A/N: I will be continuing this but don't look for an update right away. I've just started the rough draft of chapter 4 and I'm a ridiculously slow writer. If there's anything in particular you'd like to see, please leave me a comment. I have a basic idea where I want to go but am always open to suggestions!
Concerned with a possible neurological issue, Wilson leapt forward, lifted House's arm out of the way and pried his left eye open with his thumb and forefinger to get a better look at his pupils, instinctively reaching for his non existent front pocket where he kept his pen light. Realizing he didn't have it, he improvised.
"Look up at the light," motioning with his eyes towards the overhead lights surrounding the stadium as he grabbed House's chin.
"I'm fine!" House slapped the intruding hand away, "God, you're such a girl sometimes."
The same woman who offered the sweatshirt had now produced a wad of tissue from her purse and declared herself a nurse, offering to help out. She was a brunette with shoulder length hair and a hefty build. She looked like the type who could kick his and House's ass simultaneously. Who was he to argue if she was really a nurse? Besides, he'd take any help he could get right now until the EMTs arrived.
"Go ahead and apply pressure to that head wound," he instructed her.
"How do you know she's really a nurse?" House eyed her suspiciously. "She looks like that whacko from that movie, Misery. You know? The psycho bitch who tortured that dude?" he muttered out of the side of his mouth.
"How do you know I'm not." The woman added, the corners of her mouth rising into a devious grin as she held the tissue in place against House's head.
House and Wilson briefly glanced at each other, slight concern on their faces until she winked at Wilson, making sure his friend couldn't see her face.
Wilson was becoming impatient, glancing around the infield. The ambulance still had not arrived. Didn't they keep an emergency vehicle on site during these things? There were too many trucks and haulers in his line of sight to have a clear view of his surroundings.
"Where's that ambulance?" he mumbled to himself.
The woman kept pressure on House's head wound even as she continued battling with him as he kept trying to swipe her hand away. House did his best to glare at her but the task was more difficult due to the amount of Kleenex obstructing his view.
"Those better not be used." House warned, pointing to the wad of tissue stuck to his forehead. "I don't need someone else's snot infecting my battle wounds."
"They're clean and hold still." She replied in a rather firm voice. Wilson was impressed as he watched her deal with House, not giving in to his childish antics.
"You don't work at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital by any chance, do you?" Wilson enquired while standing guard over House's lower half. He wondered if she recognized House by sight and already knew of his reputation at PPTH.
"No. St. Francis in Trenton."
"Good," was the response from below the wad of Kleenex.
House raised his head slowly, pushing his chin to his chest to glance down at both Wilson and his left leg, the woman's arm following along as if her hand was super glued to his forehead, keeping pressure on his head wound. "I know I'm not an orthopedic guy, but I don't think my foot is supposed to bend that way." He stated matter of factly.
"Good thing is I can't really feel this right now," nodding slightly toward his right leg, reaching down instinctively to rub his thigh more out of habit than actual pain. He leaned his head back again and tried to relax as much as a broken leg would allow. As he lay there waiting for the paramedics to show, he closed his eyes and the corner of his lip curled up into a slight smirk.
He peeked one eye open and glanced over at Wilson, "Please tell me you got that on tape." House continued to smile, "That was the coolest thing ever."
"Yeah, I got the finish. Now you're gonna rub it in my face about how wond-"
"No, not the race." House interrupted "This," he waved his hand toward his leg and at the tire lying thirty feet away wedged into the front of the small stand. "My Joe Theismann imitation." He looked back up into the blackness of the night sky, the stadium lights creating a halo effect around his peripheral vision. "Just think how popular it'll be on Youtube."
Wilson shook his head, "Only you would think it's cool to get hit and nearly killed by a runaway tire. And no, I didn't get it on tape. I was too busy trying to save your life."
"My hero." House replied with a roll of his eyes. "For all you know, I would've been just fine if you would've just left me alone instead of tackling me to the ground like some linebacker from the Jets."
"Not according to your Mountain Dew." A few feet away, the giant cup lay smashed flat into the ground, broken into pieces, the soda leaving a dark stain in the dirt around the plastic victim.
Wilson looked past House's feet and saw the remnants of the black cane now in two pieces, the orange flames separated from the black handle. "Or your cane."
"Crap, I just bought that cane..." House muttered, then he raised an eyebrow as he glanced back at Wilson, "Why is it that I'm always with you when my cane's break?" House questioned suspiciously, "That's three now."
"Correction, I bought you that cane. And don't blame me for this one. I had nothing to do with it." Wilson replied as he raised his hands in defense.
"You had everything to do with it. I don't remember pushing myself and making my cane fly out of my unsuspecting hand." He returned back to the original subject. "It was totally cool. How many people can say they've been nailed by Gravedigger's tire." House emphasized Gravedigger's name as he bared his teeth and pushed himself up onto his elbows to meet Wilson's gaze, "Tell me you're not the least bit jealous."
"I'm not the least bit jealous." Wilson deadpanned, "I happened to like being able to walk under my own power."
"Wuss. Besides, walking's overrated." He leaned his head back again. "Maybe someone else got it on tape."
A white ambulance with a fluorescent yellow stripe rounded the corner and skidded to a halt in front of the destroyed food stand, kicking up a cloud of dust. The driver leapt out as the other EMT opened the rear hatch, already pulling out a gurney with one hand as his partner ran around the back to help.
"Ride's here," Wilson informed House who was currently resting his head on his own balled up Gravedigger green long sleeve shirt, trying to move as little as possible with his eyes closed and hands crossed neatly on his stomach. He slightly turned his head and cracked open an eye, scrutinizing every move the paramedics made as they hurried toward the scene.
"Don't they need parental consent before treating real patients?" House remarked. Wilson suddenly felt old as he looked at the baby faced EMTs approaching them.
"Be nice, House."
"Yeah, yeah," closing his eyes again.
The first medic approached the small gathering, kneeling down next to House's right side.
"What've we got here?" he asked, looking across at Wilson, who was currently kneeling by House's left leg, guarding it like a Doberman.
"Forty seven year old male. Injury to..."
"Do you mind?" House raised his head, pushing himself up onto his elbows again, shoulders hunched up by his ears. "I'm the patient here and I think I'm still able to talk." The nurse, who was getting a little tired of House's yo-yoing up and down, was still holding the tissues on the moving target, earning an exaggerated eye roll from House.
Wilson raised his hands in defense, "Fine. Be my guest."
"Sir, we need you to just lrelax. " The taller EMT ordered while gently supporting House's back with his forearm as he placed his other hand on House's chest to coax him back down. "Just tell me what's hurting."
As if on cue, another wave of pain crested, causing him to drop his head back between his shoulder blades, the tendons in his neck standing out under his skin. Squeezing his eyes shut, he sucked in a breath and reached for his left leg. House exhaled and gave a quick nod towards his oddly angled lower leg resting on the makeshift pillow, "Take a wild guess."
He raised his eyes and suddenly become aware of the gawkers encircling them. Glaring at the crowd that had gathered around him, he snapped, "Don't you people have anything better to do?"
The couple of staff members who were on hand took the hint and urged the ten or twelve spectators to disperse, leaving only a few stragglers behind who were either fascinated by other people's misfortune or had a compelling need to be annoying.
Cathy Bates, as House so aptly named the nurse, stepped back as the shorter tech removed the now blood soaked tissues that were sticking to House's forehead and wiped a gauze pad soaked with antiseptic over the site, attempting to clean out some of the dirt and debris. House winced, flinching away from the offending hand.
"Ow!" he whined, "A little warning next time."
"Sorry, sir." The medic continued his work, ignoring House's string of obscenities as he continued cleaning the wound in a professional manner. He began winding gauze around House's head, causing his already unkempt hair to stick out at bizarre angles above the band of white encircling his head.
Velcro straps were pulled and fastened as the medics worked quickly to stabilize the leg . Of course, House watched their every move with a wary eye, waiting to pounce on any mistake made by either one of the young paramedics. Wilson had to admit he was impressed with how fast and efficient they were. They allowed only a few choice words to escape from his friend's mouth as they diligently prepped the patient for transport. Before he knew it, House's leg was splinted and he was ready to be lifted onto the lowered gurney.
As one of the EMTs tried reaching under his arms to help lift him, House wriggled his upper body, trying to loosen the grip, protesting, "I'm not totally useless here," From what Wilson could see of House's eyebrows they seemed to be furrowing under the strip of white gauze. "And stop calling me 'sir'."
"House, for once in your life, would you just let someone do their job?"
The EMT reluctantly released House and allowed him to push himself over to the gurney with his upper body, scooting his rear over in an odd sort of butt walk. Hands, ass, hands, ass. Meanwhile Wilson and the other EMT lifted his legs and followed along with his scooting. They carefully positioned his legs on the thin white mat. Out of the corner of his eye, Wilson caught sight of House's hand grasping the frame of the gurney in a death grip, knuckles turning white as he leaned his head back between his shoulder blades and regained control over the pain from the transfer.
The EMTs strapped down his legs but left the head portion of the gurney upright so House was in a sitting position, able to have a better view of his surroundings.
"Check it out. They must really be desperate for some action," Wilson heard his friend say.
Wilson glanced up at the gigantic video screen at the far end of the stadium to see an overhead shot of the small group standing in the infield with House at the center of the activity.
Something seemed to suddenly dawn on House.
"Where's my hat?" House's eyes darted left and right, trying to locate the green object. "Green, white, says 'Gravedigger' on it? Was on my head less than ten minutes ago?"
The paramedics were starting to wheel House toward the ambulance, receiving threats of bodily harm from the patient unless they stopped.
"I'm not leaving without my hat." Wilson watched House's head twist left and right, scanning the ground, the spectators, anything within his limited view.
"I'll get you a new one."
"Not the same. That one has sentimental value." House responded, head on a swivel, scanning the ground. "We've been through a lot together."
"You don't have a sentimental bone in your body."
Ignoring Wilson's jibe, House continued to scrutinize the crowd. "C'mon, people. It didn't just magically disappear," he accused, eyeing the few people who remained. "Hand it over, no questions asked."
A skinny kid emerged from the small gathering and stepped forward, his hands conveniently hidden behind his back, head hung low. He looked to be about fourteen years old with longer brown hair hanging in his eyes, bright green Gravedigger T shirt on his bony frame and a pair of tattered looking jeans. Wilson figured he must've been here with his parents who were nowhere to be seen. The kid brought his right hand in front of him, the dusty Gravedigger hat dangling from his fingertips.
"Is this yours?" his adolescent voice squeaked. "I found it on the ground over there," pointing with the hat to an area a few feet away from his location.
"Yeah, bring it here."
The boy approached House timidly as if he were about to be sentenced to detention by the school principal.
"Trying to steal my hat, huh?" House growled in his best intimidating voice.
"No!" the kid protested, "I was... I just found it on the ground." He handed the hat back to House who promptly placed it back on his head. Do to the bandage wrapped around his head, the hat sat up higher than normal. He reminded Wilson of Dale from King of the Hill, another one of those animated shows House had subjected on him during their long friendship.
A cheer erupted from the surrounding stands as both House and Wilson looked up to see a close up of House on the Jumbotron with the Gravedigger logo showing itself proudly on top of his head.
To Wilson's amazement he watched House's eyes locate the camera and stare directly at it. He removed the hat and pointed at the insignia then held up his pointer finger in a "We're number one!" gesture, shocking the hell out of Wilson. House had gone and turned into one of THOSE fans. The fans you see on TV making complete fools of themselves by painting their team's colors on their face or wearing a giant 'number one' foam finger, waving it madly in front of the camera. Okay, House wasn't that bad but it made him smile watching his antics, even while sitting on a gurney with two non functional legs.
"They're like trained puppies," House quirked as he seemed to be enjoying his newfound power over the crowd.
As the cameraman continued to walk towards them, a reporter seemed to appear out of nowhere to stand in front of the camera, commentating on the situation. House started gesturing wildly with a hand, motioning them to come over. The reporter's eyebrows shot up with a questioning look but approached him anyway.
The reporter moved in next to House and started his interview.
"We're here with the victim of this unfortunate mishap." The reporter started, "Tell me sir, how did-"
All of a sudden the microphone was yanked out of his hands as House held it up to his mouth and stared directly into the camera's lens. "If anyone happened to catch that little incident on tape, please send a copy to Dr. Gregory House at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital," he continued while gesturing with a thumb toward Wilson, "he was too busy playing superman to get the shot. And besides, all he's got is a cheap S-VHS camcorder with a crappy picture." House added.
Shaking his head, Wilson turned toward the camera and politely offered a tight-lipped smile and waved, his eyes glancing sideways at the annoying person with the microphone sitting on the gurney.
"So, that's DOCTOR ," emphasizing the last word as he glanced at the paramedics out of the corner of his eye, "Gregory House at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital."
The reporter,unsure of what to do as he stood staring at the crazed fan sitting on the gurney with the microphone in his hand, flashed a fake smile at the camera.
House then seemed to turn on the 'pity the poor cripple' switch, playing to the crowd.
"Please. If you could find it in your heart to help a poor cripple." His eyes softened as he stared into the camera then grimaced in pain, clutching his splinted left leg. Whether it was for effect or real, Wilson wasn't sure.
House handed the mic back to the stunned reporter and rested his head back against the thin padding, looking relatively pleased with himself.
"Think they bought it?" House asked, a bit of tightness in his voice that only Wilson could pick up. He could see the lines of pain etched in his friend's features but refrained from asking any more nagging questions about his well being.
"You might've caused a few bleeding hearts."
Finally, the medics wheeled House toward the ambulance and started to lift him into the vehicle.
"Wait!" House's hands shot out to either side of the ambulance door, grabbing the frame, fighting the two EMTs who seemed to be tiring of their patient's ability to prevent them from doing their jobs. Wilson rolled his eyes to the sky above and shook his head lightly. He was surprised they hadn't strapped House's entire body down yet and use some wrist restraints.
"Sir, we need to get you to-" the medic stated calmly.
"Show's not over. I haven't seen the finals yet." he explained.
"Sir, your leg is br-" The taller paramedic started.
"I don't think it'll get any more broken by sitting here." He had a point there, thought Wilson. It seemed like his neurological functions were normal and no other major injuries he could see.
Both paramedics stopped fighting with their uncooperative patient and calmly set the wheels back onto the dirt, crossing their arms and waiting as Wilson approached him...again.
"House," impatience creeping into his voice as he rubbed his left hand down his face.
"I paid an arm and a... well, at least a leg for these tickets and I'm gonna get my money's worth," House stated, arms crossed, looking like a pouting four year old. "Gravedigger's in the finals and I'm NOT missing it."
"Hate to break it to you but they're not running the finals until the ambulance has cleared the infield and you're on your way to the hospital," Wilson said, "Besides, Gravedigger needs some repairs if you hadn't noticed." He paused, "Tell you what, I'll stick around and let you know who won. I'll even video tape it for you."
"Wow, what a guy."
"That's what friends are for."
"You're so thoughtful."
"House. Go to the hospital." Wilson said. "I'll meet you there." He hesitated another moment and added, "and don't make those EMT's want to hand in their resignations by the time you get there."
Wilson could see House mischievously eyeing the rubble that was once the food stand. A look that usually meant House's overactive brain was contemplating some insane idea or plan. This scared Wilson in an odd way.
House was still wearing a smirk, the pain occasionally causing a slight grimace, "Do you think I could take it home as a souvenir?" nodding his head toward the massive piece of rubber sitting amidst the wreckage of wood and assorted condiments.
"Um, at 1,800 dollars a pop? Doubt it." Wilson was amazed House could be holding a conversation while his leg bones were snapped in two. He idly wondered about House's pain tolerance. The man had come to know pain on a daily basis and had learned how to control it to a certain extent over the last seven years. He continued the conversation, "How would you get it home? Strap it to the top of your car?"
"We could roll it down the street." House was seriously thinking about the idea. "Or maybe I'll just strap it on your back and make you carry it." His face showing complete concentration as he faced Wilson, his blue eyes glistening from the overhead lights. "It would make a cool table. Throw a piece of glass over it. You know how those people use those giant cable spindles as tables?" House was rambling now. "I've seen tables made out of NASCAR tires.."
"That would be fine if you wanted a table six feet off the floor." Wilson added, pondering a thought. "Maybe you can make it a third bedroom. Think your bed could fit inside?"
"The smell of rubber might get annoying..." House wrinkled his nose as he continued his thoughts. "Maybe I can sue 'em for it. You know. Like collateral damage or something."
"Can't sue. Remember that release we signed at the gate?"
"Crap. Forgot about that. Do you think they really even look at those?" House's eyes lowered for a second as he looked to be in deep thought. "Crap, there goes my room addition. You wouldn't have had to sleep on my lumpy couch anymore."
"Will you please go now?"
"Fine." House signaled the two medics by making a lifting motion with his hands. "Let's go already."
The gurney was lifted and the two medics started to slide it into the ambulance as House grabbed the door frame once again.
Wilson had already started heading for his car in the stadium lot when he heard that all too familiar gravelly voice.
"Hey Wilson!"
He slowed reluctantly to a stop and turned around, his shoulders slumped as he looked up at the sky before giving House the benefit of a response. He could see House holding the ambulance door again, arms straining under his black T shirt as he fought against the two frustrated techs.
"What?!" he yelled from about thirty feet away.
"You owe me fifty bucks."
-------------------------------------------------------
A/N #2: I was going to end it here but I've had people who asked me to continue it so I'll give it my best shot. Just don't expect an update quickly. I'm a slow writer and it takes me FOREVER to get my thoughts on paper but I'll do my best! Thanks for all the reviews and alerts. I'm flattered! Hopefully it'll be updated in the next week or so. Meanwhile, I may get brave and post the other fic I've been working on for the last 8 months. Yes, 8 months. I told you I'm slow. Actually I have about four fics in the works but I've been too chicken to post anything. You all have made me a little more confident and I may start posting them.
