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It wasn’t House’s job to take care of Wilson. Hell, most of the time House couldn’t even properly take care of himself by his roommate’s own standards. But there were only so many days he could watch Wilson mope around the house, barely moving unless it’s to walk down the hall to the bathroom, only eating if it’s something directly within reach of the couch, not changing clothes, and certainly not showering, before he felt the need to intervene.
“You need to move.”
House stood behind the couch, watching as his statement earned a disgruntled mutter from the man he had to assume was somewhere under the pile of blankets. Usually Wilson was better at pulling himself up out of these emotional tailspins than himself. Even after Amber when he’d decidedly been at his worst, sure he’d been devastated but he’d managed to not fully isolate himself in that despair. He’d joined a group, accepted help from his friends, and eventually managed to come back to work and begin to move on. But House didn’t have months to wait around for Wilson to feel like moving, he’d been gratuitous enough in allowing him these two days to rot in the sofa cushions and now he needed to expedite this process and retain use of his living room, damn it!
Wilson let out an undignified yelp, head finally emerging from the cocoon to glare accusingly at House. He shook his head expressively and looked around curiously, an expression of faux innocence and confusion on his face while gripping his cane.
“Just leave me alone, House. I’m exhausted,” Wilson managed to get out before promptly burying his face back into the pillow, leaving House to roll his eyes. “From what? I haven’t seen you move in two days,” he retorted, moving to jab the lump with his cane yet again. This garnered a better reaction. Wilson finally sat up, hands at his side and sighed, clearly frustrated.
“Why, why do you have to insist on bothering me when you can tell that I don’t feel well?” Now that he’d fully turned to face him, House could truly take in for the first time just how rough he looked. His face was pale, with prevalent eye bags, and marks from the pillowcase probably permanently etched into his usually highly maintained skin. And over all, Wilson just looked…sad.
No, House thought, this certainly wouldn’t do.
Before Wilson let himself dissolve back into the couch, House asked, “When’s the last time you had something substantial to eat?” And just as Wilson was about to open his mouth to answer, he continued ,“And I mean an actual meal, not something from one of those wrappers sitting on the floor.” When Wilson had to take several moments to come up with something, House just sighed and decided that would have to be his first order of business. Once Wilson had some actual food in his stomach, maybe he’d feel up to doing something like taking a shower. His roommate would definitely appreciate it.
House gave the whole situation in front of him a quick once over before deciding what route to take. “If I make you something to eat, do you think you’ll be able to get up and take a shower?” He watched as the gears slowly turned in Wilson’s brain, his thoughts foggy after days of just drifting in and out of consciousness. To sweeten the deal, House added, “I’ll let you go back to sleep afterwards.” With that he finally earned a nod out of the man, who slumped back against the cushions as soon as House turned to walk into the kitchen.
Just for simplicity’s sake, he decided to just make some quick tomato soup. He didn’t want Wilson to feel too overwhelmed by whatever food he put in front of him, plus he didn’t want to accidentally make him feel sick by feeding him too much too quickly after days of hardly touching anything.
He’d known something was wrong the moment he stepped outside of his bedroom two days before. Usually by the time he got up for the day, Wilson had already made coffee, gone for a run, and showered. But when House had stepped out of his room, all was quiet. He’d decided to give Wilson another thirty minutes before he opened his bedroom door (deciding to forgo knocking entirely) only to find him still in bed, eyes open, staring at the wall. Neither man had said anything, House simply observed him for a moment before quietly shutting the door and promptly calling Cuddy to notify her that James Wilson was taking a sick day. When he returned from Princeton Plainsboro that evening, Wilson had taken up residence on the couch.
On a normal day, House would sit down on the couch while dinner cooked to give his leg a break, but since Wilson was really bringing down the general vibe in the living room, he opted to just twirl his cane impatiently by the stove. When the soup was bubbling nicely and looked the way he assumed to be correct, he ladled a generous amount into one of Wilson’s favorite bowls. It felt odd, he contemplated, as he turned down the heat on the stove and picked up the bowl. This was decidedly very different from their usual established dynamic.
Wilson looked to once again be fast asleep when he reentered the room, curled up into himself. House tapped him firmly on the back with his cane until the man stirred.
“Slide over.”
It seemed to take a moment for the words to register in Wilson’s brain, but when they did, he slowly sat up and moved his blankets off of the other end of the couch. House sat with a sigh of relief, propping his leg up on the coffee table with little regard for the candy bar wrappers he was knocking askew. He gave Wilson the soup that had nearly begun to scald his hand, the doctor accepting it gratefully.
House hoped it tasted somewhat correct. He certainly wasn’t usually the one willing to do the cooking majority of the time. Luckily, Wilson didn’t give any indication that he disliked it, scarfing it down pretty quickly. House watched him intensely as he ate, his fingers drumming a repetitive pattern on his thigh. When Wilson was finished, he gave House a look that could only be interpreted as shy.
“Thank you, House. You shouldn’t have had to do all of…this.” He made a general gesture to the food in front of him. House continued analyzing him for a moment before just shrugging it off casually.
“Don’t get all sappy about it. Besides, the last thing I need is you cracking your skull open in the shower,” he replied semi-playfully, watching as Wilson wrinkled his nose slightly as he took in his current state for the first time.
“I guess I really could use one,” he said honestly, suddenly becoming hyper aware of the previous two day’s grime that had built up on his skin. House then reached into the impressive pile of blankets Wilson had amassed and fumbled around blindly for the television remote. When Wilson gave him an odd look, he rolled his eyes.
“I’m looking for the remote. Don’t get too excited.”
That earned a small huff of amusement as Wilson turned awkwardly to grab it from somewhere behind him. Once House had the remote, he switched on the television and flipped through channels for a minute or two. He finally decided to settle for some snobby British reality show. The specifics didn’t really matter, he just needed to give Wilson something to focus his attention on so he didn’t fall back asleep while House got his stuff together for a shower.
After giving the man strict instructions to stay awake, House grabbed his cane and made his way down the hall and into Wilson’s bedroom. Instead of taking a moment to observe the unmade bed, clothes on the floor, and glasses of water strewn across nearly every surface, House opened the dresser. He grabbed some painfully unexciting boxers, white socks, some black sweatpants and a gray hoodie before making his way out and into the bathroom.
He set down the pile of clothes before bending as best he could to pick up the handful of tissues that had managed to accumulate on the floor, with a mild face of disgust. He also went out of his way to tidy up the sink and all of Wilson’s hair care products as well. House knew in the back of his mind that seeing the mess and disarray would only stand to stress Wilson out more.
Once everything was to what House deemed to be Wilson’s liking, he went ahead and turned on the shower. Wilson liked the water to be pretty damn hot, so House checked the temperature a few times before pulling the shower curtain shut and heading back into the living room. Wilson was at least sitting up this time, the show House had put on having successfully captured his attention.
House grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and placed it in front of Wilson. “The shower should be hot enough by now,” he said, as soon as he’d watched Wilson down the last of the water. He received a thin but genuine smile in return before the man slowly stood with a yawn. House watched with furrowed eyebrows as he left, Wilson’s legs clearly unsteady from days of disuse.
While Wilson was in the bathroom, House carefully gathered up the bundle of blankets on the couch to be washed. After throwing them in the machine, he picked out two clean, gray blankets from the hall closet and spread them out in Wilson’s spot. He then began cleaning off the coffee table, getting rid of all the food wrappers and tissues that had been scattered around. As soon as he was satisfied, House flopped back down on the couch and cracked open a cold beer.
After about ten minutes he heard the shower turn off and it wasn’t long before Wilson padded back into the room. He was now dressed in the sweatpants and hoodie combo that House had picked out, with freshly washed hair. He hadn’t styled it the way he normally would, so it looked soft and fluffy in a way House secretly wouldn’t mind seeing more often. Wilson sat back down beside him, eyes flickering momentarily to the new blankets House had laid out for him. A thoughtful smile materialized on his face and he made quick work of burying himself back under them.
The two men said nothing for a while, the soft droning of the television making Wilson’s eyes grow heavy once again. House glanced back over at him after a few minutes only to find Wilson’s head propped up on one of the couch cushions, watching him with a gentle smile.
“Thanks again, House. I know you don’t feel comfortable doing these sorts of things,” Wilson told him somewhat sheepishly.
“Go to sleep Wilson.”
Wilson let out another small huff of laughter before complying. As he laid back down and his eyes began to drift shut, he couldn’t deny that he felt a little bit better. A few hours later, House finally stood, his bed calling him. As he went to leave, his eyes spotted where part of Wilson’s blanket had begun to slide off from how he’d been turning in his sleep. House stood for a quiet moment, staring down at his sleeping roommate, before bending and fixing it for him.
Sure, maybe it wasn’t House’s job to take care of Wilson but that didn’t mean he minded doing it.