Title:Anger and Balconies Don't Mix
Author:mmorgan317 (M)
Prompt:31. Winter/Holiday - Wilson gets injured by winter weather and House ends up taking care of him.
Pairing:House/Wilson
Rating/Warnings:PG-13.
Words:3,933
Summary:See Prompt
Disclaimer:Not mine, just borrowing. :)
Beta:allthings and a friend – thanks ladies!

"At first I just thought it was a chest cold," Alice Harding explains quietly, her hands fiddling with the tweed fabric of her dress. Wilson can see that she's nervous and he doesn't blame her; giving the information on her patient file she has a very aggressive form of cancer. "But when I began to cough up small bits of blood, I went to see a doctor in the clinic here. He sent me for an X-Ray and took some blood. When the results came in, he called me and referred me to you."

Wilson listened patiently to his newest patient. He didn't actually need to hear all of this since he knew it already but it obviously made the patient feel better so he sat back and allowed her to talk. He already knew the diagnosis - the tests the clinic doctor performed already told him what he needed to know.

"And he was right to do so," Wilson responded while rifling through the papers in her patient file. It was a nervous habit of his. He hated giving a death sentence – as House calls it – but at this point in time for the young woman before him, there was nothing else he could do for her.

"So you know what's wrong with me then?" Alice asked him. Her soft blue eyes filled with hope as she stared pleadingly at him and it broke his heart.

"You have small cell lung cancer," he told her after a short pause. She gave him a blank look, telling him that she had no clue what that meant. "It's the most aggressive form of cancer out there. Usually by the time a doctor catches it," he paused not wanting to say the next half of the sentence. God he wished there was a way to soften the blow but unfortunately, there wasn't. He heaved a great sigh then continued, "there's nothing we can do except make you comfortable."

Alice gasped, her left hand coming to cover her mouth. The hand was shaking so hard, House probably would have taken it as a symptom of something else other than shock. Okay, so maybe Housewouldn't have but one of his new team like Park would have. Her breaths were coming out in shuddering exhalations and tears were beginning to form in her eyes.

Just as one trickled down her pale cheek, Wilson's office door burst open, slamming against the wall with such strength it left a dent in the plaster. A very angry man came barging towards them both. The man, whom Wilson could only assume was Alice's husband, wasn't a behemoth of a man – unlike the dent in the wall would suggest – but he wasn't what Wilson would classify as small either. He was easily House's height but unlike the diagnostician, Noah Harding had muscle. Wilson didn't know what he did for a living but if he had to guess, it was construction or some field that required more physicality than simply sitting behind a desk would. His skin was pale, like his wife's, but it had a healthy color to it that Alice's lacked due to her illness. Dark brown hair topped his head, thick and full. Wilson envied Noah for it; his own hair was beginning to thin the older he got and he didn't know if he could handle being partially bald. Angry black eyes stood out of a chiseled face with a little bit of stubble to give him more of a rugged appearance.

"What do you think you're doing?" he bellowed at his wife, advancing on her rather threateningly.

"Mr. Harding, your wife's really sick-" Wilson began to interfere, slowly standing up and out of his chair. He stopped when the furious eyes turned to him and the mad advanced on him. The oncologist tried to step back, put some distance in between the irrational man and himself but he wasn't quick enough and he soon found himself within the man's grip.

Harding grabbed Wilson, bringing Wilson's face to his as he growled, "Stay away from my wife."

Wilson thought he'd gotten lucky with the warning and began to relax as soon as his feet hit the floor. He wasn't prepared for the massive fist that came flying towards his face. Before he knew what was happening, he found himself on the floor of his office, his desk chair underneath his right side and his face, head and right shoulder throbbing. Too stunned to do anything else, the oncologist simply laid there listening to the sounds of Harding grabbing his wife and forcefully pulling her out of the office.

As they walked out, Wilson heard Mr. Harding growl, "What did you think you were doing, seeing this doctor?" The way the word "doctor" was spat out, one would think it's a curse word the man wasn't allowed to say.

"Noah, I'm sick," Alice argued managing to sound almost defiant.

"And we have our own doctors to see to you. We don't need their kind" 'Theirkind' what the heck was that supposed to mean?

"Our doctors are little more than school nurses," Alice began but what else she followed it with, Wilson couldn't hear as the elevator door chose that moment to close, encasing the arguing couple in the steel box as it took them down to the main floor.

Wilson continued to lie on the floor for another few minutes, his mind swirling with clues as to what the hell just happened. His head pounded from the blow he'd received and the left side of his face throbbed where Noah's fist had connected with his cheek and eye. He'd have a nice black eye before he went to sleep tonight.

A sharp zing in his back was what got him moving, groaning when his recently abused body protested with the twisting and supporting movement. He hissed when his shoulder gave a particularly painful throb and cradled the arm against his torso while he waited for the pain to subside. He shuffled over to his couch where he could sit and work things through as well as wait for the pounding in his body to lower to a more manageable level.

What kind of man didn't want his wife to get treatment? The woman was deathly sick, more than likely going to die within the next few months and all he was worried about was her seeing the wrong doctor? No, there had to be more than that. With a groan, Wilson grabbed her patient file from his desk then settled back against the couch while he perused it. He wasn't entirely sure why they insisted on asking for religious affiliates on the clinic forms but they did and that's the first place his eyes went to. He gave a groan that had nothing to do with discomfort when he read what Alice had written – Christian Science.

It wasn't a widely known form of religion in New Jersey but Wilson hadheard of them. They believed that healing of the body was more of a spiritual event than a material event. There weren't many religions that Wilson believed were total crap but this happened to be one of them. He didn't understand how a man, a husband, could simply stand by and allow his wife to get sicker and sicker when it was obvious that spiritual healing wasn't helping. It was outrageous and maddening.

Wilson felt his anger start to rise and his blood start to boil. He was pretty sure that if anyone were to come through the door right now, he'd growl at them. It wouldn't do any good for him to sit in his office and stew so he chose to go outside in the frigid December air to cool down. The day had been relatively warm, full of beaming sunshine that melted the snow from the week before but now the sky was cloudy and little white flakes were falling down to the ground, slowly gathering to cover the concrete of the balcony and sidewalks. Wilson stood at the edge of his side of the balcony, leaning against the stone wall as he stared blankly out into the night sky. He felt as though he were searching it for the answers to God, Man, and the Universe but was disappointed when he received nothing more than a harsh wind whipping around him, kicking up his hair and biting viciously at his skin.

He shivered from the cold, his mind snapping out of his quest and turning to the inviting light coming from House's office. It didn't appear that there was anyone in the office itself or the joining conference room but that didn't stop Wilson from dearly wishing to hide out there. His staff knew that if he wasn't in his office, he was more than likely in House's but they also knew that if they were to try to enter said office, they would get their head bitten off by House and their dignity stripped so they avoided it at all costs. It made times like this, when he didn't want to be disturbed by anyone, so much easier.

The wind picked up again, almost urging him forward with its strength as it pushed against his back. Snow continued to fall, managing to look beautiful when it wasn't swirling with the wind. Wilson threw his left leg over the dividing wall, planning to do what House always seems to do and merely hop over but he's taken by surprise when he feels his leg shoot out from under him, sliding forward and pulling the rest of him with it. He cried out when he felt the groin muscle in his right leg pull and tear, the pain spreading like a white hot poker to his groin area, only to be silenced by overwhelming pain in his right wrist.

He lay on the cold, hard ground trying to control his breathing. His stomach felt like it was a boat on a stormy sea and kept threatening to empty without his permission. Fiery agony wrapped around his wrist, spreading up to his forearm. His shoulder was doing its own fair share of complaining at the jarring it took but next to his wrist he barely felt it. Wilson tried to move but any movement of his leg sent waves of excruciating pain down the limb through his stomach and coming to a poignant stop at his groin. He cried out with the pain and tried to curl into a ball but stopped when that only served to bring more.

Wilson wasn't sure how long he lay there in agony but he didn't care either. He almost cried with relief when he heard House's office door open followed by the familiar step-thwump of House's cane on the floor.

"Wilson?" House's voice called to him, sounding soft and soothing. Wilson tried to respond but didn't get further than moving his head to look at his partner before he gasped in pain once more. House came closer to him, painfully kneeling down beside him. A soft hand was placed on his shoulder, gently trying to turn him onto his back so the diagnostician could get a better look. Wilson yelped when the movement pulled on his injured groin muscles and House immediately let go.

House's footsteps retreated away from him and Wilson thought he actually did cry. Why was House leaving him in such obvious pain when he needed the man? He heard House pick up his office phone and call someone but he didn't know who it was until he heard the older man say, "I know you're my boss but will you just get up here? Wilson's injured and I can't move him. Yes Chase is on his way too you big baby now get here now!"

The phone slammed down on the cradle and House's limping footsteps came back to him. The same gentle hand from before was replaced on his shoulder but this time instead of trying to move him, it simply rubbed his arm in a comforting gesture. "Only you could hurt yourself this badly by climbing over the balcony wall," he chided with a quiet chuckle. Wilson heard how forced the sound was and tried to return the chuckle, happy that he hadn't injured his side when he found it easier to laugh at himself than cry in agony. House must have seen the tears leaking out of his closed eyes as the hand squeezed his shoulder and the gruff voice consoled, "Hang in there Wilson. Help's coming."

"Do you want something for the pain? I still have my secret stash in my office," House offered softly.

"Does a prostitute want to fuck?" Wilson returned, his own voice gruff from pain and seething anger.

"Wow Jimmy, so dark," House answered but Wilson heard him leave to go grab the pills then come back. "I don't have any water so you're going to have to dry swallow them." Something smooth was placed at his lips and without even asking what it was, Wilson opened his mouth and obediently swallowed the pill.

It took a few minutes but soon he felt the pain begin to recede. He also saw the edges of his vision dim and before long, only House's oblong face was viewable. "What did you give me?"

"A Vicodin," House answered almost too innocently. After a few seconds' staring he continued almost absently, "Also, I gave you an injection of lorazepam. It's going to be easier on you and the boys to move you if you're out of it."

Wilson allowed a sloppy smile to come across his face. Normally he would be pissed that House had dosed him against his will again but right now he was too grateful and too loopy to care. "Thanks."

House nodded his response, never having been comfortable with emotions and expressing them. Just as the black of unconsciousness began to claim him, Wilson heard House call out, "It's about time you got here! Wilson could have hypothermia and you take your sweet time!"

House sat in an armchair next to Wilson's side of the bed, silently watching his friend and lover sleep. He'd kept relatively calm while he'd been sitting on the freezing ground, watching Wilson try not to scream in pain but once he was sure the younger man had passed out, he'd let loose on Foreman and Chase. All three men had argued rather loudly about the best course to take aside from getting the injured man to radiology but in the end House had won out, insisting that they simply fix Wilson up while they were there then help him get the oncologist home and in bed before he wakes up.

Wilson now lay on the bed with five pillows supporting his head, neck, and upper torso. His right wrist was splinted, his arm in a sling to allow his shoulder to rest with a pillow supporting the arm and providing a small bit of cushioning for the injured wrist. It was a clean break and wouldn't cause too much trouble once it was casted and healed but it would hurt until the swelling was down enough for them to be able to apply the fiberglass. He had a pulled muscle in his shoulder but it wasn't nearly as bad as the one in his right leg. Wilson's thigh had been wrapped in a compression bandage and there was currently an ice pack resting on top of it but unfortunately that was all that could be done. The injured muscles in Wilson's lower stomach and groin area would be painful for a while, meaning the oncologist would have to take it easy once he was back on his feet.

A groan from the bed drew House's attention to his partner's face. The left eyelids were swollen with reddish purple bruising nestled just under the bottom one. Bushy eyebrows drew together in between Wilson's eyes as his brain and facial muscles registered pain. Wilson turned his head towards House, giving a pained smile at seeing him. "How long have you been sitting there?" He looked around when he recognized where he was and asked, "And how did we get home?"

"I asked Chase to help me get you home before you woke up so I didn't have to hear you bitching about the pain," House answered figuring the second one would be the simplest to answer.

"Well excuse me for being hurt," Wilson quipped dryly. He turned his head so that he stared at the ceiling and closed his eyes. The fine lines around his eyes and mouth were beginning to wrinkle and House knew he was in pain right now. He wished he could give his friend a shot of something – the injection would work so much quicker than oral but he was only allowed to bring some oral Percocet home so he grabbed that.

"You're forgiven," the diagnostician answered as he handed a dose of the pain meds to his friend alongside a glass of water.

Sharp, hurt brown eyes flashed in his direction and he could tell that Wilson wasn't in the mood to joke. They softened when they saw the peace offering of pain meds though, and Wilson tried to sit up a bit more so he could swallow the dose easier. He grimaced when moving awoke new aches and pains and refused to meet House's eye as he grabbed the meds, popped them in his mouth then downed them with water.

House obediently took the empty glass from his friend, placing it on the bedside table before he grabbed Wilson's uninjured left hand and gave it a squeeze. "How are you doing?" he asked entirely unable to hide the concern from his voice.

Wilson's head quickly snapped around to face him. Calculating chocolate brown eyes narrowed at him, the brain behind them speedily dissecting House's every action, look, move and word for tones of joking or insincerity. When he obviously found none, Wilson sighed and relaxed into his mound o' pillows and gave House's hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm okay," he answered with another sigh. "I hurt but it's bearable."

"Brenda told me about your patient – Alice Harding," House offered while knowing that Wilson wouldn't explain anything. "I'm guessing her husband gave you the shiner. The big question is why you didn't call security on him, or even better is why you didn't call me? You could have had a concussion."

"But I don't," Wilson argued back. There was a hint of anger in his tone but House knew he was trying to reign his temper in. Wilson knew that this was just House showing he was concerned. The injured man painfully shifted so that he could face House more and gave the occupied hand a firmer squeeze. "Greg, I'm fine. If I had been seriously injured, I would have called you."

"Or the morgue would have," House answered immediately. He bowed his head in embarrassment. A simple punch from an angry husband wasn't enough to kill Wilson and neither was the fall he'd had on the balcony but that hadn't stopped his irrational mind from running through every possible worst-case scenario.

Another squeeze brought his attention back to Wilson's face. His eyes were clouding with unshed tears and there was a sad smile on his face. "I'm not going anywhere," he assured softly. "These injuries aren't bad enough to kill me." A deep grimace crossed his face as his leg twitched uncontrollably in a small spasm. "Though they might make me wish I were dead."

House smiled at Wilson's attempt at humor. He slipped his hand out of Wilson's and moved it to the right leg, keeping it from moving while the spasm continued. The ice had slid off sometime during all the moving and the thawing muscle was doing a jig of torture. His heart cried for his partner at the sight of his pain. In all the years House had known Wilson, the man had never really been hurt. With the exception of Amber dying of course and House's own heart had shattered for him then. He had the occasional headache or backache and while it had been a stab to his heart every time, it didn't compare to how he felt now that they were in a relationship.

The feeling had started shortly after they'd begun sleeping together when a psychotic clinic patient had attacked Wilson, knocking the oncologist unconscious and giving him a bad concussion. He hadn't recognized it right away since he hadn't felt it before. But when Wilson had found his schizophrenic brother months later and said brother had tried to beat Wilson to death, House had easily identified it. As he sat beside Wilson's hospital bed imagining the different ways he could kill Daniel Wilson with only his cane and his bare hands, it hit him. Protectiveness and possessiveness – that's what he was feeling. No one had the right to hurt his friend and lover, no one! Not even House. The idea that anyone thought it was okay just because Wilson was an overly caring, easy target was inconceivable and if anyone wanted to try when House was around, they'd have a hard time getting through him first.

But now, with nothing but trivial injuries that House had no way of helping to heal other than waiting on the oncologist hand and foot and giving him his pain meds at recent intervals, House felt utterly useless.

The spasm halted and House released his hold on Wilson's leg, hoping the injured man hadn't felt him shaking the entire time. He moved from the armchair to the side of the bed, careful not to jostle Wilson's aching body as he sat down next to the younger man's hip. Gently, House ran his hand up and down the side of Wilson's face, pushing brown locks of hair out of his way when he got to the forehead. He wanted to say so many things but all that came out was, "Are you hungry?"

Wilson smiled appreciatively at him and House understood that he'd had no problems hearing everything House hadn't said. "A little yeah. Pizza and beer while we watch the match?"

"Sorry, no beer for you mister. Alcohol and percocet don't go together. I think we can manage the other two though and look, I even had the Wombat bring in the TV and DVD player!" House pointed to where both items sat on top of a low dresser, a proud smile on his face.

A low chuckle was the only response Wilson gave as House exited the room. He went into the kitchen to grab a beer for himself and a can of soda for Wilson. He pulled out his phone and dialed the pizza place down the street, ordering a large pizza with everything and some breadsticks for later. When he entered the bedroom again, he found Wilson asleep against the headboard of the bed, the same content smile on his face as when he left.

House quietly walked up to the bed and climbed in, keeping enough space between himself and the injured man so he didn't hurt him. He turned on the TV and switched to the Pay-Per-View channel then popped the cap on the beer bottle. He knew he should wake Wilson so the injured man could watch the boxing match too but it was probably best to let him sleep. Besides, it meant more pizza for him.

~fin~