Yeah, yeah... another one-shot. HousexWilson friendship. Set just after House's infarction. Sorry if Wilson seems a bit OoC.
Disclaimer: I don't own House, because if I did, we'd see Chase without a shirt waaaaaayy more often.;)
"Fine! Go stay with him! You obviously care more about him than your own WIFE!"
The door slammed in Wilson's face. Tears stung his eyes more than the words of his wife, but he blinked them back. She was right. He did care more about House than his wife. Wilson marched to his car and threw his suitcase into the back seat. House was more important, anyway. He was in pain. He needed someone to be for him. Besides, Wilson could just his clothes and other belongings tomorrow.
House probably cares more, anyway…
Wilson climbed the stairs and knocked on door 221. A handsome nurse answered the door, inviting the oncologist inside. He went over everything that may happen with the patient: pain, what medication he took, what amount of each medication he took, when he took it. All Wilson did was nod. He knew all of this, but he might as well let the nurse do his job. Wilson walked into House's bedroom; he was sound asleep. He sighed and pulled out the couch. After quickly brushing his teeth and changing into his pyjamas, he went to lay down for some well-earned sleep. He checked on House one last time before finally pulling the blankets up over his shoulders, his eyes closing before he knew it.
It felt like he'd been asleep for only a few minutes when the alarm was screaming at him to wake up. Wilson opened his eyes; it was still dark. He lay puzzled for several seconds before realising that the alarm wasn't making any noise; it was House. Wilson leapt out of bed and ran to House's room at a speed which would've made Dale Earnhardt proud. As he threw open the door, it was as though a vice around his chest.
"House! House!" Wilson shouted over the screaming.
House just barely replied, "It hurts, Wilson! It hurts so goddamn much!" before screaming again. Wilson scrambled onto the bed beside his friend.
"Give me some more pills, Wilson!" he groaned through gritted teeth, "Please… please…"
Wilson almost cried as replied quietly, "I can't. You can't have more for one more hour. Hang in there. Please, just hang in there for one more hour."
House let out quiet screams through his teeth, and Wilson felt tears sting at his eyes. He felt more helpless than ever. He gently put his arms around House. House broke down completely, burying his face in Wilson's shoulder, alternating between heavy sobbing and quick screaming. He was clutching the oncologist's T-shirt so tightly Wilson thought it would tear off his very back. Wilson felt quite unsure of himself in comforting his friend. He never really had to comfort patients who had physical pain. Cancer was usually relatively painless, physically, anyway. Giving spiritual… well… psychological consolation was more his cup of tea. Nevertheless, he kept his arms firmly around his friend. After a few minutes, House let a throaty, "I don't feel good. I think I'm gonna be sick."
Wilson hurriedly put House's arm around his own and his own arm about House's waist, pulling him up. They were barely in the bathroom when House lunged for the toilet and retched violently, only bringing up bile. The sobbing recommenced. Wilson got his knees beside House; he looked awful. He was drenched in sweat, his T-shirt clinging to his body, and there were bags under his eyes. Wilson looked at this broken man and found himself crying silently with him. Suddenly he threw his arms around House's neck, pulling him into a fierce hug. House sobbed even harder on his friend's shoulder. Wilson took one of his hands and placed it on the back of House's head, the other running up and down his back in an attempt to comfort him as he gently spoke soothing words in a slightly breaking voice. The two men just held each other and cried. Eventually House stopped sobbing, but Wilson did not want to loosen his grip on him… and House, for once, did not seem to mind.