Melancholy Without Hope

cindy_lou_who8
Prompt: #3 Wilson breaks his arm/leg/clavicle/etc. ...and House is the one who broke it.
Rating: R for language and references to sexual sitations
Character(s)/Pairing(s): House/Wilson friendship (pre-slash if you wear goggles), House/Cameron friendship, Chase/Cameron (alluded to)
Warnings: If you haven't seen any of season 6, then proceed with caution, and assumes this occurs at some point before Chase/Cam start assisting Foreman with diagnostics.
Word Count: 1044
Beta: my wonderful friend arhh
Disclaimer: I don't own them, I don't even have a job.
Summary: for wilson_fest Wilson breaks his arm.

     After a long week at the hospital House and Wilson were hanging out at home, getting ready to watch a football game on television. Wilson really wasn't up for cooking so they decided to hit their favorite Indian place before the game started at four.

     After bundling up in winter gear, they headed out to Wilson's car, House leading the way with Wilson close behind. And in an instant, House's cane hit a patch of ice, missed by their usually conscientious landlord. Wilson reacted quickly, trying to steady house, but instead of steadying him, House toppled over on top of Wilson and they both hit the pavement.

     House slowly moved off of Wilson and assessed himself. After a quick check he determined he was no more worse for the wear with a bruised knee and a broken cane. But Wilson on the other hand was practically in tears as he cradled what they both assessed and assumed to be a broken arm.

arhh

bishojo_kitsune

                House nor Wyatt followed Wilson to the front door.  They heard his footsteps echo through the apartment and the front door close shut.   House reclined against the headboard, his breathing labored, as he had to breathe through his mouth since he was so congested.   He attempted to blow his nose again, but it was too much effort and caused him too much pain. 

                Wyatt poured him a glass of juice and gave him some Sudafed.  “This should help,” he said.  House downed the pills and the juice and snorted at Wyatt, which caused him to sneeze again.  “Bless you,” Wyatt said, slightly concerned.  “I should have taken your temperature before you drank the juice.  Oh well.  It will have to wait.  Why don’t you try to rest?”

                “Whabt, no lectdure about whabt was gobing on width Wilsond?”

                “Would it matter, Gregory if I were to offer my opinion on the matter?”

                House rolled his eyes at the use of his proper name. 

                “No, I suppose it wouldn’t,” Wyatt continued.  “You need to get some rest.  Sleep now and I’ll have some nice soup ready for you for when you wake up.”  Wyatt gathered the bags he had brought in and headed out, closing the door gently behind him.

                House laid back and stared at the ceiling.  His head was killing, his leg was killing, and he felt like shit.  He hated being sick in general, and being sick and in pain just made him even more irritable.  Tack on a bus crash, killing his best friend’s girlfriend, and now losing said best friend, and it made for an unusually miserable House.  He sighed, and continued to stare at the ceiling, and waited for sleep to overtake him. 

     House came home from a grueling (read: he was only interrupted once during his nap) day at work to find Wilson sprawled on the couch and in the midst of a coughing fit. When Wilson was finally able to get the coughing under control and to take deep breaths, House grabbed the stethoscope off the coffee table and listened to his chest. This had been the routine since Wilson came down with the flu a few days ago. Despite being pumped thoroughly with Tamiflu and antibiotics and Day/Nyquil, Wilson just couldn’t seem to shake it. All he had done for the better part of the past few days was to alternately lay on the couch or in bed coughing and sneezing and being miserable and plotting revenge against the kid who had coughed on him in the first place.

      House checked Wilson’s ears and glands and took his temperature. “Ears are clear, temperature still 100 degrees. Do you feel any better?” Wilson turned away from House and sneezed in response. “Bless you. I’ll take that as a no.” House handed a handful of tissues to Wilson who was waiting with eyes glazed over, to sneeze again. Wilson sneezed twice and blew his nose, and just looked inconsolable. House rolled his eyes.

     “Bless you again. Are you done?”

     “Thanks so much for caring.”

     “I do care. I’ve been caring all week for you. Making you tea and soup and bringing you drugs.”

     “Yes, I know having to be the provider must be so frustrating for you, instead of me enabling your sorry ass. Whatever have you done all week without having me at work to buy your lunch and coffee and snacks?”

      For once House was at a loss for words, so he headed into the kitchen to retrieve a beer for himself and decided he must continue to cater to Wilson, lest he not put out once he was better. And he had better get well soon. His hand was getting sore from all the action it had been getting as of late. He poured a glass of orange juice for Wilson and headed back into the living room. House sat down on the bit of couch that wasn’t occupied by Wilson, his blankets or tissues and handed him the juice, which Wilson drained immediately.

      “So, clinic duty was less boring than usual today.” House took a long pull on his beer and waited for a response.

      “Hmmm? Was Cuddy wearing a push up bra?” Wilson sniffled and sat up slightly trying to look interested.

      “No.” He paused, reflecting on the image of Cuddy’s tits for a moment. “This girl has come in because she had put half of a toothbrush holder up her hoo hoo.”

      Wilson knew he was going to wish he hadn’t asked this later, but he couldn’t help himself. “Why did she use only half of a toothbrush holder?”

      “Well she figured she could put her electric toothbrush inside the holder and get off that way.”

      Wilson laughed until he coughed. House handed him a bottle of water off of the coffee table and waited until Wilson’s breathing was back under control.

     “I told her to go to Good Vibrations and pick out something more appropriate for the task. I told her that they even came in purple like her toothbrush holder and in shapes like dolphins and rabbits and ducks and Hello Kitty. That seemed to boost her spirits.”

     Wilson reached for the tissues and sneezed rather violently. He wiped his nose and sighed and cleared his throat. “Well that was nice of you.”

     “Well, I do know my sex toys.” House said with a wink and a leer in Wilson’s direction.

     This time it was Wilson’s turn to roll his eyes. “Not a chance, House.”

     “I didn’t want your germ infested mouth near my cock anyway.”

     “Wait until later when your jerking off in the bathroom for the 10^th time this week and maybe you would rather it be my germ infested mouth.

     House drained the last of his beer and tried not to think of Wilson’s mouth on his dick which became a bit more difficult as Wilson made himself more comfortable on the couch, his head resting on House’s good thigh. House grumbled something about Wilson not getting any snot on his jeans and turned the television on to AMC. If his fingers skated across Wilson’s head and back occasionally it was just to check his temperature, nothing more. Wilson smiled and relaxed into the contact and started to feel just a little bit better.

              When Wilson woke up he was hot, and alone on the couch.  The spot next to him was warm still, so he figured House was getting a drink or using the bathroom.  He tried to sit up but the pounding in his head and sinuses made that difficult so he shut his eyes and waited.

                A few moments later he heard the tell tale sound of House coming back into the room, and felt something cool rest on his forehead.  While it felt good, the change in temperature didn’t do him any good and Wilson sneezed violently.  

                House snickered.  “Loodks like you caubht by cold.”  Wilson sat up, wincing, and glared at him.  “Yes, apparently I habe.”  Wilson sighed and sniffled and reached for the tissues on the coffee table.  He carefully blew his nose.  House put his hand on Wilson’s forehead.  “I want to take your tempberature; you’re burning up.” 

                House handed Wilson the thermometer, who reluctantly put it in his mouth, grumbling something about ungrateful diagnosticians spreading germs.  When it beeped, House snatched it away from Wilson and read the result: 99.9.  “Not bad, not as high as BY fever was,” House chided.  “This isn’t a competition, House!  It’s a colbd.  I’ll libe.”  Wilson located the Tylenol on the coffee table and washed two down with some cold tea.

                House sniffled and pouted.  “But by feber was higher,” he mumbled.   Somehow, for added dramatic measure, House’s breath hitched and he sneezed loudly.  Wilson rolled his eyes.  “Bless you.”  “Thanbks,” House replied as he blew his nose.  He sat back and sighed.  “Bell this sucks.  Who’s goinbg to tadke care of be nowd?”  Wilson laughed, which ended up turning into a rather prolonged coughing fit.  When he was done, and had drained a bottle of water, he turned to House.  “Who is goibnd to take care of you?!  What about be?  I’b sick too!” 

                House sniffled and shrugged and turned his attention back to the television.  “By fever was higher, thereforde I’b sicker.”  Wilson sighed once again and shook his head.  “Logically,” Wilson muttered before he quickly reached for the tissues.  Wilson bent forward in a fit of sneezes, while House peered at him from the corner of his eye.  When Wilson finally stopped, House handed him some fresh tissues.  “Bless.  Done?”  Wilson nodded.  “I thibk so.  Thandks.”  He appreciatively took the tissues and blew his nose. 

 “Look House, we’re both sidck.  Let’s just try nbot to kill each other, odk?”  House carefully regarded Wilson, sniffled and nodded.  He felt just a tiny but bad about whining so much a few moments ago, when he really was feeling much better, and Wilson was just getting this cold.   Of course this moment of remorse lasted about twenty seconds.  “Are you goibg to make us sobe tea or what?”  House coughed weakly to accentuate his point.  Wilson rolled his eyes again, sighed and struggled to his feet.   House would never change.  It was too bad he couldn’t give House this cold back. 

House sat on his couch, flushed and of chapped nose.  He was surrounded by used tissues, along with a box half full.  He hadn't bothered to toss them into the wastebasket Wilson had thoughtfully moved into the living room for him, it was too much effort.  He pulled the afghan tighter around his shoulders and looked pitifully toward the kitchen where Wilson was making some sort of commotion.

                He sniffled and his breath hitched, and he sneezed pitifully four times.  When he had recovered, he realized Wilson had come into the room and was sitting next to him, holding a cup of tea and a handful of tissues for him.  House snatched the tissues from Wilson and carefully blew his sore nose.   "Bless you.  I made you some tea."   House tried to look and sound as miserable as possible as he took the steaming mug from Wilson. "Thadks."  House winced as the tea hit his tender throat.   Wilson peered at him, concerned, yet suspicious of how much was House being House or House actually being sick. 

                "I want to look at your throat again, ok?"  Wilson located his penlight and waited for House to drain the mug of tea.   House reluctantly nodded and opened his mouth.  Wilson peered in, noticing that House's throat was red, but not as much as earlier.  No spots or anything of concern.  House began to make a funny noise, and batted Wilson away weakly as he bent forward in a fit of sneezes, just barely missing sneezing all over Wilson. 

                "Bless you again."  He went to hand House more tissues and found the box empty.  He fumbled through his trouser pocket and found his handkerchief, and handed it to House.  House moaned his displeasure at feeling miserable.  "Wilsob," he croaked out.  "I'm sidck."   He wiped his nose, and half flopped over, head falling onto Wilson's shoulder. 

                Wilson took this opportunity to feel House's forehead, and found it much cooler than earlier.  "Well your fever broke; you are much cooler now.  And your throat looks way better."  House sniffled at the news.  Wilson righted House off his shoulder and waited.  House blinked several times and then sneezed violently twice again.  Wilson chuckled and stood up.  "Bless you.  Let me see if I can find you some more tissues, and maybe some sudafed or something."  House looked up at Wilson pitifully.  "Vicodin," he croaked.  "The leg doesn't lidke the coubch so buch."  House wiped at his nose again and sighed. 

                Wilson smiled.  "Yes, I will find your Vicodin too.  And I'll get you some more tea."   He leaned down and kissed House on the forehead.  "You better take just as good care of me if I get this cold from you."  Wilson rubbed his throat, which was beginning to feel scratchy.  House looked up at Wilson, alarmed.  Wilson just shrugged.  "At least you won't be miserable alone," he said as he headed back into the kitchen.

                House must have dozed off for a few minutes, because when he woke up he found two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table in front of him, along with two bottles of water, his Vicodin, assorted cold meds and a new box of tissues.  Wilson was sitting beside him watching television.  He sat up and grabbed his Vicodin and downed a few with a few mouthfuls of tea.  He blew his nose again, and looked over at Wilson.   He sniffled and Wilson looked over at him.  "You ok?" he asked.  House nodded.  House finished his tea, and settled back on the couch, close to Wilson.  Within moments he was fast asleep, snoring slightly, his head on Wilson's shoulder.  

                Wilson smiled.  He should take a picture of this for bribery purposes, he thought.  He pulled out his cell phone and took a picture.  'This should help get him to take care of me if I get this cold, he thought.  Wilson put his phone back in his pocket and shifted closer to House.  If he was getting this cold, he better get some rest too. 

Discipline

                Based on his outward appearance one would think Gregory House was not a disciplined man.   Tufts of hair were standing on end.  It was the end of the day and he sat at his piano, a melancholy tune on his mind and fingertips.

prompted_quill

“In giving advice, seek to help, not please, your friend.” ~Solon

      After House left and the door closed behind him, Wilson rested his forehead against it for a moment, summoning up the energy to go on. He felt angry and sad and devastated. Finally he pushed himself away from the door, and headed into the kitchen where he retrieved a bottle of scotch and a single glass. He retreated back into the living room, poured two fingers, and began to think where all of this went wrong.

     He was so alone, which he wasn't used to. He had his family growing up, and then his wives, and of course House. And then Amber, who changed his life, who loved him for who he was, and who could even tolerate House. He drained the glass and poured two fingers more.

      And as he sat there in the dark all he could think about was how wrong it all was, how wrong and unfair life was, and how much his heart ached without Amber. Tears slid down his cheeks, and deep sobs wracked his body as he gave over to the foolishness of the evening and the grief of losing the only person, wait two people who had ever cared about him at all.

     He was well on his way to being drunk, when he heard a familiar knock. “House, go away,” he bellowed. He couldn't deal with House anymore, he needed to move on.

     There was some slight scratching sounds, and then a few moments later, Wilson felt the couch cushions shift and settle, as House sat down next to him. Neither of them said a word for some time. House, seeing Wilson in such despair, was for once at a loss for words. Finally, he was able to say what he had came to say. “Solon once said, '“In giving advice, seek to help, not please, your friend.' I know anything I say right now won't matter. But I am so sorry.” House placed another bottle of scotch down on the table, along with a refill of Wilson's antidepressants along side of it. “For tomorrow. I trust you not to mix the two.” He then placed an white envelope down on the table, and using his cane to push himself to his feet, he left Wilson's apartment silently as he came.

     When he had finally drunk all he could stomach, he stumbled into the bedroom. Seeing the perfect bed there, reminded him of coming home that fateful evening and finding Amber's letter. Dejected he collapsed to the bed in sobs that carried on long after he fell asleep. Alone.

     Wilson woke up the next morning with an acrid stomach and a killer headache. He headed into the kitchen for some water and asprin, and as he was walking back to the bedroom, he again saw the contents of his coffee table. He walked over and picked up the white envelope and opened it. He found several candid pictures of Amber, when she was trying out for House's team, and he had to smile at the openness of her smile, her expressions. There was also several pieces of sheet music, entitled what looked like 'jr high,' and a cd. Swallowing a mouthful of water, Wilson curiously took the cd to the stereo and inserted it.

     Soft piano music began to play. It took Wilson a moment to recognize it, but once he did he realized it was the piece that House had started in junior high that had been finished by his patient Patrick, before he lost his genius.

     Wilson sat down and listened, and continued to look through the pictures of Amber. The last one wasn't of Amber, but of he and House laughing over something, both unaware the picture was being taken. Wilson put the pictures down and put his head in his hands, and let the tears flow. And he sat alone again, with the pieces of his past that brought him here, and sobbed.