, I wonder why? Oh, maybe because every time I see him it’s because he called you cus he got dizzy.”
House looked sharply at Chase, not sure if the sarcasm had been intended nastily or not.
Chase shook his head.
“Sorry. Just stating the fact, not meaning anything by it.”
House sighed.
“You don’t look that great yourself.”
House snorted.
Chase let it drop, knowing House well enough to know when he was avoiding a subect.
Between the three of them (well, two really. House didn’t help much) they
got Wilson to House’s car.
“As much as I hate to leave him like that, I really have to go. You caught me in the middle of a date.” said Cuddy, uncomfortably.
House looked at her, amused.
She glared at him.
House snorted.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to give him food poisoning unless he deserves it.”
Cuddy sighed, shook her head, and left.
Chase wasn’t sure if House wanted his help or not.
“You coming in here or taking your own car?” asked House, indicating his car.
Chase blinked.
“I’ll come.” he said as he went around to the other side and sat down in the front passanger seat.
House stuck his head in, and tried to find some way to fasten the seatbelt around Wilson’s horizontal form.
Chase looked around House’s car while he waited.
He was surprised to find himself biting his lower lip slightly as he looked at the hand controls.
He didn’t get why, but for some reason he had been feeling slightly closer to House since his dad died.
He knew he should have been more annoyed at House, given how he had kept shoving his dad at him, and then not told Chase his dad was dying, but somehow he had never felt really mad about that.
It wasn’t like House was replacing his dad or anything, that would be way too weird.
It was more like he felt that House wasn’t quite as sharp with him since, and Chase responded by actually caring very slightly when confronted by the blatant evidence of House’s pain.
He wondered if that was related to why House had talked to him instead of Cuddy or Foreman.
House awkwardly got in the driver’s seat, and Chase glanced back at Wilson.
House had apparently decided that Wilson was in rather a difficult position to put a seatbelt on properly, and had ended up just putting the lap belt of the middle seat across his stomach.
House started the car, and Chase turned back to the front.
“How long has he been sick like that?”
“Apparently a few days. Although not that bad, or I would have noticed.”
“You didn’t notice he was sick till today?”
“It’s not like he’s not lying down puking half the time anyway. It’s a bit hard to differentiate between upset stomach induced puking and dizziness induced puking when he’s dizzy at the same time.”
“Mmm.” said Chase, agreeing.
Chase sighed and looked out the window at the neon signs of stores and restaurants as they passed by.
House glanced at him.
“What? Cameron decide she, in fact, does not like you again? Cus if that’s the case I wanna know so I can stop randomly peeking in the closets.
Chase sighed.
“No...you can keep trying to catch a peek, if that’s the only thing you’ve got to do with your time.”
“It’s not the only thing, but it’s the most fun. No, actually, it may be the only thing.”
Chase snorted.
They drove in silence for a while, broken only by Wilson coughing occasionally, and House sneezing once.
Chase ought to have found it less comfortable, riding in House’s car, Wilson sick behind him, and House driving silently next to him, but for some reason he felt almost happy, definitely content.
He was tired, but that wasn’t it.
House not calling him an idiot once in the past hour was unusual, but since House had started dragging him off to help Wilson it wasn’t exactly unheard of.
He had spent a large part of the last four years around the guy, but he hadn’t ever really felt like he was this comfortable being around him.
On then contrary, House kept him on his toes all the time.
Why was this so comfortable then?
Maybe....
Maybe because House was letting him be comfortable.
Maybe because right now, House was more worried about Wilson than he was about keeping up his wall.
ch 22
House pulled up in front of his apartment building.
It was raining, and dark, so Chase couldn’t clearly see the building through the window of the car.
House opened his door, checked for cars, and got out, rubbing his thigh as he stood.
Chase got out, and waited for House to come around, not wanting to get Wilson wetter that necessary.
As House stepped up onto the curb, he slipped on the wet pavement, and went down, hitting his thigh on the edge of the curb.
Chase came over quickly, but didn’t touch him.
“You ok?”
“Owwwwww....” came the rather faint reply.
Chase frowned, his blond eyebrows meeting.
That was definitely not a normal answer from House.
Chase bent down, not sure what he could do that House wouldn’t snap at him for.
He eventually settled on pulling him the rest of the way out of the street.
As Chase pulled, House gasped.
Chase stopped.
“Hey, seriously, are you ok?” asked Chase, now rather worried.
House didn’t answer.
Chase knelt on the wet pavement, and checked House’s pulse.
It was fast, but not seriously so.
Chase noticed the muscles in House’s neck were tight.
“Hey, you hit your head or something?”
Still no answer.
“House! Seriously, answer me.”
“‘m........kay.”
Chase sighed.
What was he supposed to do?
House would get mad if he tried to do too much.
Wilson was still in the car, sick.
House obviously was not getting up anytime soon without help.
Chase sighed.
“I’ll take Wilson inside.”
House didn’t object, so Chase figured he wasn’t too annoyed, and helped Wilson out of the car, and into House’s apartment after Wilson produced a key from his pocket.
Chase followed Wilson’s shaky gesture to the bedroom, and sat him down on the bed.
“Hey...where’d...House...”
“He’s outside. Getting something from his car I think.”
“Oh.”
Wilson laid down, coughing quietly.
Chase watched him for a moment, knowing House would be very annoyed if something happened, and then left the room, pacing for a minute or two while he looked around House’s apartment, giving House some time to recover so as to preserve his dignity.
Chase looked at the guitars on the wall, and the piano.
He didn’t know House played the guitar.
As he looked around, he saw various kinds of pill bottles and blister packets lying around.
Only some of them were the familiar shape of House’s Vicodin bottles.
He didn’t want to be rude, but he was curious, and he doubted he would get another chance to look at House’s stuff.
He bent down, and read some of the labels.
Several of them were for Meniere’s, a few were migraine preventatives, and the blister packets contained allergy medicine.
Chase blinked.
He had guessed by the less than organized manner they were scattered around in that they were House’s, but apparently only the blister packets were his.
They were scattered on top of a pile of magazines, the first of which was a newer issue of the Indian neurology journal that had published the article that had caused House to purposely induce a migraine.
He laughed quietly.
Trust House to read something for revenge and then end up getting interested by a totally different part of it.
Chase looked at the spines of some of the others.
They were mostly medical journals, in various languages, although a few seemed to have to do with football and cars, and probably belonged to Wilson.
Chase blinked.
On the other side of the pile there was one that looked like it was a legal case study type journal.
It had a bookmark in it.
Chase flipped it open, wondering what on earth House would be reading about legal issues for.
Chase understood as he saw the name of the author of the book marked article.
Typically, House was still stalking Stacy, even after he told her to stay with her husband.
Then he frowned.
It was an old article, from two years previously.
It was about the legality of living wills and how the possibility of new treatments for comas might make them less binding.
Chase wondered how much of the article had been colored by House’s waking, and later, killing, of the vegetative state guy.
Chase looked at his watch.
It had been fifteen minutes, and House still hadn’t come in.
Chase closed the magazine, and went back outside, to find House still in the same position he had been previously.
Chase frowned, and walked over, bending down to get a better look at his boss.
Chase looked House over for a moment, before he recoiled, nearly falling over backwards.
House’s shoulders were shaking.
Oh, god no. no way. There was no possible way this could be happening.
No...way...
House...crying.
It wasn’t possible, as far as Chase had thought.
Chase swallowed, and knelt next to his boss, ignoring the river of water traveling down the gutter.
Chase had no idea what in hell House would do to him, but the damage was done, and he figured he couldn’t make it much worse, so he might as well help to the extent he could before he died.
“I didn’t leave.”
That was stupid.
House could tell he was there.
Chase sighed.
“Ok...fine. I suck at this. So do you. We’re even on that. So don’t kill me cus of that.”
Chase sighed when House didn’t answer.
He debated leaving him there, as it would probably annoy House less, but the strange feeling of actually caring kept him from doing that.
“Kay then. Now that’s settled. this you can, and probably will kill me for.”
Chase put his hand’s on House’s shoulders and pulled, turning him over so his face wasn’t pressed against the rough, hard, cold, and wet concrete.
House let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan.
Chase winced visibly.
“Sorry.”
Chase sighed.
He was avoiding looking at House’s face, but he couldn’t help but feel him shaking as Chase tried to get him out of the street without bumping his leg too much.
House might be rather skinny, but he made up for that by being tall.
He certainly wasn’t the lightest person that Chase had ever tried to move.
Chase sighed again.
He had gotten House up out of the street, and against the wall of his apartment building, but he wasn’t sure if it had helped or not.
And he was reluctant to check House’s expression to find out.
Especially since he was still shaking.
“Hey. You ok?”
House took a long, shaky breath.
“Yeah...I’m ok.”
Chase relaxed slightly, risking a glance at the sopping wet form of his boss.
“Good.”
ch 23
House had eventually driven Chase back to the hospital, and come inside, calling out to Wilson to let him know he was back.
Wilson said something in reply, but House barely heard the noise, much less the words.
House sighed.
He had hopped Wilson would be asleep.
“Hey, you want something to eat?” asked House, limping heavily into the bedroom.
“No...I’m...just tired.” replied Wilson, coughing.
House sighed again.
“If you’re tired, then why aren’t you asleep?”
“Can’t....”
“I bet you can.”
“House...stop...teas–” Wilson coughed, “–ing.”
House rolled his eyes, limping over to the door, and hanging his coat on it.
“Seriously. You’re the one that can fall asleep easy. And could sleep through the apocalypse.”
“You...sleep...easy too.”
“I “sorta doze” easy. I don’t sleep easy. You do.”
“Not...when I’m...sick.”
“Uh, yeah, when you’re sick. Especially when you’re sick. Even more especially, when you’re sick, staying at my apartment, and annoying me.”
Wilson smiled tiredly, thinking of the many adventures of House as he tried to get Wilson to take a wide variety of sleep aids while he was sick and being annoying to House in the past.
House pulled his ipod out of his dripping coat, for once glad that he usually kept it in a plastic bag, because his coat wasn’t waterproof.
Wilson watched him, wondering when the stolen bottle of Ambien or whatever House had acquired this time would make its appearance.
He was rather surprised, however, when House simply picked up a pair of speakers off of the table across the room from Wilson, limped over, and sat down on the bed next to him.
“What...?”
“I’m afraid my bedtime stories aren’t very good, so this will have to do.”
Wilson gave a small, amused grin.
House set the speakers down on the table near Wilson’s head, and started a playlist.
Wilson jerked upright as “clair de lune” started playing.
House put his hand to his face, paused the song, and showed Wilson the playlist’s name.
“Go to sleep, dammit!”
Wilson chuckled faintly, and House skipped the first song, starting a slow waltz that Wilson didn’t recognize.
House got up, and went to get some blankets.
When he came back in, awkwardly carrying a large bundle of pillows and blankets in his left hand, he frowned slightly, and then smiled quietly.
Wilson was asleep, his flushed face turned towards the door.
House’s ipod was slowly slipping from his hand, and “clair de lune” was playing.
“Hey, I thought you didn’t like the quiet songs.” said House, sitting down next to the sleeping doctor.
Wilson, of course, didn’t answer.
House tucked a blanket around him and put the extra pillow under his head.
House really didn’t mind being nice when nobody was going to know.
He figured that there wasn’t really a point to being mean to a sleeping person, unless they were drunk.
It was like taking care of the furniture; it was more useful when you didn’t destroy it, but nobody was going to accuse you of being human for fixing it.
And judging by how the fever had gone when he was sick, House guessed that Wilson was going to be very, very uncomfortable when he woke up.
House blinked, only now realizing that Chase had been right, he was very tired.
He started to get up, but the bed was so nice...and soft....and....warm...and....
When Cuddy came in a few hours later to check on Wilson and make sure House hadn’t gotten so annoyed at Wilson that he had ODed on Vicodin while trying to sleep, she had started to panic because House was nowhere to seen.
She hurried into the bedroom, and stopped.
“Oh...”
The sight of the two doctors asleep on the bed was very, very cute.
Yes, cute.
House included.
The older doctor was half against the headboard, as though he had fallen asleep sitting up.
The younger was curled up, using the other’s stomach as a pillow, despite the stack of actual pillows where his head ought to be.
House’s hand was on Wilson’s shoulder, although it looked like it was there because Wilson had been warm, and House had automatically moved towards him.
House was still wet, but he didn’t look cold.
Probably thanks to the younger doctor’s snuggling.
Cuddy smiled, biting her lower lip slightly, and very, very quietly left the room.
As she got in her car, she mused on the scene and what it might mean.
For her, House had always seemed to feel long, thin, angular, icy, to be made of sharp pain, and somehow, almost as though he always bled from a deep wound, even though she had thought this before the infarction.
Wilson had always seemed soft, deep, brown, steady, but with shakimness and pain in his core.
But she had felt like they were both warm. One still long and thin, the other still soft and deep. But they seemed to fit together like two halves of a whole. Like their pain canceled out, leaving only the happiness.
She shook her head.
Whatever the case, she wasn’t part of it.
She wasn’t going to intrude on that.
Whatever it was.
“House?”
“What?”
“I don’t feel very good.”
House looked up.
Not only was the fact that Wilson had found this unusual worrying, but the fact that he had said something before he had suffered for days was very unlike him.
“Not very good how?”
“Not very good...as in...it’s not serious.”
House blinked.
Wilson turned around and started to leave.
“What? You incontinent or something?” asked House, trying to figure out if Wilson was embarrassed because of the problem or because he wasn’t seriously ill but was still complaining.
“No...it’s nothing like that...it’s just boring actually.”
Wilson grinned at House.
House didn’t buy it.
“Right. Stupid. Spill.”
“House, it’s really not worth it.”
“Uh-huh, yet you came all the way here to mention it.”
Wilson, to House’s confused surprise, was blushing slightly.
And who could blame him?
He had come to House because he had gotten a fever.
He was still perfectly able to deal with it himself, he was still able to stand, and he wasn’t moaning at every sound.
He was simply somewhat ill.
House wouldn’t care if he had a *fever* of all things.
Because House was House.
And House didn’t coddle people.
He made sure they didn’t totally kill themselves because they couldn’t see straight, but he didn’t make chicken soup and wipe their forehead.
“Wilson, what the heck is the problem? You puke on somebody who got mad and beat you up?”
“No...”
“Then what?”
“I’ve just...got a fever. It isn’t serious, ok? I told you it was stupid.”
“Yeah, it is stupid. As are you.”
“I said I was sorry for bothering you, ok?”
“That’s not stupid. Getting a fever and not telling anyone for at least half a day is what’s stupid.”
House had noticed that despite how calm Wilson was acting, he was shivering and flushed.
“Not like it’s the first time I’ve gotten sick.”
House rolled his eyes.
“You have enough balance problems without extra dizziness from a fever, idiot.”
Wilson sighed, and leaned his hand on House’s desk, feeling slightly lightheaded.
“Right. And making me wonder whether you think there’s something big wrong with me is really much better fo...for...my...”
House frowned.
Wilson was blinking rapidly, breathing quickly, and his face was rapidly paling.
“You’re what? Wilson?”
House stood up, now slightly worried.
“My...I don’t...House...”
Wilson suddenly fell, House barely managing to keep him from hitting the carpet covered concrete floor at full force.
“Wilson?! Wilson, are you ok?”
Wilson’s labored breathing was loud in House’s ears, the shaking of his friend’s shoulders reverberating through his hands.
“Wilson?!”
“Sorry.” sighed Wilson, faintly.
House sighed.
“Hey, how long have you been sick?”
“Few...days.”
“Jesus Wilson! And you just brought it up now? I told my mom you weren’t all that sick.”
“Yeah...well...I...I...”
“Wilson?”
“I wasn’t.”
House snorted.
“You are so messed up right now that you remind me of me.”
Wilson laughed faintly.
“Seriously. Don’t keep doing this. You’re going to end up killing yourself.”
Wilson blinked.
“Since...when...you...care?”
“Uh, since about fifteen years ago when you figured out who kept gluing gray’s anatomy diagrams of genitalia on the security cameras.”
Wilson sighed, and closed his eyes.
“Hey, come on, I can’t get you all the way to the couch by myself and Foreman and Chase already left.”
Wilson opened his eyes again, shocked by House’s tone.
“There. Now keep doing them open till we get there.”
Wilson nodded, and House awkwardly helped his woozy friend stand.
“House.” breathed Wilson, his voice barely audible.
“What?”
“Thanks.”
“For what??”
“For...the last...month...and a...half.”
“What about the last month and a half?”
Wilson nearly fell again, causing House to overbalance and stand mostly on his right leg.
“Ow.”
“S-sorry.”
“Answer.”
“That...”
“What do you mean?”
“Not...leaving me...sleep...in ele-elevators...’n stuff.”
“I may be a misanthropic bastard, but even I’m not that mean.”
“Still...thanks.”
“Stop talking and start walking.”
Wilson chuckled faintly.
“You...are...that mean...usually. At least...you...act it.”
“Can we please halt this train of conversation before it builds up so much heat that it ignites all the coal it’s carrying?”
“I like...fire. It’s....pretty.”
House looked at his puffing friend, wondering exactly how to answer that statement without stating the obvious cliche.
“And...before...you answer...I...don’t mind...ge-getting...burned.”
As he helped Wilson lower himself onto the couch, House watched Wilson’s flushed face, thinking.
“Says the guy with a fever high enough he almost passed out.”
Wilson grinned, looking tiredly up at House.
Just then, the phone rang.
House jumped slightly, then winced.
He limped over to the phone, glared at the caller id, and sighed.
“It’s my mom.”
House didn’t hear his answer, but he saw Wilson nod, before he picked up the phone.
“Hey mom, what’s up? No. Well...yes. No, it’s just that there’s been a fever going around since some guy walked into the clinic with it about two months ago, and it seems Wilson is it’s most current victim. No. Oh, come on, if I was lying you would know. Fine. No, I’m not just trying to avoid seeing dad. Ok, look. Or listen, I suppose.”
House limped over to Wilson again, putting the phone near Wilson’s mouth.
“Say hi to my mom.”
Wilson rolled his eyes, and weakly pushed the phone away.
“You don’t...want me...breathing...on...that phone.”
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t care if the ducklings get sick.
“You...though...”
“Say hi.”
Wilson rolled his eyes again.
“Hi...Mrs...House.”
House put the phone up to his own ear again, and sat down, leaning his back against the front of the couch.
“That satisfy you? Ok. See, I do tell the truth occasionally. But no, I don’t. Yeah. Do you blame me? Right. Well, bye. Oh, and please, please don’t tell Cameron embarrassing stuff, ok? Thanks mom. Bye.”
“She called to ask if I wanted to go to dinner with her, my dad, and Cameron.”
“Why’d...you...say no?”
“Because you can barely breathe.”
“Don’t...risk...Camer–“
“Oh, stop being the hero and go to sleep. You need it.”
“House...”
Wilson was thinking about what House had told his mom.
Two months ago House had been forced into massive two week clinic duty by Cuddy, but halfway through he had called in sick.
This would not be remarkable, other than the “halfway” part, except that Cuddy had actually given him the sick leave.
Which meant that either House’s acting skills had improved dramatically, or he had actually been sick.
He hadn’t come back in for five days, and Cuddy hadn’t complained.
Which meant he had been sick for sure.
Anything over three and Cuddy would stop by to check that he wasn’t being “sick” by being on some sort of high.
Wilson put the pieces together, concluding that House had been doctor to the stupid feverish clinic patient and had come down with the fever, and been out of commission for at least five days, maybe up to nine.
He hadn’t so much as called.
And judging by how he felt, Wilson guessed that House would have been unable to get up from whatever horizontal surface he had ended up on for most of the time.
Which explained the pronounced increase in vicodin intake he had demonstrated upon returning to work.
House winced as he saw the gears turning in Wilson’s head.
He hadn’t mentioned how sick he had been to Wilson, and he had asked Cuddy not to as well.
Wilson hovered too much for House’s liking all the time, much less after House had been sick.
“I’m...not..an idiot...if...you’re...not.”
“Yes, you are. Low sodium and low liquid diet plus balance disorder plus fever does not equal a good combination.”
Wilson blinked.
He hadn’t though of that.
House rolled his eyes.
“And if you add a oncologist that doesn’t manage to think about treatment interactions, you get even worse of a mix.”
“It’s...not...like...I’m...mes-messing...up...someone’s...chemo...drugs...”
“No, you’re messing up all the effort that has been so far put into the goal of keeping you from killing yourself.”
Wilson sighed, coughing.
House sighed as well.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Where...you–”
“You’re not going to sleep on that couch all night.”
“I don’t...mind...”
“Yeah, but I mind sleeping on the floor.”
“You...don’t....have to....”
“Uh-huh. Tell me one way you think Cuddy would not bite my head off if I left you with a fever, lying on a couch, in a part of the hospital that’s deserted at night.”
Wilson sighed again.
“Sorry.”
“Shut up. You’re boring when you’re sick.”
“House....”
“What?”
“How...’re you...planning...on...getting....me all....the way....to the...car?”
House sighed.
“With my never ending optimism.”
Wilson grinned, and laughed faintly.
House sighed again.
“You’re really sick, aren’t you?”
“You...would...know.”
House shook his head, smirking slightly.
“Sometimes I wish you didn’t know me so well. Actually, I wish that a lot of times. Why do people always say ‘sometimes’ when they really mean all the time?”
“To...be....polite.”
“Oh. But that doesn’t explain why I said it.”
Wilson just grinned tiredly.
“You know...it’s a lot more fun to be around you when you can actually talk. Which, now that I think about it is contrary to the many times I have wished you would shut up.”
Wilson didn’t change his grin.
House sighed yet again.
“Look....I don’t think you have some big scary medical condition. You can stop worrying about that.”
Wilson blinked.
“But what...?”
“No more dear, you’ve had enough cookies before dinner.”
Wilson looked at him strangely.
House shrugged.
Wilson then understood it to mean that House still wasn’t comfortable talking about whatever it was.
“You know.....thanks.”
“You already said that.”
“I know...I...know.”
House blinked.
Wilson seemed to be falling asleep, despite his efforts to the contrary.
As Wilson closed his eyes, House limped back over to his desk, and pulled out his ipod.
“Wilson, seriously, if you want me to be able to stand up to make breakfast tomorrow, I really can’t sleep here.”
Wilson nodded sleepily, and sat up.
House ended up calling Cuddy and Chase, figuring that Cuddy would love the opportunity to coddle Wilson, and Chase would get why House hadn’t just left him there.
ch 21
“He really doesn’t look too good, does he?” asked Chase as he and House stood back after Cuddy had shooed them off so she could properly baby Wilson.
“You say that every time you see him these days.”
“Yeah, I wonder why? Oh, maybe because every time I see him it’s because he called you cus he got dizzy.”
House looked sharply at Chase, not sure if the sarcasm had been intended nastily or not.
Chase shook his head.
“Sorry. Just stating the fact, not meaning anything by it.”
House sighed.
“You don’t look that great yourself.”
House snorted.
Chase let it drop, knowing House well enough to know when he was avoiding a subect.
Between the three of them (well, two really. House didn’t help much) they
got Wilson to House’s car.
“As much as I hate to leave him like that, I really have to go. You caught me in the middle of a date.” said Cuddy, uncomfortably.
House looked at her, amused.
She glared at him.
House snorted.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to give him food poisoning unless he deserves it.”
Cuddy sighed, shook her head, and left.
Chase wasn’t sure if House wanted his help or not.
“You coming in here or taking your own car?” asked House, indicating his car.
Chase blinked.
“I’ll come.” he said as he went around to the other side and sat down in the front passanger seat.
House stuck his head in, and tried to find some way to fasten the seatbelt around Wilson’s horizontal form.
Chase looked around House’s car while he waited.
He was surprised to find himself biting his lower lip slightly as he looked at the hand controls.
He didn’t get why, but for some reason he had been feeling slightly closer to House since his dad died.
He knew he should have been more annoyed at House, given how he had kept shoving his dad at him, and then not told Chase his dad was dying, but somehow he had never felt really mad about that.
It wasn’t like House was replacing his dad or anything, that would be way too weird.
It was more like he felt that House wasn’t quite as sharp with him since, and Chase responded by actually caring very slightly when confronted by the blatant evidence of House’s pain.
He wondered if that was related to why House had talked to him instead of Cuddy or Foreman.
House awkwardly got in the driver’s seat, and Chase glanced back at Wilson.
House had apparently decided that Wilson was in rather a difficult position to put a seatbelt on properly, and had ended up just putting the lap belt of the middle seat across his stomach.
House started the car, and Chase turned back to the front.
“How long has he been sick like that?”
“Apparently a few days. Although not that bad, or I would have noticed.”
“You didn’t notice he was sick till today?”
“It’s not like he’s not lying down puking half the time anyway. It’s a bit hard to differentiate between upset stomach induced puking and dizziness induced puking when he’s dizzy at the same time.”
“Mmm.” said Chase, agreeing.
Chase sighed and looked out the window at the neon signs of stores and restaurants as they passed by.
House glanced at him.
“What? Cameron decide she, in fact, does not like you again? Cus if that’s the case I wanna know so I can stop randomly peeking in the closets.
Chase sighed.
“No...you can keep trying to catch a peek, if that’s the only thing you’ve got to do with your time.”
“It’s not the only thing, but it’s the most fun. No, actually, it may be the only thing.”
Chase snorted.
They drove in silence for a while, broken only by Wilson coughing occasionally, and House sneezing once.
Chase ought to have found it less comfortable, riding in House’s car, Wilson sick behind him, and House driving silently next to him, but for some reason he felt almost happy, definitely content.
He was tired, but that wasn’t it.
House not calling him an idiot once in the past hour was unusual, but since House had started dragging him off to help Wilson it wasn’t exactly unheard of.
He had spent a large part of the last four years around the guy, but he hadn’t ever really felt like he was this comfortable being around him.
On then contrary, House kept him on his toes all the time.
Why was this so comfortable then?
Maybe....
Maybe because House was letting him be comfortable.
Maybe because right now, House was more worried about Wilson than he was about keeping up his wall.
ch 22
House pulled up in front of his apartment building.
It was raining, and dark, so Chase couldn’t clearly see the building through the window of the car.
House opened his door, checked for cars, and got out, rubbing his thigh as he stood.
Chase got out, and waited for House to come around, not wanting to get Wilson wetter that necessary.
As House stepped up onto the curb, he slipped on the wet pavement, and went down, hitting his thigh on the edge of the curb.
Chase came over quickly, but didn’t touch him.
“You ok?”
“Owwwwww....” came the rather faint reply.
Chase frowned, his blond eyebrows meeting.
That was definitely not a normal answer from House.
Chase bent down, not sure what he could do that House wouldn’t snap at him for.
He eventually settled on pulling him the rest of the way out of the street.
As Chase pulled, House gasped.
Chase stopped.
“Hey, seriously, are you ok?” asked Chase, now rather worried.
House didn’t answer.
Chase knelt on the wet pavement, and checked House’s pulse.
It was fast, but not seriously so.
Chase noticed the muscles in House’s neck were tight.
“Hey, you hit your head or something?”
Still no answer.
“House! Seriously, answer me.”
“‘m........kay.”
Chase sighed.
What was he supposed to do?
House would get mad if he tried to do too much.
Wilson was still in the car, sick.
House obviously was not getting up anytime soon without help.
Chase sighed.
“I’ll take Wilson inside.”
House didn’t object, so Chase figured he wasn’t too annoyed, and helped Wilson out of the car, and into House’s apartment after Wilson produced a key from his pocket.
Chase followed Wilson’s shaky gesture to the bedroom, and sat him down on the bed.
“Hey...where’d...House...”
“He’s outside. Getting something from his car I think.”
“Oh.”
Wilson laid down, coughing quietly.
Chase watched him for a moment, knowing House would be very annoyed if something happened, and then left the room, pacing for a minute or two while he looked around House’s apartment, giving House some time to recover so as to preserve his dignity.
Chase looked at the guitars on the wall, and the piano.
He didn’t know House played the guitar.
As he looked around, he saw various kinds of pill bottles and blister packets lying around.
Only some of them were the familiar shape of House’s Vicodin bottles.
He didn’t want to be rude, but he was curious, and he doubted he would get another chance to look at House’s stuff.
He bent down, and read some of the labels.
Several of them were for Meniere’s, a few were migraine preventatives, and the blister packets contained allergy medicine.
Chase blinked.
He had guessed by the less than organized manner they were scattered around in that they were House’s, but apparently only the blister packets were his.
They were scattered on top of a pile of magazines, the first of which was a newer issue of the Indian neurology journal that had published the article that had caused House to purposely induce a migraine.
He laughed quietly.
Trust House to read something for revenge and then end up getting interested by a totally different part of it.
Chase looked at the spines of some of the others.
They were mostly medical journals, in various languages, although a few seemed to have to do with football and cars, and probably belonged to Wilson.
Chase blinked.
On the other side of the pile there was one that looked like it was a legal case study type journal.
It had a bookmark in it.
Chase flipped it open, wondering what on earth House would be reading about legal issues for.
Chase understood as he saw the name of the author of the book marked article.
Typically, House was still stalking Stacy, even after he told her to stay with her husband.
Then he frowned.
It was an old article, from two years previously.
It was about the legality of living wills and how the possibility of new treatments for comas might make them less binding.
Chase wondered how much of the article had been colored by House’s waking, and later, killing, of the vegetative state guy.
Chase looked at his watch.
It had been fifteen minutes, and House still hadn’t come in.
Chase closed the magazine, and went back outside, to find House still in the same position he had been previously.
Chase frowned, and walked over, bending down to get a better look at his boss.
Chase looked House over for a moment, before he recoiled, nearly falling over backwards.
House’s shoulders were shaking.
Oh, god no. no way. There was no possible way this could be happening.
No...way...
House...crying.
It wasn’t possible, as far as Chase had thought.
Chase swallowed, and knelt next to his boss, ignoring the river of water traveling down the gutter.
Chase had no idea what in hell House would do to him, but the damage was done, and he figured he couldn’t make it much worse, so he might as well help to the extent he could before he died.
“I didn’t leave.”
That was stupid.
House could tell he was there.
Chase sighed.
“Ok...fine. I suck at this. So do you. We’re even on that. So don’t kill me cus of that.”
Chase sighed when House didn’t answer.
He debated leaving him there, as it would probably annoy House less, but the strange feeling of actually caring kept him from doing that.
“Kay then. Now that’s settled. this you can, and probably will kill me for.”
Chase put his hand’s on House’s shoulders and pulled, turning him over so his face wasn’t pressed against the rough, hard, cold, and wet concrete.
House let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan.
Chase winced visibly.
“Sorry.”
Chase sighed.
He was avoiding looking at House’s face, but he couldn’t help but feel him shaking as Chase tried to get him out of the street without bumping his leg too much.
House might be rather skinny, but he made up for that by being tall.
He certainly wasn’t the lightest person that Chase had ever tried to move.
Chase sighed again.
He had gotten House up out of the street, and against the wall of his apartment building, but he wasn’t sure if it had helped or not.
And he was reluctant to check House’s expression to find out.
Especially since he was still shaking.
“Hey. You ok?”
House took a long, shaky breath.
“Yeah...I’m ok.”
Chase relaxed slightly, risking a glance at the sopping wet form of his boss.
“Good.”
ch 23
House had eventually driven Chase back to the hospital, and come inside, calling out to Wilson to let him know he was back.
Wilson said something in reply, but House barely heard the noise, much less the words.
House sighed.
He had hopped Wilson would be asleep.
“Hey, you want something to eat?” asked House, limping heavily into the bedroom.
“No...I’m...just tired.” replied Wilson, coughing.
House sighed again.
“If you’re tired, then why aren’t you asleep?”
“Can’t....”
“I bet you can.”
“House...stop...teas–” Wilson coughed, “–ing.”
House rolled his eyes, limping over to the door, and hanging his coat on it.
“Seriously. You’re the one that can fall asleep easy. And could sleep through the apocalypse.”
“You...sleep...easy too.”
“I “sorta doze” easy. I don’t sleep easy. You do.”
“Not...when I’m...sick.”
“Uh, yeah, when you’re sick. Especially when you’re sick. Even more especially, when you’re sick, staying at my apartment, and annoying me.”
Wilson smiled tiredly, thinking of the many adventures of House as he tried to get Wilson to take a wide variety of sleep aids while he was sick and being annoying to House in the past.
House pulled his ipod out of his dripping coat, for once glad that he usually kept it in a plastic bag, because his coat wasn’t waterproof.
Wilson watched him, wondering when the stolen bottle of Ambien or whatever House had acquired this time would make its appearance.
He was rather surprised, however, when House simply picked up a pair of speakers off of the table across the room from Wilson, limped over, and sat down on the bed next to him.
“What...?”
“I’m afraid my bedtime stories aren’t very good, so this will have to do.”
Wilson gave a small, amused grin.
House set the speakers down on the table near Wilson’s head, and started a playlist.
Wilson jerked upright as “clair de lune” started playing.
House put his hand to his face, paused the song, and showed Wilson the playlist’s name.
“Go to sleep, dammit!”
Wilson chuckled faintly, and House skipped the first song, starting a slow waltz that Wilson didn’t recognize.
House got up, and went to get some blankets.
When he came back in, awkwardly carrying a large bundle of pillows and blankets in his left hand, he frowned slightly, and then smiled quietly.
Wilson was asleep, his flushed face turned towards the door.
House’s ipod was slowly slipping from his hand, and “clair de lune” was playing.
“Hey, I thought you didn’t like the quiet songs.” said House, sitting down next to the sleeping doctor.
Wilson, of course, didn’t answer.
House tucked a blanket around him and put the extra pillow under his head.
House really didn’t mind being nice when nobody was going to know.
He figured that there wasn’t really a point to being mean to a sleeping person, unless they were drunk.
It was like taking care of the furniture; it was more useful when you didn’t destroy it, but nobody was going to accuse you of being human for fixing it.
And judging by how the fever had gone when he was sick, House guessed that Wilson was going to be very, very uncomfortable when he woke up.
House blinked, only now realizing that Chase had been right, he was very tired.
He started to get up, but the bed was so nice...and soft....and....warm...and....
When Cuddy came in a few hours later to check on Wilson and make sure House hadn’t gotten so annoyed at Wilson that he had ODed on Vicodin while trying to sleep, she had started to panic because House was nowhere to seen.
She hurried into the bedroom, and stopped.
“Oh...”
The sight of the two doctors asleep on the bed was very, very cute.
Yes, cute.
House included.
The older doctor was half against the headboard, as though he had fallen asleep sitting up.
The younger was curled up, using the other’s stomach as a pillow, despite the stack of actual pillows where his head ought to be.
House’s hand was on Wilson’s shoulder, although it looked like it was there because Wilson had been warm, and House had automatically moved towards him.
House was still wet, but he didn’t look cold.
Probably thanks to the younger doctor’s snuggling.
Cuddy smiled, biting her lower lip slightly, and very, very quietly left the room.
As she got in her car, she mused on the scene and what it might mean.
For her, House had always seemed to feel long, thin, angular, icy, to be made of sharp pain, and somehow, almost as though he always bled from a deep wound, even though she had thought this before the infarction.
Wilson had always seemed soft, deep, brown, steady, but with shakimness and pain in his core.
But she had felt like they were both warm. One still long and thin, the other still soft and deep. But they seemed to fit together like two halves of a whole. Like their pain canceled out, leaving only the happiness.
She shook her head.
Whatever the case, she wasn’t part of it.
She wasn’t going to intrude on that.
Whatever it was.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
YAY!
house is so hard to write in character while being nice to wilson.
because he barely ever would.
and writing a whole fic of him doing it....
no subject
no subject
not only have i not lost people, i've gained one!
yay!
no subject
no subject
anyway, loved it.
no subject
no subject
no subject
*grins foolishly*
(house-->) "an apropriate reaction to watch your boss shooting corpse is not to grin foolishly."
(me-->) "no...it's to break out laughing at everyone's expressions"