Sorry about the lull in updates again. School's driving me up the wall.
Still looking for a Beta (my grammar isn't spectacular, and I need someone to call me out on medical/legal errors).
Reviews would be very cool.
House jerked awake when he heard the door open, then relaxed as Wilson's head emerged cautiously from the crack.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
House shook his head, dismissing the apology. His eyes tracked Wilson's movements across the room, his body instantly defensive.
House tilted his chin toward the oncologist, shirt neatly pressed and hair combed and briefly wondered if Wilson had spent his day off laundering his clothes.
"You look better."
Wilson eyed his friend, sweaty and pale on the hospital bed with the alarming presence of the oxygen mask.
"Can't say the same for you."
"I'm fine."
"How'd the X-ray go? Leg okay?"
"Fine."
"The mask?"
"Pneumonia."
Wilson sighed heavily.
"You should have been better by now."
"I'm fine."
House blinked, and stared resolutely at his feet.
"I…spoke with Cuddy," Wilson ventured.
" - Of course"
"- And she tells me you're not eating enough."
"Tattletale."
House realised Wilson was throwing him "The Look". The one that makes cancer patients - and House - feel guilty enough to start taking care of themselves. House's gaze shied away.
"I'm fine."
"Geraldine told me you left half your lunch plate untouched this afternoon."
"Half full, half empty."
Wilson heaved a sigh.
"House, you need to get your weight up. The more you eat, the sooner we can get you out of here."
Wilson made sure to pause, long enough for House to grow curious. The oncologist smiled softly.
"Your hearing is scheduled for next month."
"…What?"
"The fourth. Should give you time to regain some of your strength."
The oncologist chuckled at the expression on his friend's face, wide eyed and baffled.
"We'll get you out of here soon."
House gave up trying to form words and sank deeper into the pillows. His eyes closed with relief.
He was not hopeful, he never was. Hope was for the other inmates, who knew they were getting food three times a day. It was for the guards, who hoped it was their turn with him when he was hauled out.
They usually got what they wanted, but hoping never actually helped House. It never brought food, water, and warmth. It never brought death.
So no, he was not feeling hopeful, that maybe, just maybe, that this was his opportunity for freedom.
He turned back to Wilson when the younger man spoke again.
"What?"
"Are you...okay?"
Wilson used a hand and circled his own face, then pointed at House.
Gingerly raising his fingers to his cheeks, House felt the wetness trickling around the oxygen mask. Damn.
"I'm fine."
Wilson granted him an eye roll.
"I know."
He fussed with House's blankets.
"You have to see someone."
"No I don't."
"House, you need help. You're barely holding it together. You have PTSD, panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares…"
"I'm FINE."
"I understand if you don't want to talk about what happened -"
"NOTHING happened."
Wilson bit his lip. He knew what House had been through; he saw the tapes, he and Cuddy both. The beatings, the experiments, the rapes…They replayed over and over in his nightmares.
"House, I can't lose you again. Not now."
House's eyes were blank in the prison footage.
Dull and lifeless, they bored into Wilson's memory.
"I just…I don't want to see you…break. Please."
House stared into Wilson's open, honest plea.
"I'm fine."
Wilson let his shoulders slump as he stepped out of the hospital.
The oncologist had done his research; he had a whole list of recommended psychiatrists and other professionals who would be prepared to help House recuperate.
The younger man still had no idea how he was going to afford House's healthcare on his savings with his leave of absence, even with Cuddy's support, but he did know he needed House better, money or no money.
The physician rubbed the back of his neck and blinked tiredly.
It had taken no small amount of cajoling and nagging to get House to eat enough of his meal to satisfy and reassure Wilson. Meals were tiring, drawn-out daily obstacles; picking up the spoon still required a fair amount of painful effort, though the hospital had managed to procure cutlery with large, soft handles to make it easier. Still, House had grumbled his way through the meal, eating each spoonful slowly. His missing teeth made chewing tasking, and he occasionally needed to rest his arm. Since his stubborn pride won't let anyone help in his feeding, by the time he finished, House's energy was often so sapped he fell asleep immediately; one bizarre incident found House asleep mid-meal, the spoon still dangling out of his mouth.
The determined buzzing of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts, and he answered it absentmindedly, not bothering to look at the number.
"Wilson."
Wilson froze as he heard the caller's voice.
"James?
...It's Stacy."