CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: The Eyes Have It
"House, you really do need to be sleeping. Cuddy gave you enough diazepam to knock you out for at least six hours. And by that time, this'll be almost over. Why not just sleep through it?" Wilson is glad that he and House have talked about House's current status, but even the small effort of speech right now steals strength House just can't afford to lose. And he can tell that House is consciously fighting the sedation. "I'm gonna be right here; close your eyes and go with it, okay?"
"I'm fine; can't we just talk a few minutes? Been a while, ya know. You're always so busy fussing and worrying and checking; forget what it's like to just talk."
He's right, Wilson thinks. I admitted as much to Cuddy, and I can't say it to him. Not being fair to him; he's critically ill, and all he's got around him are doctors. No friends, no family, just… doctors. I say I'm his family, his best friend, and then when he tells me that's who he needs me to be, I still focus on his condition. Not this time; I know Dick said I've gotta be firm with him, take charge of the whole health thing—but not right now.
"I miss it too," he says to House. "You're right; it's crazy not to take advantage of Cuddy's stupidity in leaving the two of us to our own devices; you'd think she'd know better than that!" The remark is calculated to amuse House, to get him to relax; the anxiety behind his eyes is almost always there now, and Wilson's decided that for today, at least, his most important job is banishing it.
"You know what would so be the best?" House asks.
Wilson sees that, the way the bedside chair's positioned, House has to lift his head from the pillow to see Wilson sitting beside him. And he's having difficulty keeping it lifted. "Nooo, what would that be?" Wilson asks with a smile, as he unobtrusively angles the chair so that House can lean back again.
"Wouldn't it be too cool to go out into the living room, turn on the soaps? It'd drive Cuddy crazy." House, weak as he is, is grinning like a kid; there's a spark in his eyes that's been missing for days.
"Brilliant idea," Wilson says. "I'm sure it would be a lot of fun, and I haven't caught an entire episode of General Hospital in, oh, like, ever, so it'd be nice to catch up on what I've missed. But… uh… how do you propose we get you and all your… accessories out there?" You can't even lift your head! Please, House, tell me this is a joke.
"Yeah… just a thought. Woulda been fun." The spark goes out of House's eyes; it's replaced with a dull resignation, an expression that's become all too familiar to Wilson lately.
Wilson watches his friend for a long moment; he makes a decision, and refuses to allow himself time to examine it. "House… how bad do you want this?" he asks.
House looks at him quizzically. "Whaddaya mean? How bad do I wanna mess with Cuddy? You have to ask?"
"Right; silly question. What I meant was, want it bad enough to let me be your transportation?"
"Huh?" House looks confused by the question, but hope's starting to creep back into his eyes.
"It's a good thirty feet from here to the couch; you… uh… shouldn't walk at the moment." You can't walk at the moment; pretty sure you can't even sit up unassisted. "Want it enough to let me carry you?" He cocks an eyebrow at House, and allows a touch of mischief to enter his own eyes. His look tries to convey that they're not a very sick man who's reliant on others for everything, even moving, and his anxiety-ridden, worried best friend—they're just two dumb kids, having fun on a free afternoon.
House studies him while the hope creeps the rest of the way into his eyes. "Yeah," he says. "Want it that bad."
Wilson stands up before his brain can start listing all the reasons this qualifies as the stupidest thing he's ever done, might even be the stupidest thing he's ever considered doing. "Okay, gonna go do reconnaissance; be right back." He walks quietly into the living room; Cuddy's in the kitchen, her back to the door, working—he can hear the click of the laptop keys. Quickly, Wilson straightens out the bedding on the couch, adds a couple more pillows.
He pokes his head into the kitchen; Cuddy looks up from her paperwork, distracted. "House is resting; gonna straighten up the living room a bit," he tells her. She gives him a vague smile and goes back to work.
When he returns to the bedroom, the anticipation in House's eyes gives him the rest of the motivation he needs to carry out this insanity. "I'm gonna shut off the monitor, get you disconnected, go put it on the table. I'll be back for the IV pole and the O2, okay?" he whispers conspiratorially. He pulls the wires from the machine and grabs it up.
When Wilson returns to the bedroom, House has already pulled the needle from the heplock, and managed to loop the tubing around the pump. And he's smiling. Wilson puts a finger to his lips and silently rolls the pole into the living room.
Still not allowing himself to think, he returns to House for the last part of the plan. Although House looks happy, he's also beginning to look a little doubtful.
"Are you sure we can pull this off? Sure you can lift me? Couple inches taller than you. Might've lost some weight, but I don't think I shrunk, too." House asks.
When Wilson looks at him, an expression of his grandmother's enters his mind; nuthin' but a bag of bones. "House, I've half-carried you out of more than one bar, haven't I? And you just pointed out that you weighed a little more then." About fifty pounds more. "I'm just transporting you, not dancing with you; height's not an issue. Just curl up small and leave it to me!" He approaches the bed. "Just lock your arms around my neck, and don't let go. I'll do the rest." Whatever it takes….
When he's certain that House has a good grip, he slides one hand around House's back and the other under his knees, and scoops him up in one smooth motion. He tries not to let the shock show on his face; he's able to lift the man with minimal exertion. More difficult than carrying a child, sure. But not by much.
By the time they make it to the couch, they're both smothering their laughter. Wilson looks sternly at House and whispers, "The jig'll be up if she comes out here before I get you retethered." He shoots House a mock glare. "So shut up!" he hisses. He quickly reconnects the monitor, the blood pressure cuff, the pulse oximeter, the O2. He's pleased to see that the monitor's still displaying sinus tach, and the O2 saturation is actually higher, 97 percent.
When Wilson reattaches the IV tubing to the heplock and turns on the pump, the loud beep startles both of them. "Damn," Wilson whispers. "Forgot about that. Get ready to look innocent." The words are no sooner out of his mouth than Cuddy appears.
The men watch, expressionless, as her eyes widen so much they threaten to take over her face. She looks from one to the other in astonishment. "Doctor Wilson," she says, "May I have a word with you in the kitchen, please?"
"Sorry, Doctor Wilson's not here; he's off today—orders from the boss, you might know 'er," Wilson says with a grin. "Jimmy's filling in for him," he continues, impunity in his tone. He hears House snort behind his hand.
Cuddy takes an exaggerated, audibly deep breath. "All right, Jimmy then. Principal's office. Now." She turns around and marches back into the kitchen.
House and Wilson look at each other, which is a mistake. As soon as they catch each other's eye, their held-back laughter redoubles and escapes, loudly.
"You've got until the count of three," Cuddy yells from the kitchen. "And I count quickly." Wilson attempts to compose himself as House looks at him with mock sympathy.
"Principal might paddle you," House says. "Tell her to save some for me." There's absolutely nothing in House's eyes right now but pure, unadulterated fun. Any doubt Wilson had about this plan evaporates as he heads to the kitchen, prepared to strongly defend his own foolishness.
Cuddy has her back to him as he enters and begins the speech he's quickly prepared. "Sorry, Cuddy, I know it's crazy, but I weighed the risks and benefits and, well, the benefits won. He really needed--" Wilson cuts himself off and stares in amazement as Cuddy turns around and he sees her face; her eyes are sparkling with glee.
Cuddy winks broadly at a confused Wilson before she begins to yell loudly enough to be heard easily in the living room. "Welcome to Doctor Doofus Daycare! Just which part of 'ventricular tachycardia' escaped your notice? What are you trying to do? And now, he's gonna have to stay on that couch a good part of the day. What'd you do, trade in 'gray matter' for 'doesn't matter'? What were you thinking? Scratch that. Obviously, you weren't. Thinking, I mean. Too busy being eight years old, I guess. Now get back in there and try to remember your age. Here's a hint; it correlates with your current IQ. Go; House is probably out there setting up for a hopscotch competition; you might wanna stop him, at least until you can talk him into playing dodgeball first. Why are you still standing there? I said go!"
She leans close to Wilson and whispers, "Brilliant! Nothing like putting some trust and good will in the bank for the PICC line tomorrow."
Wilson, still a bit dazed at Cuddy's totally unexpected reaction, just nods at her and returns to the living room, with Cuddy right behind him. "Sit," she directs Wilson, pointing to the end of the couch.
Once Wilson is seated, Cuddy puts her hands on her hips and glares menacingly at both men. "You're grounded until further notice. You--" she points at Wilson, "have bathroom privileges, and that's all. And you--" she aims her mock wrath at House, "don't. Only privilege you have is the TV. Not that you deserve even that, but God knows, a bored House is a dangerous House. And, apparently, a bad influence on normally sensible oncologists. Now, one of us has work to do, and I'd like to get back to it with at least the illusion that you two can be trusted. So save the prank phone calls until I return your phone privileges, okay?" Two wide-eyed men nod mutely in unison as she turns on her heel and exits dramatically.
Wilson looks smugly at House, and presents him the TV remote with a flourish. House accepts it with a regal nod and laughing eyes.
In the kitchen, Cuddy's got her hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. Those two are something else, she thinks. And they're so pleased with themselves that it'll never occur to either one of them that this is exactly what the Evil Witch was hoping for when I demoted Wilson—a little 'play therapy' for two little boys. She shakes her head and returns to work with a smile on her face.