Chapter 25
House's eyes slowly opened before he even realised he was awake. The world didn't materialise fully, still hazy around the edge, then disappeared altogether as his eyes closed again of their own accord. He floated for a moment, comfortably wrapped in a muffled cocoon before dragging his eyes open again. This time the world was clearer. He shifted his eyes, taking in the now familiar room, and everything tilted on its axis, threatening to launch him from his bed. Again, tired eyes shut, saving himself from the listing room, breathing slowly through the nausea, which threatened to overwhelm him. Slowly he felt everything right itself. A dull sense of foreboding picked at him.
He looked around himself, more slowly this time, trying to glean some information that would tell him what was amiss. The room was gloomy; the blinds drawn over the windows to the outside world and obscuring the windows to the ward outside the door. A faint glow shone from a light fixture behind his head, throwing distorted shadows, from the meagre arrangement of furniture, across the room.
He tried to lift his head, searching the doorway for someone to appear, to tell him what was happening, why he felt the lingering after-effects of sedation, slowly ebbing from his body. No one appeared at the darkened doorway. He realised his skull felt oddly heavy. Pain, he realised, thudded nauseatingly, radiating from a single point behind his ear, which had been present since he awoke. With effort, he was able to sluggishly raise his encumbered left hand, his fingers brushing a new gauze dressing which had materialised overnight. A prickling thrill rippled over the back of his neck; something was definitely wrong. Gently, he pushed against the tender wound, cradling the injured site, bringing scant relief. A gentle sigh huffed, unbidden, from his parched, cracked lips.
He heard, rather than saw, movement to his left; a rustling of starched slacks, a creaking of the plastic, wipe clean fabric covering the visitor's chair. Shoes scuffed against the lino as the person stiffly rose to their feet. A hazy figure shifted into view, brown hair flopping untidily over dark brows, which were knitted together in concern. The person stepped closer to the bed. House's eyes snapped shut again, the sudden motion causing his head to spin. When he opened them again the world had once again stopped its kaleidoscopic whirling and the man was still there.
He hadn't spoken yet, but was appraising House with a careful, clinical eye, patiently waiting for House to make contact first. Words, however, eluded him, what did the man want him to say? 'Hello'? 'Can I help you'? 'I'm in pain'? Or 'I need a drink'? None of these inadequate phrases seemed to apply to that face that emitted such hopeful longing. Frustrated, he let his arm slowly slide to the bed and turned his gaze away from the now crestfallen visage.
A sigh was stifled by the figure. Again, shoes scraped the worn tiles as the man shifted around the bed. "House? How are you feeling?" When House didn't move or respond he spoke again. "Do you know who I am?" The tone was guarded, he felt his eyes flick over to the younger man. The face seemed hopeful.
"Wilson." The name slipped past his lips before he even had time to consider. It felt right, settling over him like a warm, comfortable blanket. Disjointed images began to flash through his mind. Wilson supporting him in his torturous journey to the chair in the corner. Wilson holding him while he vomited, weak and trembling. Wilson sitting by his bedside. Wilson making his breakfast. Watching his TV. Letting him steal food. Yelling at him. Drinking with him. Laughing with him. Images came thick and fast, tumbling through his mind, over and over. Years of friendship, companionship, loyalty. For the first time since he awoke from his coma, he didn't know how many days ago, he felt the first stirrings of emotion. "You're my friend."
The face in front of him lit up, hopeful again. "Yes, House. I'm your friend… We're friends."
He closed his eyes, shutting out that encouraging look. He felt himself swallow convulsively, then something soft and plastic was pushed gently against his lips. Without opening his eyes, he cracked his mouth slightly, taking in the straw and sucked weakly. Cool liquid filled his mouth and soothed his irritated throat. He sucked a few more times, enjoying the relief it gave him, then turned his head, releasing the straw. "What happened." Again, the words tumbled from his mouth without his consent.
Once more, he heard his friend stir, his feet scudding the floor. "You had a brain bleed… A slow one." Wilson's voice was subdued, worried. "We didn't catch it until it was nearly too late... Chase got you into surgery. You were out for two days. Scared the crap out of me. Again!" He added
At that moment the door slid open again with a whoosh. Foreman stepped in briskly, then spotted House, awake, in the bed. He hesitated for a split second, his eyes crinkling, the corner of his lip quirking upwards minutely, then composed himself. He confidently approached the bed, exuding bravado. "I came by to check the incision." He said in lieu of a greeting. "It's about time you woke up. You gave us all a scare." He reached into a box on the table and drew out a pair of gloves, tugging them on. He reached over before House could respond and gently drew back the dressing and palpated the incision, checking for infection. "Hold still." He commanded as House squirmed uncomfortably, shying away from the sudden proximity and contact. Satisfied, Foreman replaced the dressing and stepped back, pulling off the gloves. "The wound's looking good." He announced to the two men. "How are you feeling? Any nausea? Double vision?"
When House didn't respond he grabbed the chart from its home at the end of the bed, flipping through the growing number of pages. "Have you done a neuro exam yet?" He questioned Wilson. House bristled at the man's direct manner, he wanted him to leave but couldn't summon the energy to dismiss him, merely turning his face away towards the closed blinds of the window instead. He felt and heard his heart rate increase, as the strain of being scrutinised intensified. Both men standing over him pretended not to see.
In an effort to alleviate the awkwardness, Wilson turned to the other man standing over the bed and briefly relayed the events of the day before, glossing over the minutiae of their conversation. House didn't comment, but from the deliberate way he held himself Wilson could see that he followed the entire exchange, and his mind was now working in overdrive processing every aspect of the conversation in meticulous detail.
When they were done Foreman turned to House. "That's good, House. You recognised Wilson and made a connection. Let's see what else has improved." With that he pulled out his penlight, ready to begin the exam. Again, he approached the conversation with the bluntness of a sledgehammer. "Do you remember my name?" He asked, his confident manner betrayed by the pen he tapped repetitively against the clipboard, sending metal jolts reverberating around the otherwise quiet room. For House it sounded like it was resonating around inside his cracked and damaged skull. He couldn't help the tight grimace that formed on his face, or the fact that his breath hitched in his throat as he struggled to block out the sound which sent off sparks behind his eyes. Without thinking he reached out and stilled the pen, for the first time since his latest surgery he made eye contact. "Stop it!" He breathed. Then remembered his fellow's question. "… Foreman." He muttered at length. This time the name wasn't accompanied by a series of scenes from their time together or a flood of emotion. It was a simple statement of fact, nothing more.
Foreman visibly relaxed. "Good." The younger man said, again his lips quirked up at the corners. "I'm going to check your pupils next." He tested the light on his palm and stepped forward. As Foreman approached the bed, he felt himself tense. He didn't want this man standing so close to him, or touching him, he didn't want to look into his eyes.
"Don't touch me." He breathed, feeling his aching head flinch away from the impending assault.
"Why don't I take care of that." Wilson gently took the pen from his colleague, but his expression made it clear that there was to be no argument. Gently, he leaned forward and tried to ignore his friend stiffening at his touch. He swept the small light across the right eye, then the left. He was relieved to observe both pupils reacting normally. Both doctors standing over the bed exchanged a relieved smile.
The rest of the exam proceeded without a hitch. As Wilson left the room to let House rest, he replayed the exchange in his head. House had actually engaged with him, he remembered their friendship. He had even stood up to Foreman. House was far from returning to his old self but for the first time since the accident, he allowed himself to hope that maybe his friend was still in there. That he could recover.
HHHHHHHHH
Cuddy stood up as the meeting finally ended. Suppressing an impatient impulse to hurry the handshaking and pleasantries along, she plastered on a professional smile and made tedious small talk. When the final board member was ushered out the door with a last fixed smile and crushing handshake, Cuddy whirled around the room, straightening up, collecting discarded stationary and shutting down her computer. When a final sweep of her eyes revealed a spotless room, she grabbed her coat and purse and made for the door.
A petulant ringing sounded as she was on the threshold of her office, causing her to hesitate. It had been an interminably long day. The morning spent firefighting matters surrounding staffing issues, equipment malfunctions, griping patients and obnoxious insurance companies. The afternoon brought her back-to-back meetings with Heads of Departments (minus House and Wilson), shareholders, benefactors and the hospital board. She hadn't yet had a moment to spare to visit House following his latest surgery.
Wilson had informed her hours earlier that he was finally awake after almost two days and was more lucid than he had been in almost a week. She felt a pull towards his room, a need to see for herself that he was still alive. However, she was expecting an important call from an important benefactor who could secure the hospital clinic funding along with the staffing of two permanent nurses for the next year. Sighing, she turned and strode back to her desk. "Lisa Cuddy." She chirped in her phone voice reserved only for the most important of shareholders.
"This is Chase" The voice announced.
Sighing again she dropped her professional façade. "I'm busy and it's late. What is it, Chase?" She interrupted letting a brittle edge enter her voice.
"We have a problem..." He sighed.
Again, she jumped in before he could finish. "If your patient needs something you will just have to use your initiative. You are highly trained. I'm sure you can figure something out."
"Cameron and I have been arrested." He interrupted before she continued further. He took her confused silence as his cue to elaborate. "We were at Hamilton's house collecting samples. He came home and found us there without permission. He wants to press charges."
She sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose. She would have to wait a little longer before she could check on House.