I Need You: Chapter Five
By the time House came to a stop in Wilson’s room, the emergency was over. Foreman stood above the hospital bed and was talking quietly with Wilson’s parents; Abby was in tears and Samuel was dutifully holding his wife.
The three of them looked up when he threw the door open, and House’s eyes fell immediately on Wilson. His eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling slowly; he was very much asleep.
“He started seizing. We’re going to take him up for a CT,” Foreman said as House walked up beside the bed.
House stared at Wilson, his heart aching, wanting nothing more than to reach down and hold his hand. One glance at Wilson’s parents told him not to do it; they might not be upset over it, but their son almost died today, and could still be dying.
One bombshell at a time, he told himself.
Instead of holding him, House nodded and swallowed back the lump in his throat. “That’s all we can do, then.”
“There’s a good chance there’s bleeding that’s putting pressure on his brain,” Foreman continued, glancing from House to Wilson’s parents. “If it’s a subdural hematoma, we either missed it on the CT, or it started developing the last hour or two.”
House clenched his jaw angrily and took a steadying breath - he didn’t want to be rude in front of his boyfriend’s parents - before speaking to Foreman. “If we’d taken him in hours ago for his second CT, we would have prevented this.”
“There was a line, and more urgent patients ahead of us,” Foreman said calmly, smiling reassuringly at the parents.
House stared blankly at Foreman, internally struggling with the desire to lash out completely at the man, but to keep calm in front of Wilson’s parents. After a moment of silence, House said, “I get it. You made the Jew wait for the test. That was...a bit hypocritical of you, wouldn’t you say?”
“There was no reason for us to think he was having more problems.” Foreman gave House a look that said do you really want to have this conversation in front of them?
Wilson’s father spoke up, forcing their attention to his questions. “Does this mean he’s going to die?” Samuel met House and Foreman’s eyes nervously.
“No,” Foreman and House said together, and when Foreman glanced sideways at him, House raised his hands in an ‘I give up’ gesture. Foreman looked back at the parents.
“It just means there’s some bleeding that can be easily taken care of. There’s a small chance that it’s a large bleed, which has a 50% death rate. We’re going to head down to CT now. House, why don’t you and Mr. and Mrs. Wilson get some coffee and hang tight here until we’re done?”
House clenched his fist and narrowed his eyes at Foreman, deciding that this conversation was far from over.
House opened his mouth to argue, but Mrs. Wilson stood up and said, “I would love to talk with you, Greg.” Abby smiled encouragingly.
“I should be with Foreman and Wilson,” House said firmly, inching toward the door, hoping to make his escape smoothly.
“Taub and I can handle it,” Foreman said calmly, and House glared at him.
His body hurt with the need to be there with Wilson, and to touch his hands and face, to comfort himself and Wilson. Foreman was deliberately stopping House from being there for his partner, and it infuriated and confused him.
“Show us where the coffee is,” Mr. Wilson told House, and House gripped his cane angrily. He nodded in defeat, turned to Wilson’s unconscious body, and allowed himself a small touch on his hand.
“Page me if anything happens,” House hissed under his breath to Foreman, and whacked Foreman on the shins with his cane when Wilson’s parents were walking out the door. “It’s on now, Foreman.”
“It’s always on, House.”
“Screw you.”
“Wilson won’t be out of commission that long.”
“You’d better hope not. I get nasty when I don’t get any for a few days,” House snapped, then left the room to meet the parents in the hallway. He smiled at them, forcing it to look pleasant and confident; inside he was fuming and scared. I need to be there with him. “Right this way,” he said, and they started walking toward the nearest coffee machine.
After they got back to the empty hospital room - Wilson’s parents had paid for his coffee, which made House chuckle softly (he could always get a Wilson to pay for his things) - they sat together where Wilson’s bed had been.
“Here, take my chair,” Samuel offered, moving to stand beside his wife.
House shook his head. “No, thanks. You can keep it.”
“James says your leg pain is getting worse,” Abby said, gesturing to the chair. “Sit down. It’s not a problem.”
House studied the couple for a moment before nodding and moving the chair around so he faced them. He sat down and placed his cane on the floor, and sat forward with his forearms on the tops of his knees.
“Can you tell us what exactly happened?”
House sighed quietly at Mrs. Wilson’s question, and scratched his forehead for a second before nodding. He took a sip of his hot coffee as he tried to decide what exactly to tell them.
“We were walking across the street - in a crosswalk - and, well, the guy that hit him blew his red light and turned into Wil - James.”
“Was it bad?” She asked, tears spilling onto her cheeks as she reached over to grip House’s forearm. His pulse sped up. I am not good at this comfort thing. She needs to let go, he thought bitterly.
“It could have been worse,” he answered honestly, trying not to imagine where they would be right now if the driver had been going five miles per hour faster.
House gently extracted his arm from her grip and sipped on his hot coffee. His mind kept wandering to what was going on in the CT room, and he nervously bounced his good leg. If his cane wasn’t on the floor beside his chair, he’d probably be swinging that around.
“Is there going to be any long-lasting pain or damage?”
House raised his eyes to Wilson’s dad and gave him a half-shrug. “I’m not sure yet. He could have problems with his knee for the rest of his life if it doesn’t heal right.”
“What about his brain?”
“That’s...” House trailed off and realized he was trying to spare their feelings, while he struggled to tell them just enough to feel better. “We don’t know yet. It’s possible he’ll suffer long-term brain damage. His frontal lobe was damaged in the accident.”
Mrs. Wilson cried softly and House grimaced. Closing his eyes, he counted slowly to himself, trying to gather his own emotions. This wasn’t a therapy session where they sit in a semi-circle and cry. It was exactly what it appeared to be: a doctor (albeit the boyfriend of their son) was telling parents the extent of the damage their child has.
“Regardless of the extent of his injuries,” House continued, opening his eyes to make eye contact with Wilson’s parents, making sure they grasped what he was about to say. “He is still James Wilson, and he is going to be okay.”
He hated giving them false hope. In fact, he almost took it back and told them it was a lie. But when he opened his mouth, he couldn’t. That comforting lie was what Wilson swore House would never give, and House could tell by looking at his partner’s parents that they needed a lie more than the truth.
Besides, he wouldn’t be at fault if Wilson got worse. He was only a friend right now, not Wilson’s doctor.
There was idle talk for a short time after that. The Wilson’s politely asked after House’s work and life, and he kindly returned the questions.
Until Mrs. Wilson asked, “How long have you and James been together now?” House had been relaxing and not as annoyed by being left behind until that moment. He tensed, staring at them blankly, mind racing.
Silence blanketed them as his sort of in-laws stared at him with tight smiles. He wasn’t quite sure if they were angry or just worried about their son.
A little of both, most likely. The thought made him smirk to himself quickly before forcing his face smooth.
“He’s been staying at my place for a few months until this economy straightens up a little and he can buy a house,” he said calmly, trying to piece together a believable lie. House suddenly felt uncomfortable, and his hands started fidgeting in his lap while he bounced his leg.
Vicodin. I need to take another one.
“Gosh, it has to be going on, what? Three years? Four?” Abby asked, her eyes shining in amusement. House cleared his throat and shrugged uncomfortably. “I could have sworn it was longer, though.”
House grimaced. “I don’t know what -“
“Why are you denying it?” Abby raised her eyebrows curiously. She glanced at her husband, and House saw the confusion passed between them.
“I don’t know,” House muttered, scratching his forehead. He flinched when Samuel put a hand on House’s shoulder.
“He told us about you two years ago,” Samuel offered, and House’s head snapped up in surprise. Mr. Wilson smiled slightly. “You were always the best thing in his life.”
House shook his head, his mind racing. Wilson told them? After we agreed not to? It didn’t make sense to him, and he had to admit it pissed him off a little.
But...his parents had accepted it. And they were smiling about it.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Abby said softly, and House raised his eyes to hers. He shook his head slightly, denying her words. “I’m not embarrassed,” she continued, smiling at him in such a motherly way that House started relaxing. “You make my boy happy. I may not have grandchildren from you two, but it’s worth that sacrifice to see him with someone he truly loves.”
“Thanks,” he murmured, unsure of what else to say to that. He was surprisingly relaxed under the gaze of Wilson’s parents.
After glancing at his watch, he reached into his pocket to pull out his Vicodin - he’d tensed so much both of his legs were hurting now - and startled himself when his phone started vibrating, then ringing. He glanced up at Wilson’s parents to say, “it’s Foreman”, before answering.
“He’s got a subdural hematoma. We’re going to drain it - it’s not that bad yet,” Foreman said quickly after House answered. “It wasn’t in the CT from earlier.”
“Where is it?” House asked, standing up with his cane. He started pacing, ignoring the other two people in the room as his mind raced.
“Frontal lobe,” Foreman answered, then said something inaudible to someone near him. A second later he started speaking to House again. “Anyway, don’t bring his parents to the OR. It’s not something they should see. We’re just going to drain it and we’ll be back up.”
“I’m scrubbing in,” House said firmly, and as Foreman started to protest he said, “I won’t try to shove my way into the procedure. I’m just going to overlook everything.”
“Fine.”
House hung up and looked up at Wilson’s parents, who were watching him in concern. He pocketed his phone and pulled out his Vicodin, and said, “he’s got a subdural hematoma in his frontal lobe. I’m going down there to help drain the blood. He should be fine.”
“What does that mean?” Abby asked, wiping away fresh tears. Her husband put his hand on her shoulder in comfort. House wondered for a second if the woman would ever dry up.
“There’s some bleeding, which probably caused the seizure. After we drain it, there shouldn’t be any more seizures, and he’ll start recovering normally.”
House stood from his chair while he swallowed a pill and picked up his cane. He glanced at the Wilson’s, nodded to them to make sure they understood, then left the room as quickly as he could. His stomach hurt with worry.
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House split his attention in three main directions: Wilson’s body, Wilson’s stats, and Wilson’s head. Wilson’s body consisted of everything that did not include the head: his feet, his torso, his hands. House kept his hands wrapped around one of Wilson’s, refusing to let go even if he went into cardiac arrest and the defibrillator was brought out.
“It’d be one hell of a party at that point,” House said defiantly when Chase asked what would happen if he got shocked, too.
Wilson’s stats remained the same throughout the entire procedure, and despite there being people in the room primarily to watch Wilson’s vitals, House took it upon himself to watch, too. His opinion was the one that mattered here - not anyone else’s.
Wilson’s head was something House couldn’t bear to watch for too long. Granted, he was a doctor, this was nothing new to him, worse procedures than this had been done to him - when he was awake, too! - and Wilson stood by and watched, undaunted.
That was so much different, House thought sadly, Amber’s life was on the line.
Squeezing Wilson’s limp hand in his, he let his eyes move from Wilson’s head - he couldn’t watch them drill into his partner’s head, as cowardly as he knew it was - to Wilson’s hand inside his own.
You could have died today, he thought, running his fingers over Wilson’s lightly. I could have lost you forever. The thought crushed him, and he closed his eyes against the bright room. I need you.
Abruptly, he opened his eyes and looked down at his hands, realizing he wasn’t alone in the room, and dropped Wilson’s hand onto the table. He had been rubbing Wilson’s ring finger, and silently he hoped nobody had noticed. The last thing he needed was rumors to sprout up that Wilson has - or had, maybe he lost it? - a ring.
He certainly does not.
“House?”
House raised his eyes to Chase quickly, glad for the disruption.
“We’re leaving the drain in for a few days in case he develops another hematoma. The current bleed has been taken care of. We’ll be ready to leave in a minute.”
House touched Wilson’s hand briefly before standing up.
“I’m going home, now that he’s okay. I need some sleep in a real bed. His parents will probably stay with him. They’ll light a menorah or something to cast away all the bad spirits, or whatever those things are for,” House said sarcastically with a nod, as if agreeing with himself. He hesitated at the doors before leaving the OR, and turned back to Foreman and Chase. “Page me if anything happens,” he said, and kicked himself internally; he wanted to thank them.
“Have a good night, House,” Chase said with a casual nod before turning back to his work, taping the drain in place.
With that, House left the OR, unsure of whether he’d really go home or not.
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HUGE thanks goes out to my awesome beta, little_missmimi
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