Title: Vacant Lives 7?
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: 1750 words. Co written with my mom. Yes. My mother. She's cool. She's also my beta.
Feedback: PLEASE!

It was after three o'clock am when House finally settled in the chair. He dragged it close to the bed, allowing him to prop his feet up and stretch out his right leg. He knew it would hurt like hell when he tried to get up, and swallowed two Vicodin to try and fight off some of the stiffness.

He also hoped the double dose would help him get at least a little sleep.

In dreams, he reconstructed the bathroom fight. He imagined Wilson walking in to the bathroom, making an innocent comment that got taken out of context. Somebody threw a punch, pulled a knife. Wilson probably didn't have time to think, much less defend himself.

He woke suddenly, sweating. The jarring movement sent shocks of pain up his leg. He bit his lip to fight back a whimper.

"Dr House?" The voice startled him. He hadn't realized the nurse was in the room. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he snapped. He decided against further comment, since she was changing the IV bag attached to Wilson's arm. "What time is it?" He tugged on his right pant leg to move his foot to the floor, and again bit back a hiss of pain.

Nurse Maggie looked at the watch strapped to her arm. "Nearly five o'clock."

So he'd slept more than an hour. Close to an hour and a half. He could live with that. "How's the patient?"

"As well as we would expect. His stats look good. Dr. Hicks will be in around nine to check on him. Do you need anything?"

House rubbed his hand over his face. Now that his feet were on the floor, and even with the extra Vicodin in him, he wasn't too keen on the thought of getting up. Certainly not with someone else in the room. "I'm fine."

"All right. You know how to find me if you change your mind."

House nodded. He watched her walk away, and once the door closed behind her, he braced his hands on the arms of the chair. He sucked in his breath, held it, and pulled himself up, relying on his upper arm strength to get him on his feet.

He doubled over, both hands pressed against his thigh to counter the pain deep within the muscles. He figured he must have jarred something when he slipped n the bathroom. No point in dwelling on it, he knew all too well there was nothing to be done for it, except possibly surgery, and even that was iffy, and he wasn't about to submit to being laid up until Wilson was better.

He stood at the side of Wilson's bed, his left leg locked so that it took most of his weight while he looked Wilson over. He started at the top, laying hands on him, touching every inch of him. When he reached his right hand, he lifted it gently off the mattress. Dr Hicks had splinted each of his fingers, and wrapped the wrist in a cast that reached nearly to the elbow.

"Why, James? Why did they break your hand too?" He murmured, looking at Wilson's face, willing him to open his eyes and give an answer.

House continued his exam, eyes and hands drifting over Wilson's body.

He'd attempted a few stretching exercises on his leg in the small open space at the foot of Wilson's bed. The effect seemed to be a tightening of the muscles rather than loosening. He'd stopped after three repetitions, and had been sitting in the window ever since. The ledge wasn't made for sitting, but allowed him enough room to rest somewhat comfortably with both feet on the floor. He didn't dare sit in the chair again, not until after Dr Hicks came in.

He turned the television on just after 6:00 and watched the news. The sports report was on when the door opened, and drew House's attention away form the latest scores.

"Did you sleep at all?" Cuddy asked him. "I brought you something to eat." She set a stryrofoam take out box on the bed tray.

"Yes, Mommy. Between three and five."

"How many pills did you take?"

House pushed off the wall to his feet, careful not to show any sign of pain. He didn't need Cuddy hounding him about getting an X-ray or anything. "Only two."

"Which is two more than you should have had."

House shrugged, and felt a surge of panic. He'd have to ask Cuddy to write him a script for a refill, since Wilson wasn't exactly in a position to do it.

Cuddy sighed and reached into her pocket. "I shouldn't do this, and doing it in no way means I approve of how much you're consuming, but I thought I'd save us both a hassle and just give it to you." She set a small bottle beside the food.

House rubbed his chin. "Thank you." It was sincere, he was grateful. He had six left in his pocket. More in his office and at home. Slightly out of his reach at the moment.

Cuddy shifted her attention to Wilson. "Looks like he's holding steady."

"He's a fighter."

She nodded, took Wilson's unbroken hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm going to give your team a few days off. You're in no condition to work, and I know you're not going to leave his side for a few days anyway."

"Yeah. Any chance I could sweet talk you to bring me my iPod?""

"Dr House?" Dr Allison Cameron stuck her head in the door. He was standing at the foot of Wilson's bed with the sheet pulled away from his feet. He flipped the sheet back down and turned to face the door.

"If it isn't Dr Cameron, my own ray of sunshine," he quipped, and retrieved his cane from the footboard. He wasn't thrilled to see Foreman shuffle in the door behind her. Except Foreman carried a pile of clothes and had House's bag slung on his shoulder. He set the clothes in the chair and eased the bag to the floor beside it. "And Dr Foreman, my own dresser for hire."

Foreman shrugged. "I thought you might want your bag too."

"How thoughtful," House nodded toward the bag. He could have used that around two o'clock last night. Or at five when the nurse woke him and he couldn't get back to sleep.

"Kind of ironic you look more like a doctor when you're not working."

House glared at him, and bit back a sarcastic comment. He wasn't in the mood. "One more thing. I need something to read. Dickens. Wilson hates Dickens. Get me some Dickens."

Foreman knew not to question House's command, and only nodded. "How's he doing?"

House glanced over his shoulder. "No change since they brought him down here." Cameron started toward the bed, House moved to block her way. "His stats are strong and steady, he's doing fine."

Cameron stepped back. "That's good."

"Did you call Julie?" House asked her, relaxing his posture a bit since she stepped back.

"I tried. She didn't answer. But she probably turned the phone off at night. I'll try again in a little while." She held out a single sheet of paper, folded length wise in thirds. He didn't need to read it to know it was the letter Julie left for James. He took it and folded it in half before stuffing it in his pocket.

House jerked his head toward the door. He was feeling over crowded, boxed in. He needed space. Air. "Thank you both. You can go now." Not like he wasn't known for being abrupt.

"Dr Hicks is due in around nine. I'll ask him to write a statement you can fax to the credit card companies. Be sure to tell them Julie may have used the cards, I don't know if she would or not. But since she doesn't know what happened…"

Cameron put a hand on his arm. "I'll take care of it, Dr House. Cuddy already wrote the statement," Cameron said softly.

House nodded. He was glad Cameron seemed to have that under control. He was in no mood to deal with creditors.

Once they were gone, House resumed his obsessive checking of Wilson's vitals. He checked each bandage, each tube, including the output from the catheter. Satisfied that everything was as it should be, he once again flipped back the end of the blankets and checked for spontaneous reflexes.

Nothing.

House sighed and lifted Wilson's right leg to his shoulder, gently massaging the calf and thigh muscles. He'd just started a series of bends when a nurse stepped in to the room. "Dr House?"

House carefully lowered Wilson's leg to the bed. "Do me a favor, Molly. Make sure no one comes in here that doesn't have a valid reason."

"There's a police officer here to see you. He said he talked to you last night at the bar."

House nodded, hobbled to the other side of the bed without the cane. "I can't leave. Send him in."

Molly nodded, and headed for the door. House raised Wilson's left leg, carefully countering his own weight on his left side. A moment later, a uniformed officer stepped inside. "Dr house."

"Officer McGinney."

McGinney inclined his head toward Wilson. "How's he doing?"

"Holding his own. I hope you're here to tell me you got the men who did this to him."

"Not yet. We've got a couple leads, but no one wants to talk."

House sighed, rubbed his hand over his face. "Typical. It's the uniform. Scares the guilty. What can I do for you then?"

"We found this in the bathroom at the bar. Thought it probably belongs to the doctor." McGinney held out a plastic bag. House squinted to see what it was. A small gold disc.

House gently lowered Wilson's leg. McGinney handed him the bag. He opened it, removed the gold disc, caressing it with his thumb. One side bore the American Medical Association emblem, the other carried a personalized message. 'James, Congratulations. You're a real doctor now. Greg.' He'd given it to Wilson years ago, when he'd passed his Boards.

"Yeah. It's…" He swallowed back the lump in his throat. "It's his. Thanks for bringing it over."

"No problem. We'll be in touch." McGinney stepped out, leaving House alone once again. He tucked the blanket around Wilson's legs and stood at the window looking out.