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alanwolfmoon.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sick_wilson2007-07-28 06:57 pm
alanwolfmoon.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2007-07-28 06:57 pm
trash cans beware (ch 26)
Title: Trash cans beware (ch 26)
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. (they make it look like i'm writing fast)
This one's a doozy. I just couldn't stop this chapter, it just kept getting longer, and longer, and longer, and longer, and...you get the idea.
A very weird thing has started happening. Everytime I eat something salty I feel guilty about wilson's low sodium diet. Is that freaky or what?
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. (they make it look like i'm writing fast)
This one's a doozy. I just couldn't stop this chapter, it just kept getting longer, and longer, and longer, and longer, and...you get the idea.
A very weird thing has started happening. Everytime I eat something salty I feel guilty about wilson's low sodium diet. Is that freaky or what?
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An hour or so later:
“So, you want something to eat?” asked House, limping into the bedroom.
Wilson looked up, tiredly.
“Not really...”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” said House, turning to go.
Wilson rolled his eyes.
Cuddy smiled.
“At what point do you think House stopped taking care of you because he was supposed to, and started taking care of you because he wanted to?”
Wilson looked at her strangely.
“You think *cough* he wants to take care *cough* of me?”
“I think it happened about a month ago, but he hasn’t realized it until now.”
“You’re...nuts, Cuddy.”
She smiled.
“Am I? Wait and see, I don’t think I am.”
Wilson sighed, closed his eyes, and let his head back onto the pillow behind him.
House came back in after a minute, bearing two stacked bowls of cereal.
“Not exactly fillet mignon, but you don’t want to see me try and cook fillet mignon, so this ‘ll have to do.”
Cuddy took hers, and Wilson’s, setting his on the bed where he could reach it.
“Thanks. Oh, and I was thinking, if you wanted, I could probably take care of Wilson for a while, you know, to give you a break.”
Wilson looked at her, confused.
House froze.
His eye twitched.
“Not...unless...you want...to.” said House, before limping quickly out of the room.
Wilson stared.
Cuddy giggled.
“Told you.”
Has the equation changed?
Yes, the equation has changed.
In a way that means I actually care?
Yes, in a way that means I actually care.
Has Wilson figured this out yet?
Yes, he just found out, thanks to Cuddy.
Am I unhappy that he found that out?
....
No, I’m not.
Is this anything like me at all?
No, it isn’t.
Do I care?
No, not really.
Do I think Wilson cares that I care?
....
I don’t know.
I *don’t* know.
I don’t like not knowing.
Do I want to know?
That depends on the answer.
What if it’s yes, do I want to know?
I don’t know.
If it’s no?
I don’t know.
Dammit. I suck at this.
“House, I have to go to work, I’ll stop by later with some actual food, ok?”
House looked up from taking his sleeping friend’s temperature.
“Sure.”
Cuddy smiled at the abrupt answer.
“You know, right now, he’s really confused. Right now he doesn’t know what to think. Right now is you’re best shot to let him in. I’m not going to say anything else, but I think you might want to consider letting down your wall for him, even just this once. Cus I don’t think he knows you have a wall. I think he thinks the stuff inside it just doesn’t exist.”
With that, Cuddy left.
House looked at the empty doorframe for a moment, before looking back down at the thermometer.
“Congratulations, Wilson, you came down a whole point three.”
House sighed.
This was pathetic.
He was too much of a coward to say anything.
He was trying to have both a wall and a bridge, and they didn’t work together.
He knew they didn’t work, but he just couldn’t bring himself to break down the wall in favor of the bridge.
Which brought him back to what the hell he was going to say to Wilson.
He couldn’t expect him to stay half conscious with a fever forever. Eventually he was going to ask.
House’s thoughts were interrupted by Wilson starting to groan and whimper in his sleep, curling up around his stomach.
House frowned.
He remembered this part.
It hadn’t been fun, and had been the hardest part to deal with on his own without killing himself by overdosing on Vicodin.
Wilson’s eyes suddenly flickered open.
House gently pushed him down sideways, his coughing had subsided enough it wasn’t going to be a problem.
“Ow....hurts.”
“I’ll be right back.”
“Where...going?”
“To get the bucket. You’re not about to have a fun time.”
Wilson looked weakly up at House’s face, then let his head back down, nodding painfully.
House paused for a moment as he reached the doorway, looking at Wilson.
The fever flush had been replaced by paleness from the pain, he was sweating and shivering, although House knew that some of that movement was shaking from the pain Wilson was experiencing. His hair, usually well kempt, was plastered down by sweat, beads of perspiration dripping from the few hairs sticking up, mussed from the pillows and Wilson’s turning and tossing during the night. His hands were loosely draped over his stomach, but House knew they wouldn’t be loose for long. Wilson’s knees were slowly creeping towards his chest, as he curled, reacting to the pain, his head moving similarly in the opposite direction.
House usually thought sick people looked gross. Especially Wilson’s patients, but any sick person had that sort of tired and red look about them. Wilson didn’t look that gross to him. Granted, he certainly didn’t want to go cruising for girls with the sweaty mess that was lying on his bed, but he wasn’t really that repulsed. He wondered if it had something to do with having felt (and looked) the exact same way two months previously.
When House came back in, he found that his prediction about Wilson’s hands had been correct. His friend was now curled into a tight ball, whimpering softly, clutching at his stomach.
“How...come....you...din’...go...to...hosp...ital...when...you...this...sick?”
“You kidding? Like I was gonna let anybody see my health problems get the best of me.”
Wilson’s mouth twitched slightly.
House set the bucket in it’s customary place, on the floor where Wilson’s head would hang off in the event it was needed, limped around to the other side of the bed, and sat down next to Wilson, pulling his leg up gingerly with one hand and starting to rub the tense surface of his friend’s back..
Wilson didn’t react outwardly to the contact, but inwardly he was happier for it.
House didn’t like being nice at all, but he did seem to find Wilson to be more pleasant company when he wasn’t lonely as well as sick. It was the reason he had bent his rules in the past month or so, and actually not been a total jerk all the time.
The phone rang suddenly, and House jumped, causing Wilson to make a slightly louder whimpering sound than he had been.
House rolled his eyes, and snatched the phone off the table next to the bed, just to shut it up.
“Hello?” House asked briskly.
“Gregory, are you alright? I hear groaning.”
“Uh, hi mom, I’m fine, it’s Wilson who’s groaning. No, I didn’t give him food poisoning, he’s just still sick.”
“Uh-huh. No, I don’t know when dad wants to talk to me. He hasn’t talked to me since the thing in the parking lot of the hotel.”
“Right. When he does, I promise I won’t—gah!”
House was interrupted by Wilson letting out a loud “nnngg!” sound, and starting to shake violently.
“Look, I’ll call you back, ok? I gotta go. Love you, bye.”
House hung up, after receiving a calm “ok, bye dear, love you.” from the other end.
“Wilson, you gonna puke?”
Wilson didn’t answer.
“Dude, you ok?”
Wilson jerked his head slightly.
House sighed.
Wilson wasn’t due to start throwing up for several hours yet, but he was certainly going to be feeling bad in the meantime.
House watched Wilson shake for a minute, and then decided that given how he had felt at his stage, Wilson was in absolute misery, and was also unlikely to remember much.
House put his hand’s on Wilson’s shoulders and gently rolled him over, so that his head was resting on House’s own shoulder.
His eyes stayed closed, but Wilson did shift himself slightly, making the new position less awkward, not that it helped much.
House sighed. He wasn’t sure what to do now. He knew from experience what Wilson would do, if their situations were reversed, but he wasn’t comfortable with doing that sort of thing...
But then again, Wilson was so uncomfortable...
Oh, hell.
House pushed his right arm out past Wilson’s head, and put his hand on Wilson’s shoulder, rubbing firmly but gently.
Wilson pushed his face down sideways into House’s shoulder, as though it were a pillow.
House’s mouth twitched slightly.
Wilson, wider but shorter, curled up further onto House’s warm body, still shivering and holding his stomach.
House bit his lip slightly, feeling the too-hot skin of his friend touch his collar bone, as Wilson shifted.
House reached with his left hand and picked up the thermometer.
“Hey, Wilson, open up. I gotta see if you’re going to catch the bed on fire with that fever.”
Wilson opened his mouth a little bit, and House stuck the thermometer in.
Wilson closed his mouth again, lips twitching around the unfamiliar object.
House waited until the thermometer beeped, and then gently pulled it out.
“House?” sounded faintly from the small opening the thermometer had left.
“One oh one point six.”
Wilson’s mouth opened slightly wider.
“House?” he asked again, just as faintly.
“Yeah, what?”
“Don’t...feel...good.”
“I know you don’t. You gonna puke?”
“No...” Wilson voice was just a slight intonation in his breathing, and House could barely hear it.
“Not yet, you mean. You are gonna puke eventually.”
Wilson didn’t answer, lapsing back into exhausted and painful silence.
House sighed.
“Wilson, I’m gonna call Cuddy and ask her to come back here.”
“..why...?”
“Because you’re seriously sick and in need of coddling, and this is about as far as I go in that department.”
“You..’re...do..ing..o..k...hou..se. Do...n’t.”
“Half an hour from now you’ll be faintly gasping a different tune.”
A very faint rasping sound that was probably intended to be a laugh came from the feverish oncologist.
House rolled his eyes.
“You’re pathetic.”
“Th..tha..nks. I’m...happy...you..’re...he..here...too.”
“You need to cool off. Literally. I think you’re getting delirious.”
“Wh..why?”
“You’re not thinking logically.”
A true laugh sounded from Wilson, and he actually smiled for a moment.
“Heh, hou...se...my...brain...is...fine.”
“Explain to me how being happy that a misanthropic bastard is trying to take care of you makes any where near logical sense.”
“Nnngghh.”
Wilson curled tighter, his head ending up on House’s stomach.
“Wilson?”
Wilson whimpered quietly.
“H..ur..ts.”
“Right.
“Nnnggg!”
“Wilson? Wilson. That’s enough. You gotta take something before you seriously hurt yourself. You want Vicodin?”
House didn’t expect an answer, but he figured Wilson would get annoyed if he didn’t ask before giving him something.
He was surprised by Wilson weakly shaking his head.
“What? You don’t want painkillers or you don’t want Vicodin?”
“Vi..”
“Typical. Oh, and just so you know, even Vicodin didn’t really help that much.”
Wilson didn’t reply, and House sighed, starting to slip out from underneath Wilson’s curled form.
Wilson actually sobbed at the movement.
“You freaked out again or something?”
Wilson didn’t answer, but he didn’t seem to get any better when House talked to him, so House figured he wasn’t panicking.
“Dude, I gotta get up to get you whatever you wanna take. The only thing I got nearby is Vicodin.”
“F...fi...ne.”
House stared at Wilson.
“Fine? Fine to moving or fine to Vicodin?”
Instead of forcing out another answer, Wilson gripped House’s shirt, as though to prevent him from moving.
House kept staring at Wilson.
“You actually want me to give you Vicodin?”
Wilson nodded, still sobbing, into House’s stomach.
House promptly pulled the bottle out of his pocket, reading the dosage instruction for the first time in years.
Then he hesitated.
Normally he would have absolutely no qualms about doping Wilson up so he’d stop moaning, but something was different.
He thought about it for a minute or two, before realizing what it was.
Wilson was usually the conscience of both of them. He wouldn’t let himself give House that option. But now, the ball was in House’s court, and he found that it was a rather uncomfortable situation. On the one hand, he actually did care that Wilson was in that much pain. On the other, he knew Vicodin was a very strong narcotic, and Wilson would be endangered by taking it, especially once he started puking.
“Hou..se...”
House felt as though somebody had smacked him.
The irony of the situation was so blatantly obvious, that he almost laughed.
It was like the time that Wilson had puked on one of his chemo patient’s in the middle of a meniere’s attack, except in a much more personal way.
The usual situation was totally reversed, even the medication in question was the same.
He suddenly realized he wasn’t going to do it. He would rather see Wilson in pain than run the risk of seriously screwing him up.
He would have to tell Wilson, later. Tell him that he wasn’t doing it as revenge for the times Wilson had cut him off. Tell him that he finally got why Wilson *had* cut him off in the past. But later. For now, just let Wilson think he was being a bastard by getting revenge.
“No.”
Wilson turned his head weakly to glare at House.
House grinned evilly at him.
To his surprise, Wilson’s glare vanished, and his mouth twitched slightly.
Ok, so maybe he wasn’t going to have to inform Wilson of his intentions, he had figured them out himself.
As Wilson closed his eyes again and curled up tighter than ever, House felt less good about it.
As much as he had gotten angry at Wilson in the past for cutting him off, he had to admire him slightly. It wasn’t easy to watch someone you knew be in that much pain.
For some reason his dad popped into his mind, and for the first time he wondered about whatever unknown illness he was stricken with.
Wilson sobbed again, and House’s train of thought was abruptly derailed.
“Gggrrnnn!”
House swallowed, and, on pure instinct, put his arms around Wilson’s shoulders and squeezed.
“Grrrnuuh?” said Wilson, his groan changing to a confused exclamation halfway though.
What he had just done slowly filtered into House brain.
House froze.
Wilson didn’t make it hard for House.
He just hugged back.
House swallowed again.
Wilson weakly let go, and House carefully pulled back.
“Th...anks.”
House grimaced, and stuck the thermometer into Wilson’s mouth.
Wilson’s eyes closed.
House frowned, and pulled the thermometer out when it beeped.
“One oh three point two. That’s too high. It’s getting higher when it should be getting lower. We gotta get you to the hospital.”
Wilson didn’t answer.
House gently lifted Wilson’s chin, looking at the flushed face.
Wilson didn’t respond.
House raised Wilson’s eyelids, and Wilson pulled back, somewhat slowly.
House sighed, and reached back, picking up the phone.
He paused, thinking. Wilson was definitely very sick, but he wasn’t in serious condition. He eventually decided on calling an ambulance, despite the overly dramatic tone, he was pretty sure there wasn’t a chance he was getting Wilson past the bedroom door without help, and Cuddy and the ducklings had gone home for the night.
“Hey, you’re not having a migraine, right?”
Wilson shook his head slightly.
House dialed, and reported the situation, being very specific as the where Wilson should end up.
“Guess what? You get to be my most boring patient since the guy with the bug in his ear.”
Wilson twitched one corner of his mouth.
House gently slipped out from under Wilson, despite the reaction it provoked in the pained oncologist, starting to get some things together into a bag for Wilson.
As he limped through the kitchen doorway, a sudden sharp stab of pain shot through his thigh, causing his right shoulder to hit the thin strip of wood hard.
House pushed back off, rubbing his arm and rolling his eyes. He was honestly lucky that he was up in the first place.
“Ok Wilson, they should be here soon.” said House, coming back in carrying a bag containing extra clothes for the both of them, as well as several books and journals.
House put his hand on the side of Wilson’s face, grinning reassuringly at the fevered doctor.
Wilson didn’t seem to notice.
There was a knock on the door, and House limped out to answer it, returning with two techs.
House shook Wilson’s shoulder.
“Come on Wilson, time to get up.”
Wilson turned his head, looking blearily up at the three figures standing next to the bed.
“Ok.”
House rolled his eyes, and limped back, letting the techs do their job.
as he sat in the back of the ambulance, explaining exactly why it wasn’t a symptom that Wilson had been complaining of dizziness on the way out, House reflected that he really should have driven himself, despite being reluctant to leave Wilson to the techs.
Wilson smiled at him, blinking slowly as the pain medication took effect.
House noticed one of the techs giving them a rather odd look.
He grinned evilly, and the tech looked away, rather alarmed, the other one snickering quietly at the misfortune of the less tactful one.
The ambulance came to a stop outside the correct entrance of Princeton Plainsburough teaching hospital and House stiffly followed the Gurney out.
As they came through the doors they were confronted by a rather larger crowd of oncology nurses than they had expected, who were promptly scared off by House’s glare.
“So, you want something to eat?” asked House, limping into the bedroom.
Wilson looked up, tiredly.
“Not really...”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” said House, turning to go.
Wilson rolled his eyes.
Cuddy smiled.
“At what point do you think House stopped taking care of you because he was supposed to, and started taking care of you because he wanted to?”
Wilson looked at her strangely.
“You think *cough* he wants to take care *cough* of me?”
“I think it happened about a month ago, but he hasn’t realized it until now.”
“You’re...nuts, Cuddy.”
She smiled.
“Am I? Wait and see, I don’t think I am.”
Wilson sighed, closed his eyes, and let his head back onto the pillow behind him.
House came back in after a minute, bearing two stacked bowls of cereal.
“Not exactly fillet mignon, but you don’t want to see me try and cook fillet mignon, so this ‘ll have to do.”
Cuddy took hers, and Wilson’s, setting his on the bed where he could reach it.
“Thanks. Oh, and I was thinking, if you wanted, I could probably take care of Wilson for a while, you know, to give you a break.”
Wilson looked at her, confused.
House froze.
His eye twitched.
“Not...unless...you want...to.” said House, before limping quickly out of the room.
Wilson stared.
Cuddy giggled.
“Told you.”
Has the equation changed?
Yes, the equation has changed.
In a way that means I actually care?
Yes, in a way that means I actually care.
Has Wilson figured this out yet?
Yes, he just found out, thanks to Cuddy.
Am I unhappy that he found that out?
....
No, I’m not.
Is this anything like me at all?
No, it isn’t.
Do I care?
No, not really.
Do I think Wilson cares that I care?
....
I don’t know.
I *don’t* know.
I don’t like not knowing.
Do I want to know?
That depends on the answer.
What if it’s yes, do I want to know?
I don’t know.
If it’s no?
I don’t know.
Dammit. I suck at this.
“House, I have to go to work, I’ll stop by later with some actual food, ok?”
House looked up from taking his sleeping friend’s temperature.
“Sure.”
Cuddy smiled at the abrupt answer.
“You know, right now, he’s really confused. Right now he doesn’t know what to think. Right now is you’re best shot to let him in. I’m not going to say anything else, but I think you might want to consider letting down your wall for him, even just this once. Cus I don’t think he knows you have a wall. I think he thinks the stuff inside it just doesn’t exist.”
With that, Cuddy left.
House looked at the empty doorframe for a moment, before looking back down at the thermometer.
“Congratulations, Wilson, you came down a whole point three.”
House sighed.
This was pathetic.
He was too much of a coward to say anything.
He was trying to have both a wall and a bridge, and they didn’t work together.
He knew they didn’t work, but he just couldn’t bring himself to break down the wall in favor of the bridge.
Which brought him back to what the hell he was going to say to Wilson.
He couldn’t expect him to stay half conscious with a fever forever. Eventually he was going to ask.
House’s thoughts were interrupted by Wilson starting to groan and whimper in his sleep, curling up around his stomach.
House frowned.
He remembered this part.
It hadn’t been fun, and had been the hardest part to deal with on his own without killing himself by overdosing on Vicodin.
Wilson’s eyes suddenly flickered open.
House gently pushed him down sideways, his coughing had subsided enough it wasn’t going to be a problem.
“Ow....hurts.”
“I’ll be right back.”
“Where...going?”
“To get the bucket. You’re not about to have a fun time.”
Wilson looked weakly up at House’s face, then let his head back down, nodding painfully.
House paused for a moment as he reached the doorway, looking at Wilson.
The fever flush had been replaced by paleness from the pain, he was sweating and shivering, although House knew that some of that movement was shaking from the pain Wilson was experiencing. His hair, usually well kempt, was plastered down by sweat, beads of perspiration dripping from the few hairs sticking up, mussed from the pillows and Wilson’s turning and tossing during the night. His hands were loosely draped over his stomach, but House knew they wouldn’t be loose for long. Wilson’s knees were slowly creeping towards his chest, as he curled, reacting to the pain, his head moving similarly in the opposite direction.
House usually thought sick people looked gross. Especially Wilson’s patients, but any sick person had that sort of tired and red look about them. Wilson didn’t look that gross to him. Granted, he certainly didn’t want to go cruising for girls with the sweaty mess that was lying on his bed, but he wasn’t really that repulsed. He wondered if it had something to do with having felt (and looked) the exact same way two months previously.
When House came back in, he found that his prediction about Wilson’s hands had been correct. His friend was now curled into a tight ball, whimpering softly, clutching at his stomach.
“How...come....you...din’...go...to...hosp...ital...when...you...this...sick?”
“You kidding? Like I was gonna let anybody see my health problems get the best of me.”
Wilson’s mouth twitched slightly.
House set the bucket in it’s customary place, on the floor where Wilson’s head would hang off in the event it was needed, limped around to the other side of the bed, and sat down next to Wilson, pulling his leg up gingerly with one hand and starting to rub the tense surface of his friend’s back..
Wilson didn’t react outwardly to the contact, but inwardly he was happier for it.
House didn’t like being nice at all, but he did seem to find Wilson to be more pleasant company when he wasn’t lonely as well as sick. It was the reason he had bent his rules in the past month or so, and actually not been a total jerk all the time.
The phone rang suddenly, and House jumped, causing Wilson to make a slightly louder whimpering sound than he had been.
House rolled his eyes, and snatched the phone off the table next to the bed, just to shut it up.
“Hello?” House asked briskly.
“Gregory, are you alright? I hear groaning.”
“Uh, hi mom, I’m fine, it’s Wilson who’s groaning. No, I didn’t give him food poisoning, he’s just still sick.”
“Uh-huh. No, I don’t know when dad wants to talk to me. He hasn’t talked to me since the thing in the parking lot of the hotel.”
“Right. When he does, I promise I won’t—gah!”
House was interrupted by Wilson letting out a loud “nnngg!” sound, and starting to shake violently.
“Look, I’ll call you back, ok? I gotta go. Love you, bye.”
House hung up, after receiving a calm “ok, bye dear, love you.” from the other end.
“Wilson, you gonna puke?”
Wilson didn’t answer.
“Dude, you ok?”
Wilson jerked his head slightly.
House sighed.
Wilson wasn’t due to start throwing up for several hours yet, but he was certainly going to be feeling bad in the meantime.
House watched Wilson shake for a minute, and then decided that given how he had felt at his stage, Wilson was in absolute misery, and was also unlikely to remember much.
House put his hand’s on Wilson’s shoulders and gently rolled him over, so that his head was resting on House’s own shoulder.
His eyes stayed closed, but Wilson did shift himself slightly, making the new position less awkward, not that it helped much.
House sighed. He wasn’t sure what to do now. He knew from experience what Wilson would do, if their situations were reversed, but he wasn’t comfortable with doing that sort of thing...
But then again, Wilson was so uncomfortable...
Oh, hell.
House pushed his right arm out past Wilson’s head, and put his hand on Wilson’s shoulder, rubbing firmly but gently.
Wilson pushed his face down sideways into House’s shoulder, as though it were a pillow.
House’s mouth twitched slightly.
Wilson, wider but shorter, curled up further onto House’s warm body, still shivering and holding his stomach.
House bit his lip slightly, feeling the too-hot skin of his friend touch his collar bone, as Wilson shifted.
House reached with his left hand and picked up the thermometer.
“Hey, Wilson, open up. I gotta see if you’re going to catch the bed on fire with that fever.”
Wilson opened his mouth a little bit, and House stuck the thermometer in.
Wilson closed his mouth again, lips twitching around the unfamiliar object.
House waited until the thermometer beeped, and then gently pulled it out.
“House?” sounded faintly from the small opening the thermometer had left.
“One oh one point six.”
Wilson’s mouth opened slightly wider.
“House?” he asked again, just as faintly.
“Yeah, what?”
“Don’t...feel...good.”
“I know you don’t. You gonna puke?”
“No...” Wilson voice was just a slight intonation in his breathing, and House could barely hear it.
“Not yet, you mean. You are gonna puke eventually.”
Wilson didn’t answer, lapsing back into exhausted and painful silence.
House sighed.
“Wilson, I’m gonna call Cuddy and ask her to come back here.”
“..why...?”
“Because you’re seriously sick and in need of coddling, and this is about as far as I go in that department.”
“You..’re...do..ing..o..k...hou..se. Do...n’t.”
“Half an hour from now you’ll be faintly gasping a different tune.”
A very faint rasping sound that was probably intended to be a laugh came from the feverish oncologist.
House rolled his eyes.
“You’re pathetic.”
“Th..tha..nks. I’m...happy...you..’re...he..here...too.”
“You need to cool off. Literally. I think you’re getting delirious.”
“Wh..why?”
“You’re not thinking logically.”
A true laugh sounded from Wilson, and he actually smiled for a moment.
“Heh, hou...se...my...brain...is...fine.”
“Explain to me how being happy that a misanthropic bastard is trying to take care of you makes any where near logical sense.”
“Nnngghh.”
Wilson curled tighter, his head ending up on House’s stomach.
“Wilson?”
Wilson whimpered quietly.
“H..ur..ts.”
“Right.
“Nnnggg!”
“Wilson? Wilson. That’s enough. You gotta take something before you seriously hurt yourself. You want Vicodin?”
House didn’t expect an answer, but he figured Wilson would get annoyed if he didn’t ask before giving him something.
He was surprised by Wilson weakly shaking his head.
“What? You don’t want painkillers or you don’t want Vicodin?”
“Vi..”
“Typical. Oh, and just so you know, even Vicodin didn’t really help that much.”
Wilson didn’t reply, and House sighed, starting to slip out from underneath Wilson’s curled form.
Wilson actually sobbed at the movement.
“You freaked out again or something?”
Wilson didn’t answer, but he didn’t seem to get any better when House talked to him, so House figured he wasn’t panicking.
“Dude, I gotta get up to get you whatever you wanna take. The only thing I got nearby is Vicodin.”
“F...fi...ne.”
House stared at Wilson.
“Fine? Fine to moving or fine to Vicodin?”
Instead of forcing out another answer, Wilson gripped House’s shirt, as though to prevent him from moving.
House kept staring at Wilson.
“You actually want me to give you Vicodin?”
Wilson nodded, still sobbing, into House’s stomach.
House promptly pulled the bottle out of his pocket, reading the dosage instruction for the first time in years.
Then he hesitated.
Normally he would have absolutely no qualms about doping Wilson up so he’d stop moaning, but something was different.
He thought about it for a minute or two, before realizing what it was.
Wilson was usually the conscience of both of them. He wouldn’t let himself give House that option. But now, the ball was in House’s court, and he found that it was a rather uncomfortable situation. On the one hand, he actually did care that Wilson was in that much pain. On the other, he knew Vicodin was a very strong narcotic, and Wilson would be endangered by taking it, especially once he started puking.
“Hou..se...”
House felt as though somebody had smacked him.
The irony of the situation was so blatantly obvious, that he almost laughed.
It was like the time that Wilson had puked on one of his chemo patient’s in the middle of a meniere’s attack, except in a much more personal way.
The usual situation was totally reversed, even the medication in question was the same.
He suddenly realized he wasn’t going to do it. He would rather see Wilson in pain than run the risk of seriously screwing him up.
He would have to tell Wilson, later. Tell him that he wasn’t doing it as revenge for the times Wilson had cut him off. Tell him that he finally got why Wilson *had* cut him off in the past. But later. For now, just let Wilson think he was being a bastard by getting revenge.
“No.”
Wilson turned his head weakly to glare at House.
House grinned evilly at him.
To his surprise, Wilson’s glare vanished, and his mouth twitched slightly.
Ok, so maybe he wasn’t going to have to inform Wilson of his intentions, he had figured them out himself.
As Wilson closed his eyes again and curled up tighter than ever, House felt less good about it.
As much as he had gotten angry at Wilson in the past for cutting him off, he had to admire him slightly. It wasn’t easy to watch someone you knew be in that much pain.
For some reason his dad popped into his mind, and for the first time he wondered about whatever unknown illness he was stricken with.
Wilson sobbed again, and House’s train of thought was abruptly derailed.
“Gggrrnnn!”
House swallowed, and, on pure instinct, put his arms around Wilson’s shoulders and squeezed.
“Grrrnuuh?” said Wilson, his groan changing to a confused exclamation halfway though.
What he had just done slowly filtered into House brain.
House froze.
Wilson didn’t make it hard for House.
He just hugged back.
House swallowed again.
Wilson weakly let go, and House carefully pulled back.
“Th...anks.”
House grimaced, and stuck the thermometer into Wilson’s mouth.
Wilson’s eyes closed.
House frowned, and pulled the thermometer out when it beeped.
“One oh three point two. That’s too high. It’s getting higher when it should be getting lower. We gotta get you to the hospital.”
Wilson didn’t answer.
House gently lifted Wilson’s chin, looking at the flushed face.
Wilson didn’t respond.
House raised Wilson’s eyelids, and Wilson pulled back, somewhat slowly.
House sighed, and reached back, picking up the phone.
He paused, thinking. Wilson was definitely very sick, but he wasn’t in serious condition. He eventually decided on calling an ambulance, despite the overly dramatic tone, he was pretty sure there wasn’t a chance he was getting Wilson past the bedroom door without help, and Cuddy and the ducklings had gone home for the night.
“Hey, you’re not having a migraine, right?”
Wilson shook his head slightly.
House dialed, and reported the situation, being very specific as the where Wilson should end up.
“Guess what? You get to be my most boring patient since the guy with the bug in his ear.”
Wilson twitched one corner of his mouth.
House gently slipped out from under Wilson, despite the reaction it provoked in the pained oncologist, starting to get some things together into a bag for Wilson.
As he limped through the kitchen doorway, a sudden sharp stab of pain shot through his thigh, causing his right shoulder to hit the thin strip of wood hard.
House pushed back off, rubbing his arm and rolling his eyes. He was honestly lucky that he was up in the first place.
“Ok Wilson, they should be here soon.” said House, coming back in carrying a bag containing extra clothes for the both of them, as well as several books and journals.
House put his hand on the side of Wilson’s face, grinning reassuringly at the fevered doctor.
Wilson didn’t seem to notice.
There was a knock on the door, and House limped out to answer it, returning with two techs.
House shook Wilson’s shoulder.
“Come on Wilson, time to get up.”
Wilson turned his head, looking blearily up at the three figures standing next to the bed.
“Ok.”
House rolled his eyes, and limped back, letting the techs do their job.
as he sat in the back of the ambulance, explaining exactly why it wasn’t a symptom that Wilson had been complaining of dizziness on the way out, House reflected that he really should have driven himself, despite being reluctant to leave Wilson to the techs.
Wilson smiled at him, blinking slowly as the pain medication took effect.
House noticed one of the techs giving them a rather odd look.
He grinned evilly, and the tech looked away, rather alarmed, the other one snickering quietly at the misfortune of the less tactful one.
The ambulance came to a stop outside the correct entrance of Princeton Plainsburough teaching hospital and House stiffly followed the Gurney out.
As they came through the doors they were confronted by a rather larger crowd of oncology nurses than they had expected, who were promptly scared off by House’s glare.
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