Title: Reverse Motion
Summary: Office telephones can be dangerous: a cautionary tale in reverse. A response to the sick_wilson Pic Prompt Challenge #1.
Rating: PG-13 for language. H/W. No slash, but you may see some preslash in it (I certainly do).
Word Count: 500 approx.
Author's Note: many thanks to coconut_ice22 for fast and supportive beta reading.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the House, MD characters, which is good since I tend to kill them.
The diagnostician lifted his head, and noticed that he had fallen asleep sitting in a hard plastic chair, his head on Wilson's lap, his right hand holding the oncologist's left. As a consequence, his thigh hurt like hell. He gulped down a pill.
"Morning, Park. How's he doing?"
The cardiac surgeon smiled. "Not too bad. His skull is cracked, so he'll be in bed for a while, and he has two brand new coronary stents. A tiny chunk of his heart is unfortunately dead, but there's nothing to seriously worry about."
House snatched Wilson's file and read through it, then he sighed with relief.
"Wilson, you're lucky," said Park. "Had House arrived an hour later you would most likely be dead." He smirked as he left the room, wishing he had taken the time to whip out his cellphone and capture an image of the oncologist absent-mindedly playing with the sleeping diagnostician's hair.
The elevator's doors opened and an extremely angry House started limping along the hallway. He hated it when his patients got suddenly very sick at such unreasonable hours. He was surprised to see light filter under Wilson's door, and as usual he let himself in without knocking.
"What are you doing here at this hour, Wilson? Dying patient or office sex? Or both together?"
Then he noticed the body sprawled out on the floor. He dropped his cane and kneeled down near his friend, loudly calling the ducklings for help.
Wilson felt terribly tired as he sat on his couch. He decided that, in the future, his standard practice of being with his patients in their last hours should be reconsidered in the case of patients with children, especially obnoxious red-haired twin boys. They had thrown his cellphone in the toilet, cut in half his tie so as to have one each, and when he dropped his pager they were quarreling so loudly that he had become confused and stomped on it. He stank of the McSauces they had dropped on him while eating, and his head hurt from the uninterrupted yelling. In the end their father had unexpectedly recovered and if he didn't change his policy he would have to see them again, probably in a few days.
Slowly, Wilson realized that he didn't have just a headache, there was also a growing pain somewhere in his stomach. Or was it his chest? Could it be his heart? He started feeling dizzy and nauseous. He stood up, holding on to his desk to get steady as the nausea increased, picked up the phone and dialed the emergency room. Then he saw only darkness and he fell to the floor. His last conscious thought was that people in ER would see that he was calling and send someone up.
"Hi, Brenda. To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you in person?"
"To the fact that the hospital's VoIP system is fucked up again. Most of the telephones don't work, including mine."
"Sorry, darling, but I'm going home. This will have to wait until tomorrow morning."
"This is a hospital, people work in the night as well!"
"Then the administration should hire a nighttime technician. I'll be back tomorrow at eight." He smiled gently. "Don't worry, all doctors have cell phones nowadays."
Author's note: My twin boys have brown hair and the VoIP telephone system in my office currently works. The second half of this fic is nevertheless unpleasantly close to RL.