First attempt at something this medically orientated... برداشت, ریچھ with me guys, I'm trying. House is sick again: he hides it. Wilson grows characteristically concerned... as Cuddy does uncharacteristically. What happens? How do they deal with it? What becomes of House?
Read, find out, enjoy!
Never Better (Chapter 1)
Bad days were always the same: House woke up in pain, sighed, lied panting in his own pool of sweat as he watched the spasms travel through his thigh. He measured his willingness to go in that دن سے طرف کی the severity of the pain, the chance that Cuddy would find him something particularly entertaining to do, the chance that any of the fellows he had once had under him did something deserving of a long-lasting dreaded nickname, the chance that Cuddy was wearing something delightfully revealing that day, his chances of escaping clinic duty, the chances of Wilson دکھانا up and playing along with his façade instead of insisting on undermining it... مزید rarely, however, House contemplated his chances of getting up... and from A to B: بستر to kitchen, بستر to couch, to the bathroom maybe...
But, if he was forced to ask himself these very same سوالات on a دن his leg wasn't really bothering him at all, something was clearly amiss and if this discomfort wasn't built entirely around pain, it was even worse!
The pain was bad, though... House thought as he curled around his abdomen, mimicking the pose he'd often struck when his leg acted up but for the placement of his hands: lower abdomen, where they'd favoured the thigh before.
Worse was the fever, worse was having to crap like crazy while not actually being able to go anywhere... worse was losing his total control سے طرف کی a haze that deformed the world he needed to analyse! Worse was forgoing his characteristic stubbornness and pride to give in to signals of impending shame and loss of status...
He could call someone, maybe. Vicodin was no longer an option without risking overdose and all of the shame and status loss that came with it should he survive... he could try to get there on his own? Stumble, lose direction and be found like that in his own feces on the floor? No.
Sure... sure; he'd noticed it getting worse over the week, thought gas was to blame... brilliant, really.
Paul McCartney's voice resounded mockingly inside House's skull... he knew it wasn't there. Didn't try to smother it yet: had to know the words he was singing. Had to know.
Aaah would آپ look at that poor cripple
Aaah would آپ look at that poor cripple
House smirked: Eleanor Rigby was so jealous right now.
Gregory House is
lying in sweat with those tears that will go unseen
Lives in a dream
The violins died down. House laughed. Would آپ look at that poor cripple...
He was pathetic.
And he had to disturb that dream he lived in because now his leg decided to شامل میں in and that was his cue to call Wilson: his excuse. Which was nothing to Wilson... nothing big. Just his messiah complex and a place to go to celebrate it. Cuddy would just roll her eyes and dig up someone else to fix the unfixable until her champions damned limb allowed him to return.
It was nothing.
Really.
"Wilson?" House controlled his voice with practised ease as he heard his friend sigh down the line.
"House? Need a ride?"
"Hand." House corrected.
"Leg?" Wilson responded, already on the route to his friend's apartment.
"Naturally." House کہا with equally practised false cheer, sighing afterwards to make it مزید believable.
"Coming, House. آپ coming in today?"
"I don't know yet... hurry up would you? I need to shit."
"Have آپ tried? Getting up I mean?"
"Just why do آپ think I called you if that was an option?"
"I'm flattered, House. Really." Wilson parked his car in front of the apartment, speeding up the steps.
"You were already heading here?" House asked when he heard footsteps in the hallway.
"You were having مزید bad days. Figured I could somehow... catch آپ in the beginning of one and actually help if I came سے طرف کی unannounced."
"So much for that one, huh?" House was smirking through the actual telephone.
"I guess... I'm coming in, House. Hold on."
With that, Wilson entered and House resorted to his normal mask of stoic indifference.
His hand clamped down on his lower abdomen one last time before returning to the thigh with a sense of duty:
For the first time in his life, he willed it to hurt.
More soon if it's desired... The song is based on Eleanor Rigby سے طرف کی the Beatles. مزید Cuddy in future chapters... definitely Wilson because he's had so little screentime lately this is the only way to get my fix...
Hope آپ enjoyed!
Read, find out, enjoy!
Never Better (Chapter 1)
Bad days were always the same: House woke up in pain, sighed, lied panting in his own pool of sweat as he watched the spasms travel through his thigh. He measured his willingness to go in that دن سے طرف کی the severity of the pain, the chance that Cuddy would find him something particularly entertaining to do, the chance that any of the fellows he had once had under him did something deserving of a long-lasting dreaded nickname, the chance that Cuddy was wearing something delightfully revealing that day, his chances of escaping clinic duty, the chances of Wilson دکھانا up and playing along with his façade instead of insisting on undermining it... مزید rarely, however, House contemplated his chances of getting up... and from A to B: بستر to kitchen, بستر to couch, to the bathroom maybe...
But, if he was forced to ask himself these very same سوالات on a دن his leg wasn't really bothering him at all, something was clearly amiss and if this discomfort wasn't built entirely around pain, it was even worse!
The pain was bad, though... House thought as he curled around his abdomen, mimicking the pose he'd often struck when his leg acted up but for the placement of his hands: lower abdomen, where they'd favoured the thigh before.
Worse was the fever, worse was having to crap like crazy while not actually being able to go anywhere... worse was losing his total control سے طرف کی a haze that deformed the world he needed to analyse! Worse was forgoing his characteristic stubbornness and pride to give in to signals of impending shame and loss of status...
He could call someone, maybe. Vicodin was no longer an option without risking overdose and all of the shame and status loss that came with it should he survive... he could try to get there on his own? Stumble, lose direction and be found like that in his own feces on the floor? No.
Sure... sure; he'd noticed it getting worse over the week, thought gas was to blame... brilliant, really.
Paul McCartney's voice resounded mockingly inside House's skull... he knew it wasn't there. Didn't try to smother it yet: had to know the words he was singing. Had to know.
Aaah would آپ look at that poor cripple
Aaah would آپ look at that poor cripple
House smirked: Eleanor Rigby was so jealous right now.
Gregory House is
lying in sweat with those tears that will go unseen
Lives in a dream
The violins died down. House laughed. Would آپ look at that poor cripple...
He was pathetic.
And he had to disturb that dream he lived in because now his leg decided to شامل میں in and that was his cue to call Wilson: his excuse. Which was nothing to Wilson... nothing big. Just his messiah complex and a place to go to celebrate it. Cuddy would just roll her eyes and dig up someone else to fix the unfixable until her champions damned limb allowed him to return.
It was nothing.
Really.
"Wilson?" House controlled his voice with practised ease as he heard his friend sigh down the line.
"House? Need a ride?"
"Hand." House corrected.
"Leg?" Wilson responded, already on the route to his friend's apartment.
"Naturally." House کہا with equally practised false cheer, sighing afterwards to make it مزید believable.
"Coming, House. آپ coming in today?"
"I don't know yet... hurry up would you? I need to shit."
"Have آپ tried? Getting up I mean?"
"Just why do آپ think I called you if that was an option?"
"I'm flattered, House. Really." Wilson parked his car in front of the apartment, speeding up the steps.
"You were already heading here?" House asked when he heard footsteps in the hallway.
"You were having مزید bad days. Figured I could somehow... catch آپ in the beginning of one and actually help if I came سے طرف کی unannounced."
"So much for that one, huh?" House was smirking through the actual telephone.
"I guess... I'm coming in, House. Hold on."
With that, Wilson entered and House resorted to his normal mask of stoic indifference.
His hand clamped down on his lower abdomen one last time before returning to the thigh with a sense of duty:
For the first time in his life, he willed it to hurt.
More soon if it's desired... The song is based on Eleanor Rigby سے طرف کی the Beatles. مزید Cuddy in future chapters... definitely Wilson because he's had so little screentime lately this is the only way to get my fix...
Hope آپ enjoyed!