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WIP: stabbed!Wilson, Part 11
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Part III
House looked around himself. He was in a bare room with no windows. The floor consisted of worn wooden boards, and a hallway was leading away from him towards a closed door. To his right, there was another room, set off not by a door but by an open frame.
As he let his eyes wander over the white empty walls, House realized that he was standing in his apartment in Baker Street. Only that all his stuff had somehow vanished - the books, the furniture, the carpet, the couch, the TV. His piano. All that was left was a dim-lit, empty room.
He began walking towards the closed door at the end of the hallway where his bedroom should have been. He was using his cane, the rubber tip making thumping sounds on the wooden floor as he walked, but actually, he wouldn't really have needed it. His leg wasn't hurting at all, nor was it protesting against him putting his weight on it. It felt like a perfectly normal leg.
As he pushed open the door, he found that his former bedroom had been cleared of all interiors as well - except for the bed, which was still standing in its accustomed place in the middle of the room. Unlike usually, the blankets and pillows were straightened and the coverlet was spread over the bed.
He lowered himself on the edge, and as he found that everything felt perfectly normal, he stretched out on the covers on his accustomed right side of the bed. The view of the blank ceiling wasn't that much different than usually, except that now he couldn't make out the blurred shape of the closet and the bookshelf from the corner of his eyes.
He was getting comfortable and his eyes were drifting closed when he felt something brush lightly over his cheek. He raised a hand to reach for whatever had caused the sensation, and his fingers caught a snowflake. It didn't melt as he touched it; it didn't even feel cold.
He directed his eyes to the ceiling and saw more of the dry, warm snowflakes falling. First, they created small flecks of white on his clothes; then those flecks merged and began to look more like a blanket. He could feel a certain warmth radiating from the snow blanket and closed his eyes, immersing himself in the sensation of the snowflakes brushing over his skin, settling down on his cheeks and eyelids, caressing him, quietly whispering his name...
"... House."
House stirred and blinked, momentarily disoriented. After a moment, the blurry image in front of his eyes crystallized to a face - Cuddy's face, peering at him out of slightly bloodshot blue eyes. House blinked again and licked his dry lips. "What?" he asked. He sat up, wincing at the stiffness in his leg and neck, and reached for his cane which he'd left on the table next to the visitor's armchair he was sitting in. He looked back at Cuddy. "Any change?"
Cuddy, who had taken a step backwards, shook her head. "No," she said. "He hasn't shown any signs of waking up yet."
House looked over to the hospital bed that was standing in the middle of the room. From where he was sitting, he couldn't see anything of the person lying in it. He ran a hand over his face. "What time is it?" he asked.
"Just past four p. m.," Cuddy said. "I sent his parents back to the hotel to get some proper rest." She dropped her eyes and met his gaze. "Maybe you should go home for a while, too, House. You look like hell, and there's nothing you can do here, anyway."
House didn't answer. He only averted his eyes and levered himself to his feet. At the burning stab of pain from his leg, he clenched his teeth and wished for the insensibility from his dream. Without looking at Cuddy, he limped over to the bed and stood beside it.
Looking at Wilson wasn't any easier than it had been last night in the ER. He was still too pale, too quiet. At least the bluish tinge had disappeared from his lips. The trache was still doing the breathing for him, and he wasn't showing any sign of life. Hadn't shown any sign of life ever since this morning when they had finished transfusing him with Abby's blood.
They'd transferred him from recovery to the ward sometime around noon, and House was trying to ignore the finality this transfer seemed to communicate. At least they hadn't put him in the basement next to vegetative state guy. Yet.
It's barely been twelve hours, a seldomly heard part of his mind protested. House didn't feel the urge or the energy to make it shut up. It had barely been twelve hours, true. It had been more than ten, though. With every passing hour, the chances went from slim to slimmer. He knew that as a fact, and no optimistic little voice in his head could change it. Even if it sounded as much like Wilson as this one did.
Cuddy had stepped up beside him. "Go home and get some rest, House," she said. "I'll call you immediately if anything changes."
He turned his head to look at her. "What about you?" he asked. "You don't exactly look like the well-rested Dean of Medicine the med students want to see."
"I'll be fine," she said. "I keep extra concealer in my emergency make-up kit in my office."
House smiled a little at that. He didn't really like the idea of going home very much, except that the thought of his bed made him feel like falling asleep on the spot. Also, he was out of pills. He could have made Cuddy write him a prescription, but he preferred the thought of digging up one of the half-filled bottles that were sitting in his med cabinet at home. So, he nodded his agreement. "I'll be back later tonight, then," he said, and Cuddy nodded.
"Drive carefully," she told him, and smiled a little sheepishly when he raised an eyebrow at her unusual statement. "The streets are wet," she added.
He looked at her for another short moment; then he nodded. "Thanks for the warning."
He left the room without another look at her or the person in the hospital bed.
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And the leg being fine in the dream fits with his 'canon-dream' about Vogler.
You manage the balance between desperation and humor very well in this chapter.
In my opinion it's really one of the best in the story. It's not hectic, nothing much happens, but the feeling of waiting comes over very well. Like the calm in the eye of the storm. :-)
Wonder where House will end up... *gg*
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Seriously? Lol. I was just going with the flow there. How strange! *gg*
I'm happy you enjoyed it! (to be completely honest, this was the first chapter in a while that I feel completely comfortable with myself ^^).
Wonder where House will end up
You know where he'll end up! I spilled my plot to you, didn't I? I hope you don't mind being spoiled too much... :P
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I can see why. It is really good. :-)
You know where he'll end up
yeah, I know. I was just joking around. And no, I don't mind being spoiled. I haven't the foggiest how you're going to write it, so that's fine. :-)
*and off to more uni...*
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When will you know for sure?
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Squee, someone noticed! ;)
*dumps her psychology books in your lap* I'm done with them. You want them for dream analyzing purposes? ;D
Thanks for the comment!
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And the voice in his head sounding like Wilson--oh. Oh man. That hurt.
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Thanks for commenting! Glad you're still enjoying it :).