House sat in his chair at his desk, desperately massaging his right leg. When he'd woken up that morning it would be a bad day. He'd considered calling in, but he didn't feel like dealing with Cuddy's nitpicking. Plus, his Ducklings would know something was wrong and he didn't feel like dealing with them either. He'd arrived this morning and immediately sent them off to do tests and do his clinic hours with strict instructions to not come back until they'd covered the patient.
That was an hour ago and he hadn't seen them since so it seemed to be working. What wasn't working was his attempts to alleviate his pain. It had been getting worse since he'd arrived, despite the many Vicodin he'd taken.
House hunched over his right leg, both hands gripping just above the knee as he tried to will the pain away. As he hunched over, he leaned to side slightly and vomited directly into the trash can.
"When Chase told me they'd been told not to come back without a cure I knew something had to be wrong."
House felt a hand on his back.
"How bad's the pain?" Wilson asked gently, crouching down so he could see his friend's face, "Scale of 1-10."
"Right now? Bout an eight," House said through his teeth, "Getting worse."
"Okay, hang on," Wilson stood, keeping his hand on House's back, and House heard him using his office phone.
"Hey it's me… No, he's not fine, I'm taking him home… Yeah, it's really bad today… Breakthrough yeah… If they need help they can call us at his place, but he can't be here right now… Alright, thanks."
"Cuddy ask you if I was faking it?" he asked after Wilson hung up.
"No, actually, she said to go home and rest," Wilson told him, "Even said we can both take tomorrow off if we need to."
"We?" House questioned as he hunched over and vomited again, the muscles in his thigh spasming again.
"Yeah, we," Wilson said, "You think I'm just gonna dump you at home and leave?"
"I'm fine," House said stubbornly, "Stay with your little bald kids."
"Sure," Wilson said sarcastically, "You feel up to moving?"
House took a deep breath before pushing himself to his feet. He was silently grateful for Wilson's grip on his arm as he definitely wouldn't have made it all the way up otherwise. The burning pain that had shot through his leg as soon as he was upright could have sent him right back down if not for the stronghold Wilson had on him.
"Easy," Wilson said, his other hand hovering in case House needed more help balancing.
House closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment before he nodded.
Wilson handed House his cane, gathered their bags, and the pair slowly made their way out.
They had to pause several times, House desperately trying to remain composed to not let on to anyone else just how much agony he was in.
Wilson stood silently by, he was long practiced at supporting House through this kind of scenario and knew there wasn't anything he could say that would be helpful or welcome.
They finally made it to Wilson's car and after awkwardly falling into the passenger seat, the pair were on their way to House's place.
Wilson glanced over at the other man periodically. It seemed now they were away from any prying eyes there might have been at the hospital, House felt less inclined to hide how bad his pain really was.
He had his eyes closed and his head leaning against the window. One hand rested on his leg, just above the mangled thigh, while other hand had a white-knuckle grip on the door.
They pulled up out front of House's place and Wilson mentally cursed as he looked at the stairs. Going around to House's side, he held his hand out and helped House out, holding his arm tightly again as he steadied himself again.
They started a slow shuffle, pausing in front of the steps as House huffed deeply, staring at the challenge in front of them.
"Come on," Wilson said, "We'll get you in and then you can change and get some rest."
They shuffled up the stairs at a snail's pace, House not even trying to hide that he needed help. He didn't push Wilson away when the other man wrapped one arm around his waist and the other held tightly to House's arm.
They had to pause once for House to vomit. He tried to lean to the side but risked falling over so he mostly ended up making a mess down the front of his shirt.
House closed his eyes, exhausted. Once upon a time he might have felt ashamed that anyone was seeing him like this, but Wilson had seen so much over his years of friendship with House that neither man was phased.
Once they were inside, House wanted nothing more than to just collapse on the couch and not move until the pain had subsided to a normal level.
Wilson had other plans and they passed the couch and headed to the bathroom. Wilson sat House down on the edge of the tub.
"Don't fall over, I'll be right back," he said, disappearing out the bathroom door and leaving House gripping the edge of the tub.
Wilson returned a moment later, a fresh pair of pajamas in his hands.
"Do you want to soak your leg for a bit?" Wilson asked.
House shook his head, "Just want to lie down."
Wilson nodded as he wet a cloth. He unbuttoned House's shirt and then helped steady the other man as they removed that and then the t-shirt underneath. Wilson lifted House to his feet and soon House's pants had joined the shirts on the floor.
House sat slowly as Wilson used the cloth to wipe away any traces of sick or sweat before helping House put the fresh pajamas on.
Wilson grimaced as he helped House pull up the pants. He could see the scar tensing as the remaining muscle spasmed and cramped uncontrollably.
"Number?" Wilson asked.
"Nine," House ground out, fumbling with his Vicodin bottle. They stood again and made their way to House's bedroom.
House slowly eased himself onto the bed while Wilson moved around the room. He closed the curtains, moved the waste basket to the edge of the bed, and placed a bottle of water on the bedside table. This was, unfortunately, a well-practiced routine.
Wilson grabbed the heating pad from the closet and plugged it in, laying it carefully over House's leg.
"Try to get some sleep," Wilson said, "I'll be on the couch, I'm going to make something to eat in case you're hungry later."
House grunted but didn't open his eyes or respond.
Wilson turned the light off, hearing a mumbled 'thanks' as he left the room and headed into the living room, preparing for a potentially long night.
Wilson blinked awake, confused for a moment as to what had woken him. He looked at the time, 12:23am. He had made soup earlier, but House had slept right through and, as much as Wilson knew he should eat, he knew rest was more vital right now.
He looked around the dark living room. He didn't even remember falling asleep.
Wilson stood, intent on using the bathroom and checking on House, when he realized what had woken him. A groan and choked off sob came from the bedroom and Wilson hurried in.
House was hunched over the side of the bed, vomiting into the trash can, missing slightly. He groaned and sobbed again, pressing his head into the mattress.
"House," Wilson sat on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on his friend's back.
House gripped Wilson's other hand tightly, a couple tears tracking down his pale, sweaty face.
"Eleven," he gasped, leaning over to vomit again.
"Okay," Wilson nodded, "Okay, hang on."
He reluctantly released House's hand and dashed from the room, grabbing the little box on top of the bookcase before hurrying back.
"Hang on, hang on," Wilson said softly, opening the box and pulling out a syringe and vial. He climbed onto the bed behind House.
"Don't move," he instructed, a hand holding House's hip firmly in place as he injected the morphine into his spine.
"Okay, easy," Wilson soothed, "Just give it a minute to kick in. You'll feel better soon."
House breathed heavily through his mouth, Wilson's hand rubbing circles on his back the only thing keeping him grounded right now. Slowly, the eleven went down as House felt a sort of warmth spreading through his body and he was finally able to relax.
"Okay?" Wilson asked and House nodded minutely. "Good, don't go back to sleep just yet."
House felt Wilson get off the bed, but didn't open his eyes yet.
Wilson disposed of the garbage bad and replaced it, returning to the bedroom. He laid a towel on the floor next to the bed before putting the can back.
"Can you sit up for a second?" he asked, and House groaned. "I know, but we've got to get that shirt off, you've sweat right through it."
"If you keep undressing me, people are going to start talking," House said, pushing himself up, nonetheless.
Wilson smirked; the morphine was definitely working. He helped his friend remain in a sitting position as they changed his shirt and Wilson used a warm cloth to clean the commit and swear off House's face again.
"Drink this, small sips," Wilson held the water bottle to House's lips. "Last thing we need is you getting dehydrated."
House took a few sips before lying down again.
Wilson climbed onto the other side of the bed, leaning against the headboard with his legs stretched out.
"Try to get some more sleep," he murmured.
"That'll be easy with you hovering over me," House said, but there was no bite behind it.
"Just going to make sure you don't wither away from dehydration," Wilson replied, "Or wake up and try to take more Vicodin while the morphine is still in your system."
They both knew there was more to it. House would never admit to feeling better he wasn't alone right now, and Wilson would never bring it up either. They'd been friends long enough, things didn't need to be said all the time.
"Thanks," House murmured, drifting off again.
"Anytime," Wilson rested a hand on House's shoulder as he too allowed his eyes to slip closed.
They'd both be taking Cuddy up on her of having the next day off too. Even if House felt better in the morning, they could always watch Monster Trucks.
This is the first House fic I've ever written and I'm a sucker for h/c featuring Wilson and House.
Thanks for reading!