Title: Attacks and Healing

Summary: When Wilson is attacked, House must help him heal. But how is a man who is so emotionally stunted as House supposed to help a very anxious Wilson when he's still trying to get over his own fear of what might have happened? H/W est.

Rating: PG-16 (Yea, that's right, I made my own rating. C: )

Spoilers: None really. It doesn't take place during any specific season.

Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing, hurting and comforting.
Author's Note:
None really, LOL. Just felt like hurting Wilson some and this came to mind. Hope you like it. Please Review and let me know. ;)

"Hey, you got a minute?" Chase asked, poking his dirty blonde head in through the door to Wilson's office.

Wilson looked up from the drug trial information he was reading over. A couple of his patients could be great applicants for the trial but he wanted to make sure that everything actually checked out before he spoke to them about it. His neck creaked when he looked up and he brought a hand up to massage the stiffness. "Yeah, what's up?"

"Nothing actually," Chase replied as he walked further into the office and closed the door behind him. "Foreman and I were going to grab a drink after work tonight and we wondered if you wanted to join us."

"I wish I could but I think I'll be here far later than any of you." Wilson leaned back in his chair giving Chase his full attention. He really did wish he could go out tonight; he could use the break away from work. Since House left early to have dinner with his parents tonight, a dinner he didn't want to go and that Wilson wasn't invited to even though they were in a relationship, Wilson figured he could catch up on some things at work but soon the catch up became a swamp that sucked him in until only his head was left.

Chase nodded his understanding, his blue eyes roaming freely over the oncologist and his desk. Concern crept slowly into the irises when he noticed the signs of exhaustion dripping off the older man but he kept it in check, not wanting to offend him. "Okay just try not to stay here all night. You look tired and House would probably hold me responsible if you did."

Something in the way Chase finished his sentence made Wilson's eyes narrow in suspicion. "Did House put you up to getting me out tonight?"

"No," Chase answered with a half smile – a thing he always did when he lied making Wilson give him a disbelieving eyebrow raise. "Okay yes but it wasn't hard to convince us, well me. Foreman's indifferent either way."

"Oh well that makes me feel better." Wilson sat back forward, returning to his paperwork.

Chase offered a half smirk. He really didn't think that the oncologist was offended, years of putting with crap from House would have easily done away with becoming offended easily but he also wanted to let the man know that he wasn't inviting him just because his boss made him either. "How about tomorrow night or will you be busy with House?"

"I actually don't know what I'm doing tomorrow night so yeah, sure," Wilson answered, his brows drawn together briefly in confusion as his mind tried to recall if he had any plans for next evening.

"Great. Well I'll leave you to finish. We'll talk tomorrow about when and where tomorrow night?" Chase waited until Wilson nodded then walked out the door, closing it quietly behind him. He wasn't sure why but he was actually looking forward to tomorrow night. All he needed to do was get through the next twenty four hours.

Wilson shut the file on the last patient he wanted to get into the drug trial at fifteen minutes passed midnight, the paper slam echoing around his empty office louder than he meant. He rubbed his aching temples then let out a heavy sigh as he quickly packed up his things to get out of there as quickly as he could. He had an early meeting in the morning and he really wanted to get as much sleep as he could before then.

House has been having a bad week with his leg, leaving Wilson to do as much of everything he could just to keep his friend relaxed and off his feet. Unfortunately it meant that Wilson had been essentially running himself ragged for the week, leaving him dead on his feet and in dire need of sleep.

He walked out of Princeton Plainsboro breathing in a deep sigh of relief as the cool September air wrapped around him, ruffling his hair as a breeze swept over and around him. In general Wilson loved it when the weather cooled; he was never one for heat and humidity so when fall came he found himself almost wishing he had a job that was done outdoors just so he could enjoy it. Hence why he parked further away from the building in the spring and autumn – it was a chance to enjoy his brief time outside before becoming cooped up in his office or the halls of the hospital.

Just as he reached his car door, footsteps sounded from behind him and the weight of another person slammed into him, pushing him roughly against his car. He let out a muffled 'oof' as the air quickly left his lungs, leaving him winded and panting. A strong hand grabbed his left wrist, yanking it behind his back, pinning his arm there as well, slowly applying more and more pressure until Wilson was sure his muscles had begun to slowly tear within the joint.

The point of a knife sliced through his clothing as it was pushed hard against his back, heading frighteningly close to his right kidney. Stinging told him that the point had managed to slice through the two bottom layers of his clothing and was now making its way into his skin.

"What do you want? Is it money? My wallets in the left breast pocket of my coat," Wilson half rambled, more scared than he liked to admit. He cried out as the knife entered deeper into his back. The pressure of the knife released and soon a hand clapped over his mouth and the grip on his wrist tightened as the attacker wrapped his hand closer around the joint and forced his shoulder to stretch further until he actually felt something tear.

"Make another sound and I'll make sure there's a reason for you to yell," a gruff voice warned in his ear. Never the less, the hand on his wrist changed and moved over to the breast pocket of his coat, grabbing all the cash, credit cards, and debit card from within it then threw it to the ground. It moved back to hold his wrist and the other hand that was previously holding to the limb moved to drag calloused fingers down the right side of his face in what could be called longing. "You sure are a pretty one, aren't you?"

The strong hands grouped together to grab his shoulders, spinning him around where he stood. Since he wasn't sure what his body was supposed to be doing, his feet originally remained planted where they were, momentarily twisting his right knee and harshly twisting his left ankle until he felt a slight pop. He cried out again in pain, unable to stop the sound from escaping and soon a dirty hand was clasped over his mouth.

The man before him was easily his height but also had another fifty pounds of what looked like pure muscle, making him easily able to hold Wilson against his car, pushing him against the cold, hard steel as he leaned his entire weight against Wilson's body, the attacker's groin grinding against his own in a violent manner that spoke of his next intentions.

Wilson decided his knee had a mind of his own as it slammed up into the other man's groin causing him to stumble back and groan in agony. He tried to step forward to further knock the attacker onto the ground so he could escape but his legs gave way under him, pain stabbing his hurt knee and ankle as they rolled like jelly and he landed hard on the ground.

"Hey," a blessedly familiar Australian voice called from a place that Wilson thought was far away. The sound of running feet told him that he may actually have been far away but was in fact coming closer with every passing second.

The attacker raised his head still curled around his groin but managed to get up and stumble away, easily escaping since Chase's attention was then turned onto Wilson himself.

"Wilson, are you alright?" Chase asked, kneeling down beside the fallen oncologist. He couldn't immediately see any injuries but that didn't mean there weren't any. He gently grabbed hold of Wilson's shoulders and helped ease him to where he was leaning against the car. There was pain reflecting in the soft brown eyes but once again, he couldn't see any injuries.

Wilson leaned his head against the cool metal behind him and slowly tried to slow his breathing. "Yeah, I'm okay," he answered opening his eyes to see a pair of concerned blue irises staring at him.

Chase remained quiet for a moment, studying the man before him with the ease of someone who's been working for House for far too long. "Come on, let's get you inside and get you checked out."

"No Chase, I appreciate it but I'm fine." Wilson got his feet beneath him, grimacing when his ankle screamed at him letting him know it didn't appreciate the weight it was being forced to take, and slowly eased off the cold, dirty ground. He reached out and grabbed his car door handle but quickly withdrew like he'd been burnt, his right hand coming up to cradle the left with a deep wince on his face.

"Yeah I can see that you're fine," Chase replied hiding a wince of sympathy behind the sarcasm in his voice. He waited to see if he'd received a response and when it became obvious that one wasn't coming, the intensivist let loose a sight, resigned to the idea that Wilson really just wanted to go home. "Do you need a ride home?"

"No I think I can handle it, thanks." Wilson used his right hand to open the door and climbed in, stifling a groan as best he could. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Chase let the oncologist leave not sure that he should have done so. Once the silver Volvo was out of sight, he pulled out his phone and dialed the only person Wilson would allow to help. When the line clicked with an answer he inhaled deeply and answered the annoyed question, "House, it's Chase."

Wilson arrived at the apartment twenty minutes later, tears dripping slowly out of his eyes like a leaky faucet. It had hurt far more than he had thought it would just to drive himself home but at least he wasn't stuck at the hospital where he'd probably end up sleeping so he wouldn't be late for his morning appointment; though whether or not he should actually go in in the morning was at this point debatable.

Resigning himself to more pain, he opened the door and limped into the apartment, silently shutting the door in an attempt to not wake his lover. He jumped in shock when he turned on the light to find said lover sitting behind his piano apparently waiting for him to come home.

"Chase called," the diagnostician began like it was an everyday thing that one of his lackey's called when there wasn't an actual medical mystery that needed solving. "he said you'd been injured but wouldn't allow him to look you over."

Wilson sighed; he should have known Chase would tell on him. His brows furrowed, 'tell on me' what am I five? "Because there wasn't a need to look me over; I'm fine."

"Yes I can see that by the heavy limp and eyes that are red from crying," House quipped getting easily off the piano bench and limping over to where Wilson stood, ready to fall over from exhaustion and pain. He grabbed his friend's elbow, careful to keep any concern from reaching his eyes as he slowly led the obviously injured man to the couch where he promptly collapsed with a groan. "Where are you hurt?"

"House, I'm fine. I just want a shower and to go to bed."

House eyed his friend for a few minutes before he gave a nod and said, "Okay, let's go!"

Wilson did a double take, wrinkling his brows in confusion. "What really?"

"Yeah, let's go to bed." He waited for Wilson to get off the couch, still eyeing him like he didn't trust him, before he slowly followed into their bedroom. His eyes watched clinically as the oncologist began stripping, noting every bruise and every pained reaction he gave to every movement he made.

He stepped up to Wilson, putting a hand on the younger man's arm, stilling his movements as he ran the hand up the arm and to the shoulder where painful bruising was slowly forming. Pianist fingers played lightly over the bruise, feeling for evidence of tears and breaks before the glided down the defined arm to where bruising and swelling could be found on the wrist.

Gently he pushed Wilson onto the bed then moved him so he was lying sitting up against the headboard so he could finish his examination but be allowed to sit and take weight of his damaged and currently very painful thigh. His hands moved tenderly down Wilson's right leg, easily spotting the slight swelling of the knee and began feeling around for potential damage. When he was satisfied that the joint was merely twisted and would be fine in a day or so, he moved his attention over to the left leg, taking a kind of sick pleasure in the way his lover's legs felt beneath his hands before they ended at the badly bruised and swollen ankle.

Wilson cried out as House's fingers ghosted over the injured joint and yanked his leg out of the grip, surprising the older man and making him draw his hands back in surprise. His face contorted into a frown as his medical mind registered that little amount of touch shouldn't cause that much pain.

"Hold still," House snapped hiding his concern easily behind anger, "I want to make sure nothing's broken."

Hesitantly he reached out again and pulled the leg back towards him, giving a brief look of apology before he resumed his examination. He blocked out Wilson's pained whimper as he pressed as lightly as he could against the ankle, frowning deeper when he felt the bones move beneath his touch. "Yep it's broken."

"What? Don't be ridiculous," Wilson responded gruffly behind clenched teeth. "He didn't jerk me around that hard, there's no way I could have broken my ankle; I got here just fine, if I'd broken my ankle I wouldn't have been able to do that."

"Don't be an idiot, you know as well as I do that it's possible for someone to break a leg or an ankle or a foot and still be able to bear weight on it," House snapped while he headed out of the room to grab some ice. He suddenly stopped, spun around and quickly headed back over to the bed, sitting down beside his lover's hip. "He? He who?" He waited for an answer to come but promptly continued, "Were you attacked?"

Wilson bit his lip to keep from reply and avoided House's gaze, hoping to hide the fear he still felt at the memory of his experience. He wished he could be strong like his friend and merely wave off the attack but he wasn't made that way and every time he remembered what happened, his heart sped up painfully fast and he felt the firm grip of anxiety take hold.

He didn't realize he was shaking until he felt tender hands close over him, pulling him in for a comforting embrace. The smell of House swirled around him and the feeling of House's stubble rubbing against the side of his head as he spoke calming words soon registered in his fear trapped mind, telling it that he was safe, quieting the fear so all that was left was tears.

House felt his shirt become drenched with salty tears but he didn't care. Holding Wilson's shaking form, feeling him breath (if not a little erratically) against his own chest, and just knowing that despite the random sprain, strain or break he was okay was enough for the taciturn diagnostician. He knew that no one at the hospital thought he had a heart and often wondered what Wilson saw in him but the two men knew how deeply his love for the oncologist actually went.

Before now, his mind hadn't actually wondered how Wilson had gotten hurt, it had only registered that he was and it wanted to know how badly. Now that he knew, generally at least, what had happened, his heart began frantically beating in his chest, his too quick brain running through images of what could have happened rather than what did. He saw Wilson lying pale, bruised, broken and bleeding in the hospital parking lot, dead by the time anyone found him and his chest constricted, cutting off any attempts to draw in air.

Wilson whimpered and stiffened underneath him and House snapped out of his fears and realized that he was currently trying to cuddle Wilson to death, applying painful pressure to tender injuries. "Sorry," he apologized, relaxing his hold enough that the younger man now simply lay against his arms, not tightly held in them.

"We should get you back to the hospital and get you checked out," he said, pulling even more away from the brown eyed man. "You shouldn't have left."

"I know," Wilson answered with a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself so he didn't start crying again. "I just really wanted to come home." where it's safe. His breath hitched again as more tears slowly made their way down his cheeks, unbidden and unwanted.

House pulled him closer again, his need to comfort himself almost as strong as his desire to comfort his lover. "I know," he whispered showing that he'd heard the rest of the sentence, "but we really need to see how much damage has been done. Don't worry, we'll be coming back soon where we'll be staying for a few days at the least."

"Promise?" Wilson asked with insecurity and pain shining brightly in his watery eyes. He cringed at how pathetic he sounded and waited for a harsh reply, pleasantly surprised when he felt House's arms momentarily tighten further in a gentle squeeze before he released his hold once more.

"I promise; even if I have to live in the clinic for a week."

"Wow, that's definitely a promise," Wilson joked hoping to put some normalcy back into his life. "Are you sure you'd be up for such torture."

"Yep, now let's get you dressed. We wouldn't want you showing up naked, the nurses would never let you leave." House got off the bed and grabbed a set of clothes for Wilson, complete with a loose pair of jeans and a tee shirt.

He sat back down on the bed and proceeded to help his friend get dressed, making sure to be extra careful around the obvious injuries. "There now that wasn't so bad," he encouraged. "Do you want to wear shoes or just slip on a pair of sandals?"

"Shoes," Wilson answered, panting from the energy it took just for him to get clothes on and the pain pulsing through his body with every beat of his heart. "It's too cold out for sandals."

House quickly grabbed a pair of socks and the closes pair of sneakers he could find then went back to the bed, frowning as he looked down at his lover's feet. The left one, having been released from within the confines of the shoe, had become badly swollen and now looked more like a polish sausage, almost the same color and all, rather than a foot. Not really sure who was controlling his body nor where the sympathetic pain in his chest came from, House lightly ran his fingers over the injured limb as if petting it would make it feel better instead of causing more pain.

"I don't think a sock in the world is going to fit over that foot," he said though he knew that Wilson probably already knew that. He did however place a sock and a shoe over the other foot, offering small apologetic glances when he'd accidentally jerk the leg, causing pain to lance up from the slightly injured knee.

Wilson groaned and yelped a few times when House's elbow accidentally knocked against his swollen foot, nudging the broken, painful ankle, but otherwise remained still knowing the older man wasn't meaning to hurt him. When House finished tying his right shoe, he watched in astonishment as the diagnostician gently placed a couple soft kisses of apology upon the exposed foot then immediately left, leaving a puzzled Wilson still sitting on the bed.

The puzzle was soon solved as House returned with a pair of very old looking crutches. "I still have these from the infarction, thought you could use them now since I doubt you'll be able to tolerate any weight on that ankle."

"Thanks," Wilson responded truly grateful. Going by how much House's feather light touches had hurt, House was right about the weight bearing and he wasn't too keen on trying either. His entire body groaned and cried when he moved but none of it was as bad as the agony that shot up from his ankle with ever thudding step he took.

"Ready?" House asked, standing by the front door, patiently waiting for his injured friend.

"Yeah," Wilson answered, fatigue already beginning to claw at him. "Let's get this over and done with."

"After you gimpy," House mocked, pulling open the door and using his arm to wave Wilson out the door.

Wilson ignored the comment and proceeded out to the car, looking forward to when they would be back home and in bed. He really didn't want the looks of concern he would get from whom ever was working in the ER tonight but he realized he needed to get his injuries seen to so he grudgingly lowered his pain ridden body into the car and waited for House to finish placing the crutches in the backseat and get into the car. God was it time to come back home yet?