Disclaimer, etc. in the first chapter.

This took a really long time for some reason. Sorry for the wait! The 'House plays doctor' part is laced throughout if you take the meaning of that literally. The more fun meaning of that…I'm not sure if it'll come up in this fic since it's rated T. It might go in that direction, though. :)

Chapter 4: Treatment

House cracked an eye to glance at Wilson. Still dozing. Good. Dr. Jackass What's-His-Name was taking his sweet time with the x-rays. Then again, House had insisted that the most senior member of orthopedics and the radiologist he disliked least among those working today take a look at the x-rays first. But—like that mattered. He closed his eyes and exhaled heavily.

Normally he would be pestering Dr. Jackass, but between walking Wilson in, which had been something of an ordeal, getting him settled, which had also been an ordeal and the least sexy striptease in the history of stripteases, arguing with Dr. Jackass and Wilson about which tests to order (both thought he was being excessive) and how much pain medication Wilson should receive (Wilson had notions about suffering that he might consider noble but House found simply moronic), shuffling down to radiology to breathe on the tech's neck, barking at several nurses about getting Wilson anti-upchuck medicine and saline in a timely fashion after Wilson upchucked twice (nowhere near House's shoes this time, thankfully), and the least comfortable chairs in the whole hospital, he was wiped out. Head tilted back against the wall, leg resting on Jackass's stool and a pillow he'd wrestled from the nurses, he didn't want to move again for a long time. Wilson was comfortable…that was all that really mattered.

He heard Wilson start snoring gently through the pain meds. He would have smiled if he hadn't been so tired: he was on intimate terms with that snore. He could tell how deeply asleep Wilson was by the pitch, timbre, and depth of it. Right now, Wilson was barely asleep at all. Pain meds, House knew, didn't allow for the deepest sleep.

He wasn't too surprised then when he heard Wilson snort, smack his lips, and a pitiful sound come from him.

"House," he groaned.

House feigned sleep.

"Go lie down somewhere," Wilson slurred. "You're making me tired."

"Shut up," House muttered. "Go back to sleep."

"Did I miss Grudzielanek?" Wilson asked.

House cracked an eye open again. "Who?" He remembered before Wilson could explain. "Oh, right. No."

Wilson was wasted, eyes at half-mast, a goofy smile on his face, head turned on the pillow so he could look at House. He wouldn't be in limping condition for at least another hour. House began to wonder if he really had been too liberal with the pain meds…but then again, he really didn't want to hear Wilson bitch. …okay, and he also didn't want Wilson to suffer, but mostly he didn't want to hear him bitch.

"Shouldn't you be out there destroying his soul?" Wilson asked drunkenly.

House tried to roll one eye and, failing, closed both of them again. "Shut up."

"Seriously, honey, I love you, but you look like crap," Wilson nettled sarcasticly. "Go take a nap."

House cracked both eyes this time. "What did they give you?" he asked suspiciously. "You're acting like an idiot."

"You mean I'm acting like you," Wilson replied, his tone snippish but playful.

House recognized it now: he had been too liberal with the pain meds: this was Wilson when he was very, very drunk. He had a talent for biting sarcasm once his inhibitions dropped away. House had been pleased to learn just how much talent he had when properly uninhibited: he hadn't imagined the sex could be that interesting. He smirked a little. Too liberal was better than too conservative, though if Wilson was awake and yapping, albeit incoherently, maybe he hadn't been liberal enough.

"So why don't you go find what's-his-face and bitch about the service," House muttered, eyes closing again.

He wanted to rest, but could feel Wilson watching him. Damn. He hated that. He didn't need to be watched. Go to sleep!

He squinted tiredly at Wilson, becoming increasingly annoyed with the glaring florescent light in the room. "Your foot hurt?" he asked.

Wilson glanced down at his foot. "Kinda."

"That's a no, then," House said, enjoying the red-orange of his inner eyelids once again. "Go back to sleep."

Wilson's voice dropped to a pseudo-sexy register. "Why don't you come over here and help me with that."

"Not at work," House mumbled. "We agreed."

"We're not at work," Wilson pointed out.

House made a face and covered his eyes with a palm. "Where do you think we are if we're not at work?" This was just the time for Wilson to become altered on him. Just the time.

"C'mon," Wilson whined, "broken bones here. Need a cuddle."

House massaged his forehead. "You just puked on yourself what, fifteen minutes ago? Forgive me if I don't want to stick my tongue down your throat right now."

"You always want to stick your tongue down my throat," Wilson replied.

House grunted.

"You're going to make me do this myself, aren't you?" Wilson said.

House sighed. If he wasn't so tired, he would find some way to oblige his lover, but the doors in the ER didn't lock and Wilson was hovering around Saturn at the moment.

"Hands where I can see them, Jimmy," House admonished. "Don't forget you work here too."

"You're not even looking," Wilson complained.

House sighed and wrenched his eyes open—which he promptly rolled to the ceiling. "Get rid of it."

"I was trying to," Wilson whined.

"Think unsexy thoughts," House advised.

"You're making it difficult," Wilson answered.

House sighed again. "Take a look at your misshapen foot and think about having it set."

Wilson glanced at his foot again. "Killjoy," he mumbled.

Satisfied that his job was done, House let his eyelids flutter. He could still feel Wilson's eyes on him, but he was certain that if he was quiet for thirty seconds, Wilson would succumb to the meds again. It was agony, but he was rewarded by soft snores by the time he'd counted to twenty-six.

House shifted in the chair and tried to turn his mind off so he could join Wilson in slumber. As if that ever worked.

He was just beginning to get annoyed with the wait again when the door burst open. House squinted again. Dr. Jackass and that guy from ortho. And they had x-rays.

"Good news and bad news," Jackass said to Wilson, who had started awake. House glanced quickly at the blanket covering Wilson: the bulge was gone. He smirked a little. As funny as it might have been, it was better this way.

He sat up and whistled sharply at the ortho guy who was putting the x-rays on the lightboard. House crooked his fingers: gimme. The ortho guy rolled his eyes, took the x-rays down, and walked them to House. Jackass shot him an annoyed look: Wilson's attention was on House now instead of on him.

"As I was saying," Jackass continued, "there's good news and bad news." Wilson's attention shifted back to Jackass.

House examined the x-rays and deduced the good and the bad before Jackass could continue.

"The good news is, you don't need surgery," House interrupted, adopting Jackass's professional tone. Wilson's attention tennis-courted back to House. "The bad news is you won't be walking on it for at least three weeks. And you need a cast."

House passed the x-rays back to the ortho guy, who rolled his eyes again. "Why am I even here?" he asked.

"You're going to set the bone," House replied. He waved a dismissive hand. "And you can tell him what he broke if he's interested." He cocked his head. "Or you can just give him the x-rays. He's not blind." House smirked. "Just clumsy."

Wilson glared sloppily at him.

By this time, Jackass had steam coming out of his ears. "Then why am I here?" he asked, not bothering to conceal his annoyance.

"You drew a Saturday shift," House answered with a shrug. Not my problem his body language said.

The ortho guy glared at House more pointedly than Wilson had and handed Wilson the x-ray. "Right. Thanks, House." He turned to Wilson and began narrating the breaks. First metatarsal, lucky not to have crushed the bone, second metatarsal, not as badly fractured, both bones in the big toe, along with the first metatarsal they had born the brunt of the blow, etc. House tuned him out, looking instead for the bone-setting supplies. Nothing. No nurse either.

"You going to do this or what?" he said loudly to Dr. Jackass over the ortho guy's speech.

"A nurse is on her way," Jackass replied tightly.

House's eyebrow arched. "Taking a while, isn't she?" he said.

The suggestion was not lost on Jackass, who glared at House and left to round up the nurse.

The ortho guy was yakking on and on about Wilson's prognosis as though Wilson didn't know the procedure for a broken bone.

House rolled his eyes. "He's not a layman," he barked.

The ortho guy stopped talking and tensed, deliberately avoiding looking at House. Steam was coming out of his ears now. "Doesn't hurt to be reminded," he growled.

House made a juvenile face for good measure, but let the ortho guy continue. He shifted his focus to Wilson instead. Wilson was blinking vacantly at the ortho guy, trying to pay attention but not completely succeeding. Poor stupid clumsy Wilson. He sighed to himself. What a crappy Saturday.

Jackass returned with a nurse, glaring at House, and Wilson perked up. House watched Wilson talk to her and wondered if this was one of the nurses he'd wooed. Probably not—ER nurses didn't have much time to be wooed—unless she was a floater. He couldn't help himself: as much as he tried to fight it, he was jealous. Wilson shouldn't be talking to her. Whatever he was saying—didn't matter—he just shouldn't be talking to her. Wilson was his. He couldn't help himself from tuning in to their conversation either, though he probably would have done it anyway.

"—don't need that," Wilson said.

"Are you sure, Dr. Wilson?" she asked. House knew they were discussing the amnesia-inducing substance she'd brought, but that didn't matter at all. He saw her body language. He heard that tone. She was flirting. She was flirting with Wilson. House's chest was on fire before he knew what was happening. A series of violent acts flashed through his mind. Wilson was his. No one was going to flirt with Wilson but him.

He watched her look up at the two doctors and shake her head. The ortho guy had been prepping Wilson's foot and he was about to—what?

"Wait," House said. "Wait."

Four heads turned to him. He addressed the one he cared about—the one who was being a total idiot, and who might have been flirting back (and he was in so much trouble if that was the case).

"You want to remember this?"

"Hou-se," Wilson complained.

House eyed him. Wilson tried to eye him back. House couldn't believe Wilson was arguing. His eyes bugged out. "Seriously?" he asked.

Wilson didn't back down.

"It's not ballsy," House said in his best 'you're an idiot and you don't realize it—how can you not realize it?' voice. "It's stupid."

Wilson rolled his eyes and glanced at the three medical professionals hovering around him. "He's not going to back off," Wilson told them, half-questioning, half-grumbling. He settled back. "Fine."

"Dr. House—" Jackass began.

"You heard him," House interrupted.

Jackass looked to Wilson. Wilson nodded, clearly annoyed but compliant.

He's annoyed, House thought, I should be annoyed. After all, Wilson would be awake but chances were that he wouldn't remember this later. Not the bone cracking part and probably not the foot-being-encased-in-plaster part either. But House, on the other hand, would have to suffer through all of it. He pitied himself. He should get a sandwich between the bone cracking and the plastering. Wilson wouldn't remember it if he left anyway…

"Ready?" the ortho guy asked Wilson.

Wilson nodded and had the good sense to stare at the ceiling. House wanted to look away but couldn't.

"Okay."

House cringed, appetite fleeing. Maybe there was something to that whole people close to the patient shouldn't treat the patient thing.

"How are we doing?" Jackass asked.

"Good," Wilson replied, beginning to blink very heavily.

House couldn't have said the same thing. Bone crunching had never bothered him before, but he was swallowing thickly now. Wilson's eyes were closing. That seemed like a good idea. House closed his eyes too, telling himself he wouldn't lose his cool over this. He was fine. Wilson hadn't even felt it. Wilson was fine. He was fine too.

Like Wilson, House didn't remember passing out. Later, he'd be very glad he hadn't gotten up to chase after any more doctors or nurses, and also pleased that he'd annoyed everyone in the room to the point that they didn't notice his head loll to the side or try to wake him up when they did. And even though Wilson was asleep when he came to, he wondered about Wilson and that nurse. Once Wilson had his wits about him again, he was going to be in trouble. Big trouble.