AN – Hello, it's me again, back with another House fic. In my usual style, it contains its fair share of angst and drama, plus this time a pre-established Hilson relationship, so don't read any further if that's not to your taste. For all those continuing with this story, I hope you enjoy it, and please leave me your feedback so that I can improve my writing and create more stories that you will hopefully like. I cannot ensure a full canonicity with the particular event of this fic, but I've put it down to creative license and I hope you'll forgive any possible contradictions with the small details of the show. So go forth, read and enjoy, and don't forget to leave me your reviews!
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House smirked as he opened the fridge in the doctors' lounge, spying the tell-tale blue lid of Wilson's Tupperware as soon as the door was cracked. Reaching in, he swiftly removed the plastic container, scoffing at the note that had been furiously scrawled across the top. 'PROPERTY OF JAMES WILSON. HOUSE, DON'T YOU DARE.' Predictably, he disregarded the warning completely, tugging the lid off and throwing it onto the coffee table as he grabbed a fork from the kitchenette. He limped over to the couch with his prize, gently lowering himself down and setting the container on his lap. Wilson appeared to have made himself a large salad, complete with dressing and all the fixings, and House was more than happy to relieve him of the burden of eating it. As he was bringing the first bite to his lips, the lounge door swung quickly open, and Wilson strode briskly into the room, spying his lunch sitting on House's knee immediately.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned, seeing a forkful of his salad poised by House's face.
"Too late." House nonchalantly popped the fork into his mouth, exaggerating his motions as he chewed and swallowed it for maximum irritation.
To his surprise, Wilson said nothing, just stood there watching him with raised eyebrows. He was about to remark on the oncologist's unlikely indifference when a sudden taste caught his attention, causing him to furrow his brow and contorting his expression into one of disgust.
"Did you put celery in this?" he asked accusingly.
"I told you you shouldn't have done that," Wilson replied calmly. "You see, I had to take drastic measures to stop you from continually eating my lunch, and I thought to myself, 'what's the one thing you avoid eating more than anything?'."
"Hmm. And do you know why I don't eat celery?"
"I assumed it's because you hate it."
"No. It's because I'm allergic to it."
"Oh." Wilsons face fell as he realised the full implications of House's words. "Oh." He was speechless for a moment, before he eventually managed to get out, "how allergic are you?"
"Oh, not very. I mean, in about thirty seconds my throat will swell up to the point where I can't breathe, but aside from that I'll be fine."
"Do you have an epi pen?" Wilson questioned desperately.
"Well, I didn't think you were going to poison me today so... no, I left it at home."
"Oh god." Wilson rushed to the door, flinging it open and crying, "I need epi!" out into the corridor, praying that someone was around to hear him. As he turned back towards House, his heart lurched in his chest as he saw the man beginning to wheeze heavily, his airways starting to constrict already. "Don't tell me I have to trach you," Wilson asked, panicked.
"Yeah, you do," House gasped, struggling to project his voice past the extreme tightness in his throat.
"Oh god. Okay." He hastily opened one of the drawers in his desk, extracting his emergency medical tools from their compartment, and rushed over to House with a scalpel, syringe and breathing tube. Carefully but efficiently, he assisted House out of his chair and onto the floor, laying him down where he had easy access to his neck. By this point, House was barely breathing, his throat having closed up completely, and Wilson realised he had to work quickly. He hurriedly injected a local anaesthetic into the skin, then grabbed the scalpel and made a precise incision at the base of House's throat, splitting the tissue of the trachea so that he could insert the breathing tube into his windpipe. As he cautiously fed the tube through the opening, he heard House whimper in pain, the anaesthetic failing to eliminate the sensation fully, and he uttered a heartfelt apology, the guilt at what he had caused beginning to catch up with him. He finished the procedure as swiftly as he could, securing the tube in place with tape and packing the wound with sterilised cotton to stem the bleeding. A wave of relief washed over him as he heard the hiss of breaths being drawn through the tube and he knew that it was working, his friend able to breathe once more. House closed his eyes as the burning in his lungs began to subside, replaced by the wonderful feeling of oxygen entering his system at last, and his body slumped into the carpet as he was finally able to relax.
Glancing down at his hands, Wilson noticed that they were glistening with House's blood, but he didn't have time to dwell on the issue as the door burst open and Foreman hurried in with a syringe of epinephrine at the ready.
"What happened?" the neurologist asked, taking in the sight of House lying motionless on the floor with a trach tube protruding from his throat.
"Anaphylactic shock," Wilson responded dismissively, focussing his attention on the syringe as he snatched it from Foreman's grasp and pushed the needle into the muscle of House's arm, depressing the plunger to send the drug flooding into House's body.
"Yeah, I figured that," sighed Foreman. "What caused it?"
Wilson hesitated for a moment, unable to meet Foreman's gaze as he replied slowly, "I did."
"What?"
"I… gave him celery. Turns out, he's highly allergic to it." He glanced over at House's face and saw the sapphire blue eyes looking back at him, causing another wave of guilt to run through him. "House, I'm so sorry," he whispered, barely loud enough for the other man to hear.
"It wasn't your fault," reassured Foreman, knowing that Wilson would never deliberately try and hurt House. "Come on, let's get him to the ER. I'll fetch a gurney." He turned and disappeared swiftly from the room, leaving silence to descend upon the two doctors remaining.
It took several minutes before Wilson could speak again, finding himself choked by emotion. At last he was able to ask, "how are you feeling?", knowing that House couldn't reply but needing to ask the question anyway. House's eyes were slightly dazed, his body exhausted after the ordeal, but he could feel the drug taking effect, reducing the swelling in his mouth and throat, so he nodded slowly to let Wilson know that he was okay. Wilson let out a sigh of relief at House's affirmation and collapsed back onto the floor, drained by the frenzy and panic of the situation, then picked up an antiseptic wipe to finally clean the blood from his hands. Once the red stains on his skin had been removed, he reached out to grasp one of House's hands in his, squeezing tightly to remind himself that House was still there, that he was going to be alright.
"House, I'm sorry I… poisoned you. I really am sorry. But you're going to be okay." The reassurance was more for his own benefit than for House's, but it still comforted him to say it out loud, so he continued, "we'll keep you under observation for a few hours, then everything will be fine."
House desperately wanted to reply, to make some sarcastic comment about Wilson's words being unnecessary, given that he had also been to medical school and knew as well as the oncologist what the outcome of the situation would be, but he realised that Wilson needed to say his piece in order to absolve himself of some of his guilt, so House remained quiet, affording his friend this one moment of peace. Besides, he knew that the breathing tube in his throat would severely impede his ability to speak, leaving no real option but to say nothing and let the silence fall heavily between them.
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"Can we get on with this? I'm gonna be dead by the time you let me out of here."
House's patience was wearing thin. At Wilson's insistence, he'd been having his vitals monitored in the ER for the past six hours, and he was bored out of his mind. At first he had been able to keep himself mildly entertained, diagnosing each of the patients around him while challenging himself to do it as quickly as possible, but it wasn't long before the monotony of the cases started to get to him. To make matters worse, Wilson had been called away to an urgent consultation, leaving him with no one to provide stimulating conversation. The only distraction he had from staring at the same four walls came in the form of the hourly nurses' visits, which he would have enjoyed had it not been for the fact that they all seemed to be in a foul mood. He conceded that it might have been his persistent whining over being there that was causing their irritation with him, but in his own defence, he was lying there with a hole cut into his throat, which, he reasoned, gave him more than enough justification for complaining.
As the nurse by his bedside continued to complete yet another examination, House sighed and immediately resumed his moaning, ignoring the pain that flared in his throat every time he spoke. "There's nothing wrong with me," he rasped, his voice coming out strained. "How much is Wilson paying you to keep me here?"
"You really shouldn't talk," the nurse snipped, unwilling to play into House's self-pity.
"I shouldn't, but I will," House shot back, unperturbed by her lack of interest in arguing with him. "How much? I'll double it if you'll sign my release papers."
Before she could reply, a voice from the doorway interrupted their conversation, causing House to groan internally as he realised who had overheard his attempted bribery. Wilson stepped briskly into the room, shooting House a sideways glare as he said calmly to the nurse, "I'll take it from here." She nodded and quickly ducked out of the room, giving Wilson the time alone with House that he had hoped for. "So," he began, "how are you feeling?"
"Bored," House answered truthfully, not bothering to keep the exasperation from his voice.
The oncologist sighed at House's bluntness and explained quickly, "I'm sorry, it's just procedure."
House looked unconvinced. "No. It's you being paranoid. How long are you going to keep me here?"
Wilson tossed a pile of papers onto the foot of House's bed. "Actually, you're free to go. The nurses discharged you a few minutes ago. Something to do with you threatening them."
"Well, did you expect me not to? You had me stuck down here for hours!"
"House, what do you want me to say? I've apologised for what happened, I've admitted that it was my fault. And I only made you stay here to keep you safe! I know you're probably mad at me, and I understand that, but I don't know what you want me to do." He hesitated as he ran a hand wearily over his face, then added with a sigh, "why don't I take you home?"
As he saw how much Wilson was fretting over the events of that morning, House decided that he needed to drop the sarcasm and the whining, acknowledging that it was not going to make the situation any better, and instead he chose to address the problem head on. "Wilson, I'm not mad at you," he reassured slowly, watching Wilson's face to make sure he was absorbing what he was saying. "I don't want to get back at you, I don't want to break up with you. I just want us to move on." He paused as the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. "And maybe I want you to get me a present. You know, to say you're sorry. You did almost kill me."
To his surprise, Wilson didn't roll his eyes or give him an exasperated response, but merely mirrored House's smile with one of his own. "Well," he began, "I was going to save this for our date tonight, but… here. Will this do?" As he spoke, Wilson produced a small box from his pocket and held it up for House to see. Upon closer inspection, the diagnostician recognised it as a jewellery box, and his heart jumped as he realised what was happening. All rational thoughts flew out of his mind as Wilson opened the box, and he was left speechless as he caught sight of the silver ring it contained.
"Wilson…" he stuttered at last. "What are you doing?"
"What do you think I'm doing?" To make his intentions as clear as humanly possible, he made a show of bending down and getting on one knee in front of the hospital bed, holding the ring up and extending it out towards House. "Gregory House," he said softly, "will you marry me?"
House gaped at him for a moment, before a cunning smirk filtered across his face as he replied, "no."
"What?" Wilson's face fell instantly, his expression rapidly shifting into one of panic and embarrassment. He was about to scramble to his feet when he noticed House's mischievous grin, which was shortly followed by the man bursting into laughter.
"Wilson, you idiot!" House teased. "Of course I'll marry you!"
It took Wilson a minute to process the words House had just said, but when he did, his eyes filled with relief as a smile broke out across his face. "Don't do that!" he scolded, but his tone was playful, unable to convey anything except the joy he felt at having his proposal accepted. He quickly removed the ring from its case and tenderly slipped it onto House's finger, marvelling at how perfect it looked on the other man's hand. As he stood up to wrap House in a tight embrace, he heard applause breaking out from the ward behind them, and blushed slightly as he realised how public the spectacle had been. But the thought soon slipped from his mind as House leaned in towards him and planted an affectionate kiss on his lips.
In that moment, both men knew that this was the happiest they could ever be.
-Fin