Title: Speaking and Hearing
Author: Arwen Jade Kenobi
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine. No profit. Just for fun. Please don't sue
Characters/Pairings: House, Wilson (slash if you squint)
Summary: He'd spoken loud enough to be heard in there but he knew that wouldn't make a difference. Wilson didn't answer anymore.
Author's Notes: Response to 100situations's prompt #41: Speech. Also, for the purposes of this fic, anything said in American Sign Language is in italics.
"You know," House pointed out expertly. "You do have perfectly good vocal chords." Wilson didn't reply. House wanted to think he was just being ignored but the reality was that he hadn't been heard at all. Wilson was in the kitchen making some form of pasta and House was on the couch flipping through a medical journal. He'd spoken loud enough to be heard in there but he knew that wouldn't make a difference. Wilson didn't answer anymore.
When Wilson had first taken ill, House hadn't said much about it. House hadn't even noticed that Wilson was getting increasingly feverish. They hadn't seen much of each other that week anyway: House had been grappling with a rather difficult case and Wilson had been fairly busy himself. Sure he'd maybe made a comment or two whenever he saw Wilson, for they were rarely at the apartment at the same time, but House had never thought seriously about until he'd gotten the call from Cuddy. She told him that Wilson had seized during a patient meeting and just been admitted. The diagnosis of bacterial meningitis had been a quick one but House knew it was a late one as well. Wilson had fought as hard as he could, and he'd pulled through despite expectations to the contrary. The disease, however, hadn't left empty handed.
Wilson had begun to exhibit difficulty hearing during those feverish four days and by the end of those four days he had none to speak of. Wilson hadn't opened his mouth since he'd been told the deafness was permanent. House could only assume that he spoke at speech therapy, since he was going to have to speak easily to patients if he wanted to get back to work Wilson never spoke up in their ASL classes either, which was understandable, and lip reading was more of an acquired skill than something that could be taught.
"Can't understand why you won't just open your mouth," House complained loudly. "It's too quiet around here."
No reply. House thumped the floor with his cane until Wilson appeared in the doorway with his now usual inquisitive look. House was surprised to discover he had no idea why he'd summoned Wilson. "Say something," he mumbled.
Wilson squinted at him in confusion, eventually raising his right palm and dragging his left index finger across it. What?
House was already staring at his space in between his feet. "Yell at me, lecture me, tell me the damn weather even. Just say something," he said furiously to that space. He kept his head low but he managed to see Wilson tilt his head in an effort to read his lips. An effort that appeared to have been in vain since the questioning expression was still there. House's glance returned to the floor and he could damn near hear Wilson repeat the sign, but he didn't look up or give any indication that he was listening. Wilson eventually turned around and went back to the kitchen looking exasperated.
It was a reaction though. When House had lost full use of his right leg through a delayed diagnosis he'd been furious and had let everyone around him know it. Wilson had to be angry, who wouldn't be? Everyone had dropped the ball on this one. The signs were all there and no one had noticed. House hadn't noticed.
"What doctor doesn't realise he has meningitis?" he asked in the general direction of the kitchen. "The whole neck pain and rash is a bit of a give away!" He'd noticed the rash one night and had seen Wilson rubbing his neck several times, yet he had done nothing. Actually, he amended, he had done something: he'd done a brilliant job at indulging Wilson's denial when his concerns were shrugged off as unnecessary.
House rose stiffly from the couch and made his way to the kitchen. Wilson most certainly would have felt the vibrations of his feet and cane on the hardwood but he didn't turn away from making supper. Noodles were tossed into the pot and dials were adjusted all without acknowledging House's presence.
House took a deep breath and shouted with all this might: "HEY, WILSON!!!"
Nothing. Silly of him to keep trying this. Wilson was permanently deaf. The diagnosis was too late. Nothing would give him back what he'd lost. What they'd lost.
"How are you gonna tell when that thing's done?" House queried, genuinely curious as he watched Wilson check on something he'd put in the oven. There was a timer on that thing but there was no damn way he'd heard it, and there was no damn way House was going to finish up the cooking. Wilson didn't have the decency to even answer that. House threw his cane on the floor, grabbed Wilson's shoulders and whirled him around to face him. "Can't you even answer a simple question?"
Wilson was looking at him with confusion. Undoubtedly still trying to sort out what he was saying, lip reading was a skill Wilson was taking a while to perfect. House didn't grant him the time needed to interpret what he'd said, instead giving him another firm shake. The pot with the pasta was on the back burner but Wilson was being shoved into the oven door handle. He wasn't saying 'ow' though; grunting in discomfort, yes, but no interjection of pain.
"You lost your hearing, not your voice!" House roared. "You can't even tell me that hurts?" He shoved Wilson one more time before he turned his back on him. "You can't even tell me that this sucks," House grumbled as he moved toward his cane.
Wilson moved faster though. He had bent over, picked the cane up and was handing it to House all before House had thought about kneeling. He did not reach to take it out of Wilson's hand. The younger man sighed, leaned the cane against the wall and reached up to pinch his nose. House's mouth opened to say something else but Wilson beat him to it.
"You want something? Sign it. You haven't signed one word outside of class. If signing is such an inconvenience, wait 'til I'm facing you and slow the hell down. I can't understand what you're saying otherwise."
Wilson's voice was painfully normal. House had been expecting it too sound rough or too loud or something. Not this normalcy. Not this mockery that told him nothing had changed when everything had.
"It's a pain in the ass for me too," Wilson continued. "I'm frustrated, I'm angry, I'm…I just want things to be as normal as possible, but some things do have to change."
He was right, not for the first time and probably not for the last. House didn't sign because it was awkward to do some of them while using a cane. He had never mentioned this to Wilson. There also had to be some way around the problem but he hadn't looked. Of course he hadn't looked. This would go away somehow. There would be some crazy, little known, and undoubtedly illegal, treatment that would bring Wilson's hearing back. Some way to fix this.
Stupid optimism. There was no magic cure for him and there would be none for Wilson. House could barely believe he'd even considered such a ridiculous notion. Wilson was no different from him, no different from anybody else. Thinking otherwise was idiotic.
"House." Wilson waited until he had the other man's full attention before moving his hands deliberately in a few vaguely familiar motions. It took House a few seconds but he eventually clued in to what he was being told.
There was nothing you could have done.
House didn't reply but that was answer enough.
Wilson continued signing. If it's anyone's fault it's mine. He stopped for a moment and then smirked a little. I know you're thinking it. I can hear that loud enough.
House had to chuckle a little bit at that. Some things never would change, but some things had to. He couldn't rely on Wilson to read the double meanings into what he said anymore. A lot of that depended on tone of voice. Sure Wilson would be able to pick up most of it, but some things would be lost on him now.
He opened his mouth but decided otherwise, instead electing to clench his right hand into a fist and trace a circle around his heart with it. Sorry. It was one word and it was a simple hand gesture but he hoped Wilson would both accept it and see beyond it.
The light in those brown eyes told him that the message had been received. Wilson raised one hand to his lips and then brought it down toward House as if he was blowing a kiss at him. Thank you. Wilson then looked over House's shoulder at the living room and handed him his cane.
Now go make sure that Evil Dead 2 has decent subtitles.