House opened his eyes.
He was back at Princeton Plainsboro.
Something warm and heavy was resting on his stomach.
He swallowed, seeing that it was Foreman's head and arm—an exhausted Foreman's head and arm. He looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep in at least a day.
Damn, the tube in his throat was uncomfortable.
Wait.
Tube in his throat.
Princeton general.
Yelling.
Laughing.
Coughing.
Choking.
Mouth-to mouth.
Nurse.
Balding doctor guy.
Foreman grabbing the tube after the second failed attempt at intubation.
Darkness.
No wonder Foreman had been up all night.
....
Foreman was still there.
Dammit, he knew this was a bad idea. He knew Foreman wasn't good with sticking around, and he knew he himself wasn't good with people who weren't good with sticking around.
So why was it so damn hard to convince himself that he didn't want whatever this was?
Well... whatever was going on in his head, something was definitely going on in his wrist. It really hurt.
He lifted his left arm, shaking Foreman's shoulder.
Foreman shot upright, looking at the status monitor.
House flicked his nose.
Foreman looked at him, sighing heavily.
"Dammit, you almost died four times in the last twelve hours."
House rolled his eyes.
Foreman tilted his head.
"What?"
House pointed to his arm.
Foreman's expression cleared.
"Can't get x-rays while you're intubated."
House nodded.
Foreman looked at the status monitor.
"We can probably take you off ventilation now."
House closed his eyes, tired.
Foreman touched his shoulder, he opened them again.
"OK?"
He nodded.
Foreman leaned over him, pulling the tube out.
House took the opportunity to watch the dark eyes, focused on what Foreman was doing as they moved.
An odd feeling started in his stomach, as Foreman leaned further, the tape sticking to the far side of House's face.
He recalled, vaguely, that it had been there in the middle of him choking, while Foreman was pushing air into his lungs via his mouth.
Damn. He really had it bad.
Foreman pulled the tube out, and he was distracted for a while by the extremely uncomfortable sensation.
Despite the emergency only a day ago, House's breathing was a lot better by that night; he wasn't even on the oxygen mask anymore, and he was stubbornly doing PT even though Foreman told him to rest. He wondered briefly if it could have something to do with Foreman's being there, but dismissed the thought immediately.
The arm pain had turned out to be a sprained wrist, obtained when he had passed out and fallen.
It was wrapped in an ace bandage, which had provided another opportunity for him to watch Foreman.
Damn... he hadn't...
This was the first time in over fifteen years.
This wasn't...
He didn't know what he was doing, or even what he wanted to do.
One part of him wanted to run away screaming, the other part wanted him to jump the younger doctor.
Two days later, he was released from the hospital, and they were on their way back to Foreman's apartment.
House had the distinct impression that living in a confined space that belonged to Foreman, had Foreman's stuff in it, hell, even smelled like Foreman, was not going to be good for the parts of him that wanted to run away screaming.
House blinked.
Why was there a wheelchair ramp there?
There hadn't been one two weeks ago.
He glared accusingly at Foreman, who ignored him.
"That's not gonna be needed for long."
Foreman looked at him.
"You know you're kidding yourself."
House blinked.
"You've been clinging to hope. I get that. But you need a reality check. If that's gonna happen, it's gonna be months from now. Maybe the crutches will be sooner, but a prosthetic... House, you can barely sit up. Your body isn't anywhere near strong enough for that, and won't be for a long time. And before you ask, no, I do not get off on stripping people of hope. I just... I don't want you to crash."
House watched him for a long time.
"Ok," he said quietly, "You're right."
Foreman stared at him.
"What?"
House sighed.
"You're right. And it isn't something I can argue."
Foreman watched House start to wheel himself up the ramp.
He didn't like it when House didn't fight him.
Foreman's phone rang.
He looked at it.
"It's my Dad."
"Hello?"
"She... oh..."
"Yeah. Did they have any new ideas?"
"Oh."
"Ok."
"Bye Dad."
Foreman sighed, putting down the phone.
House was watching him intently.
He looked at the older doctor.
"My mom just had a seizure. They're doing another MRI."
House nodded, wheeling himself into another room.
Thirteen sighed, picking up the phone.
"Hello?"
'Road trip. New York Presbyterian. go.'
"Are you high?"
'Yes. But only to the extent I'm on more pain meds than usual 'cause my leg got chopped off and it hurts to breathe. And not nearly enough that you should start questioning me. So get the other two and go. Patient room 214.'
There was a click.
Thirteen stared at the phone.
Foreman got up, going to answer the door.
He blinked, when it opened on Wilson.
"Is... I need to talk to House."
Foreman stepped back to let him in.
"In there—probably asleep."
Wilson nodded, going through the door Foreman had indicated.
House was asleep, a little flushed, obviously dreaming.
Wilson sat down on the edge of the bed, watching the older doctor.
"No... Wilson... come back... please...."
Wilson closed his eyes.
House.
He gently shook House's shoulder.
The blue eyes opened a little, then widened as they focused on Wilson.
"What are you doing here?"
Wilson swallowed.
"Apologizing."
House stared up at him, uncertain.
"For what?"
"For not being there when you needed a friend."
House sighed, looking away.
"Right."
Wilson tilted his head.
Then he realized.
House didn't care about the being alone, though he hadn't liked it. What hurt was what had happened. What Wilson had asked him to do. How little he had cared what it did to House.
And... he wasn't ready to apologize for that.
He didn't think he ever would be.
Foreman sighed, taking a last bite of his sandwich before walking out into the living-room.
House was on the couch, asleep, the remote still held loosely in his left hand, the TV playing an old movie in black and white.
Foreman sat down on the chair opposite the couch, watching the older doctor sleep.
He had spent a lot of time next to a sleeping House in the last month and a half, but he hadn't really watched House sleep.
It wasn't the same as watching a girl sleep; House was a snoring, unshaven, drooling mess sprawled on the couch, but...
There was still something a little tender about watching him like this.
Maybe because not many people saw him like this, all exhausted and sweaty from just getting out of the car and up the ramp, after going grocery shopping with Foreman.
He got up, walking over, kneeling down, and shaking House's shoulder.
House swatted at him briefly, not waking up.
Foreman persisted, and House finally opened his eyes.
"Hey. You probably want to move to the bed, if you're going to sleep."
House shrugged, sitting up and yawning.
"Nah. Didn't mean to fall asleep. Wanna see the end of the movie."
Foreman shrugged, sitting down on the couch and turning his attention towards the television.
Fifteen minutes later, he had a snoring, drooling head on his leg, and an arm with a bandaged wrist lying across his lap.
He smiled a little to himself, putting his hand on House's slowly rising and falling back.
House snuffled a little in his sleep, pressing his face into Foreman's hip.
Foreman leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes.
He... this felt way more right than it should.
Whatever.
House wouldn't let anyone in after what had happened between him and Wilson, probably for the rest of his life.