Title: Grá gan chealg
Rating: PG (fowl language)
Disclaimer: These aren't mine!
House had tried to behave in Wilson's absence, and for the first few days, he had done a bang on job of it. He did as Foreman told him, was quiet when he was supposed to be, ate what was put in front of him, and made sure that he didn't cry very loud at night. But after a week, he was starting to miss Wilson a little more than even he had anticipated. He missed having someone in the same bed to chase away the nightmares, he missed the way Wilson held his hand where ever they went, he missed the way Wilson kissed him good morning, but only after he had brushed his teeth. He just plain missed his Jimmy.
One afternoon, Foreman handed him the phone, and frowning, said "It's Jimmy."
House quickly snatched the phone away and limped into his bedroom. "Jimmy?"
"Yeah, it's me. How are you?"
"I miss you. I want you to come home."
"I know. I want to come home, too. I miss you a lot."
"Foreman's not mean, but I want you to be here."
"I want to be there, too. But there's a really terrible storm here right now, my plane can't leave yet."
"Your patient is better?"
"No, House. He died."
"I'm sorry." House sat down on the bed and snatched up one of Wilson's t-shirts.
****"Here, you can have this to sleep with while I'm gone. I haven't washed it yet, so it still smells like me." Wilson handed House a worn, grey t-shirt, one of his "lounging around the house" shirts.
House grabbed it from him, and smiling, hugged it to his chest. "Thank you."****
"Me too," Wilson said. "But I'll be home as soon as I can, okay."
"Okay. I miss you."
"I know. Just be patient."
"I will. Love you."
"I love you, too."
Wilson hung up and House dropped the phone onto the pillow, before curling around the t-shirt gripped in his fists.
It was a week after that when Foreman came home from a quick trip to the grocery store to find House in the bathroom, clothes still on, sitting the shower getting drenched. "What the hell are you doing?" Foreman asked, turning off the water and getting his arm drenched in the process.
"I miss Jimmy!" House's fists moved to his head, pressing against his temples.
"So you decided to take a shower in your clothes? Stop being an idiot and get out of the shower." Foreman held out a hand, willing House to take it.
"That's your fault," Foreman insisted, "You were a damn fool and took a shower in your clothing. Where's the logic in that, huh?" He shook his hand. "Come on, get up. We'll get you in something dry."
"I WANT JIMMY!"
"Yeah, I'd like him to come back, too. So I wouldn't have to deal with your bull shit anymore. But we can't always get what we want. Now will you just get out of the damn shower?"
House fists moved to his eyes, where he tried to stop the flow of tears.
Foreman sighed and put a hand on House's shoulder. "Look, I know you're upset, and I know you miss him. I'm sorry I yelled. I just want to get you dry. Then you can call him on the phone and see when he'll be home, okay?"
House pulled his shoulder away from Foreman, hitting his other shoulder on the wall of the tub. He whimpered, and curled into a tighter ball.
Foreman dropped down to squat on the floor so that his face was level with House's. "Look, I don't know what you want me to do. I'm at a loss here. I can't get Jimmy here. He has to wait until the weather is better, and his plane can leave. He's going to be here as soon as he can be, okay?"
House sniffed, and nodded, but still remained curled in a ball.
"You gonna get up, so you can change?"
Foreman stood up and reached out a hand, let House grasp it. In a moment, time stood still. House's sock clad foot slipped on a bar of soap that he had knocked to the floor of the tub. He flew backward, one hand grabbing Foreman's shirt, the other slipping on wet tile. Foreman grabbed onto the shower curtain, trying to stop the imminent fall. But House's head curled back and smacked the tub faucet with a sickening thunk before his body slid to the fill the tub. Foreman almost landed on top of House, hitting his jaw on the soap holder. The shower curtain rod fell to the floor with a clatter.
Foreman got up, mouth dribbling blood, when he was the deluge of red liquid coming from behind House's head. The fallen man's eyes were closed, his breathing slow and thready. "Shit!" Foreman grabbed House's shoulders and shook him lightly. "House?" He leaned down, tried to find a pulse in his twisted arm. "HOUSE?!" No answer.
Foreman's leg jiggled anxiously as the inept nurse finished cleaning the gash on his arm – he hadn't even noticed it until the EMS had pointed it out to him – he needed to check on House and then call Wilson. Jesus, Wilson was going to kill him. Cameron's replacement walked by, in a hurry. "Hey! Hey!" Foreman stood up, brushing off the nurse, who huffed angrily at him. "Hey," Foreman finally caught up to the other doctor. "You checked Gregory House in, right?"
"I did, Dr. Foreman," the younger male doctor said, taking a chart from a pile.
"How is he?"
"I'm sorry to say he's in a coma."
"What?" Foreman's brain took a moment to take in the information. "I...I need to see him."
"Until you stop bleeding everywhere," the doctor pointed to the red puddle growing by their feet, "You're not going anywhere. Let one of the doctors stitch you up, and I'll take you to him."
House was hooked up to multiple monitors, a constant beeping filled his room. It had been three days since he had been admitted to hospital, and Cameron and Chase had flown back to Princeton immediately upon hearing the news from Foreman, who had called them right after letting Wilson know what had happened. Wilson was still stuck in a storm, but called the hospital every hour to check on House, and had given Cameron express orders to call if anything changed.
At this very moment, beeping was the only sound in the hospital room, other than a light snoring coming from Cameron, who had curled up in a chair. Chase was getting coffee, and Foreman had gone home to shower and sleep in his own bed for a change. Cameron's cell phone vibrated in her pocket, but it wasn't enough to wake her from her slumber. Chase, downstairs in the cafeteria, did feel it when his pocket vibrated, though. He set two Styrofoam cups on a counter and slid the cell open. "Hello?"
"Is everything okay? Cameron didn't answer her phone."
"Everything's fine, she's just sleeping."
"The storm is over. I'll be there in 12 hours. Text me if there's any change. I'm just boarding the plane now."
Wilson hated flying. He hated it even more when he had somewhere to be.
Wilson had taken up Cameron's place in House's room immediately upon arrival. He only got up to use the toilet, he never left. His hand constantly gripped House's, when one arm fell asleep, he swapped to the other hand.
One night, neck stiff from sleeping on the chair for so long, he climbed onto the bed and wrapped his arms around House, shoving his nose into his friend's neck. He found it hard to sleep, but finally drifted off.
Why was his teddy bear moving? Teddies don't move...
Wilson didn't want to wake up, everything was blissful and quiet, safe in the land of dreams. But the body next to him kept adjusting, moving around. He eventually opened his eyes, just so he could see the face of the person he was going to tell off. Blinking, he was eventually greeted with brilliant blue orbs.
"What the hell is going on Wilson?"