CHAPTER ELEVEN: Awakening

Wilson is dimly aware, as he awakens, that he's been hearing the murmur of voices for the last few minutes. He sits up with a start, momentarily disoriented. As he becomes more alert, he realizes that it's almost completely dark in the living room now, and that the voices belong to Cuddy and House. House!

Wilson is up off the couch and on his way to the bedroom quickly, taking the time only to turn on a lamp and glance at his watch; it's 8:45pm.

As he approaches the bedroom door, he hears Cuddy say reassuringly, "Of course I'll stay; I was pretty much planning on it anyway."

"What's this about staying?" Wilson says to her as he enters. He's relieved to see that—while House is clearly still quite tired—he's alert and comfortable, sitting upright against the pillows.

House turns towards him. "I asked Cuddy to stay the night. We'll have a sleepover; you sleep while Cuddy takes over!"

Wilson shakes his head. "Nuh-uh; you wore her out today. She needs to go home and get some rest. I've had a nap; I feel much better."

House is eyeing the bandage around Wilson's left wrist. "What happened?"

Wilson holds up his arm, glances dismissively at it. "This? Nothing at all. Cuddy's trying for her Girl Scout badge in first aid; I agreed to participate in the project." Wilson pointedly ignores the open-mouthed expression Cuddy's aimed in his direction.

"That's not true!" Cuddy says to House. "His car skidded off the road in the rain, and now his wrist is not only bruised, it's probably sprained too. But not to worry; I examined it and determined he'll live."

After shooting a dirty look at Cuddy, Wilson watches House to see if the news of his little accident is going to upset him. House holds his own hand out, indicates that Wilson should show him his wrist.

Wilson goes to the bedside and reluctantly presents his wrist. House grasps his arm gently, well above the bandage, turning it and carefully palpating the bandaged area.

"Cuddy's right," House says after a thorough inspection's been completed to his satisfaction. "Probably not a fatal injury." He's looking appraisingly at Wilson now. "And it's your own fault for not being right-handed like 92 percent of the rest of the world. If you were, this'd qualify as just a minor inconvenience. Any other damage?" he asks.

Wilson is glad that House is able to comment sarcastically about the incident. And he sees the relief in House's eyes when he shakes his head. "No other damage to me, anyway. Car's gonna need a little work, I'm afraid."

House looks away, says in a low voice, "Cars can be replaced. And this clinches it; Cuddy stays."

Wilson looks at Cuddy; in his opinion, she doesn't look much better than he does. But both she and House are wearing expressions that tell him the decision doesn't require his input; it's already been made.

"Tell ya what," Wilson says; as worn out as he is, he still isn't willing to relinquish control of the situation completely. "I'll agree to this unnecessary arrangement on the condition that we trade off care during the night, so that both of us can get some rest."

"Cuddy's just gonna take care of the night stuff. No one has to stay up," House says. "Thought we were past that."

"We were; we are," Wilson says. "But you've had a rough afternoon; just wanna make sure help's available tonight if you need it. And, since I've just had a nap, I take the first shift, okay?"

House looks as if he'd like to argue, so Cuddy answers quickly.

"Sounds fair," Cuddy says to Wilson. "Hey, no one's eaten yet; how 'bout I call for the pizza I promised House at lunch. Go get yourself a shower, and then I'll rewrap that wrist for you. By then, dinner'll be here. We'll eat—all of us will eat," she says, looking pointedly at House. "And then, I'll help you get the kid settled for the night, and go catch a rest myself. Sound okay?"

"All except the 'kid' part," House interjects before Wilson can speak. "It's Saturday night; the kid wants to stay up and watch wrestling!"

Wilson knows how to circumvent that request without bringing anything medical into it. "But then Cuddy won't be able to rest," he points out.

House screws up his mouth with displeasure, and the expression does, indeed make him look like a kid. But he says, "All right. Tivo it for me then, will ya? John Cena's gonna try to be kickin' my boy Edge into next year—can't miss that."

Cuddy rolls her eyes. "Yeah, we'll certainly Tivo that 'can't miss moment' for you. And when you get back to work, remind me to raise your salary above minimum wage so you can afford a set for the bedroom."

"Don't want a TV in here; rumor has it that cuts down on other bedroom-type activities." He leers playfully at Cuddy.

"And you'd know this, how?" Cuddy asks dryly.

"Who, me? I don't; I said it was just a rumor," House says. "But I would know, if you'd just quit turning me down." He waggles his eyebrows at her; she smirks back and shakes her head.

"That's my cue to get the pizza ordered," she says. She turns to Wilson. "Go on and get cleaned up; that wrist has been wrapped pretty tightly for over four hours. It needs a break."

House is still feeling the effects of the morphine. "I'm just gonna close my eyes until dinner gets here," he says. "If no one minds."

"Great idea," Wilson says. "But this time, try to skip the bad dreams, will ya?"

House frowns. "What are you talking about?" He looks worried.

Wilson's sorry he brought it up; now is not the time to discuss House's strange behavior and odd statements when Wilson had arrived home. "Nothing, forget I said anything," he tells House. "Guess while I was napping, I had a dream that you had a nightmare. Very complex. And boring. Tell ya later; it can be your bedtime story."

House nods, closes his eyes, and Wilson and Cuddy leave the room. But Wilson's mention of the word 'nightmare' has triggered something for House; he has a dim recollection of having said something to Wilson about it. So now, instead of resting, he tries to remember what had occurred, what he'd said. All he knows for certain is that he hopes the pizza arrives quickly; he really doesn't want to be alone with these thoughts for too long. His anxious eyes are open now; he'll stay awake.

As Cuddy finishes rewrapping Wilson's wrist, the pizza arrives, and Cuddy and Wilson return to the bedroom. They're surprised to find that House is awake, but before they can say anything to him, he says, "Hey, where are my wheels? I'm starving!"

The other two exchange a look; Cuddy's brought the pizza into the room—neither of them thinks it's a good idea for House to get up.

Cuddy thinks quickly. "This is a sleepover, right? Well, as a former ten year old girl, I can tell you that no sleepover is complete without a pizza party in the bedroom!" She begins transferring slices of pizza to plates, and hands the first one to House.

House does seem to have a good appetite; he finishes the first slice quickly, and starts in on a second one. But after just a couple of bites, he puts it down with an odd expression on his face. "Anyone else feeling a little funny?" he asks. "Think there might be something wrong with the pizza—making me sick."

Wilson realizes immediately what's wrong. "It's not the pizza; it's almost 10:30, and you haven't taken your meds, have you?"

"I guess I forgot," House says. He looks almost ashamed; this is the first dose no one's reminded him to take, and he blew it.

"Don't worry about it," Wilson tells him. "I didn't draw the labs, either; just lucky that the rain must've held up the courier. Been a confusing night." He sets down his plate to collect the supplies for the blood draw. "Since you're nauseated, we'll do the Zofran IV this time, try and prevent any vomiting. Give it ten minutes or so; then you can take your super-Vic."

House looks doubtful, but says nothing. As Wilson hands the tubes to Cuddy for bagging and begins to administer the Zofran, the courier arrives, and Cuddy goes to the door. Once she's left the room, House mumbles, "Sorry."

Wilson looks up from flushing the port. "For what? We all forgot."

"It was my responsibility; should've done it." House reaches over to the bedside table and picks up the pill bottles. "Maybe you'd better stay in charge of these a while longer," he says, and tries to hand them to Wilson.

"House, c'mon! You had 10mg of morphine a few hours ago; so it messed with your memory a little. Dinner was late, the courier just showed up; the whole schedule was off tonight."

"No excuse. Should've remembered. Just take 'em."

Wilson can tell that House won't argue about this; his face is set. Maybe it was too soon; thought he'd feel more in control if he had some responsibility in his own care. Maybe he's too concerned with this left leg thing to want to worry about anything else….

Wilson reluctantly takes the proffered bottles, makes a mental note to let Cuddy know later. "Just lemme know when you want 'em back," he tells House, who simply nods and looks away; he appears to have lost all interest in the pills already.

House turns back to him. "How's the wrist?"

That was a fast change of subject. "Better, thanks. Swelling's already way down. Should be able to ditch the bandage by morning."

"What about the bruise?"

"Colorful, but already fading. It'll be okay." Why all this solicitousness?

"You sure?"

Wilson is puzzled by this uncharacteristic concern. "Of course I'm sure. It's just a bruise. Spraining it didn't help matters, but two days from now it'll be back to normal. You know that; quit worrying."

"I'm not worrying, just don't want it to interfere with my--" House hears Cuddy's voice, telling him to show Wilson he cares, he's grateful, and he bites off the automatic selfish retort. "Okay. I'm… uh… worried. A little. Not every day a guy's best friend gets in an accident, right after he's had his wrist strangled by the guy. Just asking, is all."

Wilson stares at him. "As I said, it's okay. Not a big deal. Thanks for asking." Who are you, and what have you done with House?

Wilson is still shaking his head in bafflement as he hands House a dose of super-Vic. He's glad he's got the first shift tonight, while House is still awake; something's up. And I need to find out what it is, he thinks as he heads out to the kitchen.