thanks for all the tasty nutritious reviews, they keep me happy and sated! much love to all of you! :)
House felt as though he were under a microscope, his every action and flicker of emotion across his face under scrutiny. It was one of the downsides to working in a hospital, there was no veil to hide behind when someone you cared about was brought in, and he couldn't blame the others, he'd been guilty of the long assessing looks when any of them had had friends or family members come in, watching them as they stood at their bedsides, hands held and brows furrowed. But at least when he had done it they had assumed correctly that it was in the search of some tiny detail that he could use later to mock or ridicule them.
God, he was a horrible person.
With the tables turned he felt the eyes on him as a definitive point of focus, every tightened grip on his cane, every grimace of guilt and shift of weight, every half sigh and avoided gaze came under their watchful eye. It was insufferable but he didn't have the energy to snap.
"I'm sure you'll tell me it's none of my business, but..."
"It is none of your business." House growled lowly, barely glancing at Chase as they both watched from behind the glass as Cameron fixed the plastic cage down around Wilson's head, her gentle reassurances unheard as she spoke to him.
He fought the urge to chew at his nails, a habit he'd given up years ago when he'd given up on Stacy, ignoring the ambience of the room as Cameron joined them, her eyes drawn immediately to him. He twitched as Chase hit the button that sent the rhythmic pounding of the MRI through the room, the noise of it covering the sound of his heart rushing in his ears as he watched Wilson's eyes press close on the in view monitor.
"It's lucky you were there." Cameron said quietly, her comment heavily laced with implication whilst artfully avoiding what she actually wanted to say.
"We live together." House countered. "Of course I was there."
"I meant..."
"Meant what?" House glared at her. "That he was lucky that I was there after none of us noticed the signs, that none of us bothered to have him checked after he passed out, that I was so wrapped up in myself after he told me that he loved me to ignore what was so painfully obvious?" his breath felt short in his lungs, his blood boiling with self recrimination.
Speaking before he thought.
The silence seemed to ring in his ears, punctuated by the mechanical thump of the MRI.
"He's in love with you?"
Of course Cameron would have focused on that. He swung his gaze away from her.
"You can't honestly blame yourself for this House." Chase countered, diplomatically side stepping the issue. "It was a sudden onset, even if we'd done a CT we might not have seen anything, it can take days for a clot to form, we could have missed the issue altogether."
"He used to take the stairs." House muttered. "Still does if I'm not there." He leant his cane against the wall and sank into one of the chairs. "If he hadn't taken the lift he wouldn't have been hurt."
"If he'd have taken the stairs he'd be dead, probably would have been in the lobby when the bomb went off." Chase argued.
House couldn't know that for sure though. He shook his head as though irritated by the thought, the silence dragging out as they watched the images appear on the monitor.
They crowded the screen to squint at and scroll through the sectors. "Looks like we've got multiple filling defects at the bifurcation and pulmonary arteries." Chase muttered, sounding grave.
House swore lowly, gripping the edge of the table clenching his jaw to stop the vicious string of profanities escaping him.
"We can push tPA to try and avoid a thrombectomy." Cameron suggested, her voice small and almost frightened at breaking the tense silence.
House swallowed roughly and nodded, dropping his gaze as he weighed up the implications and the risks. "Call up for Alteplase." He sighed roughly, straightening up and grabbing for his cane as he reached for the door handle. "And get him out of there." He all but shouted, prompting Chase to lean forward to punch the button that brought the bed sliding out in time for House to have reached Wilson as he opened his eyes.
"We're pushing Alteplase." He told him quietly, registering the closed yet comprehending look with a lurch of his heart that made him feel as though it was tearing in two.
.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'
Cuddy sat across him at the table, a fresh coffee sitting in front of her, her hands encircling but not quite touching, soaking up the heat. They 'd been sitting alone in House's office for ten minutes now, the tension radiating off them and acting to ward off anyone who might come near. They were the only doctors in the hospital who had not been roped into the emergency clinic.
"How long?" she asked him softly. She was the only person he could handle the questions from, had proved in the past that she was actually on his side and it drove home the raw truth of just how few friends he had, how many people he had pushed away to the point he couldn't trust anyone else in his life apart from this woman and a man currently so out of it, it would be a miracle if he woke up this side of Christmas.
"Be specific." He muttered in return, staring down into his own coffee. Across the short distance he heard Cuddy sigh.
"How long have you and Wilson been seeing each other?" she said it without awkwardness, forever to the point.
"About three minutes before he collapsed." He kept his gaze in the mug he slowly rotated in his hands. There was an expectant pause and he let it draw itself out before he chanced a glance up, the look on Cuddy's face meant she knew he was keeping something back.
He cleared his throat, the collar of his shirt itching the back of his neck at the prospect of discussing anything this personal. Give him throw away chauvinistic comments about hookers and he was fine, ask him to speak honestly about something that touched him deeper than even he could admit and he was lost for words. "He...kissed me."
She said nothing, whether she was waiting for more or simply basking in his willingness to admit, but he appreciated her silence, her simple generosity at leaving his comment, his admission to hang in the air where he could dissect it, could own the revelation as though staring at the simple fact for the first time, the catalyst that had brought them from simmering anticipation to certainty.
"Do you love him?" She asked him quietly, skipping forward about a thousand steps in the conversation and bypassing all the ridiculous high school question he would have gotten from anybody else.
And this was the crux of the matter. He'd never had to think about it before, it had always been an implication, or an assumption at least that he loved Wilson on some level, but he could say the same with Cuddy, he'd even grown a certain fondness for Chase over the years. But they didn't distract him like Wilson did, and it wasn't until the point where he'd snapped, had insisted that Wilson stay behind at the apartment while he went back the hospital that he'd been forced into reassessing the depth of his own feelings, and the introspection had scared the hell out of him.
He just assumed it was a perversion of his to have the occasional thought, to feel a bizarre indignation to become flustered when anyone made a comment about them bickering like a married couple, he could be overtly sexual at the drop of a hat, and combine that with close living with someone he'd known inside out for years was bound to lead to some questionable thoughts.
But they had been nothing compared to the buzzing anticipation that had electrified the air around them, the short glances when they caught each other's eye, and the way the world ceased to exist as those perfect lips brushed against his own.
He hadn't realised that it was that moment he'd been waiting for, his pain ignored and forgotten in lieu of holding him in his arms. It was like finding a truth he didn't even know he was looking for.
He nodded slowly, the act more at home with one admitting a crime.
Cuddy made a sound low in her throat, something indicative of her astonishment that he had actually conceded the point rather than what it was he had confessed.
She laughed softly. "You know, despite everything, I never actually saw this coming."
He looked up at her under furrowed brow.
"I'm serious, didn't even cross my mind."
"You called Wilson my 'better half' last week." He reminded her drily.
"That's different." She exclaimed. "That's banter."
House briefly wondered whether any money had changed hands within his team.
"More like a self fulfilling prophecy." He arched his brow and took a sip of his coffee. "Say something enough times and it's bound to come true."
"Except this was Wilson's idea." She leant forward conspiratorially. "If it had been you to action it, we'd all be questioning your motives, but you didn't, he did, he's not one to rise to playground taunts."
"Oh come on." House scoffed. "That man is all about the social contract."
"So, what...he's just being polite?"
House remained quiet. He'd not got to the why's of that conversation yet.
"Yes, he cares about what other people think of him, a hell of a lot more than you do, but he's also not caught up on pride." Cuddy said pointedly and House wondered when the subject had turned in to an argument.
"Do you have a point?" He didn't even sound sarcastic, just bemused.
Cuddy sighed. "I'm not sure. I just know what you're like, and what he's like, and what you're both like together...and...I have a hospital to run." She said it with an air that the potential fallout could be greater than the one they were currently healing from.
House frowned down into his coffee, unable to tangle the threads of the conversation fully. The points didn't act up. Yes, Wilson didn't care about pride, allowing him the freedom to actually confess, but he cared to much, had much more to lose in the face of rejection.
Maybe it was just a fleeting infatuation brought upon by a near death experience. House knew Wilson, knew how he worked and how the simpler things were easier to him, his extra marital philandering smacked of fleeting emotion, something quick and easy and fun to while away the time and stave off the boredom until the electric petered out and the monotony began to settle in.
He bit the inside of his cheek, feeling suddenly like a fool.
His pager went off. And Cuddy's.
He was on his feet without even checking it, knowing for certain that there was only one patient in the hospital that warranted him being paged. He limped heavily to the ICU, preparing for a chaotic scene of scrambling nurses and barked orders; instead it was quiet, chase leaning over the bed with his pen light out testing for pupil reaction.
He hovered in the doorway with Cuddy, frowns fixed before Chase acknowledged them, meeting them halfway between the bed and informing them in a low voice. "He just woke up, says he can't feel much on his right hand side." He glanced at House to gauge his reaction. "I've tested his reflexes, all compromised."
"His BP's still low." Cuddy whispered, her eyes glued to the monitors.
"Doesn't mean he couldn't have stroked out." House muttered.
"The Alteplase might have just broken up the clots instead of dissolving it, could be an aneurysm?" Chase offered.
"But his blood pressure's..."
"Do an LP, we'll need another CT." House interrupted her. He could feel the grip he had on his cane tighten, eyes pulled by gravity to meet those staring at him with concern. The other nodded and the left the room, leaving him feeling exposed.
House pulled in a breath, felt in tighten in his chest as he leant his cane against the end of the bed, picking up the chart that Chase had just made his latest notes on. "How are you feeling?" He sounded too polite, too strained, and Wilson noticed.
"House?"
"Headache?" House carried on, flipping over a sheet of paper on the chart and hating Cuddy with vitriol for the clammy damp feeling that cooled the back of his neck. She knew how easily he gave in to doubts.
Wilson rolled his eyes. "No...Sit down?" he swept his hand over the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles in the sheet. He felt his heart flutter at the invitation, at the warmth that masked the weakness in Wilson's voice.
He brought a hand up to rub at his face, wiping across his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can you hold out both of your arms for me?"
Wilson sighed minutely at his tone and did as he was told, noticing with frustration that his right arm slumped immediately back to the bed.
He opened his mouth to explain the next step, to tell him what he already knew, what any doctor would assume. It was completely unnecessary but it covered the silence, or it would have if Wilson hadn't gotten in there first.
"Please?" He patted the edge of the bed again.
House sighed and tossed the chart onto the bedside table, his gaze flickering to the glass wall and watching Cuddy for a moment at the nurses' station where she was filling out the radiology request.
"You don't want them to see?" Wilson asked him quietly, taking his shameful glance at the see through partition as awkwardness, when in fact he was judging her motives. Her words ran though him, stated matter of factly without a hint of either hesitance or compunction, boiling down into only one coherent thought. It would fail.
"I hardly think that matters now." He replied gruffly. He sank slowly onto the edge of the bed, his leg protesting and then sighing in relief as the weight was taken off and almost immediately House felt Wilson's hand curl around his own, skin cold as fingers laced through his and House felt his mind go blank as he stared down at the incongruous image of their hands entwined in his lap. Could something feel right if it was bound for failure?
"Why me?" He hated the way his voice cracked, the glaring insecurity that kept his eyes locked on their hands as he refused to look Wilson in the eye. "You could have anyone."
He listened to the intermittent beep of the heart monitor, the way it sped a little faster and he was momentarily glad it wasn't him hooked up otherwise the room would have been full of nurses by now wondering why he was going into cardiac arrest. The hand that held his tightened, thumb running over his skin and he was entranced by the beauty of it, at how such a simple act could illicit such a craving in him to want more, to never want him to let go. The thought frightened him.
"Probably." Wilson said tentatively, "But where would the fun in that be." His attempt at levity fell on deaf ears and constricted the air in the room.
"Fun?" House echoed.
There was a moment when he felt eyes drawn to his face, mapping his insecurities.
Wilson understood, "I love you, Greg. It's a damn hard thing to admit, but I do." He said softly.
House nodded, the act born of acceptance rather than understanding. He drew a breath to speak but was interrupted by the sliding of the door as Chase walked in, LP kit in his hands and a blank look on his face as his gaze immediately fixated on their hands. House leapt to his feet as much as a man with a crippled leg could, practically flinching away from their touch.
"Sorry." He mumbled, looking awkward and motioning to the door. "I can come back?"
"No, it's fine." Wilson held his hand out for the waiver form to sign. He pushed the paper aside as Chase set up, looking up at House with uncertainty. "You'll stay?"
As if he could deny him anything.
He drew up the chair to the side of the bed, perching awkwardly on the edge of it as he reached for the bed controls, thumb digging into the button the lowered it flat. He watched with a dull ache as Wilson struggled to roll onto his side, Chase helping him as his arm gave out under his weight trying to rearrange the wires and tubes that seemed to swarm his body.
"First time having a lumbar puncture?" Chase asked lightly, eyes on Wilson's hand as it weakly gripped at the sheet as he untied the hospital gown.
"Not something I can admit to doing recreationally." He muttered drily, eyes on House.
"Well, you know the drill. Just tell me where the pain is."
The minutes dragged by slowly and House felt an itch in his feet to just get up and leave, anything to stop the guilt that stung like bile in his throat as he watched the pain lance across Wilson's face, his stilted utterances as he helped Chase guide the needle into his spine.
"Opening pressure is way too high." He muttered, eyes meeting over Wilson and Houses nodded as Chase scribbled the results on the chart.
"What did she say to you?"Wilson asked softly, drawing House's gaze and distracting him from the procedure.
"Who?"
"Cuddy." Wilson said, even though it was obvious who they were talking about. "She said something to you."
"What makes you say that?" He tried to sound casual and failed miserably.
"Come on House, you're the least awkward person I know...look at you." House flushed, knowing that not only Wilson looked at him but Chase too. "I know she's at the nurse's station, you keep glaring at her."
"Doesn't matter." He bit out.
"House...?"
"James." House warned him gently. He could feel Chase's eyes on him.
"Let me guess." Wilson carried on, heedless of the irritated look it brought him. "The big sister talk? 'you'd better not hurt him' and so on." He smiled a little, the corner of his mouth turning up.
"Something like that." House said quietly, desperately wanting Wilson to shut up so he didn't have to think about it.
"You know what she's like, mother hen protecting her..."
"It's not going to work." House felt the words slip free from his lips, whispered quietly before he even realised he'd formed the thought. For a moment he wasn't even sure he'd said them, but he watched as the gentle smile slowly faded from Wilson's face, his brow furrowed in quiet confusion.
"What?" Wilson's voice was just as soft, perplexion written across his face as though he tried to read House's train of thought.
Chase cleared his throat, reminding them of his presence.
"She said that?" incomprehension prevalent in his voice.
"Not in so many words." House admitted. "...just made me think."
The monitor beside him pinged and House glanced quickly to see the evidence of an elevated heart rate, could hear the deep breath drawn. "And what did she say to make you think that?" there was a hard edge to his question, eyes darkening with bewilderment.
"You guys think maybe you should wait to talk about this?" Chase interrupted diplomatically. "Perhaps when I don't have a needle in your spine?" he directed himself at Wilson.
Wilson laughed, self deprecating and cut short as Chase laid a warning hand on his hip to still him. "Seriously?" He looked House in the eye as though daring him to look away.
House fought the shrug that crept up on him, pressing his elbows firmly to side to stop the gesture exploding out of him. "Chase is right." He said instead.
He could practically feel the hurt and confusion rolling off him in waves, air thick with tension and Wilson's constrained breathes.
Admittedly it wasn't the best time to bring it up, and House regretted it with a passion, wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold the hand that grasped feebly at the bed covers, trembling ever so slightly with restrained emotion.
"I'm nearly done here." Chase muttered, breaking the silence. "Just need you to cough for me." He said, reaching for another vial.
Wilson complied, face pained and flinching.
He was too broken for someone like Wilson, even with his addiction to neediness. They'd only survived this long as friends because they both knew they could walk away at any moment, could leave the other to sort out their issues. But what would happen when they became each other's issues, when giving each other space meant sweeping their discontent under the rug, denying and ignoring them until one of them exploded with words that cut like knives. and the vicious guilt ridden circle of House's stubbornness and Wilson's need to please meant that he always won and Wilson always lost would begin, would tip the balance. And then it would begin, the resentment, the tired sighs and avoided gaze and then one day he would wake up and he would be gone. Isn't that how it had always happened? Why did anyone think it would be different this time?
He couldn't go through that again.
Not with Wilson.
"House?" The pain in Wilson's voice pulled him from his reverie and he quickly noted the twinge of pain lining his face. "I can't breathe." He motioned feebly to his chest, the motion drawing his attention to the labouring breaths.
House stood at the same time the monitors started to go off, pulses of noise ricocheting off the walls as Chase yanked the needle from Wilson's back, throwing it onto the tray as they both reached to lay him flat.
"I didn't touch the cord." Chase exclaimed, yanking the oxygen mask from the wall and pressing it firmly to Wilson's face as House leant forward to pull at the stethoscope around Chase's neck, eyeing him with a passionate distrust as he pulled at the gown, pressing the head to Wilson's chest and listening intently. He muttered something lowly as he motioned for Chase to help him sit him up, grabbing at his shoulders and hauling him forward as he pressed the scope to his back.
"It's an oedema." He looked up at the nurses who bustled in through the doors, Cuddy hot on their heels.
"Get an IV of sodium nitroprusside." Chase barked, sending one of them scurrying away.
"And Glycerol trinitate!" House shouted after her.
"You think it's his heart?" Chase looked at him, one eye on house as he checked the O2 sats.
"Just covering all the bases." He countered.
"What going on?"Cuddy demanded from the doorway, her heels clicking on the floor as she strode to the end of the bed, her hands raised in disbelief.
"Oh, just a little imminent death, nothing to worry yourself over." He sniped, reaching into a drawer to pull out a sedative, teeth clamping down on the needle cap as he held Wilson's shoulder steady, jamming it into his arm and waiting with held breath as he his eyes flicked back and forth between the heart monitor and Wilson's face, his hand still clamped firmly on his shoulder. "You're okay." He said quietly, meeting panicked eyes and holding them fast. "It's okay."
His heart was in his throat, his stomach in knots and his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. His hands shook, dropping the needle he'd used into the sharps box, fingers numb and useless as he listened to the sound of Wilson's pulse slow, his breath still heavy and laboured, pain etched on his face, but at least he was no longer tachycardic.
House staggered backwards, a nurse rushing in to replace him.
He could feel the world whiting out around him, noises blurring in the background, his vision tunnelling in as he watched Chase struggling to get hold of the situation.
He was out of his depth. He felt sick, his heart racing as he watched Cuddy reach out to grip Wilson's hand, holding on tight where he should have done.
He should have seen this coming. The next step that had been right in front of him.
But he hadn't seen it, hadn't even contemplated the mere thought of it.
He'd failed. Again.