A/N New modem means reliable internet. Hooray for that.
As usual read and enjoy. A review would also be nice.
Wilson gently massaged his pounding temples before taking an aspirin to calm the throb that was coursing through his head. He headed to the bathroom to clean himself up. His hair hadn't been washed since he came home from the hospital and the grease from days of being unwashed had left his hair slimy and unkempt. He would usually be disgusted with himself for letting it get into that sort of state but in this precise moment in time he really didn't give a damn.
Wilson got to the bathroom door before shrugging, turning around and seeking solace on his couch, where he had been sleeping and spending most of his time for the past two days. Since House had left the other morning, Wilson hadn't slept in his bed, instead he had made himself comfortable in the living room. His bedroom was too dark, too quiet. The solid door of his bedroom would block out any noise from anywhere making every too quiet and the side lamp in his bedroom was hazy at best.
He needed a place where it was light enough for him to sleep but not be kept awake and where the noise of his TV drowned out the noise of outside so he wasn't constantly straining to hear the tiny clicks and steps from outside and wondering if someone was trying to break in.
Sleeping on the couch had been a mild success. He had finally gotten some sleep but it was only a couple of hours at a time and he had yet still to experience a full deep sleep that he was so fond of before hand. He was still waking up drenched in cold sweat and he was still seeing that face, that awful blur complete with dark eyes and a sloppy grin, every time he tried to sleep.
But at least he was sleeping. Kind of. Sort of.
House sat reclining back on his chair, flicking an elastic band between his fingers, hoping for inspiration on his latest case. He had a patient who was having seizures for no apparent reason and it was getting on his nerves. Not just for the fact that he couldn't find the answer but also the constant beeping on his pager telling him his patient was having yet another seizure.
He had Foreman doing another MRI to make sure they had missed nothing and Taub and Thirteen were off re-running the blood work.
House noted the gentle opening and closing of his glass door and a flash of red out the corner of his eye. He scrunched both eyes shut. "Wait a minute. Let me guess. Water bra or push-up bra?" He tapped his chin. "You only wear red when you have a meeting to give the impression you are some hard-assed spunky female. Push-up bras you wear when you want to distract men at meetings. So I am guessing the push-up bra due to that enormous cleavage that will burst into my eye line." He opened his eyes. "Oh my god!" House covered his eyes with his hands.
"Wrong." Cuddy gave a self-satisfied smile. "It's just a regular old bra. I see you haven't discovered the mystery behind your seizing patient."
"Nope. But I'll get there eventually. Just need to drill a hole in his head and pop out the problem."
"What? You're not drilling a hole in a patient's head when you don't know what you're looking for!"
House flicked the elastic band into Cuddy's cleavage. "Goal!"
Agitated, she pulled the band out and threw back at House. "You are not drilling that guy's head."
House tutted loudly. "Fine. I'll do it when you're not looking."
Cuddy glared. "Stop being a pain in the ass." She stuck a hand on her hip. "How's Wilson? I haven't had a chance to see him with Rachel's sitter being ill."
"I don't know." House tossed the elastic band into the bin.
"You don't know? You haven't seen him?" Cuddy looked at House quizzically.
"I saw him a couple of days ago but I've been busy saving this guy. You know, our patient. The guy who's dying."
"Wilson needs your support House. He needs his friend right now."
"Well thank you for your sage words and pointless advice." House pushed himself up on his chair and leaned on his desk. "Can I do my job now? You're always going on how we shouldn't kill patients in this place."
Cuddy sighed. "Fine. But go and see him." With that, she turned and left the office.
A pang of guilt made its presence known. Seeing Wilson had slipped House's mind since he received the case at work. He expected to see Wilson striding down the hall towards his office, or peeking his head around the glass door, maybe even sitting and chewing on some rancid salad in the cafeteria or heading towards the Oncology ward. The fact that Wilson wasn't at work and hadn't been at work for a couple of weeks was something House had still not gotten used to.
House told himself he would go and see Wilson tonight. House hoped his good friend would look and seem in a better state than he was a couple of days ago. Oserving Wilson so tetchy and desperate for his company was odd and unnerving but House had assured himself that Wilson just needed time to settle back into being at home. But now those assurances were beginning to waver.
Cuddy was right and House begrudgingly acknowledged that in his mind. He should have visited Wilson in the past couple of days and Wilson did need him to be there.
House groaned loudly. He hated it when Cuddy was right.
House rapped loudly on Wilson's door for the third time. "Wilson. It's House. Open the door."
No answer.
House rapped again, this time with the bottom end of his cane. "Wilson."
Again, no answer. House flipped out his cellphone and called Wilson's apartment. He put his ear to the door and listened to the gentle ring that reverberated around the apartment.
Nobody picked up the phone so House left a message. "Wilson. Open the damn door. I know you're there." House waiting for a few minutes before resigning himself to the obvious fact that Wilson wasn't there.
Where the hell is he? House tried the last roll of the dice and called Wilson's cell.
After a few tense rings through the receiver, there was action on the other end.
"Hello." The voice was tired and laboured but there was no doubt about who the voice belonged to.
"Wilson. It's House."
"Oh. Hey."
Wilson did not sound pleased to be talking to House at all. "Where the hell are you? I'm at your apartment and you're not here."
Wilson cleared his throat audibly. "No I'm not there."
"No shit. Where are you?" House furrowed his brows
"Work."
House paused, just making sure he had heard Wilson correctly. "Work? Wilson it's seven thirty. Why are you at work?"
"No reason."
"You shouldn't even be at work. Does Cuddy know you're there?"
"Why would she know?"
House sighed. The conversation was going nowhere and he was concerned enough to warrant a visit back to work to see if he could sniff out James Wilson. "I'm coming. Don't go anywhere."
"Okay." With a confused shake of the head, House stuffed his cellphone back into his pocket and headed out to get on his motorcycle.
What the hell is he doing at work? House had no idea what was going on. Wilson and his actions were usually so boring and predictable but this, this was just weird. His voice, the demeanour he projected down the phone was just strange. Why the hell would he be at work in his state? And what could he possibly be doing there?
Cuddy had told Wilson he had as much time off as he needed to take. It had only been a couple of weeks. Surely he wasn't that desperate to get back to work.
House revved up the engine on his motorcycle before speeding off in the direction of the hospital.
House spotted Wilson's Volvo parked at an awkward angle near the entrance to the hospital and proceeded to pull his motorcycle up along side.
With his helmet tucked under his arm, her limped his way towards the elevator and then to the door of Wilson's office.
Unlike most office doors, Wilson's door was not made of glass so House couldn't see whether or not his friend had took his advice and stayed put or if he had left already. A quick twist of the doorknob would tell House what he needed to know.
A gentle click and Wilson's door opened. He was here. Wilson was very particular about his door being locked when he wasn't around.
The familiar sight of Wilson scribbling on seemingly endless amounts of paper greeted House when he pushed open the door to the office.
Wilson didn't look up from his paperwork; he chose to carry on, ignoring the fact House had just came through the door.
"Wilson." House noted the oncologist's pale complexion, the lines around his eyes representing lost sleep and exhaustion, and the lank, greasy hair that flopped down into Wilson's eyes.
"Mm-mm." Wilson's tongue poked out the side of his mouth as his tried to stick a label onto the front of a folder that lay on his desk.
House slammed his cane down onto the desk, sending several pieces of paper flying into the air. "Wilson. What are you doing here?"
"I'm working." Wilson's bloodshot eyes met House before he bowed his head to write once more.
House grasped the pen out of Wilson's hand. "You're not meant to be here. You're meant to be at home."
Wilson rubbed his eyes before holding out his hand. "Give me the pen."
"You look like crap. You need to go home."
Wilson heavily sighed. "Give me the pen."
"Go home." House held the pen up in the air out of Wilson's reach.
"Give me the pen." Wilson clenched his jaw.
"Go. Home."
"Just give me the fucking pen!" The words came laced with anger and frustration as Wilson slammed his fist onto the desk.
House stood still in complete shock. Wilson rarely swore. It was a rarity, usually spared until he was very drunk or very angry. But this outburst had come from nowhere.
House slowly handed the pen to Wilson, who swiftly took it from his grasp.
"Thank you." Wilson sat back in his chair with pen in hand.
"You shouldn't be here." House edged back from Wilson's desk.
"Why not? I've got nothing better to do besides sit on my couch."
"You're meant to be recovering. You do realise you were stabbed two weeks ago. Usually people take time off work for those sorts of things."
Wilson ran a hand through his limp hair. "I'm fine House. Really."
"No you're not. You should be at home."
"And how the fuck would you know! You've haven't seen me in nearly three days! I've been stuck in my apartment on my own for three days so excuse me for being bored."
"Fine. I will come over tomorrow. I'll bring some food. We can watch some crappy TV."
Wilson dropped his head. "That's not just it."
"What? What 'it'?"
Wilson waved his hand, feeling like he had said too much. "Nothing. Nothing. It doesn't matter."
House threw his hands in the air. "You're not making any sense. What do you want me to do? Or know?"
"Nothing! I just said. Now leave me alone." Wilson leaned forward and stuck his head in his hands.
"I'm not leaving until you promise to go home first. Like I have said about a billion times. You. Should. Not. Be. Here." House flopped down onto the black leather couch in the office to make himself comfortable.
Wilson grumbled under his breath before admitting defeat. "Fine. You win. I'm going home." Wilson grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.
"Wilson."
The oncologist stopped at the door and turned. "What?"
"You okay?"
Wilson licked his lips before answering. "Yeah. I'm okay." He turned away and headed towards the elevator.
House sat picking at the couch. Wilson said he was okay but House knew better. He wasn't okay. If Wilson was okay he wouldn't have snapped, he wouldn't have swore and he wouldn't have been here in the first place.
Wilson was not okay.
House sighed and lolled his head back onto the top of the couch.
A/N More to come... Hope you enjoyed. :)
Black Star- Radiohead © 1995 The Bends