I own nothing but the plot.
This is a slash, but it's not graphic. It's an established relationship fic.
Hours passed after Wilson's final surgery, and House barely left his room for more than a few minutes at a time. He made stops at the restroom, coffee machine, his own office, even Wilson's office out of habit than anything else.
At one point, he realized there was blood on his pants and shirt from the accident, and he didn't know why he hadn't noticed it before. He found sweatpants in Wilson's locker and had managed to get a clean shirt from Kutner.
Wilson's surgery had proven to be successful, or at least Taub and Chase had said it had. House didn't remember much about it; his mind kept wandering to different scenarios where he ripped the balls off of the driver in various creative ways.
Cuddy had stopped by briefly after House paged her ("911", and she screeched into the ICU room Wilson was occupying). He had to swallow his pride and ask her for a prescription of Vicodin.
"Didn't you just get one yesterday? How many are you taking? Are you going back to your old habits?" She had demanded, furious that House had made her believe Wilson was dying with the urgent page.
"I left it at home," House answered stiffly, standing awkwardly to relieve pressure on his bad leg. It had been six hours since his morphine shot, and if he wanted any sleep tonight, he needed something more.
Cuddy's anger dissipated at House's words and tone, and she nodded, glancing at Wilson. She inhaled slowly, tears springing into her eyes at the sight of him. "Okay House. Don't overdo it because Wilson can't stop you, though."
"Damn," House said, snapping his fingers indignantly. Internally, he fumed. Of course I won't overdo it. I know how disappointed he'd be if he found out I went back to old habits immediately. The fact that Cuddy felt like she had to say anything at all to House infuriated him. "If you don't want to write me the script, then don't. But don't you dare stand there and patronize me."
Cuddy opened and closed her mouth twice before she could say anything back. She looked confused and offended before she nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just know that this must be really hard on you, and –"
"You don't know," House sneered, taking a single step toward his boss. "Just because he's here and hurt doesn't mean that I'm going to turn into some murderous fucking sociopath now that my leash and handcuffs are gone."
The words surprised House as much as they did Cuddy, and he closed his eyes to block out the look of bewilderment on her face. Shame coursed through his body and he started to feel how tired he really was. He raised his arm up and risked a glance at his watch. It was almost six, which meant Wilson's parents would be here at any time. It'd been over seven hours since the accident.
Cuddy wrapped her arms around House's waist, and hugged him tightly. He stood rigidly, unwilling to hug her back. He knew that if he gave in right now and hugged her, he'd break down and sob until he threw up, and that was the absolute last thing he wanted to do right now.
"I'm so sorry, Greg. So, so sorry," she whispered into his chest, gripping him tighter. She was too short to hold him much higher, and it made him feel awkward as he tried to pat her back to tell her it was okay.
"There's nothing to be sorry for. It was a freak accident," he said hollowly, not believing his own words. Cuddy nodded against his chest and pulled back, her mascara smudged below her eyes from a few tears she'd failed to hold in.
"He'll pull out of this just fine," Cuddy assured him. House remembered a time, a few years back, when Wilson had told him he was a reality junkie, and that everyone else would lie to make someone feel better by saying, "it will be okay".
And House had said, "things can go terribly wrong."
Cuddy frowned at House, and he realized he spoken aloud. He gave her a half-hearted shrug and said, "well, they can. No point in trying to sugar coat it. He's got some brain damage. We just won't know how bad it is until he wakes up."
"I think you should talk to someone. We have excellent therapists in this hospital. You. . ." she trailed off, and House waited for her to find the words she wanted to say. The last thing he wanted to do was see a shrink. "You aren't handling this well."
House laughed bitterly, shaking his head while he stepped back away from her. He turned and headed toward the window to stare out at the dark parking lot below him.
"Because I'm not bawling and freaking out like you would be doing, I'm not handling this well?" House asked, pressing his forehead against the cool window. Cuddy started to say something, and he cut her off. "Cuddy, my leg is going to lock up again if I don't get some kind of relief."
"Fine," she sighed and left the room quickly, her heels clapping noisily down the hall as she all but ran to the pharmacy for him. Well, that's one positive to this situation. Cuddy falling over herself to do me favors.
With a quiet sigh, House moved to sit beside Wilson's bed. Maybe Cuddy was right, at least partially – he wasn't handling all of this as well as he could. He barely sat by Wilson's side the last three hours, too afraid of seeing his partner's broken body for too long.
Wilson's neck was secure in one of the best neck braces the hospital carried. His blanket was pulled up to his chest, and aside from the hospital underwear he had on, he had no other clothes on. Too many injuries and bandages and tubes coming out of his body made it impossible to dress him appropriately.
He's going to get too cold House thought, and reached over to gently tuck the sides of the sheet and blanket under Wilson's back. He did the same to the side closest to him, taking extra care not to jostle the sleeping man. Of all his years dealing with brain damaged and severely injured patients, this was the first time he'd genuinely wondered if the patient was in pain, too cold, or something else that he can't guess.
His hand found Wilson's, and he laced their fingers together, careful not to pull out his IVs. The heart monitor continued to beep at a steady pace, and for some reason it made House chuckle.
"I guess my touch doesn't make your pulse race anymore," he said softly to Wilson, raising his right hand to Wilson's face. He hesitated a moment before running the back of his knuckles down his bruised cheek.
Wilson's nose was bandaged after Taub had surgically set it. A small bandage was placed over the stitches on Wilson's other cheek; Taub said they might have to go back in and fix it with metal plates. The only reason he didn't do it today was in case they had to do an MRI.
Dark bruises covered Wilson's eyelids and forehead, and House was glad that they'd bandaged his head after stitching up his bleeding scalp during the first surgery. It was bad enough seeing what wasn't under bandages.
House leaned forward and pressed his lips to Wilson's ear and whispered, "I'm waiting for you, Jimmy," and placed a tender kiss on Wilson's temple before pulling away. He felt silly, talking to Wilson when he was obviously not there, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Even though he didn't remember it, when he was in a coma and Cuddy stayed with him, it'd been a comfort to know that she had whispered to him.
Looking up at the door, House was embarrassed to see Cuddy standing in the doorway with a bottle of Vicodin in one hand, and a bottle of water in another. She gave him a warm smile, which told him she'd seen his display of affection, and he did his best to shrug it off.
"He only gets one," House explained, forcing himself to his feet. His leg burned and his knee locked, and he gripped the foot of Wilson's bed for support.
"What's wrong?" Cuddy lurched forward, putting the bottle of water and the pills on the mattress by Wilson's feet and placing a hand on House's back.
"I told you, I ran today. My knee. . ." he trailed off and forced his knee to bend, groaning in pain softly. "It's nothing."
"I'll get you ice. Sit down, take some Vicodin, and relax. Maybe try to get a nap in. Do you need dinner?" Cuddy moved to the door again, and hesitated, waiting for his answer.
"Not unless you're on the menu," he said, aware that the response was lame but the best he could manage with the muscles in his leg cramping and burning. Cuddy shook her head and left. House grimaced and downed three pills, knowing damn well it was one more than he ever takes now, and only feeling slightly guilty at the thought that Wilson would be disappointed if he knew.
----------**----------
"What did you do to your knee?"
House raised his head from inspecting his swollen knee and gave Thirteen a steady, blank stare. She shifted uneasily, glancing from House to Wilson, gripping a folder in her hands.
"Sympathy pains," House said, unrolling his pant leg down his leg. He raised his eyebrows at the folder. "New case?"
"Yeah." She stepped forward cautiously, holding the file to House. "You should have your knee looked at if it's swollen like that."
House snorted softly, opening the file on his lap. "I fell on it after I ran a few feet. It's not even bruised. My pride is hurt more than anything." He skimmed the top page in the folder. "This case is boring. It's obviously an infection."
"Cuddy wanted to keep us busy. Kutner and Taub wanted to know how you were doing and they sent me in here to find out."
"Make sure to tell them that I'm on a rampage and if they come in here they'll never escape. And if they do come in here, I'd like a burger and fries. A strawberry shake, too."
Thirteen tilted her head in thought, eyeing House curiously, before nodding. "Any ideas on the patient?"
House glanced over at Wilson and shrugged. "He's in a coma."
"Not that patient," she said, rolling her eyes and taking the folder from his hands. "I meant ours. And. . . is he really in a coma?"
"Find out," he said, sweeping his hands toward Wilson's still body. She hesitated and gave him a confused expression. "Nobody's tried to wake him up. He'll be getting another CT soon, so they'll be waking him up in an hour or two anyway. Go ahead."
"I'm not going to treat him like –"
"Like what? A guy in a coma? A patient? Oh, it's finally happened. Doctors aren't treating patients now? Give me your penlight, then."
"House, it's Wilson."
House grabbed the penlight out of Thirteen's hand and moved beside Wilson's bed. He picked up Wilson's hand, prepared to break Wilson's finger to wake him up if need be, and his heart jumped to his throat when Wilson's fingers curled ever so slightly.
"Get Foreman," House said to Thirteen, forcing himself forward. He dropped the penlight and gripped Wilson's hand in his. "Squeeze my hand."
Wilson's fingers moved again, closing around House's hand, and House sighed in relief. He raised the hand to his lips, brushed a quick kiss across his knuckles, and smiled.
"Can you open your eyes?" He asked, forcing his voice to be firm; otherwise, he'd start bawling. Wilson's eyelids fluttered but didn't open. "It's okay if you can't."
Foreman rushed into the room, tailed by Thirteen, Taub and Kutner. House looked at the latter two and said, "you guys have a task for me. Thirteen, fill them in on my nourishment situation."
Taking the obvious hint, the three doctors left, dragging their feet and glancing over their shoulders every few seconds. Foreman reached the bed and pulled out his own penlight and started flashing Wilson's eyes. Wilson raised a weak hand to bat him away, then dropped it back to the bed.
"Excellent," Foreman said, placing two fingers in Wilson's hand. "Squeeze my fingers, Wilson." Wilson's hand closed around Foreman's fingers, but didn't squeeze. "He's okay," he told House, then turned back to Wilson. "Don't try to talk, you've been intubated. Blink if you know where you are."
Wilson's eyelids fluttered again before opening painfully slow. His bruised and swollen eyes only permitted his eyes to open slightly, but it was enough for House. Wilson blinked, acknowledging where he was, before moving his eyes to the left.
"I'm here," House said, moving into Wilson's line of sight. He touched Wilson's cheek gently before pulling his hand back. "It was really stupid of you to try and jump twenty busses on a tricycle."
Foreman excused himself quietly with a stern, "let him rest, House. He's going up to CT again soon, now that he's conscious."
House placed his hand on Wilson's bruised forehead, leaning forward so Wilson didn't have to struggle to see him. His eyes were moving back and forth, taking in the room in a slight panic. House made shushing noises, brushing his fingers along his forehead calmingly.
"You were in an accident earlier today. You've had two surgeries to repair the damages, but now that you're awake, you should be fine. I know it sucks waking up to me," House said jokingly, and chuckled when Wilson tried to roll his eyes. "Your parents will be here anytime. Get some rest."
Wilson's eyes closed immediately, and House reached over to the IV machine to adjust the morphine level to make him more comfortable. After a minute, Wilson's body relaxed completely and House knew he'd fallen asleep.
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was after seven, and he wondered briefly when Wilson's parents would arrive. His plan was to not be here at all when they got to the hospital; they didn't know about their son's relationship, and now certainly wasn't the time to spill the beans on it.
Cuddy had once said, "of course they know. A parent knows their kid, and anyone can tell just by looking at you two that there's something going on. You have this adorable smile when he comes into the room, and more than once I've seen you both blush and share secretive looks. They know, just like everyone else in this hospital knows."
House smirked at the memory. He hadn't ever told anyone about his relationship with Wilson, and nobody had outright asked him. Oh, they asked Wilson in private, but the bottom line was they knew. House rarely showed affection in the workplace, mainly because he enjoyed their time in private and didn't want to share it with everyone around. Plus, keeping affection out of the workplace kept his work relationship with Wilson very separate from their personal relationship.
Too many fights had occurred before or after work over the years between them, but they were able to function at work by keeping every fight and mean thing said at home.
The only times House was ever affectionate at work was when he was trying to make someone on his team or the hospital staff uncomfortable, or times like these when one of them was sick or injured. Granted, the last time one of them had been in a hospital bed with IVs and monitors had been when House accidentally overdosed on his Vicodin a year ago.
That was when Wilson decided to step in and help control the addiction. They both knew he'd never be able to kick the pills completely, so the best they could do was monitor how many he took.
"I'm sorry," House said softly to Wilson's sleeping body, lacing his fingers through Wilson's and idly playing with the IV tubing with his other hand. He wasn't quite sure why he was apologizing, but it was the first time in a while he spoke the words and meant them.
----------**----------
House put his head in his hands and rested his elbows on top of the table. The cafeteria was closing, but they reluctantly agreed to let him stay to eat his dinner in peace. Cuddy made some phone calls to insure he could stay.
Security stood at the entrance to make sure he didn't steal or break anything inside, which was disappointing because he badly wanted a napkin dispenser.
"Hey," Cameron said softly, and House peeked at her through his fingers. She slid into the chair across from him and smiled. "I hear he woke up. That's great."
"I can't get him to shut up, which is why I'm here," he told her, lowering his hands to the table. He picked up a cold French fry – Kutner picked up food an hour ago, and he was just not hungry enough to eat – and threw it at Cameron's chest. She brushed it away without so much as an eye roll.
"Howcome you're not up there with him?"
House's mouth twisted in a slight grimace. "The Wilson family has arrived."
"So?"
He met her eyes with an indignant expression. "I don't get along with people. They're nice enough, and I guess they like me. It's just not an appropriate time to be there."
"That's nice of you, giving them time with him alone," she said gently, encouraging his. . .what? Niceness?
"Wilson never told them," House said with a shrug, forcing himself to eat a fry. When Cameron gave him a confused look, he clarified with, "about us."
"Really." She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment before she went on. "Why didn't he tell them? Are they phobic?"
House snorted and took a sip of his mostly melted shake and eyed her, contemplating. He hated when the subject of his relationship came up, though he knew he shouldn't have spilled that secret to her. "Oh, totally. They would much prefer he continue marrying stupid wives than to see him happy. And they have one mentally ill son; I'm sure a second one wouldn't be surprising."
Cameron smiled brightly at that and said, "you said he's happy. With you."
"I make him laugh," House said, an idea forming in his mind. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You should see what I do to him in the bedroom. Anyone would be happy if they were licked and –"
"Too much," she said hurriedly, holding her hands up in defeat. "I went too far into your personal life. I get it." She frowned at him, then shook her head. "Thanks for that."
"I have pictures."
"No," she said firmly, then pulled up her sleeve to check her watch. "Have you gotten flowers for him yet? I was going to bring some in tomorrow, I can pick some up for you."
"Do I look like a flower giving kinda guy?"
She nodded. "Definitely. You're a rose petals in the bathwater and bed kind of boyfriend. And you probably give," she tilted her head again, debating. "lilies and irises on special occasions."
House stared at her in disbelief before muttering, "damn Wilson for ratting me out."
"I think it's extremely –"
"-gay?"
"Cute. Adorable. Romantic."
"Oh, of course."
They sat in silence for a few minutes after that, and just as House was going to tell Cameron to get lost, his pager went off. He swallowed the hamburger he was eating and checked the screen.
"Wilson's coding," he said, jumping to his feet and all but ran from the cafeteria toward the ICU.
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