"GUESSWORK"

- Chapter Forty -

"The Night Before the Morning After"

"C'mon, House … give me a break and shut up awhile. How do you expect me to take care of this if you don't sit still?"

"Did it ever occur to you that you might actually be … hurting me? Might be playing a little too rough? Causing me real … pain?"

Wilson could hear the whiny undertones of the six-year-old. "Yes, it did occur to me. About a dozen times. And you keep reminding me and reminding me. Did it ever occur to you that Bart was right about you paying a price for your overindulgence earlier?"

Wilson sat in a chair by House's bedside, pulled close to the edge of the mattress with his friend's swollen foot propped delicately on his knee.

House was down to tee shirt and boxer briefs again, and his thigh looked angry and sore around the wound sites near his surgical scar. The skin was still dark with bruising, and it could only get worse. Early the next morning House was scheduled to undergo still another surgery to remove the nanocites that had been so recently inserted. The liquid Lidocaine in the antibiotic wash, meanwhile, was not doing anything to help with his foot pain, according to the decibel level of Gregg's bitching.

Wilson was beginning to feel helpless.

"It was your fault!" House complained, undaunted. "You told me I should get up on crutches so I could exercise my leg … try to get some of my mobility back … Ow! Ow! Watch it!"

"Sorry. If you'd stop jerking around, I wouldn't hurt you. If you remember, I suggested that you try walking … over to the lab … on crutches. I wanted to take the wheelchair so you could switch back when we got there … but oh no … Gregory House knows best! He wouldn't hear of having me take the damn wheelchair along. Now look at you … all swollen and sore … and you've probably set your healing back …"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Buckaroo! If you hadn't had to come back here for the wheelchair, you wouldn't have heard the mutt yelping … and you wouldn't have gone down to Earl's place to check … and you wouldn't have opened the door and shoved his smelly carcass halfway into the living room … Ow! Damn! … And Earl wouldn't even have found him until later tonight … and the whole place would be reeking of 'dead dog' by now …"

Wilson sighed heavily and sat back in the chair. "House, you have all the sensitivity of a cement block."

"What does sensitivity have to do with anything? Dead bodies stink!""

"Everything! Earl is grieving for that dog. He cared for Bobby, and he's gonna miss him. And another thing … how do you think Earl feels, knowing that all their research and the nanotechnology he and Bill and Lillian worked so hard to make feasible, has turned out to be a bust? My God, House … they're scared to death that they may have put your life in danger. I am too, if you want to know the truth. I just got you back … and I don't know if I could stand to lose you again."

House snorted his disdain at that declaration. "My life's not in any danger, for cryin' out loud, so stop with the crocodile tears! I'm fine. They'll pull the damn bugs out of my leg again tomorrow morning … and I guess it'll go back to the way things were. The only thing that bothers me in the least is the fact that Clem Kadiddlehopper and Freddy the Freeloader over there have to have their bugs removed too … and they stand to lose a lot more than me."

"Don't forget about Cauliflower McPugg …" Smiling now, Wilson decided to play along with the Red Skelton references.

"Huh?"

"Kip Bernoski. He told me the day we got here … his left leg is amputated at the knee, and he wears a prosthesis. Medical ethics kinda kept me from saying anything before. But now … you should know he's at risk as well as the others."

"Aww … jeez! Well … then I guess he knows where the ' bear shit in the buckwheat' too … like Bart says …"

"House … I …"

"Wilson, stop it! We win some, we lose some …"

James placed the palm of his hand gently atop House's instep and sat up in the chair again. He placed the wounded foot back on its pillow and stood up. He was worried, antsy, feeling an urgent need for something he could not identify. He just knew he had to move or climb the walls. He began to pace back and forth from one end to the other in the crowded expanse of the spacious room. His boundaries were limited, however. Most of the available floor space was taken up by their scattered belongings.

House lay propped against a pile of pillows, observing in silent contemplation. His left hand was curled against his chest in a somewhat defensive posture, and he flexed and unflexed the thinned muscles of his right calf. His foot pained him, Wilson knew, and he could not flex the foot without inviting further discomfort, so he worked the calf muscles instead. Wilson noticed that his friend was abnormally pale. A thin sheen of moisture lay across his forehead, exuding a faint glow like the surface of a matte photograph.

"Wilson, sit down, for cryin' out loud!" House grumbled before Wilson could say anything further. "You're giving me the creepy crawlies. There's not a damn thing we can do tonight, so we might as well wait it out. At least let me enjoy my last night of no pain before they give back my 'old friend' in the morning …"

Wilson whirled, his face a mask of incredulous disbelief, arms raised, fingers curled against his palms. And then his body went limp and he wilted forward, dropping in a heap on the opposite side of House's bed. He sat hunched for a moment, overwhelmed.

House watched, a little alarmed at his friend's behavior. He raised his sore hand away from his chest and extended the arm outward, intending to touch Wilson's shoulder with his fingers.

James sat up at that same instant to look at House.

House pulled his hand back and replaced it across his chest. Their eyes met hotly in a stubborn clash of wills … and then Wilson exploded into harsh laughter that House had seldom heard from him before.

"What the hell's got into you?" House demanded with mocking sarcasm. He reached to his nightstand and scooped up the iPod with measured nonchalance, preparing to insert the ear buds.

Wilson's shoulders were shaking with spurts of sardonic laughter. He pointed in the direction of House's foot, and then upward to the lame hand he still held curled to his chest. His dark eyes went suddenly soft again with compassion. "Didn't I just hear you say … 'let me enjoy my last night of no pain'? Isn't that what you said? Are you crazy? You've been denying pain for so long that it's finally driven you out of your mind! And you're gonna try to distract yourself with screechy teenage music? Just look at you! Your foot hurts like hell, your hand hurts like hell, and you look like death warmed over. My God, House!" He shook his head slowly from side to side, and for a moment House thought he was going to cry.

"Wilson …"

"Don't 'Wilson' me! Every time I try to make a point with you, you get all cozy and fuzzy and silly, like a little kid, in the hopes that I'll back down and let you have your own way. Or you screw around and change the rules! Do you have any idea how nuts that makes me?"

The blue eyes softened quickly and the deep voice lowered to a rumble of pacifying amusement. House reached out with his left hand again, tentatively. "Well then, it looks like it's pretty much of a draw when it comes to deciding who's crazy here … and who's not …"

Wilson sighed, reached for the extended hand and turned it over within both of his own. The laceration scar was pink tinged and slightly inflamed around the edges. "What am I ever going to do with you, you idiot? You're turning me into an old man before my time."

"Unintentional, trust me," came the answer. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Wilson nodded. "Sure …" He released House's hand and shifted his position to reach into his pants pocket for the vial of Vicodin. He handed one to House. "Take this first."

House placed his iPod back on the side table and reached for the pill. Stuck it in his mouth, tilted his head back and swallowed. "I think I'm a little scared," he said, finally.

Wilson nodded silently. "I know, House. Me too."

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