Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. I just use them sometimes to work out my own issues.
"Hello?" I said into the phone. I could hear something in the background. Maybe cars?
"Hello?" I repeat again. I get annoyed when people don't answer right away. Especially when they called me. The only reason I answered at all was because it was Wilson's name that had shown up on the caller ID.
"Greg?" His voice sounded confused. I tried to ignore the weird feeling in my stomach. I tried to ignore the fact that he used my first name.
"Who else would it be? What's up?" I asked. I knew something was wrong. I just tried to ignore it.
"I was in a car accident." He said. I tried to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach. I bit my tounge to keep me from asking the million questions that popped into my head. I tried to keep control.
"Are you okay? What happened?" I let the two questions slip out. Those two were enough for now.
"I hit my head. Some guy rear ended me. Someone called an ambulance." His voice sounded sad and confused.
I wanted to say something. My mind was racing with questions and I couldn't say anything.
"I'm bleeding." Wilson said.
"Don't move. Just keep pressure on the wound. The ambulance will be there soon." I said.
I heard Wilson sigh over the phone. "The ambulance is here..."
"I'll meet you at the hospital." I said before hanging up the phone.
The next few minutes were surreal. I grabbed my coat, my keys, my cane. I'm in my car and on the way to the hospital before it set in. Wilson was in a car accident.
At that moment, every car accident from every TV show I've ever seen flashes through my brain. Even every head trauma I've ever seen on TV flashes through my head. I think of every lame story line. I try to think of if those characters live or die.
Every time I think of a character that's died on TV from one of these causes, I convince myself that Wilson's not going to die, because that's a TV show I'm thinking of. Then I scold myself, it's stupid to think that people have happy endings in real life.
I try to stop thinking of fictional characters. Though it's the only thing that's keeping me from thinking of Wilson and his smashed skull. My brain goes through every statistic I ever came across. What are the chances that it's just a concussion? What's his chances of neurological damage from head trauma?
My insides are wrecked by time I pull into the hospital parking lot. Wilson is fine. Wilson has to be fine. That doesn't stop me from thinking thought like, 'Who will I eat lunch with?' 'Who will I be able to talk to?' 'Who will stand my constant mocking without walking away?' All the things I would have to worry about if Wilson died.
I get inside the ER and go to the desk. "Can I help you?" The girl at the desk asked.
"Yeah, I was looking for Dr. Wilson. He was brought in by ambulance." I said, trying not to let the panic come through in my voice.
"Dr. Wilson?" She asked, looking though some papers.
"Yes, James Wilson. He was in a car accident." I said, trying to restrain myself from ripping the papers out of her hand and looking for myself.
"Oh, yes. He's being evaluated right now." She said.
"And?" I questioned.
She raised an eyebrow looking confused.
"Is he okay? Is he getting an X-ray? Cat scan? MRI?" I questioned.
"I'm sorry. That's all I can tell you. He's being evaluated." She replied.
"Where is he?" I asked.
"He's being evaluated."
I made a move to go back to the exam rooms. "I'm sorry, sir. You can't go back there." The girl said. I hate the overnight employees. I never see them so they don't know that they should fear me.
I turned and glared at her. "Call Cuddy if you have a problem. Tell her that Dr. Gregory House an employee at this hospital is looking for an injured Dr. James Wilson, also an employee of this hospital."
I peek into a few exam rooms. No Wilson. It's everything I have not to start screaming his name while wandering around. I take out my cell phone and dial his number.
The voicemail picked right away. He must have his phone off.
Twenty minutes later, I feel sick and I still haven't found Wilson. I've checked the exam rooms. I've checked Radiology. I'm making another check of the exam rooms.
That's when I saw the saddest sight ever. Wilson was sitting on an exam table, looking down at the floor. His nice blue work shirt is splattered with blood. "There you are!" I exclaimed. A small sense of relief washing over me.
Wilson looked at me. "They stapled my head." He said in the saddest voice I've ever heard.
I sat down in the corner. "Who's looking after you?" I asked.
"The doctor left to get the discharge papers." Wilson said.
I nodded. "Can I crash at your place tonight? I..."
"It's fine." I said, interrupting him.
The doctor came back. "Okay, Dr. Wilson. You're all set to go." He said handing Wilson some papers. I grabbed them before Wilson had a chance to take them. I look over them as the doctor tells Wilson all the usual things.
"Blah, blah, blah. Don't worry. I'll make sure he remembers his name and all that." I said, standing up.
The doctor rolled his eyes and left. "Let's go." I told Wilson.
I watched Wilson stand up and he seemed a little wobbly. I put my hand on his arm, suddenly worried again. "I'm fine." Wilson muttered, taking a few steps forward.
I watched him carefully as we walked to my car. He seemed a little dazed, but that could be forgiven since they had to staple his head back together.
"So, how many staples did you get?" I asked once we were in the car.
"Eight. I didn't care for it. I could feel them pulling it together as they stapled." Wilson said.
"Let's see how you feel in a week when they have to take them out." I said.
Wilson moaned and leaned his head back against the seat. "And you won't be able to use fancy hair products or anything for a week." I said.
"My poor hair." Wilson said sadly.
I felt bad. "At least they didn't shave your head or anything." I said.
Wilson gave a weak laugh. "Thank God for small favours."
We got into the apartment and Wilson wandered to the couch. I heard him open the bottle of pills they gave him and I went to get him a glass of water.
He looked surprised when I held the glass in front of him. "Thanks." He said before taking the pill.
I leaned over Wilson and looked at the staples. They were off the the right slightly, about an inch back from his hairline. I cringed looking at them. I tried not to look at the blood stained on Wilson's shirt, his blood.
I sat down on the couch and pulled out the papers. they were so stupid. You have suffered a concussion... It goes on to list the symptoms a person might experience from a concussion. I knew all this stuff, but I still sat there and read every page twice, making sure I didn't miss a thing.
Wilson looked miserable. "You should get some rest." I said. I went to get him a pillow and a blanket as well as some clothes that he had left the last time he stayed.
"Don't ever scare me like that again." I said, tossing the items on the couch. I turned to walk into my bedroom.
I turned and looked at Wilson. He looked ready to say something but I cut him off. "I'm glad you're alright. I'll come check on you later." I said.
I laid in bed unable to sleep. My insides still twisted from the being worried. I glanced at the clock. Just after 1am. I've spent an hour tossing and turning.
I got up. Oh well. At least now I have a reason to wake Wilson every hour or so and annoy him with dumb questions. "Hey, Wilson! Do you still know your name?" I yelled while walking into the livingroom.