[Fanfiction] House MD, H/W - I Remember, Don't You? Chapter Twelve (Revised)
Title: I Remember... Don't You?
Author: wolfoflegends
Word Count: 6,730
Pairing: House/Wilson
Summery: After a near death experience and it's following circumstances, Wilson goes to John Hopkins University as a last ditch effort for Med school. There he meets a character like he's never known. Stretches from Med school to beyond Season 4. Slash h/w
NOTE: To rule out some confusion, Med school takes place in 1991.
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CHAPTER TWELVE: And So the Search was Launched
---
The next morning was a terrible one. Not only did he wake up to an empty bed but woke up with a stopped up nose and sore throat.
Great, I have a cold.
And as if to reinforce his assumption he was hit with a small coughing fit. It was ironic in a sense. He went searching for Greg but found a cold instead. Despite his sleep he still felt dead tired. He didn’t want to get up; he wanted to stay in bed and sleep the day away but he knew couldn’t. He had to find his friend.
He could probably say confidently that he knew Greg better than anyone else. He knew Greg was as stubborn as a mule and prided himself that he didn’t need people to get along in life. He also knew there was a chance that he would try and go back to his previous solitary lifestyle. He had to find him and apologize while he still had the chance. So, after drinking a small glass of orange juice and a piece of toast he continued his search.
But where to look?
--
Greg was fine.
Last night he had stayed in a cheap discount inn kind of place instead of sleeping in his car. He knew there was one place he had every right to go, but hell, he wasn’t going to visit the Drama Queen, even if his life depended on it. He would rather freeze to death in his car than to go crawling back to his ex-roommate. So that morning after a quick shower he was off in search of what he had originally planed to get before he and James’ argument.
A guitar.
He pulled up to a place he knew about near the outskirts of the city he knew about. They always had good sales going on ands with the program they had that allowed people to sell their used instruments in-house you never knew what they could have. Upon walking into Mark and B’s Musical Supply Greg felt his mood pick up immediately. Music was his passion; there was nothing else like it. A place like this was almost like heaven or better yet, a child in a candy store.
Unfortunately for him, the first things his eyes fell on were the violins. He turned his head quickly and looked away, miffed.
“Fucking idiot.” He mumbled under his breath and walked over to the back of the store where the guitars were on display. They had the usual, Finder Stratocasters, some Gibson Les Pauls, and even a nice Gibson Explorer in the corner but it wasn’t any other these that really caught his eye.
While walking and browsing the instruments, his eyes suddenly shot to a certain guitar on display and couldn’t pull his eyes away and left his mouth agape. There on display with the price tag of 429.99, with a clear Plexiglas body, gorgeous rosewood pickguard and strong maple neck, was a ’69 Dan Armstrong AMPEG. “Gaaaa…” He trailed and let out a breath at the sight of it. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked immediately upon seeing the asking price.
The store’s clerk with a black faux hawklooked up from his magazine. “Hm?”
“This guitar, what’s wrong with it to have it marked down to that price?”
The clerk let out a chuckle and went to his customer. “The guy selling it is insane, that’s what!” he laughed. Greg arched a brow before he explained. “For a small display fee we offer a place for people to display their instruments for sale and such. Well, this guy comes in with this beautiful piece and wants to sell it. I’m all for it, it’s a beautiful guitar. Damn,” got off subject as he turned his attention to the guitar. “It’s times like this I wish I wasn’t a drummer.. But as I was saying! The guy come in and wants to sell. I explain everything to him and when I ask what he wants to list the price as he tells me he wants to sell it for four hundred plus the display fee.”
“That this is worth so much more.” Greg added as he stared, practically drooling over the guitar.
Brandon nodded. “That’s what I told him! I was like, You’re crazy! You can get triple, if not quadruple that price easy! But he was adamant on selling it for $429.99. So I asked him what was wrong, he says nothing and even plays it for me. And fuck if it wasn’t absolute!” Greg nodded. “He did give me as much as a history as he could on it to prove that it was in good shape.”
Greg wanted to touch it, hold it, play it… he wanted to try it out. And with a look over to Brandon, it was as if he could read his customer’s mind.
“Yeah, go ahead.” He waved before continuing where he had left off. “Well, the guy tells me that he got it from a guy in the paper who really didn’t know the value of the guitar, who got it from another guy for next to nothing being that one of the pickups weren’t working right at a garage sale. The guy who bought it from the garage sale got it fixed, and like I said, the guy who got it fixed played it a while but then apparently kinda gave up playing or something, I don’t know. But he sold it sold it for pretty much nothing as well being that he really didn’t know the value. And when our guy here saw it, bought it up and held onto it a good while and decided he wanted to sell it.” The way Brandon spat out the explanation it was easy to get confused, but Greg didn’t press the matter.
Handing the instrument as if it were something handed to him from God, Greg carefully pulled the strap over his shoulder. It was a weighty thing; most probably from the Plexiglas body. But it was a comfortable weight, nothing that would get in the way of his playing. “But why for four hundred dollars when he knows he can get so much for it?” he asked perplexed.
Brandon went about and grabbed a small amp and a connection cable and plugged the guitar into the amp. “All I know is that he says he think a real musician deserves this more than him, but went I tell him he can get so much more he won’t budge! He says he couldn’t in good conscience sell it for 1,500 dollars when he paid practically nothing for it and there were needy musicians who could use it more than him.”
“He’s a moron.” Greg added.
Brandon nodded. “Yep. You know how to play?” he asked, curious as Greg during the conversation had only been holding the guitar and hadn’t played a single note.
“Yeah, I can play.” Brandon gestured for him to do something.
“Good, because the guy says I need to sell it to someone who can really play. It’s… part of the deal.” And knowing that was his cue, Greg started working the tuning pegs and trying to get things in tune for something quick and simple. Once finished, he played a quickly little bluesy thing that definitely got the fellow’s attention. “That’s good enough for me!” he clapped. “So, you lookin’ to buy?”
He reveled to himself. “This is a once in a lifetime buy.”
“Sure is.” Brandon agreed.
Keeping a hold of the guitar and giving two or three strums he smiled. “I don’t think I can say no.” He struck one note and listened. “Wow, the sustain on this thing is great!”
Brandon nodded. “It’s the Plexiglas. It really is good guitar.”
“It is.”
--
James still wasn’t feeling so good. His coughing had gotten a bit worse and all he wanted to do was sleep. He hated colds. He really shouldn’t have been wandering around in the snow last night but he knew he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. He had called his mother and told her that he was going to stay home another day and if he felt better tomorrow he’d head on out there to see them.
Wishing her son the best of luck, good wishes, and love, she ordered him to sleep and drink lots of fluids. If she would have known that he was calling her from a payphone on the streets she would have scolded him for not being in bed.
Once they said their goodbyes, he hung up the phone and shoved more coins into the slot to make another call. After retracing his steps from last night and turning up empty again, an idea came to mind. If he knew Greg, he knew the man would be trying to get on and pretending that nothing was wrong as he went about his life normally like nothing was wrong. So for his next step he’d check out the music stores.
He called information and got a list of the local music stores and continued his search.
--
The walk from Mark and B’s Musical Supply was tiring from carrying the amp. It may be small, but it was sure heavy. But to Greg it was all worth it. Now he could get straight down to business and start playing. He walked into his motel room and hardly had time to toss his coat on the bed before he began to set everything up.
He opened the case and took a good long look at his new guitar before he pulled it out. It really was a gorgeous thing. He grabbed the audio cable and plugged it into the amp before he placed it on the bed and started to look around.
Now, where were those headphones?
--
James quickly pulled a tissue from his pocket and he’d it over his mouth as he was hit with another fit of coughing. God, this was getting annoying. He hating being sick. All he wanted to lie down and not get up. When his coughing fit finally finished he shoved the soiled tissue into his pocket and walked into Music Shop #3 on his list.
After a quick glance around at the instruments the place had to offer, James noticed a man leaning against a sale counter as he read a magazine. By his appearance the clerk looked to be in the right line of business; the hoodie and faux hawk screamed it. “Excuse me; can you help me with something?”
The sales clerk looked up from his magazine and pushed his glasses back up his nose.
“I’m looking for someone. He may have stopped here, I… really don’t know.”
He stood from leaning against the counter and tried to offer his assistance. “I can try the best I can, what’s his name?”
“Greg House?”
Brandon shook his head. “Not ringing any bells. What does he look like?”
“Well, he’s tall, taller than me… he has dark brown hair. He’s… kinda rude.”
He nodded, “Can he play something? Or was he looking for supplies or things that could help teach him how to play?”
“No, he’s a great musician. Actually he was looking for a guitar.” Right after the words left his mouth the clerk knew who he was talking about.
“Oh! The lucky Fellow!” he chirped excitedly.
“Lucky?”
“For a guitarist he couldn’t have walked in at a better time, we had a gorgeous Dan Armstrong AMPEG at a steal of a price. He fell in love right when he saw it. Snatched it up quick! He knew a deal when he saw one! What about you? You play anything?”
James was so relieved to hear that Greg had been there. It meant that he was still hiding out in Baltimore. Where, though, that was another story. Realizing he was asked a question, he quickly came back to reality. “Oh, yeah, I play the violin. It’s been years since I’ve played it, though.”
“Heh, classy.” He chuckled. “Why’d you stop?”
This fellow was certainly a chatty one and talked faster than expected and jumped from subject to subject. He was inquisitive, too. “I just kind of fell out of it, but now when I play I just think of an old friend of mine I lost.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that.” He apologized.
It was then James noticed the blue nametag. “Brandon… Are you the B of Mark and B’s?”
“That I am! Brandon Martinez at your service!” he introduced himself while taking a bow.
“Well, Brandon, thank you so much for your help, Oh, and he didn’t happen to mention where he was headed, huh?”
Brandon thought a moment trying to review everything in his mind. Things said, things bought… “Well,” he drew out slowly, “He bought a guitar and an amp, audio cables and such… headphones. He joked about neighbors and thin walls.” He offered. But that didn’t do him too good. That could have been their apartment for all he knew. “Oh! He did come here without a car! I remember thinking how peculiar it was that he would be walking down the street carrying an amp and a guitar. So, either he has no fear and great endurance or he’s staying somewhere close.”
But before he could thank Brandon again, he let out a loud and hard sneeze. Instinctively a hand went over his mouth and nose while the other dug in his coat pocket for an unsoiled tissue only to come up empty. “Damn, I’m out.” He couldn’t pull his hand away; he could feel his hand and face were a disaster. Without missing a beat, Brandon leaned back and grabbed the tissue box out from behind the counter and held out to him. “Thanks.” He took some and cleaned himself up.
“You don’t look so good.” He noted.
James sighed and tossed his dirtied tissues into the nearby trashcan. “I’ve got a cold.” He felt so much worse than when he woke up that morning. He was so tired he knew if he sat down to take a rest he’d probably fall asleep, his nose was constantly running, his coughing was aggravating his already sore throat and his head was starting to hurt. He just wished he could find Greg so he could get some much needed rest.
“You really shouldn’t be wandering around in the cold, then.” Brandon suggested kindly.
James knew this, every aching bone in his body told him this. “I know, but I really have to find my friend. Hey, if he swings by again, you think you can let him know I’m looking for him?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you so much, you have no idea how much that means to me.”
“It’s no problem.” He said modestly.
--
James was starting to feel like a detective or a bounty hunter or just anyone who would look for someone by following clues. It had been an hour since he had gotten his helpful advice from Brandon at the music shop and he had gone straight to work at hitting all the hotels, motels, and inns in the area and asking if Greg House was in.
Five places later and still no luck.
All this searching was starting to tug at his heart in a different way, too. It kept reminding him about earlier in the year when he went searching for David. He had searched for two weeks with no luck. He hoped this wouldn’t turn out the same. As tired as ever, James trudge and nearly dragged himself into the small lobby of Motel #6 on his list before he looked over at the check-in counter.
“May I help you?” a deep voice asked. Sheepishly, he approached the counter where a very, very tall man stood behind a Plexiglas window with a small speaker. James was almost certain he had never seen someone so tall, especially up close. The man must have been over seven feet tall; there was no way he was anything less. James thought that he should be playing basketball with that height.
“uhh, yes… I’m looking for Greg House, is he in?”
He watched as the man bent down a little to read a book sitting on the counter next to him filled with organized scribbles “Yes, he’s in.”
Those words made his heart flutter. Finally he found Greg! It only took from last night to dusk of the next day but he still found him. “Oh, I’m sorry to have to ask, but he forgot to tell me which room he was in..” he trailed off.
The man leaned over again and took another look at the scribbles. “He’s in room 5, down that way.” With his long arm, he pointed passed his protective window and to the right of the building.
“Thanks!”
James wasted no time. He walked as fast as his tired aching legs would take him. And sure enough, parked outside room five was Greg’s beat up, blue Ford Taurus. Taking a deep breath, James knocked on the door.
Nothing.
He knocked again a little harder.
Still nothing.
This time he knocked hard enough to make his knuckles hurt but it did the trick. “Yeah?” he heard a voice through the door call. It was him. But what was he supposed to say? Would Greg even open the door knowing it was him? Should he lie and say he was room service? No, that would give him the chance to dismiss him completely. And wouldn’t he only be messing things up farther if he lied?
“Please, let me in.” he pleaded.
A moment or two passed without so much as a peep or a sound with James thinking he had been ignored. But just as soon as he lifted his hand to knock again the deadbolt unlock. Next thing he knew familiar but annoyed blue eyed greeted him. “What are you doing here?” he asked standoffishly.
“Looking for you.” He covered his mouth as he let out a small cough or two.
Greg narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “How did you find me? Do you have a bug or tracker on me?”
“Hard and exhausting work.” He answered tiredly. “Can I come inside? It’s cold out here.” Feeling generous, he let James in but right when the door closed, Greg didn’t even have the time to turn around before James gave in. “I’m sorry!” he spat abruptly, “I’m sorry about everything! I shouldn’t have said that, it was wrong and stupid! I wasn’t thinking right! It was heartless of me to say those things to you! I’m sorry, I just-”
“Whoa! Calm down!” Greg said holding up his hands. James was just spitting all of it out so quickly he could hardly understand him. “Whatever, it’s fine.” When someone apologized to him he always tried to act like it was no big deal, like the humility the other person was showing was fine but not necessary. But it was. Greg never would have let James get close to within an arms length of his already hidden away heart without one.
“It’s not fine,” he corrected. “You shouldn’t forgive me so easily for that.”
“I never said you were forgiven.” Greg stated as a matter of fact.
James didn’t deny the pain he felt at the comment. “Ouch… I deserved that.” he took a deep breath as he started to explain himself. “It’s just… ” He paused as he rubbed his forehead and tried to think of how to get it all out. “When I was about fourteen I had this friend. I had known him for years and one day he came to school with a black eye. I asked him what had happened but he obviously didn’t want to talk about it.” He paused again with Greg starting to show a keen interest. “I pestered him and pestered him but he kept beating around the bush about where he had gotten it. It was only after a little more he finally told me that it was his father.”
He rested his forehead against his palms and took in a breath before he continued on with his story.
“After he told me I couldn’t get it out of my mind. His father was the nicest guy ever, he didn’t come across as the kind of guy he could even hurt a fly. It kept wearing on me and wearing on me until I finally told a counselor at my school. Next thing I know, I hear his father is in jail for child abuse.” There was a long pause, but Greg didn’t push. Just reading the body language he could tell what was next to come in the story was a painful one. “It was really a case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.” He said weakly, “He really didn’t have any family, so my friend was taken into foster care while his father was in jail. The way people treat you if your suspected of such a crime is horrible. People before who loved his father were so unsure, no one believed in him. Even when it hit trial my friend held to what he told me; that his father beat him several occasions, and I could remember days when he would come to school with a new bruise or whatever. But one day while being escorted to court his father was killed by some random person taking justice into their own hands.”
Greg listened stunned. Obviously James felt guilty for saying something. If he had kept quiet the man would be alive… but he deserved it, didn’t he? “If the guy beat his son, he deserved-”
“He didn’t deserve it!!” James cried out, his voice breaking with emotion. “He lied! He lied about his father because he was getting mixed up with things he knew he shouldn’t have. He told everyone made up elaborate stories about how his father would beat him! He told the police, he told the lawyer, he told me, he told everyone but he was lying the whole time! His father was too kind and sweet to even hurt a fly! All that time and he didn’t say a thing.”
His sore throat was starting to get aggravated from his story and he could feel a coughing fit trying to come on but tried to hold it back the best he could.
“I know it sounds stupid but I think my brain just defaulted onto that when you told me about you and your father.” But he couldn’t hold back any longer. With a quick deep breath James started coughing.
Greg nodded to himself as he tried to think about it. It made sense. “It’s not stupid,” he corrected. “You virtually killed an… innocent man because you told your school counselor what your friend told you. You didn’t want to do it again.” He watched as James finally was able to breathe again as his fit came to a stop. “What’s up with you?” he eyed him head to toe making sure to take in James’ tired and worn-down appearance.
He rubbed his nose with a clean tissue. “I caught a cold playing in the snow too late last night.” He answered sarcastically.
“Foolish.” Greg responded just as sarcastic.
The two were quiet for a little bit before James noticed the guitar sitting on the bed. “So, that’s the guitar? You got such a great deal on?”
Greg brightened up right away. “Yeah, this guy was - wait, I didn’t.. tell you that, yet.” Confused blue eyes waited for an answer. “You sure you didn’t put a bug on me?”
“I talked to Brandon Martinez at Mark and B’s Musical Supply. He told me about it.”
Greg nodded as he stood up and grabbed the guitar. “You wanna hear me play?”
“Sure.” James stood up and pulled his aching body to lie down on the bed but before he could get there Greg swung his guitar around to his back and hooked a hand around James’ waist. The next thing he knew he was face to face with a relaxed blue eyes and a lazy smile but when he leaned in for a kiss from his lover. It seemed like James had other plans.
“Don’t.” He warned as he pulled back. “I’m sick, you’ll catch my cold.”
But that wasn’t going to stop the ever persistent Gregory House. “So? It gives me an actual reason to miss a day or two of school.”
“No!” He tried to weasel out of Greg’s grasp but enviably after seeing how badly James didn’t want to give him a cold, he gave in and settled for placing a kiss on that brown hair. Once free, He immediately collapsed onto the bed. Finally he’d be able to relax and die for a time all the while with the musical magics of Greg on guitar serving as atmosphere.
Greg played everything he had wanted to play for a long while but couldn’t get his hands on a guitar to do it. The two chatted about different pieces until after about an hour or so, he noticed something strange about his tired friend. If it got quiet for more than a ten seconds James would close his eyes and knock out and to make matters worse, each time he said something or hit a remotely loud note and James would snap back awake with a bewildered look on his face before trying his best to act like he didn’t fall asleep.
Curious, he tried an experiment. He waited until he saw James’ eye shut close. “Hey, Jimmy, can I get a tiger and feed it hobos?”
“Huh? Yeah, yeah. Sounds good.” Brown eyes blinked rapidly to try and wake himself up.
“Interesting..” he said quietly. Greg wondered how many times he asked if he had liked what he played of James really liked it or if he was trying to mask his exhaustion. He quietly slipped off his guitar and placed it carefully in its case he walked over and sat down on the bed with James picking up his head in surprise.
“Wha?” he picked his head off the pillow. “Why’d you stop playing?”
“Because you’re not listening.” He pointed out as he stretched out and laid back next to James on the bed but something wasn’t right. Something was too… hot?
“Damn, you feel like a heater! I don’t even have to touch you to know you’re burning up.” Greg yelped surprised with James waking up again. He got up off the bed. “You try and stay awake. I’m going to see if I can find a thermometer in this joint.” Greg knew there was nothing of the sort in the room itself but maybe the front desk would have something like that.
Leaving the room, he walked up the walkway in the snow and into the small lobby. There sat the same very tall man who had been there for what seemed like all day.
Just like true Greg fashion, he added his own swing to a simple question. “Hey, you got a thermometer? I think my friend’s insides might be frying.” He received a suspicious look from the tall fellow for the remark and waited as, without a word, he stood and left the small Plexiglas box to see what he could find. Greg didn’t wait long before he returned with a small glass thermometer and slipped it through the small opening in the Plexiglas for money and keys to be passed through. Greg took the thermometer with a smile. “Thanks.”
--
When he returned he found James asleep on the bed. “Hey, Jimmy, wake up! It’s temperature time!” He jerked awake and watched with tired squinted eyes as Greg went into the bathroom to clean the thermometer. James didn’t know what was wrong with him. He was tired, yes, but he just couldn’t keep his eyes open and his head was pounding.
When Greg came back into the room he gave the cleaned thermometer a hard shake or two. “Okay, you’re a doctor in training, I’m sure you know how this works. Open up.” He shoved the thermometer into James’ mouth and under his tongue.
“Just get me some Tylenol, I’ll be fine.”
“Hey,” Greg wasn’t in the least persuaded, “no talking until we figure out how hot you are!”
“I’m really hot.” He responded teasingly; almost deliriously.
“Super hot. Now, no talking.” Greg watched the red dye climbed higher and higher up the magnified chart for a tense five minutes but when he took the thermometer from James’ mouth he was surprised when he saw it just a hair’s width from reaching a hefty 106 degrees. “God, no wonder your head hurts, Jimmy, your brain is melting.” He said as he put the thermometer down on the nightstand. Almost immediately he started to take James’ jacket off. “Come on, you need to get all your extra clothes off.”
This was no cold; this was something else. James needed to get to the hospital. After he ran the symptoms through his head a few times he looked over to the very exhausted James and gave a suspicious glare. “You didn’t get a flu shot this year, did you?” he pulled James’ scarf off before working on his gloves.
“Flu… hot?” he asked, tired and confused.
This was worrying. “No, Flu shhhhhoooot!” he drew out slowly to clarify, “Flu shot, the thing that helps prevent you from getting the flu. You didn’t get one, did you?” But he didn’t answer, only let out a painful little moan and tried to bury his head in the covers. “Come on, you need to go to the hospital.”
But James didn’t even attempt to get up.
“Hey, either you get up and try to walk with me or I’m going to have to carry you! You are not about to lie on this bed and let your brain fry!” he told his sick friend as he forcefully tried to get him to sit up. When James got the idea of what he was trying to do he sat up but swayed slightly. Greg held tight to his shoulder to stable him. “Okay, I need you to stand up, alright?” James stood, shakily and slowly with Greg reached out and took James’ arm and wrapped it around his shoulder to support him.
He could feel James’ whole body trembling from his fatigue and weakness. He was also almost certain that the man hadn’t eaten anything. When he asked he only got a quiet, “wasn’t hungry.” in return.
“You idiot, you need to eat when you’re sick, even if you don’t feel like it.” Even though Greg tried to hide it, the worry in his voice was evident. His steps were labored and shaky and even thought he was tempted to give James his coat to wear he knew better. It may be cold and snowy outside and James may be dressed in a t-shirt but the cold would do him good.
It was a little frightening at how hot James was. Greg could feel the heat radiating through James’ t-shirt as well Greg’s button up shirt, and t-shirt. It was alarming and only told him how urgent it was that he get James to the hospital. As they made their way out the motel room and to the car, it was starting to become obvious that a mild delirium was starting to set in when James spotted the snow on the ground. “Ooh, snow..! Can I have some?” his words were more slurred and tired than when they had been in the motel room.
“Dammit, Jimmy! Shut the hell up and stop reminding me that your brain is on fire! Okay?!” he didn’t mean to snap at him but the more he talked or did anything that require his brain the more it reminded him of how dire the situation could turn. And in vague attempt to make up for it he handed James a handful of snow.
For once Greg’s driving was welcomed. Normally, if James had a choice, he’d be the one driving. He thought Greg drove way to fast and recklessly and the drive to the hospital was just as fast and reckless as ever. And beside, James wasn’t in any shape for driving. Greg’s speedy driving got them to the hospital in no time and luckily with speeding tickets to show for it.
When they walked into the ER waiting room the first thing to do was answer a whole bunch of personal questions. Name, phone number, date of birth, SSN… nearly anything they could ask; they did. “You gonna to ask whether he’s left or right handed?” Greg had muttered to himself under his breath, irritated. James had trouble trying to get his brain to focus on the various questions dealing with numbers but manned to pull through.
After that task was taken care of and the nurse handed James a pamphlet and tried to explain it to him. But before she really got into it, it dawned on his what it was. “Oh, this is the doctor/patient confidentiality thing?” he sounded half-baked; you wouldn’t have expected this man to be a top freshman in a school of medicine. Once he was refreshed on the subject he was handed a form to sign and was sent back to take a seat and wait for his name to be called.
While they waited, James stared with something else that got Greg’s attention. “Jimmy, what are you looking at?” He asked as he noticed James watching a blank spot near the ceiling on the wall.
He kept staring, “You don’t see it?”
“See what?”
“It’s right there… “ he pointed. Sure enough when he looked a little closer there was a small spider clinging to the wall. Greg was relieved to know that James wasn’t hallucinating but it didn’t put him too much at ease. He could hear his words were slurring a little more than before. Sure, it could have been from his exhaustion but he didn’t want to leave it to chance. This was too much. What was the hold up? The man had a 106 degree fever for crying out loud?!
“Fuck!” Greg cursed under his breath before he shot up from his chair. “Wait right here.” And with that he left the ER for outside. The people in the ER were taking too long for his liking; he knew he’d have to do something if he didn’t want his friends brain poached before morning. Once out in the coldness of the night he pulled off his jacket and button down shirt and t-shirt. To anyone passing by it would have been a strange sight to see the man kneeling in the snow and down to just his pants but he had his reasons. Quickly, he started to scoop up snow and drop it on the middle of his t-shirt using it as a big ice pack before slipping his button up shirt back on and jacket. When he felt he had enough snow he quickly rushed back inside.
The sight of James still looking at the spot on the wall was just as unnerving as it had been a moment before and without warning, placed his snow filled shirt on the sick man’s head. “Cold.” James let out quietly.
“Keep this on your head; you’re no use to me brain dead.” Greg ordered. Doing as he was told, James held onto the shirt as he kept it on his head. Alarm bells should have been ringing in James’ head when he saw Greg take off near the nurse’s station but his head hurt too much to think straight much less have the bells manned. “Hey! HEY!!” Greg bellowed in that loud and booming voice of his. “WHAT DOES A GUY HAVE TO DO TO GET SOME MEDICAL ASSISTANCE HERE?!”
“And what’s wrong with you, sir?” an unimpressed nurse asked from behind a counter.
“Not me!! I have a man over there with a fever that’s melting his brain and no one seems to care!!”
But this behavior was nothing new to the staff; people were likely to act the same when they brought patients in with 100 degree fevers. “Sir, it takes a fever of 107 degrees before brain damage starts to take effect.”
“DON’T YOU THINK I FUCKING KNOW THAT?!” He roared.
“Sir, calm down-”
“I’M A FUCKING SENIOR IN MED SCHOOL, YOU MORON! HIS FEVER IS ONE HUNDRED AND GODDAMN, MOTHER FUCKING SIX!!” In the ER waiting room, he had nearly everyone’s attention: patients, nurses and doctors alike. Greg was definitely fierce. With his narrowed eyes and bared teeth someone could easily imagine him as a wolf or a lion with his ear back and hackles raised in aggression.
But it seemed to do the trick. Next thing he knew a triage nurse was escorting the weary James and his makeshift snow-icebag of a shirt into the ER.
If Greg was annoyed before it only got worse with the triage nurse. He sat in a chair at a table littered with medical things as he asked James questions on when he started to feel ill, what were his symptoms, if he took any medication to help, if he were allergic to anything; the list went on. But what annoyed Greg was with questions that James really had to think about and took a little more time on giving the answer, the triage nurse would shake his head as if saying James was an idiot because he was having trouble answering questions he should know.
He had to hold back from hurting the arrogant man in the light blue scrubs. He was the only one who could call James an idiot! He was the only one who could even think James an idiot! He wasn’t about to let this asshole make his buddy feel bad. But James wasn’t paying enough attention to the nurse to even feel bad about it. The nurse walked over to a cabinet and handed James a small cup filled with two Tylenol tablet and a small paper cup of water and told him to take it while he slipped on the medical bracelet around his wrist.
--
After two hours, a saline drip, some painkillers for his sore body and aching head, mixed with an actual ice pack and James temperature was starting to go down. Though it only dropped to 102 he was given the okay to leave and was advised to drink lots of fluids, rest, and some Tylenol or ibuprofen for his sore body and help lower his fever.
It was amusing to see James on the painkillers because they made him a little loopy. After a few CCs of Toradol was administered through his IV, the balding doctor came to check up on his patient. “So, James, How’s your pain?”
“Pain..?” he looked vaguely confused before he remembered what pain was. “Oh, pain! No, I’m good. No pain here.” The Toradol may have made him a little loopy, but it did its job just fine.
The okay to leave was a relief to James. Hospitals were fine and good to work in but he didn’t want to be the one lying on the table. Also, now that he didn’t have that headache and his bones and back weren’t aching he was able to walk okay on his own but that in no way meant he didn’t have that hawk like stare on him from Greg.
After being discharged and back in the car, James fell asleep on the way back to the motel and stayed asleep as Greg packed his things into the car. He didn’t have the heart to wake him up. Sure, James had been the one who pushed himself to exhaustion searching the city for him, which is why the flu was able to kick his ass so thoroughly, but it was an amazing feeling to know that James had pushed his own health out the way to find him.
As he drove them back to the studio apartment Greg let out a soft chuckle thinking about his friend. “Jimmy, you’re an idiot.”
--
NEXT: CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Wait... It's Christmas Eve?
--
Author: wolfoflegends
Word Count: 6,730
Pairing: House/Wilson
Summery: After a near death experience and it's following circumstances, Wilson goes to John Hopkins University as a last ditch effort for Med school. There he meets a character like he's never known. Stretches from Med school to beyond Season 4. Slash h/w
NOTE: To rule out some confusion, Med school takes place in 1991.
---
CHAPTER TWELVE: And So the Search was Launched
---
The next morning was a terrible one. Not only did he wake up to an empty bed but woke up with a stopped up nose and sore throat.
Great, I have a cold.
And as if to reinforce his assumption he was hit with a small coughing fit. It was ironic in a sense. He went searching for Greg but found a cold instead. Despite his sleep he still felt dead tired. He didn’t want to get up; he wanted to stay in bed and sleep the day away but he knew couldn’t. He had to find his friend.
He could probably say confidently that he knew Greg better than anyone else. He knew Greg was as stubborn as a mule and prided himself that he didn’t need people to get along in life. He also knew there was a chance that he would try and go back to his previous solitary lifestyle. He had to find him and apologize while he still had the chance. So, after drinking a small glass of orange juice and a piece of toast he continued his search.
But where to look?
--
Greg was fine.
Last night he had stayed in a cheap discount inn kind of place instead of sleeping in his car. He knew there was one place he had every right to go, but hell, he wasn’t going to visit the Drama Queen, even if his life depended on it. He would rather freeze to death in his car than to go crawling back to his ex-roommate. So that morning after a quick shower he was off in search of what he had originally planed to get before he and James’ argument.
A guitar.
He pulled up to a place he knew about near the outskirts of the city he knew about. They always had good sales going on ands with the program they had that allowed people to sell their used instruments in-house you never knew what they could have. Upon walking into Mark and B’s Musical Supply Greg felt his mood pick up immediately. Music was his passion; there was nothing else like it. A place like this was almost like heaven or better yet, a child in a candy store.
Unfortunately for him, the first things his eyes fell on were the violins. He turned his head quickly and looked away, miffed.
“Fucking idiot.” He mumbled under his breath and walked over to the back of the store where the guitars were on display. They had the usual, Finder Stratocasters, some Gibson Les Pauls, and even a nice Gibson Explorer in the corner but it wasn’t any other these that really caught his eye.
While walking and browsing the instruments, his eyes suddenly shot to a certain guitar on display and couldn’t pull his eyes away and left his mouth agape. There on display with the price tag of 429.99, with a clear Plexiglas body, gorgeous rosewood pickguard and strong maple neck, was a ’69 Dan Armstrong AMPEG. “Gaaaa…” He trailed and let out a breath at the sight of it. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked immediately upon seeing the asking price.
The store’s clerk with a black faux hawklooked up from his magazine. “Hm?”
“This guitar, what’s wrong with it to have it marked down to that price?”
The clerk let out a chuckle and went to his customer. “The guy selling it is insane, that’s what!” he laughed. Greg arched a brow before he explained. “For a small display fee we offer a place for people to display their instruments for sale and such. Well, this guy comes in with this beautiful piece and wants to sell it. I’m all for it, it’s a beautiful guitar. Damn,” got off subject as he turned his attention to the guitar. “It’s times like this I wish I wasn’t a drummer.. But as I was saying! The guy come in and wants to sell. I explain everything to him and when I ask what he wants to list the price as he tells me he wants to sell it for four hundred plus the display fee.”
“That this is worth so much more.” Greg added as he stared, practically drooling over the guitar.
Brandon nodded. “That’s what I told him! I was like, You’re crazy! You can get triple, if not quadruple that price easy! But he was adamant on selling it for $429.99. So I asked him what was wrong, he says nothing and even plays it for me. And fuck if it wasn’t absolute!” Greg nodded. “He did give me as much as a history as he could on it to prove that it was in good shape.”
Greg wanted to touch it, hold it, play it… he wanted to try it out. And with a look over to Brandon, it was as if he could read his customer’s mind.
“Yeah, go ahead.” He waved before continuing where he had left off. “Well, the guy tells me that he got it from a guy in the paper who really didn’t know the value of the guitar, who got it from another guy for next to nothing being that one of the pickups weren’t working right at a garage sale. The guy who bought it from the garage sale got it fixed, and like I said, the guy who got it fixed played it a while but then apparently kinda gave up playing or something, I don’t know. But he sold it sold it for pretty much nothing as well being that he really didn’t know the value. And when our guy here saw it, bought it up and held onto it a good while and decided he wanted to sell it.” The way Brandon spat out the explanation it was easy to get confused, but Greg didn’t press the matter.
Handing the instrument as if it were something handed to him from God, Greg carefully pulled the strap over his shoulder. It was a weighty thing; most probably from the Plexiglas body. But it was a comfortable weight, nothing that would get in the way of his playing. “But why for four hundred dollars when he knows he can get so much for it?” he asked perplexed.
Brandon went about and grabbed a small amp and a connection cable and plugged the guitar into the amp. “All I know is that he says he think a real musician deserves this more than him, but went I tell him he can get so much more he won’t budge! He says he couldn’t in good conscience sell it for 1,500 dollars when he paid practically nothing for it and there were needy musicians who could use it more than him.”
“He’s a moron.” Greg added.
Brandon nodded. “Yep. You know how to play?” he asked, curious as Greg during the conversation had only been holding the guitar and hadn’t played a single note.
“Yeah, I can play.” Brandon gestured for him to do something.
“Good, because the guy says I need to sell it to someone who can really play. It’s… part of the deal.” And knowing that was his cue, Greg started working the tuning pegs and trying to get things in tune for something quick and simple. Once finished, he played a quickly little bluesy thing that definitely got the fellow’s attention. “That’s good enough for me!” he clapped. “So, you lookin’ to buy?”
He reveled to himself. “This is a once in a lifetime buy.”
“Sure is.” Brandon agreed.
Keeping a hold of the guitar and giving two or three strums he smiled. “I don’t think I can say no.” He struck one note and listened. “Wow, the sustain on this thing is great!”
Brandon nodded. “It’s the Plexiglas. It really is good guitar.”
“It is.”
--
James still wasn’t feeling so good. His coughing had gotten a bit worse and all he wanted to do was sleep. He hated colds. He really shouldn’t have been wandering around in the snow last night but he knew he couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. He had called his mother and told her that he was going to stay home another day and if he felt better tomorrow he’d head on out there to see them.
Wishing her son the best of luck, good wishes, and love, she ordered him to sleep and drink lots of fluids. If she would have known that he was calling her from a payphone on the streets she would have scolded him for not being in bed.
Once they said their goodbyes, he hung up the phone and shoved more coins into the slot to make another call. After retracing his steps from last night and turning up empty again, an idea came to mind. If he knew Greg, he knew the man would be trying to get on and pretending that nothing was wrong as he went about his life normally like nothing was wrong. So for his next step he’d check out the music stores.
He called information and got a list of the local music stores and continued his search.
--
The walk from Mark and B’s Musical Supply was tiring from carrying the amp. It may be small, but it was sure heavy. But to Greg it was all worth it. Now he could get straight down to business and start playing. He walked into his motel room and hardly had time to toss his coat on the bed before he began to set everything up.
He opened the case and took a good long look at his new guitar before he pulled it out. It really was a gorgeous thing. He grabbed the audio cable and plugged it into the amp before he placed it on the bed and started to look around.
Now, where were those headphones?
--
James quickly pulled a tissue from his pocket and he’d it over his mouth as he was hit with another fit of coughing. God, this was getting annoying. He hating being sick. All he wanted to lie down and not get up. When his coughing fit finally finished he shoved the soiled tissue into his pocket and walked into Music Shop #3 on his list.
After a quick glance around at the instruments the place had to offer, James noticed a man leaning against a sale counter as he read a magazine. By his appearance the clerk looked to be in the right line of business; the hoodie and faux hawk screamed it. “Excuse me; can you help me with something?”
The sales clerk looked up from his magazine and pushed his glasses back up his nose.
“I’m looking for someone. He may have stopped here, I… really don’t know.”
He stood from leaning against the counter and tried to offer his assistance. “I can try the best I can, what’s his name?”
“Greg House?”
Brandon shook his head. “Not ringing any bells. What does he look like?”
“Well, he’s tall, taller than me… he has dark brown hair. He’s… kinda rude.”
He nodded, “Can he play something? Or was he looking for supplies or things that could help teach him how to play?”
“No, he’s a great musician. Actually he was looking for a guitar.” Right after the words left his mouth the clerk knew who he was talking about.
“Oh! The lucky Fellow!” he chirped excitedly.
“Lucky?”
“For a guitarist he couldn’t have walked in at a better time, we had a gorgeous Dan Armstrong AMPEG at a steal of a price. He fell in love right when he saw it. Snatched it up quick! He knew a deal when he saw one! What about you? You play anything?”
James was so relieved to hear that Greg had been there. It meant that he was still hiding out in Baltimore. Where, though, that was another story. Realizing he was asked a question, he quickly came back to reality. “Oh, yeah, I play the violin. It’s been years since I’ve played it, though.”
“Heh, classy.” He chuckled. “Why’d you stop?”
This fellow was certainly a chatty one and talked faster than expected and jumped from subject to subject. He was inquisitive, too. “I just kind of fell out of it, but now when I play I just think of an old friend of mine I lost.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that.” He apologized.
It was then James noticed the blue nametag. “Brandon… Are you the B of Mark and B’s?”
“That I am! Brandon Martinez at your service!” he introduced himself while taking a bow.
“Well, Brandon, thank you so much for your help, Oh, and he didn’t happen to mention where he was headed, huh?”
Brandon thought a moment trying to review everything in his mind. Things said, things bought… “Well,” he drew out slowly, “He bought a guitar and an amp, audio cables and such… headphones. He joked about neighbors and thin walls.” He offered. But that didn’t do him too good. That could have been their apartment for all he knew. “Oh! He did come here without a car! I remember thinking how peculiar it was that he would be walking down the street carrying an amp and a guitar. So, either he has no fear and great endurance or he’s staying somewhere close.”
But before he could thank Brandon again, he let out a loud and hard sneeze. Instinctively a hand went over his mouth and nose while the other dug in his coat pocket for an unsoiled tissue only to come up empty. “Damn, I’m out.” He couldn’t pull his hand away; he could feel his hand and face were a disaster. Without missing a beat, Brandon leaned back and grabbed the tissue box out from behind the counter and held out to him. “Thanks.” He took some and cleaned himself up.
“You don’t look so good.” He noted.
James sighed and tossed his dirtied tissues into the nearby trashcan. “I’ve got a cold.” He felt so much worse than when he woke up that morning. He was so tired he knew if he sat down to take a rest he’d probably fall asleep, his nose was constantly running, his coughing was aggravating his already sore throat and his head was starting to hurt. He just wished he could find Greg so he could get some much needed rest.
“You really shouldn’t be wandering around in the cold, then.” Brandon suggested kindly.
James knew this, every aching bone in his body told him this. “I know, but I really have to find my friend. Hey, if he swings by again, you think you can let him know I’m looking for him?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you so much, you have no idea how much that means to me.”
“It’s no problem.” He said modestly.
--
James was starting to feel like a detective or a bounty hunter or just anyone who would look for someone by following clues. It had been an hour since he had gotten his helpful advice from Brandon at the music shop and he had gone straight to work at hitting all the hotels, motels, and inns in the area and asking if Greg House was in.
Five places later and still no luck.
All this searching was starting to tug at his heart in a different way, too. It kept reminding him about earlier in the year when he went searching for David. He had searched for two weeks with no luck. He hoped this wouldn’t turn out the same. As tired as ever, James trudge and nearly dragged himself into the small lobby of Motel #6 on his list before he looked over at the check-in counter.
“May I help you?” a deep voice asked. Sheepishly, he approached the counter where a very, very tall man stood behind a Plexiglas window with a small speaker. James was almost certain he had never seen someone so tall, especially up close. The man must have been over seven feet tall; there was no way he was anything less. James thought that he should be playing basketball with that height.
“uhh, yes… I’m looking for Greg House, is he in?”
He watched as the man bent down a little to read a book sitting on the counter next to him filled with organized scribbles “Yes, he’s in.”
Those words made his heart flutter. Finally he found Greg! It only took from last night to dusk of the next day but he still found him. “Oh, I’m sorry to have to ask, but he forgot to tell me which room he was in..” he trailed off.
The man leaned over again and took another look at the scribbles. “He’s in room 5, down that way.” With his long arm, he pointed passed his protective window and to the right of the building.
“Thanks!”
James wasted no time. He walked as fast as his tired aching legs would take him. And sure enough, parked outside room five was Greg’s beat up, blue Ford Taurus. Taking a deep breath, James knocked on the door.
Nothing.
He knocked again a little harder.
Still nothing.
This time he knocked hard enough to make his knuckles hurt but it did the trick. “Yeah?” he heard a voice through the door call. It was him. But what was he supposed to say? Would Greg even open the door knowing it was him? Should he lie and say he was room service? No, that would give him the chance to dismiss him completely. And wouldn’t he only be messing things up farther if he lied?
“Please, let me in.” he pleaded.
A moment or two passed without so much as a peep or a sound with James thinking he had been ignored. But just as soon as he lifted his hand to knock again the deadbolt unlock. Next thing he knew familiar but annoyed blue eyed greeted him. “What are you doing here?” he asked standoffishly.
“Looking for you.” He covered his mouth as he let out a small cough or two.
Greg narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “How did you find me? Do you have a bug or tracker on me?”
“Hard and exhausting work.” He answered tiredly. “Can I come inside? It’s cold out here.” Feeling generous, he let James in but right when the door closed, Greg didn’t even have the time to turn around before James gave in. “I’m sorry!” he spat abruptly, “I’m sorry about everything! I shouldn’t have said that, it was wrong and stupid! I wasn’t thinking right! It was heartless of me to say those things to you! I’m sorry, I just-”
“Whoa! Calm down!” Greg said holding up his hands. James was just spitting all of it out so quickly he could hardly understand him. “Whatever, it’s fine.” When someone apologized to him he always tried to act like it was no big deal, like the humility the other person was showing was fine but not necessary. But it was. Greg never would have let James get close to within an arms length of his already hidden away heart without one.
“It’s not fine,” he corrected. “You shouldn’t forgive me so easily for that.”
“I never said you were forgiven.” Greg stated as a matter of fact.
James didn’t deny the pain he felt at the comment. “Ouch… I deserved that.” he took a deep breath as he started to explain himself. “It’s just… ” He paused as he rubbed his forehead and tried to think of how to get it all out. “When I was about fourteen I had this friend. I had known him for years and one day he came to school with a black eye. I asked him what had happened but he obviously didn’t want to talk about it.” He paused again with Greg starting to show a keen interest. “I pestered him and pestered him but he kept beating around the bush about where he had gotten it. It was only after a little more he finally told me that it was his father.”
He rested his forehead against his palms and took in a breath before he continued on with his story.
“After he told me I couldn’t get it out of my mind. His father was the nicest guy ever, he didn’t come across as the kind of guy he could even hurt a fly. It kept wearing on me and wearing on me until I finally told a counselor at my school. Next thing I know, I hear his father is in jail for child abuse.” There was a long pause, but Greg didn’t push. Just reading the body language he could tell what was next to come in the story was a painful one. “It was really a case of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.” He said weakly, “He really didn’t have any family, so my friend was taken into foster care while his father was in jail. The way people treat you if your suspected of such a crime is horrible. People before who loved his father were so unsure, no one believed in him. Even when it hit trial my friend held to what he told me; that his father beat him several occasions, and I could remember days when he would come to school with a new bruise or whatever. But one day while being escorted to court his father was killed by some random person taking justice into their own hands.”
Greg listened stunned. Obviously James felt guilty for saying something. If he had kept quiet the man would be alive… but he deserved it, didn’t he? “If the guy beat his son, he deserved-”
“He didn’t deserve it!!” James cried out, his voice breaking with emotion. “He lied! He lied about his father because he was getting mixed up with things he knew he shouldn’t have. He told everyone made up elaborate stories about how his father would beat him! He told the police, he told the lawyer, he told me, he told everyone but he was lying the whole time! His father was too kind and sweet to even hurt a fly! All that time and he didn’t say a thing.”
His sore throat was starting to get aggravated from his story and he could feel a coughing fit trying to come on but tried to hold it back the best he could.
“I know it sounds stupid but I think my brain just defaulted onto that when you told me about you and your father.” But he couldn’t hold back any longer. With a quick deep breath James started coughing.
Greg nodded to himself as he tried to think about it. It made sense. “It’s not stupid,” he corrected. “You virtually killed an… innocent man because you told your school counselor what your friend told you. You didn’t want to do it again.” He watched as James finally was able to breathe again as his fit came to a stop. “What’s up with you?” he eyed him head to toe making sure to take in James’ tired and worn-down appearance.
He rubbed his nose with a clean tissue. “I caught a cold playing in the snow too late last night.” He answered sarcastically.
“Foolish.” Greg responded just as sarcastic.
The two were quiet for a little bit before James noticed the guitar sitting on the bed. “So, that’s the guitar? You got such a great deal on?”
Greg brightened up right away. “Yeah, this guy was - wait, I didn’t.. tell you that, yet.” Confused blue eyes waited for an answer. “You sure you didn’t put a bug on me?”
“I talked to Brandon Martinez at Mark and B’s Musical Supply. He told me about it.”
Greg nodded as he stood up and grabbed the guitar. “You wanna hear me play?”
“Sure.” James stood up and pulled his aching body to lie down on the bed but before he could get there Greg swung his guitar around to his back and hooked a hand around James’ waist. The next thing he knew he was face to face with a relaxed blue eyes and a lazy smile but when he leaned in for a kiss from his lover. It seemed like James had other plans.
“Don’t.” He warned as he pulled back. “I’m sick, you’ll catch my cold.”
But that wasn’t going to stop the ever persistent Gregory House. “So? It gives me an actual reason to miss a day or two of school.”
“No!” He tried to weasel out of Greg’s grasp but enviably after seeing how badly James didn’t want to give him a cold, he gave in and settled for placing a kiss on that brown hair. Once free, He immediately collapsed onto the bed. Finally he’d be able to relax and die for a time all the while with the musical magics of Greg on guitar serving as atmosphere.
Greg played everything he had wanted to play for a long while but couldn’t get his hands on a guitar to do it. The two chatted about different pieces until after about an hour or so, he noticed something strange about his tired friend. If it got quiet for more than a ten seconds James would close his eyes and knock out and to make matters worse, each time he said something or hit a remotely loud note and James would snap back awake with a bewildered look on his face before trying his best to act like he didn’t fall asleep.
Curious, he tried an experiment. He waited until he saw James’ eye shut close. “Hey, Jimmy, can I get a tiger and feed it hobos?”
“Huh? Yeah, yeah. Sounds good.” Brown eyes blinked rapidly to try and wake himself up.
“Interesting..” he said quietly. Greg wondered how many times he asked if he had liked what he played of James really liked it or if he was trying to mask his exhaustion. He quietly slipped off his guitar and placed it carefully in its case he walked over and sat down on the bed with James picking up his head in surprise.
“Wha?” he picked his head off the pillow. “Why’d you stop playing?”
“Because you’re not listening.” He pointed out as he stretched out and laid back next to James on the bed but something wasn’t right. Something was too… hot?
“Damn, you feel like a heater! I don’t even have to touch you to know you’re burning up.” Greg yelped surprised with James waking up again. He got up off the bed. “You try and stay awake. I’m going to see if I can find a thermometer in this joint.” Greg knew there was nothing of the sort in the room itself but maybe the front desk would have something like that.
Leaving the room, he walked up the walkway in the snow and into the small lobby. There sat the same very tall man who had been there for what seemed like all day.
Just like true Greg fashion, he added his own swing to a simple question. “Hey, you got a thermometer? I think my friend’s insides might be frying.” He received a suspicious look from the tall fellow for the remark and waited as, without a word, he stood and left the small Plexiglas box to see what he could find. Greg didn’t wait long before he returned with a small glass thermometer and slipped it through the small opening in the Plexiglas for money and keys to be passed through. Greg took the thermometer with a smile. “Thanks.”
--
When he returned he found James asleep on the bed. “Hey, Jimmy, wake up! It’s temperature time!” He jerked awake and watched with tired squinted eyes as Greg went into the bathroom to clean the thermometer. James didn’t know what was wrong with him. He was tired, yes, but he just couldn’t keep his eyes open and his head was pounding.
When Greg came back into the room he gave the cleaned thermometer a hard shake or two. “Okay, you’re a doctor in training, I’m sure you know how this works. Open up.” He shoved the thermometer into James’ mouth and under his tongue.
“Just get me some Tylenol, I’ll be fine.”
“Hey,” Greg wasn’t in the least persuaded, “no talking until we figure out how hot you are!”
“I’m really hot.” He responded teasingly; almost deliriously.
“Super hot. Now, no talking.” Greg watched the red dye climbed higher and higher up the magnified chart for a tense five minutes but when he took the thermometer from James’ mouth he was surprised when he saw it just a hair’s width from reaching a hefty 106 degrees. “God, no wonder your head hurts, Jimmy, your brain is melting.” He said as he put the thermometer down on the nightstand. Almost immediately he started to take James’ jacket off. “Come on, you need to get all your extra clothes off.”
This was no cold; this was something else. James needed to get to the hospital. After he ran the symptoms through his head a few times he looked over to the very exhausted James and gave a suspicious glare. “You didn’t get a flu shot this year, did you?” he pulled James’ scarf off before working on his gloves.
“Flu… hot?” he asked, tired and confused.
This was worrying. “No, Flu shhhhhoooot!” he drew out slowly to clarify, “Flu shot, the thing that helps prevent you from getting the flu. You didn’t get one, did you?” But he didn’t answer, only let out a painful little moan and tried to bury his head in the covers. “Come on, you need to go to the hospital.”
But James didn’t even attempt to get up.
“Hey, either you get up and try to walk with me or I’m going to have to carry you! You are not about to lie on this bed and let your brain fry!” he told his sick friend as he forcefully tried to get him to sit up. When James got the idea of what he was trying to do he sat up but swayed slightly. Greg held tight to his shoulder to stable him. “Okay, I need you to stand up, alright?” James stood, shakily and slowly with Greg reached out and took James’ arm and wrapped it around his shoulder to support him.
He could feel James’ whole body trembling from his fatigue and weakness. He was also almost certain that the man hadn’t eaten anything. When he asked he only got a quiet, “wasn’t hungry.” in return.
“You idiot, you need to eat when you’re sick, even if you don’t feel like it.” Even though Greg tried to hide it, the worry in his voice was evident. His steps were labored and shaky and even thought he was tempted to give James his coat to wear he knew better. It may be cold and snowy outside and James may be dressed in a t-shirt but the cold would do him good.
It was a little frightening at how hot James was. Greg could feel the heat radiating through James’ t-shirt as well Greg’s button up shirt, and t-shirt. It was alarming and only told him how urgent it was that he get James to the hospital. As they made their way out the motel room and to the car, it was starting to become obvious that a mild delirium was starting to set in when James spotted the snow on the ground. “Ooh, snow..! Can I have some?” his words were more slurred and tired than when they had been in the motel room.
“Dammit, Jimmy! Shut the hell up and stop reminding me that your brain is on fire! Okay?!” he didn’t mean to snap at him but the more he talked or did anything that require his brain the more it reminded him of how dire the situation could turn. And in vague attempt to make up for it he handed James a handful of snow.
For once Greg’s driving was welcomed. Normally, if James had a choice, he’d be the one driving. He thought Greg drove way to fast and recklessly and the drive to the hospital was just as fast and reckless as ever. And beside, James wasn’t in any shape for driving. Greg’s speedy driving got them to the hospital in no time and luckily with speeding tickets to show for it.
When they walked into the ER waiting room the first thing to do was answer a whole bunch of personal questions. Name, phone number, date of birth, SSN… nearly anything they could ask; they did. “You gonna to ask whether he’s left or right handed?” Greg had muttered to himself under his breath, irritated. James had trouble trying to get his brain to focus on the various questions dealing with numbers but manned to pull through.
After that task was taken care of and the nurse handed James a pamphlet and tried to explain it to him. But before she really got into it, it dawned on his what it was. “Oh, this is the doctor/patient confidentiality thing?” he sounded half-baked; you wouldn’t have expected this man to be a top freshman in a school of medicine. Once he was refreshed on the subject he was handed a form to sign and was sent back to take a seat and wait for his name to be called.
While they waited, James stared with something else that got Greg’s attention. “Jimmy, what are you looking at?” He asked as he noticed James watching a blank spot near the ceiling on the wall.
He kept staring, “You don’t see it?”
“See what?”
“It’s right there… “ he pointed. Sure enough when he looked a little closer there was a small spider clinging to the wall. Greg was relieved to know that James wasn’t hallucinating but it didn’t put him too much at ease. He could hear his words were slurring a little more than before. Sure, it could have been from his exhaustion but he didn’t want to leave it to chance. This was too much. What was the hold up? The man had a 106 degree fever for crying out loud?!
“Fuck!” Greg cursed under his breath before he shot up from his chair. “Wait right here.” And with that he left the ER for outside. The people in the ER were taking too long for his liking; he knew he’d have to do something if he didn’t want his friends brain poached before morning. Once out in the coldness of the night he pulled off his jacket and button down shirt and t-shirt. To anyone passing by it would have been a strange sight to see the man kneeling in the snow and down to just his pants but he had his reasons. Quickly, he started to scoop up snow and drop it on the middle of his t-shirt using it as a big ice pack before slipping his button up shirt back on and jacket. When he felt he had enough snow he quickly rushed back inside.
The sight of James still looking at the spot on the wall was just as unnerving as it had been a moment before and without warning, placed his snow filled shirt on the sick man’s head. “Cold.” James let out quietly.
“Keep this on your head; you’re no use to me brain dead.” Greg ordered. Doing as he was told, James held onto the shirt as he kept it on his head. Alarm bells should have been ringing in James’ head when he saw Greg take off near the nurse’s station but his head hurt too much to think straight much less have the bells manned. “Hey! HEY!!” Greg bellowed in that loud and booming voice of his. “WHAT DOES A GUY HAVE TO DO TO GET SOME MEDICAL ASSISTANCE HERE?!”
“And what’s wrong with you, sir?” an unimpressed nurse asked from behind a counter.
“Not me!! I have a man over there with a fever that’s melting his brain and no one seems to care!!”
But this behavior was nothing new to the staff; people were likely to act the same when they brought patients in with 100 degree fevers. “Sir, it takes a fever of 107 degrees before brain damage starts to take effect.”
“DON’T YOU THINK I FUCKING KNOW THAT?!” He roared.
“Sir, calm down-”
“I’M A FUCKING SENIOR IN MED SCHOOL, YOU MORON! HIS FEVER IS ONE HUNDRED AND GODDAMN, MOTHER FUCKING SIX!!” In the ER waiting room, he had nearly everyone’s attention: patients, nurses and doctors alike. Greg was definitely fierce. With his narrowed eyes and bared teeth someone could easily imagine him as a wolf or a lion with his ear back and hackles raised in aggression.
But it seemed to do the trick. Next thing he knew a triage nurse was escorting the weary James and his makeshift snow-icebag of a shirt into the ER.
If Greg was annoyed before it only got worse with the triage nurse. He sat in a chair at a table littered with medical things as he asked James questions on when he started to feel ill, what were his symptoms, if he took any medication to help, if he were allergic to anything; the list went on. But what annoyed Greg was with questions that James really had to think about and took a little more time on giving the answer, the triage nurse would shake his head as if saying James was an idiot because he was having trouble answering questions he should know.
He had to hold back from hurting the arrogant man in the light blue scrubs. He was the only one who could call James an idiot! He was the only one who could even think James an idiot! He wasn’t about to let this asshole make his buddy feel bad. But James wasn’t paying enough attention to the nurse to even feel bad about it. The nurse walked over to a cabinet and handed James a small cup filled with two Tylenol tablet and a small paper cup of water and told him to take it while he slipped on the medical bracelet around his wrist.
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After two hours, a saline drip, some painkillers for his sore body and aching head, mixed with an actual ice pack and James temperature was starting to go down. Though it only dropped to 102 he was given the okay to leave and was advised to drink lots of fluids, rest, and some Tylenol or ibuprofen for his sore body and help lower his fever.
It was amusing to see James on the painkillers because they made him a little loopy. After a few CCs of Toradol was administered through his IV, the balding doctor came to check up on his patient. “So, James, How’s your pain?”
“Pain..?” he looked vaguely confused before he remembered what pain was. “Oh, pain! No, I’m good. No pain here.” The Toradol may have made him a little loopy, but it did its job just fine.
The okay to leave was a relief to James. Hospitals were fine and good to work in but he didn’t want to be the one lying on the table. Also, now that he didn’t have that headache and his bones and back weren’t aching he was able to walk okay on his own but that in no way meant he didn’t have that hawk like stare on him from Greg.
After being discharged and back in the car, James fell asleep on the way back to the motel and stayed asleep as Greg packed his things into the car. He didn’t have the heart to wake him up. Sure, James had been the one who pushed himself to exhaustion searching the city for him, which is why the flu was able to kick his ass so thoroughly, but it was an amazing feeling to know that James had pushed his own health out the way to find him.
As he drove them back to the studio apartment Greg let out a soft chuckle thinking about his friend. “Jimmy, you’re an idiot.”
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NEXT: CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Wait... It's Christmas Eve?
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