Authors Note: This is my first House fic. I was really nervous about characterization and the like, so forgive me if everyone seems OOC, I hope it's not too bad J And let it be known to all that the characters of House M.D. are not mine, alas, but belong to David Shore.
The first thing that James Wilson realized was that he was late. A few days before he had left the comfort of his and Greg's home to attend a conference in Pennsylvania. Just a few days of boring lectures and longing for the comfort of home. He'd called often enough, to the point where House had to assure him that 72 hours was not that long. He'd chuckled nervously, agreeing that perhaps he was being a bit too homesick, though he had managed to talk him into having dinner out the night he returned. Reservations had been made at a nice Italian restaurant, where he had agreed to meet at 7:30pm. It was what got him through the final lectures and made him smile during the long trip home. The last thing he remembered was glancing down at the clock, relieved that within an hour he would be reunited with his lover.
The bursting pain in his head and the fact that he couldn't feel his legs came only after that. It was as if something was sawing through his head as his eyes remained tightly closed, a small attempt to gain some control of the pain. A moment later he realized that he needed to open his eyes, to see what had happened. Yet as he tried to pry them open he found himself having some difficulty, making his brows furrow in confusion. Finally, his brown eyes were squinting, shapes slowly becoming visible again. The faint moonlight that filtered into the vehicle was enough to make him wish he were still sleeping. His eyes burned from the dim lights, but he would not let this deter him.
Bringing a hand to his face, he realized he was trembling, and still could not figure out why. As he rubbed his eyes, hoping to strengthen his vision he paused, wondering why his face was suddenly damp. His wrist turned slowly as he moved his hand just inches away and soon all he saw was red. Red trickled down his palm. Red dripped from his fingertips. It was red that now coated his face, plastering strands of his brown locks to his forehead. And it was that single color that sent his mind reeling as everything that had happened flashed back.
He remembered the animal that had wandered into the road while he had been getting off of the phone to make sure Greg was getting ready. He recalled the jerk of the wheel as he tried his hardest not to end the creatures life. He recollected the clang of his car smashing through the guardrail and the sudden darkness that easily had taken him over.
"Oh god…," he thought, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again and releasing a shaky breath. This time his gaze was locked on the broken windshield and what lie just outside it. Nighttime only added to his inability to see things clearly, but the sight that was before him was as clear as crystal. The gravel and rocks that were in front of him made his whole body tremble. The large gap between where he was and the ground brought unshed tears to his eyes. When he finally released a sob it was because when he cautiously looked through his back window, instead of the safety of the road he was met with a starry sky.
The view left his mind with nothing. No coherent thoughts flowed through his mind, nothing but stone cold fear existed as far as he was concerned. It was obvious that no one else had driven on the unpopular road, and if he ever got through this he wouldn't ever again. Help…he needed help. But the road had stretched for miles and he knew his car wouldn't be visible since he had gone over the cliff. He tried to think, to focus his mind on the single idea of getting someone to save him when suddenly he heard the best thing he could hope for.
The familiar sound of is ring tone flowed through the broken car. From what he could hear it sounded like it was coming from the floor on the passengers side. Moving fast he shifted his body, gripping the steering wheel with one hand to steady himself as he leaned over, wincing at every movement he made. His eyes lit up when he small screen came into view, the name "House" flashing brightly. He stretched his arm out as far as he could, vaguely noticing the large gash that made its way up his forearm. Finally, he felt the plastic against his finger tips, and urged himself to stop shaking long enough to grasp the phone and quickly bring it up to his ear, pressing the power button.
Before he could utter a word House's voice came through loud and clear, and even though he sounded annoyed it was the best thing Wilson had ever heard. "Where the hell are you? I've been sitting around this place for almost an hour with no entertainment. Did you know this place doesn't even have a bar? What restaurant doesn't come with a bar?"
"S-sorry…," he replied, his eyes widening slightly at the sound of his own voice. His throat was dry and his voice came out hoarse and no louder than a whisper. He sighed softly, his head suddenly feeling heavy, causing him to lean back, allowing it to fall back against the headrest.
"Wilson? Wilson what's going on?," he heard, and couldn't help but smile faintly at the concern. "…Hey, you still there? WILSON!"
The yell made him wince, but nonetheless brought his attention back to the conversation. Help. He needed to get help. "I think…no…I was in an accident…I t-think I need help…"
He heard the curse that came from the other line. "Where are you?" The voice sounded professional enough, but he could hear the worry seeping through. Where was he…
"Over a cliff…," were the first words that he could think of, and therefore were what came out of his mouth, though he immediately regretted it. Though he couldn't see, he knew Greg must have stopped wherever he was, the quiet thumping of a cane no longer present, replaced by the sounded of wood clattering to the ground. "I just…wanted to take a scenic route back…Thought of you…"
"Okay…I'm going to call for help okay? Just stay on the line," the voice shook slightly.
"Okay," he whispered softly as his mind began to drift. He could hear voices arguing over the receiver and allowed a small smile to grace his lips. Even in an emergency House was still House. It was oddly comforting. In his mind he pictured House arguing with the restaurant host about guest policies and using the phone. Then words like "accident" "cliff" and "Skyline Drive." The last one rang a bell, but he couldn't remember why. Then things started to sound less technical and words like "please" and "ride" came through.
He let the distant sound of House's voice relax him, familiarity calming him enough to keep from breaking down again. His eyes slowly started to close, but as luck would have it, a loud creaking brought him right back to a state of awareness. The shifting metal scraping against rock struck a nerve, and suddenly he was unable to breathe. He could feel the car slowly sliding down and couldn't keep the scream from ripping through him. It lasted only a few seconds and soon the car was still once more, and he was no longer alone.
"Wilson?? James, what's happening??" House yelled through the phone, and suddenly Wilson remembered that he had been waiting for someone.
"Not stable…," he mumbled, preoccupied with explicit visions of his death floating through his head. "Car…s'not stable."
"Just stay with me alright?" It came almost as a plea. "Emergency services are making their way to you as we speak, and so am I."
This admission filled him with concern. "B-better not be on t-that damned bike."
A forced laugh. "You're hanging off a ledge and all you can do is lecture me about the motorcycle?"
"Don't n-need both of us…h-hurt," he replied, slightly offended, though seconds later he couldn't remember why. And suddenly he felt the darkness pulling at him again, trying to seduce him into unconsciousness. It was a comforting thought, knowing that if he just allowed himself to let his eyes close the pain would be gone. Yet he was torn, torn between a painless existence and the comforting sound of his lover's voice. What he couldn't figure out was why he felt so tired, and then he remembered Red.
"There's so much blood…," he said softly, his eyes glancing down at his hands. "Everywhere…"
"James, I need you to listen to me alright?" Yes. He would listen. "Can you tell me where you're hurt?"
This suddenly reminded him that he was still a doctor. The cloudiness that filled his mind could not hide the cold, hard facts that he knew from his profession. Yes, this was something he could do. "P-pretty sure my arm's b-broken. My head…I hit my head, d-definitely have a concussion." As he listed off the numerous injuries he knew of it occurred to him that he didn't feel pain in his legs. The rest of his body felt like a giant bruise, but nothing below his waist.
With his newly acquired knowledge fresh in his mind he found his voice was completely lost. Minutes passed and still he said nothing, only vaguely aware of a worried voice pleading for him to say something. Paralyzed…the most obvious answer was that he was paralyzed. The very thought brought him to tears. He thought of walking down the halls of the hospital with Greg at his side. He thought about smiling as he drove around the city, arguing with Greg about his death trap of a motorcycle. And he remembered the quiet moans that Greg would make as they made love in their bed.
"Greg…," he said finally, unable to remember the last time either of them had spoke. "I think I'm paralyzed…."