2dozenowies - Dr. James Wilson - Prompt #21: Sprain/Strained muscle
Title: Walk Softly and Carry a Big Stick
Author: aguynamedgoo
Rating: G, maybe pushing PG
Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing: None, unless you want to read into what's not there. :P
Prompt: #21 - Sprain/Strained muscle
Words: 1201
Disclaimer: House and all of the characters do not belong to me, sadly. They belong to people who are far more witty than I am. I just like to take them for a spin once in a while.
Notes: Since this has no warnings, I figured I'd put this in place. Basically, this fic was once longer. Too long, in fact. And it was basically "how many ways can the rest of the cast say 'you've been spending too much time with House'?" and wasn't all that interesting, so I cut it off short. I have too many other bunnies to focus all my time feeding this one. Also, special thanks to my wife, ayumi99, who gave me the bunny in the first place. And feeds my other bunnies while I'm not looking.
Summary: Of all the things they could have given Wilson, it just had to be a cane...
Wilson raised an eyebrow as he eyed what the ER doctor had in his hand. “You...can't be serious,” he said at last. The other doctor seemed surprised by this reaction, as he placed what he was holding on a counter and opened the folder with Wilson's chart in it, collecting paperwork that had to be signed.
“You're a doctor yourself. You know it's important with this kind of sprain to try to put some weight on it to help strengthen the ligaments in your ankle,” the ER doctor said patiently. “I would give you crutches, but then you'd find yourself subconsciously favoring it and not using it.” He handed the papers over to Wilson for him to sign. “You should stay off of it as much as possible for at least the next couple of days, anyway.”
Wilson took a pen out of his pocket and began to sign the papers. “You don't understand. I can't use a cane.” He eyed the cane that had been placed on the counter of the exam room. The form he was signing now was a release so that the hospital could give it to him. If he refused to sign, he could just go to the pharmacy and buy some crutches...
“Why not?” the ER doctor asked, picking up the cane and bringing it over to the exam table to place next to Wilson. Wilson slid away from it, as if it were cursed.
“Because...” he started. How could he possibly explain this? He decided to give the quickest answer he could think of: “Because I'm best friends with Dr. Gregory House.” He finally signed the release, then capped the pen and handed the paperwork over.
At first the other doctor looked confused, but then realization dawned on his face. “Are you afraid that he'll think you're mocking him?”
Wilson snorted. “No. I'm afraid he's going to pick on me. No, correction, I know he is.” He finally picked up the cane and examined it. “He's going to have all kinds of fun with this. Not to mention people at work...”
The doctor bit his lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “You only need it for a couple of weeks. Three at the most. I'm sure the novelty would have worn off long before then.”
Wilson stood up from the exam table, wincing in pain as he did. “Can you check the X-ray again? I'm pretty sure I heard a snap or a pop. It might be a hairline fracture, or an avulsion...”
“I've already checked twice, Dr. Wilson. Your films are clear,” the ER doctor said, sounding a bit impatient. “You know the PRICE procedure for a sprain: protection, rest-”
“Ice, compression, elevate. I know,” Wilson said with a nod. He picked up the cane, leaning against it for stability. He took a few steps with it, trying not to favor his ankle too much, but at the moment it hurt too much not to walk with a very pronounced limp. What he wouldn't give to avoid House completely for these two weeks... But it would be impossible: not only did he still have to work, but House had been the one to drive him to the emergency room.
The doctor scribbled something on a prescription pad and handed it to Wilson. “600mg ibuprofen,” he explained. As Wilson took the slip of paper, he bit his lip to keep from laughing again. “Unless you want Vicodin...”
“There's a line,” Wilson said warningly. He leaned the cane against the wall long enough to pull on his coat, then pocketed the prescription and took the cane again. “Thank you,” he all but muttered. Then he took a deep breath to steady himself and limped out into the waiting room.
House was sitting in a chair, thumbing through an ancient copy of Gossip. “Did you know that Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston broke up? And I wasn't informed?” he asked, not looking up at Wilson.
Wilson started to shift his weight between his feet nervously, but the pressure on his right ankle caused a sharp stab of pain through his leg. He hissed and quickly shifted his weight back to his left foot. This was enough to make House throw the magazine aside and look up at Wilson.
At first House didn't have a reaction. He kept looking at Wilson, then the cane, then Wilson. It was such a long, tense moment that Wilson was starting to believe this was all a dream. After all, House was never tongue-tied. Finally, House stood up and grabbed his cane. “I'll have to give you the address of the place where I get mine. That model is so last year.”
Wilson raised an eyebrow. “That's it? No laughing? No endless stream of snide remarks?”
“I don't know. I thought that was pretty witty myself,” House said in response, heading toward the exit. “Can you drive or do you want me to?”
Wilson limped after him, pain shooting through his ankle with every step. “Seriously, that's all you have to say about it?”
House stopped and turned around. “You're making it sound like you actually want me to pick on you. Although that would explain why you spend so much time with me...”
“No, it's just a sword of Damocles thing. If you're not picking on me now, then you're planning something big,” Wilson explained. He pressed the large blue button that would open the doors for them.
House shrugged. “Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. Now you've just got the Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack stuck in my head, though.”
Wilson winced at the mention of that particular musical. “You know, you can cut me a little slack. This happened because I slipped on some ice on the steps to your apartment.”
“I am cutting you some slack. You're the one who can't take it,” House pointed out. “Besides, that's hardly my fault. Other people live there. They can't honestly expect the cripple to go outside and shovel and de-ice the steps. If I were you, I'd sue my neighbors for all they're worth. Then I can rent their apartment, knock down a wall, and expand my bachelor empire.”
“'Expand your bachelor empire'? How very Alexander the Great of you,” Wilson said, rolling his eyes and heading toward his car. After some debate, it had been agreed upon that neither House's motorcycle or car would suit their current needs, even if it meant Wilson would have to let his reckless-driving best friend drive his car. The handicapped placard from House's car was hanging from the rear view mirror, which made for a blissfully short walk from the emergency room.
“Well, I do picture myself in bronze armor when it goes down.” House took the keys from his pocket. “You never answered my question: are you driving, or am I?”
Wilson was already heading to the passenger side. “If you're driving, I'm spending the night at your place.”
House unlocked the driver's side door and pressed the button to unlock all of the doors. “When you go into my apartment, try to fall and break your head open. It'll look better for our lawsuit.”
~Fin~
Author: aguynamedgoo
Rating: G, maybe pushing PG
Fandom: House, M.D.
Pairing: None, unless you want to read into what's not there. :P
Prompt: #21 - Sprain/Strained muscle
Words: 1201
Disclaimer: House and all of the characters do not belong to me, sadly. They belong to people who are far more witty than I am. I just like to take them for a spin once in a while.
Notes: Since this has no warnings, I figured I'd put this in place. Basically, this fic was once longer. Too long, in fact. And it was basically "how many ways can the rest of the cast say 'you've been spending too much time with House'?" and wasn't all that interesting, so I cut it off short. I have too many other bunnies to focus all my time feeding this one. Also, special thanks to my wife, ayumi99, who gave me the bunny in the first place. And feeds my other bunnies while I'm not looking.
Summary: Of all the things they could have given Wilson, it just had to be a cane...
Wilson raised an eyebrow as he eyed what the ER doctor had in his hand. “You...can't be serious,” he said at last. The other doctor seemed surprised by this reaction, as he placed what he was holding on a counter and opened the folder with Wilson's chart in it, collecting paperwork that had to be signed.
“You're a doctor yourself. You know it's important with this kind of sprain to try to put some weight on it to help strengthen the ligaments in your ankle,” the ER doctor said patiently. “I would give you crutches, but then you'd find yourself subconsciously favoring it and not using it.” He handed the papers over to Wilson for him to sign. “You should stay off of it as much as possible for at least the next couple of days, anyway.”
Wilson took a pen out of his pocket and began to sign the papers. “You don't understand. I can't use a cane.” He eyed the cane that had been placed on the counter of the exam room. The form he was signing now was a release so that the hospital could give it to him. If he refused to sign, he could just go to the pharmacy and buy some crutches...
“Why not?” the ER doctor asked, picking up the cane and bringing it over to the exam table to place next to Wilson. Wilson slid away from it, as if it were cursed.
“Because...” he started. How could he possibly explain this? He decided to give the quickest answer he could think of: “Because I'm best friends with Dr. Gregory House.” He finally signed the release, then capped the pen and handed the paperwork over.
At first the other doctor looked confused, but then realization dawned on his face. “Are you afraid that he'll think you're mocking him?”
Wilson snorted. “No. I'm afraid he's going to pick on me. No, correction, I know he is.” He finally picked up the cane and examined it. “He's going to have all kinds of fun with this. Not to mention people at work...”
The doctor bit his lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “You only need it for a couple of weeks. Three at the most. I'm sure the novelty would have worn off long before then.”
Wilson stood up from the exam table, wincing in pain as he did. “Can you check the X-ray again? I'm pretty sure I heard a snap or a pop. It might be a hairline fracture, or an avulsion...”
“I've already checked twice, Dr. Wilson. Your films are clear,” the ER doctor said, sounding a bit impatient. “You know the PRICE procedure for a sprain: protection, rest-”
“Ice, compression, elevate. I know,” Wilson said with a nod. He picked up the cane, leaning against it for stability. He took a few steps with it, trying not to favor his ankle too much, but at the moment it hurt too much not to walk with a very pronounced limp. What he wouldn't give to avoid House completely for these two weeks... But it would be impossible: not only did he still have to work, but House had been the one to drive him to the emergency room.
The doctor scribbled something on a prescription pad and handed it to Wilson. “600mg ibuprofen,” he explained. As Wilson took the slip of paper, he bit his lip to keep from laughing again. “Unless you want Vicodin...”
“There's a line,” Wilson said warningly. He leaned the cane against the wall long enough to pull on his coat, then pocketed the prescription and took the cane again. “Thank you,” he all but muttered. Then he took a deep breath to steady himself and limped out into the waiting room.
House was sitting in a chair, thumbing through an ancient copy of Gossip. “Did you know that Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston broke up? And I wasn't informed?” he asked, not looking up at Wilson.
Wilson started to shift his weight between his feet nervously, but the pressure on his right ankle caused a sharp stab of pain through his leg. He hissed and quickly shifted his weight back to his left foot. This was enough to make House throw the magazine aside and look up at Wilson.
At first House didn't have a reaction. He kept looking at Wilson, then the cane, then Wilson. It was such a long, tense moment that Wilson was starting to believe this was all a dream. After all, House was never tongue-tied. Finally, House stood up and grabbed his cane. “I'll have to give you the address of the place where I get mine. That model is so last year.”
Wilson raised an eyebrow. “That's it? No laughing? No endless stream of snide remarks?”
“I don't know. I thought that was pretty witty myself,” House said in response, heading toward the exit. “Can you drive or do you want me to?”
Wilson limped after him, pain shooting through his ankle with every step. “Seriously, that's all you have to say about it?”
House stopped and turned around. “You're making it sound like you actually want me to pick on you. Although that would explain why you spend so much time with me...”
“No, it's just a sword of Damocles thing. If you're not picking on me now, then you're planning something big,” Wilson explained. He pressed the large blue button that would open the doors for them.
House shrugged. “Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. Now you've just got the Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack stuck in my head, though.”
Wilson winced at the mention of that particular musical. “You know, you can cut me a little slack. This happened because I slipped on some ice on the steps to your apartment.”
“I am cutting you some slack. You're the one who can't take it,” House pointed out. “Besides, that's hardly my fault. Other people live there. They can't honestly expect the cripple to go outside and shovel and de-ice the steps. If I were you, I'd sue my neighbors for all they're worth. Then I can rent their apartment, knock down a wall, and expand my bachelor empire.”
“'Expand your bachelor empire'? How very Alexander the Great of you,” Wilson said, rolling his eyes and heading toward his car. After some debate, it had been agreed upon that neither House's motorcycle or car would suit their current needs, even if it meant Wilson would have to let his reckless-driving best friend drive his car. The handicapped placard from House's car was hanging from the rear view mirror, which made for a blissfully short walk from the emergency room.
“Well, I do picture myself in bronze armor when it goes down.” House took the keys from his pocket. “You never answered my question: are you driving, or am I?”
Wilson was already heading to the passenger side. “If you're driving, I'm spending the night at your place.”
House unlocked the driver's side door and pressed the button to unlock all of the doors. “When you go into my apartment, try to fall and break your head open. It'll look better for our lawsuit.”
~Fin~