Fic: Self-Diagnosis
Title: Self-Diagnosis
Summary: House’s thoughts upon waking. Wilson’s Heart Post-ep.
Rating: PG13
Wilson. Why is Wilson standing there looking like I ran over his pup-
Shit. I remember too slowly. He’s gone by the time I’m caught up to reality.
Fuck. Fuck Wilson, and Fuck Amber, and Fuck that fucking bus.
Shit, my thoughts are coming too slowly. My brain’s stuck in slow motion. This is bad. Think…
Think…Electric impulse to the brain…must have seized…symptoms….symptoms
Confusion, weakness, tingling, burning, pain, pain, pa-
Someone’s screaming.
Oh fuck, that’s me. This is bad.
“House! House!”
It’s Cuddy. I turn toward the sound, and look at her. She’s out of focus. Shit, blurry vision…another symptom.
“What hurts House?” she’s asking.
It’s taking too long to process her words. She’s staring at me. I’m supposed to say something. What was the question?
“What is it House? What hurts?” she supplies again.
Oh right…what hurts…hmm…everything. Seconds tick by while I’m willing the word to form. I know it by the increasing concern in her eyes.
“Everything,” I finally manage to croak, and while my voice sounds foreign the truth of what I’m saying is all too familiar.
“Hey House!” she’s shouting again.
I force my eyes open…wait…when did I close my eyes?
“Stay with me,” she says, and it’s too much.
I’m back on that damn bus. I feel the stiffness of the seat beneath me, but it doesn’t hurt. I have blessed drunken comfort to thank for that. I taste the scotch on my breath. It tastes good in that disgusting way that liquor does when you so enjoy being drunk. I feel the impact, her hair swings wildly about her face. The bus flies apart before my eyes, people, glass, metal scattering everywhere. I grip the seat hard, but it slips from my grasp. It smells like gasoline and smoke. Where’s Amber? Got to make sure she’s okay. I reach my hand to her, but she sips from my grasp. I feel tiny pricks of broken glass against my cheek as I try harder to get my hand to her, but she's out of my reach. Have to make sure she's okay. She’s not.
“Come on House!” Cuddy’s shouting again. Doesn’t she know it’s mean to yell at someone with such a delicate brain/head thing? What’s the word I want? Oh fuck, this sucks. She probably does know it’s mean to yell. Thinks I deserve the pain. She’s probably right.
Maybe if I look at her, she’ll stop with the shouting. Worth a shot. I force my head towards her. She looks as worried as she gets. Shit. I force my eyes to focus. I might throw up any second now.
“Hey,” she says softly. She looks relieved.
What just happened? Did I fall asleep? No, she was too worried for that. Another seizure? Could be. Flashback, yeah that fits.
At least I’m not screaming any more. Cuddy must have made with some meds. Could still use something for the burning and tingling, what’s that word? What is it? Neuropathy.
Oh right, symptoms. Only being able to hold one thought at a time is so slow. I bet this is what dumb people feel like. It better not last. I can’t live like this.
Symptoms…symptoms: confusion, neuropathy, flashbacks.
Could be post-ictal. No, too severe, lasting too long.
Bleed, there must have been a bleed. Shit. This is very bad. I feel my eyes close this time.
“Stay with me House,” Cuddy pleads again. “We need a neuro eval.”
Stay? The blackness is inviting. I wonder if it's sleep or unconsciousness. I don't really care which. What’s there to stay for?
Brain damage could be permanent. Wilson damage could be permanent too. Amber damage definitely permanent. Couldn’t save her. She’s dead.
Wilson would rather it were me instead. What if he would rather it were me in addition to too?
Finally, it all goes black.
Summary: House’s thoughts upon waking. Wilson’s Heart Post-ep.
Rating: PG13
Wilson. Why is Wilson standing there looking like I ran over his pup-
Shit. I remember too slowly. He’s gone by the time I’m caught up to reality.
Fuck. Fuck Wilson, and Fuck Amber, and Fuck that fucking bus.
Shit, my thoughts are coming too slowly. My brain’s stuck in slow motion. This is bad. Think…
Think…Electric impulse to the brain…must have seized…symptoms….symptoms
Confusion, weakness, tingling, burning, pain, pain, pa-
Someone’s screaming.
Oh fuck, that’s me. This is bad.
“House! House!”
It’s Cuddy. I turn toward the sound, and look at her. She’s out of focus. Shit, blurry vision…another symptom.
“What hurts House?” she’s asking.
It’s taking too long to process her words. She’s staring at me. I’m supposed to say something. What was the question?
“What is it House? What hurts?” she supplies again.
Oh right…what hurts…hmm…everything. Seconds tick by while I’m willing the word to form. I know it by the increasing concern in her eyes.
“Everything,” I finally manage to croak, and while my voice sounds foreign the truth of what I’m saying is all too familiar.
“Hey House!” she’s shouting again.
I force my eyes open…wait…when did I close my eyes?
“Stay with me,” she says, and it’s too much.
I’m back on that damn bus. I feel the stiffness of the seat beneath me, but it doesn’t hurt. I have blessed drunken comfort to thank for that. I taste the scotch on my breath. It tastes good in that disgusting way that liquor does when you so enjoy being drunk. I feel the impact, her hair swings wildly about her face. The bus flies apart before my eyes, people, glass, metal scattering everywhere. I grip the seat hard, but it slips from my grasp. It smells like gasoline and smoke. Where’s Amber? Got to make sure she’s okay. I reach my hand to her, but she sips from my grasp. I feel tiny pricks of broken glass against my cheek as I try harder to get my hand to her, but she's out of my reach. Have to make sure she's okay. She’s not.
“Come on House!” Cuddy’s shouting again. Doesn’t she know it’s mean to yell at someone with such a delicate brain/head thing? What’s the word I want? Oh fuck, this sucks. She probably does know it’s mean to yell. Thinks I deserve the pain. She’s probably right.
Maybe if I look at her, she’ll stop with the shouting. Worth a shot. I force my head towards her. She looks as worried as she gets. Shit. I force my eyes to focus. I might throw up any second now.
“Hey,” she says softly. She looks relieved.
What just happened? Did I fall asleep? No, she was too worried for that. Another seizure? Could be. Flashback, yeah that fits.
At least I’m not screaming any more. Cuddy must have made with some meds. Could still use something for the burning and tingling, what’s that word? What is it? Neuropathy.
Oh right, symptoms. Only being able to hold one thought at a time is so slow. I bet this is what dumb people feel like. It better not last. I can’t live like this.
Symptoms…symptoms: confusion, neuropathy, flashbacks.
Could be post-ictal. No, too severe, lasting too long.
Bleed, there must have been a bleed. Shit. This is very bad. I feel my eyes close this time.
“Stay with me House,” Cuddy pleads again. “We need a neuro eval.”
Stay? The blackness is inviting. I wonder if it's sleep or unconsciousness. I don't really care which. What’s there to stay for?
Brain damage could be permanent. Wilson damage could be permanent too. Amber damage definitely permanent. Couldn’t save her. She’s dead.
Wilson would rather it were me instead. What if he would rather it were me in addition to too?
Finally, it all goes black.