"What the hell happened to you?" Wilson asked when he saw House's cut open leg.
"Fell off my bike," House muttered, he'd really hoped he could have avoided a conversation like this.
"Are you hurt?" Wilson asked, sounding concerned.
"No, I'm peachy, I normally have half a road stuck in my leg," House snapped as he opened the door and hobbled inside, closely followed by Wilson.
"Okay, okay, stupid question. Grab your spare cane and we'll get going?"
"Where?"
"The ER, you need to get checked out."
"Have a nice time, I'm not going."
"You could have concussion, internal bleeding, broken bones and that leg is going to need some serious cleaning and probably x-rays," Wilson told him, exsaperated.
"I got the guy who picked me up to stop at the pharmacy, I'll clean it and then I'm going to bed. I am not going to the ER, it's a waste of time. I'm a doctor, I'd know if there were something majorly wrong with me."
Wilson looked at his friend, not at all surprised by his response. "Just let them..."
"NO ER," House interrupted, making a growling noise that signalled that the conversation was over.
"At least let me check you over, I've got my medical bag in the car," Wilson said, as way of a compromise.
"What are you doing here anyway?" House asked, ignoring the offer.
"Julie kicked me out for a few days, thought I could crash here."
"Whatever, grab the couch, I'm going to bed."
"Greg, please, let me just check you over and then I promise I'll leave you alone," Wilson said, again, trying to hide the pleading in his voice.
"You just want to touch my body," Greg murmured.
"Yeah, I want to molest you, can I just?"
"Fine, but make it quick, I'm exhuasted." Wilson nodded and left to grab his medical bag from the car. While he was gone, House popped another two Vicodin, they just weren't hitting the pain in his leg and the other various aches and pains that you usually get when you fall off your bike at thirty miles per hour. They'd kick in soon enough and once he'd satisfied Wilson he could get some much needed, uninterupted sleep.
He heard a car door slam, and then his own front door slam and footsteps. He didn't remember closing his eyes but he was just so damned tired.
"Greg? You still with me?" Wilson asked, his voice laced with concern.
"Greg isn't here right now, he's sleeping, call back in a few hours or leave a message after the beep...beeep," House murmured, drifting as the last two Vicodin kicked in and took him to a place where it didn't hurt nearly as much.
Wilson shook his shoulder and he opened his eyes. "Come on, you can lie on your bed while I check you over."
"I don't put out until at least three dates," House quipped. He tried to stand, but pain seared through his leg and he felt himself falling. Wilson was quick enough to grab him by the arm and steady him.
"You sure you don't want to go to the ER? They'll give you a sticker if you're a good boy," Wilson said. It wasn't that he didn't trust House to tell him something was wrong, it was more than in the fifteen minutes he'd been home, he'd gotten very pale and very sleepy which made him think concussion at least, if nothing else.
"No ER," was Greg's dopey reply.
Somehow between the two of them they managed to get Greg into his bedroom, out of his leathers and onto his bed. House closed his eyes the moment his head hit the pillow and Wilson looked over his friend, assessing the damage.
His left and right jean legs were torn open and alongside the scar from his operation there was a significant amount of gravel burn, he knew that he'd have to use some tweezers to get some of the gravel out before it could be dressed to minimise an infection. His main concern was House's level of consiousness, he knew his friend wasn't stupid enough to ride without a helmet but the way he'd seemed overcome with tiredness worried him.
He rummaged through his bag and brought out a penlight, clicking it on he shook House gently. "Come on, House, open your eyes for me," he said.
"G'way," House mumbled. Wilson reached over and forcefully opened House's left eye, shining the light into it. He did the same with the right and saw nothing there that worried him.
"Squeeze my hands, Greg," he said, taking hold of each on. House ignored him. "Come on, sooner you do it, sooner I can piss off and leave you alone.
House sighed deeply and squeezed Wilson's hands tightly. "Told you, I'm fine, just tired."
"I believe you," Wilson lied. "I've gotta clean that leg though, it looks pretty nasty."
"Do the left one, leave the right."
"The right one is worse."
"Touch it and I'll break your fingers."
"House, let me do it, or I'm taking you down to the ER," Wilson told him, his voice stern and even House, in his semi-comatosed state knew he was serious.
"Fine, but let me take some Vicodine first," he muttered. He dug it out and popped one pill in his mouth, he knew he shouldn't be taking as much as he had but there was a niggling pain in his stomach and his back and he did not relish being in pain, besides, what was the worst that could happen?