The phone echoed through the office for the third time. James Wilson ignored it, again. He had had an eight-hour operation that had failed and now he just wanted to finish…
His secretary apparently just turned his voice mail on. It picked up on the line.
"It's me."
House. He really couldn't deal with House.
"I can't get up."
Before he realized it, he had hopped the dividing wall on their balconies and through the door.
House dropped the phone from his hand and gave him that damn self-deprecating smile. "How's it going?"
Wilson was breathing hard. "How long have you…"
"Been stuck here? A while. I've got the peons on a dire mission, like a biopsy, probably. They know something's up, but I wasn't very specific."
Wilson sighed as he knelt in front of House, beginning to push soothing pressure onto his thigh. He winced as he felt the concave skin, and tough texture. "You know, they have nurses in the physical therapy ward who are actually specially trained to massage the feeling back into your leg."
"That's not the problem. I have too much feeling. Stings all over, straight to the bone. But ooh God," he groaned, relaxing, "that feels good."
Wilson twitched, just a little bit, at the groan. But he didn't stop. "Is it getting better?"
"Dude, lots of things are getting better."
"Focus, House!"
"Yeah, yeah, it's working, shut up."
Wilson continued for a bit. "Did you take your medication, or is that a stupid question?"
"Stupid question. Hasn't kicked in yet."
"About those nurses…" Wilson's arms were getting tired. "They are probably much better at this than I am."
"No one's better. End of discussion."
Wilson sighed. End of discussion, indeed.