House came home from one of his rare hard days of work. He wanted nothing more then to lie down in bed and hibernate for six months. When he entered his bedroom, however, he found Wilson curled on his side, shaking violently. Wilson was supposed to be on a flight to an oncologist convention. He'd stayed on House's couch because this apartment was closer to the airport. Somehow, Wilson had found his way to House's bed, and then proceeded to puke all over himself and the sheets.
Contrary to popular belief, House didn't mind doing nice things for people; he just didn't want people to know about it. He limped to the edge of the bed. "Come on, Jimmy, let's get you cleaned up." Wilson only babbled incoherently in reply. House sat Wilson up so he was leaning on House's good side. Wilson wrapped his arm around the back of House's neck. Leaning heavily on his cane, House dragged Wilson to the bathroom.
Once he got Wilson situated on the toilet so he wouldn't fall off, House went into the bedroom and grabbed an old t- shirt and sweats. He heard a thump coming from the bathroom and raced there as fast as his bad leg could carry him. Wilson had fallen off despite House's precautions. Sighing, House picked Wilson up off the floor, his leg screaming at him, then took off Wilson's dirty clothes, and replaced them with the sweats.
Wearily, House dragged Wilson to the couch in the living room. It was now midnight. House placed a trashcan near Wilson's mouth for the inevitable puking to follow and a cool washcloth on his forehead. Wilson was drifting in and out of consciousness. House didn't mind this because that meant Wilson wouldn't remember his niceness and concern, and he could avoid hours of mocking later.
During one of his conscious stints, Wilson became particularly stubborn. Doctors are always the worst patients. They believe they are impervious to sickness. Wilson's eyes fluttered open, taking in his surroundings. Then he remembered the conference. He needed to be there, and as soon as possible.
House saw that Wilson was struggling to sit up. "Jimmy, unless you're headed to the bathroom you are not allowed to move," House said softly. Previously, this was all he had to say before Wilson slumped back on the couch, unconscious again. But Wilson continued, not registering what he said. Smirking, stepped into his path and repeated himself.
"Gotta go to the oncol-," Wilson slurred, stopping abruptly as House pushed him back on the couch. Exasperated and frustrated with his weakness, Wilson took to yelling. "House get out of my way, I'm fine." He quickly stood up, swaying a little, and took a defiant step toward House. Then, a look of humiliation passing over his features, he reached for the trashcan and heaved. House just laughed. "Go back to sleep, Jimmy."
A day later Wilson was able to stay awake for more then two minutes at a time, and House was relieved. He hadn't gotten any sleep in 24 hours, and Wilson was finally getting better. That meant he could sleep. Having just taken Wilson to the bathroom, (he still couldn't walk) House collapsed on the bed, sleeping as soon as his head hit the pillow.
The next day, Wilson insisted he should go home. Reluctantly, House agreed. Wilson already thought he was caring too much, and that scared him.
FIN