Monster Truck Mayhem: Chapter 7

A/N: So sorry for the long delay. Funny how I keep saying that. Real life just makes it so difficult to be able to commit a good chunk of time to writing. Anyway... Hope you're still interested and I hope to be updating quicker from now on. I have a complete outline for the entire story now and am working diligently on it daily. Thanks for all of your kind comments and enjoy!

Monster Truck Mayhem: Chapter 7

Slowly, the fog engulfing his drugged brain began to lift, his senses once again able to send signals through the thinning haze of anesthetic.

He heard voices. Distant. Muffled. As if they were conversing at the end of a mile-long hallway, but they were there. Women talking softly in that overly kind, patronizing tone he loathed, like a mother gently waking her napping toddler. The sounds of monitors beeping and chirping in the background, accompanied by the rhythmic hissing of the blood pressure cuff filling with air then slowly releasing, the tightness around his arm easing in unison.

The slight touch of cool plastic tubing against his cheeks and the dryness in his nostrils indicated oxygen being force-fed into his lungs through a nasal cannula.

His eyelids had no intentions of responding to his fuzzy brain's commands at the moment, so he stuck with the senses that seemed to be working.

"Dr. House, are you with us?" That coddling voice again. Was that his name? The only words he was able to comprehend were the first two. The rest sounded like she was speaking into a metal garbage can from across the room, words echoing and bouncing around inside his head.

"Come on, Dr. House. Time to wake up. Your surgery's over." Surgery? ...He forced himself to focus. Oh yeah. "Dr. Masterson will talk to you after you're settled in your room." Settle. Right. It was impossible to ever be settled when stuck in the hospital.

Hospital stays always involved being awakened every two hours whether you liked it or not, to be poked, prodded and just plain annoyed. The nurse would show up in the middle of the night to check vitals along with your fluid input, fluid output, overall comfort level and simply just to make sure you never had a chance to get any sleep. All he wanted to do was enjoy the remains of his drug induced nap.

A gentle rub on his shoulder startled him from his dreamlike state, involuntarily jerking from the touch. His eyes snapped open for a brief moment before falling closed a split second later. He tried to utter his disapproval of being disturbed and wanted to tell her to leave him the hell alone, but all that came out was a discernible "Nnnngh," as he turned his head and drifted back into his slumber.

A while later--he had no clue how long it had been—the unique sounds of the recovery room flooded back into his ears, this time more crisp and clear. His eyelids slowly fluttered open, instantly regretting it. Blinding overhead lights filled his vision as they began to oscillate above him, warping and swaying like something out of a Pink Floyd video.

Immediately he closed his eyes and turned his head away from the offensive lights, fighting off the urge to vomit. Last thing he wanted right now was for Nurse Nightingale to have to clean up any of his bodily fluids.

A futile attempt at moving his limbs yielded a limp hand clumsily thrown over his eyes, wincing as his fingers brushed against the line of sutures on his forehead. Ow. Forgot about that. Gently, he slid his forearm further down over his eyes as he rode out the vertigo.

Images from recent events started to emerge out of the murkiness of his mind. Pictures and moments flashed in front of his closed eyes like a poorly edited slideshow. Monster Trucks, ER, tire, leg, surgery...

A pang of fear ran through him as he realized he couldn't feel anything below his waist. No pain. Nothing. It was unnerving to say the least. After a failed attempt at wiggling his toes, he clumsily reached his left hand down and came up against a bulky brace encircling his leg up to the middle of his thigh.

Okay, his leg was still there but his usually troubled right leg seemed to be awfully tame at the moment too. His heart jumped in response, the heart-rate monitor beeps rising in unison.

He made an uncoordinated attempt to grab his right leg, feeling the rounded crest normal healthy tissue of his upper quad. His fingers walked down his thigh, sliding down the edge of the crater that was the remains of his quadriceps. He probed gently, feeling the tight, scarred flesh under his fingertips, but his leg didn't seem to be registering his touch. Maybe it was still the effects of the anesthesia. Maybe he had been given some kind of nerve block. There had to be a logical medical explanation. It wasn't time to panic...yet. He threw his right arm back over his closed eyes and waited for the room to stop spinning.

"How are you feeling?" The damn nurse again with that saccharine-sweet voice.

He peeked an eye out from under his elbow, trying to give her his best scowl but it came out more as a blank, dopey stare. Whatever it was, it didn't convince the nurse to go away and let him return to the world at his own pace.

"Fine...goway..." he croaked out. He would've loved to add a bit more commentary, but couldn't summon the strength yet.

"Sorry, Dr. House. You're going to have to put up with me for a little while longer. You know the rules."

Another witty retort sat on the tip of his tongue but all that emerged was a weak cough as his tongue tried to unglue itself from the roof of his mouth.

Ice chips were suddenly thrust in front of his nose. He opened his mouth grudgingly and accepted the cool relief, letting the ice melt over his parched tongue and lips, the cool water sliding down his raw throat.

The room seemed to stop spinning and was now reduced to a simple swaying motion, as if he was out at sea floating adrift a makeshift raft in twenty-foot waves.

Lifting his arm away from his face, he lowered his eyes towards the foot of the bed and started to take inventory. The sight of his left toes peeking out from under the bandages and brace were a welcome sight, even if those toes were turning a lovely shade of green and purple.

A sense of relief washed over him when he made out the contour of his right leg under the pale green blanket, the toes of his right foot creating a little triangular tent at the other end of the bed. All limbs present and accounted for. Always a good sign after waking up from anesthesia. The numbness he felt weighed a bit in the back of his mind, but he knew it had to be something temporary...at least he hoped.

With his major concerns resolved, he closed his eyes and relaxed back into the pillow, struggling to stay awake. He had forgotten how long it took to shake off the effects of a general anesthetic. Giving up the fight, he let the heavy blanket of anesthesia once again cover him as he drifted off, oblivious to the activity around him.

He had meant to stay awake while waiting for House to come out of recovery, wanting to be there when House woke up, but he found himself dozing off on one of the cushy couches in the lounge meant to keep family members and loved ones comfortable while they waited for news about their significant other's surgery. Lucky for him, it was the middle of the night and the room was basically empty, giving him ample space to stretch out his tired and sore body anywhere he liked. Before he knew it, he was down for the count, the stresses of the previous day taking its toll.

A shake of his gym-shoe-clad foot shook him out of his catnap as he looked up to see a large muscular arm attached to a pair of blue scrubs. He shoved himself slowly into a sitting position to properly greet the orthopedic surgeon.

Masterson briefly explained the surgery and House's prospective recovery and rehab, informing Wilson that he was going to meet with House first thing in the morning, wanting to let the patient get some needed rest first. Wilson lifted himself slowly off the maroon cushions with a groan and made his way towards House's room.

When he arrived in room 316, House was already there, snoring contently. Wilson snuck in quietly and deposited himself in the meager excuse for a chair and stared poignantly at his dozing friend. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he took in the sight of the braced leg, slightly bent at the knee and resting on a pillow. A light green blanket was pulled up to House's chest, his hands resting comfortably on his stomach and the head of the bed slightly raised. House looked...relaxed, even with the angry row of black stitches angling down his forehead. It didn't take away from the softened features on his friend's face, how the lines of pain at the corners of his eyes seemed to have disappeared for now.

Content with House's condition, he sank back into the chair and had let himself drift off again.

--

The distant sound of metal crashing to the floor startled him awake, his body jerking in response. Gaining his bearings, Wilson turned and glanced towards House, who was staring sleepily back at him from the hospital bed a few feet away.

Wilson let out a strained "Heeey" as he arched his back, his face contorting with the release of an exaggerated yawn. His whole body ached from the awkward position he was forced to hold in order to keep from sliding out of the chair and onto the floor.

"Whervyoubeen..?" House's words slurred together as he stared back at him with those soul-searching eyes. Even in a drug induced haze, those ice-blue orbs of House's could still send shivers up and down his spine.

"Good morning to you, too." It felt like he'd been asleep for five minutes, but the daylight filling the room told him otherwise. So, he must have gotten at least a few hours of sleep since dragging himself off the couch in the visitor's lounge to this ridiculously uncomfortable hard plastic chair next to House's bedside.

The sun was shining through the east facing window, the vertical blinds slicing the light into thin yellow lines across the entire room like the bars of a jail cell. House looked like a prisoner trapped in his own hospital bed. How ironic, Wilson thought.

"Didn't see you...after surgery." House continued, the words broken as he sighed deeply. He still looked a little woozy and pale and seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes open.

"What? Wait. Did you actually MISS me?" Wilson stated with mock surprise, grabbing his chest in shock.

"No." He watched as House tried to shift his body to a more comfortable position, wincing in the process. "Thought you might've... been smart and gone back to your hotel room. But since you're still in the same clothes as last night...I'm guessing you're not as smart as I thought."

"Well, actually, I thought I'd go out and catch a movie." Wilson replied sarcastically.

House stared blankly as Wilson continued, "Then I hung out at Starbucks for a while. Had a Grande Latte while I played on the internet."

"What'd ya see?"

"Do you really think I'd do that?" Wilson questioned loudly, feeling slightly hurt by House thinking he'd actually abandon him. "I was standing and pacing in the observation deck for hours, watching them put you back together again."

"Were all the king's horses and all the king's men there too?" House questioned mockingly, then sighing deeply he continued, "I'm not Humpty Dumpty."

'Well, you could've fooled me," Wilson replied, crossing his arms in front of him as he thought back to all of the times he'd witnessed House in surgery or lying in a hospital bed recovering from some affliction or injury.

"I would've gone to the movies," House mumbled as he turned to reach for the Styrofoam cup sitting on the tray. A struggle ensued between House's lower and upper body, legs refusing to cooperate with his upper half.

"Of course you would have." He subtly stretched his foot out to push the cart a bit closer to House's outstretched arm, receiving a threatening glare in return.

He leaned back in his chair again, refusing to let his inner need to enable swallow him whole.

"Okay, if you won't go back to your hotel, at least go change. You look like crap," House added, his voice rough from the trach tube and sleep.

"Yeah, and you look like a breath of fresh air," he retorted as he took in House's pale appearance and the numerous tubes and wires attached to his friend.

"I'm fine," House croaked, finally reaching the cup with his fingertips and tilted it toward his mouth, crunching the small chunks of ice. "Nothing you could've done anyways, so why waste your time staring at me while I was unconscious? It's not like I'd known you were there. Kind of pointless, don't you think?"

"Well, it is usually customary for a friend or loved one to actually be concerned about someone who's in surgery, and they may even feel the need to be nearby." Wilson explained, "I know this concept is foreign to you."

"It all goes back to the 'let's see how close I can get to show you how much I care' hypothesis." House replied, "I'm surprised you weren't in the OR, leaning over Masterson's shoulder during the whole thing."

House knew him too well. Wilson would have been in the OR if he felt he could've been some kind of assistance at all, but he knew he'd just be in the way. Besides, House probably would have found some way to tease him to no end about his incessant need to control every aspect of House's life. "Excuse me for caring," he stated, shifting positions in the oddly contoured chair. He could have sworn those chairs were made for someone about four feet tall with some kind of odd curvature of the spine.

"Well, if you're not going anywhere, make yourself useful and grab my chart," House demanded, sticking his free hand out as he shook a few more ice chips into his mouth, letting them melt on his tongue.

"Since you asked so nicely..." He started to push himself up off the armrests when his elbow sent a hot, searing pain down his forearm, causing him to hitch his breath momentarily as he released the pressure off his elbow.

He chanced a quick glance at House who was eyeing him suspiciously with that calculating gaze he seemed to possess when trying to tackle a puzzle. Maybe if he just shook it off. Act like it was nothing.

"Hit my funny bone." He answered quickly as he flexed his hand a few times, casually striding over to the bin on the wall and grabbing the chart with his left hand. He could feel House's eyes piercing his back, gauging his every move.

"Masterson did an amazing job," Wilson stated, trying to change the subject as he nonchalantly flipped the chart onto House's chest.

"Since when did you get your specialty in orthopedics? House questioned sardonically, "I know I wasn't out that long."

"Well, I talked to Chase right after the surgery and he said that Masterso-"

"Wait. Are you telling me Chase was in on the surgery?" he asked as he started to flip through the notes, his brows furrowing with concentration.

"Yeah, and he was totally impressed with Masterson's work."

"Chase said it was good work? Well, then it must be true," came the sarcastic reply. Wilson noticed House straining to focus on the small handwriting as House continued. "Since when has Chase become the go-to guy when it comes to judging surgery techniques?"

"Since you fired him and he became part of the surgical team down here. He's good, not that you'd notice."

"Do you mean professionally or se-" House cut short his reply as his eyes continued to scan the contents. "Ahhh, that explains it. Thought so..." He muttered under his breath, sounding a bit relieved.

"What?"

"Nothing." House replied as Wilson watched him squeeze his right thigh experimentally and run his hand under the sheet as if feeling around for something he lost. Wilson assumed House was taking simple inventory, determining what had been done and where. He could see the hand moving down the inside of his right leg, following what he assumed to be the tubing taped to the inside of his thigh.

As House continued to filter through his file with his free hand, his eyes suddenly grew wide in surprise, then turned to anger. "Chase cathed me? House started, staring at the scribbled words on the page. "Why didn't a nurse or an..." House sounded a bit pissed at first, but then he stopped short and the corner of his lip crept up into a sly grin. "Think he was impressed?"

"With what?" He had started to tune out House's rambling, his eyes glued to the damaged leg in front of him. His mind started running the scene over and over again as as it somehow tried to process some other outcome, some solution other than having his friend end up in a hospital bed with a leg in pieces. This was something that wasn't going to go away easily. It was going to nag him for who knew how long, the incessant guilt grinding away at his conscience. Why did he let things bother him so much? Why couldn't he just sweep his guilt to the curb and leave it for the trash collectors? Sometimes he envied House and his ability to not give a crap. It would make his life so much easier.

"Earth to Wilson." He looked up to meet House's gaze instantly. Quickly averting his eyes, he focused on the bedrail in front of him. "What?"

"Hey, I'm talking about penis envy here and you're somewhere out in left field. You can't let a good penis joke go to waste like that."

"God forbid. There are never enough penis jokes in the world."

House continued his speculations on Chase's manly bits. "He'll probably go home to Cameron tonight and feel a bit... inferior...if you know what I mean." House raised his eyebrows a bit and flinched, gently touching the gash on his forehead. The last comment snapped Wilson out of his rumination and he stared back at House.

"You're unreal," he stated, shaking his head in disbelief. "Here's another thought: he might've been mature and professional about the whole thing and not thought anything of it and did his job, unlike someone else I know."

House aimed his comments to the pages in front of him, oblivious to Wilson's response, or he just didn't care as he kept rambling on about the netherlands. "Probably a good thing Cameron didn't cath me. She'd never leave me alone. Could you imagine?" He shuddered with those words, making Wilson smile a bit at the floor, keeping his reaction hidden from House.

"What can I say, you're just so irresistible," Wilson deadpanned.

"Am I interrupting something?" a familiar deep voice chimed in.

They both turned to see Masterson strolling into the room, freshly showered and wearing the same green polo and khaki pants from the night before.

"Oh, the usual discussion about penis sizes."

Masterson shook his head. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?"

"You'd be disappointed if I did." House answered, setting his chart on his lap and stretching his upper body a bit.

"How's it feeling?" Masterson asked, nodding toward the immobilized limb elevated on pillows.

"Depends on the moment, but right now it's got a large plastic tube shoved inside of it, so not..." House answered seriously, as the other two doctors' eyes rolled to the ceiling in unison. "Oh! You mean the leg. My bad." He reached for the manila folder and pulled out some X-rays that must have been taken following the surgery.

House's eyes narrowed as they focused on the film. "Damn. I've got more hardware in me than Home Depot."

"Would you have preferred me to use some Super Glue or duct tape instead?" Masterson retorted.

"You know, duct tape does have over ten thousand uses. I could make you a nice wallet. The directions are online. I'm sure I could find the time what with me being unable to walk now."

"I would like to get home some time today and enjoy my only day off, so how about answering my question?" He was growing tired of House's little deflection game.

"It's fine." The standard answer Masterson probably had heard a thousand times from House.

"Spinal block, huh? House questioned, looking up at Masterson for confirmation. "Could've warned me. A little freaky to wake up and not feel anything below the waist, especially with my bad luck waking up from anesthesia."

So that's what House was concerned about. Wilson thought he saw a flash of concern on House's face earlier. Of course, House wouldn't open his mouth and actually say something like "Hey, I can't really feel my legs."

"Thought I'd give you a few hours of comfort following the surgery. Guess I was wrong. I'll try not to be so considerate next time."

Masterson went on, explaining what he'd done and his future prognosis. The surgery went well and House would likely regain full use of his left leg, barring any complications. Wilson had sighed with relief at the mention of complete recovery. Something in the back of his head kept nagging at him, picturing House stuck in a wheelchair permanently because of one split-second decision he had made and knowing he would have to live with that realization for the rest of hislife.

Masterson continued to explain about rehab; how it would be slow and had to be altered due to House's compromised right leg. "Oh, and I have plans for that right leg of yours, too," he added.

Wilson turned to see House's scowl directed toward Masterson as he continued discussing the prognosis. "You need to try to get as much strength in that right leg as possible. If you can strengthen the surrounding muscles a bit more, maybe learn how to maneuver it with your hamstrings and gluts, it'll make everything a bit easier if you can move that leg under its own power."

"You know that won't work. First of all, I'll be screaming in pain. Secondly...I'll be screaming in pain."

"We'll see what we can do." Masterson wasn't going to give in that easily.

The plan was for the full leg splint to remain in place until the incisions had healed adequately and the sutures and staples were removed. If everything looked good, then he'd be placed in a cast below the knee. House continued scowling, doing his best to intimidate, but it never worked as well when he was flat on his back in a hospital bed.

"Of course, no weight bearing for at least two to three weeks which means...well... I'm sure you've figured out that you'll have to be in a wheelchair because there is no way that right leg of yours is going to support you." If anything, Masterson was straight and to the point. "Then we'll see about getting you on your feet after that."

"Wow, I'm so glad you're here to state the obvious." House was starting to look a bit drained, the color of his face paling under the darker stubble. He had started blinking his eyes in an effort to stay focused but seemed to be losing the battle with his heavy eyelids. He sighed deeply, "I've dealt with wheelchairs before. I think I can handle a few weeks rolling around."

"Just remember, you had one good leg to support you last time. Now all you've got is your upper body strength to depend on." He paused, "This isn't going to be easy. Just be aware of that. You'll have some frustrating mom-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I've heard this speech before. I think it was about seven years ago or so. I get it. It's gonna suck. I'll get through it."

"Alright. Well, get some sleep. That nerve block will probably last you another few hours and allow you to rest a bit." He turned to Wilson, "James, call me if anything comes up or seems unusual...well, more unusual for him."

"Thanks, Chris."

"'Chris and James?' How cute. You guys are on a first name basis." He let out a drawn out yawn. "Well, sorry to interrupt your little social get-together, but I'd like to get some sleep, so if you two don't mind." He turned his head away from the two men standing on his right and feigned sleep.

Wilson joined Dr. Masterson in the hall for a few minutes. He needed to discuss House's possible need for assistance at his home.

"Well, we both know how stubborn he is, but honestly, I think he's gonna need some help. Give him a chance. Let him try to do things for himself first. He's probably going to need help initially with transferring in and out of the chair. It's not only the loss of his strength and use of his legs; it's a balance issue. It's going to be difficult for him to allow you to help but he really won't have a choice, at least until he's got the hard cast below the knee. That'll give him a bit more maneuverability."

Wilson nodded in response.

"He's probably going to be out for a while. Go home, change. Grab a nap yourself. He's fine and he'll still be fine when you get back."

Wilson looked at the floor for a moment before raising his eyes to the six foot plus doctor. "You didn't have to come out here in the middle of the night, especially for someone like him." He threw a thumb in the direction of House's room. "If he never says it, I'll say it for him. Thanks." As he offered his right hand out and the other doctor took a firm grip and shook it, a sharp pang shot from his elbow, radiating up and down his arm. Reflexively, he pulled away, cradling his tender elbow in his hand. His mouth closed in a tight line when he saw Masterson staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

"It's nothing. Landed on it at the Monster Truck...at the event last night. I think it's just bruised." Deep down, he feared it was more than just a simple bruise. The slightest touch sent him through the roof and the simple gesture of shaking someone's hand was even painful. Great. Right now was not really the time to have to be dealing with his own issues, especially if he ended up having to help out House for a while. The thought of trying to lift his uncooperative, almost two-hundred-pound friend on his own sent sympathy pains up and down his right arm.

Masterson eyed him skeptically. "Okay. Well, you know where I am. I'll want to see him again on Tuesday, see how everything's healing. The instructions will be with his discharge papers."

"I'm guessing tomorrow some time?" Wilson assumed.

"Looks like it. As long as nothing unforeseen happens."

"Thanks. I'm going home for a while. Get out of these filthy clothes. Take a shower. Try desperately to get some kind of sleep."

"I'll probably see you Tuesday, then." Even Masterson seemed to assume Wilson would take care of House. Honestly, he couldn't think of anyone else who'd be willing, let alone who House would even let through his front door, not that House would be able to do anything about it.

Masterson turned and headed down the almost deserted hallway as Wilson chanced another peek inside House's room. A gentle snore escaped from the bed and the beeping of the monitors was reassuring in its steady rhythm. He turned and headed for the exit before his own conscience got the better of him.

A/N: Thanks for being so patient with me. I have a solid outline for the rest of this story which will probably run about fifteen chapters I'm guessing. Hope you'll stick around!

Next chapter should be up quicker and should be fun! Look for appearances by Cuddy and Kutner and a few others.