The low beep of the heart monitor seemed to keep pace with his own, his eyes flickering over the screens, monitoring O2 sats, blood pressure and heart rate, the numbers familiar and oddly comforting, something he knew how to read in amongst all the confusion. House looked at his watch, noted the time and added to the list of shorthand on the board at the end of the bed before sinking down into one of the visitor's chairs.
It was organised chaos outside the room, like an ant's nest rebuilding itself after kicking it over, the corridors still crowded but strangely mute now. He'd been hiding out here for at least an hour and no one had yet come to fetch him, doubted that anyone would really try.
"So what happens now?" Wilson's voice was low, the perfect accompaniment to the quiet darkness that dampened the room. House threw the spoon he'd been using to stir his coffee into the sink, the harsh clattering jangling his nerves. Of course they'd have to have this conversation.
"What do you want to happen?" he kept his tone neutral as he turned, leaning against the counter top and coolly assessing Wilson who waited with his hands curled around the back of a chair. He'd borrowed some of House's sweats, his armour replaced.
Wilson sighed, something resigned that smacked of defeat. "It's not about me House, we both know that." He said dully, hitting home a truth that was both undeniable and hurtful in its accuracy. "It'll never be about me."
House dropped his focus, ashamed that the guilt might show on his face and he looked instead into the eddying surface of his coffee. He was right. He was always right, and it filled him with an anguish that Wilson knew this fact about him, knew that House would always look at things with an impersonal, logical and self destructive tendency, that he couldn't cope with happiness, that it mocked him and taunted him until he had to drive it away before it left of its own free will. And isn't that what Wilson had done? Hadn't he shown the same care to three wives, let them fall for him, let them lay themselves bare and then swiftly dashed their love and trust among the rocks of his own personal insecurities, had left them all without looking back.
House didn't think he could take that.
Not from him.
But he couldn't just turn away either, couldn't find the strength to cover up the cracks that were beginning to show, and after all, he was a fan of dramatic melancholy.
But only when he'd had someone to fall back on.
"I asked what you wanted." He said again, refusing to look up, bringing the cup to his lips even though the liquid scorched his mouth, it was a suitable distraction to his own tortured mind.
He heard Wilson sigh, the familiar sound of his hands rubbing tiredly over his face and House knew if he looked up now he'd see his characteristic hands on hips stance. The pauses in his breath punctuating his aborted attempts to speak, to find the words that would make it so House would be the one to actually admit to where they go from here, avoiding the nerve wrecking moment that would come after such an admission when the world seems to stop and you wait with baited breath for an answer. House took another sip of the scalding coffee, almost enjoying the near euphoric feeling of being perched on the precipice of something huge. "If you can't say it Wilson, then you can't have..."
"You." Wilson interrupted him, his sudden outburst stopping House in his tracks. He looked up. If he thought he felt vulnerable then it was nothing compared to how Wilson looked, and the sight of him, hands balled into fists at his side, head tilted to the side and a look on his face as though someone had just told him his mother had died made him want to stretch out his fingers, to wipe away the uncertainty that darkened his eyes. "I want you." He whispered. "God knows why." He shook his head, hands wide in supplication as he shrugged. "But I always have."
House helped himself to the jug of water on the sideboard, careful not to shatter the silence of the room as he poured.
Wilson loved him.
Was in love with him.
It was an important distinction and the knowledge of that simple, life changing, all consuming fact had sent his already bruised and overworked mind into overdrive. A thousand ridiculous questions firing along each nerve causing a fight or flight battle inside him so extreme it felt as though he were being literally torn apart. Or at least his heart was. It ached, deep and throbbing as he remembered last night, let his eyes drift close with the flashes of imagery projecting behind shut lids. They'd slept, brief pauses between sleepy kisses and tired hands mapping out warm, slow paths over each other's skin before they folded themselves around each other, hot breath on the back of Wilson's neck, hands held loosely across his chest. They'd slept straight through the day, only waking to turn and gain a more comfortable purchase on each other, heads resting on chests, hands over hearts, the milky light that fell in through the window doing nothing to persuade them to leave the world they'd created for themselves within the confines of pillows and blankets.
It had been more than he'd ever hoped.
He downed the water, shaking his head to sober himself and casting an eye over the patient in the bed, slow and steady breaths in the silence of the room. House almost envied him and his ability to be oblivious to it all, but soon felt the sharp pang of guilt as he remembered what had brought him here.
"You never said." It was House's turn to whisper, but not out of reverence to the conversation, but more because the admission had shocked the colour from his voice. He'd said nothing after Wilson's impromptu admission the night before, had put it down to the heat of the moment, and nothing of the kind had passed the other man's lips since. But looking at him now, hearing the subtle vehemence and truth his voice there was no denying it. And to question why would serve no purpose, why did anybody ever love him?
"And what would I have said?" Wilson asked, hitting the point entirely. Would could he have said? And what would House have said in return? He could even admit to himself that that conversation would have been non negotiable.
"So why now?" He asked in return, already knowing the answer, the reason was the same as his own.
Wilson's lips twitched with the faintest of smiles. "Fate is a fickle mistress." He echoed House's sentiment of days before. "You could have died, we both could have...and I would never have said anything." He admitted blandly.
"People die every day." House countered. "Get hit by cars, get shot, get diseases..."
"But this was real." Wilson argued. "This was so close." His eyes closed of their own volition as he no doubt envisioned the smoke and the light of the flames. "I was so afraid." He whispered, words barely escaping his lips so that House had to lean forward to hear them. "And you said nothing. You didn't mock me, or make any jokes...you were there, you were right there...and I knew, that no matter what happened, you wouldn't let me fall."
House swallowed around the sudden thickness in his throat, placing the mug down on the counter as he felt the strength being sapped from his limbs.
"I know what being with you will be like." Wilson carried on in the same low whisper. "I've been there to watch you sabotage every relationship you've ever had, I've watched you push yourself to the edges of addiction, and I've seen you fall." He raised his eye to meet House, the strength of his conviction shining through. "I've never turned my back on you. I never will."
"How can you be so sure?" House asked gruffly, aiming for mild petulance and failing, frailty and helplessness permeating his thinly veiled attempt at scorn. He'd never felt so exposed.
"I can't" Wilson admitted openly, his honesty a refreshing change to the lies that people always told each other. "But you know me."
House nodded, almost smiled. "You're addicted to neediness." He'd said it countless times before, never imagined that it would come up in this conversation.
House glanced at his watch, it was about now that the rest of his team would be coming in, their need for sleep sated, ready to take action with a cheeriness that would really grate on his nerves today. He'd be the first one they'd come to find, as though he had any sort of say or management level when the hospital was still in the grips of logistical nightmare.
They stood silently for a while, House finished his coffee, listening to the sound of Wilson breathe, short and fast, as though he'd just run a race...or was preparing to run. "Okay." House said at length, the verdict sounding like a judges gavel in his ears, wondering with a thrill of both dread and excitement what it was he had just agreed to. Wilson paused from where he was rubbing at his temples, the headache building from days without rest finally being chased away with the remnants of the sleep that still seemed to grip his limbs.
He didn't question what House had just said, the warring surrealty of everything falling into place showing on his face. He allowed himself the grace to smile, something shy and unbearably cute that wouldn't look out of place on a schoolboy with a crush. "Okay." He agreed.
There was a moment when neither of them moved, not quite sure how to take the first official step, but it ended quickly as House crossed the divide, his hands going straight for Wilson's waist, feeling his own shirt under his touch, but the heat behind it was Wilson's. The heart that hammered in his chest matched House's own, its rhythm stuttering as they pulled one another into a deep and hungered kiss, fingers trembling on House's cheek, weakly gripping at the front of his shirt as he swallowed the relieved sigh. He held him tight, revelling in the feel of him within the circle of his arms, finally, completely his. Not just for one night, not just for this crazy hellish week, but for as long as they could make it work. He felt Wilson smile into the kiss, chasing it with his tongue and lapping at the taste of...
He pulled back, eyes snapping open.
Wilson looked up at him, confusion in his eyes as House extricated himself from their embrace, leaning heavily and breathlessly on the counter as House took the necessary steps to switch on the overhead light.
House felt his heart leap into his throat, cursing and damning himself for not having noticed the darker hue of the other man's lips. They were blue.
He limped back over to him, grabbing at his hands to check his fingernails, the beds tinged with the same dull hue. "Fuck." He muttered harshly. He could still taste the blood in his mouth.
"What is it?" He was still breathless. How could House not have noticed, how could he have been so wrapped up in his own head not to have seen textbook physiology.
"We need to get you back to the hospital." He said tersely, holding Wilson's face with a clinical diligence as he checked his eyes, his thumb tracing the edge of his lower lip.
"What...Why?" The answer to his question was illustrated perfectly as the vestiges of strength slowly drained away from Wilson's limbs, legs shaking as he tried to keep himself up and House was on him in an instant, holding him as they both descended to the floor. He sat him back against the counter, ignoring the sudden clumsiness of his own hands and the bewildered looked on Wilson's face as he pressed his fingers against his neck, pulse wild and racing under his touch. "What's wrong?" His voice sounded thick, tinged with an awareness of fear that House only knew was there because he couldn't keep the concern from his own face.
"You're bleeding." He said quietly, the words tasting bitter in his mouth, or maybe it was just the taste of copper that had melted into his tongue.
"What?" Wilson picked up his hands, casting a furrowed gaze over his arms, the skin pale under the over head light. "Where?"
"Your lungs." House stated. The air seemed to cool suddenly around them, Wilson's eyes locking with his own as the words 'pulmonary embolism' were left unsaid.
The door slid open and Cuddy backed into the room, two coffees balanced precariously in her hand as she drew the door shut again.
"How's he doing?" she asked, her face lined with concern as she handed one of the coffees over to House and picked up the chart from the end of the bed, her eyes quick and furtive as she read over the notes.
"Stable." House muttered, watching the drip of saline in its ampoule before it entered the line that hung from the bag, its length twisting and coiling until disappearing beneath the sterile dressing that covered the canula that stood out in contrast on the back of Wilson's hand.
He itched to pull the chair closer to the bed, to reach out and cover that hand with his.
But the walls were made of glass. And he wasn't ready for them to see.
"We'll do another chest spiral with a radiocontrast once we've given the Heparin a good chance to work." She said quietly, didn't even try to hide the lilting unease in her voice.
House said nothing, just leant forward and dropped his face into his hands, rubbing the heels into his eyes until he saw spots, anything to alleviate the images that played out behind closed eyes.
"Stay with me."
Hands held as he thumbed the phone pad and pressed it to his ear, waiting for the line to pick up.
They should have done a scan. Any other day and they would have taken the precaution, would have had him up in radiology as soon as anyone had seen his eyes flutter with the lapse of consciousness. But no, not this time, and none of them, not even him had questioned anything, Wilson probably hadn't even realised himself, would have blamed the headache on not having slept for days. It was chance and bad luck that the clot had broken up as they had been allowed to leave, breathlessness and increased heart rate wasn't something that would have been out of the ordinary last night.
"911 emergency response..."
He had the insane urge to punch the wall.
"I need an ambulance, I have a man here going into respiratory arrest."
He looked so fragile nestled between the hospital sheets, lashed dark on pale cheeks, so different from the man who had been so alive under his hands.
"I can't breathe..."
He should have noticed.
"I'm here."
It was probably his fault. How often had his fingers skirted the edge of those stitches, how many times had Wilson flinched as they carried on with a wild abandon. He should have said something then, should have shown more restraint. But he had been awoken, brought to his knees by the feel of those lips against his, the way they fit so perfectly together that he would have needed the voice of God himself to have dragged his attention away from the way those hands instinctively knew where to touch him. Their activities of the night before could not be overlooked as a contributing factor.
"He'll be fine." Cuddy said softly, deigning to drop her hand to rest on his shoulder, something he would have shrugged off before now but instead he begrudgingly welcomed the strength it seemed to offer. He reached for the coffee, uncapping its lid and letting the fragrant steam wash over him. He took a sip, not tasting it but glad for the warmth.
The door slid open again, Chase, Cameron and Foreman nearly stumbling over one another to enter the room. their eyes wide and mouths lax with confusion and shock.
"We saw his name on the board..." Chase mumbled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the nurses' station where all the roomed patients were listed in whiteboard markers. His eyes stayed fixed on Wilson.
"What happened?" Foreman sounded shocked, if not mildly outraged, the perfect contrast to Cameron who had been last through the door and now stood with her hand to her mouth and that irritating over concerned mother hen look etched onto her face.
"Subdural haematoma from the head injury he received broke away resulting in a PE." Cuddy stated numbly, hiding behind the clinical description. Much easier than accepting the fact that they'd all messed up.
"When did this happen?" Foreman picked up the chart, just as Cuddy had, Chase leaning over to read the same stats House had been diligently making for hours.
"Last night." House muttered, amazed that he was still able to keep track of the hours, the clock on the wall and the darkness reminding him that it was the early hours of the morning.
"Why didn't you page us?" Chase sounded indignant, the hands in his pockets going wide to flair out his lab coat.
"There was no need." He knew he sounded heartless, that Wilson was their friend too, but it had been enough that Cuddy had been informed; there was no way of stopping someone from paging the dean of medicine when one of her department heads was rushed into the ICU.
Chase spluttered, a countering argument on his lips but House shushed him, all eyes turning to the bed as its occupant shifted, the heart monitor pinging at a more erratic rate as dark eyes began to flutter as Wilson woke up.
House dropped the bar and carefully sat on the edge of the bed, Cuddy hovering anxiously beside him as the other three crowded the other side, Chase's eyes flickering over the monitors as they spiked.
"House?" Wilson's voice sounded sore, grazed from intubation and the suction tube to draw the blood out of his lungs. He creased his eyes, turning away from the lamp that House reached up to knock away, the light swinging to the side and sending shadows carving into the corner of the room.
"I'm here." How did he keep his voice so calm when he had to hold on to the sheets just to stop them from reaching out to touch his face. He felt the gentle trembling touch of Wilson's hand as he turned it to graze against his forearm, lasting the briefest of moments before it slumped back to the bed, even that small exertion too much for him.
"What happened?" the voice was small, eyes flickering back and forth to the other occupants of the room but always coming back to meet House's gaze.
"You went into respiratory arrest. The ambulance brought you in." But of course, he wouldn't remember that, wouldn't remember House calling his name, the slap to his face meant to rouse him, the furious shake of House's hands as they had positioned themselves on his chest, pushing down until ribs bent beneath the pressure. "We've got you on Heparin at the moment until we can confirm the full extent with an MRI." He sounded uncharacteristically choked, abhorring the words that slipped numbly from his lips as he gave the news, hating that it was Wilson he had to say them to.
Wilson nodded as much as he could, eyes pained as he sucked in a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry." He whispered.
House shook his head, "Nothing to be sorry about." He could feel the others as a physical presence, crowding him and suffocating his resolve, making him feel reserved and awkward, his words stilted lest he betray some stray emotion.
"Bad timing though." Wilson muttered and House couldn't help the indulgent smile that curled the corner of his lips.
He cleared his throat and stood, the cloying thickness in his throat threatening to choke him. "Bad timing would have been when you were driving us home." For more reasons than one. "I should go order that MRI." He said lamely, straightening and looking around for his cane, anything to turn himself away from the sudden sadness in Wilson's eyes. But he couldn't trust himself to stay.
"I'll stay with him." Cuddy spoke up. "But you guys need to go back down and help out." She looked over the team.
House found his cane, leaning against the wall where it had rested all night, not needed as he'd had no intention of leaving the room. He leant on it, feeling like the worst person in the world, like he was running away right after he said he would stay.
He stopped in the doorway, Foreman nearly running into his back as they all went to follow him out in single file. His chest ached with restricted breath.
He could be a bastard every other day of the year, but not today.
When had he ever cared what people thought of him anyway.
He turned sharply, pushing his stick to Foreman's chest until the other man grabbed hold of it and determinately walked the short distance back to the bed, caught in the hope flecked darkened gaze as he leant down, one hand sinking into the mattress and the other on Wilson's face, thumb running across his cheek as he bent to capture his lips in a soft kiss, eyes closed and heart bursting as a cool and gentle grip encircled his wrist, grounding him in the moment until he pulled back, his hand lingering for one long second on his cheek. "Be back soon." He promised quietly.
He retrieved his cane from Foreman, pretending not to notice the frozen, comical looks of his employee's faces as he stalked past them. The rumour mill would explode with this one, but it would be worth it, just to have seen the love in Wilson's eyes.