Title: Over 200 Hours
Prompt: #1: Wilson suffers from insomnia but sleeping pills don't work. Things get worse until he finally collapses in the middle of the hospital (bonus points if it's in the middle of an argument with House).
Summary: Over two hundred hours. That's how long you've gone without sleep.
Disclaimer: I don't own House MD or any of the characters.
'Tic. Tic. Tic.'
Did I make out next week's schedule? I think I did. Didn't Rob need Thursday off? I can't remember.
'Tic. Tic. Tic.'
I hope that I remembered to put Susan on that drug trial. She really needs it, and she can't afford it. All those other medical bills. I wonder if she'll accept a check from me.
'Tic. Tic. Tic.'
I wonder how House's latest case is going. I know he was having some difficulties with some tests. I'll ask him if he wants some help tomorrow.
'Tic. Tic. Tic.'
Wilson adjusted himself into a more comfortable position on the mattress and craned his head to look at the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand.
Bright red numbers glared back a large 2:31, and he sighed wistfully.
It was going to be another long night.
His wristwatch kept ticking loudly in the dead silence of his hotel room.
'Tic. Tic. Tic.'
The next night was a little more planned out. Wilson had made himself a short list of things to remember to do the next day and was armed with fatigue from no sleep the night before, losing three patients (one wasn't even technically his patient--she was from a car accident from the main route to the city and the girl arrived at the hospital on a stretcher in time for her heart to stop completely. He attempted to revive her, but the loud wine of the heart meter was a haunting reminder that death isn't bias about age or sex.), and a bottle of over-the-counter sleeping pills.
He pulled his socks off and tucked them neatly into his shoes before he slid under the cold sheets that pressed cleanly onto the bed. He snapped the alarm button on before he flipped the light switch off and closed his eyes.
'Tic. Tic. Tic.'
A loud noise from next door jolted him with a start, and then the sound of cheerful laughing echoed through the walls of his empty room. A loud hush from the other occupant brought the joy to a dull murmur.
Wilson wished he was on the other side of this wall.
'Tic. Tic. Tic.'
None.
Absolutely no sleep last night.
Maybe the sleeping pills were a little too 'generic'. Maybe he was a little too tired to fall asleep like he had wanted. Maybe there was too much on his mind that night for the pills to work. Maybe the pills weren't working yet because he didn't give them enough time to work.
By the sixth cup of coffee, a familiar graying head popped into his office from the hallway. "Lunch?"
Wilson frowned, eyeing the stack of folders tucked neatly on the corner of his desk. "Uh--"
"Come on, I promise to let you buy." A curl of lips and Wilson allowed himself to smile back.
"Fine, I'm sold. Give me a minute to clean up."
"One minute. I'm timing you." And to prove that he was, House brought up his wrist and stared intently at the watch. "Fifty-five, fifty-four, fifty-three, fifty-two..."
"Okay, let's go," Wilson rose from the desk and swept past the disaster, ushering the man out.
"Wait, you still have forty-seven, forty-six, forty-five..."
House kept counting all the way to the elevator.
By the time they made it to the cafeteria, Wilson realized how eerily familiar House's countdown sounded to the tic's that came from his wristwatch at night.
He spared a quick glance at his wrist and noted with a sinking feeling that the second hand was still traveling around with the same 'tic. tic. tic.' as it does at night, but silently.
He wished he could find the mute button for it.
On the third night, he decided to go for something a little more old-fashioned, childish even.
He closed his eyes and imagined a field of green, and a fence. Beyond the fence were little sheep.
'One sheep...two sheep...three sheep...'
House would have a field day if he knew that Wilson was attempting to fall asleep by counting sheep.
Actually, he would club Wilson with his cane, then laugh at him.
'Twenty sheep, twenty-one sheep, twenty-two sheep...'
"Are you feeling all right?"
Wilson looked up from the table in the break room and noted the worried look on Cuddy's face. "I'm fine--why?"
She tilted her head and he recognized the worried maternal figure that was sprouting out of her by pure instinct. Tell her that she was maternal any other time and she'd claim 'I never got a book.' But here it was in full-blown 'My baby is sick, I must find out what's wrong' mode. "You're very pale and your eyes are dark."
"I feel fine. A little tired, that's all. Other than that, fine." When she didn't make a move to appear to be convinced, he smiled at her cheerfully. "I'm okay, really. If I need to, I'll take a nap later. I'm fine."
Instead of appearing relieved, her frown deepened slightly, but she didn't argue. She nodded once before turning to leave the room.
He sighed and slumped into his chair with defeat.
Nights four, five, and six all crawled by with the same insane slowness that made him want to claw his eyes out. His body was aching for sleep--desiring it like oxygen--and he desperately tried to give it what it wanted.
After getting absolutely no sleep on night four, he switched to a different sleeping pill--a stronger one that he had read about, and got no sleep on night five.
He was tempted to call up House and ask for advice, but decided against it. He valued his life enough and didn't want to risk opening his hotel door to finding a madman standing on the other side with a cane poised to stab him through the chest.
It would be like House to threaten lives when it came to disturbing his own sleep.
As night seven slowly turned into day eight, Wilson turned his face into his starched pillow and let out an agonized howl into the thick cloth before he knocked the alarm off the stand in time to prevent the cursed whining from starting.
Day nine started with seven cups of coffee, a large caffeinated drink from the cafeteria, and four energy bars later, Wilson found himself staggering to keep himself from blotting and smearing illegible things on the patient files that laid open before him. The couch looked inviting, but it was a lie.
Every time he opted to take a nap, he'd crawl onto the leather cushions and find himself wide awake almost instantaneously.
Life was good at being unfair.
He was about to put the final signature to his report when a loud rapping noise brought him out of his daze. A head popped in and an eyebrow raised itself as the voice sneered. "Consult with Dr. Jekyll, if you don't mind, Mr. Hyde."
Wilson narrowed his eyes. "What do you need?"
"Consult, didn't you hear me the first time?" House hopped into the office and closed the door behind him, turning the lock with a loud click. "Or was there too much fluff stuck in your ears for you to hear me correctly?"
"House, not now. I'm busy. I've got too much to do, and I can't play games with you today." Sound authoritative, sound aggravated--House always took note of these things and analyzed thoroughly. If he saw something wrong, maybe he would say something. Maybe he would turn around and leave without a hassle. Maybe he would get this consult over with and leave.
House merely stares at him for a moment before dropping onto the couch with a folder in hand. He flips it open and horror rains down on Wilson. "Thirty-eight year old patient, coming in with a staggering step, dark circles around eyes, appetite change, and--" He peered up and smiled. "Irritability."
"Not now, House," Wilson snapped and stuffed the paper into a folder, dropping it onto the floor beside him onto an already forming mass.
"Emphasis on the irritability part," House raised the cane and pointed it at the oncologist. "You're not sleeping, are you?"
"I am."
"How many hours?" House rose from the couch and stood before the desk boldly.
Wilson shook his head. "I don't know--look, House, I'm fine. I'm just stressed, I just need to take a day off and catch up on sleep. Slip a few naps in here and there. I'll be fine."
Blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "You're not fine."
"House--"
"Wilson, you're not fine. You can barely hold your head up. Take a nap. Right now."
Wilson snatched another folder and threw it harshly onto his desktop. "I'm ibusy/i, House. I have work to do, and unlike some people, I actually want to get it done."
The cane slammed down onto the folder and swept it away in one clean motion, sending it careening across the room in a blizzard of papers. "Nap. Now."
Wilson shot up from his desk. "House! I'm busy! Either make yourself useful and pick up those papers or get the hell out of my office!"
"Wilson--"
"Shut up, just go!" Wilson staggered over the pile to retrieve the papers. Almost instantly, he regretted getting to his feet fast. The world spun, and the room's lighting changed randomly.
"Idiot, won't even admit that maybe there's something wrong?" House snapped at him from behind, and Wilson ignored him as he slowly picked up the papers as he propped himself up to avoid smashing his face into the floor. "No simple little yes, House, no, House to let me know? What, you thought you were going to hide this whole sleeping issue from me? You're dumber than you look."
Frustrated, Wilson threw the papers carelessly onto his chair and marched out of his office with uneven steps. He felt the world continue to tilt off its axis but ignored it--as long as he could get away from House, everything would be okay.
"See? Running, just like always." Shit, House was following him. And he was fast. Or maybe he was just slow today. "When are you going to stop acting like a saint and actually admit something's wrong? Huh? Wilson, stop walking damnit!"
"House, leave me alone," He grabbed the wall when he felt the world quake once--twice, and suddenly the floor was coming towards him--and fast.
'Tic. Tic. Tic.'
Ironic that the first thing he'd wake up to would be the sound of his damn wristwatch ticcing into his ear like a bad omen.
'One. Tic. Closer. To. Going. Insane.'
"You know, I think we've had a discussion before about how the longest a person slept was eleven days."
Wilson refused to look up to the man sitting beside him, but knew he was in for a lecture by the mere tone.
"I've been counting. This is day nine, right? Over two hundred hours. That's how long you've gone without sleep." There was a noise that oddly sounded like a scoff. "And to think that Cuddy let you get away with one day."
"It's--not her fault," Wilson started slowly.
"No, it's yours. You're the idiot who refused to ask for help." House waved a finger at him and the oncologist glared.
"I am a doctor too, you know," he snapped at the man but earned another scoff.
"You're an idiot, that's what you are. Cuddy's giving you some time off until you get your beauty sleep. All the lack of it has scared everyone into thinking there's a zombie in the hospital." House tapped his cane on the floor gently. "So I'm going to give you a prescription for the insomnia. Something that'll help you get to sleep at night. We still need to figure out what caused it in the first place, but for now, I'm going to start you on a sedative--knock you out for a few hours."
Wilson's eyes widened. "You can't--" He trailed off when House held up an empty needle and smiled.
"Good night, Wilson," the voice drowned out and a calming, welcoming darkness overcame him.
'Tic. Tic. Ti-'