Brain Damage 14 - The Whiteboard

[damigella]

Title: Brain Damage  (Brain Damage - table of contents)
Spoilers: End of season 4
Summary: Deep brain stimulation is a dangerous procedure. What if House’s brain had been damaged? Twenty chapters.
Rating: NC-17 (M)
Word Count: 21000 approx.
Disclaimer: we own nothing, not even a functioning brain.
Author's note: many thanks to my incredibly efficient and supportive beta reader, coconut_ice22. This fic is a very expanded version of a one/shot of mine, Almost Like A Child. The new userpic is courtesy of luridlurker and comes from this manip.

Back to Chapter 13


Chapter 14 - The Whiteboard

Once House was sound asleep that evening, Wilson sneaked out of the bed and started reading the panel's report. He was impressed at the names who signed it; Cuddy had collected some kind of who's who of US Neurology to care for her former star diagnostician. A lot of effort and money with very little perspective of a profit for PPTH. Cuddy really had a soft spot in her heart for House, he thought briefly. Then he immersed himself in the document in front of his eyes.

Several hours and cups of coffee later he felt he knew it almost by heart. His head was slightly aching, and it was time to go to bed. But still, he couldn't sleep, and it wasn't for the coffee. The report was full of possibilities. Of hope. House could start improving again. He might even, to a very limited extent of course, go back to doing his work. They even mentioned the possibility of his recovering so much that he would be declared a responsible adult again, thus terminating the need for a legal guardian. Of course it was all a matter of chance, and altogether not very likely. Still, hope was good. Wilson knew they would accept the proposal. He started planning how to get back in touch with the newest oncology literature, before deciding this could be done much better during daytime.

But a deeper anguish ambushed him the moment he felt ready to let go of the day's worries and start sleeping. What had he done? He had kissed House. This was explicitly forbidden in the instructions he had received. The word love was also taboo. He knew it and had accepted it. And although he knew the rules were for House's sake, he had been unable to resist. Sure, his friend had liked it. But how valid could his consent be?

The final thought which enabled him to fall asleep was that, if this method worked and House's technical knowledge finally came back, his friend would finally be able to understand that his terrible loss was the result of Wilson's selfishness. He was sure this would mean the end of House’s affection for him, and hoped that by then he could have formed new ones.

******

"Hurry up! We can't be late the first day!"

"Can't we? Why? Someone desperately needs to know they're dying?"

"More or less. I have my first patient at 9.30."

"Don't worry, I'm ready."

"Good morning, everybody. House, you sit here unless they tell you they need your help with the whiteboard. You have computer and PSP. And this is...your ball."

"I sat in my office and played with a ball? Do other doctors do that?"

"No, they don't. But you never were like the other doctors. You also never wore a lab coat, while I usually did."

"You look good with it."

"I would look better if my suit would fit me properly. My body has completely changed shape since I stopped working, but I can't afford to buy new stuff now." Wilson's trousers were held up precariously by a belt, to which he had added several holes, while his jacket, while ample on the belly, was somewhat of a tight fit at chest level. His head, like House's, sported a simple crew cut, but he was carefully shaved.

"You can remember where my office is, can't you? I'll be in there all the time. At one I'll pick you up and we'll go have lunch together at the cafeteria. In the meantime, do what they tell you to do. Enjoy the whiteboard." Wilson waved goodbye and left.

******

"So, House, any questions to begin with?"

"What's a whiteboard?"

"This is a whiteboard. Your whiteboard. You can write on it with these pens and wipe it clean with this special eraser. Make sure you close the pens well because they dry quickly otherwise."

"Looks like fun. Is it really mine?"

"It's the Diagnostics' whiteboard, but we would like you to be the one to write on it."

"What should I write?"

"We'll tell you. Here's a case. It means someone is sick and they don't know why. The first thing you do is you write on the whiteboard everything which is wrong with them. We call these symptoms."

"I'll dictate for you. Fever. Leg rash. Low platelets."

"Did I spell platelets right?"

"Yes, you did. Do you remember what platelets are?"

"I'm not sure. I knew?"

"You did. Think. You must remember something, since you got the spelling right."

"It's something to do with...blood. Some things that float in the blood. And they have a purpose. They're there to make sure the blood stops flowing when there's a wound!" House was smiling, proud and at the same time worried that he had just remembered this all. He didn't know how he knew. But he was almost sure he was right.

"Wonderful! The technical term is that platelets help blood to coagulate, but it's what you described. Welcome back, Dr. House."

*******

"Let's go have lunch. How was your morning?"

"Great! I remembered the meaning of four different words: platelets, tachycardia, lupus, and moron!" House was gesticulating and smiling, and he didn't notice people staring at him on his way to the elevator and into the cafeteria. "It was great! I never had so much fun."

"That's good to hear. Do you want to order for yourself or should I just order for you the stuff you used to like?"

"Maybe you do it. At least today."

"A Caesar Salad without mayo, a Reuben sandwich without pickles, fat-free chips and large French fries, a diet Sprite and a root beer. For here. I'm paying for both."

"As usual, Dr. Wilson. Your table is free."

********

"So, how's your sandwich?"

"Good. Did you eat here so often that they can still remember your table?"

"Our table. We ate together almost everyday, and we sat here because it's a small table and we didn't want anyone else."

"And why would she expect you to pay? Was I poor?"

"No. You just liked me to pay for you. And so did I. It was one of your ways to make me feel important and useful." His brow clouded as he realized that this was the first time he admitted this, even to himself.

Chapter 15 - Raising The Workload 

Comments

[damigella-314.livejournal.com]

My first anonymous comment, and what a nice one. Thank you.