Wilson wouldn't be sleeping on the couch. House had bought a bed, and put it in his office. It was the only room he had where Wilson could have some privacy and the bed would be out of the way. He didn't know of this until they were at House's apartment.
Everything was fine until Wilson tackled the three stairs to get into the building.
"Come on hop-a-long." House called over his shoulder as he was opening the door.
"I'm coming." Wilson made it up the first two stairs fine, but confidence got the best of him and on the third stair his foot caught the step, sending pain up his leg and a stumbling Wilson into House. House put his back to the door jamb and caught Wilson before he hit the floor.
"You ok?" He asked Wilson as he held on to his middle.
"No. But I will be. That hurt like…" He couldn't find the words to describe it, House finished it.
"I know. Unfortunately I've done that move myself. And no one was here to catch me."
"Bet that's even worse."
"You could put money on it." House got the crutches together while Wilson held onto the door jamb.
While House was in the bathroom Wilson was trying to figure out how to sit comfortably on the couch. He was standing next to it, thinking. If I sit normally then my foot will swell even worse than it is now. If I stretch out House will not be happy. Which leaves resting it on the coffee table. Now how will my knee feel about that? As he was sitting down trying to get comfortable House appeared behind the couch.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Trying to be comfortable."
"Well sit down then."
He managed to sit leaning towards the right so that his leg would fit comfortably on the table. House kept a watchful eye on Wilson as the night progressed. Occasionally Wilson would shift and he would catch House's glance his way. When Wilson would look towards House he would pretend that he wasn't looking at all.
Handing over two Vicodin House remarked, "There's an extra bed in my office."
"There is?"
"Yeah."
"Why now?"
"Cuddy said that you shouldn't be alone for awhile."
"So you actually listened?"
"I listen to the important things."
Wilson left it at that. He took the pills and headed in to bed. He could have sworn that he heard House mutter something about call me if you need me, but he wasn't sure.
Just as he had started getting comfortable and sleepy Wilson got nauseous. Not just a little uncomfortable, full out I'm going to throw up nauseous. He grabbed the crutches and started out fine, the bathroom was only a few feet across the hall, but as he progressed he couldn't move fast enough. He dropped a crutch in the hall and the other in the bathroom as he made it just in time. All the noise had woken up House, who was standing in the doorway when Wilson was done. House saw a pale, sweaty, panting Wilson who looked severely uncomfortable. He was leaning against the wall, trying to get his head back.
"The Vicodin?"
"I think so."
"I'll find something for ya."
Somehow he managed to get Wilson off the floor and back into bed. Once Wilson was back in bed, House rummaged around and found some Tylenol, a glass of water, and a bucket. "I think this is all you need." He handed him the glass and the pills.
"Thanks." He took them. "Who knew that after all these years of me writing scripts to you that it would make me sick?"
"If you're pain gets too bad for these, you can try Vicodin and milk." House sat on the side of the bed. "It used to make me nauseous too, on an empty stomach it still does."
They paused again. "Get some sleep, I'll see you in the morning."
Wilson was left with his thoughts in the dark as House turned off the light and closed the door. He was surprised that House shared that information with him, but then again if House knew anything it was pain and how to handle Vicodin. I guess when it comes to pain, if you believe his pain is real and he believes yours then he's more apt to sharing valuable information, especially when it comes to getting rid of that pain.