It was the monitor beeping. A glance at the clock showed 4:16… a good hour's sleep then, for both of them.
"I'm sorry, House,"
Why was Wilson crying?
"What hurts?" House turned off the offending monitor- it appeared chemo bag one had finished. "Wilson, what hurts?"
"Don't… sit down."
And there he saw it. "Wilson… you've peed the bed!"
He'd meant it as a joke, obviously, but something had gotten into Wilson. He'd actually turned a strange shade of red, like a turnip, and turned his head away.
House sat down. Now that made Wilson look at him again. "House! I said don't sit down."
"Yes, and I said that you'd peed the bed, and now, you've peed on me. Perfectly good sweat pants, ruined. Now, instead of spanking you, I'm going to do something far worse…"
What House had been going to say had been golden, really, pure gold, but Wilson puked.
"See now, House," Wilson said weakly, "I've peed and puked on you, and I've a mind to complete that alliteration with a number three... er… two, I mean."
He did manage to smile, but only a bit, as the puking resumed.
He kneeled down and held the trashcan.
"You lied… it doesn't taste better coming up."
"Here's another one… you look great!"
"House… I need more morphine…"
"We're out. You've been using my personal supply…"
"Wilson! Wilson! Help me!"
Wilson had finished feeding him and gone to bed- which really was more of a couch right outside House's bedroom in the converted living room. He came rushing in, knocking over the walker by House's bed.
"Where is it?"
"Where do you think? Aah…" His right leg was crimson, muscles rippling underneath as if snakes had burrowed in and taken hold, gripping, biting. Wilson opened the closet door, furrowing away the walker and dumping pillows down from the upper shelf.
"Here, here, let me have it," he stuffed pillows underneath House's lower leg and told House, gently, to point his toes toward the ceiling, in what turned out to be an unsuccessful attempt to keep the spasm from spreading.
What seemed like hours was actually five minutes, and the spasm hadn't stopped, although House's verbal outbursts had. Wilson had given him a washcloth to bite down on, since his lips were already bloodied. He sat, waiting, hating himself for yawning and thinking of bed, when House was going through hell yet again tonight. Thankfully House's eyes were closed in concentration and Wilson could steal a glance at his alarm clock, now glowing red with evil eyes spelling out 3:30am.
He didn't know how, but he had drifted off and his chin was touching his chest when he heard the faint whisper.
"Wilson? Wilson?"
He looked up, at House, his lips red again from biting. What time was it? Almost 4am…
"Wilson? Wilson... I'm sorry."
"What, where?" He was still shaking sleep out of his eyes.
"Wilson… I needed to go to the bathroom."
"OK, yeah, yeah, sure. Let's go."
Wilson came around to House's good side, ready to lift.
"No, Wilson, I mean, I needed to go. But not… not anymore."
"Oh."
"I'm sorry, really."
"No, no it's fine, House. Let's… let's… well, do you have to use the bathroom anymore?"
"No." House was averting his eyes. He needed to do something, a joke, some sort of tension breaker. But Wilson wasn't any good at those then. He'd gotten better now, though. Much better, actually. Now there's that beeping noise again.