031. Danger
Negotiations
Between his riding of a motorbike with a bad leg, his constant provocation of patients, patients' families and colleagues and his mixing of Vicodin and alcohol, Wilson often wondered whether House possessed any sense of danger or self-preservation at all. Sometimes he even wondered whether House had some kind of death wish. Watching him walk into the room of a patient displaying signs of some kind of drug-induced psychosis did absolutely nothing to dispel any of those thoughts.
Wilson watched through the glass, House's team flanking him, as House leaned on his cane and scowled at the young man, his mouth moving and no doubt saying something scathing. Wilson winced and heard Cameron gasp as the patient lunged at House with the scalpel he'd earlier ripped out of Chase's hand. House didn't move however and the patient veered away from him before he made contact, ending up near the wall, shouting and gesticulating.
"Where the hell is security?" Foreman muttered, mostly to himself.
"They're on their way," Chase replied, cradling his right hand in his left. The scalpel had left a deep gash at the base of his thumb when it had been ripped out of his hand. He'd wrapped the handkerchief Cameron had given him tightly around it but refused to get any further treatment. The handkerchief was stained red where the gash was but since Chase didn't seem to be in too much distress, Wilson didn't insist he leave.
Inside the room, the young man darted around, almost ricocheting off the bed and the walls, all the time circling House. He brandished the scalpel several times but seemed almost cowed by House. Through all of this, House remained where he was, leaning on his cane and directing what, by his expression, could only be increasingly sardonic questions at the young man.
The sound of running footsteps drew Wilson's attention away from the spectacle inside the room and he saw three security guards running towards them. He glanced back just in time to see the young man throw the scalpel at the wall then collapse in a heap at House's feet.
"Dr Wilson," one of the guards began but stopped when Wilson held on hand up.
"Hang on," Wilson said, watching as House directed a sympathetic, if somewhat exasperated, look at the young man on the floor.
House then prodded the young man with his cane and said something. They watched as the young man slowly uncurled and staggered back to the bed, crawling in under the blankets and curling up with his back to the corridor. House watched him with that same expression of sympathy and exasperation then turned and limped over to the scalpel, bracing himself on his cane and picking it up.
He then limped over to the door and opened it a little awkwardly with the scalpel in his hand. He slid the door closed behind him and held the scalpel out to Foreman, who took it with a rather nonplussed look on his face.
"He'll behave," House said brusquely to his team. "Get back in there and treat him. Except for you, wombat boy. You get to go and critique your colleagues in the ER."
With that House limped back down the corridor towards his office. Wilson watched him go for a moment then spared a glance for the now-docile young man. He still thought House put himself into far too much danger but he couldn't argue with the results.