Title: Vacant Lives 6?
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 and Cuddy talk, House goes to Wilson's room
Notes: 1300 words. Co written with my mom. Yes. My mother. She's cool. She's also my beta.
Feedback: PLEASE!

He paced a small area of the hallway, carefully pacing his steps to make his cane thump rhythmically on the tile floor. Cameron had gone on her mission to find Wilson's credit card and other important information, and Foreman had been sent to House's place to get him several changes of clothes. As far as House knew, no one had called Chase which was fine with him. Only Cuddy was there, leaning against a wall with one foot propped up behind her.

They hadn't spoken since Cuddy asked him how Wilson was doing. "Stable enough they're putting him in a room," House had answered, and left it at that. Cuddy had put her hand on his arm, he'd jerked away and started pacing. Step thump, step thump, step thump.

"I wish you'd sit down," Cuddy suggested.

House deliberately stabbed the floor with his cane. "I don't want to sit down," he growled, turning to face his boss. His entire body ached, he was afraid if he sat now, he wouldn't get up again without swallowing a Vicodin, or five.

"I know. But…You should. You're limping more than usual. It doesn't take a genius to see your leg is bothering you. Come here, let me have a look at it," Cuddy offered.

"My leg always bothers me. I'm not sitting down," House insisted. Cuddy sighed and pushed a hand through her hair. House sighed, exaggerated and mocking her. "Why haven't they come back yet?" He glanced down the hallway.

"You know it takes a while to get a patient settled."

"James is not just a patient, Dr Cuddy."

"You don't have to tell me that, Dr House," Cuddy shot back, her tone a strong and unwavering as his. "You should know, I talked to Dr Hicks while you were with James in recovery."

House gave her a look that said he knew that. "What did he say?"

"House, you really should sit down."

"That's what Dr Hicks said? I'm not his patient."

Cuddy sighed, annoyed now. "Sit down, House."

If looks could kill, the intensity of his steel blue gaze would have taken her down. After a moment, he eased into a nearby chair, hissing as his thigh muscles contracted.

"They're concerned," Cuddy said sitting next to him, turned sideways to face him, "about the swelling around his spinal chord."

His eyes darkened, his mouth tightened. He thrust his cane across the floor so it clanked and clattered and finally came to rest against the far wall. His hands went to his ruined leg, fingers curling into thigh.

He stared at her for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was low. "He is not going to lose his legs. Don't you dare tell me he's going to lose his legs." The words carried a thread of a threat.

"It's too early to tell, House. But…you should know it's a possibility. You know Dr Hicks is the best in the area. He did the best he could. No one wants to see James in this position, but there is a possibility."

He surged to his feet, ignoring the pain that shot through his leg and into his back.

Cuddy moved to retrieve his cane, mostly to give him some privacy as he struggle with his balance. She smoothed the front of her blouse as she stepped closer to him again, hand outstretched to offer the cane. He knocked it out of her hand and held her gaze as it clattered against the floor.

The moment lasted only a moment before footsteps echoed in the otherwise abandoned hallway and both of them turned expectantly. Dr Hicks was a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair and soft brown eyes.

"Dr Cuddy, Dr House," Dr Hicks greeted them both. Without his cane, House had nothing to brace himself against. "Dr Wilson is settled. Normally I'd suggest the family could see the patient, two at a time for no more than five minutes. Dr Wilson is a unique case, Dr House, and I will not object to your presence in his room, so long as you allow my staff to do their job."

House nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Dr Hicks. How is he?"

"Stable, that's the best we can hope for right now. The next few hours, as you know, are critical. My nurses will be in and out, checking on him regularly."

"Can I see him now?"

"Yes, of course." Dr Hicks picked up House's cane without comment. House accepted it with a quivering smile, and fell into step beside Dr Hicks, with Cuddy a few steps behind them. "I was telling Dr Cuddy a few minutes ago, there is concern about swelling near his spinal chord. It's far too soon to say what the extent of the damage will be."

"What about his leg?"

"Clean wound. I don't expect any complications once it heals."

House nodded. "And his hand?"

"Looks like he got in a few decent punches, unfortunately not enough to do any real damage."

"No, he was upset before we left. He did that at home, punching the wall."

Dr Hicks stopped walking. House went a step forward, but stopped and pivoted back around to face him. "What's wrong?"

"His fingers were broken. Are broken. From the angle of the break, it appears they were bent backward until they snapped."

House slid the door to Wilson's room open, grateful Dr Hicks and Cuddy had headed the other way, allowing him to go in alone. He stood in the open doorway for a long moment, weight unevenly distributed to his left leg and his cane.

A nurse seeped up beside him, a hand on his arm. "Dr House, do you need anything?"

He didn't spare her a glance, his eyes focused on the figure of the man in the bed. "Leave."

"If you…"

"Go now!" he barked impatiently, and she slipped away.

House moved into the room, suddenly aware o how public it was. He quickly turned the blinds, shutting out the world beyond the glass walls. He ran a hand through his hair as he reached the side of Wilson's bed.

"This isn't right, Jimmy. This is all wrong," he murmured, his left hand reaching up to feather his fingers through Wilson's hair. "Why don't you just wake up and tell me this is all just a big mistake. A joke gone too far. Anything, Jimmy. I'd take anything."

House hung his cane on the end of the bed, and pulled the sheets free of the corners. He flipped the covers back, exposing James' feet. Carefully balanced with the bulk of his weight on his left side, House took hold of an ankle, lifted the foot off the bed. Using his knuckles, he checked for any involuntary reflex, but there was none. He repeated with the other foot before emitting a string of curses.

He jerked the sheets back into place, then dropped into the nearest chair. It had arm rests, which gave him leverage for surging back to his feet. Adrenalin pushed him forward, and he braced his hands on the bed, leaning close to Wilson's ear.

"You better be fighting in there, James. 'Cause you're not going to do this to me. You do not want to be a cripple, take my word for it." House stroked the hair from James' forehead. "You're the caretaker, you hate being on the other side, so you need to wake up and get back to work. Do you hear me, Jimmy?"

A spasm passed through his leg, worse than anything he'd experienced since finding Wilson on the bathroom floor. He knew he wasn't due for another dose yet, but he fished his vicodin out of his pocket and dry swallowed a pill before sinking back into the chair.