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Maybe it’ll start to pass soon.
Wilson was curled up on the couch in his office. He brought his knees up as far as he could. His hands were trying to simultaneously rub his head while covering his eyes and ears. It hurt to think. He rubbed his head into the couch, trying to make the tension distract him from the migraine. His hair would never recover, but he didn’t really care at the moment. For a brief moment, he thought about House breaking his hand. While Wilson wasn’t ready to go there, he was a bit more sympathetic. He forced his body to go limp, figuring the tight tension wasn’t helping. He took a few deep breaths (the best he could manage), and nearly felt comfort until-
“Lunchtime!” House shouted as he flung Wilson’s office door open.
Right on cue.
Wilson’s hands flew up to his ears and he groaned, pushing his face into the couch away from the new source of light.
“What’s up with you?” House asked. Without picking his head up, Wilson weakly raised a hand in forfeit. He carefully put his hand back down. There was a moment of silence. Wilson knew better than to think House actually left him alone, so he kept his eyes closed. His paranoia was justified when he felt House poking his ribs with his cane.
“Migraine,” Wilson gritted out.
“How long have you been in here?” House finally lowered his voice, noticing the piles of paper on Wilson’s desk.
“Dunno.” Wilson had an unusually large amount of paperwork. There were some days it all just seemed to cascade like an avalanche. Some days more literally than others. He hated leaving paperwork for the next day, both because he would eventually have to do it, and because someone’s treatment or referral could be a day later than if he just did it early.
“Last time you drank water?”
Forgot about water. Damn, he walked in his office in the morning and never left. Just sat down, got a pen, and never got up again. Running late in the morning and paperwork meant he hadn’t had anything to drink (or eat, really) all day.
Dehydration. Hunger. It fits.
Wilson just groaned a response, knowing House knew anyway.
“Idiot,” House muttered as he left, closing the door with more force than he should have (but a lot less than he could have).
Great. Now on top of the migraine (which was making it difficult to find the strength to find the water he apparently desperately needed), House now seemed to be in a mood. Whatever. House had closed the door, and-
Well now the door was opening. Wilson groaned again.
“Hope you don’t treat all room service like this,” House whispered. Wilson heard some clinking as House set something down on the table. He cracked open his eyes to see water and a sandwich. He flinched as House gently closed the door. “Don’t worry, stole your card,” House said as he sat next to where Wilson was sitting up. Wilson knew there was a good chance that was true, but didn’t want to have to use his brain to remember where he put his wallet.
Wilson slowly unwrapped the sandwich, taking moments to rub the pain and tiredness from his face. He barely comprehended when House took the sandwich out of his hands and replaced it with the water bottle.
“Jesus, Wilson, you’re halfway dead from dehydration and you go for the sandwich!”
Wilson once again raised a hand for the noise. He opened the water bottle, which opened…. a lot easier than expected. He looked at House, who was looking back expectantly.
“Did you…. dose this?”
House opened his mouth to respond, then closed it as if that wasn’t what he was expecting Wilson to say. “What the hell would I dose it with? I don’t think you’d exactly refuse an acetaminophen right now.” Wilson looked at House, not wanting to put his brain through the logic puzzle of whatever House could’ve put in the water. House rolled his eyes. “No. I did not put anything in the water. It’s right from the vending machine. Though, if it’s not to your liking, I’m sure urinal water will taste better.”
Wilson shook his head, too tired to come up with a retort. He was halfway through chugging when he realized-
He just opened it for me in case I couldn’t.
He had to stop mid-drink, which was probably a good thing as he needed to breathe. So that’s what House thought he was going to comment on. Well, Wilson had at least enough brain cells active to not call House out on it. Instead, he put the water down and started reopening the sandwich.
He started eating, thankful House made him drink water before trying to eat. He kept having to switch between the water and food. Surprisingly, House kept quiet for the whole thing.
“I sort of imagined you’d be banging pots and pans in here by now,” Wilson said as he finished eating.
“Hey, I’ve had migraines. And despite what Cuddy and Foreman and Cameron and Chase and any patient I’ve ever had would tell you, I’m not a total asshole.”
Wilson looked at House, already feeling a bit better from the food and drink.
“Also, the mariachi band needed longer than a five minute notice.”
Wilson smiled. Then, without thinking about it, rested his head on House’s shoulder.
In his defense, his head really hurt and House’s shoulder was already head-height and he wasn’t torturing Wilson as much as he could’ve been-
“Maybe we should get you to the ICU,” House muttered, putting his hand on Wilson’s forehead. House’s hand was cold. Wilson hummed and moved closer.
“‘m fine. Just hurts.”
“Why the hell are you still here?”
“‘t’ll pass.”
“You are not doing paperwork like this.”
“Later.”
“You’re burning up,” House said, removing his hand. Wilson managed to fight back a whine.
“Happens.”
“Wilson, you’re not going back to work like this.”
Wilson groaned to voice his disapproval.
“And what happens when you mess up a paper and someone dies?”
Wilson could nearly hear the eye roll. Of course House went the patient safety route.
“No one’ll die.”
“And no one will die if you leave.”
Wilson groaned again. He pushed his forehead into House’s shoulder, resuming his previous attempt at tension. Also, House smelled like House. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. Right now, it was a good thing.
“Christ, you’re out of it. Did you find a Tylenol in my armpit?”
Wilson hummed. Maybe he was overplaying it a little. But hey, after all he’s done for House, maybe he deserves a little caring.
“Well, c’mon. We’re going home.”
“You?”
“Not like I have a patient. Also, as much fun as it would be betting on which parking lot you manage to crash into driving yourself home, I can use sympathy points for this to get out of clinic hours.”
Yeah, that made sense.
“What if you get a case?” Wilson asked, slowly standing up with House.
“Kids can take care of it. If not, I’ll fire them and find some kids who can.”
Wilson smiled a bit, still leaning on House. He managed to balance on his own feet.
When the door opened, it nearly knocked Wilson back on the couch. It was just so bright.
“C’mon, one foot in front of the other,” House coached.
“Is- Is my hair presentable?”
“No. Really looks like we just had sex.”
Wilson tried to smooth out his hair the best he could without a mirror. He looked at House expectantly, but House just stared back with an amused expression.
“Better?”
“Looks slightly less like we just had sex.”
Wilson held a hand up in defeat and braved the light outside his door.
————
They made it as far as the lobby without being interrupted.
“Where are the kids?” Wilson mumbled.
“Doing my clinic hours. It’s amazing how fast it goes by when all three are doing it.”
Wilson shook his head and tried not to stumble.
“And where are you two going?” A voice cut through the air. Wilson flinched and leaned into House, careful about their balance. He opened his eyes and, sure enough, Cuddy was in front of them, though she looked worried upon seeing Wilson.
“Well, poor Wilson here has a migraine, and I feel like that makes him a qualified danger to himself and others on the road, so I was going to take him back to our apartment.”
“You okay?” Cuddy asked Wilson, voice softer.
Wilson nodded the best he could. “It’ll pass.”
Cuddy nodded. She turned to House, gaze hardening. “I’m assuming you want to stay with him?”
“I could always leave him alone, but he might pass out on the toilet again.”
“Hey, I haven’t-“
House hand flew up to the other side of Wilson’s head in a sarcastic comforting motion (Wilson just took it for the comfort part). “See! He’s delirious!”
Cuddy waved them off. “Fine, just get him healthy.” She walked off before House could respond.
House dropped his hand. “Now that the Wicked Witch of the West is gone…”
————
Back at the apartment, Wilson immediately curled up on the couch. The migraine had started fading, but he really didn’t want to do much else. He kept his eyes closed as he heard movement. After a few moments, he opened his eyes and saw a bottle of water and another sandwich on the table. He slowly sat up, smiling and rubbing his face.
“Don’t read too much into it. If you die of dehydration it’s my ass on the line.”
Wilson read into it. It was…. nice. And a little weird, of course. House was taking care of him. He started eating while House turned the tv on (with the volume low). Wilson’s mind drifted. House and he were never really touchy with each other, but that seemed to not be the case today. When Wilson leaned on House back in his office, House hadn’t moved away. Either Wilson really was on the brink of death, or House didn’t mind.
“If you want me to play, you can just ask.”
Wilson blinked out of his trance and realized he was staring at the piano. “Oh, uh, I didn’t mean-“
House shut him up with an eye roll. He made his way to the piano. He started playing a piece Wilson knew to be one of his favorites. Before Wilson knew what he was doing, he was standing up and walking towards the piano. What the hell. I already feel shitty. Might as well feel less shitty.
House looked up at him, a bit surprised. After a moment, he moved over on the bench, letting Wilson sit next to him. Wilson smiled, looking down at the keys. He yawned, a wave of tiredness hitting him. The migraine was lifting, leaving him exhausted. Just as before, he closed his eyes and leaned on House’s shoulder. He heard the slightest hesitation of the piano keys, yet House didn’t ask him to leave.
“If you plan on falling asleep, the couch is probably more comfortable than a bench.”
Wilson hummed, slightly rubbing his head on House’s shoulder. Screw it. I’m going to be a little indulgent. I think I deserve it.
House kept playing. The smile never left Wilson’s face until his head started nodding forward as he fell asleep.
That got House to stop playing. “Alright, bedtime for you.”
Wilson hummed and shook his head. The living room was nice. It was dim except for the tv playing. The piano was calming. And House was there. Still, House started getting up, careful to not let Wilson fall. Wilson stood up and slowly made his way to the couch.
“Your back will never forgive you.”
Probably not. Wilson couldn’t find it in him to care. As he laid down, a blanket was thrown over him. He smiled as he pulled the blanket up and snuggled in. He let out a soft sigh.
He opened his eyes as he felt a hand on his forehead. House was standing above him with his usual analytic stare. “You don’t feel as warm as you did before.”
Wilson allowed himself to be indulgent one more time. He reached up and lightly grabbed House’s wrist by his head. The look on House’s face changed from analytical to shocked. Wilson held strong, staring up at House with a question in his eyes.
“Wilson….” House trailed off, unsure how to respond. Wilson gently pulled House’s hand toward him.
“I’m sick.” Wilson pleaded.
“From dehydrating and starving yourself.”
“Still sick.”
House sighed and looked down the couch.
“C’mon,” Wilson said, pulling House's wrist more.
House sighed again. “Scoot over.”
Wilson tried to hide his smile and he moved away from the edge of the couch. House carefully maneuvered into laying on the couch, careful to not upset his leg.
“Fine,” House said, “But you’re the big spoon.”
Wilson wrapped his arms around House and pulled him closer. His chest was right against House’s back. The couch likely wasn’t made for two grown men to lay on it, but they made do.
Wilson closed his eyes and relaxed. For so long this is what I’ve wanted. All it took was getting too wrapped up in paperwork. Huh.
He carefully moved his hands up to feel House’s heart. He’s a bit of a romantic, sue him. What’s important was House didn’t say anything. Didn’t immediately throw Wilson’s hands off and storm off. If anything- Did he move closer to me? Wilson tightened his hold and put his nose in House’s hair. He smells nice. Wilson smiled as he felt House’s heartbeat.
I love him.