In Sickness and Sonnets - A House MD & Dead Poets Society Fanfiction

Assumptions and Asininity

For Anderson, the 5 minutes feel like an eternity. Jaw clenching tighter and tighter with each tick of the second hand, Wilson's sympathetic but resigned look occasionally meeting his eyes as he looks around. Finally, after his own eternity, Overstreet pulls the curtains open and walks in.

"Sorry, took a little longer. Got lost trying to find you." His eyes meet Anderson's first, eventually trailing down his arm to Neil.
"Jesus. What happened?"

Wilson pushes himself forward, no longer leaning on the pole.
"He ah, went into tachycardic arrest from heart failure." He says with a sigh, "We need to contact family to be able to go ahead with surgical implantation of an assist device."

Hearing this, Anderson loosens his grip from Neil.
"Knox, you know how much he'd hate that—Just, tell him!"

Overstreet sighs, smoothing out his suit jacket.
"It's never that simple," He places a hand on his shoulder, looking to Wilson. "It's an emergency though, no? Implied consent covers you. Waiting for his family delays emergency treatment, he's only going to deteriorate."

Wilson sighs, Dealing with legal is tiring, regardless of whether they're ours, apparently.

"We can assume implied consent, but the issue is if-"
Overstreet takes the chart from the bed as he's talking, scanning over it.
"Hey, you can't touch-"

"No DNR, though you already knew that." Overstreet tuts as he reads, "Prior routine surgical form indicated full preventative measures in event of crash. Christ, it's not like he's gonna sue you." He snips, looking up from the form at Wilson.

"Believe me, I want to go ahead with this surgery, I just can't break hospital protocol."

"Break protocol? But, Dr. Wilson, he... He's going to die if you wait for his family! And... They'd be here already if they cared." Anderson gets up, standing by Overstreet's side.

"He didn't contact them." Overstreet cuts over Anderson, eyes back on the chart. "Says here in your initial exam he insisted you don't. So, what's the issue? You'd be breaking his wishes if you contact them now."

Oh, so now it's a moral issue. "Mr. Overstreet, you have to understand, I want this to happen as much as you, but the morals of the situation unfortunately have little hold over the medical. I could lose my licence." Wilson paces by the side of Neil's bed, the pair of eyes boring into him. "My boss—Or, my bosses boss—already wants to fire me, I can't just-"

"You're the guy Neil was so fond about? Hard to believe..." He hates the self-serving. Anderson mumbles bitterly.

A hurt expression flashes across Wilson's face. "Ande- Todd, my hands are tied. I want to help him right now, I really do, but... I need to stay within my lines."

"Ah- Anderson? Did you notice Neil drinking at all?" Overstreet suddenly asks, eyes on the chart.

"N-No? Why?"

"Second toxicology screen indicates 'Alcohol Metabolites'." He states, reading the form aloud, "Now, Dr. Wilson, I'll admit I'm a little bit rusty in my medical law, but that indicates excess drinking, does it not?" He queries.

I hate when they're right. They get all smug.

"Factor in his depression... My, he wasn't in sound mind when you ordered a lot of this. He's a doctor. I'd assume he knows what's going to help and what isn't... Looking at the state he's in," He steels his breath looking at Neil, God, this lawyer shit is hard when he's laying there dying... What happened to you man? "...I'm afraid I know which one he chose."

"Y- You're blaming me?" Wilson stops pacing, bringing both hands to his chest before swinging his whole body around in exasperation. He thinks back to what happened with House, the look in his eyes when he saw his legs. The swelling. Oh, for God's sake, there was a point. "He hid his symptoms! I had no way of knowing they would make him worse!" he points, walking towards Knox.

"I think you're more likely to get sued by his family if you don't go ahead with this, and he dies." Overstreet finishes, placing the chart back on the bed.

During all of this, Anderson is only looking at Neil. You... Did this on purpose? This... This all... Dalton's gonna... Hoh, fuck me. The world around him suddenly gets very, very bright.

The room sways and contorts as he tries desperately to steady his breathing, fluorescent lighting growing, turning his vision completely white. Steady beeping of the monitor turning into a shrill, constant, high-pitched whine as he collapses on the floor.

"-treet, this we can only as- Todd? Todd!" Wilson watches as Todd turns completely white, running over to him as he collapses. "Nurse!" He yells, knelt on the floor with Anderson's head on his lap. "Get- Get the damned bed alarm!" He instructs, leaning his head down and listening for Anderson's breaths.

"Oh, fuck-" Overstreet's confident outward persona slipping as he reaches over for Neil's bed, pressing the alarm button on the side.

Two nurses come running in, urgent posture slackening as one of them asks,

"It's not the renal failure guy?"

"Like it matters! Get a gurney!" Wilson urges, the other quickly wheeling it in.
"Overstreet, grab his ankles, keep his back straight... 1, 2..." Oversteet, Wilson, and the nurses hoist the unconscious man up on the gurney, and he's wheeled away.

"Is ah, he gonna be okay?" Overstreet questions, watching the gurney recede.

"Just fine. Probably anxiety." Wilson sighs, looking at Neil. "I'm scheduling the surgery. I... He won't ever get a transplant, if it is the alcohol that caused this. But that- That... Anderson didn't notice? That requires an insane amount of drinking... Liver function was suppressed but..." He trails off, now mainly talking to himself.

"Well... Um, good to hear, I guess—the surgery part, not—" Overstreet laughs at himself, walking over to Neil. He takes a moment to reflect on everything, How different we all are now... He glances at Wilson, nodding to himself. "I know you're not a bad guy, doctor. Just... Hah, Neil's a complex one, eh?" He turns back to the man in the bed, taking a deep breath.

"Bastard." He mumbles, a smile playing on his lips. "If he makes it out of this, Dalton will kill him. Back at Welton, they made a bet; Dalton said he'd be the first of us to go—with all that smoking. I think this is cheating, though." There's an overwhelming fondness in his voice, as if he isn't talking about what Neil's done to himself.

"Right..." Wilson says, unsure of what to say, "I'll go schedule the surgery."
Wilson's form disappears behind the curtain, Knox gently adjusting the blanket as he's left alone with Neil.