"You rang?" House asked as he stepped into Wilson's office and sat in the chair across from him.
"Got your labs back. You're anemic," Wilson said passing over the lab sheet.
"Barely," House defended, after glancing at the report.
"You've also lost some weight recently."
"After the lengths I go to to stay pretty for you, you say it like I've done something wrong. Hmmph, I should just let myself go," House said crossing his arms, trying to sound miffed.
"Let yourself go? You roll out of bed and barely run a toothbrush over your teeth as it is. How much further do you really think you have to go?" Wilson asked mockingly before falling back into clinical step. "Have you noticed blood in your stool, or on the toilet paper?"
"Nothing has changed really," House half-mumbled, suddenly fascinated by a spot on the ceiling.
"Uh, was that a yes or a no?"
"Well, sometimes there's a bloody tissue issue when my man throws off his sissy guise and really gives it to me, but you know all about that. Don't you tiger?" House said with a wink and sly smile. "And then of course there's sometimes blood from the roids," he added more quietly.
"Roids? Since when are you on steroids?"
"Don't worry, I'm talking hem-, not ster-. This body is all me. No juice necessary." Of course, Vicodin caused constipation, which caused hemorrhoids. The dots were not hard to connect. Wilson wondered how much of the hostility House was radiating at the moment was aimed at his inability to connect them without making House spell it out for him. How much of his disdain for sharing was because he felt people should already know things without him having to say them? After all, House rarely needed anyone to lay the dots out for him.
"I think you'd better get a colonoscopy," Wilson said getting back to business.
"Why Jimmy? I thought you insisted on no sex or dirty talk at work?" House asked in feigned shock.
"House, this could be serious," Wilson replied sternly.
"Could be, as in, isn't at the moment. So, quickie on the couch?" House asked, playfully raising his eyebrows. He schooled his features back to neutral when he caught sight of just how worried Wilson looked. "Look, there's no family history and you're always pumping me full of fiber. It's probably nothing. Pick your specialist, you pick your disease. Colon cancer is not the only thing that causes anemia Dr. Wilson," House leveled.
"Yes, I'm aware, but it is at the top of the differential for men your age if there's also weight loss and blood in the stool to go along with it Dr. House. I'm scheduling the exam," Wilson said knowing logic was the path to House's acquiescence.
"All right fine. Should be worth a couple of days off. I'm off to save lives," House said rising from his seat. "Catch you later," he tossed over his shoulder while mentally running through a self-differential.
"Oh God, after all the years on the Vicodin I never thought I'd be wishing to stop shitting," House moaned after returning from the bathroom for what felt like the hundredth time.
"Your colon has to be cleared for the exam. Trust me, the prep beats cancer any day."
"I hate to break it to you, but most things beat cancer any day. Being able to sit and watch TV without needing frequent bathroom breaks beats cancer. Sex with you beats cancer. Hell, even working in the clinic beats cancer."
"Okay, I get it," Wilson said raising his hands. "The test is scheduled for first thing in the morning, so it won't be much longer," he said snaking his arm around Houses shoulders. House just nodded and leaned against him.
"Better not be. My stomach's killing me," House said looking decidedly uncomfortable as he rested a hand on the offending organ.
"The solution can make you crampy, but it shouldn't really hurt."
"Yeah well, I guess my digestive tract's as much of a rebel as the rest of me then," House said as he leaned against Wilson.
The colon cleanse was wearing House out. Wilson stroked his hair as he dozed lightly on the couch for a while. Wilson's attention shifted from the television to House when he let out a low moan as he tried to curl around his stomach. He was breathing fast, his face contorted, lines of pain and discomfort running deep, droplets of sweat erupting on his upper lip. "House," Wilson called, growing concerned.
Glistening pools of misery didn't bother looking at Wilson. House quickly pulled away and headed for the bathroom. He had made his way there so many times already that Wilson brushed it off as just more of the same with particularly bad cramps. House didn't make it all the way to the bathroom this time though. Wilson was by his side in an instant when he heard retching from halfway down the hall. He found House on his knees doubled over. Wilson rubbed his back as he vomited. House panted a bit, trying to catch his breath when it finally seemed to be over.
"Looks like we found the cause of the anemia," he declared after studying his vomit. "What a lovely mix of red speckled with coffee ground bits," House said in a strained tone. 'Like abstract art,' he wanted to joke, but the words got lost.
"Looks like it. We better get you to the hospital."
"Hang on, I still have that whole colon cleanse thing going on. I'm gonna need a minute," House said sounding downright pitiful. He was feeling winded just kneeling there.
Wilson nodded sympathetically, wishing there was more he could do. "Let me know when you're ready to move this party to the bathroom," he said continuing to rhythmically rub House's back hoping it helped ease the discomfort at least a little.
Wilson helped House up and shouldered much of his weight as they made their way to the bathroom. He left the door slightly ajar, knowing House valued his privacy, but scared by how pale and light-headed the blood loss had left him. He had looked about ready to pass out. Wilson pushed the door back open as soon as he heard the flush.
House's head hung low. He marveled at how his neck usually managed to hold up such a heavy mass. Keeping his eyes closed did nothing to keep the room from spinning all around him. He couldn't remember air ever posing such resistance to motion before. He just wanted to crawl into bed, under the nice warm blankets, and stay there till he could move again. His bed fantasies were rudely interrupted when he felt his mouth fill with fluid. He swallowed thickly.
"Up," he said in a tone he hoped expressed urgency. He was relieved to feel Wilson's arms around him. There was no way he was staying vertical on his own. The nausea became overwhelming as soon as he stood. He had hoped to make it to the toilet this time, but the sink was closer. He leaned heavily against it vomiting up more blood and coffee grounds.
"We've got to get you to the hospital House. Do you think you can make it to the car?" Wilson asked, turning the water on in the sink.
"Only one way to find out," House said wiping his face, still leaning on the sink.
"Okay, you let me know when you're ready. I'm going to go grab the keys and wallets, and a sweatshirt for you, you're shivering. Do you need anything else?"
House immediately regretted shaking his head. It seemed to send the spin of the room into hyperdrive. He let out an involuntary groan as everything around him dissolved into streaks of colors that swirled together. His legs felt like pulled taffy. He imagined this was how Gumby felt.
Wilson looked over at him and decided that there was in fact no way he was going to make it to the car. He put his hands around House's chest to help prop him up and began to ease him off the sink. "Come on House, stay with me. Let's get you sitting so you don't fall down. Okay? Just lean on me."
The tug toward unconsciousness was strong. House let Wilson guide him, move him. He was sitting on the toilet again. Wilson was talking, but it sounded like a soft indistinct rumble. Wilson dialed 911 and requested an ambulance. He then went to grab their things and leave the door open for the paramedics.
House was doubled over with one hand on his right thigh when Wilson returned. He wore a glazed, pained look. "Don't want to hear it," he whispered with venom that defied his weakness.
Wilson wrapped the zip-up fleece he had brought around House wondering what he had done to offend now. "I didn't say anything," he said cautiously as he guided House's arms into the sleeves. He was glad to see House was conscious even if he wasn't quite with it.
"Yeah, but you're thinking how this is another sign that I don't take care of myself. No doubt you'll relate it to Evil Vicodin somehow. Super Jimmy, hands on the hips, must vanquish Vicodin. Vicodin's a hero too you know. The pain's the villain. You'd need a superhero team too if you knew the pain. You should be the justice league with the Vicodin…din, din, Gunga din," House babbled for a moment before he caught himself.
"Hey, hey, I'm always on your team House," Wilson soothed, adjusting the pressure of the long even strokes he was making up and down House's thigh.
House wore the look of a lost child when he opened his eyes again. "Weren't we supposed to go somewhere?" he questioned.
"Yeah, the hospital. We're still going. An ambulance is on its way," Wilson said in as calm a tone as he could manage. It was unnerving to see House so confused, but he knew it was normal considering how much blood House had lost and the added fluid loss from the colon cleanse.
House grunted in response, too nauseated and weak to talk more. He slouched heavily in the seat, leaning against Wilson who was kneeling in front of him. Wilson couldn't help but think about what House had said. He had never intended to make House feel he was working against him, but then again, his righteousness had been predicated on the assumption that he knew what was best. He began to wonder what he could do to make things better, but his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the paramedics.
"House the paramedics are here, we're going to move you now, okay?" he asked loudly, but House didn't seem to understand. "We're in here," he then shouted to the paramedics. "He's had two episodes of hematemesis, red with some coffee ground characteristics, still nauseated and not very responsive. Also, on a colon prep solution, which is no doubt adding to the hypovolemia," Wilson rattled off as the paramedics strapped House into the gurney. Once they were inside the ambulance, Wilson pulled his cell phone back out to call Cuddy. He knew the paramedics were radioing into the ER, but he figured it couldn't hurt to get the Dean of Medicine to move things along. He wanted to make sure they had type specific blood and a GI attending on hand when they arrived. He didn't even want to think of what House would say if he let a lowly fellow consult on his case.
House had vomited again in the ambulance, losing any tenuous grasp he had on consciousness. As soon as they arrived at the hospital, he was infused with blood and taken for an endoscopy.
The first thing House was aware of was the burning in his throat the second was Wilson's hand around his.
"Hey, how are you feeling?" Wilson asked when he saw House's eyes peak open
"Like shit, so better. Whole red blood, does a body good. Ulcers?" House painfully rasped.
"Yeah, two, cauterized without complication. Probably NSAID-induced," Wilson said emphasizing NSAID, as he placed ice chips in House's mouth.
"Oh, so they're your fault," House slurred slightly as he tried to shake off the sedatives.
"My fault?" Wilson questioned.
"Hugs before drugs," House said cryptically, forming his right hand into a limp fist before falling asleep again.
It took him a minute, but Wilson connected the dots on his own this time. He asked House to cut back on the Vicodin. House was using NSAIDs to help him do that. He continued to hold House's hand as he slept and contemplated how to set things right.
House awoke about an hour later, much more alert than he had been before. In that time, Wilson had made a decision. He turned over House's care to Cuddy and the other doctors. He couldn't be the doctor worried about medication side effects and other health issues and the concerned, caring, supportive boyfriend at the same time. House was right, at times it made it seem like Wilson wasn't on his side, and he didn't want that. House needed both a pain management specialist and his partner.
"Hey," Wilson greeted him with a smile. "You look better."
"Still feel like crap," House groused.
"You sound like it too. Why didn't you tell me?" Wilson knew he didn't need to offer House any dots.
"Wanted to know I could do it first. It didn't work. NSAIDs didn't do enough to let me back off the Vicodin dose much," House said sounding defeated. "Ulcers are a great consolation prize though," he added bitterly.
"I was thinking we should set you up with a pain specialist. I don't think I should be your prescribing doc anymore, especially, given our relationship," Wilson said handing House a glass of water. "I'm sorry I made you feel like I was against you."
House tiredly considered this new development as the cool liquid eased the conflagration in his throat.
"Can we still play doctor?" he asked handing back the water.
"Sure," Wilson replied hopefully.
"Fine," House said with nod. "Oh Doctor, I'm so cold. Surely, there's something you could do to keep me warm?"
"Yes!" Wilson said enthusiastically with a finger pointed toward the ceiling. "I think I know just the treatment," he added as he climbed into the hospital bed.
"Thanks, for you know," House gestured vaguely to indicate an all-encompassing appreciation, as Wilson held him close.
"Hey, hugs before drugs, right?" Wilson said holding up a fist.
"Hugs before drugs?" House questioned with a smirk. "You are so lame," House smiled oblivious to the fact that Wilson was merely echoing his earlier statement.
"Just call me Dr. Dork," Wilson said grinning to himself.
"That is so not sexy," House said closing his eyes. "You suck at playing doctor," he added as he drifted back to sleep.