It was past ten o'clock before Wilson started worrying in earnest about House. Cuddy had already called to see if House was in, but Wilson put her off. Some days House didn't get in until eleven. How he got away with it, only Cuddy knew. Still, House hadn't looked well yesterday when he was recovering from the transfusion fever, and it was possible that something had gone wrong.
It was the rhythmic thud against the wall of Wilson's office that made him relax. House must have made it in. Wilson checked his watch and calmed down. He could take a minute for a coffee break and reassure himself at the same time. He stood up and headed for Diagnostics.
Kutner was playing with House's tennis ball, launching it at the wall and then catching it again. "Uh, sorry," he said, offering a sheepish grin when Wilson came into the conference room and stared at him. "Is House going to be here any time soon? Or is this just a test, do you think?"
Wilson simply shook his head and reached for his cell phone. Ten rings later, he was nearly ready to sprint for his car, when House finally picked up. Before Wilson could even get out a sharp snap of his name, House had already hung up on him. Another call a minute later only got him a busy signal.
Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong. House hated it when Wilson checked up on him, but House also didn't ignore his calls. Well--usually. Wilson forced himself to go through every scenario in which he was being a mother hen and House would be right to mock him for worrying, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't convince himself.
Fifteen minutes later, he was on his way to House's apartment. Wilson steeled himself for House to laugh at him for even bothering to check up on him, and used his key to get in. "House?"
House wasn't on the couch or in the kitchen, and Wilson called his name again, cautiously, working his way down the hall. He checked the bathroom first--most likely place for House to have fallen, his brain insisted on reminding him--but House wasn't there either. Wilson wasn't sure if he wanted to brave the bedroom, but it was his last option, and by now, he was seriously concerned. "House?" he called again. Getting no answer, Wilson tapped on the closed door as he opened it. House was on the bed, clutching at his leg. Wilson let out a breath. At least it wasn't anything worse. As soon as he knew House wasn't in any immediate danger, he relaxed. "Practicing your flex time schedule?" he asked lightly. "I don't think Cuddy got the memo."
no subject
It was the rhythmic thud against the wall of Wilson's office that made him relax. House must have made it in. Wilson checked his watch and calmed down. He could take a minute for a coffee break and reassure himself at the same time. He stood up and headed for Diagnostics.
Kutner was playing with House's tennis ball, launching it at the wall and then catching it again. "Uh, sorry," he said, offering a sheepish grin when Wilson came into the conference room and stared at him. "Is House going to be here any time soon? Or is this just a test, do you think?"
Wilson simply shook his head and reached for his cell phone. Ten rings later, he was nearly ready to sprint for his car, when House finally picked up. Before Wilson could even get out a sharp snap of his name, House had already hung up on him. Another call a minute later only got him a busy signal.
Something was wrong. Something had to be wrong. House hated it when Wilson checked up on him, but House also didn't ignore his calls. Well--usually. Wilson forced himself to go through every scenario in which he was being a mother hen and House would be right to mock him for worrying, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't convince himself.
Fifteen minutes later, he was on his way to House's apartment. Wilson steeled himself for House to laugh at him for even bothering to check up on him, and used his key to get in. "House?"
House wasn't on the couch or in the kitchen, and Wilson called his name again, cautiously, working his way down the hall. He checked the bathroom first--most likely place for House to have fallen, his brain insisted on reminding him--but House wasn't there either. Wilson wasn't sure if he wanted to brave the bedroom, but it was his last option, and by now, he was seriously concerned. "House?" he called again. Getting no answer, Wilson tapped on the closed door as he opened it. House was on the bed, clutching at his leg. Wilson let out a breath. At least it wasn't anything worse. As soon as he knew House wasn't in any immediate danger, he relaxed. "Practicing your flex time schedule?" he asked lightly. "I don't think Cuddy got the memo."