Chapter Text
Song ----> Just, Radiohead
Stupid bet. That godforsaken, horrible, dumb, totally-not-worth-it, destroying, possibly fatal bet had to come straight from the sixth circle of hell. Or at least it did according to Gregory House.
"I'll give you a week off clinic duty if you go a week without narcotics." That was what Cuddy had said. House had of course boosted his promise of zero clinic time up to a month and then thrown her the pills. God, he should've never done that.
Now he sat with his head lolled back over the back of his office chair with the lights dimmed dramatically. He sighed deeply, head swimming with what felt like 10 barbells instead of cerebrospinal fluid, more commonly known as just brain fluid. The lights flicked back to normal intensity. Okay, scratch 10 barbells and make that 10.000. Gregory's sigh evolved to a complaining groan as he tilted his head forward into his left hand to shield his tired eyes.
"Did you turn into Count Dracula while we were gone? Geez," Chase huffed with a scrunch of his Australian nose.
Cameron scoffed at his comment and swept to House's side with a file. "We ran those tests you wanted. All of the results are here."
House didn't bother to even look at the beige file. "Fine," He absent-mindedly waved with his hand to indicate for her to get out of his face. "Put them on the desk or something."
"House," Foreman called with a raised, suspicious brow. "You feeling alright?"
Gregory finally looked up from his hand with a murderous stare. "Fresh as a daisy," He sarcastically replied, shakily getting up from his chair. Cameron instinctively reached out to help but House swatted her hand away.
"I need to think."
The door slammed behind Doctor House and Chase, Foreman, and Cameron were left with the forgotten file to stare bewildered at each other.
House swallowed hard and rubbed his temple with his free hand. The other was busy very carefully carrying him forward with the assistance (or could it even be called assistance anymore? The cane was doing all the work) of his cane. Even the slightest weight on his bad leg shot an electric shock of agony straight up his nervous system.
The doctor passed by where he regularly retrieved his Vicodin. He'd never been so tempted to walk up to what's-his-name and literally beg for a pill or two if that'd be what it took. But he wouldn't. He couldn't. Not if his pride didn't have acute plans of severely shrinking. Cuddy couldn't win the bet. Not after he'd been so confident that it'd be a breeze.
Greg felt a hand on the small of his back. He didn't bother to look. He had learned to recognize the feel of Wilson's hand after a bit of time knowing the guy.
"You're practically drooling," Wilson referred to House's staring, coming around House to stand face to face and folding his hands behind his own back. "Is this about the deal with Cuddy?"
"How do you know about that?" House asked. Snappy.
"She mentioned it," The brown-haired doctor quickly said. House would never know it had truthfully been Wilson's idea.
"Oh, she did, huh?" House nodded, eyes narrowing. "Well, you can tell her it's gliding along smoothly."
Wilson's eyes followed House as he passed by him. "House-"
"No!" The doctor in clear pain aborted the conversation and turned the corner. Wilson stared after him, brown doe eyes just as doe-y as House imagined them.
House stared into the toilet bowl full of his vomit.
"Eugh..."
House closed his eyes as he felt the dreading round two coming up. He leaned over and retched again.
The toilet flushed.
He drank a whole lot of water after that. It tasted like nothing. Not even water. Greg stared himself in the mirror. His eyes were red and droopy, nose clogged. This was worse than he had anticipated. Not that he'd ever admit it.
The office was full of the three, young doctors' discussing chatter when House stepped inside again. He looked almost normal, muscles maybe a tad tighter than usual.
"House!" Cameron stood. "Where have you been? We- The patient needs you!" She said with furrowed brows.
"Uh-huh, I think I figured that one out on my own." The doctor grumbled.
Allison's tense shoulders sunk as she shook her head, disapproving of his nonchalant response to the current situation.
House rolled his eyes, walking up to the whiteboard with previously written symptoms.
"His retina is clotting bad," Foreman switched the subject to a more professional one. "He'll go blind eventually."
House sighed. "There's nothing we can do about his eye."
"Well.." Chase tuned in. "I don't know, maybe there is."
Everyone turned to look at the blonde.
"If we remove some of the liquid from the eye itself, the vitreous humour, it might make some extra room around the retinal artery," Chase explained, obviously feeling extremely good about himself for coming up with this one.
The two others looked back to House. He paused.
"That's... creative," He said, making sure to nod approvingly. "But it'll work."
Chase smiled and Cameron and Foreman nodded with determination.
Club meeting over. House leaned against the wall outside the office, nodding the three other doctors off. Once they were gone he slumped, letting out his one billionth sigh of that day. Time to go home, his bed called his name.
It was just as soft and cushiony as House wanted. His leg screamed as he swung it atop the duvet, but came to more of a pricking sensation when it rested. House just managed to close his eyes before he was rudely interrupted. God, he could never catch a break.
"House," Wilson's voice called. Gregory always forgot he was roommates with this man who only seemed to get more and more annoying.
Gregory responded with an irritable grunt.
"Gregory."
"What?" House snapped, opening his eyes.
Wilson leaned against the doorway, shirt unbuttoned two buttons, jacket under his right arm, brown hair covering his left brow as he tilted his head. The doe-eyed doctor came to sit on the side of House's bed.
"Maybe you should give up the bet with Cuddy," Straight to the point.
"And let her smear that win in my face?" House shook his head. "I think you've gone into a temporary state of psychosis."
Wilson's caring expression became stern, but House didn't relent.
"No." Gregory made his previous statement more clear.
"House, this is clearly taking a toll on you, you-"
"A toll? Overreaction, much?" Gregory shot back.
James leaned back with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "I'm only saying that--"
"You're only saying that I'm a total, crazed addict who can't handle a week without his precious drugs?"
James shook his head. "House, no, that was not what-"
"Were too."
"Can you stop cutting me off?" Wilson suddenly snapped.
Gregory scoffed like a scolded teenager. "Fine!" He said with furrowed brows.
"Your health is more important than a dumb bet," Wilson spoke. "I know your relationship with painkillers has become... worrisome, but there are other ways to deal with that than this."
House stared at him, crossed arms. Stubborn bastard. Wilson knew it was no use to waste his breath trying to talk him out of it.
Wilson stood from the bed, turning to exit the room.
"I'm serious, House."
Greg stared after him, blue ocean eyes just as deep and ocean-y as Wilson imagined them.