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WIP: Untitled as of yet, Part 12
House curled in on himself, the stinging pain from his scalded hand and the searing stab in his leg clashing and grating in his brain and spinal nerves. He clenched his teeth and held his breath until the pain relented.
"House! Are you okay?"
Wilson's voice. House opened his eyes to see Wilson in the kitchen doorframe, a concerned and inquiring expression on his face. There wasn't a trace of anger. House couldn't help but smile a little at that.
"I- " He winced as the wet, now cooling cuff of his shirt rubbed over the irritated skin on his arm as he slowly sat up. "I spilled my coffee."
House could see ambiguous emotions battling on Wilson's face, before a well-known resigned-but-sympathetic expression took over and Wilson knelt down beside him. He took House's burned hand in his, carefully pushing the fabric of the shirt aside and running gentle fingers over the angry red skin. Then he shook his head and sighed. "Did I tell you already that you're an idiot?" he asked.
House, who had to make an effort not to wince and pull away at Wilson's touch, smirked a little. "You might have mentioned something."
Wilson got to his feet. "Take off your shirt," he said before he went back into the kitchen.
House carefully began to peel off his shirt, wincing, and heard Wilson putter around in the kitchen, the sound of pots banging together and then the rushing of the tap being turned on. A moment later, Wilson returned with a bowl of water, which he put down on the floor beside House. "Put your hand in there," he said.
House put his hand in the water and hissed as the cool liquid made his burned skin tingle. Wilson used some kitchen paper to wipe up the spilled coffee, then went into the bedroom, returning a moment later with one of House's t-shirts. He squatted beside House and gestured with his hand. "Let me see."
House let him take another look at his hand and dab away the moisture with a cloth, and after a few moments, Wilson nodded. "It's not too bad," he said. "Only first degree."
"Gee, thank you, Dr. Wilson," House said, but his tone wasn't unkind, and Wilson only raised an eyebrow and handed him the shirt. House put it on, glad for the layer of fabric protecting him from the slight chill of the air on his bare skin. Wilson reached out to pick up his cane and handed it to him. "You think you can get up?"
House took a moment to gather himself, then quirked his eyebrows. "I can try." He reached out for Wilson's arm, and with the other man's help, got first to his knees and then slowly, awkwardly levered himself to his feet. It was an exhausting and painful procedure, and when he was finally standing upright, he was heavily leaning on Wilson, clenching his teeth and breathing hard. Wilson had an arm around his shoulders, supporting him, and for a brief moment, House allowed Wilson to carry most of his weight, keeping his head lowered and trying to catch his breath. Then he took a careful, unsteady step. Wilson didn't let go, and together they made their awkward way to the couch.
House collapsed onto the seat, feeling eternally relieved to be able to take his weight off his leg. He rubbed his thigh, hunching his shoulders a little and gritting his teeth. After a while, the pain relented a little, and he sat back, reaching into his pocket for a pill and swallowing it dry before he opened his eyes to see Wilson standing before him, offering him a glass of water. House reached out and took it from him. "Thanks," he said, his voice rather hoarse even to his own ears.
Wilson walked around his outstretched legs to the other side of the couch and sat down beside him, switching on the TV. The image of the weather woman filled the screen, and House groaned and held out a demanding hand. Wilson hesitated only for a split second before handing over the remote.
This is winding down towards an end. Good thing, too. I only have one Histo lesson left to finish it *gg*.