240 Milligrams
"Come on, come on," Wilson muttered softly under his breath, willing the line to hurry with their orders. It was freezing at the outside PPTH coffee cart and he had work to do. And didn't anyone ever get just a cup of coffee anymore? Why was every order a time consuming, soy milk, no fat, peppermint flavored drink.
Holiday music blared as the pneumatic doors opened to let in the morning's first clinic patients. Wilson turned up his collar to block his ears. He didn't dislike holiday music; he was actually quite fond of the more recent Irving Berlin stuff, but right now it only served as a reminder of what was to come – a solid week of non-stop holiday illnesses and injuries. And that was just the clinic. His own practice would be unusually difficult as well. Lonely cancer patients on the ward, excited sick children who refused to stay in their beds, outpatients who foolishly mixed alcohol – and God only knew what else - with their meds, and panicked phone calls from people who discovered a possible cancer symptom while their regular doctor was on vacation to the Caribbean.
Wilson sighed and shoved his hands even deeper into his warm coat pockets.
"Morning Doc, what'll be today?"
"An extra large coffee, please."
The ironically named Joe smiled at Wilson from behind his fancy cappuccino machine and took a tall paper cup from a nearby stack. Wilson gave him a half hearted grin in return. Finally, some decent coffee - much better than the the two cups of House's hastily brewed coffee that he had drank upon waking that morning. He had always been a tea drinker, but ever since House had moved in permanently he had switched to the other man's preference. And damn if House wasn't right – within a few weeks he had succumbed to the superior firepower of coffee. He reached out and took the cup with a nod of thanks. Finally he was ready to face the coming day. He turned and headed into the hospital and a poorly done jazz rendition of " O' Come All ye Faithful".
570mg
It was barely ten a.m. and Wilson was already pinching the bridge of his nose. Even he knew that was a bad sign. Apparently Cuddy agreed, for every time he stepped out of an exam room to fetch another folder from the nurses' station, she shot him a sympathetic look.
Cuddy was working clinic duty alongside Wilson, as was Taub, and every other non-Christian doctor in the hospital, trying to cut a three day swath of personal time so that their colleagues could travel over Christmas with their families.
Wilson would never say anything aloud, but it annoyed him. He had to find his own replacement for clinic duty if he wanted any Jewish holidays off. Not that he ever did, but it was the principle of the thing. He knew several of his fellow physicians, who he was certain were atheists, were still taking the three days off. And what about the agnostics, he thought grumpily? Why hadn't Cuddy set up a rotating year on, year off, schedule for those wafflers?
But what bugged him more than anything else was the incredibly stupid, and completely preventable, injuries that presented themselves this time of year. Who in their right mind would spray pine tree scent into their mouth for fresher breath anyway? He filed that particular patient's story away in his mind on his growing list of "Stories to Tell House Over Lunch."
House on the other hand had started his day in the clinic but had quickly plucked out a particularly interesting case – a man who fell off his roof while stringing lights and was now convinced he was Santa Claus. Wilson doubted it was anything but a level three concussion, but House had insisted that the MRI showed no brain trauma and the man's cognitive skills were intact. House had plucked the patient out of the hands of the psych ward orderly sent to retrieve him and had spirited him up to Diagnostics. Wilson hadn't seen or heard from his friend since.
If he knew House, and he did, he was probably making up naughty and nice lists with the man over a game of cards and a drink of Wilson's good scotch from his bottom drawer. Leave it to House to get out of clinic duty with the help of Santa Claus.
He was about to grab his next patient's file from the waiting area when a warm paper cup was pushed into his hand. He turned to see Cuddy smiling at him.
"It's tea. I thought it might give you a lift."
The thoughtful gestured lifted his spirits a bit and he smiled at her. "Want to really lift my spirits?"
"Let you out of here?" she queried with a raise of her eyebrow.
"How'd you know?" Wilson sighed.
"Because I feel that way too. And so does every doctor here today."
"House is playing with Santa Claus right now….,"
Cuddy interrupted him with a smile ghosting her lips, "I don't want to know who or what House is playing with…"
"….and I'm on my eighteenth clinic patient," he finished without acknowledging the amusement in Cuddy's voice.
Cuddy frowned. "You're certainly crankier than usual today. And as for House, my feeling is we," and she pointed around the clinic area, "may be better off without him here anyway. He is not exactly Mr. Holiday Cheer."
Wilson drank off the first few inches of the tea. It was warm and sweet. "Someday I would like to be the one who is not wanted around here," he muttered.
Cuddy looked him over carefully and finally nodded her head understandingly. "I know, Wilson. I'm sick of the Christmas season, too. It just goes on and on..."
Wilson put a hand up to forestall her coming lecture. "It's not that; it's nothing in particular. I'm just tired. And yeah, maybe a little cranky. House has been keeping me up at nights with his guitar playing and I just barely managed to finish the gift buying for my family, and now there's all the gift buying for friends and staff and …well, you know." He trailed off without adding that his ex-wives used to take care of that sort of thing for him.
"Drink your tea," she said softly and grabbed her own next file. Wilson took her advice.
630mg
At lunch Wilson sat alone in a booth, the staff cafeteria nearly empty except for the food service workers decked out in elf hats, green sweaters, and candy cane pins that appeared to move when he stared at them. Holiday tunes buzzed in the background, the words indistinct and garbled in his ears, worsening a developing headache.
Having finished his own soda, Wilson was well along drinking the one he'd bought for House, who hadn't shown. He pushed the now cold double serving of fries away from him. House's patient had either crashed or developed some new, intriguing symptom. Perhaps the man thought he was a reindeer now? The thought made Wilson chuckle. He decided he would stop by and visit with House after his own patient rounds this afternoon - he really could use a shared laugh to help him shake this growing felling of discontentment.
He looked for a bit at the snow scene that was painted on the cafeteria's oversized windows. Children on sleds and snowmen abounded, as did large intricately drawn snowflakes. As he stared at the scene more intensely, losing himself in the white paint and the silver glitter, the glass wall seemed to come alive, the snow moving and buckling, the sleds tumbling and the flakes growing larger and smaller in turn.
Wilson shook his head and refocused his eyes; the movement ceased. He sighed and promised himself to try to find a way to get some proper sleep tonight.
He then took a sip on his straw, realized he had reached the bottom, and replaced his second empty cup on the tray before clearing it.
830mg
Arriving in his office, Wilson found a red gift bag on his desk - his day's Secret Santa gift. He dug under the tissue paper and pulled out a large bag of dark chocolate covered espresso beans. Wilson opened the package and popped a few into his mouth. Chocolate was known to boost serotonin levels. Maybe this would be the pickup he needed. If nothing else, there was always the sugar high.
They were quite tasty; much better than the soggy fries that he had left on his plate at lunch. He was hungry and these were doing the trick. He tossed a few more into his mouth and stuffed the bag into his pocket. Then he headed out of the office to his rounds.
The oncology ward was not the cheeriest place to be over the holidays, but a visitor would never guess that from the decorations. The nursing staff had gone all out in an attempt to bring the holiday spirit to their patients. Tinsel and garland hung from both ceiling and walls, each area station sported a fully decked out tree; while the nursing staff wore red elf hats.
Wilson stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a few more chocolate beans and threw them into his mouth, and then repeated the action. He was about to toss a third handful when two giggling nursing students approached him and offered him an elf hat. Wilson smiled and accepted, letting the girls place the hat on his head. He offered them a few beans in thanks while the nearby nurses cheered him. He blushed, feeling more like himself than he had all day. Smiling now with his new found enthusiasm for the season, Wilson began his rounds.
In each room he greeted his patients and their family members, checked charts and gratefully accepted candy and chocolate treats of all kinds.
After an hour or so of checking up on his patients, an odd sensation began to overtake him. It wasn't a particularly unpleasant feeling, just unusual. He felt somehow disassociated from his body, not quite like being drunk, or high, more like the feeling that sometimes developed with a fever – he could hear himself answering patients' questions and making small talk, but it seemed to him that it was someone else who was speaking. When the words on the charts began to swim in his vision he decided to finish up as quickly as possible and return to the main nurses' station, where he quickly signed off on the day's prescriptions.
1225mg
Wilson got off the elevators and stepped into House's conference room. Empty. He peered through the glass wall and then out to the balcony. Both were empty as well. House had probably tired of Santa Claus, dropped him off at the psych ward, and gone home. Wilson wished he could do the same.
A wave of nausea and dizziness washed over him. He sat down and leaned his head against the cool glass table top until the feeling subsided.
After a while Wilson lifted his head from the table, rubbed a hand across his eyes and yawned. Damn House and that stupid guitar. And what was with all the Jim Morrison guitar solos at 2:00am? Maybe House didn't need to be actually awake to practice medicine, but he did. He hadn't been this sleep deprived since his residency.
From his seat at the table Wilson spied a set of brightly colored cans next to the coffee maker. On close inspection they turned out to be energy drinks, probably belonging to Chase. Normally he avoided stuff like this, but right now he could really use a bit of a charge.
He popped the top of one and drank it down, slipping the second one into his lab coat pocket. Chase wouldn't notice, and if he did, he'd probably blame House. Wilson chuckled at the thought.
He was just turning to leave when Taub entered the office.
"What is it about Christmas lights that make people think electricity is no longer dangerous ?" Taub asked. He had apparently just gotten off of clinic duty.
Wilson chuckled. "Probably the same thing that convinces people that alcohol is no longer alcohol when mixed with eggnog."
Taub nodded. "Have you seen House? He's been looking for you ever since Santa got on his reindeer and flew home."
"House let the guy leave?"
"Nope, Santa made a run for the balcony," Taub paused and pointed towards the conference room's window, "His invisible sled had apparently arrived. House managed to hook him with the cane and tackle him. Now he's flying Ativan style in the psyche ward."
Wilson nodded which sent a shooting pain through his head. He winced.
"Headache?" Taub asked, offering a couple of round white tablets from a small plastic container.
The pills swam before Wilson's eyes. "What are they?"
"Just over the counter Excedrin; Cuddy's giving them out like candy to any staff member that starts rubbing their forehead. Or complaining. She gave me an entire bottle." Taub's eyes twinkled with mirth.
Wilson thanked him and made his way out of the office, but not before misjudging the door frame and bashing his right shoulder. Taub reached into his pocket and handed Wilson two more tablets. "Here, you're gonna need more."
Wilson made it the rest of the way to his office without incident, eased himself down into his chair, popped open the second energy drink and downed it with Taub's four pills.
After a few minutes he got back up and set out to find House.
1627mg
Wilson walked the halls of PPTH, peeking into rooms, closets and other known hiding places for House. He steadied himself with a hand along the wall. He was seeing things that he didn't think he was supposed to be seeing; catching flashes of light or movement from the corner of his eyes, but when he turned there was never anything there.
Sound was playing its own game with him as well; ringing noises in his ears that at first he took for distant holiday bells, but he finally noticed never seemed to get any closer nor farther away.
Wilson suspected this was all part of a coming migraine. He paused to rub his eyes, and saw sparkling fireworks behind his closed lids, colors in intricate patterns. It was a kaleidoscope that could be seen only by him. He smiled, feeling a sudden unexplainable burst of energy. He opened his eyes and saw spots of colors dancing before him to the low tinkling bell sounds playing in his ears. How lovely and seasonal, he mused. He followed his personal dancing dots down towards the lobby, his search for House now forgotten.
As he made his way down the steps to the walkway just above the entrance, the lobby opened before him. The lights overhead and sun sparkling off the snow outdoors intensified the light show. The gold and silver garland that hung from the ceiling drew his eyes upward. The large open room was simply dazzling. Why had he not noticed this before?
He walked over to the railing's edge and watched a man on a nearby ladder attach a sparkling snowflake. After a while the man descended and walked off with the ladder, and Wilson was hit with a sudden and uncontrollable urge to touch the glittering flake. Would it reflect the same way in his hand? Could he actually feel the glittering sensation? Was such a thing possible? Suddenly he had to know.
He reached his hand out, but he was several feet short of his target no matter how hard he stretched. He pushed himself up a bit so that his stomach leaned against the metal bar that topped the Plexiglas rail but he still couldn't reach. Finally, he managed to get a single knee on the bar, and steadying himself with his right arm, successfully reached out to the hanging ornament with his left.
He had just gotten a good grip on the snowflake when he heard a voice from the lobby shout, "Hey, you, get off that railing!" It was the man with the ladder.
Wilson ignored him and pulled the flake closer to himself. The garland that attached it to the ceiling glittered with the reflected ceiling lights as he moved it his way.
As he rubbed the flake gently between his fingers, an odd sensation permeated his entire body. Some sort of vibration. Was it the snowflake? His thoughts were interrupted by another voice from below. This time it was Cuddy's.
"Wilson, what are you doing?"
He ignored her and ran his hand around all sides of the large silver snowflake. His hand was shaking now, but he couldn't be certain if it was his body or the snowflake causing it.
"Wilson! Are you all right? Come off the railing, it's dangerous. Please!"
He ignored her again. It seemed to work as he finally heard her walking away and he was left in peace.
Happily no one bothered him again and he was free to run his fingers over the snowflake undisturbed. It was nice up here on the empty walkway, in own little world; everyone else seemed so far away. The holiday music seemed to disappear, too, leaving only his own personal soft tinnitus. The air up here felt different somehow, cooler, and if possible, gentler.
After a short while he looked around at the other glistening decorations nearby, and decided they were worth exploring as well. He reached out from his perch towards a nearby dangling snowman when a deep, forceful voice from the lobby cut through the ringing in his head.
"Don't."
He paused, then reached out again. "I said no."
He knew that voice. House.
Wilson looked down to see both House and Cuddy staring up at him. Cuddy's arms were folded, House leaned on his cane, head back and his eyes blazing with something - either anger or amusement, Wilson couldn't make it out from this distance.
"Wilson," Cuddy shouted, "please get off that railing!"
Wilson looked only at House. He felt very strange. One part of him was dizzy and tired and wanted to come down, but another wanted nothing more than to stay where he was and continue exploring the lights that sparkled around him. He chose to simply stay in place.
House broke eye contact and limped over to the reception station. He took the PA mike. "House to Elf Wilson, step away from the railing. Repeat, step away from the railing." Several people in the lobby chuckled.
Wilson smiled and put his hand to his head. He had forgotten about the hat. He took it off and rubbed his fingers over the soft velvet and around the white trim. It was extremely soft and felt wonderful between his fingers, which trembled slightly as he rubbed the fur edging.
He removed his other hand from the metal railing to replace the hat on his head with both hands, when suddenly his balance faltered. He teetered on the brink of falling forward before catching himself, the hat falling down to the lobby floor below. He hung onto the railing edge tightly, his eyes now closed and a wave of dizziness coming over him.
House was back below him. "Wilson, get off there. Now."
Wilson waited a few moments before opening his eyes, but when he did the dizziness had passed. He straightened himself back up, took a firm grip on the rail, and once again reached out for the snowman.
"I'm fine up here," he stated simply.
Cuddy and House both stared at him for a long moment. Then he heard House growl, "Get a couple of orderlies." He turned and limped away. A moment later Cuddy left too.
Wilson reached into his pocket and popped the last handful of the chocolate covered beans into his mouth and went back to investigating his snowman.
1652mg
The orderlies were not very gentle. They held him tightly as they led him down the hallway, ignoring the odd looks of passersby. Wilson argued with them the entire way, but they barely acknowledged him. When they arrived at a room off the ER, they deposited him onto a bed, attached Velcro restraints to his wrists and removed his shoes and belt. They waited until House arrived with Taub in tow before existing. Taub was dragging the white board. He gave Wilson a wink and a smile while House glared at him.
"You better have a head wound."
"My head's fine".
"Sure it is, Mr. Snowflake."
At that moment Cuddy entered with an ER doctor. Wilson pulled at the restraints and demanded they be removed. "You have no right to do this. I didn't give my consent," he shouted at them.
House scoffed at this. "You lost the ability to give consent the moment you starting fondling that snowflake. If you were that desperate…"
The ER doctor interrupted. "I could give him a sedative."
"No! We have no idea what turned him into Jack Frost. If he's ingested a poison, a sedative could create further toxicity. Maybe, doctor, you should go check his symptoms on WebMD while the rest of us figure out what actually is wrong with him?"
Cuddy walked around behind Wilson and began to gently examine his head in search of a contusion. "My head's fine. I would have remembered hitting it," he complained in a tone that didn't sound very much like himself, even to his own ears.
Taub suddenly piped up, "He did hit his shoulder pretty hard in the conference room on the doorframe. He also said he had a headache right before that. I gave him four Excedrin." House began scribbling on the white board.
Irrationality
Headache
Tremors
Loss of depth perception
Possible memory loss
The ER doctor, whose name Wilson could not recall at this moment, clipped a pulse oximeter to his finger. A moment later Taub added elevated heart rate to the white board.
Wilson tried again to convince someone to free him from the restraints. But they were all talking among themselves now and no one was listening to him. He heard someone, Taub perhaps, suggest a CAT scan. He shouted again that his head was fine. Why would no one listen?
A moment later House was shaking his shoulders. He opened his eyes to see everyone staring down at him. He had apparently fallen asleep, or perhaps fainted. Their concerned looks caused a surge of annoyance and he decided to go on the defensive again.
"Can't I get some rest?" he snapped angrily. From the corner of his eye he saw Taub add mood swings and fainting to the list.
House look a penlight and shined it in Wilson's eyes; Wilson tried to turn his head away but Cuddy held him in place. She was either surprisingly strong or he was surprisingly weak.
"Add dilated pupils to the list and muscle weakness," House ordered. He looked down at Wilson, his eyes piercing him. "What was it? What did you take? Come on Wilson, spill. Cuddy here won't hold it against you; you wouldn't believe the drugs I saw her do at Michigan."
Cuddy reached across Wilson and gave House a half hearted slap on the arm. Then she looked down at Wilson too. Her smiling face swam before his eyes. "He's right, you can tell us. I'll make sure there are no professional...complications," she assured him.
Wilson closed his eyes as a wave of nausea suddenly surged in him. He began to gag and Cuddy quickly turned his head to the side. He vomited on the floor next to the bed, with House limping out of the way just in time. The mostly brown liquid spewed forth in a nearly two foot arc. It continued on for several long seconds before petering out in a last gurgle.
"Wow, that was impressive," said House eying the floor. "Now all we have to do is find the 666 birthmark and an exorcist and we're all set."
"We could see if Chase is available," said Taub cheerfully, as he added vomiting to the list.
To Wilson, House only said, "You're damn lucky that missed my sneakers."
"Sorry," muttered Wilson, who suddenly felt a bit better, except for the terrible taste in his mouth.
House bent down out of Wilson's view and popped back up a moment later with a small brown bit in his hand. He held it to his nose and sniffed.
"Were you eating coffee beans?"
Wilson ignored House.
"Damn it Wilson, we're trying to help here!"
"Take these restraints off!" he demand in response. But talking tasted terrible, so he turned his head to the side and tried licking the pillow to get the vomit taste off his tongue.
House produced a lollipop from his pocket and waved it tantalizingly before Wilson's eyes. Wilson lifted his upper body from the bed but House stepped back. Wilson sighed and laid his head back onto the pillow. "They weren't plain beans. They were…were…," suddenly Wilson couldn't quite remember what they were. Something in a bag. "My pocket," was all he could think to say.
House reached into Wilson's lab coat and pulled out the bag. He looked to the floor and back to the bag and back down to the floor. His eyes lit up.
"Hey, WebMD," he barked, "find out how much caffeine is in a bag of this stuff." He threw the bag at the attending physician, "and while you're at it, check how much caffeine is in four Excedrin."
Then he ordered Taub, "Write this down…two cups of home brewed coffee, 80mgs each."
He leaned over Wilson, "Okay, Caffeine Boy, what else did you drink today that's part of the liquid brown food group?"
Wilson struggled to remember. "Two sodas at lunch, I think. You didn't show," he added as way of explanation.
"Yeah, Santa and I were going over my wish list. I didn't want any misunderstandings this year." In a whisper he added, "The last one turned out to be a man."
Wilson chuckled and the bad taste came flooding back. "Lollipop?" he asked, trying to sound conciliatory. He had given up fighting the restraints. If anything he found it was relieving his shaking. All he really wanted now was to be rid of this awful taste.
House shook his head. "Not until I get my answer. What else did you drink today?"
Cuddy piped up next. "He had a large coffee from Joe's cart when he came in this morning. And I gave him a large black tea."
"Okay Taub, that's 330mg from the legalized drug cart and another 60 from the Dean of Caffeine."
WebMD returned a moment later. "Two fifty for the chocolate espresso beans and 260 total for the Excedrin."
The mention of the Excedrin jarred Wilson memory. His mind was clearing a bit now, and he realized what was going on as well as House did. How could he have been so stupid? Was he really in danger? The vomiting must have helped a bit. The shaking seemed to be subsiding as well. Still, he knew little of the exact medical details of caffeine poisoning.
"House, a deal?"
"What kind of deal?"
"You get me a drink of water and that stupid lollipop and I'll tell you everything else I ate and drank." He knew he would tell House anyway. And House probably knew it too, but he got the drink and the candy. Wilson then instructed Taub to add two energy drinks and various chocolate treats to the board. He pointedly ignored both House's and Cuddy's frowns.
"That's all I can remember," he mumbled around the pop's stick.
"Okay Taub, do what your people do best and add it all up."
Taub ignored the dig and wrote the total in big numerals – 1657.
"We consider 1700 milligrams a potential life threatening overdose in a standard sized man," WebMD offered. "Of course it depends on the rate of absorption and the level of caffeine tolerance."
House pegged her with a glare and Wilson was glad it was someone else's turn for a change. "He has no tolerance and his stomach was empty of food. Or would you like to take another look at the liquid vomit all over the floor?"
WebMD continued on as if House hadn't said anything at all; apparently she was familiar with him. "We should do a toxicity test. If his serum levels are dropping then we can just monitor him and give him intravenous fluids. Perhaps something to counteract the caffeine so we can get that heart rate down and he can get some rest."
Wilson wanted desperately to rest. He had spent the day physically exhausted but his mind had been operating on a separate plane. Now that the two might soon be united, all he wanted to do was to be able to close his eyes and drift off in peace.
He allowed a nurse to draw some blood from his arm and they all watched in silence as an orderly cleaned up the mess on the floor. Taub offered to help get the results back more quickly and departed with a wave towards Wilson.
Alone with House and Cuddy, Wilson apologized for the trouble he had caused. Cuddy stroked his arm briefly and then her face turned serious. "You owe me 12 clinic hours. Four for the ones you will miss tomorrow and an extra eight for the trouble you caused."
Wilson nodded. She then reached down and undid the restraints. House scoffed. "You should leave them on. It would serve him right. A doctor who can't tell he's overdosing himself."
"Yes, House, imagine that, a doctor who doesn't know when he is overdosing." She gave him a pointed look.
House shrugged, "I knew I was overdosing. I didn't stop, but at least I knew."
Cuddy rolled her eyes and smiled at Wilson. He returned the smile. Moments later he felt an IV being inserted. He looked over and saw WebMD attach an IV warmer to the bag and adjust the fluid monitor slightly. Then she gave him a pat on the arm and walked away. Seconds later a warm liquid entered his veins; his eyes closed on him as he drifted off to sleep.
0 mg.
Wilson looked up as a harried Cuddy entered his office. He then glanced quickly over at his watch.
"I'm late for clinic duty! Damn. Sorry about that; I was just trying to catch up on my files."
"I wish we could spare you, but we need you down there. It's not even noon yet and we've had half a dozen cases of food poisoning, several alcohol poisonings, and one mistletoe accident."
Wilson opened his mouth to ask, but then though better of it. What people did with their mistletoe wasn't his to question. He just patched them up and put them back out there.
As he put his lab coat on he noticed Cuddy looking him over carefully.
"I'm fine. All better. The headaches are easing and I think my body's almost rid of the last of it. Another week and I should be able to wake up in the mornings without my brain demanding the stuff."
"So you're completely done with coffee?"
"My caffeine privileges have been revoked."
"You had caffeine privileges?"
"Apparently."
Cuddy smiled. "You could always get Joe to deal you some, under the table of course."
"Joe, the cafeteria ladies, and the every Starbucks within twelve miles of our place has been threatened. All chocolate is out too. I think I overheard House warning a vending machine the other day not to sell me anything with caffeine."
Cuddy chuckled and the two of them made their way out of his office. She left him in the hallway with a wave and headed into House's office. As he waited for the elevator he put his hand in his lab coat pocket and pulled out a small, dark brown, chocolate-covered espresso bean.
He rolled it in between his fingers for a moment and then grinned to himself. With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure House wasn't coming out of his office, he popped the thing into his mouth and turned back towards the elevator. The elevator door stood wide open in front of him with House leaning on his cane, glaring.
"House...I thought you were with Cuddy."
"And I thought you were staying away from caffeine. I guess we were both wrong."
"It was just one chocolate. One tiny chocolate."
House stepped out of the elevator and directly into Wilson's space, forcing Wilson to take a step back. "And that was just one tiny overdose, right?"
Wilson felt his own left hand try to reach back to rub his neck. He shoved his hand into his lab coat pocket instead and forced himself to look directly at House. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. No more caffeine, I promise."
"That's what you said three days ago. Why should I believe you this time?"
"Um...because I...I'm telling the truth?" Wilson sighed inwardly. He hadn't meant it to come out like a question.
House scoffed. "Oh of course, James Wilson, President of the Tangled Web Society, well known truth teller. How could I have so little trust?"
Wilson blushed. "All right House. What do you want?"
"An hour of clinic duty - my clinic duty - for every caffeinated product that passes your lips. Starting....three minutes ago."
"Why do I get your clinic duty?"
"Because I'm the one who had to check your vital signs every goddamn hour - including through the night I might add - for 24 hours after Cuddy released you. But perhaps you don't remember since you slept through most of it."
"Okay, okay. You made your point. I'll do your single clinic hour. Enjoy it. There won't be anymore."
With that Wilson reached around House and re-pushed the elevator button. It opened immediately.
House smirked at him but didn't move an inch, forcing Wilson to walk around him. House did turn to face him as the elevator doors closed. He could see House's blue eyes twinkling with humor. He was laughing at him. In his usual Housian way he had somehow managed to turn Wilson's little bout with caffeine stupidity into a win for him.
Or had he? House had checked up on him, he did remember that. At least enough of it to know that House's claim of hourly care was likely true. And he had been the one to figure out what was going on with the overdose - Wilson was very grateful for that. But House wasn't going to get a single more clinic hour from him. Wilson was done with caffeine for a very long time.
He took a deep breath and leaned back against the stainless steel walls. He wondered how his life had ever gotten so crazy that he could overdose and not even realize it. There was something about House, and PPTH too, that did strange things to him. Ever since he had accepted the job here his life had gotten a lot more complicated. But at the same time more interesting as well. Definitely more interesting.
Still, he could use a break from it all - at least a short one. He wondered if Cuddy would give him some time off after the holidays? He could go somewhere relaxing, perhaps even boring. Somewhere in the world where they didn't drink coffee.