cindylouwho | Blame it on the rain (again)

Prompt #73. Wilson gets a nasty cold/not serious fever/other sucking but not dangerous illness and someone makes him tea. Preferably House with lots of awkwardness.

Sequel to Blame it on the Rain part 1 and part 2

The next day Wilson wearily dragged himself into the hospital. He had a miserable night, not sleeping well with the coughing, the sneezing and general congested feeling of having a cold. Once again he had his secretary reschedule his patient appointments and went back to the doldrums of paperwork and clinical trials.

Paperwork went as well as sleeping had, which was poorly to say the least. The words were swimming on the page of the file he was reading and he was starting to get a headache. He spent a good part of an hour bleary eyed, coughing, sneezing and blowing his nose and not getting any work done. Finally, Wilson gave up and just sat there with his head in his hands trying to breathe.

House watched all of this from his balcony window, and once again the unfamiliar and annoying feeling of guilt spread through him. He swallowed another Vicodin in hopes of quelling the feeling and sighed. He drained the last of his coffee and went to refill his mug in the diagnostic lounge. As he poured the coffee, an idea occurred to him. Of course it meant being nice to Wilson again, but there was the whole stealing his prescription pad thing that he did, so being nice is probably the least he should do.

It took him a few minutes, but he finally located what he was looking for. He poured his mug of coffee and sipped at it slowly while he waited for the tea, the same tea Cameron had made for him when he was an allergic mess, to steep. He never admitted it to anyone, let alone Cameron, but the tea had helped just a little.

It took him a bit, but House was able to find a way to walk slowly and inelegantly, sans cane down the hall with both mugs. He grumbled to himself the whole way about how Wilson had better appreciate his efforts especially if he ended up burning himself with the hot liquid. Only a hint of a reminder of why he was doing this popped into his mind, and a few moments later he carefully barged into Wilson’s office.

Wilson lifted his head from his hands. “Not nowb House. I’b busy ,and I’b not really in the mood.” He looked at House, standing there two mugs in hand, cane dangling from his arm. “Yeah you look real interested in that file,” House sarcastically commented. “Here, drink this.” House awkwardly thrust the steaming red mug at Wilson, as he collapsed unsteadily into the chair in front of Wilson’s desk. House sipped coffee from his own mug, and avoided Wilson’s gaze of confusion and awe.

Wilson studied the liquid for a moment, and hesitantly took a sip. “It’s just tea,” House told him. The warm liquid felt wonderful on Wilson’s sore throat. “I thought you were donde being dice and sypathetic,” Wilson asked. House studied Wilson. “Everybody lies. You look still like crap. You should’ve stayed home.” Wilson sniffled and took another sip of tea. “It’s nobt that bad. I just didn’t sleep weld. I . . .” Wilson stopped mid sentence and held up a finger to indicate he was pausing the conversation. He grabbed tissues from the box on his desk and sneezed harshly into them three times. “Bless you,” House said. Wilson nodded his thanks as he blew his nose. “I really dob’t feel that bad,” Wilson continued as he took another sip of tea, wincing as it went down his tender throat.

House chuckled at that statement. “Sure you don’t. You can hardly breathe and from the face you just made when you swallowed, your throat is sore. “ Wilson sniffled and coughed slightly. “It’s finde, seriously. I soubd worse thab I feel.” Wilson sipped at his tea and let the warm liquid soothe his throat.

House narrowed his eyes at Wilson, watching him carefully, to see if Wilson was keeping anything from him. He swallowed another mouthful of coffee, as Wilson reached for the tissues once more. Wilson sneezed twice and blew his nose again. House rolled his eyes. “Bless you again,” he said. Wilson mumbled his thanks as he wearily lowered his head into his hands and sighed. “Yeah you feel wonderful,” House said with a mocking tone which earned him a glare from Wilson.

House swallowed the last of his coffee and rose from his chair. “Get your coat and meet me in my office,” he instructed Wilson. Wilson lifted his head up. “Wuh, huh? Why? I saib I was finde. I habe work to do.” House rolled his eyes again. “You’re not fine. You’re exhausted, sick and miserable.” “You would knowb,” Wilson retorted. “Yes I may be, but you’re also my ticket out of clinic duty,” House said smugly.

Wilson stood up and threw up his hands in annoyance. “Of course you’bd make dis about you, everythind is about you, and it’s never about what I’b going through or andyone else! You arend’t even dealing width the isdues here!” He paused to sneeze again. “ Bless,” House said quietly, looking at the floor. “I bet my couch is more comfortable than that hotel room.”

Wilson sighed. The fight had been drained out of him. He shrugged his shoulders. “Fide. I’ll meedt you in a fewb minutes.” Dejectedly, he snagged a handful of tissues and blew his nose again. Wilson fought off a coughing jag as House nodded and headed back to his office to collect his things.

A few moments later, the two headed out into the late morning sunshine. And when House sneezed loudly as they approached Wilson’s car, Wilson had to suppress a laugh and conveniently turned it into a cough. “Bless you,” Wilson said as he held up his hands defensively. “Don’t blabe me,” he said congestedly, as House glared at him with narrow eyes. House mumbled something about ungrateful oncologists spreading germs as they got in the car to head to House’s apartment. Wilson shook his head in mock annoyance as they drove away from the hospital. At least he wouldn’t have to be miserable alone.