The signs presented themselves from the second he woke up today. First, the tenderness of his right temple. He had pushed and rotated the skin, convincing himself that the discomfort was his body's request for coffee. Then, there was a dull aching behind his ear that a hot shower didn't alleviate.
Wilson doesn't get migraines very often, but when he does, they are nothing short of awful.
Twenty minutes into the this morning's board meeting (what the hell did Vogler want this time?) and a raging, pulsing ache begins seeping across the right side of his head like a smashed egg yolk – except the egg was actually more like a brick.
The mental image of egg yolks triggers the swell of nausea. He tries to signal to Cuddy, but she's too busy fussing with her Power Blazer of the day. He needs to get out. "Excuse me, I'm feeling awful," he blurts out, then promptly rushes out and to the safety of his office.
The second he sits down, there's bile in his throat. He grabs the trash can and breakfast sails in, joining some crumpled papers and a banana peel. Embarrassed and in pain, he slumps forward and presses his head to the wooden desk, hoping the migraine magically subsides.
Cuddy picks that moment to march in.
"Just what the hell do you think you're doing? You can't go and play hooky because you hate Vogler and you and House want to show him who's…." She looks around for Wilson's partner in crime, but House is nowhere to be found. She finally uncrosses her arms when her furrowed brow meets his defeated look.
"You ever get migraines, Cuddy?" Wilson tries his best to look smug through the pain.
Immediately, the lines in her forehead soften. "Oh, James," she mutters, giving a look that conveys a mixture of sympathy and 'what am I going to do with you?' In a flash, she strides across the room and draws the blinds. "Can you make it to the couch?" she asks.
"Floor," is the response.
"You're being ridiculous. It's two feet away. Don't make me drag you there," Cuddy warns, but he knows it's an empty threat.
"Sounds torturous," he mumbles.
Cuddy laughs. "Well, your sarcasm's intact. I need to get back…but I'll come back soon," she promises.
Half an hour later, she pokes her head in. He's curled on the couch now, though the pain is so mind-blowing he doesn't remember how he made it there. He manages a smile when he sees she's bearing two much-needed gifts: a dose of Imitrex and a tall glass of water. The medicine does not relieve the pain, but it will change his perception of it.
She sits gingerly on the arm of the couch and offers the pill. "Take this. In an hour your head will be numb and you'll feel a little goofy, but you won't have a care in the world."
"Getting delightfully high might be the only upside of a migraine," he says, managing a grin. He shifts, propping himself up enough to take the medicine and drain the glass. He sets the glass on the floor and slumps over again, rubbing his temples, desperate for relief.
He's expecting for Cuddy to rush off again, but she doesn't stand up. Instead, she smiles down at him. It feels strangely wonderful when she starts stroking his hair. But it could be the meds. It's probably the meds. But maybe not…
He's trying not to think about Cuddy and what it might be like to run a hand through those curls, when his door flies open. It's House, looking eager to share something that probably could get the both of them in trouble.
"Clinic. Exam room three. You are not going to believe – good God!" A mixture of shock and disgust spreads onto House's face. "I didn't know you were into devil worship, Jimmy," he says, pointing his cane at Cuddy.
"House," Wilson begins reproachfully, but Cuddy jumps in: "Can it, House. He has a migraine."
"Ah. Luckily, you remembered that fawning all over him and stroking his sweet little forehead was an instant cure for migraines. A bit whorish, but in the name of medicine…" House leans on his cane, now looking absolutely delighted to have stumbled upon the scene.
She stands up and Wilson swears she looks a little guilty. "No, I prescribed him an Imitrex. Leave him alone. The two of you can gawk at some hot clinic patient some other time."
"Oh yeah, poor Wilson," House replies. When Cuddy's back is turned, House winks at his best friend and mouths "you love it" as Cuddy ushers him out.
Correction: there are two upsides to a migraine. Wilson settles back on the couch with contented smile and a head that's tingling from her touch as Cuddy departs, giving him one more little smile before she closes his door.