"GUESSWORK"

Chapter Forty-Nine

"The More Things Change …"

"No, my friend, forget it! We are not going to drive straight through. No damn way, House!"

"I was having pleasant visions of sleeping in my own goddamn bed tonight!"

"What? The only bed you're gonna be sleeping in … after tonight, Ace … is one of the private rooms on the fourth floor of PPTH!"

"When elephants fly!"

"House, you don't really want elephants to fly. You wouldn't want to get bombed by one."

"Fuck you, Wilson!"

"Baltimore, House! We get off at Baltimore! Now turn around in your seat, stretch out and sit still. I should kick your ass for taking that brace off your leg. God! You know you're going to set it to hurting like hell!"

"More than it already does? My foot felt like a lead weight with that freakin' thing on. Now that it's off, it only feels like a football with a bone in it!"

"Yeah, I know! You're enough to make a sane man cry."

"And you're enough to make a preacher swear!"

"Baltimore, House! We get off at Baltimore! Relax. We'll be there in another hour."

"Go on up to the Towson exit then."

"Why?"

"'Cause there's a Raddison there … and a Marriott. No steps to climb at either place."

"How would you know?"

"'Cause I went off there for lunch on the way down."

"Oh. Okay. Which one?"

"Which one what?"

"Raddison or Marriott?"

"Who cares? You're driving!"

"Go to sleep!"

"Going!" House grunted.

00000000

"Hey … House …"

"Ummnh … huh?"

"We're here."

"'Here'?"

"The Marriott. We're parked right out front. Reach in the glove compartment and hand me the 'handicap' placard, willya?"

House shook his head, rolling it back and forth, waking up. He leaned forward, reaching for the glove compartment. "Ahhh … Jesus! OW!" His hand flew to his leg.

Wilson leaned over and reached across House's body to pull the plastic contract case from the glove compartment. He extracted the "handicap" placard and placed it in a strategic place between dashboard and windshield. Then he reached across again and put the case back. "I told you!" He accused gently. "How bad?"

House grimaced. "Bad …"

Most of the problem had to do with House's uncomfortable position in his seat. Without the brace on his leg, the limb was prone to bend in an unnatural manner, and that in turn, had caused the recent stitches to pull and swell. Once he'd straightened his body in the seat, and leaned a little further into the backrest, his pain diminished. He took a deep breath and expelled it through his teeth. "This is getting to be such a pain in the ass again. Christ, I hate it when you're right!"

Wilson smiled. "I know. Let me know when you're ready to go inside."

"That would be now."

"Sit still then, 'til I get your crutches out of the back seat. You gonna be able to do this okay?"

"Yeah … unless you decide you'd rather carry me …"

"Don't be an ass!"

"You asked …"

The outside air was colder in Baltimore than it had been in Raleigh. Wilson was wearing his windbreaker, but House was clad only in jeans and a tee shirt. His disabled foot was bare, except for the bandage. The leather jacket was buried in the back of the SUV.

Wilson had not given a thought to the changes in temperature when he'd packed things for transport early that morning. He hurried around to the passenger side and gestured for House to scroll down the window. An icy blast gusted through the opening with a shrill whistle, and House flinched back against the biting cold.

"Whoa!"

"Wait 'til I dig your jacket out of the back. I need to find something to cover your foot."

House held up his hand. "Never mind," he said. "You can get it later. I can make it in there okay … it's not that far. How frozen can you possibly get, walking straight to a door that opens into 'toasty'?"

"You sure?" Wilson looked doubtful. "You can have my jacket if you want it …"

"I'm fine!" He scrolled up the window and opened the door, grasping the crutches Wilson had pulled from the back seat.

Wilson walked behind and slightly to House's right as his friend lurched clumsily across the windy brick veranda and approached the glass doors of the hotel lobby. Inside was a warm, roomy expanse with comfortable contemporary furniture, handsome dark carpeting and smooth mahogany occasional tables. There were a dozen-or-so people moving about here and there, but the immense size of the room made it seem like fewer than that. Snatches of subdued conversation floated lightly on the air.

House paid no attention to anything other than his own progress. His foot was pounding like a tom-tom. He limped to the nearest vacant sofa and sat down clumsily, dropping the crutches on the floor. He reached beneath his thigh to adjust the position of his painful, cumbersome leg. In spite of the warmth of the room, his foot was already cold, and he grimaced at the discomfort, leaning forward to hide any outward show.

Nearby, a pair of idle bellmen stood together, watching nervously, but making no move to offer assistance.

Wilson waited until House was situated, and then walked across the room to the desk to check them both in for the night. A clock behind the counter told him it was only 4:30 p.m., although it had already begun to darken outside when he'd pulled off the interstate.

There were two women working the counter, one of them older and wiser. Wilson recognized all the signs of instant pity, and held his breath. She was already looking across to House with mounting intensity.

"My friend and I need a single room," he said quickly, hoping to waylay any display of motherly concern. "Two beds, double occupancy … preferably on the ground floor … and nearby, please." He indicated House, sitting awkwardly on the sofa, and smiled with, he hoped, the right amount of brotherly devotion. "He recently had surgery, and he's in some pain. I'm his doctor."

It wasn't a complete lie.

Wilson withdrew his credit card and AMA card and placed them together on the counter with a snap. The older woman ran the Visa card through the slot and stared at the readout. Beside her, a younger, pretty, dark-haired woman checked Wilson out appraisingly from beneath long lashes. Wilson's pulse raced. He could not deny an interest.

"Room eight …right down that hallway." The older one pointed to the left, sensing electricity crackling in the air. "The room is handicapped-accessible, Dr. Wilson, and I'm sure your friend will be fine there. If you'd like to see to his comfort first and then come back here, I can have one of our people help you with your luggage. Will that be satisfactory?" The tiny smile on her face spoke of complete understanding of the nature of things ….

Wilson nodded. He was probably exuding layers of testosterone. "Great. Thank you." He smiled at both women as the younger one slid a plastic access card with seductive grace across the counter in front of him. Unreasonably, he found himself wishing he were traveling alone.

Wilson picked up all three cards and returned quickly to House's side. "We have a room right down the hall … that way." He pointed to a corridor off toward House's right. "Let's get you back there and situated, and then I'll come back here for our stuff … what there is of it …and see about something warm for you to wear."

House smirked, reading Wilson's churning mind without any trouble. He grasped the crutches that Wilson held out to him, and lurched to a halting, three-cornered stance.

"Bet you'd like to see the old cripple melt into the woodwork right about now … wouldn't you?"

"Come on!" Wilson growled. "You assume an awful lot sometimes, House. Drag your sorry ass back to the room and lie down. I'll bring my med bag and do your stitches, and maybe give you a shot for the pain. After you rest awhile, we'll get room service and see what they have to offer on pay-per-view. Okay?"

"Works for me," House grunted. He was tired. Testy for no reason. Sometimes it pissed him off when Wilson flirted shamelessly in front of him. His friend had had little chance in Raleigh, and was beginning to make up for it.

House limped off along the hallway, halting and in pain, with Wilson close behind.

00000000

"Feeling better now?"

It was nearing 8:00 p.m. Wilson had wandered around, taking his time, letting House rest. He knew the man was exhausted and hurting, and he really wanted to avoid being the victim of Gregg's ill humor. He was not in the mood tonight.

He'd made a trip to the hotel's well-stocked gift shop, casting about for any sign of the pretty reception clerk. She had disappeared. He sighed. Damn! He wandered aimlessly, bringing his eager body back under control, looking for something suitable in warm attire for himself and House. And perhaps a bottle of something intoxicating! A warm and enticing female body, stretched out next to his own, had been too much to ask …

House was leaning against the headboard of the bed now, propped up with two of the hotel's pillows, plus two they'd brought along from Paramar. Wilson had rebandaged his foot and thigh before he left, and elevated the limb to a level even with his body; high enough to keep downward blood flow from causing further edema. The big heating pad he'd dug out of the hatch lay wrapped around House's lower leg and foot. Gregg reminded Wilson of an elegant housecat staring at him disdainfully from the back of a velvet sofa.

House nodded. "Yeah. I'll live. What are you … the 'Geek Bearing Gifts'?"

Suspiciously, he eyed the bouquet of plastic gift bags that Wilson cradled beneath one arm, but brightened appreciatively at the narrow, telltale paper bag he brandished in the opposite hand: obviously booze of some kind.

"Very funny!" Wilson groused. "You're on a roll." He tossed the plastic bags down on the surface of House's bed and watched in amusement as they slid every which way.

House picked up one of the bags and peered inside. It was a man's sweatshirt, and he drew it out cautiously. Embossed boldly across the front was a fierce looking purple Raven's head with a big yellow "B" printed in the middle of it. House smirked. "If I wear one of these to New Jersey," he remarked, "I'll get shot! Again!"

Wilson snorted. "So look at the other ones!"

House picked up another bag and dumped its contents by his side. It was a very expensive white cotton tee shirt with a cartoon bird in a baseball hat. The bird was dark blue, trimmed in orange. The neckband and both sleeves were ringed in dark blue. The bird had a smile on its face. House made a face that very closely parroted the look of the bird, and glared up at Wilson. "Baltimore Orioles," he said. "Wow! A difference that makes no difference …"

"… IS no difference!" Wilson finished the quote for him. Yeah, I know. I've really gotta watch it, y'know that? I'm beginning to finish your sentences for you."

House guffawed. "I noticed." He held up the heavy sweatshirt and looked at it again. "Too bad you had the bell-guy bring in my leather jacket. This is a cool shirt. Really looks warm. Thanks. Think I'll wear it home."

Wilson frowned. "I thought you …"

"I'll just have to get out of the car under cover of darkness," he said, "so I don't get recognized. If they don't recognize me, they won't shoot me. Again!"

Wilson wrinkled his nose, trying to keep from laughing. "I got that the first time too, smartass!"

House was still smiling at his own joke when a knock came at the door.

"Were we expecting somebody?" Wilson asked, puzzled.

"I ordered a pizza awhile ago … you got your wallet handy? I figured you'd be back pretty soon. No conquests tonight!"

James shook his head and sighed, but didn't take the bait. He opened the door and yanked his wallet from his hip pocket.

Pepperoni, sausage, and mushrooms. The pizza looked to be three inches high and two feet around. They ate like starving lumberjacks and guzzled two glasses each of fine Scotch that warmed their stomachs, and after awhile, their dispositions.

By the time they polished off most of the pizza and drank most of the liquor, they were both bleary eyed, and House was beginning to shift around, trying to readjust the heating pad.

Superman Returns exploded its way along unnoticed on the big TV across the room.

House's hands were on his thigh again, the right one reaching lower, toward the foot. His stitches were pulling, and he was feeling it in increased waves of discomfort.

Looking into his friend's face, Wilson felt for him. He stood up unsteadily and moved across to the other man's bed. He sat down on the edge and moved the plastic bags and the new shirts onto the side table between them.

"Move over here," he said to House. "Move over where I can put my hands on your shoulders."

House stiffened and glared at Wilson, face filled with sudden suspicion. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Just move over!" Wilson insisted. "Bart Kirkpatrick taught me something and insisted I share it with you."

House did not move. "Huh? Taught ya what?" His words were a little slurred.

So were Wilson's. "Jus' move over here and do as I say." He waggled his fingers enticingly.

House slid his body cautiously sideways as Wilson asked, wincing slightly as he did so. "Yeah? Now what?"

Wilson lifted his arms and slid one of them around the back of House's neck, settled both palms lightly on House's bony shoulders. "Lean back. It'll take awhile probably, because I'm new at this … but Bart showed me how." His fingers and the heels of his hands were already kneading House's shoulders. He saw the goose bumps appearing on House's arms. The taut muscles were loosening. It was working already.

House leaned backward and groaned with pleasure. Wilson kept kneading as Bart had instructed. One might have thought that his hands would be cramped and aching. But they weren't. His thumbs kneaded lightly near House's carotid pulses. Lightly, lightly.

Wilson worked for a half hour, then withdrew. House was like a wet dishrag beside him. "What the hell did you just do to me?" He breathed.

"How do you feel?"

Like I'm floating. What … ?"

"Shhh … relax. Part of Bart's gift. He told me yesterday that you asked him if he did hocus-pocus … or the Vulcan Mind Meld. He thought that was funny. I didn't believe him at first … but it's true. He told me something happened to him right after he lost his sight. He found that he could blank out pain for a short time. He laid his hands on my shoulders … and I laid my hands on his … and he taught me."

House stared at Wilson incredulously, intellect warring with childhood fantasy … applied science versus fairy tales. "Is that what the two of you were doing before we left today? Another stupid Vulcan Mind Meld?"

Wilson nodded shyly.

"Somethin' like that. I choose to believe it, House … until I don't!"

Wilson's eyes had a faraway look. "In case you were wondering, that's why I asked you to take back control of your medication. You don't need me around to ladle it out like candy. And you don't ever have to worry that I'll start lecturing you again for taking it when you need it. I won't doubt you anymore. Neither will anybody else. I swear"

"Wilson, you scare me. I don't believe a word you say about this 'Vulcan mind meld' crap. But you believe it because Bart believes it. That's the most fucked-up thing I ever heard. But thanks for believing me about the meds thing. I really do depend on it, ya know."

"House?"

Gregg's head snapped up.

"You're welcome. Now shut up!"

House sighed. "Can we go to sleep now, Wilson? Because my leg stopped hurting and my foot stopped hurting, but I think that's because we're both a little drunk … and not because of elfin magic! You can get the hell out of my bed now, and go get the hell into your own … an' I'll see you in the morning."

House was already half asleep when he felt the weight beside him move carefully away.

"Night Wilson-n-n …"

"Night House …see you in the mornin' … you jerk …"

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