A/N: Hey guys :) On a roll, so here's another brief two-shot from the House universe again… Setting could be almost any time; the plot is not linked to any specific events mentioned on the show (so no spoilers). And nothing profound – just some good old hurt/comfort/friendship stuff! :) Hope you enjoy!
After silently watching House intermittently rub his right shoulder for the last 20 minutes or so, Wilson couldn't hold himself back any longer. "So… What did the guys in PT say?"
House didn't take his eyes off the TV screen. "Hello, Dr House! What can we do for you today?"
"And," Wilson gestured slightly with one hand, prompting his friend to continue, "at the other end of the conversation?"
House gave a one-sided shrug in response, carefully avoiding Wilson's intense gaze. "The usual: Heat, ice, rest…" He vaguely gestured towards the sling he had discarded on the coffee table earlier.
Wilson responded with a frustrated sigh. "Sure. It's lying good there. – Very useful." Voice dripping with sarcasm.
"It interferes with me using my cane properly," House stated a little defensively, as if that was a perfectly logical explanation.
Wilson nodded. "Of course! I assume that's what they meant by 'rest'. Holding up 200 pounds with every step you take."
"Which I don't even weigh!" House snorted slightly. "And I'm not walking on my hands, in case you hadn't noticed. "
A minute of silence, then: "So, did they do any imaging at all…? – X-rays? An MRI?"
House's expression shifted momentarily at the question, before quickly returning to impassiveness. "Nope." Tone light.
Wilson frowned at that. "Just tests then? – And what do they think causes the pain, exactly?"
Just another quick half-shrug.
That was enough. "Come on, House... You went there for a reason. You wanted them to treat you! And now you're satisfied with – not even a diagnosis?!"
House didn't return his slightly annoyed gaze. "'Wanted' being the relevant part of your oh-so-insightful analysis."
Wilson shook his head once in puzzlement, gesturing for his friend to elaborate. "And… You don't want that anymore, because…"
House finally turned angry eyes on him. "Because there's probably nothing to be done anyway. Now leave it alone already and shut up."
"Dr House told me he consulted you yesterday." Wilson sternly eyed one of the hospital's physiotherapists.
The younger man nodded with a slight grin. "Yeah. Never thought I'd see the day…"
Wilson raised an eyebrow at that, impatience and irritation written all over his face. "So… What did you say to him?" To the other man's obvious hesitation: "I'm his prescribing physician, as I'm sure you know… So. Talk to me."
The physiotherapist gave a brief nod. "I told him nothing that he couldn't have come up with himself. He needs to rest the arm, avoid excessive strain; and he should try ice and heat, and if either should help the pain, apply it regularly."
The look of irritation solidified on Wilson's face. "So, what's wrong with the shoulder then? – Rotator cuff?"
Just a shrug. "From the very different movements of the arm that were painful during the tests I performed, I'd say it's more than just the rotator cuff. – He's been significantly straining the shoulder for years, and he's not getting any younger... No wonder it's complaining with pain by now." The words were very casual.
"No wonder it's complaining with pain?" Wilson finally echoed dully. "Could you also put that in… I don't know… professional terms maybe?" He sounded incredulous; and pissed. "It would be nice to know, for example, if there's any inflammation. Because that might respond well to anti-inflammatories! – Any of that ring a bell?!"
The physiotherapist just shook his head. "What do you want from me, Dr Wilson? You want me to get an x-ray? Or waste a thousand bucks on an MRI?! Well, I can already tell you what they'd show us: No bone damage, but a lot of worn-off cartilage, probably a messed-up rotator cuff, general wearout of the whole joint. – That's what you get from leaning 90% of your body weight on a limb that's not made to take such a strain, just because your vanity and pride don't allow you to simply use a wheelchair!"
Wilson paled visibly at the cruel words. His voice was carefully controlled when he finally spoke again. "You say any of that to him?"
The younger man just shrugged. "Something like that. Sure. – He's a man of open words himself, isn't he…"
Wilson shook his head, exhaling audibly. "You're an ass. – And you did a lousy job here. I can't believe you'd let a personal disliking cloud your medical judgment like that." No wonder his friend had been so tied-up about the whole issue…
"Oh, come on! It's not as if Dr House is any better with any of his patients."
Wilson's eyes turned hard at that. "At least he'd never deny any of them treatment, which is exactly what you did here. – But at least you got to humiliate him. Must have felt very good to you. Congratulations…"
Two days later, Wilson had joined his friend for a late-night dinner in his office, both of them stuck at the clinic with critical patients. "So…" Wilson opened casually. "How's the shoulder?"
House didn't even look up at him. "How's the compulsory need to care?"
Wilson just smiled slightly at the unusually lame comeback, keeping his eyes fixed on his friend, waiting until the older man reluctantly met his gaze.
"I think I'll live…" Was all he eventually got.
"Okay. And did you get to rest it a little? – Is the pain any better yet?" Wilson finally pressed gently but firmly.
House now turned angry eyes on him. "I'm fine." He sounded completely pissed. So the physiotherapist's words and attitude had hurt him more than Wilson had thought. And probably more than House was comfortable with and would admit to himself…
Wilson was still regarding him calmly. "Can you lift the arm at all?"
House's expression remained angry. "What is this… 20 questions?!" Then he simply continued eating, more mumbling than speaking. "I told you I'm fine. Now drop it already…"
tbc... :)