The forty eight hour mark hit him hard and he stared long and hard at the pill in his hand before he swallowed it, chasing it down with scalding bitter coffee. He stared at Chase as he slept at the table, head pillowed on folded arms with Foreman passed out in the chair beside him.
He wondered what he was still doing there.
Well, he knew exactly what he was still doing there; he was just trying his best to ignore it.
It wasn't as though he was needed in particular, there wasn't much cause for a diagnostician and he wasn't allowed to assist with any surgeries. His involvement so far had been pretty rudimentary, patching and shipping, silently working on people too shell shocked and numbed to speak. As the day wore on a desperate air seemed to take over the staff, they were getting tired, eyes were starting to darken and droop and they were far from reaching the light at the end of the tunnel.
The doctor's lounge was full so they had retreated to his office, too tired to hide anywhere else, not tired enough to keep glancing up at every figure that hurried past the glass wall.
Cuddy had told him hours ago that Wilson was here, that he was looking for him.
House knew he should have brought the car, left Wilson with the only option of hailing a cab which would have been nigh on impossible. He'd been a little in awe of the fact that he'd even managed to make it through the traffic, it had taken House nearly two hours on his bike to manoeuvre through the gridlocked streets.
He should have gone to Wilson's office. He wouldn't think to look there.
He took another long swallow of coffee, eyes on Chase as he stirred but didn't wake.
He could still see the look on Wilson's face every time he closed his eyes, the same look that made his hands itch with the want to just reach out and...touch.
The TV in the corner of the room had been muted but the live feed still spilled its harsh imagery over its sleeping incumbents. The hellfire had spread, Manhattan had taken a hit, as had Boston and Washington. Wave after wave of carnage and terror locking down city centres and sending its inhabitants screaming into the streets. Air travel had been shut down, all airports on lockdown and mass evacuations of every large scale structure of the eastern seaboard had led to the greatest panic America had ever seen on its home turf.
And only thirteen arrests. Thirteen individuals who had been caught thus far, their names and faces and their cause still held from the public eye. Everyone on edge. Everyone eyeing each other with distrust.
He sat for ten minutes, taking the weight off his leg but not daring to close his eyes, no sleep was better than some sleep at this stage, if he closed his eyes now they have to drag him kicking and screaming from the office.
He shouldn't have said a thing. Shouldn't have let himself snap. But he'd still had the image of that corridor in his mind, the way he'd held out his arms as you would to a child and he'd promised he wouldn't let him fall.
He'd never been the one for false platitudes, for simpering morale boosting cajoling, but he'd quietly whispered then that they were safe, that he was safe. Useless nonsense words that crept from his lips as Wilson had rocked forward, resting his head against his chest as his breath heated the air between them, every inhalation like fire in his lungs, and he'd felt his heart nearly break to see him like that.
He still ached, but he couldn't be sure whether it was still from the smoke, or from the gut wrenching twisting feeling that he had left himself open to a terrible blow.
"House?" Cuddy was leaning around the door, eyes dull and skin pale. She approached him slowly, easing herself down onto the couch and sitting for a long moment with her head propped on her hands, elbows on knees. He offered her his coffee and she took it without comment, handing it back with a wince as the taste of burnt beans hit her tongue.
"They need you guys back downstairs." She said at length. "Swapsies?" she looked unsteadily up him and House wondered if she'd slept at all, she looked about as bad as he felt. She fell back into the soft back of the couch, a sigh of relief leaving her dry and cracked lips as she closed her eyes.
He wasn't going to get another word out of her anytime soon.
Chase was easy to wake, just a hand on his shoulder and he snapped upright, face lax with latent sleep. Foreman however was one of those guys that you had to jostle for five minutes until he finally conceded and kept his eyes open for longer than two seconds.
They'd only been back on their feet for ten minutes until the ever present police presence called for another evacuation of the building. A groan of frustration rose from the staff and heads were hung until with weary hands and heavy steps they began to gather up their charges and march them out in slow formation. House fumed silently, whoever kept ordering these damned evacuations clearly had no idea how hospitals worked, the sheer enormity and disruption that was caused. He held the door to one of the procedure rooms as its occupant was wheeled out on the bed, the technician adjusting the settings on the beds battery, most likely only just finished recharging after the last all out fiasco.
Outside in the parking lot it was still raining, a sea of make shift umbrellas created with blankets and sheets, doctors handing over their own lab coats to wrap around their patients, their faces screwed up against the wind and the rain, perfect media fodder for the hordes still camped out at the rear entrance, wet skin glistening and shining in the ever present throb of emergency lights. They were ferried and herded further away from the building, groups drifting off and taking shelter under whatever tree or smoking shelter they could find.
House turned back to face the hospital. There were people inside that wouldn't be able to leave, whatever unlucky sod stuck in surgery would be trapped until they were forcibly removed or the building came down around their heads.
Hit bit down on his tongue, staring stoically ahead, too afraid to turn and scan the crowds for his face, afraid that he would catch his eye, afraid that he wouldn't be able to see him at all.
He was shooed further back by an officer telling him to retreat behind the line being rolled out. He found the remnants of his team shivering beneath one of the trees with Cuddy huddled next to Cameron, the two women holding each other in an odd sort of comforting and supportive embrace. He should send them home, give them the order to rest, but he knew they weren't about to listen to him, he wouldn't listen to him if he were them.
"This is a fucking joke." Chase muttered, arms folded and teeth chattering as he glared out at the hospital. "Keep dragging us out here, not like our job hasn't been hard enough."
"They're just doing their job." House said aimlessly, he gaze drawn to the people around him, unaware of the frown and glances his uncharacteristically genial comment. He shifted from foot to foot, rubbing at his thigh and switching his cane to his other hand, the temptation to just sit down where he stood was almost overwhelming.
He wanted desperately to be home, wanted his bed and his duvet, wanted to turn off the lights and curl up tight and listen to the rain beat against the window. He wanted Wilson there with him, wanted to curl his arm around his chest and press his face to the back of his neck.
He shook his head, dispelling the image from his mind and dragging him back to his present situation. And suddenly he was there.
Right in front of him.
His hair dripping into his eyes, the borrowed scrubs already soaked at the shoulders. He moved to stand beside him, silently watching the scene with the rest of them, their combined exhaustion hanging over them like a cloud and acting as a barrier to anybody looking to join them in their space beneath the tree.
The minutes seemed to last for hours with him by his side, every now and then one of them would shift their weight and their arms would brush, a shared warmth bringing momentary comfort along with a shiver that raced along his skin.
Foil blankets were being handed out, thrown in great handfuls into the crowds and pulled tight around shoulders. House didn't take one, something inside him rebelling at the idea of showing any sort of weakness, but it didn't stop him from reaching over and tugging up the edge of the one that had been wrapped around Cuddy and Cameron.
Time slipped by, each second was wasted time, made worse by the mere fact that they were just waiting, that they had nothing else to do and nowhere else to go. Chase had moved back to the trunk of the tree, his arms tucked tightly across his chest, sleeping standing up.
"Can we talk?" Wilson's voice was low, almost swallowed in the muggy, wet air and House wondered how long he'd been working up the nerve just to utter those three words.
He could think of a number of excuses, but none of them mattered, not when Wilson was already walking off, leaving the shelter of the tree and standing uncaring under the deluge while he waited for house to follow on unsteady and exhausted legs, his cane sinking into the softened ground.
The side of the radiology department was deserted and they found themselves in the lee of the wind, the chill taken out of the air along with the general noise and confusion that was escalating from the crowd.
House leant against the wall, stopping the rain that had begun to run between his shoulder blades, his shirt sticking to him in an uncomfortable manner. He wished he'd accepted the offer of scrubs when his shirt had become so encrusted with dirt and blood that it was almost obscene.
"I'm sorry House." Wilson started. He wasn't looking at House, and he was doing that odd shifting movement he did when he was fighting some sort of internal battle.
House choked back a laugh, suddenly hating his pathetic actions over the last two days. "What the hell are you apologising for?" He couldn't keep the self deprecation mocking tone from his voice.
Wilson looked up at him through his dripping fringe, brown eyes hurt and confused. "I just thought that..." he flapped his arms for a moment. "I don't know, I guess I just figured that I didn't handle myself very well the other day and that maybe I'd made you uncomfortable..."
"Jesus Wilson, seriously?" His exclamation made Wilson jump, his mouth shutting with an audible snap. "You just don't get it do you?" he actually laughed then, couldn't believe he'd been worrying about whether Wilson had him figured out, whether he'd blown his own cover.
"I get it House, trust me, I get it." He was back to staring at the floor again, the smile sliding from House's face as he heard the weary ache in Wilson's face.
The silence between them was deafening with Wilson neither explaining his remark and House not asking for an explanation. The rain seemed to thunder down around them unheeded, bouncing on the asphalt and soaking them to the bone. Maybe he would be taking those scrubs after all.
He tipped his head back, looking up into the deluge.
This was why he never let himself reveal his inner thoughts, it almost always came back to bite him in the ass. "Look, Wilson..."
"Please don't" Wilson hushed him, his hand held out as though to stave off whatever verbal reprimand he might have had in order. "Please don't come up with some sort of crappy, patronising excuse meant to ridicule me and absolve you of your ...your..." He huffed, the wind taken out of his sails and there was an odd look on his face that House had never seen before as he stepped forward, his hand pushing the hair back from his eyes and suddenly his was the only thing in House's vision, heart hammering in his throat and sudden bright euphoria because just as soon as the idea of his illicit desires never coming to fruition had settled in his mind, Wilson had kissed him, had reached up, hand on the back of his neck as the fireworks exploded behind his eyes.
He felt time stop. His breath held as he brought his hand up to his cheek, two days of stubble scratching his palm, his touch serving as some sort of catalyst, making Wilson open up to him and finally he could taste him.
It couldn't be real.
He had to be asleep somewhere. Maybe he was still on the couch in his office, eyes closed and dreaming, because he couldn't believe that he was here, right now, the craving of having that body pressed up against him suddenly sated, the desire to know what those lips would feel like against his fulfilled. It felt like absolution, like everything that had happened over the last two days could be wiped clean with one simple act. He breathed him in, his hand releasing its grip on his cane and settling instead against his back, shaking madly with his own audacity.
There was a noisy blip, a burst from one of the patrol cars and a sharp cry giving the all clear.
It was all that was needed to open a gulf between them. To break them apart and let the chilled air seep back and claim the warmth that had filled the space where they had touched.
Breaths heavy in the void between them, Wilson's fingers pressed lightly to his lips, his eyes unfocused and staring inwards.
He shook his head, admittance of a transgression, a muttered apology, fast and hurried with a dispiriting vehemence and he was gone, had turned and left with such speed that House may as well assume that he had run.
He stayed until his heart calmed, until he no longer struggled to breathe, until the rain had washed the taste of him from his lips, and then he bent, slow and steady to retrieve his cane. Testing his step before he had the confidence to walk with purpose back towards where the masses were slowly making their way back in.
He didn't see Wilson again that night.