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WIP: stabbed!Wilson; Part 8
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tli and neery for suggestions!)Also, Fandom is Fucking Funny!
- 4 hours
House didn't like the OR observation room. He didn't have a problem with the place itself - except maybe that the bench in the middle of the room was terribly uncomfortable, a fact that went a long way to explaining why nobody ever sat down on it.
House just didn't like being here. It made him feel restless. On edge. When one of his patients was getting surgery, he preferred either being in the OR, setting the tone, or not being present at all. The few times he'd ended up in the observation room he could count on the fingers of one hand - maybe plus his cane. It had always been in a situation when he hadn't been sure whether the surgery would heal or kill the patient.
Considering this, it really was no wonder he felt uncomfortable being here. It was a place of self-doubt and insecurity. This time was no exception.
He knew that Wilson needed the surgery. More than needed it; he should have gotten it hours ago. The one meager unit of blood from Buffalo had nudged his crit up a few notches. That and some verbal harassing plus a few menacing glares from Cuddy had convinced the surgeon to agree to perform the operation. House hadn't liked how unhappy the man had looked about it, though.
They'd only just gotten started down there in the OR. From where he was standing, House couldn't see much, so he'd taken to watching the anesthesiologist. If anything were to go wrong, she would be one of the first to notice.
Without looking away, House reached into his pocket and extricated his pill bottle. His fingers tried to go through the familiar motion of flipping off the lid, but the lid wasn't there, and the bottle was empty. House pressed his lips together and felt for a stray pill in his pocket instead. He swallowed it, and then he picked up the empty bottle to frown at the label.
Without his glasses, he had a hard time making out the tiny script, but he knew what it said. Name of the pharmacy, how to take the pills - not meant for rectal administration; it didn't say that, but over the years, House had read it again and again, each time hoping it would this time - and the small bolded line in the right upper corner that was the name of the prescribing doctor.
That one line was actually the only one that had changed in content. The first three months after the infarction, it had been the name of that Lindsay doctor he had been referred to after being released from the hospital.
He remembered her very well. The two of them hadn't had a good start. Admittedly, House hadn't had a good start with anyone he'd met during that time, but theirs had been particularly bad. It had probably had a lot to do with Lindsay's general attitude about pain being as manageable as the patient made it to be. House still felt like poking her eyes out for that statement. To make a long story short, after three months, he'd preferred being in pain to going back to get a new prescription. That was when the name on the bottles had changed from Samantha Lindsay to James Wilson.
Wilson had never doubted his pain. At least in the beginning he hadn't. Being an oncologist, he knew a thing or two about pain treatment, and he'd patiently varied the dosage and had put up with House's abuse until they'd found a treatment scheme that worked. And when he'd realized that House had begun to up the dosage without consulting him, he'd done it again. And again. He'd never said a word. In the end, it had been House who had blown up at him, telling him he didn't want management from him, he only wanted the pills. Needed the pills.
Wilson had tried to stand up to him. They'd shouted a lot, and House wasn't really sure, but he thought that maybe there had been some pushing and shoving. In the end, though, House had won, as he always did in heads-on confrontations, and Wilson had ceased his protests, unhappy but unable to do anything.
He hadn't stopped prescribing. He hadn't stopped being his friend, either. For a while, this arrangement had worked, not perfectly, but well enough for House. Then there had been the shooting, the failed ketamine treatment and the Tritter disaster. For a while, House had been pretty sure to have lost Wilson as his friend. He suspected that for a while, Wilson had felt the same way.
Wilson had come back, though. To say that this hadn't surprised House would be a bold-faced lie. In fact, the aggressive, exasperated peace offering Wilson had extended after the brain cancer fake had been discovered had surprised House enough to make him refuse it. He knew he'd hurt Wilson with his refusal, and even though he wouldn't admit it to anybody, ever, he could have kicked himself afterwards. No way Wilson would come back yet another time.
Except that he had. It seemed that no matter what House did, there was just no way Wilson would ever let go. This realization, when it had come to him, had scared House. Unconditional devotion - wasn't that what he had always been trying to prove didn't exist? And all the while, it had been right there, while he, Mr. Attentive and Observant, had overlooked it. Had maybe simply refused to see it.
He hadn't been sure what to do about it. The big puzzle he'd been gathering pieces of ever since he'd met Wilson more than a decade ago was staring to shape up to a discernible image, but House wasn't sure if he really wanted to solve it. Because it wasn't only about Wilson. House could recognize himself somewhere in those loose puzzle pieces, and he didn't know whether he wanted to know where exactly he fit into the picture.
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Next chapter hopefully won't be too long! :)
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emointrospective fic, and had to work on cutting back on the long waffling paragraphs, because it was really starting to get boring. Now, when I go introspective, I always feel like I'm doing something wrong ^^.no subject
what a great chapter. I love the puzzle metaphor at the end. As well as the infarction history. And it's not too introspective. I like introspection. :-)
Only thing is: I have a request. In the final story could you change the first name of the Lindsay doctor? Please! Pretty pretty please. I love the name Elisabeth (you know why) and having a stupid idiot named like that, just makes my teeth hurt.
(I once refused to finish that book 'Homo Faber' because the main character said he hated the name Elisabeth. If I remember correctly the book was thrown against the wall and then shoved underneath the bed for a year.) :-)
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Carter*gg*.Sorry. I wouldn't have called her that if I'd remembered, but since in my head you're wih... *gg*
Happy you like! Stay tuned for the next update! *ad jingle* ;)
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I love that you called her Samantha! Fantastic!!
LOL...
(thanks for the changing!) Now I'm even more happy!
*tunes in* :-)