049. Club

Realisation In Extremis

House limped up to the door of his apartment with a rather disgruntled look on his face. For once that look wasn't caused by his current patient, his day in the clinic, Cuddy or his ducklings, this time it had a single cause that had to do with his own home. Or to be more precise what was no longer in his own home. Wilson had moved out three days ago and House was finding that he...missed his friend. He was annoyed at himself for feeling this way and he was annoyed at Wilson for making him feel this way and the one thing he was steadfastly refusing to do was think about the underlying reason for the feeling.

He grimaced as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. He limped inside and dropped his bag before shoving the door closed. He then limped into the living room where he came to a sudden halt. On the other side of the room, rifling through his bookshelf, was a man. A young man, probably no older than twenty, with long, scraggly, unwashed hair, dirty clothes and a desperate air about him.

House didn't even think before he limped forward and shouted angrily, "Hey! What are you doing?"

The young man spun around and the desperate, slightly crazed glint in his eyes made even House stutter to a halt. For a brief moment they stared at each other then the young man leapt towards House. He ripped the cane out of House's hand then swung the improvised club at the older man, each blow making a meaty thudding sound as it impacted.

House tried to grab at the cane then the young man but the man's frenzied strength was too much for him. And when the cane impacted with the top of his right thigh, the pain that ripped through his body took away any fight he had left. His leg collapsed underneath him as he screamed and he fell to the ground, curling up in a ball as the young man continued to rain frenzied blows down on him with his improvised club.

His screams trailed off into sobbing gasps of pain as the blows continued, seemingly without end, and he dimly heard then felt his ribs break under the blows. Then the cane smashed into his face and he knew nothing.

House slowly swam up to consciousness, groaning as every part of his body reported back with pain. For a moment he didn't remember what had caused it then the memory of the young man came back to him and he stiffened, his eyes flying open as he whimpered at the pain caused by the slight movement. He shuddered and slumped down again when the room proved to be empty. He made an abortive move to try and get up but quickly gave up when pain became intense and his vision went grey. He was fairly sure he had broken bones and from the way his stomach felt he suspected he was bleeding internally.

He slowly uncurled enough to move his arms, almost sobbing with pain, and fumbled his cell phone out of his pocket. His hands refused to completely cooperate with him however and the phone fell to the floor. He didn't bother trying to pick it up again, merely fumbled around until he could hit the speed dial that would call Wilson and shifted himself enough to hear the dial tone. As the phone rang, he could feel the blackness creeping up on him again and he held it off long enough to hear Wilson answer the phone. He was able to choke out "Wilson!" before oblivion claimed him again.

Wilson was lounging on the sofa in his new apartment, beer in one hand and watching the television. Mostly he was just staring at the screen, his thoughts miles away...or only a few blocks away to be precise. The apartment felt cold and unfriendly and he was trying to remember why he'd wanted to move out of House's place in the first place. Admittedly it was infinitely more comfortable sleeping in a bed than on House's sofa but he missed having someone around.

He sighed and put the beer down on the coffee table. He missed having House around. But he'd had to move out. Being around House all the time had put a severe strain on his self-control and he couldn't remember the number of times he'd woken in the middle of the night with a pain in his back and wondered how House would react if he crawled into bed beside him.

He gave a start when his cell phone started ringing then grimaced, hoping it wasn't the hospital. He reached over and plucked the phone off the coffee table, glancing down at the display and smiling a little when he saw it was House.

"Hey, House. Miss me?" he said with amusement when he answered the phone.

For a moment there was no reply and he grinned, wishing he could see the expression on House's face. Then House's voice rasped out his name in a pained, agonised tone he hadn't heard in years and the grin drained away and a trickle of fear took its place.

"House?" he yelled down the phone. "House? Are you there? Come on, answer me!"

There was no reply though the phone hadn't been hung up. Wilson scrambled to his feet and grabbed his keys with one hand, keeping the phone to his ear and yelling down it in the hope that House would answer. He ran out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him and jumped into his car, keeping the phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder as he drove. For the entire trip he yelled intermittently down the phone but got no answer. He finally disconnected the call when he pulled up in front of House's apartment and he all but threw himself out of the car.

He came to a halt at the front door when he realised that it was open. Not by much but it was open and the trickle of fear started to turn into a torrent. He pushed the door open and walked in, House's name dying on his lips when he saw the body lying on the floor in the middle of the living room. He staggered over, falling to his knees next to House and hurriedly felt for a pulse with shaking hands. He sagged with relief when he felt the thready beat under his fingers then he lifted his cell phone and called for an ambulance.

Once that was done he began gently assessing House's injuries, noting in the distant, clinical part of his brain that House had apparently been beaten with his own cane, then the sound of the ambulance arriving broke off all thoughts. He went to the door and waved them in, giving them a curt summary of what he'd found and making sure they knew of House's underlying problem. He then ordered them to take House to Princeton-Plainsboro. The paramedics nodded calmly then deftly went to work. In fairly short order they had House on a stretcher and heading out to the ambulance. Wilson glanced around and saw House's cane lying discarded on one side of the room and he walked over and picked it up before following the paramedics outside. He paused only long enough to lock the door then he climbed into his car and followed the ambulance, making a call to Cuddy on the way.

He was relieved to see the woman standing in the receiving bay when he arrived and watched as she quickly organised the ER staff. Once they were working she walked over and gave Wilson a searching look.

"What happened?" she asked calmly.

"I...I don't know," Wilson replied, House's cane clutched tightly in one hand. "He's been beaten obviously but he was unconscious when I got there. He obviously came round enough to call me." He shook his head, feeling oddly guilty. "I should have been there," he muttered under his breath, his eyes never leaving his friend.

"You would have both been hurt then," Cuddy said logically.

"You don't know that," Wilson snapped. "Lisa, he was beaten with his own cane. If I was there, maybe I could have made a difference."

Cuddy sighed. "Don't do this to yourself, James. You couldn't have known this was going to happen. Have you called the police?"

Wilson shook his head absently. "No, just the ambulance."

He jerked as the movements of the ER staff picked up in urgency then he made to follow as they rushed House away. Cuddy quickly caught his arm and halted him.

"They're taking him to surgery," she said, having followed what was going on far better than Wilson. "There's nothing more you can do right now except wait." She gave him a small shove. "Go. You know where the waiting room is. I'm going to call the police."

Wilson hardly heard her as he stumbled through the corridors. He didn't go to the waiting room but instead made his way up to the viewing room for the operating theatre. He fell into a seat as he realised they were operating for internal bleeding and he clutched House's cane in both hands. As he watched, he took some comfort from the calm, unhurried manner of the surgeons. The surgery seemed to stretch for hours though he was sure it couldn't really be that long and when it was finished, one of the surgeons turned and looked up at him, giving him an 'OK' gesture. He returned it with a wave and a weak smile then hurried out of the viewing area.

The nurses wouldn't allow him into the recovery room and he paced the corridor impatiently until they were ready to move him to a room. He followed on their heels, ignoring their exasperated looks, until he could sit down next to House's bed. He gently leaned the cane against the bedside table and scrubbed his face with his hand before taking a good look at his friend.

House looked terrible. There didn't seem to be an inch of skin that wasn't covered in bruising and underneath the oxygen mask, he looked pale and haggard. From the machines House had been hooked up to, Wilson could tell that his breathing was shallow but strong and his heartbeat slow and steady.

"Thought I'd find you here."

Wilson gave a start and turned to see one of the surgeons who had operated on House come into the room.

"How bad is it?" he asked with concern.

"Not as bad as it looks," the surgeon replied with satisfaction. "It just looks worse because of the bruising. He's copped a hell of a beating though. There was some internal bleeding but we fixed that easily enough. He's got three broken ribs on his right side and hairline fracture of his right cheekbone but that's it."

Wilson glanced back at the unconscious House with surprise then looked back at the surgeon. "That's all?"

The surgeon nodded. "He's a lucky man. I'll feel better when he wakes though. He's probably got a concussion so we'll need to watch for complications from that. And he'll be in a hell of a lot of pain." He paused. "More so than usual."

Wilson nodded as he finally started to relax. "Thank you," he said with relief.

"No problems," the surgeon said. "I'd recommend getting some rest but I figure you'd just ignore me anyway."

The surgeon chuckled at that then turned and left. Wilson watched him go then pulled his chair forward and took House's hand in his own. He sat silently, lost in his own thoughts, until exhaustion started to overwhelm him. He leaned forward so that his head was resting on the bed and closed his eyes, allowing sleep to ambush him.

Wilson slowly woke to the feeling of someone clumsily but gently stroking his hair. He murmured with sleepy pleasure then woke with a start and sat up abruptly. He winced as his back caught then looked over to see House was awake, looking at him through slitted, blackened eyes.

"House!" he gasped, catching the hand that had been running through his hair with his own. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," came the slurred comment then House reached up clumsily with his free hand to try and remove the oxygen mask.

Wilson stopped him and gently caught his other hand as well. "Leave it there," he said firmly. "You need it."

A shimmer of irritation flashed over House's face and he glanced down at their joined hands. Wilson followed his gaze but didn't let go and he looked up at House again.

"Do you remember what happened?" he asked gently.

House blinked then frowned. "Someone...broke in," he muttered. "Grabbed my...cane."

"It's alright," Wilson said hastily, squeezing House's hands gently. "I just wanted to make sure you did remember. Cuddy called the police. They'll probably want to talk to you when you're ready."

House grunted as he shifted slightly on the bed, trying to sit up. Wilson thought about protesting but instead helped House into a more upright position.

"Did you do that for a reason or just to be contrary? You've had surgery, you know," he asked once House was settled again.

House scowled and reached up and pulled the oxygen mask away.

"Reason," he said, his voice still raspy. "Realised...something when I was...getting the shit...kicked outta me."

"What?" Wilson said with concern.

"C'mere," House said, gesturing to Wilson.

The younger man stepped forward then sat down on the edge of the bed, torn between worry and curiosity. House grimaced then grabbed Wilson's tie awkwardly and pulled him forward, crashing their lips together more through luck than good management. Wilson froze then leaned into the kiss, shifting his head to a better angle and making a small sound of pleasure as House deepened the kiss.

House was the first to break away, turning his head away and coughing then swearing and gasping as his ribs reacted. Wilson got him lying back against the pillows and put the oxygen mask back over his mouth and nose.

"I told you that was there for a reason," he said with exasperation thought his eyes were alight with delight.

"Needed to..." House gasped, his voice slightly muffled through the mask.

Wilson stroked his cheek. "I'm glad you did," he said, cutting off House's attempt to speak. "But the rest can wait until you're better." He paused and gave House a curious look. "Why did you let me move out if this is what you wanted?"

House gave a slight shrug and looked uncomfortable. Wilson wasn't sure if that was due to the pain he was in or the question and he shook his head.

"Never mind," he said with affection as he sat down in the chair again and reached for House's hand. "I'll put it down to you being you."

House snorted then grimaced. "You left," he rasped.

"I thought you wanted me to," Wilson countered then he laughed. "Get some sleep, House. We can argue about this later."

House gave him a long look then his lips quirked into a small smile. "Stay," he whispered as his eyelids started to droop.

Wilson chuckled as he watched House fall asleep again. "My landlord's going to kill me," he muttered though his tone said he didn't care a bit.