A/N: Oh my god I am so sorry you guys – I promise I didn't forget about this story and I certainly did not intend on not updating it for nearly a year, but these past couple semesters of school have been rough between the actual courses and some health stuff I've had going on. Forgive me please. I'm fine now, though (at least as fine as I ever get) and ready to write again. Grab some tea, refresh your memory on plot, and enjoy this nice long chapter to make up for my absence.
Wilson replayed House's words during the session over and over in his mind that evening. "I'll take familiar pain over a taste of freedom that could get snatched away at any moment." As heart wrenching as it was that there was truth in that statement for House, Wilson knew it wasn't the whole truth. If given the choice, House would certainly prefer to be pain-free….as long as he knew it would last. Given that any respite from the pain was temporary at best and non-existent at worst, he'd simply altered his desires to fit that knowledge. Moments later, Wilson's cellphone rang and he began to get a sense of just how much House's desires had changed.
The call began similarly to all of House's calls. Wilson's name was the first thing he heard from the other end. Something was off, though. House's tone wasn't right; the knot beginning to form in Wilson's stomach only grew with House's next words. He barely managed to croak out, "Help me."
Wilson dropped the phone and made a beeline for House's apartment as quickly as he safely could. Letting himself in with the spare key, Wilson found his friend curled into the fetal position on the couch, unbeknownst to him an eerily similar scene to the events in Nolan's office mere weeks prior. Peeling back the blanket covering him, Wilson realized House had his leg in an absolute death grip.
"Shit, House, how long has it been like this?"
House could only moan in reply and Wilson made a move for the morphine he knew House still kept stashed on top of the bookshelf. House grabbed his wrist.
"No, don't. He grunted. "I can ride this out."
"Bullshit. You ride this out, it'll kill you. Take this, sleep, and we'll have you back up and functioning by tomorrow."
That broke House. Despite the pain, or maybe partially because of it, anger exploded from his core. "I don't want to function tomorrow! In fact, that's the last thing I want," he deflated a little, "I'm tired Wilson. As much as I never want to experience another infarction, I do sometimes think about what it would be like to go back to that time. In a sick sense, it was kind of nice. No one expected anything from me; it was an accomplishment if I managed to eat something or make it to the bathroom. All I had to do was get through the day – whatever that ended up looking like. Sometimes I miss that".
Wilson was stunned into silence, the only sound in the room another groan of agony as Wilson plunged the syringe of morphine into his friend.
A few hours later, House slowly came out of his drug – induced haze. Wilson was sitting in the chair opposite him, casually reading a book. All House had to do was clear his throat.
"Hey, how're you feeling?"
There was an obvious pause as House's mouth took the time to catch up with his brain "Groggier than hell, but the leg is better. Thanks.
Wilson, not for the first time, marvelled at how much the drugs brought House's guard down. Any other time, he wouldn't even think about being honest with Wilson about the state of his mind, let alone his leg. Wilson also knew this current lack of filter tended to extend to general conversation as well. If Wilson was going to ask about what he'd said earlier, now was the time to do it.
"House," Wilson decided to cut right to the chase, "Do we expect too much from you?"
Evidently not remembering his earlier outburst, House just stared at Wilson with confusion. Wilson elaborated.
"When I found you earlier, you told me there are times you wish you could go back in time to the infarction. That yes, it was hell, but there were also no expectations of anything remotely close to functionality; anything you did manage to do with a day was an accomplishment. You said you missed that. Is that true?"
"Yeah," House replied slowly, "I suppose it is. It's not so much that people expect too much from me, it's that they hold me to the same standard, and even sometimes higher thanks to my position, as everybody else. They forget I can't always deliver that".
Wilson jumped to defend himself and fellow coworkers. "We do make allowances for you where we can; Cuddy lets you come in late all the time."
"She may allow it, but she's never happy about it. She's also never happy when she finds me napping in my recliner because my leg kept me up all night or when I don't meet her daily quota of clinic patients because even walking the two feet between exam rooms hurts. And you're right behind her doing her nagging for her when she can't be bothered".
Wilson blushed and sighed heavily; he supposed House had a point. House let out a sigh of his own, continuing down his train of thought oblivious to Wilson's reaction.
"There was one person that got it; the only one that ever really has when it comes to work. Her name was Chelsie; she was a third-year med student Cuddy hired to try and replace Cameron's position on my team…before I started my game of Survivor that is." House smiled at the memory of the little competition he'd created before continuing his story, "Anyway, Chelsie was actually a decent candidate. Annoyingly skittish and timid, but showed real potential for a future in diagnostic medicine. She was perceptive enough to pick up on the tiniest of details – useful with patients and her boss. She picked up on my pain tells quicker than any of my other fellows".
Wilson arched his brow, silently requesting House continue.
"By the end of her first week, I would quite regularly catch her watching me out of the corner of her eye, especially if she had seen me struggle to get up from a chair or something. Took her 'til about the end of her third week to actually say anything about it, though. It just so happened to be one of those days where I had woken up in worse pain than usual. I figured I would go in, finish my current case, and bail. I should've known that wasn't going to work out – it never does. By the afternoon, I was pretty damn close to the same level of pain you found me at tonight. Poor Chelsie had just come in to give me the results of our patients' labs and I tore a strip off of her, internally begging her to leave me the hell alone."
House remembered Chelsie's words like it was yesterday.
"House, you look like shit. I'm not leaving."
"Oh yeah, telling your boss he looks like shit – great way to win brownie points."
"Maybe not, but it's true. What the hell is up with you?". Her eyes softened in sudden understanding as she glances under his desk, "Your leg?"
House nodded in defeat. If it took a med student less than a minute to figure out, he must look worse than he thought. No point in trying to hide it.
"I haven't been here long, but I know you well enough to know that suggesting you go home is out of the question. Let's at least get you to the recliner," Catching the uneasy glance toward his cane Chelsie quickly added, "I'll help".
That was that. Chelsie helped House to the recliner, set him up with his heating pad over his thigh, and left him to recover. Not before leaving him with some parting wisdom, though.
"You know House, as much as you hate to admit it, the word disabled does apply to you. You're allowed to make accommodations for that and take it easy sometimes. Your health comes before the health of any patient we may have.".
"For someone so young, she was certainly wise. Not that I ever listened to her, though".
House trailed off in favor of sleeping of the remaining effects of the morphine, but Wilson's mind was still spinning. He prided himself on being a caregiver of sorts for House when needed, but he very rarely ever told him to acknowledge his disability and take a break. If he did, it was in the form of calling him an idiot for overdoing it and not telling anybody. That was the exact opposite of helpful, Wilson now realized. If anything, it probably made House hide how he was feeling even more. Nolan was going to have a field day with this.