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sick_wilson2007-07-18 09:48 pm
alanwolfmoon.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2007-07-18 09:48 pm
trash cans beware (ch 25)
Title: Trash cans beware (ch 25)
Pairing: House / Wilson
Author:
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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. (they make it look like i'm writing fast)
If anyone could draw this:
“House awoke to Wilson’s coughing.
It was loud, and kept going.
And it kept jiggling his stomach.
House opened his eyes.
Wilson was once again curled up and using him as a pillow.”
I would be eternally grateful (you’d own me) and I would write anything you could possibly ask me to write.
Even your English essay, although no guarantees on what grade you’ll get.
Heck, if you really, really, really, really, really want me to, I’d write mpreg. although i would not post it to this communtiy.
the only thing i won't write is character death.
Thttp://community.livejournal.com/sick_wi
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and now for the fact that the only reason house was tired in this chapter, was because i wrote this after coming home from the most mind rottingly borring class known to man (driver's ed), crashed on the couch, and watched house for six hours, nearly falling asleep while typing.
House finally managed to finish making the “pancakes” without something else happening to Wilson.
They weren’t edible, but he did finish them.
Wilson fell asleep again after House got him do drink the admittedly less gross tea.
House tried to call Cuddy, to tell her he wouldn’t come in that day.
He got nurse Brenda.
“You want me to give you the day off why?”
“Uh...family emergency.”
“Dr. House, to have a family emergency, you have to actually have a family.”
House sighed.
“Ok, fine. Sick day.”
“Dr. House, how stupid do you think I am? Don’t answer that. You’re not sick.”
“Ok...fine. But Wilson is.”
“Uh-huh. Dr. Wilson has been sick for nearly two months. You didn’t miss any of those days.”
“He got sicker.”
“He has Meniere’s. You can leave a dizzy person on a couch or bed without any problem. No matter how dizzy they are.”
“He didn’t get Meniere’s sicker, he got nasty fever, almost died coughing sicker.”
There was a silence on the other end.
“The same nasty fever you got after that clinic patient passed out coughing on top of you? The one that had Alice hospitalized for two weeks?”
“Yeah. That nasty fever.”
“Does Dr. Cuddy know this?”
“Yes. She got him here.”
“Fine. You both get the day off. But if Dr. Cuddy says she doesn’t know what you’re talking about, I’m putting you down for missed clinic duty for you and Dr. Wilson.”
“Thank you.”
House hung up, and sighed.
Wilson was coughing in his sleep, though less than he had been while awake.
House put his hand on Wilson’s forehead, and was somewhat alarmed to feel how hot it was.
He pulled a thermometer out of a can in a drawer, and put it in Wilson’s mouth between bouts of coughing.
“One oh three. Sheesh, I didn’t get above one oh two point five. Guess I’m lucky. Actually, I can’t believe I just said that. Guess you don’t really care, do you?”
House poked Wilson in the shoulder.
Wilson didn’t respond.
“Right. Didn’t think so.”
House pulled out a journal with a large picture of a rat’s liver on the front, and sat on the edge of the bed.
“So, they’ve been trying to grow a new liver completely in vitro. You read this already? No, I thought not. Anyway, they are trying to figure out what tells the liver how to adapt its size depending on who it’s in.”
House read, knowing Wilson wasn’t listening.
He was never really sure why, but he had always like listening to tapes of medical lectures when he was sick, and there wasn’t much of anything else to do.
He had already loaded Wilson up on so many meds he was probably feeling a lot like one of his cancer patients.
Just as he was finishing his description of the rather unhealthy looking kidney some german scientists had tried to break down into its chemical components, House heard a knock on the door.
He sighed, and put the journal down.
As he opened the door, the scent of roses and paper toner wafted in, and he knew it was Cuddy, despite the lights being off.
“How’s Wilson? Nurse Brenda said he...”
“Yeah. Guy’s hopeless at taking care of himself.”
Cuddy patted House on the shoulder.
House glared at her.
She smiled.
House sighed.
Cuddy held out a plastic bag.
“I brought dinner.”
House limped back a step to let her in.
Cuddy came in past him, and tried to avoid hitting the furniture in the dark.
House limped past her into the kitchen, and she followed him.
House sat down, only turning the light over the counter on, not the ceiling light.
“You have a migraine this time, or is there some other reason all the lights are off?”
“There’s more of a romantic atmosphere in the dark.”
Cuddy frowned.
His sarcasm had sounded half hearted at best.
“Are you ok?”
House sighed.
Cuddy looked at him for a moment, and pulled a plastic container out of the bag, setting it on the counter.
House didn’t really seem to care.
Cuddy blinked.
“Are you just more depressed than usual, or are you actually tired?”
“Tired. Wilson must have been really annoying as a...”
House trailed off, not bothering to finish his joke.
Cuddy was looking at him with more and more concern.
She looked in a few cupboards, then pulled out a plate and dumped the rice and vegetable mix she had brought onto it, and put it in the microwave.
She turned back, and saw that House had crossed his arms on the table, and rested his face in the crook of one elbow.
He really did look tired.
She walked over, and put a hand on his shoulder.
House raised his head for a moment, but then let it back down without protesting the contact.
Cuddy left her hand there until the microwave beeped, and she walked back over to open it.
House sighed when she put a plate in front of him.
Cuddy shrugged, and took one of the other two into the bedroom.
Wilson, still asleep, didn’t look very good.
His face was flushed, he was shivering and coughing, and there were flecks of dried blood on the white sheets.
The stack of rumpled medical journals on the floor next to a chair, and the neater stack on the table told her what House had been doing all day.
She walked over to Wilson, and shook his shoulder.
He opened his eyes after a few minutes, blinked and looked blearily around.
“Oh...hi...Cuddy.”
“Hey Wilson. Heard you had a bit of a scare this morning.”
“Yeah...”
Wilson smiled tiredly between coughs.
Cuddy gave him a sympathetic look, and offered him the plate.
He took it, nodding his thanks.
Cuddy watched him eat in silence, then took his plate when he finished, and asked him if he needed anything else.
He replied that he didn’t, and Cuddy walked back out to the kitchen.
House hadn’t moved or touched his food.
Cuddy looked closer and saw that his eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep.
“You want me to take a turn watching him? I have some paperwork I have to do anyway, and I might as well do it here as at home.”
House just shrugged, but he did get up and limp into the living room, lying down on the couch.
Cuddy took that as a yes, and went to sit in the bedroom.
She picked up one of the discarded journals, noticed it was in Portuguese, and dug through the pile for a different one.
A few hours later, unsteady thumping signaled the arrival of an exhausted looking House.
Cuddy blinked at him, having figured he would have been sleeping on the couch by this point.
He shook his head at her questioning look, and curled up in the corner of the room, on the floor.
Cuddy watched him, confused, for a moment, and then turned back to the journal on auto immune diseases.
If House was having trouble sleeping and being closer to Wilson would help, she wasn’t going to comment on it.
She also didn’t comment on how heavily he had been limping.
Sitting still for hours did tend to do that to him, and the pile of journals on the floor was quite large.
Several more hours passed, during which House started snoring, and Wilson kept coughing.
Cuddy got up several times to make Wilson some tea, which he accepted.
A while later she had noticed House start to shiver in his sleep, so she got up and retrieved the blanket and pillows from the couch.
House mumbled something she assumed was thanks, and wrapped himself in the blanket.
Cuddy eventually made it through all the discarded journals she could read.
She picked one from the unread pile, and started reading it.
House got up and went to the bathroom once, and Cuddy felt that was a good idea.
House sat down in the corner, and stayed sitting until she came back, at which point he curled up again.
Wilson noted that he also had to go, and Cuddy supported him on the way there, House following.
They came back, and resumed their former positions.
More time passed, and Cuddy started trying to read the Spanish journals.
Around two in the morning, House offered to take over again.
Cuddy nodded, and picked up the blanket from the corner, taking it back into the living room.
As she curled up, she heard House’s voice start to narrate a medical study that had apparently been done in Egypt.
She fell asleep to the quiet sounds of House reading, as she thought that it wasn’t any wonder Wilson wasn’t getting restless. House was better at this than most nurses.
When Cuddy awoke, it was because the morning light had hit her face, coming though the window on the wall to the right of the couch.
She sat up, stretching, and went to see how House and Wilson were doing.
Wilson, asleep, looked better than he had the night before, although still rather miserable and feverish.
House was awake, his hands folded over his stomach, right leg out in front of him, his left bent under the chair.
House looked up when she walked in.
“Morning.” said Cuddy, quietly.
“Morning.” replied House, his voice somewhat hoarse.
“You coughing too?”
“No. I’ve already had that, remember?”
House still sounded tired.
“Go eat. I’ll watch him again.”
House shook his head.
“When’s the last time you ate anything?”
“Lunch yesterday.”
“Go eat.”
“Don’t really feel like eating.” said House, cheerfully.
Cuddy raised an eyebrow.
House sighed.
“Don’t feel like risking standing up is more like it.”
House glanced at her, then nodded, knowing he couldn’t fool her.
“Look...fine. If you want to be so self destructive, go ahead. If, on the other hand, you want to actually be able to stand before next week, you gotta get up soon.”
House leaned forward and rested his elbows on his legs, putting his head on top of his hands.
“And if I would rather not have an audience for said endeavor?”
“You’re out of luck. Even if I leave, Wilson isn’t going anywhere.”
“Wilson’s asleep.”
“Yeah. I noticed. Get up House.”
House pulled a rubber ball out of his pocket and started tossing it from hand to hand.
“And if, theoretically, I said that I already tried? Theoretically of course.”
Cuddy frowned.
“Then...I would say, theoretically, that if you had already tried, you really do need to get up soon, and it would be physically easier if someone else was there. Theoretically.”
House sighed.
“I notice you said physically easier.”
Cuddy smiled slightly.
“After nearly eight years, I do know you fairly well, House.”
“Right. And if theoretically, I didn’t want sir coughs-a-lot over there to notice?”
“Then, theoretically, you would have to remember that sir coughs-a-lot is also known as pseudo coma dude. And you could also try to be quiet.”
House sighed.
“I guess, theoretically, you’re right.”
Cuddy couldn’t help feeling bad for the both of them
he’s so tired...even if his leg *wasn’t* hurting, he’d probably have a hard time...
And Wilson...poor guy...so much has been happening to him in the last two months, and now this...
Cuddy softly put a hand on House’s shoulder.
He looked up, startled.
She gave him a brief smile.
“We might want to do this before goldilocks wakes up.”
“Yeah.”
House’s voice was dry and hoarse.
Cuddy walked over to the other side of the chair, and put her arm under House’s.
House put his arm over her shoulder, and she lifted as he stood.
She did not expect to end up holding House’s full weight, as he gasped, almost silently, paling rapidly.
Cuddy quickly turned so she was facing him, and he grabbed her other shoulder, making it easier for her to hold his weight without falling.
“Down.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
She let go slowly, as he sat back down.
As soon as he touched the chair, House lent forward and pressed his forehead to his thigh, holding his leg with both shaking hands, breathing hard but silently.
Cuddy glanced at the still sleeping Wilson, and then knelt by House.
“Sorry.” she said quietly, touching his shoulder lightly.
“Dammit.” was all he said in reply.
“House, how bad has it been recently?”
“Worse than usual. Better than five years ago.”
“Oh...I’d say I was sorry, but I know it wouldn’t do any good.”
House looked up, grinning very slightly.
“Right...you going to try again? Or just sit there all day?”
“Well, as I’m probably going to be sitting here all day anyway...”
“House...what do you normally do?”
“Scream. Yell. Fall over. Pop twenty Vicodin. None of which are options right now.”
Cuddy remained outwardly unaffected by his answer, and held out her hand.
“There is another option this time though.”
House looked up, tiredly.
“Yeah. Thanks. Really looking forward to it.”
Cuddy kept her hand where it was.
House looked at it for a moment, sighed, and took it.
Cuddy pulled.
House pushed.
Cuddy nearly fell over backwards.
House nearly fell on top of her.
Cuddy nearly got knocked out.
House nearly passed out.
It ended up with House leaning on Cuddy’s shoulder, gasping.
“You officially up, or just technically and temporarily?”
“I don’t know. Probably officially though.”
“Ok.”
Cuddy and House made their way to the kitchen, slowly and painfully.
House let go and leaned on the counter.
Cuddy left the room, going back to watch Wilson.
They weren’t edible, but he did finish them.
Wilson fell asleep again after House got him do drink the admittedly less gross tea.
House tried to call Cuddy, to tell her he wouldn’t come in that day.
He got nurse Brenda.
“You want me to give you the day off why?”
“Uh...family emergency.”
“Dr. House, to have a family emergency, you have to actually have a family.”
House sighed.
“Ok, fine. Sick day.”
“Dr. House, how stupid do you think I am? Don’t answer that. You’re not sick.”
“Ok...fine. But Wilson is.”
“Uh-huh. Dr. Wilson has been sick for nearly two months. You didn’t miss any of those days.”
“He got sicker.”
“He has Meniere’s. You can leave a dizzy person on a couch or bed without any problem. No matter how dizzy they are.”
“He didn’t get Meniere’s sicker, he got nasty fever, almost died coughing sicker.”
There was a silence on the other end.
“The same nasty fever you got after that clinic patient passed out coughing on top of you? The one that had Alice hospitalized for two weeks?”
“Yeah. That nasty fever.”
“Does Dr. Cuddy know this?”
“Yes. She got him here.”
“Fine. You both get the day off. But if Dr. Cuddy says she doesn’t know what you’re talking about, I’m putting you down for missed clinic duty for you and Dr. Wilson.”
“Thank you.”
House hung up, and sighed.
Wilson was coughing in his sleep, though less than he had been while awake.
House put his hand on Wilson’s forehead, and was somewhat alarmed to feel how hot it was.
He pulled a thermometer out of a can in a drawer, and put it in Wilson’s mouth between bouts of coughing.
“One oh three. Sheesh, I didn’t get above one oh two point five. Guess I’m lucky. Actually, I can’t believe I just said that. Guess you don’t really care, do you?”
House poked Wilson in the shoulder.
Wilson didn’t respond.
“Right. Didn’t think so.”
House pulled out a journal with a large picture of a rat’s liver on the front, and sat on the edge of the bed.
“So, they’ve been trying to grow a new liver completely in vitro. You read this already? No, I thought not. Anyway, they are trying to figure out what tells the liver how to adapt its size depending on who it’s in.”
House read, knowing Wilson wasn’t listening.
He was never really sure why, but he had always like listening to tapes of medical lectures when he was sick, and there wasn’t much of anything else to do.
He had already loaded Wilson up on so many meds he was probably feeling a lot like one of his cancer patients.
Just as he was finishing his description of the rather unhealthy looking kidney some german scientists had tried to break down into its chemical components, House heard a knock on the door.
He sighed, and put the journal down.
As he opened the door, the scent of roses and paper toner wafted in, and he knew it was Cuddy, despite the lights being off.
“How’s Wilson? Nurse Brenda said he...”
“Yeah. Guy’s hopeless at taking care of himself.”
Cuddy patted House on the shoulder.
House glared at her.
She smiled.
House sighed.
Cuddy held out a plastic bag.
“I brought dinner.”
House limped back a step to let her in.
Cuddy came in past him, and tried to avoid hitting the furniture in the dark.
House limped past her into the kitchen, and she followed him.
House sat down, only turning the light over the counter on, not the ceiling light.
“You have a migraine this time, or is there some other reason all the lights are off?”
“There’s more of a romantic atmosphere in the dark.”
Cuddy frowned.
His sarcasm had sounded half hearted at best.
“Are you ok?”
House sighed.
Cuddy looked at him for a moment, and pulled a plastic container out of the bag, setting it on the counter.
House didn’t really seem to care.
Cuddy blinked.
“Are you just more depressed than usual, or are you actually tired?”
“Tired. Wilson must have been really annoying as a...”
House trailed off, not bothering to finish his joke.
Cuddy was looking at him with more and more concern.
She looked in a few cupboards, then pulled out a plate and dumped the rice and vegetable mix she had brought onto it, and put it in the microwave.
She turned back, and saw that House had crossed his arms on the table, and rested his face in the crook of one elbow.
He really did look tired.
She walked over, and put a hand on his shoulder.
House raised his head for a moment, but then let it back down without protesting the contact.
Cuddy left her hand there until the microwave beeped, and she walked back over to open it.
House sighed when she put a plate in front of him.
Cuddy shrugged, and took one of the other two into the bedroom.
Wilson, still asleep, didn’t look very good.
His face was flushed, he was shivering and coughing, and there were flecks of dried blood on the white sheets.
The stack of rumpled medical journals on the floor next to a chair, and the neater stack on the table told her what House had been doing all day.
She walked over to Wilson, and shook his shoulder.
He opened his eyes after a few minutes, blinked and looked blearily around.
“Oh...hi...Cuddy.”
“Hey Wilson. Heard you had a bit of a scare this morning.”
“Yeah...”
Wilson smiled tiredly between coughs.
Cuddy gave him a sympathetic look, and offered him the plate.
He took it, nodding his thanks.
Cuddy watched him eat in silence, then took his plate when he finished, and asked him if he needed anything else.
He replied that he didn’t, and Cuddy walked back out to the kitchen.
House hadn’t moved or touched his food.
Cuddy looked closer and saw that his eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep.
“You want me to take a turn watching him? I have some paperwork I have to do anyway, and I might as well do it here as at home.”
House just shrugged, but he did get up and limp into the living room, lying down on the couch.
Cuddy took that as a yes, and went to sit in the bedroom.
She picked up one of the discarded journals, noticed it was in Portuguese, and dug through the pile for a different one.
A few hours later, unsteady thumping signaled the arrival of an exhausted looking House.
Cuddy blinked at him, having figured he would have been sleeping on the couch by this point.
He shook his head at her questioning look, and curled up in the corner of the room, on the floor.
Cuddy watched him, confused, for a moment, and then turned back to the journal on auto immune diseases.
If House was having trouble sleeping and being closer to Wilson would help, she wasn’t going to comment on it.
She also didn’t comment on how heavily he had been limping.
Sitting still for hours did tend to do that to him, and the pile of journals on the floor was quite large.
Several more hours passed, during which House started snoring, and Wilson kept coughing.
Cuddy got up several times to make Wilson some tea, which he accepted.
A while later she had noticed House start to shiver in his sleep, so she got up and retrieved the blanket and pillows from the couch.
House mumbled something she assumed was thanks, and wrapped himself in the blanket.
Cuddy eventually made it through all the discarded journals she could read.
She picked one from the unread pile, and started reading it.
House got up and went to the bathroom once, and Cuddy felt that was a good idea.
House sat down in the corner, and stayed sitting until she came back, at which point he curled up again.
Wilson noted that he also had to go, and Cuddy supported him on the way there, House following.
They came back, and resumed their former positions.
More time passed, and Cuddy started trying to read the Spanish journals.
Around two in the morning, House offered to take over again.
Cuddy nodded, and picked up the blanket from the corner, taking it back into the living room.
As she curled up, she heard House’s voice start to narrate a medical study that had apparently been done in Egypt.
She fell asleep to the quiet sounds of House reading, as she thought that it wasn’t any wonder Wilson wasn’t getting restless. House was better at this than most nurses.
When Cuddy awoke, it was because the morning light had hit her face, coming though the window on the wall to the right of the couch.
She sat up, stretching, and went to see how House and Wilson were doing.
Wilson, asleep, looked better than he had the night before, although still rather miserable and feverish.
House was awake, his hands folded over his stomach, right leg out in front of him, his left bent under the chair.
House looked up when she walked in.
“Morning.” said Cuddy, quietly.
“Morning.” replied House, his voice somewhat hoarse.
“You coughing too?”
“No. I’ve already had that, remember?”
House still sounded tired.
“Go eat. I’ll watch him again.”
House shook his head.
“When’s the last time you ate anything?”
“Lunch yesterday.”
“Go eat.”
“Don’t really feel like eating.” said House, cheerfully.
Cuddy raised an eyebrow.
House sighed.
“Don’t feel like risking standing up is more like it.”
House glanced at her, then nodded, knowing he couldn’t fool her.
“Look...fine. If you want to be so self destructive, go ahead. If, on the other hand, you want to actually be able to stand before next week, you gotta get up soon.”
House leaned forward and rested his elbows on his legs, putting his head on top of his hands.
“And if I would rather not have an audience for said endeavor?”
“You’re out of luck. Even if I leave, Wilson isn’t going anywhere.”
“Wilson’s asleep.”
“Yeah. I noticed. Get up House.”
House pulled a rubber ball out of his pocket and started tossing it from hand to hand.
“And if, theoretically, I said that I already tried? Theoretically of course.”
Cuddy frowned.
“Then...I would say, theoretically, that if you had already tried, you really do need to get up soon, and it would be physically easier if someone else was there. Theoretically.”
House sighed.
“I notice you said physically easier.”
Cuddy smiled slightly.
“After nearly eight years, I do know you fairly well, House.”
“Right. And if theoretically, I didn’t want sir coughs-a-lot over there to notice?”
“Then, theoretically, you would have to remember that sir coughs-a-lot is also known as pseudo coma dude. And you could also try to be quiet.”
House sighed.
“I guess, theoretically, you’re right.”
Cuddy couldn’t help feeling bad for the both of them
he’s so tired...even if his leg *wasn’t* hurting, he’d probably have a hard time...
And Wilson...poor guy...so much has been happening to him in the last two months, and now this...
Cuddy softly put a hand on House’s shoulder.
He looked up, startled.
She gave him a brief smile.
“We might want to do this before goldilocks wakes up.”
“Yeah.”
House’s voice was dry and hoarse.
Cuddy walked over to the other side of the chair, and put her arm under House’s.
House put his arm over her shoulder, and she lifted as he stood.
She did not expect to end up holding House’s full weight, as he gasped, almost silently, paling rapidly.
Cuddy quickly turned so she was facing him, and he grabbed her other shoulder, making it easier for her to hold his weight without falling.
“Down.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
She let go slowly, as he sat back down.
As soon as he touched the chair, House lent forward and pressed his forehead to his thigh, holding his leg with both shaking hands, breathing hard but silently.
Cuddy glanced at the still sleeping Wilson, and then knelt by House.
“Sorry.” she said quietly, touching his shoulder lightly.
“Dammit.” was all he said in reply.
“House, how bad has it been recently?”
“Worse than usual. Better than five years ago.”
“Oh...I’d say I was sorry, but I know it wouldn’t do any good.”
House looked up, grinning very slightly.
“Right...you going to try again? Or just sit there all day?”
“Well, as I’m probably going to be sitting here all day anyway...”
“House...what do you normally do?”
“Scream. Yell. Fall over. Pop twenty Vicodin. None of which are options right now.”
Cuddy remained outwardly unaffected by his answer, and held out her hand.
“There is another option this time though.”
House looked up, tiredly.
“Yeah. Thanks. Really looking forward to it.”
Cuddy kept her hand where it was.
House looked at it for a moment, sighed, and took it.
Cuddy pulled.
House pushed.
Cuddy nearly fell over backwards.
House nearly fell on top of her.
Cuddy nearly got knocked out.
House nearly passed out.
It ended up with House leaning on Cuddy’s shoulder, gasping.
“You officially up, or just technically and temporarily?”
“I don’t know. Probably officially though.”
“Ok.”
Cuddy and House made their way to the kitchen, slowly and painfully.
House let go and leaned on the counter.
Cuddy left the room, going back to watch Wilson.
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other than that, it can have as many arms that look like feet as you want.
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he has a unnamed, just a fever.
(which, regretably, is based on scarlet fever, as that's the only thing i ever got when i was a kid.)