Title: Vacant Lives 5?
Author: Michelle (CelticFaerie2)
Rating: Mature. This chapter is gen. But still. Overall rating will be mature.
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, self destruction, adult situations, possibly language
Fandom: House

Spoilers: None really
Characters: Wilson, House, a few others along the way
Disclaimer: Genius to David Shore for creating such an addictive show, and of course Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard for playing House and Wilson so beautifully
Summary: House gets to the hospital, Wilson gets out of surgery
Notes: 1900 words.
Feedback: PLEASE!

Security caught up with him a few steps inside the Emergency Room doors. "Sir, can I help you?"

House flashed his hospital ID. "Dr Gregory House. I'm here to see a patient."

The guard looked him over, eyebrows arched. "You're not hurt?" His eyes flicked to the cane, back up to House's face. He didn't balk at the intensity of House's stare. "I can't let you go in there looking like that."

"I was at the scene. It's the patient's blood."

"Sir…" The guard started again. House was in no mood for this kind of resistance.

"Is there a problem?" Dr Lisa Cuddy came up behind House. She didn't spare the guard so much as a glance. "Thanks, Frank. I've got it from here. Dr House, we've been waiting for you. I sent Dr Cameron to bring you some clean clothes. In he meantime, let me update you on the patient's condition."

She put her hand on his left arm, leading him away from the guard. "He was only doing his job."

"He was about to lose his job."

"You look like shit."

House stopped, unaware his right hand gripped his cane perhaps a little too tight. "I'll change as soon as I can. After I see him."

"You can't see him. He's in surgery. No way you're getting in there now. You'd contaminate everything. Even if it is his blood."

"Did you send Cameron for clothes?"

"No. But I will. I said that for Frank's benefit.."

House rubbed his face. "There's probably a T-shirt up in my office. I don't know about pants."

"You could always wear scrubs. We have plenty of those around here."

House took a few steps toward a row of chairs backed against a wall. He tried not to wince or groan as he sat down, but couldn't stop his hands from going to his thigh, fingers pressing into the skin, massaging the aching muscles.

"What do we know?"

"Only what I've already told you. We'll get an update when he gets through the surgery. I told them to let me know if anything went wrong. I haven't heard a peep." Cuddy studied him a moment. His head was tilted back, eyes closed, mouth drawn in a tight line. "You said you weren't with him when it happened."

House sighed. She was just concerned about his leg. "He went to the bathroom. I stayed at the table."

"If it's still bothering you when Wilson gets settled, I want to have a look at it."

"It's fine," House insisted. He attempted to make his point by lurching to his feet and making off down the hallway, but he didn't quite make it. His leg screamed at him and he went back down into the chair with a sharp cry.

Cuddy nodded. "Point taken."

"I went down hard on my knees when I saw him. Doesn't take much to strain the leg. It's fine." He moved his hands away from his leg, trying to illustrate his point.

"If you say so," Cuddy gave him a look to say she didn't believe him.

House pressed his palms against his leg, trying a different arc of pressure. "Will you just find me some clothes?"

"You should go upstairs and take a shower. The heat will help."

"Maybe later."

Cuddy shook her head. "No. Now. House. Once he gets out of surgery, you're going to be right there with him. You won't leave him to take a shower. Do it now. You can't do anything for him for a while. Use the time you have."

House gnawed on his bottom lip as Cuddy's words rolled around in his head. She knew more than she was saying about Wilson. House sighed. "Fine. You made your point, Mommy." He would ask her about it after his shower.

He moved carefully to the edge of the seat, taking it slower this time. Both hands on his cane. He took a deep breath.

"Do you need me to help you?"

"No." He gave himself a silent count. One. Two. Three. He bit into his bottom lip as his right leg balked against the pressure of his weight. The cane helped him steady himself. "Where is he?"

"OR 4."

"I'll see you there?"

"I was only down here because I knew you'd come in through ER."

House nodded. He felt like his feet were incased in cement, both legs aching, screaming with every step. He was glad Cuddy didn't try to walk with him, he wasn't in the mood for company.

He avoided his office completely, and went straight to the supply closet for a set of scrubs. He chose light blue, and headed to the showers. He knew the heat would help his legs, but he wouldn't be in here long enough to make a real difference.

He took far too long getting out of his soiled clothes, so that by the time he actually got in the shower, he was feeling anxious and antsy. He needed to be with Wilson, not worrying about how clean he was behind the ears.

He was momentarily shocked at the amount of blood that washed down the drain. Wilson's blood, he reminded himself.

Cameron and Foreman were sitting with Cuddy in the waiting room. No one commented on the scrubs, but he saw how they all looked him over. Foreman was the first to look away.

"Tell me," he demanded, eyes boring into Cuddy.

"Tell you what?" Cameron asked.

Cuddy stood. "There's swelling around his spinal chord. It's too early to tell. But Dr Hicks is concerned."

The entire waiting room fell away into blackness. Only Cuddy remained in his line of vision. He swayed, and it would have been so easy to let himself go down. He dug his fingernails into his palms to keep himself centered.

He blinked, brought the room around him back into focus. "Dr Cameron. Glad you're here. I need a favor." House turned slightly, pivoting on his left foot. "I found Wilson's wallet at the scene. All his credit cards are missing. I could assume Julie took them, but since Wilson was at work when she left I doubt that's likely. I need you to check his office, possibly go to his house, and find the statements. I'll need his mortgage statement and bank records too, so you'll have to trek to his house anyway. Here's the key." He dug in his pocket, fishing around his wallet.

Cameron reached for it, brushing her hand against his. He shifted his weight and offered his cell phone to her. She hesitated, her eyes searching his face.

"Here's my cell. I want you to call the little Missus and inform her what's happened. She left him today, so don't give her too many details. Just let her know he's been hurt, and the credit cards were stolen, so I'm taking the initiative to close down the accounts. Tell the creditors the hospital will fax them whatever information they need regarding Dr Wilson's condition."

"House, you should sit down," Cuddy interrupted. She reached out to touch his arm, he jerked away from her instinctively.

"I don't want to sit down," House looked over his shoulder at her. "Stop acting like my mother. Dr Cameron, why are you still here?"

The surgeon escorted him to the recovery room. House nodded, and the doctor pushed the door open for him. He went in, eyes focused straight ahead, mind focused on each step, sure he would stumble if he broke that focus.

For once he was grateful for his cane, it helped him stay upright when his whole body wanted to surrender to the pull of gravity. James Wilson was barely recognizable – body laid out in the bed like a corpse, tubes and wires jutting out all over the place. He looked like some b-movie alien.

"Damn it, Jimmy," House muttered and lifted his cane just enough to bring it back down harshly on the tile floor.

"Here's a chair for you, Dr House," the nurse rolled her executive chair up to the foot of Wilson's bed. "I thought it might be better for you…" House thanked her with a nod and dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

He moved the chair to the side of the bed and eased himself into it slowly. Once he was settled, he reached for Wilson's hand, careful not to disturb the pulse ox. Thankfully the IV was connected to a port on the other side.

"God, I feel old. That's your fault, you know. I've probably aged ten years in the last hour or so." House bent his head to rest against his hand. "I'm so sorry, James. I wish this hadn't happened. But you're gonna be okay, you hear me?"

House lapsed into a reflective silence, his thumb gently rubbing the back of Wilson's hand. He remembered how they'd met –luck of the draw college roommates- they'd started out as rivals because House was a slob and Wilson liked everything to be in its place.

Over time, they learned to compensate each other for the differences between them. Wilson did House's laundry, House helped Wilson with his math assignments. They played tennis together, they rooted for the same baseball, basketball, and football teams. Wilson was there to support House when he played Lacrosse, House never missed one of Wilson's theatre performances.

They were roommates throughout college and med school, even the beginning of their residencies at separate hospitals. House was best man at Wilson's first wedding. Neither of them ever spoke of it, but House knew Amy left because of him, because in the weeks and months after his infarction, Wilson devoted all of his free time and energy to House, effectively neglecting his marriage.

Wilson stayed with House then, roommates again for a while. Until Wilson started seeing Meg. It got serious pretty quick, and even though House didn't care for Meg, he never said a word. He had the feeling from the moment they met that Meg pitied him and thought him weak because of his leg. Because of the limitations of his leg. He only reinforced that by having a major muscle spasm the morning of their wedding, which forced him to stay in bed.

The marriage didn't last two full years. He caught her cheating, he retaliated with his own affair. Eventually, Meg left him for someone else. House felt bad for Wilson, but secretly thought it was for the best.

Then there was Julie. The current Mrs James Wilson. Or maybe it was safe to say former now. House avoided Julie as much as possible. Like Amy and Meg, she was jealous of her husband's relationship with House, because House knew James on a level his wives never could.

By the same token, Wilson knew House in ways no one else ever could. It was a friendship, but it was more than that. It was soul-deep, and intangible.

"Don't do this, Jimmy," House said out loud. His voice held a tremor, the promise of tears. "Don't you check out on me. You're all I've got. If you…I'm nothing…" He stopped, took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

"Two weeks ago, you told me you only had two things –your job and this lousy friendship. The job doesn't matter, James. But the other thing…" Whatever else he might have said was lost to tears.