It started out like any other day. House awoke to the sound of Wilson's hairdryer. It had been the norm for the past few weeks, ever since Wilson had met House outside rehab and told him that he was moving back in with him.
Sure, House had protested, but then Wilson had kissed him in the middle of the PPTH car park, for the whole world to see. It was then that he knew for certain that there was no point in trying to hide it. He loved Wilson and Wilson seemed to love him back. What was the point in arguing with what was already set in stone?
So, House had returned to his apartment to find that Wilson had already moved in, bringing over his stuff from the hotel room. There was no longer a suitcase with Wilson's clothes, but part of his chest of drawers and wardrobe had been reorganized, and now contained Wilson's clothes too. The dreaded hairdryer had come along with him as well, as House had discovered on the first morning home. Cuddy had given him a week to get his act together and then he was due back at work. He'd gone back two weeks ago and life had returned to what resembled normal in House's world.
"Do you have to use that thing at this ungodly hour of the morning?" House barked at Wilson from the doorway of the bathroom.
"You ask me the same question every morning and I give you the same answer."
"That it's 8am, you should already be up and if you were up you would have had your coffee by now and be less of a grouch."
"You're deluded if you think coffee is going to make me any less of a grouch," House huffed.
"I know, but I can dream," Wilson replied before switching off the hair dryer and leaning over to kiss House. "Good morning."
"Whatever," House moaned, heading to the kitchen to see if Wilson had at least put some coffee on before he began his morning preening. He silently thanked the Gods when he saw the coffee pot percolating. He could have his morning coffee and some Vicodin, which would hopefully silence the sound of Wilson and his morning routine.
"Do you want the shower, House?" Wilson called out from the bathroom as House took a sip of the too hot coffee.
"Yeah, and I don't want company before you get any ideas," House shouted back. He left his coffee on the counter and headed to the bathroom, where Wilson was just finishing up.
He gave Wilson a quick kiss as he exited the bathroom, locked the door, switched the shower on and began to undress. He sighed as he stepped under the hot spray, which began to ease the ache in his thigh borne from sleeping all night. The Vicodin should have been doing its job and easing any discomfort House felt, but for some reason it wasn't doing much.
House tipped his head back under the spray, washing the sleep out of his eyes and tentatively flexing his right leg to try and avert the cramp he could feel coming.
That didn't do anything and it almost paralyzed him as it hit. He could feel his balance shifting and before he could stop himself he was falling, hitting his head on the wet, cold tiles as he fell. The last thing he saw before blackness overtook him were the tiles coming up to face him.
Wilson heard the crash of House falling as he was walking from the kitchen to the living room, he was carrying a cup of coffee, dressed and ready for work. He knocked on the bathroom door. "House? What are you doing in there? It sounds like a herd of elephants!" Wilson joked through the door, when he didn't get any reply he started to worry. He set his cup down and banged on the door some more. "House? Are you okay in there?" The shower was still running, but he heard no reply from House.
Wilson tried the door, it was locked. "House! House, answer me!" he called again, starting to panic. He took a deep breath and rammed his shoulder against the door…nothing happened except he probably bruised his shoulder. He tried again and again, eventually taking a run at the door which caused the lock to pop and the door to swing open.
His eyes took in the scene before him, House lying unconscious under the spray of the shower, his head was blocking the drain and the water had pooled under him. Wilson took large steps towards him; turning off the shower once he reached House, and then bent down to tend to House.
First, he gently lifted House's head and let the water run down the drain, then he started to check House over, putting his fingers against House's neck to check his pulse, which was fast and thready, but present, and right now Wilson was more worried about House's state of consciousness than anything else. He checked his pulse again, and his breathing. Satisfied he was breathing on his own, Wilson carefully put House's head back down, only adjusting him slightly to ensure his airway remained open while he left to get his cell phone and bag.
Once he got back to House, he placed a cloth over the cut on his head where he'd hit the tiles and gently shook him. "House? Can you hear me?" he said, loudly. "I'm gonna give you five minutes and then I'm calling the paramedics and I know how much you hate the fuss."
He pulled out his blood pressure cuff and put it round House's arm, pressing a stethoscope to the crook of his arm to listen to his pulse. He inflated the cuff to get a reading, it was barely 90/60 and Wilson decided, conscious or not, House needed to be in hospital.
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911. After a short conversation with the dispatcher, he went and unlocked the front door, leaving it open for the paramedics and took his place back at House's side. "House, I called the paramedics so it would be really great if you could wake up now and cuss me out," Wilson said, shaking House's shoulder again.
He got a response in the form of a groan. Wilson grabbed his penlight from his kit and checked House's pupils; they were sluggish, but reactive. House groaned again at the bright light in his eyes.
"Come on, buddy, wake up for me."
Another groan and a hand came up to try and bat the light away. "Almost there, House, show me those blue eyes I love so much."
Slowly, House opened his eyes and tried to focus on Wilson, his vision was blurry and he had a thumping headache, but nothing compared to the searing pain in his leg. He almost wished for the blackness again when he hadn't been able to feel the pain.
"There we go, you had a fall, cut open your head, but your BP's low and you're a bit tachy so I called an ambulance," Wilson told him, gently, putting his hand on House's back to comfort him.
House couldn't move, the pain was just too much to bear, he opened his mouth to tell Wilson, but all that came out was a scream of pain.