House MD Fanfiction

Unrelenting

Hilson, pain,(this one made me very happy :)), smut, 7388 words
By: l57371

Knives. Chainsaws. Red hot pokers. Shards of glass. Sharp teeth. Sharp sticks. All of it, all at once. And it still didn’t even come close to describing how much it hurt. Unrelenting, unstoppable, indescribable pain.

House sat in his office armchair, right hand clutching at his thigh in a futile attempt to massage away some of the pain, left hand in a vise grip around the handle of his cane. His face contorted as waves of agony rolled over his leg, again and again, until he thought he might scream. The torture had been unremitting for the last half an hour, and two Vicodin hadn’t even begun to touch it. He had debated a third but decided against it, knowing that if he did down yet another pill, he’d be staying put for the night, unable to drive or even move.

He made a decision. If the damned pain was finally going to kill him, it most certainly was not going to be here. Clenching both hands around the head of his cane, he slowly levered himself up from the chair, pausing for a moment when he was finally upright, slowly transferring some weight to his right leg to see if it would hold. After a few seconds of threatening to buckle and collapse altogether, it seemed that he would at least be able to walk – well, limp maybe, stumble, lurch even – so perhaps he’d be able to get to the car. House patted the pocket with the Vicodin vial in it, grabbed up his backpack and hobbled slowly out the door. Now to get to the parking lot without running into anyone, he thought. Ha. Fat chance.

He was just preparing to slide past Wilson’s closed office door, silently thanking an unusually cooperative universe, when the door swung open and Wilson exited, escorting out his patient with a dismissing hand on the elbow. He was smiling encouragingly, House noted. So this one will live, I guess. The smile faltered however when Wilson’s gaze moved to take in House and his awkward shuffling gate, much slower than usual, making his way toward the elevator. He gave the patient’s arm one last quick squeeze and then quickly joined his friend.

“You look like hell,” he opened cautiously, hands in his pockets, matching his stride to House’s and staying close, just in case.

“Thank you. And a merry fuck you to you, too.” House’s voice hitched slightly as another stab of pain made its way up and down the ruined thigh muscle. Wilson took in his pale face and the sheen of sweat, the way his arm muscles quivered as he leaned on the cane.

“You’re not driving,” he stated, finality in this voice.

“Well I’m certainly not walking,” House replied through gritted teeth.

“Have you taken a pill?” Wilson asked as they reached the elevator doors.

“No, I thought I’d try to ride this one out au naturel, thanks so much for asking,” House ground out in reply.

“How many?”

“Not enough.”

“How many is not enough?” Wilson’s voice was soft and House couldn’t hear the usual faint undertone of accusation in it. Strangely enough, he felt compelled to answer honestly.

“I took two in the last half hour, since this started, and one about an hour before that. If I take any more I certainly won’t be driving. Or moving. Or possibly breathing.” House kept his gaze on the floor.

“Let me just go get my stuff and I’ll drive you home. I’ll be quick.” Wilson’s hand came up to rest on House’s shoulder as he spoke, and then with a quick squeeze, he was gone before House could say anything. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had, Wilson’s tone brooked no argument, and the only thing that would happen if he’d tried to disagree would be that he would be forced to stand there longer to argue the point, and that he didn’t need.