Wilson woke up after hours of nightmares. A quick glance at the watch told him that it was 5.36 in the morning. His hand hurt like the hell and he seriously started thinking about taking some pain meds, which Jones had prescribed him.
He stood up and went slowly towards the bathroom. When he was almost there his eyes spotted on something ball-shaped on the ground. He blinked a few times, because the room was dark and his eyes didn't see much. However, there was no doubt, it was House's helmet.
He smiled and changed his destination to House's bedroom. He tiptoed to the door, which were left slightly open. One quick glance inside made him smile even more and all his worries fell back from his shoulders. House was sleeping very peacefully in his bed, facing away from the door, pill bottle standing on the bedside table. Wilson set the door ajar again and released a breath which he hadn't realized he'd been holding. With the smile still on his face he continued his way back to the bathroom. House had probably just needed his time to cool off and to come back home. Wilson was happy, that House was back, but his hand still hurt and he didn't want to face the future.
House was woken up by the comfortable scent filling up his nostrils. He looked around himself and realized that it was already almost noon. He forgot the aroma for a while and groaned when he remembered his fight with Wilson the last night.
He sighed. It would be hard to stay with him and with his moods, but House was sure that he, himself, wasn't much better after his infarction. House was also a one of the few people, who could really tell what was Wilson going through. Still, House's leg wasn't making his job impossible; it was only making it harder.
He popped his morning-pill and gave his attention back to the aroma, which was slowly filling the whole room. Pancakes.
No way. Wilson couldn't cook only with his right hand! House scrambled to his feet and limped slowly towards the kitchen to see the miracle with his own eyes. And really, his friend was standing by the oven and was - very awkwardly but effectively - frying the pancakes. There was already a small pile of finished pieces on the plate beside him.
"Wow! Why do you want so desperately to be a doctor? You can always cook for a living!" House called from the door.
Wilson twitched and dropped the pancake, which he was holding with the fork. He turned around to find House, leaning onto the doorframe with tousled hair but also with a smirk on his face. Good!
He smiled back and took the pancake out of the pan, this time with success. "House, I..." He couldn't continue, because he didn't know how.
"Don't you think that you can make it up by me by preparing one breakfast?" House asked and made his face serious again.
Wilson shook his head and then lowered it. It hurt but he knew that House had a full right to say all those things. He turned off the oven and looked like if he was going to cry. "I'm sorry." He mumbled in a whiny voice.
"I know, forget it." House said resolutely, making his way towards the table.
Wilson turned around, startled. He didn't know what to think or say. "I didn't mean it. I didn't want to--" He was cut off.
"Just forget it and give me the damn pancakes already!" House smirked again and looked at Wilson with wicked eyes.
Wilson got the clue, but only after a few seconds. "You bastard!" He smiled back and shook his head in disbelief. Then he finally put the plate in front of House.
Later that afternoon they were sitting on the couch again and watching something from House's TiVo. Neither of them mentioned the slap. There was no reason to. House knew that Wilson didn't mean it and he didn't want to torture him mentally more than was necessary.
By the movie, House glanced over at his friend a few times. Every time he looked, Wilson was either playing with the fingers on his braced arm or he was just looking at them. House shook his head by the fifth glance at Wilson.
"You're not watching the movie!" He sounded hurt, like if it mattered to watch some stupid movie.
Wilson was silent, but after a while he realized that House had been probably talking to him. "What?"
"The movie! You're not watching it at all. Do you even know what is it about?" House asked again.
"I...no. I was thinking." He answered quietly.
"About your crippled future?" House remarked.
"House!" Wilson gave him the most hurt look in the world.
"Sorry, but stop acting like some drama-queen. You don't even know if it's permanent and you're already planning your future of selling thermometers."
This made Wilson smile a little, but the grin faded away very quickly and he frowned. "But what if it is permanent House?" He was speaking very quietly and his words were nearing sobs. "What am I going to do then?" He faced House, who sighed.
House wondered if they were going to have this type of conversations for the whole weeks ahead of them, before they would put the sling away.
"I don't know." House replied in a solid voice.
The next days Wilson was still less or more depressed, but then he managed to forget about his worries for a while and for the rest of the month he was acting almost normally. Though, he was still funny when he was trying to eat with his right hand or when he was shortening his tie or even learning to write with his right hand.
However, the day when they were going to remove the sling was drawing near, and Wilson was depressed again. House promised to go with him and Wilson wasn't sure if it was making the fact worse or better.
He had had appointments with Dr. Jones before. Every time she had reassured him that everything had been going normally.
"Don't stare like that." House said when they were standing on the lights. Wilson was staring at nothing again and only God knew what was going through his mind.
"I don't know if I want to know the truth." Wilson mumbled from his seat.
House rolled his eyes. "Yeah, so you're going to leave that on," he pointed at the sling, "and everything will be just fine."
Wilson sighed and they didn't speak for the rest of the ride. House parked the car in the 'handicap space' and they went to the entrance.
Once inside, Wilson started to have some weird feeling in his stomach. It felt like going into the school for the first time, or like the stress before exams.
Dr. Jones awaited them in on of the exam rooms. She allowed Wilson to sit on the edge of the table and she took his hand. House stayed behind them, not sure why he had even promised to come.
"Any troubles in the last week?" She asked Wilson.
He only shook his head and watched her when she professionally removed the brace from the hand and put it away.
"Move your fingers," she ordered.
Wilson took a deep breath and moved his fingers slightly. It caused his whole arm to hurt, but they moved. She nodded her head.
"Flex your hand into the fist."
Wilson tried to fulfill the task, but failed and started to look miserable. Jones only nodded again.
"Hold your hand like this." She showed him her hand with fingers outstretched and pointing to the ceiling. It looked like if she was holding her hands up in the defense.
Wilson managed to bend his wrist, but whined in pain when he did so. Then she took a pen from her pocket and poked Wilson's finger with the bottom of it.
"You feel this?"
Wilson wasn't sure. He felt some slight pressure but he didn't know if it was enough. "Only very slightly," he answered.
"And this?" She ran her finger nail along his palm.
"Yeah," he nodded.
"Ok, try to write your name down." She handed him the pen.
He took it but managed only to write a big W down, onto the paper. Then the pen fell down from his hand, because of a spasm. Wilson closed his eyes. This definitely wasn't good. He felt it.
Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder, squeezing a little. He looked up to find House above him.
"It's bad, isn't it?" Wilson asked Dr. Jones in a sad voice. She was making some notes into his chart.
She looked up and smiled. "Bad? Not at all. What were you expecting? After a month of motionlessness, the muscles are a little bit stiff and awkward, but from what I see, the nerves have healed just fine." She kept her smile.
Wilson was staring at her disbelievingly. "But I couldn't even manage to write down my name, how am I supposed to work?"
"Dr. Wilson, don't be so impetuous. Of course you will need some good rehab, but I think your chances are brilliant. Congratulations!"
Wilson was still staring, but just at his hand instead of Jones. House recovered first. "Excuse him, he's just an oncologist. It will be another few minutes before he will get it." He smirked and let go of Wilson's shoulder. He wondered why he had put his hand there, when everything went so fine.
Dr. Jones nodded with a smile, and continued in writing.
When they were leaving the room, Wilson was already smiling like an idiot. House was limping beside him. "Told you."
"What?" Wilson faced him.
"That you would be fine," House answered. "Shame. Now, I'm the only cripple here again."
"House, don't talk like this." Wilson had always hated it when House was talking about himself like about cripple.
"It's true," House replied. "But don't worry. I'm used to it."
Wilson smirked slightly this time, still playing with the little rubber ball, which he had received from Dr. Jones to make his muscles stronger. They were just passing the main door when House suddenly stopped, making Wilson to jerk and stop as well.
"What's wrong?" Wilson asked.
"I have two choices. We can continue and Cuddy will catch me and force me to do clinic. Or we can leave, so I'll be free." He said with a calculating look on his face. "And I think, we also need to celebrate. So what, are you going with me?"
Wilson thought for a moment, but then nodded. House smirked and pointed at Wilson's little ball. "Anyway, picking up the shots is way better than playing with this stupid thing."
That's it! Couldn't leave Wilson crippled, could I? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! : )