Buses and Best Friends (4/?)
Chapter 3
Chapter 4:
Wilson’s next venture into reality was better than the first. If he had to guess he’d say that he had recently received the next round of pain meds since he felt really good. Even the dull ache in his head had ceased!
Slowly, the oncologist opened his eyes and looked around the room. House sat in the recliner next to the bed, sleeping. His appearance had been much the same as it was the last time, if not more haggard.
“House,” he croaked wishing that his voice was stronger than a frog’s.
None the less, House started awake like an entire marching band had come into the room. Blearily he looked around until the blue eyes focused on Wilson’s open brown ones. “Hey, you okay?”
Wilson gave a soft chuckle, “Yeah, I’m fine,” he looks down at himself, “relatively. Drugs make all the difference.”
“Tell me about it,” House answered with an appreciative smirk. In one swift move he pulled out an opaque bottle that Wilson hadn’t seen stashed in House’s pocket before and dumped out a few pills. He dry swallowed them and Wilson felt himself wince in sympathy for the older man’s throat.
“New prescription?” Wilson asked curiously.
House moved the bottle so that the label was in Wilson’s point of view. If Wilson had been drinking anything he would have sprayed it everywhere. “Since when are you taking Ibuprofen?”
“Since two weeks ago.” House answered simply.
“You weren’t taking ibuprofen two weeks ago,” Wilson commented, confusion coloring his features.
House stared at his friend, his eyes softening little by little as he said, “Wilson, you’ve been in the hospital for two weeks. It’s been a week since you last woke up.”
“What?” Wilson asked trying to decided if he was more alarmed or confused, “How-“
“You developed an infection at one of your surgical sites,” House explained, “the fever rose pretty high, you were very out of it and in a lot of pain.”
“So,” Wilson began, his addled brain slowly putting things together, “you detoxed?”
“Yeah,” House admitted with a proud, defiant look in his eyes.
Wilson sat dumbfounded. House had detoxed off the Vicodin and was now using ibuprofen? Okay, he’d like to get back to his own reality. Where’s the Wizard when you need him?
When at last his mind was able to form coherent thoughts, he remembered the bus accident. He remembered House driving past him on his bike while Wilson sat on the damp bus seat, waiting to go home. He remembered House being too proud to apologize to Tritter and so dependent on the vicodin that Wilson had lost everything for him.
The realizations and memories hit him with the force of a semi hitting a bug, smashing into him with the force of a tidal wave and threatening to drown him in his pain.
“Wilson?” House said alarmed, noticing that Wilson’s heart rate had begun to climb and his breathing was becoming erratic. “Wilson, listen to me. I will answer any question you want but right now I need you to calm down. Alright? Breathe with me.”
Wilson heard House’s voice through the din of panic. Hatred boiled within his breast so strong that it threatened to suffocate him. What right did House have to tell him what to do?! BUT on the other hand, House was right, he needed desperately to calm down.
He concentrated hard on regulating his breathing and slowing his heart rate.
Eventually both normalized and Wilson looked at House with such pain and anger in his eyes that House was torn between stepping back in fear and cuddling the injured man to his chest.
“Why?” Wilson croaked.
“Why what?”House asked confused.
Pain in Wilson’s side renewed with determined vigor and he clenched his jaw shut in an effort for it not to show. “Why, the vicodin? The bus? Why everything?”
Unable to do anything but, House leaned a butt-cheek on Wilson’s bed and gently pulled the injured man to him. “I’m so sorry,” House apologized allowing the tears he’d been holding in for the last two weeks to spill.
Wilson sat in House’s arms torn between pushing the man away and curling up closer. It felt so good to be held, cuddled. House’s tears spilling into his hair soothed his anger but it didn’t make it disappear. He waited, silently for House to continue.
“I went off the vicodin for you, for what I did to you.” House finally summarized.
Wilson wanted nothing more than to assure House that it wasn’t his fault but he just couldn’t. A part, a very big part, of him blamed House for the accident though the rational part of his mind said that it was just that - an accident.
“House,” he began, stopping before he got started, “I-“
“I’m so sorry James,” House said sincerely. Words could not express HOW sorry he was.
Wilson let out a heavy, unsteady sigh, “I know.” He wanted to forgive House but he also wanted to stay mad at him. NEVER let him forget what happened and why. But one important factor stood out among all the pain and misery - House quit the vicodin for him. And that was probably the one thing that would make him forgive House anything.
House cleared his throat after sitting in uncomfortable silence for five minutes. “Well, I should go. Paperwork to do, people to humiliate.”
“House,” Wilson said, stopping House in his tracks as did the groan that followed.
“Wilson, are you okay?” House asked alarmed. He mentally berated himself - he had moved quickly, forgetting that he had been supporting the injured man. “Shit, I’m so sorry,”
“It’s okay,” Wilson in a growl, hoping to prevent a groan from escaping. He drew in as deep a breath as he could, “What I wanted to say was,” he paused for dramatic effect, “go home. You look like shit. I’ll be here tomorrow.” Fatigue pulled at him like a toddler pulling on his mother’s pants, “providing I’m awake,” he amended with an easy smile.
Relief threatened to overwhelm House. He tried for his normal, easy smirk, “See you tomorrow Wilson.”
~~~~~~~~~~
House arrived the next day none too early looking bright eyed and less scruffy than he had in a couple weeks. He’d gone home last night and had the best sleep he’d had since Wilson had gone into the hospital. He even managed to steal a bagel from the cafeteria before he went into Wilson’s room.
Wilson lay in bed, shifting slightly to try to get comfortable. The TV was on but House knew he wasn’t actually paying attention to it. There were faint lines of pain creasing Wilson’s forehead and eyes but they weren’t nearly as bad as when he’d left last night.
“You gained another decoration since I left,” House announced pointing at the cast on Wilson’s right leg as he walked into the room.
Wilson grimaced as he startled at House’s voice and for a second House felt a little bad for scaring his friend. He looked down at his newly casted leg then looked back at House before replying, “Yeah, they came and did it this morning.”
“So early?” House asked, sitting himself down in the armchair which hadn’t been moved since last night.
“House, it’s noon. Most people have been up since eight.” Wilson lectured lightly.
“Oh, that must be why I’m so hungry. Lunch?”
“I already had it.”
House scrunched his face, “The food here does not count as lunch. I’m talking a cheeseburger, fries and sodas.”
“As appetizing as that sounds,” Wilson deadpanned, “I don’t think my newly sewed guts would appreciate it.”
“Suit yourself,” House said, standing up and heading for the door to hide his frown at having forgotten that Wilson had recently had surgery. Normally he would have called one of his underlings and told them to bring him something but Wilson’s eyelids had begun to droop so he knew the oncologist could use the time he was gone for a nap.
When he came back, burger and fries in hand, Wilson was still asleep so he pulled up his usual chair and stole Wilson’s rolling table to eat his food on. He slid his hand between the bed rail to grab the TV remote - just because Wilson wasn’t going to watch TV doesn’t mean he couldn’t.
A warm, bandaged hand lightly covered his own and for a moment House froze. He looked up to find to bleak brown eyes looking at him. “Hey, when did you wake up?” he asked, trying to withdraw his hand from Wilson’s.
Wilson conceded House’s hand but kept a firm grip on the TV controls. Not only did the sound of the TV make his head throb painfully but the rest of his body had begun to feel like he’s on fire and he needed something to hold on to. “A few seconds. You aren’t exactly as quiet as you think.”
“I wasn’t trying to be,” House responded with a mouthful of fried potato.
Wilson gave a small wince then brought his hand up to the bridge of his nose and pinched, “Well could you start?”
After swallowing a mouthful of burger, House stared at his friend before he nodded. “Headache?”
“Yeah,” Wilson responded, leaning back into the bed.
Though he hadn’t said it, House had no trouble hearing the rest of the answer - among other things. Ever since Wilson had woken and spoken the first time, he’d made sure that the pain pump was within his easy reach. Silently, he reached out and activated it, not missing how tightly his friend was gripping the TV controls.
Wilson let out a long sight through gritted teeth as he felt the meds take control of his frayed, pain-filled nerves. Exhaustion and weariness clung to him like the morning dew clinging to the grass and before he had a chance to thank his friend, his heavy eyelids had closed.
House watched his friend drift off to a drug induced, pain free sleep and for a moment envied him. Then he remembered just how much pain the man was in from the accident and House had no trouble believing that the pain level was a match, if not exceeds, his own.
Sadness crawled over him like a cat, rubbing its overwhelming emotions in against his face, arms and chest. He’d never wanted Wilson to discover this kind of pain - never. While he and everyone else around him had eventually realized that it was in fact, just an accident they all hated the fact that it had happened to someone they all knew and admired, if not loved.
The decision to forgo the vicodin had been made hastily but it had been followed through with just as much speed. He knew that if he gave himself a chance, he’d talk himself out of it and he couldn’t keep hurting James the way he was. Not any more.
Cuddy had received his decision with well disguised shock. She’d taken his stash from his office and was with him every second of the grueling detox process. Per his request, she came daily with updates of Wilson and it had about killed him to learn that Wilson had become sicker from infection but he made a commitment and while he was scared out of his mind, he stuck with it.
Cameron, Chase and Foreman had visited a couple of times but for the most part they were kept busy with helping other departments and keeping an extra eye on the their friend and colleague, the oncologist.
Upon hearing the news that he’d decided to get off the vicodin, Chase had clapped him on the back and said, “Good for you mate.”
Foreman took the news with a grain of salt and didn’t say anything but a doubtful eyebrow raise.
Cameron had been the most expressive, and annoying, of them all. She’d asked why he decided NOW that he wanted to quit and why he couldn’t have done it earlier? Though some could have read it as her being protective of the oncologist, House knew that it was actually her wondering why he couldn’t have done it for her.
Never the less she supported him wholeheartedly and tried to stop by every day. When she came, he’d shut down. It wasn’t that he hadn’t appreciated the visit but she wasn’t the one he wanted to so desperately to see, Wilson was.
The man in the bed next to him gave a small groan, snapping House out of his memories with lightning quick speed. Wilson was still asleep but he’d begun to lightly thrash about in bed. House immediately recognized it for what it was - a nightmare, and began to soothe the oncologist the only way he could think.
His hands began to run through the oily, brown hair, reveling in the thickness of it. The heat that had still met his touch a few days ago had gone, the antibiotics having done their job.
Wilson began to relax under House’s ministrations, once again falling into a peaceful sleep. House kept doing what he was doing, afraid that if he stopped, Wilson would start thrashing again and no doubt make his injuries worse.
His hand moved from Wilson’s hair down to Wilson’s left arm, stroking the soft skin as he moved. He ended in the middle of his friend’s forearm, not wanting to apply pressure to an injured wrist and hand.
Feeling his own weariness tug at him, House leaned down, using his unoccupied hand as a pillow and kept watch over Wilson, still massaging his arm.
~~~~~~~
Nurse Tarah walked into Wilson’s room to perform her afternoon check up. She started at seeing Dr. House sleep with his hand curled around Dr. Wilson’s forearm.
She let a sweet smile escape. Many around the hospital thought that Dr. House had no heart and didn’t care for anyone but himself but here was the proof that he did care. Granted it may be a different story if he was awake. She’d find that out later when she came back to help get Dr. Wilson potentially out of bed.
Quickly she checked Dr. Wilson’s vitals, taking care not to wake either man then slipped out just as quietly. Let them sleep. They both needed it.
AN: Okay okay, I'm sorry to those who wanted a mad!wilson. I just couldn't do it for very long. I'm sure that House (and possibly Wilson too) are OOC and for that I apologize as well, I'm fairly certain that neither one will act very canon-like from here on out. :)
Chapter 5
Chapter 4:
Wilson’s next venture into reality was better than the first. If he had to guess he’d say that he had recently received the next round of pain meds since he felt really good. Even the dull ache in his head had ceased!
Slowly, the oncologist opened his eyes and looked around the room. House sat in the recliner next to the bed, sleeping. His appearance had been much the same as it was the last time, if not more haggard.
“House,” he croaked wishing that his voice was stronger than a frog’s.
None the less, House started awake like an entire marching band had come into the room. Blearily he looked around until the blue eyes focused on Wilson’s open brown ones. “Hey, you okay?”
Wilson gave a soft chuckle, “Yeah, I’m fine,” he looks down at himself, “relatively. Drugs make all the difference.”
“Tell me about it,” House answered with an appreciative smirk. In one swift move he pulled out an opaque bottle that Wilson hadn’t seen stashed in House’s pocket before and dumped out a few pills. He dry swallowed them and Wilson felt himself wince in sympathy for the older man’s throat.
“New prescription?” Wilson asked curiously.
House moved the bottle so that the label was in Wilson’s point of view. If Wilson had been drinking anything he would have sprayed it everywhere. “Since when are you taking Ibuprofen?”
“Since two weeks ago.” House answered simply.
“You weren’t taking ibuprofen two weeks ago,” Wilson commented, confusion coloring his features.
House stared at his friend, his eyes softening little by little as he said, “Wilson, you’ve been in the hospital for two weeks. It’s been a week since you last woke up.”
“What?” Wilson asked trying to decided if he was more alarmed or confused, “How-“
“You developed an infection at one of your surgical sites,” House explained, “the fever rose pretty high, you were very out of it and in a lot of pain.”
“So,” Wilson began, his addled brain slowly putting things together, “you detoxed?”
“Yeah,” House admitted with a proud, defiant look in his eyes.
Wilson sat dumbfounded. House had detoxed off the Vicodin and was now using ibuprofen? Okay, he’d like to get back to his own reality. Where’s the Wizard when you need him?
When at last his mind was able to form coherent thoughts, he remembered the bus accident. He remembered House driving past him on his bike while Wilson sat on the damp bus seat, waiting to go home. He remembered House being too proud to apologize to Tritter and so dependent on the vicodin that Wilson had lost everything for him.
The realizations and memories hit him with the force of a semi hitting a bug, smashing into him with the force of a tidal wave and threatening to drown him in his pain.
“Wilson?” House said alarmed, noticing that Wilson’s heart rate had begun to climb and his breathing was becoming erratic. “Wilson, listen to me. I will answer any question you want but right now I need you to calm down. Alright? Breathe with me.”
Wilson heard House’s voice through the din of panic. Hatred boiled within his breast so strong that it threatened to suffocate him. What right did House have to tell him what to do?! BUT on the other hand, House was right, he needed desperately to calm down.
He concentrated hard on regulating his breathing and slowing his heart rate.
Eventually both normalized and Wilson looked at House with such pain and anger in his eyes that House was torn between stepping back in fear and cuddling the injured man to his chest.
“Why?” Wilson croaked.
“Why what?”House asked confused.
Pain in Wilson’s side renewed with determined vigor and he clenched his jaw shut in an effort for it not to show. “Why, the vicodin? The bus? Why everything?”
Unable to do anything but, House leaned a butt-cheek on Wilson’s bed and gently pulled the injured man to him. “I’m so sorry,” House apologized allowing the tears he’d been holding in for the last two weeks to spill.
Wilson sat in House’s arms torn between pushing the man away and curling up closer. It felt so good to be held, cuddled. House’s tears spilling into his hair soothed his anger but it didn’t make it disappear. He waited, silently for House to continue.
“I went off the vicodin for you, for what I did to you.” House finally summarized.
Wilson wanted nothing more than to assure House that it wasn’t his fault but he just couldn’t. A part, a very big part, of him blamed House for the accident though the rational part of his mind said that it was just that - an accident.
“House,” he began, stopping before he got started, “I-“
“I’m so sorry James,” House said sincerely. Words could not express HOW sorry he was.
Wilson let out a heavy, unsteady sigh, “I know.” He wanted to forgive House but he also wanted to stay mad at him. NEVER let him forget what happened and why. But one important factor stood out among all the pain and misery - House quit the vicodin for him. And that was probably the one thing that would make him forgive House anything.
House cleared his throat after sitting in uncomfortable silence for five minutes. “Well, I should go. Paperwork to do, people to humiliate.”
“House,” Wilson said, stopping House in his tracks as did the groan that followed.
“Wilson, are you okay?” House asked alarmed. He mentally berated himself - he had moved quickly, forgetting that he had been supporting the injured man. “Shit, I’m so sorry,”
“It’s okay,” Wilson in a growl, hoping to prevent a groan from escaping. He drew in as deep a breath as he could, “What I wanted to say was,” he paused for dramatic effect, “go home. You look like shit. I’ll be here tomorrow.” Fatigue pulled at him like a toddler pulling on his mother’s pants, “providing I’m awake,” he amended with an easy smile.
Relief threatened to overwhelm House. He tried for his normal, easy smirk, “See you tomorrow Wilson.”
~~~~~~~~~~
House arrived the next day none too early looking bright eyed and less scruffy than he had in a couple weeks. He’d gone home last night and had the best sleep he’d had since Wilson had gone into the hospital. He even managed to steal a bagel from the cafeteria before he went into Wilson’s room.
Wilson lay in bed, shifting slightly to try to get comfortable. The TV was on but House knew he wasn’t actually paying attention to it. There were faint lines of pain creasing Wilson’s forehead and eyes but they weren’t nearly as bad as when he’d left last night.
“You gained another decoration since I left,” House announced pointing at the cast on Wilson’s right leg as he walked into the room.
Wilson grimaced as he startled at House’s voice and for a second House felt a little bad for scaring his friend. He looked down at his newly casted leg then looked back at House before replying, “Yeah, they came and did it this morning.”
“So early?” House asked, sitting himself down in the armchair which hadn’t been moved since last night.
“House, it’s noon. Most people have been up since eight.” Wilson lectured lightly.
“Oh, that must be why I’m so hungry. Lunch?”
“I already had it.”
House scrunched his face, “The food here does not count as lunch. I’m talking a cheeseburger, fries and sodas.”
“As appetizing as that sounds,” Wilson deadpanned, “I don’t think my newly sewed guts would appreciate it.”
“Suit yourself,” House said, standing up and heading for the door to hide his frown at having forgotten that Wilson had recently had surgery. Normally he would have called one of his underlings and told them to bring him something but Wilson’s eyelids had begun to droop so he knew the oncologist could use the time he was gone for a nap.
When he came back, burger and fries in hand, Wilson was still asleep so he pulled up his usual chair and stole Wilson’s rolling table to eat his food on. He slid his hand between the bed rail to grab the TV remote - just because Wilson wasn’t going to watch TV doesn’t mean he couldn’t.
A warm, bandaged hand lightly covered his own and for a moment House froze. He looked up to find to bleak brown eyes looking at him. “Hey, when did you wake up?” he asked, trying to withdraw his hand from Wilson’s.
Wilson conceded House’s hand but kept a firm grip on the TV controls. Not only did the sound of the TV make his head throb painfully but the rest of his body had begun to feel like he’s on fire and he needed something to hold on to. “A few seconds. You aren’t exactly as quiet as you think.”
“I wasn’t trying to be,” House responded with a mouthful of fried potato.
Wilson gave a small wince then brought his hand up to the bridge of his nose and pinched, “Well could you start?”
After swallowing a mouthful of burger, House stared at his friend before he nodded. “Headache?”
“Yeah,” Wilson responded, leaning back into the bed.
Though he hadn’t said it, House had no trouble hearing the rest of the answer - among other things. Ever since Wilson had woken and spoken the first time, he’d made sure that the pain pump was within his easy reach. Silently, he reached out and activated it, not missing how tightly his friend was gripping the TV controls.
Wilson let out a long sight through gritted teeth as he felt the meds take control of his frayed, pain-filled nerves. Exhaustion and weariness clung to him like the morning dew clinging to the grass and before he had a chance to thank his friend, his heavy eyelids had closed.
House watched his friend drift off to a drug induced, pain free sleep and for a moment envied him. Then he remembered just how much pain the man was in from the accident and House had no trouble believing that the pain level was a match, if not exceeds, his own.
Sadness crawled over him like a cat, rubbing its overwhelming emotions in against his face, arms and chest. He’d never wanted Wilson to discover this kind of pain - never. While he and everyone else around him had eventually realized that it was in fact, just an accident they all hated the fact that it had happened to someone they all knew and admired, if not loved.
The decision to forgo the vicodin had been made hastily but it had been followed through with just as much speed. He knew that if he gave himself a chance, he’d talk himself out of it and he couldn’t keep hurting James the way he was. Not any more.
Cuddy had received his decision with well disguised shock. She’d taken his stash from his office and was with him every second of the grueling detox process. Per his request, she came daily with updates of Wilson and it had about killed him to learn that Wilson had become sicker from infection but he made a commitment and while he was scared out of his mind, he stuck with it.
Cameron, Chase and Foreman had visited a couple of times but for the most part they were kept busy with helping other departments and keeping an extra eye on the their friend and colleague, the oncologist.
Upon hearing the news that he’d decided to get off the vicodin, Chase had clapped him on the back and said, “Good for you mate.”
Foreman took the news with a grain of salt and didn’t say anything but a doubtful eyebrow raise.
Cameron had been the most expressive, and annoying, of them all. She’d asked why he decided NOW that he wanted to quit and why he couldn’t have done it earlier? Though some could have read it as her being protective of the oncologist, House knew that it was actually her wondering why he couldn’t have done it for her.
Never the less she supported him wholeheartedly and tried to stop by every day. When she came, he’d shut down. It wasn’t that he hadn’t appreciated the visit but she wasn’t the one he wanted to so desperately to see, Wilson was.
The man in the bed next to him gave a small groan, snapping House out of his memories with lightning quick speed. Wilson was still asleep but he’d begun to lightly thrash about in bed. House immediately recognized it for what it was - a nightmare, and began to soothe the oncologist the only way he could think.
His hands began to run through the oily, brown hair, reveling in the thickness of it. The heat that had still met his touch a few days ago had gone, the antibiotics having done their job.
Wilson began to relax under House’s ministrations, once again falling into a peaceful sleep. House kept doing what he was doing, afraid that if he stopped, Wilson would start thrashing again and no doubt make his injuries worse.
His hand moved from Wilson’s hair down to Wilson’s left arm, stroking the soft skin as he moved. He ended in the middle of his friend’s forearm, not wanting to apply pressure to an injured wrist and hand.
Feeling his own weariness tug at him, House leaned down, using his unoccupied hand as a pillow and kept watch over Wilson, still massaging his arm.
~~~~~~~
Nurse Tarah walked into Wilson’s room to perform her afternoon check up. She started at seeing Dr. House sleep with his hand curled around Dr. Wilson’s forearm.
She let a sweet smile escape. Many around the hospital thought that Dr. House had no heart and didn’t care for anyone but himself but here was the proof that he did care. Granted it may be a different story if he was awake. She’d find that out later when she came back to help get Dr. Wilson potentially out of bed.
Quickly she checked Dr. Wilson’s vitals, taking care not to wake either man then slipped out just as quietly. Let them sleep. They both needed it.
AN: Okay okay, I'm sorry to those who wanted a mad!wilson. I just couldn't do it for very long. I'm sure that House (and possibly Wilson too) are OOC and for that I apologize as well, I'm fairly certain that neither one will act very canon-like from here on out. :)
Chapter 5