A/N: I forgot to give credit at the end of the last chapter. Wilson's comment about the beauty of House's butt in his tighty whities was inspired by a gorgeous picture taken from behind of Hugh in the bathroom, looking into a mirror, wearing nothing but black socks and underpants, which was sent to me by my friend and fellow writer Brighid45. I have no idea where she found that on the Internet (I thought I'd goggled everything Hugh Laurie), but it doesn't matter. It was so magnificent, it made me question my atheism ("brief"-ly, LOL!). Thanks oh so much for the inspiration, Brighie! Please check out her current story, What You Need, along with the rest of her wonderful work. Oh, and many thanks to Hugh, too, for having a killer bod!
HWHWHWHWHW
Disclaimer: I love me some House and Wilson, but they don't belong to me in spite of my ardor for them, alas.
Wilson found himself sitting in a reclining chair next to a bed containing a sleeping House. Although the hospital was different, how many times had Wilson found himself in this place? Well, Wilson hoped, this was going to be the last time. Well, at least for a long while.
No more breakthrough pain requiring hospitalization. No more crazy-assed drugs House needed to detox from. No more insane, untested treatments that created tumors. No more "experiments" about whether there was anything after death that required electrocution as an attempt for House to divert himself from his pain.
Wilson had never considered himself a Deadhead, but, for some reason, he kept thinking, "What a long, strange trip it's been." He smiled to himself, knowing that House would approve.
House had woken up from the anesthesia from the surgery, come though the neurological tests with flying colors and had been given enough pain meds to put him back under for a while. Amanda had dropped by with a sandwich from the cafeteria around one in the afternoon. Wilson thanked her profusely even though he had no appetite to eat it. He wound up giving it to one of the techs who came in to draw House's blood.
Well, it was almost four now and Wilson wished he had kept the sandwich. He supposed it was a sign that his tension was easing, which was good, but that didn't get him fed.
He guessed that House wouldn't be awake for a while, so he decided to run down to the cafeteria. He left a note for House in case he woke up:
No, I haven't left you, you moron. I'm just getting some food. Don't piss off the nurses so much that they want to kill you, or at least wait until I get back so I can watch the show. I love you.
Wilson put the note on the rolling tray and put the tray where House could reach it. He left House's reading glasses on top of it and headed for the cafeteria.
Apparently, Wilson had managed to hit a peak time, because he had to wait in line a good fifteen minutes longer than usual. He worried that House would wake up and he would not be there and House would not read the note. Happily, House was not awake when Wilson returned, so he put the note in his pocket for later use and ate his dinner.
He admonished himself to not be so compulsive about not being with House every single minute. He was going to worry himself into being sick again if he didn't stop it, and both he and House needed him to be healthy. Enough already.
Wilson was dozing lightly when House woke up briefly around nine. Wilson asked how he felt and he replied that he was sleepy. House asked how his leg looked and Wilson simply said, "Bandaged."
Wilson was astonished that House seemed to be satisfied with that answer. Of course, it didn't hurt that the nurse came in at that moment with House's night meds and he quickly went under again.
Wilson knew that answer would never work once House really woke up, so he was relieved to find out that House was likely to be asleep at least until the surgeon got through early rounds. This meant the chart would be as complete and up-to date as possible. Wilson had already decided to have the chart ready as soon as House woke up.
Even though House was no longer a licensed physician, his medical skills still were sharper than the vast majority of doctors currently in practice. And he could certainly still read a chart. So, rather than Wilson getting into anything emotional, he thought House would better process the facts in his file.
Of course, if House had an emotional reaction, Wilson thought he could handle it. Well, hoped. If it was hostile, Wilson would ignore it. If it was positive (Wilson knew that for the wishful thinking it was), Wilson would embrace it, and if it was painful, well, he didn't exactly know what he would do. His own instincts would tell him to be comforting, but House would reject that. Maybe he could use humor or sarcasm. House would be more likely to accept that, Wilson postulated.
What had he done after the infarction? Wilson tried to remember. It was so bad, he'd chosen to block a lot of it out of his mind.
What he did remember was House's hostility and his resentment that he needed to be helped, which he dumped on Wilson in vast quantities. Wilson simply did what House needed to have done and didn't respond to House's vitriol. He felt relief every day that he closed the apartment door and went to work.
He also saw both House's physical and emotional agony, and wished he could do more to relieve it. The loss of whom he had been, the sense of betrayal, the rage and the bitterness were overwhelming. Wilson almost drowned in it himself and only kept going knowing that House would surely be lost if Wilson let go.
There wasn't even a break when Wilson left for work. The intensity of all that pain was so great, it haunted Wilson even when he wasn't there.
Wilson hoped at least the sense of betrayal would not be there this time. And also the rage over the loss of control. House had made this decision himself and wasn't waking up to either a surprise or a choice he'd had no say in.
Of course, that would assume House would be at least somewhat rational, and when it came to his leg, House had demonstrated time and again he was not rational. He could still be resentful that he was forced into making the choice he did by his pain, the state of his liver, or even his desire to be with Wilson. Surely, House wouldn't blame Wilson for that, would he? Wilson wasn't the least bit positive he wouldn't.
Well, he'd just have to cope with things as they occurred, and remember both that he loved House and that House had been there for him.
Wilson slept fitfully in the chair that night.
HWHWHWHWHW
The surgeon arrived early for rounds, dragging a bunch of residents with him. Wilson wasn't happy to have all those people gawking at House's leg, but the good news was that while they were all examining it and discussing it, Wilson got a good look, too.
Wilson was actually surprised in a good way, such that he could be in this situation. Wilson had thought the surgeon would have to take House's leg almost up to the hip, but he had been able to save a decent portion of House's upper thigh. It would certainly make the fitting of a prosthesis easier.
And the portion of the leg that was remaining didn't look too bad, Wilson convinced himself. The stitching was even and regular and the stump did not appear inflamed or that there would be difficulties in healing. Wilson had certainly seen much worse with some of his bone cancer patients over the years.
Of course, once House got fitted with a prosthesis, the chances for pain and inflammation, especially given both House's lack of patience to let things heal and also his likely refusal to do much physical therapy meant that things could easily deteriorate. Wilson made a conscious choice to not assume the worst case, even as he recognized it was a distinct possibility.
Even if everything went well with the physical aspects of this, there was still a serious risk of phantom pain. Wilson had seen the chart and noted that the pain management specialist was due in the afternoon for a meeting.
Once Wilson found out which pain management doctor would be treating House, he did some research and discovered House's doctor had written several papers on various techniques for dealing with post-amputation pain, including phantom pain. He was also affiliated with the local VA Hospital and had received recognition from Veterans' Affairs for his work with Iraq and Afghanistan veterans who were amputees. Wilson was assured that House was at least getting the best treatment available.
It was about ten when House began to rouse. Wilson retrieved the chart, pulled a chair next to the bed and waited. House opened his eyes and looked around. He settled on Wilson very quickly.
"Hey," Wilson said softly. He was using the hand not holding the chart to card his fingers through House's hair and caress his forehead.
"Wilson," House responded. He sounded a little tired but not too groggy, especially considering all the sedation that was still in his system. "How is it?"
Wilson used the remote to move the bed so that House was in a sitting position. "Is this okay?"
"Yes." House responded.
Wilson handed him the chart and his glasses.
"Get me that," House commanded, indicating the rolling tray.
Wilson obliged and House put the chart on it and put on his glasses.
Wilson didn't want to smother House, but, based upon House's reaction when House told him about the prison incident, if Wilson withdrew too far, House would feel like he was being rejected. So Wilson slid his hand between the bed rails, making it available should House need or want it.
Wilson also wondered why House had insisted on the rolling tray. House was no doubt weakened from the surgery. Surely, he wasn't that weak that he couldn't hold a chart.
Wilson's answer came after House began reading. Although House appeared to be so engrossed that he was ignoring everything and everyone in the room, Wilson felt House lace his fingers with Wilson's. It was then he felt the tremors in House's hand. It was subtle, but it was definitely there. So, House hadn't wanted to hold up the chart with his hands, which would no doubt make the shaking more obvious.
Wilson was once again struck by how hard House worked to maintain his dignity. And it made Wilson think.
Given the "values" John had tried to "instill" in House, it was obvious House wasn't allowed to show any weakness. It also would have been a point of pride for a young, rebellious, stubborn House not to give John the satisfaction of knowing he was scaring or hurting him. Add on to that all the indignities House had suffered because of his leg, and it seemed logical that he'd learned to hide his anxiety and even fear very well.
Wilson also thought that maybe this was another reason House rarely touched him before they were together. He probably was shaking this way at other times, but he wouldn't want Wilson to know it. Wilson experienced both pain that House felt he had to be so distant for so long and pride that he now trusted Wilson enough to touch him and reveal his feelings.
House pulled him back out of his reverie. "Seems okay," he noted as he finished reading the chart.
"I thought so," Wilson agreed.
"I want to . . . " House hesitated when his voice wavered slightly, "See it."
"I'll get a nurse to move the bandages." Wilson replied. He suddenly felt House's grip tighten.
"No," House stated emphatically. "I don't' want anyone – "
"They've all seen it House," Wilson reminded him gently.
"I know."
"Then why?"
House looked down, "They haven't seen me see it. I don't want anyone else but you to, you know . . . "
Once again, House insisted on his dignity. And it was also a demonstration of how much House trusted Wilson. And again, he was filled with both pain and pride.
Wilson leaned in, his face to the side of House's. "It's okay, Greg, I'll do it," he whispered. He kissed him lightly on the temple.
"Just one thing," Wilson said as he extricated his hand from House's. Wilson got up, went to the door and locked it. Wilson was grateful that the rooms in this hospital had actual walls and not glass panels like in Princeton Plainsboro.
What moron had ever thought patients getting exams and procedures, sometimes on very private parts of their bodies, would want any passersby looking in on them? It was most likely Cuddy. She was such a control freak she probably wanted to know everything that was going on every minute.
Wilson set that aside and returned to House. He hesitated for a split second. Despite his misgivings about House wanting any comfort, Wilson had decided he was going to err on the side of giving it to him. If House didn't like it, he could always push him away.
He moved away the tray and eased himself on to the side of the bed. He took back House's hand.
House pushed back the blanket and looked. Even with the bandages still on, it was obvious the leg was gone. House sucked in a breath. "God, Wilson . . . "
Wilson slid his arms around House's torso. He gently eased House's head on to his shoulder.
Wilson was surprised when House put his arms around Wilson's waist and buried his face in the join of Wilson's neck and shoulder. Wilson heard House's breathing, which was somewhat erratic. He rested his cheek against the top of House's head.
They stayed like that for a few minutes until House was able to collect himself a bit.
"Okay, Wilson, let me see it."
House had lifted his head. He gave Wilson his best look of resolve and he saw genuine compassion on Wilson's face. Wilson gave him a soft kiss and then reached down to his leg to move the bandages.
House looked at the stump that soon was on display.
"They left more of it than I thought they could," House remarked. His voice was unemotional, but his eyes were red-rimmed.
"It'll be better with the prosthesis," Wilson remarked, also keeping his voice neutral.
House continued to stare. Wilson was still holding him, so he could feel when House started to tremble.
Wilson looked at House's face. He saw the minute the tears spilled over House's lower lids and started streaming down his cheeks. House's face contorted in anguish as a soft sob was released from his throat.
Wilson pulled House back into a tight embrace, holding him as House buried his face into Wilson's chest.
"It's all right, babe, let it go," Wilson softly intoned.
The floodgates were opened after that. House's sobs were deep and ferocious and Wilson could just barely hang on.
Wilson wasn't sure how long it lasted. Quite honestly, he didn't care. House needed this. It was so much better for him than what he usually did, which was to stuff down his feelings and try to ignore them.
Wilson supposed House's seeing his leg gone was so shocking, it prevented House from suppressing his emotions. Whatever the reason, this was a necessary part of the process. House had to grieve, even a useless leg.
Wilson began to feel House settling down a bit, although he was still sniffling. Wilson was able to grab a box of tissues and handed them to House when he finally pulled back. House blew his nose and wiped his face.
Wilson's shirt was wet with tears and other bodily fluids whose composition and origin Wilson didn't want to dwell on, so he removed it and his undershirt, to replace it with something he had brought with him.
Before he had the chance to reach the bag containing his clothes, House pulled him back again. He stared at Wilson's bare chest for a moment, and then he started to move a finger up and down, lightly touching Wilson's scar.
"Jimmy," House murmured as he leaned in and began to kiss the scar, slowly traveling up and down.
House had kissed Wilson's scar before. In fact, it had become something of a nightly ritual. However, it was usually when Wilson was either asleep or almost there, and usually just a brief peck. This was different in both its duration and intensity. Wilson found himself leaning in and feeling, well, he didn't know what exactly.
He found his fingers moving through the hair on the back of House's head. He was moaning quietly. Not a lustful moan – something else. It was deep emotion. It was turning him inside out.
House stopped. Wilson looked into House's red-rimmed eyes and waited.
"Jimmy," House said quietly but urgently. "You know this is going to be hard . . . I can't deal . . . I won't be . . . I'll lash out . . . just . . . "
"What?" Wilson asked softly.
"When it gets bad, please, please, remind me of this scar . . . Okay?"
A sob arose from nowhere in Wilson's throat that he just barely suppressed. He nodded, afraid that if he spoke he would start to cry, and if he started, he was afraid he wouldn't stop. House had said something that moved him to his core.
House was demonstrating that he knew that treating the cancer had been a huge sacrifice for Wilson, and that Wilson had done it because he loved House so much that he didn't want to die and leave him. The fact that House was connecting it to the amputation let Wilson know that House had done it for the same reason – he wanted to live and to love him.
There was another pause as they gathered themselves. Wilson got up and retrieved a wet washcloth from the bathroom. He was going to use it to clean House's face, but he decided a sponge bath was in order. After he finished with House and put on a clean shirt, he opened the door and requested House's bandaging be replaced and the bed sheets be changed.
After all that was accomplished (including moving House from the bed to the bathroom to a chair and back to bed again), House was pretty well exhausted. He fell asleep quite quickly. Wilson wasn't exactly energetic, either, so he dozed in the recliner.
The pain management specialist kept his appointment that afternoon, more or less on time.
He started off on the right foot by recognizing the medical competence of both House and Wilson and cutting right to the chase – phantom pain was the greatest potential problem and needed to be addressed aggressively, preferably before it had the chance to start.
The post-op drugs would be used for the next few days, which would give them the time to get a TENS unit ready.
House had known of TENS units, of course. He questioned why one couldn't have been used before the amputation.
The doctor explained (without much condescension, Wilson was pleased to note), that the pain associated with the disfigured nerves and the missing muscle was too much for a TENS unit to handle, at least over a period of more than a few months. The unit would have worked for a while, but the pain would have gradually increased, causing House to increase the electrical impulses, which would have slowly burned away the skin around the scar.
Wilson and House weren't sure if the pain management specialist saw them both flinch and bring their hands together, but it didn't matter, because that was no longer an option.
House asked why they were using one now, then, and wouldn't it inflame the stump?
The specialist explained that it was basically a short term measure to trick the brain and keep it from remembering the pain. It was there to break the cycle, not to be a long term solution. As far as the stump, the unit wouldn't be applied there, since it would interfere with the healing process and the fitting of the prosthesis. The pads were going to be located on House's lower spine.
House seemed satisfied with both the protocol and the doctor, which was a huge deal, Wilson knew. He just hoped it meant House would be reasonably compliant.
House left the hospital at the end of the week. He was moved to the re-hab facility, which, thankfully, was connected with the hospital. Wilson could then visit House before and after work, or during his lunch break. Or so he thought.
