Chapter 41

When Rose left House’s apartment at five-thirty on Monday evening, he could already tell that he wasn’t feeling well. The only three people that ever entered his home, were all employed in the health care industry. It was fairly safe to assume that he could have acquired some sort of virus or infection from one of them. House noticed the tell-tale body aches that morning, not long after Wilson had left for work. By lunchtime, he began to feel cold. He knew that he had to be sick because it was July and easily ninety degrees outside.

Who gets sick in July?

He picked at his lunch. Rose had made him a roast beef sandwich. It smelled good. It actually smelled delicious, but he just wasn't hungry. He was barely interested in the television. Eventually, he’d settled on rolling over and succumbing to a nap. Rose had touched him gently, to let him know she was on her way out. He nodded at her before falling back asleep.

Hasta mañana.

House woke up a few hours later. The apartment was dark and his head was pounding. The red numbers on his digital alarm clock read eight forty-seven, but it felt like much later. He dragged his arm up so he could press on his own temples. Pain shot through his his skull, under the pressure of his fingertips.

Sinus inflammation.

He couldn’t suppress the urge to groan, which only forced him to endure hearing the dreadful sound of his own voice. As he struggling to sit up, he realized that he was probably going to vomit.

Or...maybe not.

He scrambled for his walker. He could tell that his clothes were thickly permeated with sweat. He felt chilly where they clung to his body. He reached for the table lamp, hoping that illuminating the room would decrease his chances of not making it to the toilet in time. If nothing else, he would be able to see where he was going.

The trip to the bathroom only consisted of about seven long strides with the walker, but it felt as though he'd just completed the New York City Marathon. It hadn't occurred to him to ring the bell for help, before taking off for his trek. Now he was trapped in the bathroom, with no way to get Wilson's attention.

By the time he made it to the toilet and was actually able to crouch down in front of it, he was trembling and his head was spinning. It was almost like detoxing from his pain medication, but a few hundred times worse.

Somebody kill me, please.

He stood, staring at the water in the toilet bowl. It wasn't the loveliest sight. The nausea had overtaken him, but now that he was trying to throw up, nothing was happening. He took some deep breaths, eventually seating himself on the side of the bathtub.

Pushing the walker out of his immediate space, he began peeling off his damp pajamas. He tried to toss them in the corner, but he still didn’t have the most accurate control over his aim. They landed awkwardly, only a few feet from the tub.

So much for my free throw average.

He sighed, relieved to have the wet garment off of him, even if he hadn't managed to throw them very far. His fingers instinctively searched his own throat and underarms for swollen glands, but he found none.

Inconclusive.

House ran his hands across his chest. Now that he was naked, he was freezing. He had gooseflesh and his nipples had hardened. The hair on his arms was standing on end, but his skin was almost hot to the touch. He had no idea where the thermometer was, since Wilson had organized everything in preparation of his homecoming. He wondered if he should bother digging through the medicine cabinet for any over the counter cold or flu remedies, or if Wilson had confiscated them all in order to prevent an accidental overdose.

I’ll probably just throw it up, anyway.

House struggled to twist his torso, so that he could reach the bathtub faucet. The bars that Wilson had installed did make it easier. He pulled the lever to close the drain and let the tub fill with warm water. He knew he should probably be using cooler water, but he already felt like he was freezing. He knew that shivering was just his hypothalamus’ way of trying to adjust his body’s core temperature. A warm bath would feel better, even if it wasn't actually going to help his current condition.

It seemed like it took an eternity for the tub to fill up, and even longer for House to manuever himself into it. He turned the faucet off. Despite the fact that the water was fairly warm, it felt incredibly cold against his skin. Once he had landed himself in the tub, he came to the conclusion that it was unlikely that he was going to get back out of it unless he was assisted.

He sat shivering for a few minutes, trying to decide whether or not he should try to call out for his friend. The apartment had been dark and quiet. Wilson probably wasn't even home, but it was entirely possible that he'd slipped in and gone to bed early. It had happened before.

House scanned his surroundings looking for something he could use to create a loud noise. Of course, there was nothing. Just short of taking a hair brush and banging it on the side of the tub, there wasn't a whole lot he could do. If Wilson was already asleep, he might not hear him anyway.

Maybe if he called out...

No, he couldn't do that. He'd sound ridiculous. If Wilson wasn't even home he'd feel ridiculous. He wasn't even sure that his mouth could compose an entire word, anymore. He hadn't tried in several weeks.

He felt like shit. He didn't want to spend the next few hours, or even the entire night, sitting in the bathtub. The water was only going to get colder. He needed a fever reducer and fresh pajamas and maybe an ice pack for his head. What he wanted, as ashamed as he was at the realization, was Wilson.

He chuckled to himself. He'd once claimed that Wilson craved needy people. At the moment, he was about as needy as a person could get.

House went back and forth over the idea in his mind. After about tend minutes of solid deliberation, he decided it was worth it to try yelling to get Wilson's attention. Even if he was asleep, the sound of a person yelling should be enough to alarm him. He'd come in and check on his friend for sure.

House licked his lips, deciding to practice the name a few times in a regular tone of voice before making a real attempt to call out.

"Wuh...wuh...will..."

Got to get it all out in one breath.

"Will...sun."

Good enough.

House cleared his throat and belted the word out, as loudly as he could muster.

"Will-sun!"

He tried not to think about how stupid he sounded and just concentrate on listening for signs of a response. After about thirty seconds, he was pretty sure that he had not been heard. He tried again right away, so he wouldn't have the chance to change his mind.

"Will-sun!"

After waiting another thirty seconds, House began to realize that his friend had probably never come home. He'd probably had a work-related emergency and hadn't bothered to call because he knew that there was no way that House was going to pick up the phone. Now, he was stuck in the damn bathtub until whenever Wilson decided to show up.

The urge to vomit quickly returned.

One of Dr. Wilson’s patients, a seventy-three year old man, had died early that evening in the ICU. Wilson had been treating him over the past eight months, giving him palliative care. The patient had refused radiation, saying that it would only compound his suffering, and that he probably didn't have that much longer to live anyway. Of course, Wilson had tried to convince him otherwise, but he had lost that particular battle. As the advanced lung cancer slowly robbed the man of his ability to breathe, he finally passed away.

Wilson had gotten to know the man’s wife and his two grown children pretty well over the past eight months. He’d always felt obligated to counsel the families of his patients, about what to expect and how to deal with the loss of a loved one. He had acquired plenty of valuable knowledge about the grieving process, which he was more than happy to share. It wasn’t a part of his job technically, but he didn’t care.

When a patient passed away, there was also a great deal of paperwork to deal with. By the time the patient's family had finally vacated and Wilson was ready to go home, it was almost eleven o’clock.

He felt a pang of guilt when he realized that he’d completely forgotten about House. He knew that House had probably been alone since about five-thirty. Wilson reasoned that House had his dosages of medication, already measured out, on the table by his bed. Rose always left him a few bottles of water, and she probably would also have left him something to snack on, if she hadn’t gone ahead and prepared dinner.

Wilson gathered up the paperwork and slid it into his briefcase. He could do it at home, or the next morning. He needed to check on his friend.

Okay, I have a decent trivia question this time. But don't cheat and look it up. I want to know if anyone can answer this one off the top of their head. (Actually, I want to know if anyone is as obsessive as I am about accumulating useless knowledge). If you think of it logically, and have a fairly good understanding of the human body, you will come up with the answer(s).

Answer one of these or both.

1. Why do you get a fever when you acquire an infection?

2. Why do you feel cold when your body temperature is actually way above normal?