| |
Dream
by hilsonlover
House wakes with a start, disoriented, blinking against the glaring lights.
Nurses and doctors rush in, coming to a halt next to his bed, asking questions, flashing a light in his eyes. It takes him a moment to understand that he's lying in a hospital bed. Obviously something has happened to him. He has to fight against a sudden surge of panic as he thinks about the bad dream, no nightmare, he experienced. It was a nightmare, right?
When he finally has enough wits to talk nothing comes out. His right hand lands somewhat clumsily on the tube in his mouth where he instantly starts to pull at it, wanting it to come out at once.
The nurses are still struggling to prevent House from pulling the tube out by his own hand when Wilson more or less slithers into the room. In a split second he's standing next to House's bed, staring at him wide-eyed before he croaks out, "Hey. I'm glad you finally decided to wake up. You really gave us a scare!"
He holds House's hands down with his own, pleading, "House! Hold still! If everything is alright we will take the tube out. Just let us examine you first, okay?"
He takes a step back after making sure House will comply. He isn't able to go far before House suddenly grabs his arm; forcing Wilson's wide-eyed expression to change to saucer-eyed. Seconds later he gets the meaning and nods almost imperceptibly. House releases his arm so Wilson can take a step sideway, allowing the staff to examine House.
After a short while he becomes impatient again, coercing Wilson into talking with two other doctors and, albeit begrudgingly, they extubate House. Wilson is holding his breath during House's coughing fit, anxiously staring at the various monitors House is hooked on and House's face. He lets out a shaky breath when it becomes clear that the extubation has been a success.
House doesn't speak during the rest of his examination; he's too busy fighting against the urge to sleep. Which is somewhat ridiculous; he must have slept for quite a while. Nonetheless his body overrules him and he dozes off.
Wilson doesn't want to leave even when House is sound asleep again. He pages his secretary to bring him some folders to work on and settles into a chair next to House's bed. Every now and then he steals glances at House and the monitors, hoping for House to wake up again soon. He's desperate to see if his friend is really alright; he's missing the daily banter, the mocking and getting his food stolen. He even misses the unannounced visits, the barging in his office during an appointment because House needs to tell him some completely unimportant news. Mulling about how much he misses his friend he jumps when a raspy sounding voice asks him, "Where's Amber?"
"Huh?" Wilson replies confused. It takes him a moment to realize that House is awake again. "You just woke up after being in a coma for about three weeks and your first thought is about my girlfriend?"
"This wasn't my first thought! Where is she? Is she alright or is she dead?"
Wilson is clearly taken aback at House's blunt question. In his mind he starts to wonder about House's mental state from the coma. Only the piercing look from House's eyes pulls him out of his thoughts, forcing him to click his mouth shut before he opens it again, "What are you talking about? Why would she be dead?"
"She ... is not dead?" he replies hesitantly.
"No, she was very alive when I left this morning."
"I was in a coma for three weeks? What happened?" House asks with a frown. He can't differentiate between reality and his dream. It's driving him insane although he feels relief washing through him at hearing that Amber is alive. The part where the two of them are riding on a bus, the accident and Amber's death aren't true. Most importantly is that Wilson is still here, with him.
"You ... don't know what happened?" Wilson asks, hesitance coloring his voice.
"I wouldn't ask if I knew!" House snaps.
Wilson isn't impressed by House's outburst; he's long used to House's moods and jumps within a conversation. Quirking an eyebrow he answers with a counter question, "What's the last thing you remember?"
Despite identifying the soft tone of Wilson's voice as an attempt at soothing him, House can't deny that it has the desired effect on him. He scowls at Wilson but being too tired to play twenty questions he sighs and takes the easy way, "I remember being in a bar. I ... was drunk and ... I called you to pick me up. Amber answered the phone and said that you were on call. She ... came to the bar and then ..."
House averts his eyes, the part of his dream where Amber is involved in the accident, when they find her and he can't do anything to help her is vivid. More vivid is the fake memory of Wilson asking him to do the deep brain stimulation, of Wilson walking away from his hospital room with a tear-stained face not even talking to him.
He must have been deeply engrossed in his own thoughts as it takes him a while to react to the slightly panicked voice of Wilson, "House! House, can you hear me? Listen to me - you have to calm down, your breathing is too fast."
House only stares at him, taking in the concerned face, wondering if these eyes have always been such a deep brown color. He's pulled out of his stupor when Wilson's fingertips brush over his cheeks, sending electric bolts downwards through his whole body. As soon as the fingers are gone he starts to shiver, regretting the loss of this contact.
"I'm alright," he's finally able to squeeze out.
Disbelief is written all over Wilson's face in bold red gleaming letters. He sits down on the edge of House's bed, their hips touching. He doesn't know where to put his hands. Well, he does know where he wants to put his hands but doesn't dare to, so he pushes them into the pockets of his lab coat. Softly he prompts, "Maybe it's better if I tell you what happened. At least what I know, huh?"
A nod encourages him to continue, "Amber came to the bar and wanted to pick you up and drive you home. But you, um, you weren't very fond of this idea and sent her away. She took the car home and you got on the bus. The bus had an accident and you were found with a craniocerebral injury and some minor bruises. Your brain swelled a bit but you responded well to the treatment. Although everything looked fine on the CT films you didn't wake up - until now."
One of Wilson's hands had found its way to his neck during his little speech, rubbing with such vehemence that it is turning red. Curiosity gets the better of him, "Did you think that Amber was with you on the bus? And ... and that she died?"
House averts his eyes again, sinks back onto the pillow and tugs at the blanket to pull it up. Wilson helps him, remembering that the last time House was lying in a hospital bed wasn't so long ago. His hands are trembling slightly as he fixes the blanket, wondering if there is more to House's question about Amber than is obvious. His train of thought is interrupted by House barking at him, "Stop the fussing-thing, damn it!"
The red neck gets a companion when the inevitable blush creeps up Wilson's face at House's statement. Lamely he answers, "I'm not fussing. But you're evading my question."
"I'm tired. I'm going to sleep now."
"Oh," hurt flickers through brown eyes briefly before Wilson is able to collect himself, "Okay. I'll let you rest. If you need anything you can call me."
Within seconds the heart-monitor goes into alarm, making Wilson almost drop his folders at the sudden shrill sound. House is pale as a sheet, panting shallow. Fear coils up in Wilson's gut again at seeing the distress of his friend. Quickly he puts away his folders, asking House questions he will never get an answer to. Instead House grabs his hands, lets them disappear between his own hands, clasping them tightly. Wilson's heartbeat skips a beat when House finally looks at him, pain and despair fighting for dominance on his face. His breathing decides to take part in the skipping-thing when House mutters, "You said we were never friends. You ... you said you have the right to walk away from me."
A nurse rushes into the room but leaves when Wilson tells her that he has everything under control and will call her if necessary. After her departure he turns his attention back to a still very pale House, softly asking, "I never said such a thing House. Why would I say that?"
Wilson is confused and worried; House not being his usual obnoxious and arrogant self is scaring the living hell out of him.
"You didn't only say it. You really did it! You walked away and left Princeton," House's hands are shaking now but he just clasps Wilson's hands more tightly in his own. Suddenly anguish gives way to determination and House yanks hard at Wilson's hands. Wilson gives a yelp of surprise when he lands sprawled out half on top of House, held in an almost painful grip-lock.
"House," he squeezes out, "What the hell are you doing?"
Not that this position is uncomfortable, far beyond it. One of House's hands presses his head on his chest, petting his hair and the other hand holds him tightly at the back. House's rapid heartbeat begins to slow down, the alarm from the monitor going silent again. Good thing he isn't hooked to a heart monitor, especially when House says, "You're not allowed to walk away from me."
" 'kay," Wilson mumbles in response.
They stay in this position, although Wilson's back starts to hurt due to the awkward angle. The increased squirming gets House's attention and he demands, "Get your feet up on the bed! So that I can actually go to sleep."
Wilson complies, albeit feeling too many emotions all at once, incredulity about what's happening overruling the others in the end. He peels off his shoes, with House's help gets rid off his lab coat and tie and resumes his former position with his head pillowed on House's chest, listening to his heartbeat. New to this arrangement is that he is more or less curled around House's body, one leg draped over House's waist and the hand on his back has wandered to his butt. They are snuggled together under the hospital blanket and it should be weird but instead it feels right.
Wilson is too exhausted to care about anything else than House holding him, gently stroking his hair and simply being alive. Someone will find them in this position, he knows that much, and he will get all flustered, but the truth is he doesn't care about anyone else. The petting moves and the monotone sound of House's heartbeat eventually lulls him into sleep.
It spares him the toneless exchange between House and Amber when she stands in the door of House's hospital room, obviously searching for Wilson but not expecting to see what she gets to see. She can't help her jaw dropping at the displayed scene but quickly clicks her mouth shut at seeing the triumphant look on House's face. It takes her a moment before she smiles at him and nods which is clearly not the reaction he's expecting. Wilson looks peaceful and is in dire need of sleep so she doesn't mind being generous and grants House his triumph.
She doesn't see the glare directed at her back when she leaves. House has made a decision and she is a bothersome person, interfering with his plan. He tightens his grip around Wilson, evoking a pleasured sigh of contentment out of him. With a smug smile on his face House finally gives in and dozes off too.
END
Please post a comment on this story.
Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
|
|
|