Title: Evening At Luigi's, Part 2
By: lbc
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: G
Genre: slash
Disclaimer: I sure wish I owned these characters, but I don't.
Summary: Wilson is shot and House feels guilt.
James Wilson slumbered. Does one really "slumber" when you are unconscious from a possible mortal wound in your abdominal area? Perhaps, I'm already dead and I just don't know it.
Enough of that.
Gradually James Wilson could acknowledge to his almost conscious self that he was hearing noises . . . well, really voices - - from time to time. He though he could make out House's "ducklings" once in a while. Certainly he could recognize Cuddy's voice and even once, he thought he heard Stacy Warner's, but the voice he was longing to hear - - he didn't.
Fighting the tremendous pounding in his head, the cacophony of machine noises that surrounded him, and the soothing and not so soothing sounds of unknown voices, James Wilson fought to break free of the blackness that surrounded him, but he soon found the effort too much . . . too much to overcome as the heaviness of his eyelids seemed to overwhelm his pain-ridden body. Besides, what was the difference, if the one person whose voice he wanted to hear more than anything, wasn't there?
James Wilson . . . day 3 . . . returned to the dark cocoon of unconsciousness.
Greg House sat on a chair nearby his friend's white-sheeted, sterile hospital bed. Perhaps, it was perfectly appropriate that the bed be so stark white because it certainly matched Wilson's handsome face . . . even after four pints of 0 positive blood.
House leaned his pain-filled leg on his cane, but eventually even that pain was not enough. Normally, House was not a masochist. He certainly wasn't into pain . . . as his frequent use of Vicodin testified to, but somehow . . . somehow, somewhere in his exhausted and guilt-ridden mind he told himself that if he suffered pain then Wilson would somehow be absolved of the need to do so. So House suffered, but not always silently.
Starting on his third day of waiting by Wilson's side after his friend had been shot outside of Luigi's, House looked like hell and felt it, but, just as with the pain, the tired man kept telling himself that it was worth it. James Wilson - - Jamie, his friend and former lover was worth it.
Reaching up to place a thin hand near to Wilson's right arm, House stopped as he heard the heavy clip-clop of some woman's shoes. Looking up with eyes much like the soulful eyes of a basset hound, House saw Cameron. Sighing but not too obviously, House let his eyes droop closed. The woman had been relentless over the last 3 days. It was nice of her to frequently check on Wilson and even more annoying of her to inquire about House's health, but what the hell was wrong with the woman, couldn't she see that he was fine . . . fine that is except that he was dying little by little as his best friend and most trusted colleague clung to life . . . and all . . . all because one Gregory House COULD NOT KEEP HIS MOUTH SHUT?
Cameron stood for a moment, looking at Wilson's chart then she looked at House, saying with only a faint whine, "How are you?"
The need to scream came to the forefront as House badly wanted to scream at the woman, "I'm fine, you simpering woman; I'm not the one with the wound in my belly; can't you see I want to be alone with my friend?", but he only yelled in his mind and said calmly almost monotonously, "Just fine; little tired but that's to be expected."
"I'll sit with Dr. Wilson, if you would like to get some coffee or freshen up."
For the briefest moment, House felt gratitude towards the woman, but the only thing he could manage was a sad smile, and his usual sarcasm, "You tryin' to tell me, I stink?"
A faint tinge of red colored the pale face, but Cameron held firm. "I just thought you might feel better. You don't want to collapse before Dr. Wilson wakes up, do you?"
Grateful for Cameron's confidence in Wilson's ability to fight off the godawful devastation a bullet can do to a person's insides, House shook his head and replied, "I'll be fine. After all, I'm a diagnostician and if I can't figure what my symptoms are telling me, who can?"
Cameron's face said it all, she knew she was defeated. When it came to stubbornness, no body could beat Greg House so she decided that retreat was the better part of valor. Taking one more look at the unconscious Wilson, she nodded and left.
Hour after hour ensued. Once again the police showed up to try and question one of the three individuals involved in the shooting outside of Luigi's two nights before. Wilson was "unavailable"; the shooter was unknown, so that left Greg House the best bet for information.
It wasn't that Greg House didn't want the dark-coated, almost featureless man caught; he did, but he didn't want to leave his friend's side, just to answer a bunch of questions. Who knew what could happen in that short period of time? The first day the police had tried to question House, but his mind would not work. He couldn't recall a thing except the blood that had been flowing from his friend's body. Even in the ambulance with the paramedics doing their best, it seemed as if the blood would never be under control. In the brief moments of sleep since that horrifying scene in time, House's mind replayed, over and over, the sharp words and the loud booming of the gun. Wilson's wide-open dark eyes and slight gasp were forever imprinted on House's memory.
Lost in thought, House smelled rather than heard Stacy Warner enter the room. She had always worn a rather heavy, sophisticated kind of scent. It wasn't quite as much in evidence today, but, perhaps for the first time in their acquaintance, it bothered House . . . no, it irritated him. He was used to the fresh, masculine scent of his Jamie. Stacy's scent as well as her presence irritated him.
Stacy Warner had been his lover for several years. She had made the medical decision that had led to his permanent pain due to an infarction of the muscles in his leg. They had parted after the surgery and that's when James Wilson had returned. Wilson had put his own career on hold while he came to deal with the recovery of Greg House. It had been hell on earth for Wilson as well as House. House still wondered how either man had survived it. Why was Wilson still his friend? Anybody else would hate House for being the bastard that he had been during those months of - - not recovery, but improvement. Maybe that's why James Wilson was such a special person.
House tried to ignore Stacy. He had been in love with her, but she was now married. In fact, House had successfully treated her seriously ill husband. Stacy was Wilson's friend as well so it was understandable that she would want to know his condition, but WHY THE HELL WAS SHE HERE?
"Greg, how is he doing?"
The emotionless, scruffy face with the deep blue eyes stared at the dark-haired woman - - a woman that he had loved not so long ago. "Well, he's still unconscious, and he's alive - - that's about all, we're sure of."
Stacy's face grimaced slightly then took on a patient demeanor. "Greg, it was not your fault. Give yourself a break."
Silence.
There were times that silence was the most effective weapon, and Greg House used it very effectively. His cold eyed stare was also patented to self-destruct any target at which it was aimed, but Stacy Warner had lived with the man for several years and had learned to survive.
"Greg, you don't fool me. I know you're worried, and I know you're scared."
She stopped here as she noticed an icy flicker cross the magnificent blue eyes then she continued. "You need a break; I'll sit with him."
"Mrs. Warner, I appreciate your offer, but I am fine. I've used Dr. Wilson's bathroom, illegally no doubt and I – am – fine. Of course, I'm worried, and I know you're his friend, but could you please go take care of your husband and leave me to take care of . . ."
Here House stopped, not knowing how to finish. Certainly James Wilson was his friend - - his long time friend, his colleague, and his former lover, but what was the handsome doctor to him, NOW?
House had made the conscious decision to back off from any intimacy with Wilson several years before. Then Wilson had gotten married - - 3 times and that had helped . . . or, at least, House told himself that it had helped. Through all the years since, they had remained friends, but Wilson had become so much more.
The moment that Wilson had yelled at him about his failure to make a speech to save people's jobs, Wilson knew that his words, "I care" had not been adequate to cover the depth of his feelings for the man, standing in front of him. They had never gone beyond that even though Wilson had been the one to share the joy of the ride of the corvette and had continued to be his confidant in almost every situation that cropped up in their professional and private lives. And now . . . and now . . . James Wilson was paying the price for that devotion and loyalty.
52 hours ago, James Wilson had put his body in front of Greg House's and took the bullet meant for the sarcastic mouthed older man. Breaking free of his thoughts, House stared at Stacy Warner once again. "I'm fine, Stacy. Could you just leave us alone?"
Stacy nodded briefly and left the room and House. The afternoon wore on. He had been grateful to Cuddy for giving him leave. He would have taken it anyway, but it made it easier this way.
As if the thought gave way to the person, Lisa Cuddy walked into the room, for what must have been the hundredth time since the shooting. She examined Wilson's charts carefully without giving any indication that she even noticed House's presence. Finally, after studying the charts too carefully, she raised her dark hair and looked at House.
"Dr. House, I want you to go home and rest for the remainder of the day. We'll let you know when Dr. Wilson wakes up."
House felt a wave of hysteria flow over him. Now, she wants to get rid of me. What is it with these women?
"Dr. Cuddy, you can put me on administrative leave or sick leave or any other type of leave that you want, but you can't tell me what to do. I'm staying."
Cuddy looked over at the unconscious man, saying, "That's not going to help him wake up any faster. His body needs rest and so do you. Go."
"No."
"Dr. House, I can call Security, and they can escort you home, if you push me too far."
"Dr. Cuddy, you can try, and then tomorrow there will be a wonderful article in the Princeton newspapers about the lack of feeling demonstrated by this hospital."
"Dr. House, are you really feeling that bad about Wilson or are you just feeling guilty about the cause of the shooting?"
As soon as Cuddy said it, she knew that she had made a mistake. The two of them had been intimate at one time, but that was long ago. She had dared to tread on forbidden ground and now she would be forced to backtrack to save the day.
Before House could react to the words, Cuddy blurted out, "Okay, okay, do as you want; you always do. Stay here until you collapse; then we'll find you a bed to rest in."
With that she walked out of the room. House continued to stand with his back to the bed in the room, staring out the door. Was Cuddy right? Is that why I'm paying this penance right now – am I guilty of causing my best friend to be violated by a speeding bullet into his body?
Suddenly, a prickly feeling swept over Greg House as if he knew he was being watched, turning quickly, his eyes rested on the frail looking body in the bed across the room. Wilson's eyes were open slightly. There were only slits, but there was comprehension in them.
House smiled hesitantly as he limped towards the bed, "Well, it looks like you're back with us."
Wilson said nothing; the voice was garbled and his eyes had difficulty focusing. His lips and throat were extremely dry due to the respirator which was breathing for him. He didn't speak. He wasn't even sure if he could. Fine thing when a doctor didn't even know something like that.
The person standing in front of him continued to speak, but Wilson was still unable to comprehend what was being said. He wanted to ask a question, but his eyes became too heavy to hold open. Within seconds his lids were closed, and he returned to a more comfortable sleep.
Greg House closed his eyes in gratitude. Standing staring at his friend with a strange look in his eye, he finally noticed his trembling hands. Feeling totally exhausted, he turned and left the room, resolving to act upon the decision he had been thinking about for the last 3 days.
End of Chapter 2
