Chapter 28

"Come Be With Me"

Billy Travis picked up Dr. House at 3:00 p.m. to take him to see Norman Lyons in Orthopedics. Once Gregg was settled into the large black wheelchair and his leg raised in front of him, Billy turned to Jim Wilson who sat and watched closely, and explained that he would return soon and speak with him about a time when he would probably leave for rehab.

All the way to Ortho, House allowed himself to be pushed, but kept up a running commentary about Wilson going over there to be tortured for six to eight weeks the way he himself had been tortured over there for damn near nine months, but had still come out not much better than he'd been when he went in. And on and on.

Travis knew from bitter experience not to get embroiled in an argument with House when he went off on one of his monistic rants with a single sentence that went on and on with no punctuation and no pause which would allow for interruption or question.

Billy plodded along the corridors with the wheelchair preceding him, only half listening to the monosyllabic babble going on up ahead. The only good thing about it was that Billy had finally understood the central theme, and that House was none too happy about being out of touch with Wilson for however-many weeks he spent in rehab, and how in hell the man could possibly return to his home to face steps he couldn't climb, and narrow doorways he couldn't traverse in a wheelchair or on crutches … and that there would be no one there to look after him.

Fortunately, however, the monologue ran out of words when the wheelchair got to the entrance to Orthopedics, and so, thank God, did House.

Norm Lyons had cleared his schedule for the wiry diagnostician, and Billy Travis turned over the wheelchair with a barrel roll of his dark eyes and left without a word of farewell.

"How ya doin' House?" Norm asked with nonchalance he didn't feel as he stared into the annoyed face.

"Pissed," came back the sarcastic answer.

"And why is that?" Lyons kept his tone neutral.

"Why are you sending Wilson over to rehab so soon? You know he's not ready."

"My number-one reason is to get him away from you!"

"What??" House came around in the chair with a force that swung it to the side and made him inhale a hiss of pain.

"Gregg, listen to me!" Norm Lyons was an instinctive man who had known for a long time that House and Wilson enjoyed a close relationship. "We have to get him started early with this … or he's going to build up so much scar tissue that it'll never break loose. You wouldn't wish the kind of pain you've had to endure on him … would you?'

It had been the right thing to say at the right time. Lyons could see the anger in the blue eyes begin to defuse, and the rigid facial muscles relax. House would never wish the pain he dealt with every day of his life onto anyone else, much less Jim Wilson.

"No. Never."

"I didn't think so. He's going to hurt … yes. But he's also going to get better. We want to see if we can't find a way that he can walk on that foot of his, and that's going to be a tall order."

"How can I help?"

"By helping yourself."

"Huh?"

"First, let's get you over on the table and evaluate your leg. Those fools did you quite a bit of damage and we've got to see what we can do about that."

Gregg found himself on an examination table under strong lights and Norm Lyons, rubber gloved and sterilized, probed every inch of his crippled leg to the point of bringing him nearly to tears. His knee and ankle had both been damaged by the skirmish in Wilson's kitchen, and Lyons urged House again, to use a brace to strengthen it, and to keep from injuring it, inadvertently, again.

Just as urgently, House refused, assuring Norm Lyons, on no uncertain terms, that a brace would only increase the pain twofold, and decrease his mobility by at least half. He knew he could not walk, but promised to use crutches until it healed as much as possible. By the time the evaluation was finished, House was exhausted, trembling and hurting so badly his entire body radiated with it.

Presently, Lyons removed the brace from his injured wrist and examined that also. "This is doing well," he commented softly, "but not quite ready for you to turn cartwheels or swing from the chandelier."

"Har de har …" was the only comment.

When he was finally back in the wheelchair, Lyons came over and placed a hand on House's shoulder. "You have to take it easy, Gregg. You … have … to take it easy! I can't stress that to you enough. Your leg has taken some serious trauma. You have to rest it … you have to stay off it.

"What I was saying to you earlier about being there for Jim Wilson … there's no reason why you can't do that. It's nothing he hasn't already done for you. But in your case it's different. You're a man with a disability that sucks … because it can never heal … trying to be Superman for someone with two injured legs, which will eventually heal.

"I don't want to hear of either of you trying to play 'can-you-top-this' to see which of you can be more macho than the other. That would make me very angry … and like ol' David Banner used to say: 'You wouldn't like me when I'm angry!' So don't test me to see how big my balls are. Got it?"

House snickered a little at the quote; not liking what he heard, but knowing he had no choice. His leg throbbed with the same intensity it had expressed when he'd been brought into the ER two days before. He needed to get back to his room and take a Vicodin. Maybe two. Eventually, he agreed.

"I want you on crutches for at least two weeks," Lyons was saying. "No excuses, no weight bearing. No bullshit! I understand you live in a 'handicap' apartment. Can you see to your own needs there?"

House nodded.

"Good. I'm releasing you tomorrow morning. You will go home and stay there! I'll call Lisa Cuddy and make arrangements with her. You will not come to work for those two weeks, is that clear?"

"My God, Norman! I'll go crazy cooped up in there."

"No, you won't. You'll find things to do. You told me a couple weeks ago you were working on a research paper for a guy in Chicago. Finish it up! And allow your leg to heal. I'll know if you're doing as I say, because I'm going to send Bill Travis around to check on you. Bill's the best nurse we have available, and trust me … he won't take any of your crap."

Gregg sighed. That was for damn sure!

He hurt all over. He needed to get out of there and lie down.

From across the room, an LPN walked toward him with a small glass of water and a pill cup. "I knew I'd have to hurt you when I examined your leg," Lyons explained kindly. He straightened and took the medication from the woman who turned and left again. "Here. You need to take the edge off …"

"Thanks." Gregg took the pills gratefully and swallowed the water.

It was Norm Lyons who pushed him in his wheelchair, back to his room, and assisted him into bed. Again, "thanks" was his only response, but he saw Lyons' grin of triumph as the man turned around and sauntered into the hall.

Asshole!

Three minutes later, Billy Travis walked through the doorway behind James Wilson in a big motorized wheelchair. House caught his breath and stared. Wilson's casts were hidden beneath a soft blanket, and he looked nothing less than exuberant.

Billy had released his right arm from its cast, and he wore a much smaller brace, which stabilized the weak joint with an extension into the palm.

Jimmy beamed across at his best friend. "House! I'm paroled!" The smile on his face made Gregg's heart flutter.

He might have been ecstatically happy for Wilson … if he hadn't felt so terribly empty for himself.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

That evening in their shared room:

After Cuddy and the Ducklings had been there to visit and then had gone; after Billy Travis had been there and left; after Luther and Claire Wilson had been to visit, and gone; after supper and meds and evening ministrations, and finally after the hospital lighting had been lowered to night levels, they had time to touch base with one another.

House told Wilson that he was being discharged in the morning, and that he'd been told he must revert to crutches and stay home for two weeks to allow the trauma to his leg to begin to heal properly.

Wilson's dark eyes had glistened brightly with concern and affection.

"I'll miss you, House …"

Wilson revealed that he was being sent to rehab Monday morning, and since he had no one to look after him at home, and his parents could not leave home and work to offer any long-term assistance, he would likely stay there throughout his rehabilitation. House took the news badly. Silently. Resentfully.

"Gonna be pretty damn quiet at my place without your big mouth. Nobody to mess up the couch … lose my remote control … drink all my booze and smoke all my cigars …"

At midnight they both tried to get some sleep.

House's leg would not let him settle down. Wilson could hear his ragged breathing.

Wilson was also restless, and House could hear his sheets thrashing about as he tried to find a position in which to be comfortable.

About 3:30 a.m. they both reached to their wheeled tables for sips of ice water to ease their scratchy throats.

"Fuck!" House rasped. "I hate this! I hate this! I feel like somebody's scuttling the ship right out from under me. I'm rudderless."

"Me too," Wilson agreed. "And I'm laying here wondering if I'm just getting myself into some kind of stupid frame of mind …"

"What? What do you mean?"

"I don't want to go over to rehab, House. I'm a little scared."

"I know. Me too, and I don't want you to go. I was scared shitless when I had to be there … and it was so damn long because I lived alone and had no one to help out. They couldn't do anything for me anyhow. It was nothing but pain and frustration … and for what? So they could tell me I'd never get better … and I was going to be a cripple the rest of my life anyway? I don't want that to happen to you, Wilson. It would kill me if that happened to you …"

"House … I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? Sorry for what?"

"Sorry for heaping all this other agony on you. Sorry for being such a hothead with Julie, sorry for running after you to cry on your shoulder. I'm sorry for hiding on your couch all those times … sorry for causing you all this additional hurt on top of what you already had … ah House …"

"Stop it, Wilson! The accident was not your fault! You're human. You are the most human of all the human beings I've ever known. You saved forty school kids … and that has to count for something. Don't you ever … ever … apologize to me for what happened! I'm fine … you're fine. Jimmy … every ship needs a rudder, and you're mine!"

House heard Wilson's choked laugh. Heard him blow his nose, then laugh again. "Hey House?"

"Huh?"

"It's unbelievably civil of you to say that. I guess we're both a little rudderless right now. Remember when we talked about writing that song?"

"Yeah, kind of."

"I have a first verse. We'll need your guitar to finally figure out a melody though."

"So run it by me!"

"Okay …

"'I watched my life go down the drain, as though by Fate's design,

'But I picked myself back up again, and I'm fine.'"

"Not bad. I've heard worse. How about this for the second verse:

"'I've had the life choked out of me in ways I can't define,

'But faith in things I cannot see assures me that I'm fine.'"

"Cool! And how about this for a bridge:

"'My ship of life is cast adrift on dark and stormy sea,

'But you're the rudder of my soul, the port that calls to me.'"

"That's good, Wilson. How about a third verse!"

Wilson floundered for a moment, but then his voice picked up again.

"'You and me, we're both the same. We beat the odds each time.

'Tho' halt and lame, we played the game, and things turned out just fine.'

"Your turn!"

Gregg's voice took on an edge, and Wilson drew back a ragged breath, as he finally began to understand what his friend had been trying to tell him all this time. It had taken the simplicity of a song.

"'I know you're here to guard my back, and here to hold the line.

'You give to me the grace I lack; I'm yours and you are mine.

'And we're fine.'"

They finished it at 5:00 a.m. Laughing through their pain. And they looked at each other soundlessly for a long time across the space that separated them.

Telepathy in the shadows.

At 5:30 a.m. Gregory House finally made the suggestion they might both be able to live with:

"Why don't you sell that big, empty shack on Ridge Road … and come be with me?"

"Maybe … I will …"

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

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