Title: Vacant Lives 8?
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: It's another long day at PPTH
Notes: 1600 words. Co written with my mom. Yes. My mother. She's cool. She's also my beta.
Feedback: PLEASE!

The day passed with agonizing slowness.

House was grateful Cuddy sent the yellow chair from his office to him in Wilson's room. The chair had been made for him, to minimize the strain on his bad leg when he sat and when he stood. It was also padded, and afar more comfortable than the standard chairs in a patient room.

He played his GameBoy for a while, until his lack of real focus and concentration pissed him off and he threw the game across the room. He didn't even care if it shattered.

The line up of morning television didn't thrill him either, and he turned the TV off around 11. His iPod had been delivered along with the chair, he let it play classical music while he stared out the window.

Nurses were in and out all morning. House ignored them, they ignored him.

Cuddy showed up with lunch around noon. His breakfast sat untouched. Without comment she threw it away, leaving a salad and sandwich in its place. "I expect you to eat this."

"Yes, Mommy." He took his Vicodin out of his pocket, shook one into his hand. He could feel Cuddy's eyes on him as he swallowed it. He stared back at her, almost challenging her to say something.

She only shook her head and shifted her attention to the patient. His stats showed a slight improvement, and his condition had been upgraded to stable. Cuddy didn't say anything, but took his left hand in hers. His fingers were curled, she pried them open to find a small gold disc.

"What's this?"

House pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against. "I gave it to him."

Cuddy read the inscription. "That's obvious."

"The cop, McGinney, he brought it over a few hours ago."

She nodded and placed it again in Wilson's hand. She leaned over and murmured something in Wilson's ear. House wasn't close enough to hear.

The door slid open, pulling House's attention away from Cuddy and Wilson. Foreman bounded in with a stack of books, which he deposited on the window sill. Cameron followed, her arms full of flowers.

Foreman picked up the GameBoy, set it on he tray beside Wilson's bed.

"They're from the Oncology Department," Cameron announced.

House rubbed his hand over his face. At least no one from Wilson's staff had tried to see him. At least as far as House knew, they hadn't tried to get in the room. Cuddy might have steered them away, or knowing House was in the room would probably be a good enough incentive. House wanted to spare Wilson as much gawking as he could, he knew all too well how degrading it was, how vulnerable it made a person feel. The fact James was unconscious was irrelevant.

"Take them away."

"What?" Cameron protested. Foreman glanced from house to Cameron and back again.

"He's not dead. Take them away."

"Patient rooms are supposed –" Cameron started.

"Take the god damn flowers out of here," House interrupted.

Cameron nodded. Foreman slid an arm around her to guide her to the door. House dropped back against the wall. He really wanted to sit down, but didn't want Cuddy to see him struggle, to hear him hold his breath and fight the pain.

"Dr Hicks has Wilson scheduled for a few tests this afternoon," Cuddy said softly. Delicately. She was walking on dangerous territory, the ice was extremely thin under her feet. "You won't be allowed to stay with him. I want you to go down and see Lara in PT."

He could have slid down the wall to the floor right then and there, if it wouldn't had completely tore his leg to shreds to bend it that way. "No."

While his team prepared Wilson for transfer, Dr Hicks spoke to Dr House. "You can barely walk, Greg."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not. You'll be in the way, and-"

"I won't," House insisted. But he knew he was being unreasonable.

Dr Hicks put a hand on his arm. "Listen to me, Greg. I care about James as much as anyone. And, yes, it's difficult to work on a colleague. But he is in good hands. He's in my hands. I'll do what I have to do and bring him right back. You stay here and get some rest. I'll page you if anything goes wrong, but nothing will."

House nodded. What else could he do. He knew he would only be in the way if he went down with Wilson. Even if he stayed out of the way, he'd be in the way just because he was there.

"Give me a minute." House hobbled to the side of the bed. His fingers reached out to Wilson's cheek, down his arm. "You're doing great, James. Keep it up. Don't let me down." He took the disc from Wilson's hand and slipped it into his pocket.

As soon as Wilson was gone, House eased himself into the yellow chair and downed another Vicodin even though he wasn't due for at least two hours. The pills weren't helping very much, but he was afraid to go without and let the pain get really bad. It was all he could do to keep functioning as it was.

He forced himself to stay perfectly still when the door slid open. Maybe if she thought he was asleep, she'd leave him alone. He needed sleep as much as he needed therapy. Maybe more.

"Dr House?" Cameron. Not Cuddy. He couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. He cracked one eye open when she said his name a second time. "Dr Cuddy thought I'd find you here."

"Did she send you to try to pistol whip me into going downstairs?"

"She said that's where you're supposed to be."

House sat up a bit, as much as he could without risking too much pain. He did not want to give Cameron a show. "What do you want, Dr Cameron?"

"I've taken care of all his credit cards, but I still haven't gotten in touch with his wife."

"Ex wife," House growled. "Are you using my cell? She's probably not answering because it's my number that keeps coming up. She thinks I want to bitch her out because she left. Keep trying."

"What do you mean it's denied?" Julie Wilson stared at the cashier.

"I'm not sure, Ma'am. You'll have to speak with someone in customer service."

"I don't have time for this crap. I have an important meeting in ten minutes." Julie extracted another card from her wallet.

Denied.

The next and the next were denied. "Son of a bitch! I'm going to kill him!" Julie roared, leaving her purchases there, she stormed out of the store. She would deal with James later. After she met with the divorce lawyer.

Kent Lubine was a good looking man. Mid to late thirties, Julie assumed. He had dark hair ad bright blue eyes. He was tall and lean, looked like he played tennis. Julie could just imagine him on a court, all hot and sweaty…

"I need you to sign here, and here," Kent pointed out high lighted sections of a very legal document. "Initial these boxes."

Julie shifted the paper and had drawn only the J of her name when her purse started ringing. "Excuse me." She opened her bag, pulled the cell phone out. Seeing the number displayed, she hit the button on the side that silenced it.

Ken nodded and Julie resumed signing all the designated spots. She set her pen on the mahogany table just as her phone rang again. She silenced it and smiled sheepishly at Ken. "It's not important."

"If you say so."

"It's my husband's best friend." Julie sighed. "My ex-husband," she added quickly. "Greg has been calling me since I left, he called in the middle of the night. Probably about the time James passed out because I'm quite sure they spent the night drinking and wallowing in their misery. He just wants to bitch at me for leaving James and breaking his heart."

Ken nodded. "I'm sure he has your husband's best interest at heart."

Julie stood. "He should be happy I left. Now he can have James all to himself." She smoothed down the front of her silk blouse. "Now, if we're done here, I have some things I need to take care of."

Only one nurse remained, standing near Wilson's bed.. "I've got it, Ginny" House told her.

She looked at him, a protest on her lips. She blinked under the intensity of his gaze and stepped back. "Of course, Dr. House." He continued to stare, and she moved toward the door. "If you…"

"Thank you."

House watched her leave the room, then went about checking Wilson's tubes and wires. Making sure everything was in place, attached where it needed to be, and working properly. He adjusted the Foley and checked the output.

"Okay, Jimmy," he settled in his yellow chair with one of the books Foreman had brought. "It's your lucky day. Foreman brought me a stack of books to help pass the time. You're going to love this one. Dickens. Great Expectations. Might be something in that, don't you think? He could have brought anything, but he brought Great Expectations, and that's what I have for you. And, as I recall, you hate Dickens. Maybe hate is too strong, but I know you don't like his style. That's why…Whatever. You're a captive audience, so if you don't want to listen you're going to have to wake up and tell me now."