Losing It

After Wilson left, House waited a few moments there on the floor, struggling to catch his breath. Finally, he tried to rise to his feet, bracing his cane against the floor and struggling to pull himself up – but the moment he was standing, his head began to spin, and he felt dizzy and off balance.

Alarmed, he took a step toward his discarded cell phone, which was much nearer to him than the land line phone across the room.

He only made it a step before his vision started to fade, and he could feel his legs giving out beneath him. Collapsing to his knees, clutching onto the couch to keep from falling all the way to the floor, House gasped for breath, struggling even to see against the spinning circles of swirling color on the black backdrop of his failing vision.

Can’t call if I can’t see the damn phone…

He fought off a rising sense of panic, well aware that what he had feared – a further injury to his fractured skull – was what he was experiencing. If he could not somehow get help, he could very easily die in the lonely isolation of his apartment. With an effort, his eyes straining to see past the dark haze that clouded his vision, House managed to locate the cell phone, and felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

A moment later, the fear, the relief, what little sight he had remaining – all vanished away, as he collapsed, mind and body, into swirling darkness.

***********************************

House was almost always late to work – but never this late.

Cuddy glanced at her watch again, frowning with concern, when she passed by his office for the third time that day, and found it still empty. She made eye contact through the glass of the conference room with one of his new hires, the one he called Thirteen, her single raised eyebrow a silent question. The young woman just shrugged, her mouth forming an apologetic grimace as she shook her head.

Cuddy’s frown deepened as she turned and headed back to her office, deciding to call his apartment again.

It’s nearly noon…he should be here by now…

A cold, sick sensation settled in the pit of her stomach as she sat down behind her desk, reaching for the phone.

Unless…unless that patient hit him harder than I thought yesterday…what if it’s his head? He’s still not fully recovered…

She listened to the phone ring – twice, three times, four times – her hand trembling around the receiver as her mind played the same terrifying image over and over: House, lying on the floor of his apartment, inches from the phone, but unconscious and unaware of her call, or unable to get to the phone.

Come on, come on…

When after seven rings, House still had not picked up, Cuddy made her decision as she stood up from behind her desk again.

That’s it…I’m going over there…

*******************************

When Cuddy reached the front door of House’s apartment, she began to hope that he had left the door unlocked, or perhaps had a spare key he left somewhere outside the apartment in case of emergencies – though, given House’s personality, that second option seemed highly unlikely. What she never expected at all was what she found, and the sight chilled her blood.

House’s door was not merely unlocked, but standing open a good couple of inches.

Fear for her friend made her throat go dry, her heart pounding as she pushed the door the rest of the way home and hurried inside. She stopped short just inside the doorway, however, torn between alarm and relief at what she saw. House was indeed passed out on the living room floor, most likely from the beating he had taken the day before, causing further damage to his already injured head.

But…he was not alone.

Wilson was kneeling beside him, checking his vitals, glancing at his watch every few seconds as he took the older doctor’s pulse. He glanced up for just a second when Cuddy walked in, before returning his attention to House, his expression grim and troubled as he worked over his former friend with trembling hands.

“Oh, my God. I’m calling an ambulance,” Cuddy whispered, looking around for the phone.

“Already on their way,” Wilson muttered, still not looking up.

Cuddy turned to look at him again, breathing out a sigh of relief as she watched Wilson’s anxious, hurried movements. She had to admit, despite the frightening situation, that it was good to see him finally show some concern for House’s condition. She went to House’s other side, kneeling on the floor across from Wilson, looking up at him questioningly.

“What happened? Were you here?”

Wilson shook his head, his expression taut and fearful. “I found him like this. He was…he was late, and I thought…thought maybe it was something like this, after that guy in the clinic…”

Cuddy’s expression softened at the sign that despite all his angry, bitter words, Wilson did still care about House, and had gone out of his way to come check on him and be sure he was okay.

Unfortunately – he wasn’t.

“He’s completely unresponsive,” Wilson muttered, his voice trembling slightly. “I…I think he’s back in a coma…”

After a few tense, interminable minutes, the paramedics arrived and loaded House onto a stretcher, taking him outside to the waiting ambulance. Wilson climbed into the ambulance with him, without hesitation, and though she had intended to ride with House, Cuddy gratefully got into her own car to follow, just glad to see what appeared to be the beginning signs of reconciliation between the two men.

Even if House had to nearly die again for it to happen…God, please don’t let him die…please let him be all right…

***********************************

House remained in the coma for nearly two full days after that.

And Wilson never left his side.

Cuddy check in on him whenever she could spare a few minutes, and usually ended up bringing Wilson something to eat or drink when she did, as the younger doctor seemed unwilling to leave the room even for long enough to take care of himself. He just sat there beside House’s bed, watching the older man sleep with a sick, stricken expression in his troubled, dark eyes.

At the end of the second afternoon, she decided to keep Wilson company for a while, and settled down in the second chair in House’s room.

Wilson looked up, nodded at her when she walked in, but then looked away, immediately focused on House again. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own troubled thoughts.

Finally, Cuddy broke the silence, her words coming out in a soft, trembling sigh.

“There’s just one thing…I can’t figure out.”

Wilson glanced at her, waiting in silence for her to go on.

“They said…there was some kind of…of trauma. To the back of his head. Reopened the fracture, caused a bleed, induced the coma.”

Wilson nodded; they had both heard the technical explanation for the condition in which they had found House the day before.

“But what I don’t get is…he got hit in the face. How did that cause trauma to the point of the fracture?” Cuddy shook her head, her brow furrowed in confusion.

Wilson was quiet for a long moment, his expression troubled as he watched his sleeping friend. Finally, he spoke in a soft, thoughtful tone, his voice carefully even, “Maybe…maybe it was worse than he let on. Maybe…the guy did worse than just hit him in the face a couple times.”

Cuddy frowned, troubling thoughts of House, alone in a closed exam room with an extremely angry, violent patient filling her mind. “Who’d do a thing like that?” she wondered aloud. “I mean…I can see someone taking a swing at him…just out of a reflex reaction of anger…but…”

Wilson shrugged, before continuing in that same soft, thoughtful voice. “He does have a tendency to really piss people off.” His tone fell to barely over a whisper as he added, “He should be more careful.”

Cuddy glanced sharply at Wilson, unsure whether or not she had actually heard the strange, dark note under the concern in Wilson’s voice, or merely imagined it. And she didn’t have any time to think about it or consider it after that.

Because just in that moment – House woke up.

******************************

He could hear their quiet voices, drifting closer to him in waves, as if he was slowly surfacing from some point deep under water. Gradually they became clearer, less muffled, until finally, he could distinctly make out the voices of Cuddy and Wilson, even if he couldn’t quite make sense of their words just yet.

He struggled to open his eyes, against light that seemed too bright – and then, all at once, the voices were louder, excited, surrounding him, and all he wanted was to go back to sleep and escape the sudden onslaught of light and sound.

When his vision finally adjusted to the white fluorescent hospital lights, however, he was stunned by the sight that met his eyes.

Wilson, hovering at his side, dark eyes wide with concern, studying his battered face. “House? Can you hear me?”

House nodded, unable to speak just yet, feeling overwhelmed and a little bewildered by the presence of the man who was no longer his friend, but suddenly seemed so worried, so caring. Although his throat was sore and scratchy, he opened his mouth to try to speak.

“No, no, shhh,” Wilson interrupted before he could, and House felt, amazingly, a firm, warm hand resting on his. “Don’t try to talk, House. Not yet. Just rest, okay? You’re gonna be fine…”

House had given up all hope of ever getting back his friendship with Wilson after the events of the night before. Now, however, he found the warmth and concern in the other man’s voice, the gentle touch of his hand, drawing that hope back into his heart, making him wonder if perhaps it was not yet too late – if perhaps Wilson’s own actions had prompted him to realize what he had almost lost.

“You have to know something, okay?” Wilson was still talking, his voice trembling with emotion, his hand tightening slightly over House’s as he pulled his chair closer to the bed, meeting the older man’s eyes intently. “All that’s happened…all this stuff between us…it doesn’t matter anymore, okay? It’s in the past. I…I know you didn’t mean for Amber to get hurt, and…and I forgive you…okay? I forgive you.”

House was vaguely aware of Cuddy rising silently from her seat and edging toward the door, wanting to leave them alone for this private moment, as his body began to tremble with the shock and relief of what Wilson was saying – words he had never expected to hear. He felt the tears slide down his face, but for once, they didn’t matter.

Wilson had forgiven him.

“I just want you to get better…okay?” Wilson went on softly. “That’s all I want…just for you to get better.”

House nodded again, grateful for the words, and eager to do what he could to earn them. The violence, the cruel words Wilson had spoken – none of it mattered in the light of Wilson’s forgiveness. If Wilson could forgive him for killing the love of his life, House could certainly forgive Wilson for a few poorly placed blows that he had well deserved.

He was aware that the hoarse whisper of his voice was not the only thing that made him sound pitiful, but did not care, as he rasped out a weak, heartfelt, “Th-thank you…” just as the glass door shut behind Cuddy’s retreating form, leaving them alone in the room.

Immediately, Wilson’s hand tightened further on his, squeezing painfully tight, as the younger doctor cut him off sharply.

“Shut up.”

House stared up at him in confusion, shaking his head slightly, utterly bewildered by the strange and sudden change in Wilson’s tone, though the expression on his face had not changed at all.

“Cuddy will be back in a minute. They’ll wanna check your vitals and all, make sure you’re really out of the woods. So, now would be a really good time for that trademark mask of yours, House,” Wilson bit off the words, though his face still held the same wide-eyed look of concern it had before. “Don’t let your face give anything away to Cuddy or whoever’s watching outside that door.”

It was terribly disconcerting – but not nearly as devastating as Wilson’s next words, spoken with a warm, affectionate smile on his face.

“Did you actually think I would forgive you that easily?”

House flinched slightly, and Wilson’s crushing grip on his hand tightened further in a silent warning. House immediately, deliberately tried to make the expression on his face calm again, his wide eyes searching Wilson’s desperately for some sign of the gentleness and concern that had been there moments earlier.

There was none.

“That’s funny, House, that’s really funny,” Wilson sneered softly. “I haven’t forgiven you. No, it’s gonna take a lot more than this to get me to forgive you – if I even can at all.”

He paused, shrugging slightly, that unsettlingly out-of-place warm smile still on his face as he moved in for a convincingly awkward hug, wrapping one arm around House’s shoulders and leaning in close to his ear, his words a cold whisper of amusement.

“I just needed Cuddy and the others off my back about it.”

House suppressed the flinch that those words induced, closing his eyes, swallowing hard, aware that the visible emotional reaction would not look strange to anyone watching the scene; they would have no idea what type of emotion was causing the reaction.

“So, it’s time for you to start acting like yourself again, House,” Wilson continued, still whispering. “If they’re gonna leave me alone and stop begging me to forgive you…you’re gonna have to put on a pretty convincing show that I already have. Think you can do that?”

Hurt, House wanted nothing more than to pull away from Wilson’s hostile embrace, to shove him away and tell him where he could put his cute little act for the benefit of the others.

Somehow, all he could manage to bring himself to do was to nod his head again, silently accepting Wilson’s demands, even as fresh tears streaked his face.

“Hey, cheer up,” Wilson smirked, pulling back a little to look him in the eyes with chilling malice in his own. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? We get to be best friends again.”

As he finished the statement, the glass doors slid open again, and Cuddy entered, followed by the medical team that had been working on House since the morning before. Wilson drew back, giving House’s shoulder a warm squeeze.

“I’ll just let these guys do their job,” he sighed, sounding utterly relieved and content. “I’ll be back a little later to check on you, okay? I need to go home and take a shower.” There was a soft, self-deprecating laugh in the words, and Wilson sounded so much like his old self that House’s heart ached with grief for the friend he had lost.

House barely managed a nod, swallowing convulsively, struggling to keep his emotions in check.

After all – they had an audience, now.