CHAPTER SIX: Tantrums

In the morning, House looks more rested than Wilson does, and is in far better spirits. After Wilson unhooks his TPN, he transfers himself easily from the bed to the wheelchair, and races it down the hall while Wilson follows in a bemused fog, muttering about vital signs and medication while House ignores him.

But the good mood dissipates as soon as Wilson mentions a scheduled trip to Philadelphia, to have lunch with Dr. Dickinson. House trails him into the kitchen, where Wilson searches desperately for clean mugs for urgently needed coffee. "Do you have to go? Today?" House asks plaintively, and Wilson suddenly feels torn, like a parent who must go to work and desert a sick child.

"It's okay; Cuddy'll be here soon. I'm sure you can find some way to terrorize her with your new toy," Wilson says, indicating the wheelchair. But House refuses to be distracted or placated.

"C'mon, you don't need a shrink. And you don't need to eat lunch with some nerd left over from college. Why don't you stay here? We'll turn on Oprah and throw Nerf balls at the screen again every time someone says 'feelings.' I think she's got Dr. Phil on today; it'll be a two-fer!"

"House, I gotta go. I want to go. I'm going."

House's brows knit as he goes into a pout, and Wilson can tell that the campaign hasn't even hit full stride yet. So he isn't surprised when House looks up at him with his best 'pathetic cripple' expression, and virtually whines, "What if the leg gets as bad as last night? Cuddy won't know what to do; you gotta stay, Jimmy…."

Wilson looks at him with tolerant amusement as he pretends to consider this latest sad plea. He has a difficult time keeping his mouth from twitching as he says, deadpan, "Can you say man-ip-u-LA-tion? Won't work, House. But bonus points for the protruding lower lip."

There's a knock at the door, and with a frustrated "hmmph!" House gracefully executes a turn in the wheelchair and goes to answer it. Wilson's busy trying to figure out if the growth he's found in two dusty mugs might count as a dose of antibiotics.

When House returns to the kitchen with Cuddy in tow, her arms are crossed against her chest and she's already glaring. Wilson arranges his face into a stern expression, and looks questioningly at House.

"Dad, you can't leave me alone with this babysitter; she beat me last time!" When House notes that Cuddy and Wilson are just looking at him, expressionless, he tries again. "She tried to seduce me?"

Wilson bites hard at the inside of his cheek while Cuddy explodes, "House!" It's shaping up to be a long day at 221B, and Wilson's glad he won't be here.

"I know when I'm not wanted," House harrumphs, and wheels out of the kitchen. In a few seconds, they hear the television blaring the theme from General Hospital.

Cuddy and Wilson grin at each other, and Wilson shakes his head, wondering if he should even bother to apologize for House's behavior.

"The most obvious question, which I knew better than to ask him," Cuddy says, "is what's he doing in a wheelchair? The less obvious, but far more intriguing question, would be why he's Velcroed himself to you all of a sudden?"

This second question irritates Wilson, who is indeed feeling guilty about leaving House, and the sudden spark of anger in his eyes shocks Cuddy. "You have no idea what he went through last night, no idea of the degree of his pain! You have no right to criticize any insecurity he might be show--" Wilson interrupts himself when he sees Cuddy staring at him, open-mouthed. His own eyes widen; he's as shocked at his unexpected outburst as she is.

"I'm so sorry," Wilson tells her as he sinks into a chair, suddenly and completely overwhelmed by both the physical and the emotional toll of the long night. "Of course you have no idea; I didn't tell you. You know that whole new thing with his gait that you noticed on Monday?" He waits while Cuddy nods slowly; she's clearly still stunned at the explosive behavior of her normally mild-mannered oncologist. Wilson considers apologizing again, decides that a quick and concise summary would provide a better explanation for his uncharacteristic tantrum.

"Turns out that his left thigh has been bothering him, badly, since then. Pain and spasming pretty heavily a few times a day. And the super-Vic's not touching it. Cost him a lot to tell me about it, and he got me to agree not to mention anything to you until we knew more about what's causing it. I took him to Princeton General last night, put him through the full battery of tests, including an EMG." Cuddy winces in sympathy as Wilson nods ruefully and displays his bruised wrist, where the imprint of House's thumb is evident.

"It was all really rough on him," Wilson continues, "and it's beginning to look like it was unnecessary. The preliminary results didn't show anything unexpected. Probably won't have the final results until Tuesday, but based on what I saw last night, I'm not expecting anything new to show up. Beginning to look like the diagnostician was right. Again. A pulled muscle, or more likely a tendon; his enzymes are all within normal limits."

"And the chair?" Cuddy asks. She's starting to understand that something must have occurred last night that had fallen fully on Wilson's exhausted shoulders.

"Caught him trying to get up during the night. He was doubled up over the cane; he could've fallen badly. We're… uh… both pretending that the chair was his idea. He seems a lot better this morning, but you need to know that when the spasms come, they look an awful lot like the breakthrough pain he was having before. And I think he's scared. Told me when we got home that he knows something is bad wrong; didn't have any medical basis for it, but he believes this is serious."

Cuddy frowns. "And could it be serious?"

Wilson smiles without humor. "Not gonna second-guess House; I've learned my lesson. And the pain's so severe; with House, that makes it serious, no matter what the diagnosis turns out to be."

"What should I do if the leg spasms?" Cuddy's eyes are concerned; it makes Wilson feel better to see how earnestly she's taking this new situation.

"Whatever he'll let you do," Wilson answers honestly, sadly. "Just don't touch the muscle, especially when it's acute. The quad's a big muscle, and I… lost count of how many times they stuck him, and…."

"I get the picture," Cuddy responds grimly. "So the EMG just added to the problem for a couple of days. I almost feel sorry for him. Surprised he agreed to go through with it."

"He didn't. Not really. He did it because… I told him to. And he trusted me." Wilson lowers his head into his hands, and for a moment Cuddy's worry for House is eclipsed by her concern for Wilson.

"Are you gonna be okay?" When Wilson doesn't respond, she starts towards him, but they both hear the wheelchair approaching and Wilson lifts his head and smiles.

"I'm just fine, thanks," Wilson tells her, and turns the smile to House.

House looks at Wilson appraisingly, and Wilson stands and says heartily to Cuddy, "And if he drives you too crazy, just reconnect the TPN—which has been off too long anyway—and refuse to put the IV pole on the wheelchair. That'll buy you, oh, at least ten minutes of peace. Until he figures out how to attach the cane to the chair and hang the bag from it."

House peers at Wilson a moment more, and frowns thoughtfully, seriously, as he turns and leaves the doorway.

Wilson sits down again and lowers his voice. "Ironic, isn't it? He's completely mobile in that chair; not really disabled at all. And he's willing to give up that freedom because his pride won't let him acknowledge the extent of his disability."

Cuddy nods thoughtfully, and doesn't realize how effectively Wilson's distracted her from his own emotional state. Her thoughts have returned to House. "I'm still not clear what I should do for him if the left thigh gets bad."

"If it's really bad, give him 5mg of morphine. But he won't tell you he needs it; he might even say he doesn't. So it'll have to be your call. Otherwise, all you can do is offer whatever comfort he'll accept, until the spasm ends."

"Now I understand why he's so reluctant for you to leave today," Cuddy says. "As a matter of fact, I'm feeling a little reluctant myself." She smiles wryly.

"You'll do just fine," Wilson assures her. "Believe me, if I didn't need this, I wouldn't be going."

Cuddy does believe him, and she hopes he's able to find some comfort, or some peace of mind, in talking with Dickinson. So she looks at him with as much reassurance as she can muster, and says mock-seriously, "I promise not to kill 'im while you're gone. I'll wait 'til you get back so you can bear witness to my claim of self-defense."

Wilson manages a very small smile before going off to corral House into a set of vitals and taking his meds.