Set when Wilson was living with House; but no spoilers for any season…
I'm trying to polish up my writing skills so that I can start a big project – what better way than to use House as my subject – you know what that means people…House!hurt…
This shouldn't last more than a couple of chapters – let me know what you think…
"Have either of you seen House?" Cameron sighed as she carried yet another set of negative test results into the conference room.
"Last time I saw him, he was being hunted down by Cuddy and she looked pissed – he's probably sulking somewhere right now." Foreman said unsympathetically; House had dropped them in it earlier by forging consent from a patient who didn't want any more tests and Cuddy was fuming.
"Who wants to tell him that the tests were all negative?" she offered; no doubt the boys would fight over who got the chance to tell House that he was wrong…
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House leaned heavily over his cane, waiting patiently for Cuddy to stop yelling at him; she had literally dragged him into her office, like a headmistress pulling in the naughty school boy for a lecture, it had caused a lot of stifled giggles from the nursing staff at the time.
"What part of 'no more tests' did you not understand, House? The patient said 'no more tests', his family said 'no more tests', your team said 'no more tests' – did they not make it clear enough for you that you should have done no more tests?" Cuddy asked angrily as she paced the room, House was getting dizzy just watching her.
"They said no to treatment, not to tests – at least that's what they told me!" He argued back weakly, it wasn't his best defence he had to admit; even Cuddy held her hands out, waiting for more of a fight, but none came.
"That was it?" She asked, surprised that there was no long-winded explanation, no screaming that he was right, no stand off; maybe he really was as ill as he looked, "excellent! Get out, go home, sleep and come back in a week."
"You're suspending me?" House whined disbelievingly, "the test results haven't even come back yet – at least wait for my team to come running to you with the negative results!"
"I'm not suspending you…you look awful – and you can't even participate in a good argument with me…come back when you're not ill." Cuddy smirked as she saw the shocked look on his face; he looked deathly pale, a little feverish and clearly hadn't slept properly in a few days, a break would be good for him…and her!
"You're forcing me to go home…because you want to argue with me?" he said in a disbelieving tone.
"Yeah – so go home and come back when you can stand up for yourself…literally." She added, noting his abnormally rigid posture over his cane, "what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Does your leg hurt?" She asked cautiously as she watched him curl further over his cane the longer he was standing in front of her.
"My leg always hurts." He mumbled as he made to leave; he wasn't willing to stand there while she analysed his every move. Besides, his vicodin was calling from his office and he didn't know how much longer he could stand there without crying out in pain – how embarrassing would that be?
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"Lab results are back." Cameron said forcefully as she charged in House's office with Foreman and Chase in tow; House had simply ignored them on his return from Cuddy's office and gone straight to his sanctuary to pack for his week long holiday.
"Great." He said enthusiastically as he continued packing his bag, "now, if you don't mind, I'm a little busy here-"
"You were wrong." She continued, adding slightly too much eagerness in delivering the statement; House stopped packing and looked up at his ducklings with interest.
"I wonder how you decided who was going to deliver that piece of shocking news…rock, paper, scissors?" He smirked as all three looked sheepishly at each other.
"Where are you going?" Cameron asked, noticing that he had packed more than usual in his bag.
"I've quit-"
"Why?" she gasped; fearing that maybe he'd actually been fired this time.
"Cuddy was wearing a roll neck sweater…a roll neck sweater! I refuse to work under these conditions." House said sincerely; Chase snorted in suppressed laughter and Foreman rolled his eyes in unsuppressed exasperation before they both decided to leave House and Cameron to it and return to the conference room where home time was calling.
"Oh relax" he sighed as he caught Cameron's wounded look, "I'll be back in a week."
"You're sick." Cameron stated as she realised that her boss did look worse than he had this morning, it must have had something to do with the whiter than white shade his face had taken during the course of the day.
"There's no need for name calling." House pretended to take offence what she said as he grabbed his bag and swung it onto his shoulder; his stomach letting him know immediately that it was angry with this particular action.
"This morning, when you came in, you could hardly walk; now you look as if you can hardly stand." She said, worrying over how fragile he looked in front of her; he'd let his guard down and was holding onto the desk for support as another sharp pain took his breath away, "are you okay, how are you getting home? You didn't bring your bike this morning-"
"What are you – my stalker?" he scowled as he made a point of standing upright, grabbing his cane and sauntering off to grab a lift with Wilson; at least Wilson wouldn't ask any questions about giving him a lift home...
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"Okay." Wilson said as soon as House stumbled into his office; he didn't even look up from his paper work to check that it was House, "give me 5 minutes, then we can go."
"Impressive…either you're psychic or Cuddy called ahead." House guessed as he carefully lowered himself onto Wilson's couch.
"She was worried…you look awful." Wilson conceded as he watched his friend try and get comfortable, "what's up?"
"Something I ate…" House muttered as he fumbled with his vicodin bottle, his slightly shaking hands didn't seem to be able to open it; Wilson walked over and took it from him, opened it, then sat on the edge of his desk to observe, arms crossed over his chest.
"Not something I cooked; I didn't get sick!" Wilson said defensively, throwing up his hands as he watched House down two of the pills.
"I didn't say it was."
"But you were thinking it - just getting my defence in early."
"Hmmph." House snorted as he tucked his arms over his knees and curled over them; this grabbed Wilson's full attention immediately.
"Is it that bad?" He asked disbelievingly; House did look pale, maybe if he'd actually eaten something today, Wilson would be a little more inclined to believe that it was food poisoning and not something more serious.
"On and off." House gasped as he gingerly leant back and stretched his legs out in front of him, catching Wilson's concerned stare in the process; he rolled his eyes in mock annoyance and rubbed his hand over his stomach for a couple of minutes, seemingly lost in thought.
Wilson went back to his paper work, whatever was bothering House didn't seem to have him worried too much; it probably was just something he had eaten the previous day, he vaguely remembered House moaning about his stomach after lunch yesterday.
"Let's go already!" House whined after a short while, the pain subsiding as the pills worked their magic.
"Okay, okay!" Wilson sighed as he dumped the last lot of files into the bottom drawer of his desk – out of sight, out of mind after all! He waited for House to slowly and carefully stand before he ushered him out of the door; it was going to be a long walk to the car at this rate…
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The walk to the car turned out to be quiet and uneventful; the two vicodin seemed to have taken some of the edge off the pain and House seemed more comfortable. They made it to the car without even a snide comment on the nurses who had giggled their goodnights to Wilson; it was then that Wilson began his 'mini interrogation part deux'.
"No bike today huh?" He started casually.
House turned his head lazily and stared at Wilson, "No…because you brought me in this morning; so why don't you come right out and ask me the real questions instead of this idle chit chat crap." Wilson smirked at this response from House.
"Did you ask for a lift because you couldn't ride in?"
"Yes" came the annoyed response from the passenger seat.
"Were you in this much pain this morning?"
House made no attempt to answer, so Wilson sighed and decided to continue the journey in silence; it was as they were waiting at a stop light that he happened to glance over and see how much pain House was fighting to hide, his face held in a permanent grimace as he pretended to look out of the window.
"If it was food poisoning, you'd be throwing up…" Wilson stated casually, "do you feel nauseous?"
"Your driving makes me feel nauseous…" House grumbled in reply as he shifted in the seat, "no, I don't feel nauseous..." he lied, hoping this would shut Wilson up.
"Do you want to stop by the shops and get something to eat?" Wilson asked hopefully; House made a derogative noise beside him which Wilson interpreted as a 'no thank you'.
They pulled up outside the apartment and Wilson made a point of fiddling around with things in the trunk until he heard House slam the car door and presumably make his way over to the front door; the last thing House wanted was an audience as he painfully got out of the car and the last thing Wilson wanted to do was to watch him struggle when he wasn't allowed to help.
House wouldn't admit it freely, not even to Wilson, but he was in absolute agony; what had started as a twinge in his gut the previous day had turned into a twisted, sharp pain which left him doubled over and breathless when it struck. He had opted to try to ignore it for as long as possible, maybe it would go away, maybe it was acid reflux, maybe it really was food poisoning; he let out a groan as he leant against the doorframe, waiting for Wilson to use his key to unlock the door…food poisoning didn't do this, not in a million years.
Wilson watched him shuffle uncomfortably down the hall, obviously heading off to bed; there was something about the gait which was painful to watch, so Wilson retired to the kitchen – some people who didn't have gut problems actually wanted food and weren't planning on going to bed at 6pm!
He was rummaging around, searching for the saucepan he was sure he'd washed up the previous night, when he thought he heard his name being called; he paused in his clattering and listened again, "For God's sake, Wilson!" he heard House choke out in between groans.
Wilson didn't waste any time in jogging through to the hallway where he found House doubled up on his knees just inside the bathroom door, his arm wrapped tightly around his stomach, forehead pressed against the floor and eyes squeezed tightly shut; he dropped down to his knees to join him and tried to make House aware of his presence by putting his hand on his shaking shoulder.
"What happened?" He asked, unable to stop his voice from catching in his throat as he worried about his friend; the nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that House was a stubborn idiot for not letting him help earlier.
House didn't reply; Wilson couldn't tell if he hadn't heard him or if he was in too much pain to respond, this wasn't good.
"House, what happened?" He asked a little louder; House attempted to look up at him and Wilson became alarmed at how flushed he was.
"Need hospital" House gasped, "it's not food poisoning…"