To Lose My Life Chapter 3: If The Silence Takes You, a house, m.d. fanfic

A/N Thanks to all who have read this so far and for the nice reviews. You lovely people. Slightly filler-ish chapter. Every story has one and I guess this is probably be mine. So excuse me for that. Enjoy :)

Help me out here
All my words are falling short

It was 3:30 in the morning. House had been sitting in the same chair for nearly four hours, his eyes still boring into the ugly cream wall opposite. Cuddy had provided him with enough Vicodin to get through the next twenty-four hours and the sharp pains he felt previously had been significantly dulled by his usual excessive popping of the pills.

There had been little movement from behind the operating theatre doors. Nobody had came and nobody had left. House should have felt somewhat consoled by the fact that no one had been called in; it hinted that nothing serious had happened since Wilson's first crash. But the fact that no one had came out also hinted that it was not going smoothly. The emergency nurse who was called in to help revive Wilson hadn't passed back through those imposing double doors.

"That nurse hasn't came back." House mumbled just loud enough to wake Cuddy from her gentle nap.

Her face flickered into life, her eyelids fluttering as she tried to gain back her focus on House. "What?" was the tired question that escaped her lips.

"That nurse. She didn't come back out."

Cuddy sighed. "I'm sure it's nothing. They probably just want to make sure everything is covered. Would you rather they had less staff in there?"

House bounced the end of his cane off the floor. "Something is wrong. You don't keep nurses in there if you don't need them. If Wilson was fine she would be back here doing her job here. Not in there standing around taking up the space and doing nothing."

"I'm sure she is staying in there for a reason."

House rolled his eyes in frustration."Yeah. Perhaps to massage Chase's guns while he works or entertain them all by dancing to the beat of Wilson's heart."

Cuddy sensed the worry and mounting frustration in House's voice. She knew the worse he felt the more he deflected with barbed and acerbic comments. But she knew House had every reason to worry.

She had talked to the paramedic who had informed her that the bleeding was significant, that is was very likely an organ had been damaged and that she rated Wilson's chance at 30/70. At this moment in time Cuddy was clinging to that thirty percent. She had seen startling recoveries in patients with less chance and that is what kept her calm, almost controlled in her manner around House. House had enough to deal with without her crying on his shoulder.

She could see in House's eyes the he was scared to death. The way he kept looking at the floor instead of trying his usual tactic of bribery and malicious verbal ways to get into that operating theatre or at least see what was happening. Sure he had tried, but the sight he was greeted with when he burst his way in had knocked him for six.

His friend was technically dead in front of him. Technically dead and being shocked back to life over and over again.

Cuddy had noticed House had been remarkably quiet since then, barely looking up from the floor or saying anything. The last three hours had consisted of her watching him spin a cane in between his hands and occasionally pop a pill. This was not a House she had ever seen before. She had seen him in pain, in tears, emotionally and physically hurting but she had never seen him look so completely terrified.

His face remained unmoved apart from the occasional rub of his stubbled jaw against his hand. He was still, almost tranquil in his physical appearance but inside the waves of consternation and dread battered his body.

He darted a quick look towards Cuddy and for a brief moment their eyes met. He could sense her mind reading his. She knew he was frightened and he could see that by the gentle but pained smile that he was given.

"You want some coffee?" Cuddy broke the awkward silence that had descended over the two of them.

"Mmm." House flapped a dismissive hand.

"You've not had anything since you got here. I'm getting you a coffee."

"Fine. Whatever."

Cuddy came back with two coffee cups and three sachets of sugar. She handed House a cup and offered him a couple of sachets. "I wasn't sure how much sugar you took so I brought two."

House accepted the cup. "I don't take any...but," he grabbed the sachets out of Cuddy's hand and stuffed them in his pocket, "...I'll keep them for Wilson's first drink of a celebratory coffee if we ever get out of here. He likes to rot his own teeth."

It wasn't until twenty past four that there was any sign of progress in the operating theatre. Two nurses left, both in clean scrubs but both looking truly exhausted. The next face to emerge was the one House was looking for.

Chase, his eyes circled with dark rings from the obvious lack of sleep, emerged from the theatre with a solemn face.

House immediately got up and approached his colleague. "Well..."

"He's stable."

House rolled his eyes. "Well thank you for your incisive analysis. I wanna know how he is and what the hell happened in there."

Chase took a deep breath. "There was a lot of bleeding and I mean I lot. He had been stabbed twice roughly in the same area of his abdomen. The blade had nicked his large intestine, his right kidney and made a pretty sizeable laceration on his liver." Chase ran a hand through his greasy, dishevelled hair. "Main job was to save the liver and we did that. Then it was just a case of stopping the bleeding which took a lot longer than we anticipated."

House furrowed his brows "But you managed to control it right?"

"Yeah but only just. He flat lined but we managed to revive him pretty quickly." Chase bit his bottom lip as he saw the anxiety in House's face. "I can't promise you he'll be fine but I can say he's fine for now. We just have to be careful in case he bleeds again and watch in case he develops hypocalcemia." Chase placed a friendly hand on House's shoulder. "The nurses are moving him to ICU. You should go and see him."

House merely nodded in response and turned to make his way towards ICU leaving an exhausted looking Chase and lethargic Cuddy in the waiting room.

"God. He seemed rather intense." Chase rubbed his eyes wearily.

Cuddy raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious? You are aware it's Wilson in there."

"When something something is troubling House he usually volleys abuse at people more than he usually does. Specifically he calls me a crappy surgeon and a koala or whatever stereotypical Aussie phrase he can think of that day. Never once has he just accepted what I say and left. Has he ever done that with you?"

"No."

"And you've know him how long?"

Cuddy sighed. "A long time."

"Exactly. We should keep an eye on him." Chase shot Cuddy a deadly serious look.

"What? He's not going to do anything."

"And what if Wilson dies?"

Cuddy didn't respond. She didn't know what to say but she knew Chase had a point. House couldn't deal with something of that magnitude, he had barely got through the period where Wilson and he weren't talking. If she lost Wilson she would no doubt lose House. Over the years it had became apparent that one couldn't function properly without the other. "I guess you have a point."

"You know I have a point. You're just as concerned about House as you are Wilson. You know if Wilson dies House will crumble. Just watch out for him that's all I'm saying." Chase rubbed his jaw.

Cuddy looked at the floor trying to digest Chase's words. "What do you think Wilson's chances are?"

"Honestly..." Chase paused, "...I don't know. Presuming he doesn't start bleeding again then I'd give him a fighting chance. But I really don't know. Sorry I can't be more positive."

Cuddy smiled. "You did all you can. Thank you."

"I'm just going to grab a shower. I'll hang around afterwards." With a weak smile Chase made his way to the employees shower room to wash away the night's blood and sweat.

Why House had tried to be as quiet as possible dragging the chair across the floor, he didn't know. His oncologist friend was unconscious and still under the influence of anaesthesia so the sound of a scraping chair on a hard floor was unlikely to wake Wilson from his sleep. Nevertheless, House carefully pulled up a chair and took a seat next to Wilson's bedside.

Wilson's torso and lower chest were swathed in bandages and there was also a noticeable mark of mottled purple on his ribs where House assumed a fist had made its presence known. There was also a small patch of swelling under Wilson's left eye and cheek.

His friend lay still. If House were anywhere else he would have thought Wilson was merely in a serene sleep but the drips, tubes and monitors surrounding the bed told another story. He wasn't sleeping, he was fighting for his life or at least House hoped he was.

His instincts were telling him to say something caustic or witty to break the awkward silence and let Wilson know he was here. Whether or not he would be heard didn't really matter. But he was lost for words.

Instead House sat quietly, his hand on Wilson's, watching his friend's chest steadily rise and fall, occasionally squeezing Wilson's hand to let him know of his presence.

House glanced heavy-eyed at the clock that hung above the glass panels. It was 4:30.

He took a last guilty look at the sedate face of his friend before lying back in his chair and letting his eyes rest to a close.

A/N So yeah slightly filler-esque. But cheers for reading too. Cheer me up with a nice review too because my football (European soccer) team got relegated are now no longer playing in the top league :(