Accidents (16/24)
Chapter 15
Chapter 16:
Wilson lay on the couch in his office, massaging his temples and trying to get through patient dictations. It had been a VERY busy day and this was his first chance for a break; he’d managed to grab some lunch but only because his assistant Julia grabbed it and the patient he had been meeting with insisted that he eat it then rather than wait.
His head had begun to ache sometime around mid-day and it had progressed from a mere tension headache to a migraine. He had just turned off all but one light (which was as far away from him as possible) and he forwarded his calls to voicemail, hoping he could get some peace and quiet to get rid of the migraine so he could go home.
House and Wilson had taken separate vehicles this morning. House had a patient that had decided to escape the hospital at 4a, leaving the ducklings to call him in and help search though Wilson was sure it was just payback for making them stay there.
Wilson could ask House to give him a ride home, he knew the diagnostician wouldn’t mind given the circumstances, but not only did House ride the bike in this morning but he was busy with a patient and Wilson didn’t want to bother him. So instead he lay on the couch, hiding from the world. He gave up trying to massage his migraine away and tossed the patient file and recorder on the floor in favor for a pillow over his head to muffle the sounds of the outside world.
He cringed when he heard his office door fly open, banging into the wall and rebounding closed. The angry step thump gave away who it was even though Wilson didn’t doubt it; he knew House was the only one who would barge into his office like that.
“House-“
“Can you believe it?!” House growled. “What are they thinking? Well, of course they’re not! They think like Cuddy, with their wallets!” He raged, bringing tears to Wilson’s eyes with the volume of his voice.
Wilson silently cried into the pillow. House’s yelling had driven up the pounding in his head from jackhammers to sledgehammers trying to pound his skull into fine powder. “House, either shut up or get out.” Wilson told him, whimpering quietly at the sound of House’s and his own voice while waving pathetically towards the door.
“How can you be so calm about this?!” House yelled some more, confusing Wilson. “Are you seriously telling me that you aren’t at all concerned because Cavanaugh got out, bail and sentencing paid for by his father?” He grilled, stopping short when he heard a whimper and a sniffle coming from the couch. House had been pacing and not paying attention to the prone figure on the couch with a pillow over its head. “Wilson?” He said more gently. House looked around the room, taking in the lack of light and sound and the pillow sandwich Wilson had made out of his head. “Migraine?” He asked quietly, walking up to the couch and pulling a chair closer then sitting himself down in it.
“Yeah.” Wilson replies to the pillow over his face figuring it’d be less painful than nodding his head, though not by much.
“Take anything for it?”
“Some Excedrin an hour ago.” Wilson doesn’t get a response to his answer but hears House quietly step thump his way out of the office. Confused but in too much pain to do anything about it, Wilson stays lying on his couch. He hears the office door open and close quietly, then lock. He hears the rustle of fabric, though he can’t tell if it’s just House moving around or actually manipulating other fabric somehow. The pillow is gently pulled of his face and he squints against the brightness of his office compared to the darkness of the pillow before he allows his eyes to slit open, staring into loving cerulean blue eyes.
“Here.” House says while placing an ice cold cloth over Wilson’s aching head then wipes the mostly dried tears of his cheeks.
The oncologist stays quiet for a while, House willing to let the silence linger, until he feels the coolness of the cloth sooth the over-throbbing temples. He lets out a small moan of pleasure and allows the rest of his upper torso to relax. Wilson lays there quietly for a few more minutes before what House was ranting about registers. “Cavanaugh got released?” He asks more than a little annoyed that the psychotic doctor was allowed to be let go.
House nods, “Yeah. Daddy’s money helped buy him a “barely there sentence”, a slap on the wrist and bail.” He said with disdain dripping from his quiet voice.
Wilson didn’t reply, merely gave a minute nod of his head. It had been 4 weeks since the attack and, being so completely swamped with work, Wilson hadn’t noticed that no one had called him in for the sentencing or a hearing. At House’s pushing, prodding and urging he had filed charges which had kept Cavanaugh in jail for at least a week but each time House or Wilson had asked about the sentencing and how long they could expect Cavanaugh to be in jail, the policemen would evade their questions; they knew who the man in the jail was and that he wouldn’t be staying in there long.
“We should get you home.” House said, interrupting Wilson’s silent thoughts.
“Don’t you have a patient?” Wilson asked not really wanting to move.
“Yeah but that’s why I have a team.” House replied grinning evilly. “Come on.”
“Just leave me here for a while longer, alright?” Wilson asked, almost pleadingly. “The cold cloth helped but the migraine isn’t gone fully and I don’t really want to move.”
House’s mouth pulled down in the corners slightly, indicating a frown though others wouldn’t have seen it at all. “You can’t stay here all night.” He stated.
“Thank you captain obvious.” Wilson replied sarcastically, closing his eyes still not moving.
House rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, stay there. I’ll go check on the ducklings, make sure they didn’t kill our patient yet and be back in a couple hours with Sumatriptan.” He said before he got up and quietly left, placing a hotel’s Do Not Disturb sign on the outside handle.
Finally! Wilson thought as he left himself relax, eventually falling into a restless sleep.
~~~~~~~~
House was as good as his word. 3 hours later he walked quietly back into Wilson’s office bearing a shot of Sumatriptan and a cup of water. He gently nudged the sleeping man awake then he quickly administered the drug, handing him cup of water to rehydrate himself.
They waited for a few minutes for the drug to kick in which time House painfully and grumpily gathered Wilson’s things. When Wilson decided that he felt better, not great but better, they made the painful journey home.
By the time they got to the condo, House was exhausted and his leg was hurting extra and Wilson was feeling better, though his braced wrist was aching from half holding House up. A mad family member of his patient noticed House’s weakness and kicked in exactly the right spot, causing excruciating pain and leaving House barely able to hold himself up.
House collapsed on the couch, refusing to go anywhere further until his 3 Ibuprofen, 2 Vicodin and 1 drink of scotch kicked in, leaving Wilson to gladly prepare dinner. He made pizza knowing House wouldn’t be up for moving from the couch til it was time for bed. He figured he’d also get some good PT in for his wrist by kneading the dough.
While the pizza baked, Wilson went and grabbed the heating pad for House’s leg; silently plugging it in and wrapping it around the injured limb. He knew that if he waited for House’s approval he’d never get it so he took the initiative instead. The oven buzzed letting him know that it was time to pull the pizza out, diverting his attention from what he was doing. The timer scared him, causing him to jerk House’s leg.
House sucked in his breath and grabbed the closest thing to him, which happened to be Wilson’s injured and non-braced (thanks to the pizza) wrist, squeezing the life out of it. Two tears dropped out of his eyes, unnoticed by the man himself and Wilson wanted nothing more than to apologize profusely and wipe them off but he feared that if he tried House would grab a hold of his hand and try to break it with his vice-like grip.
Once the heating pad helped calm the pain, House let go of Wilson; allowing the oncologist to go to the kitchen and awkwardly and painfully take the pizza out of the oven. He tried not to let any sound of pain escape his lips, knowing that House was in far superior pain than he. His wrist throbbed heatedly. House’s handprint outlined in red with some bruising in the fingertips covered it. Wilson slipped the brace back on, knowing he’d need it to carry the plates of food, and brought House a slice of pizza wondering if he’d actually eat it.
House looked up from the plate that had been set in his lap to Wilson, looking shocked to find Wilson was there. It didn’t surprise the younger man since House had taken enough drugs and alcohol to barely register where he was at the moment. However, he did scarf up the pizza slice and then took the second piece that Wilson had put on his own plate for House and ate it as well.
When the meal had finished and House seemed like he was going to fall asleep, Wilson cleared the plates and took them into the kitchen (he’d do them after he got House to bed). He walked into the living room, shutting off the tv and gathering the sleepy, drunk AND high diagnostician up and helped him into the bedroom and onto the bed.
Once House was settled, Wilson walked back into the kitchen to begin cleaning up. He was glad that House had lowered the amount of Vicodin he’d been taking, it would help save his liver some but what Wilson wished most was that House wouldn’t have a need for it at all.
He didn’t hold Stacy responsible, unlike House, since it was technically just something that happened and the doctors, having never experienced something like this, just didn’t diagnose it correctly. A lot of the time Wilson found himself wishing that HE could take the burden for House but didn’t know if he’d be any better at it or stronger than House was. House had an inner strength that most dismissed, not bothering to look deeper than the self-centered, arrogant, misanthropic bastard they saw on the surface. He knew that House dealt with his injury with grace. If others had House’s thigh, they would be so much worse off than being misanthropic (though House had always been like that) and addicted to painkillers; they’d probably have OD’d on Morphine and wouldn’t have lasted a month before they begged the surgeon to just cut the damn leg off.
Wilson closed up the dishwasher and glanced at the dishes he didn’t dare put in there like knives and a few pots and pans. He pulled them out of the sink and began to hand-wash them. He was exhausted, his head had begun to pound again and he wanted nothing more than to go to bed but if he left them sitting in the sink all night, THAT’S all he’d think about.
Once the dreaded dishes were done he grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and a towel from the handle of the fridge and walked into the bedroom, placing the ice pack on the bedside table until he was ready for it. He quickly changed, cringing every time he put pressure on his wrist and climbed in bed. Wilson placed the toweled ice pack on top of his sore wrist, laying the affected hand on top of his stomach while he waited for the cooling numbness to take effect.
When his wrist was nice and numb, Wilson placed the ice pack on top of his forehead. He could feel the headache building to a migraine and hoped the cold would stop it before it got too bad and he couldn’t sleep. He left it laying there for a few minutes and then tossed it onto the bedside table. He closed his eyes and let sweet sleep take him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, House felt better; not great but better. Wilson dragged him into work, telling him he could probably get away with just sitting in his office the entire day; Wilson would even work his clinic hours to appease Cuddy. House grudgingly agreed, liming and leaning heavily on his cane.
Once through the doors, the men didn’t see each other the rest of the day. House was busy hiding in his office, trying to stay off his leg and Wilson was busy with his normal caseload plus House’s 3 hours of clinic.
By the time Wilson was able to sit down and relax it was passed 6 o’clock and he hadn’t eaten except the gallon of coffee he’d had to keep him going. Today would have been a good day to be drugged! He thought as he collapsed on the couch, spreading his long body across it. He groaned when a knock came but granted the access.
Not surprisingly it was Chase. “House needs a consult.”
Wilson let out a long-suffering sigh and reluctantly got his aching body off the couch. He listed slightly to the left and put a hand out on the wall to keep him upright until his blood pressure adapted.
“Are you alright?” Chase asked, inching toward him read to catch him if he fell.
“Yeah.” He smiled tiredly. “Just stood up too fast.”
Chase nodded, not believing him for a minute, and walked out heading for diagnostics. Wilson followed, limping slightly. He had been on his feet and walking around for the passed 6 hours and his ankle and knee were throbbing.
He walked into the conference room and leaned against the door frame. Chase, Foreman, Masters and Taub were sitting at the conference table staring at House who stood by the white board. He seemed like his leg was feeling a lot better which made Wilson breathe a sigh of relief.
House spun around to look at Wilson. “Ah, Wilson good! Need you to look at these films.” He said cheerily.
Wilson almost gave House a disgusted look, annoyed that his partner was feeling great while he felt like crap, but refrained and offered a smile. He limped into the room to gather the films, holding them up to the light for a couple of minutes before he put the back down. “Could be cancer. Do a biopsy.”
House studied Wilson, unhappy with what he was seeing. He turned to the ducklings, “You heard him, go biopsy the lymph node! Chase, go to the cafeteria and grab a turkey sandwich, a salad with Balsamic Vinaigrette dressing and a bottle of water.” Instructed, surprising ALL of them by tossing his wallet at Chase who caught it in one swift motion.
Once they left, House walked up to Wilson; taking him gently by the arm and guiding him to the office and onto the recliner. Wilson let out a small hiss when he bent his knee to sit down and flexed a muscle in his ankle.
House’s stare sharpened, wondering which issue to address first. “You idiot.” He said. “When was the last time you ate?” He scolded as he sat down on the corner of the ottoman and gently lifted Wilson’s right leg onto it since Wilson didn’t seem inclined to do it himself. He ran his hands gingerly over Wilson’s knee and down to his ankle, inwardly wincing when he felt the inflamed tissue beneath. Wilson helping him had cost the oncologist.
“Uh,” Wilson replied, hissing when House’s hands hit particularly tender spots, “Dinner last night I think.” He replied wearily.
Chase walked back in handing the bag of food and the bottle of water to House before he exited again to go to the lab. House opened the bottle of water and handed it to Wilson. “Drink.” He commanded. “You’re probably dehydrated from all the coffee that coursed through your system today.” He reasoned while he pulled out the sandwich and also handed it to Wilson, noticing how his hands slightly shook from his blood sugar dropping. While Wilson ate his sandwich and rehydrated, House went and grabbed a couple of ice packs and placed them over Wilson’s knee and ankle; the cold would help soothe the aching joints.
House saw Wilson’s eyes close briefly in relief before he went to sit behind his desk. Wilson had overworked his body trying to take care of House last night and today, making sure he didn’t need to do anything but sit in his office. House took advantage of that and did nothing but bark orders at the ducklings, get a massage, and stay off his leg; leading to being able to get around as easily as usual. However, it meant that Wilson wouldn’t be doing too well tonight. Granted he wouldn’t be too bad off but he would be hurting yet stubborn about it and hard to keep still once they got home.
The office door opened, admitting a slender woman with chocolate brown hair and honey brown eyes. House immediately recognized her as Julia, Wilson’s assistant. “Excuse me, Dr. Wilson.” She interrupted the silence politely, clearly not wanting to have to bother him at all.
“Yes Julia.” He answered, inwardly groaning.
“Savannah his on the phone and desperate to speak with you.” She answered. “I’ve tried to explain that you were heading home but she kept insisting that I get you.”
“That’s ok. Thanks. I’ll be in my office in 1 minute; transfer her then.” He replied trying to soothe her unease. She left and Wilson took off the ice packs and lowered his leg, wincing as he bent it. “Thanks for the sandwich. It was just what I needed.” He appeased his lover while he slowly stood up and lightly limped out.
House wasn’t happy that Wilson had to take the call but since there was nothing he could do about it he replaced Wilson in his recliner, turning on his iPod and PSP to wait.
~~~~~~~~~~
Wilson limped into his office and sat down behind his desk. He waited for the call to come through and picked it up immediately. He was shocked to hear not Savannah but her husband who curtly informed him that he and his wife were on their way to the hospital via ambulance; Savannah had been in a bad car accident and the EMT’s didn’t know if she’d make it.
Wilson gave a long sigh as he hung up the phone. He could tell the husband wasn’t happy with it taking him so long to get to the phone but he wasn’t going to apologize for that unless it was directly discussed. He leaned forward on his desk, elbows on the desk and head in his hands. This was going to be a long night!
Chapter 17
Chapter 16:
Wilson lay on the couch in his office, massaging his temples and trying to get through patient dictations. It had been a VERY busy day and this was his first chance for a break; he’d managed to grab some lunch but only because his assistant Julia grabbed it and the patient he had been meeting with insisted that he eat it then rather than wait.
His head had begun to ache sometime around mid-day and it had progressed from a mere tension headache to a migraine. He had just turned off all but one light (which was as far away from him as possible) and he forwarded his calls to voicemail, hoping he could get some peace and quiet to get rid of the migraine so he could go home.
House and Wilson had taken separate vehicles this morning. House had a patient that had decided to escape the hospital at 4a, leaving the ducklings to call him in and help search though Wilson was sure it was just payback for making them stay there.
Wilson could ask House to give him a ride home, he knew the diagnostician wouldn’t mind given the circumstances, but not only did House ride the bike in this morning but he was busy with a patient and Wilson didn’t want to bother him. So instead he lay on the couch, hiding from the world. He gave up trying to massage his migraine away and tossed the patient file and recorder on the floor in favor for a pillow over his head to muffle the sounds of the outside world.
He cringed when he heard his office door fly open, banging into the wall and rebounding closed. The angry step thump gave away who it was even though Wilson didn’t doubt it; he knew House was the only one who would barge into his office like that.
“House-“
“Can you believe it?!” House growled. “What are they thinking? Well, of course they’re not! They think like Cuddy, with their wallets!” He raged, bringing tears to Wilson’s eyes with the volume of his voice.
Wilson silently cried into the pillow. House’s yelling had driven up the pounding in his head from jackhammers to sledgehammers trying to pound his skull into fine powder. “House, either shut up or get out.” Wilson told him, whimpering quietly at the sound of House’s and his own voice while waving pathetically towards the door.
“How can you be so calm about this?!” House yelled some more, confusing Wilson. “Are you seriously telling me that you aren’t at all concerned because Cavanaugh got out, bail and sentencing paid for by his father?” He grilled, stopping short when he heard a whimper and a sniffle coming from the couch. House had been pacing and not paying attention to the prone figure on the couch with a pillow over its head. “Wilson?” He said more gently. House looked around the room, taking in the lack of light and sound and the pillow sandwich Wilson had made out of his head. “Migraine?” He asked quietly, walking up to the couch and pulling a chair closer then sitting himself down in it.
“Yeah.” Wilson replies to the pillow over his face figuring it’d be less painful than nodding his head, though not by much.
“Take anything for it?”
“Some Excedrin an hour ago.” Wilson doesn’t get a response to his answer but hears House quietly step thump his way out of the office. Confused but in too much pain to do anything about it, Wilson stays lying on his couch. He hears the office door open and close quietly, then lock. He hears the rustle of fabric, though he can’t tell if it’s just House moving around or actually manipulating other fabric somehow. The pillow is gently pulled of his face and he squints against the brightness of his office compared to the darkness of the pillow before he allows his eyes to slit open, staring into loving cerulean blue eyes.
“Here.” House says while placing an ice cold cloth over Wilson’s aching head then wipes the mostly dried tears of his cheeks.
The oncologist stays quiet for a while, House willing to let the silence linger, until he feels the coolness of the cloth sooth the over-throbbing temples. He lets out a small moan of pleasure and allows the rest of his upper torso to relax. Wilson lays there quietly for a few more minutes before what House was ranting about registers. “Cavanaugh got released?” He asks more than a little annoyed that the psychotic doctor was allowed to be let go.
House nods, “Yeah. Daddy’s money helped buy him a “barely there sentence”, a slap on the wrist and bail.” He said with disdain dripping from his quiet voice.
Wilson didn’t reply, merely gave a minute nod of his head. It had been 4 weeks since the attack and, being so completely swamped with work, Wilson hadn’t noticed that no one had called him in for the sentencing or a hearing. At House’s pushing, prodding and urging he had filed charges which had kept Cavanaugh in jail for at least a week but each time House or Wilson had asked about the sentencing and how long they could expect Cavanaugh to be in jail, the policemen would evade their questions; they knew who the man in the jail was and that he wouldn’t be staying in there long.
“We should get you home.” House said, interrupting Wilson’s silent thoughts.
“Don’t you have a patient?” Wilson asked not really wanting to move.
“Yeah but that’s why I have a team.” House replied grinning evilly. “Come on.”
“Just leave me here for a while longer, alright?” Wilson asked, almost pleadingly. “The cold cloth helped but the migraine isn’t gone fully and I don’t really want to move.”
House’s mouth pulled down in the corners slightly, indicating a frown though others wouldn’t have seen it at all. “You can’t stay here all night.” He stated.
“Thank you captain obvious.” Wilson replied sarcastically, closing his eyes still not moving.
House rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, stay there. I’ll go check on the ducklings, make sure they didn’t kill our patient yet and be back in a couple hours with Sumatriptan.” He said before he got up and quietly left, placing a hotel’s Do Not Disturb sign on the outside handle.
Finally! Wilson thought as he left himself relax, eventually falling into a restless sleep.
~~~~~~~~
House was as good as his word. 3 hours later he walked quietly back into Wilson’s office bearing a shot of Sumatriptan and a cup of water. He gently nudged the sleeping man awake then he quickly administered the drug, handing him cup of water to rehydrate himself.
They waited for a few minutes for the drug to kick in which time House painfully and grumpily gathered Wilson’s things. When Wilson decided that he felt better, not great but better, they made the painful journey home.
By the time they got to the condo, House was exhausted and his leg was hurting extra and Wilson was feeling better, though his braced wrist was aching from half holding House up. A mad family member of his patient noticed House’s weakness and kicked in exactly the right spot, causing excruciating pain and leaving House barely able to hold himself up.
House collapsed on the couch, refusing to go anywhere further until his 3 Ibuprofen, 2 Vicodin and 1 drink of scotch kicked in, leaving Wilson to gladly prepare dinner. He made pizza knowing House wouldn’t be up for moving from the couch til it was time for bed. He figured he’d also get some good PT in for his wrist by kneading the dough.
While the pizza baked, Wilson went and grabbed the heating pad for House’s leg; silently plugging it in and wrapping it around the injured limb. He knew that if he waited for House’s approval he’d never get it so he took the initiative instead. The oven buzzed letting him know that it was time to pull the pizza out, diverting his attention from what he was doing. The timer scared him, causing him to jerk House’s leg.
House sucked in his breath and grabbed the closest thing to him, which happened to be Wilson’s injured and non-braced (thanks to the pizza) wrist, squeezing the life out of it. Two tears dropped out of his eyes, unnoticed by the man himself and Wilson wanted nothing more than to apologize profusely and wipe them off but he feared that if he tried House would grab a hold of his hand and try to break it with his vice-like grip.
Once the heating pad helped calm the pain, House let go of Wilson; allowing the oncologist to go to the kitchen and awkwardly and painfully take the pizza out of the oven. He tried not to let any sound of pain escape his lips, knowing that House was in far superior pain than he. His wrist throbbed heatedly. House’s handprint outlined in red with some bruising in the fingertips covered it. Wilson slipped the brace back on, knowing he’d need it to carry the plates of food, and brought House a slice of pizza wondering if he’d actually eat it.
House looked up from the plate that had been set in his lap to Wilson, looking shocked to find Wilson was there. It didn’t surprise the younger man since House had taken enough drugs and alcohol to barely register where he was at the moment. However, he did scarf up the pizza slice and then took the second piece that Wilson had put on his own plate for House and ate it as well.
When the meal had finished and House seemed like he was going to fall asleep, Wilson cleared the plates and took them into the kitchen (he’d do them after he got House to bed). He walked into the living room, shutting off the tv and gathering the sleepy, drunk AND high diagnostician up and helped him into the bedroom and onto the bed.
Once House was settled, Wilson walked back into the kitchen to begin cleaning up. He was glad that House had lowered the amount of Vicodin he’d been taking, it would help save his liver some but what Wilson wished most was that House wouldn’t have a need for it at all.
He didn’t hold Stacy responsible, unlike House, since it was technically just something that happened and the doctors, having never experienced something like this, just didn’t diagnose it correctly. A lot of the time Wilson found himself wishing that HE could take the burden for House but didn’t know if he’d be any better at it or stronger than House was. House had an inner strength that most dismissed, not bothering to look deeper than the self-centered, arrogant, misanthropic bastard they saw on the surface. He knew that House dealt with his injury with grace. If others had House’s thigh, they would be so much worse off than being misanthropic (though House had always been like that) and addicted to painkillers; they’d probably have OD’d on Morphine and wouldn’t have lasted a month before they begged the surgeon to just cut the damn leg off.
Wilson closed up the dishwasher and glanced at the dishes he didn’t dare put in there like knives and a few pots and pans. He pulled them out of the sink and began to hand-wash them. He was exhausted, his head had begun to pound again and he wanted nothing more than to go to bed but if he left them sitting in the sink all night, THAT’S all he’d think about.
Once the dreaded dishes were done he grabbed an ice pack from the freezer and a towel from the handle of the fridge and walked into the bedroom, placing the ice pack on the bedside table until he was ready for it. He quickly changed, cringing every time he put pressure on his wrist and climbed in bed. Wilson placed the toweled ice pack on top of his sore wrist, laying the affected hand on top of his stomach while he waited for the cooling numbness to take effect.
When his wrist was nice and numb, Wilson placed the ice pack on top of his forehead. He could feel the headache building to a migraine and hoped the cold would stop it before it got too bad and he couldn’t sleep. He left it laying there for a few minutes and then tossed it onto the bedside table. He closed his eyes and let sweet sleep take him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, House felt better; not great but better. Wilson dragged him into work, telling him he could probably get away with just sitting in his office the entire day; Wilson would even work his clinic hours to appease Cuddy. House grudgingly agreed, liming and leaning heavily on his cane.
Once through the doors, the men didn’t see each other the rest of the day. House was busy hiding in his office, trying to stay off his leg and Wilson was busy with his normal caseload plus House’s 3 hours of clinic.
By the time Wilson was able to sit down and relax it was passed 6 o’clock and he hadn’t eaten except the gallon of coffee he’d had to keep him going. Today would have been a good day to be drugged! He thought as he collapsed on the couch, spreading his long body across it. He groaned when a knock came but granted the access.
Not surprisingly it was Chase. “House needs a consult.”
Wilson let out a long-suffering sigh and reluctantly got his aching body off the couch. He listed slightly to the left and put a hand out on the wall to keep him upright until his blood pressure adapted.
“Are you alright?” Chase asked, inching toward him read to catch him if he fell.
“Yeah.” He smiled tiredly. “Just stood up too fast.”
Chase nodded, not believing him for a minute, and walked out heading for diagnostics. Wilson followed, limping slightly. He had been on his feet and walking around for the passed 6 hours and his ankle and knee were throbbing.
He walked into the conference room and leaned against the door frame. Chase, Foreman, Masters and Taub were sitting at the conference table staring at House who stood by the white board. He seemed like his leg was feeling a lot better which made Wilson breathe a sigh of relief.
House spun around to look at Wilson. “Ah, Wilson good! Need you to look at these films.” He said cheerily.
Wilson almost gave House a disgusted look, annoyed that his partner was feeling great while he felt like crap, but refrained and offered a smile. He limped into the room to gather the films, holding them up to the light for a couple of minutes before he put the back down. “Could be cancer. Do a biopsy.”
House studied Wilson, unhappy with what he was seeing. He turned to the ducklings, “You heard him, go biopsy the lymph node! Chase, go to the cafeteria and grab a turkey sandwich, a salad with Balsamic Vinaigrette dressing and a bottle of water.” Instructed, surprising ALL of them by tossing his wallet at Chase who caught it in one swift motion.
Once they left, House walked up to Wilson; taking him gently by the arm and guiding him to the office and onto the recliner. Wilson let out a small hiss when he bent his knee to sit down and flexed a muscle in his ankle.
House’s stare sharpened, wondering which issue to address first. “You idiot.” He said. “When was the last time you ate?” He scolded as he sat down on the corner of the ottoman and gently lifted Wilson’s right leg onto it since Wilson didn’t seem inclined to do it himself. He ran his hands gingerly over Wilson’s knee and down to his ankle, inwardly wincing when he felt the inflamed tissue beneath. Wilson helping him had cost the oncologist.
“Uh,” Wilson replied, hissing when House’s hands hit particularly tender spots, “Dinner last night I think.” He replied wearily.
Chase walked back in handing the bag of food and the bottle of water to House before he exited again to go to the lab. House opened the bottle of water and handed it to Wilson. “Drink.” He commanded. “You’re probably dehydrated from all the coffee that coursed through your system today.” He reasoned while he pulled out the sandwich and also handed it to Wilson, noticing how his hands slightly shook from his blood sugar dropping. While Wilson ate his sandwich and rehydrated, House went and grabbed a couple of ice packs and placed them over Wilson’s knee and ankle; the cold would help soothe the aching joints.
House saw Wilson’s eyes close briefly in relief before he went to sit behind his desk. Wilson had overworked his body trying to take care of House last night and today, making sure he didn’t need to do anything but sit in his office. House took advantage of that and did nothing but bark orders at the ducklings, get a massage, and stay off his leg; leading to being able to get around as easily as usual. However, it meant that Wilson wouldn’t be doing too well tonight. Granted he wouldn’t be too bad off but he would be hurting yet stubborn about it and hard to keep still once they got home.
The office door opened, admitting a slender woman with chocolate brown hair and honey brown eyes. House immediately recognized her as Julia, Wilson’s assistant. “Excuse me, Dr. Wilson.” She interrupted the silence politely, clearly not wanting to have to bother him at all.
“Yes Julia.” He answered, inwardly groaning.
“Savannah his on the phone and desperate to speak with you.” She answered. “I’ve tried to explain that you were heading home but she kept insisting that I get you.”
“That’s ok. Thanks. I’ll be in my office in 1 minute; transfer her then.” He replied trying to soothe her unease. She left and Wilson took off the ice packs and lowered his leg, wincing as he bent it. “Thanks for the sandwich. It was just what I needed.” He appeased his lover while he slowly stood up and lightly limped out.
House wasn’t happy that Wilson had to take the call but since there was nothing he could do about it he replaced Wilson in his recliner, turning on his iPod and PSP to wait.
~~~~~~~~~~
Wilson limped into his office and sat down behind his desk. He waited for the call to come through and picked it up immediately. He was shocked to hear not Savannah but her husband who curtly informed him that he and his wife were on their way to the hospital via ambulance; Savannah had been in a bad car accident and the EMT’s didn’t know if she’d make it.
Wilson gave a long sigh as he hung up the phone. He could tell the husband wasn’t happy with it taking him so long to get to the phone but he wasn’t going to apologize for that unless it was directly discussed. He leaned forward on his desk, elbows on the desk and head in his hands. This was going to be a long night!
Chapter 17