Can't You See It, Part 2/?
Aug. 24th, 2011 10:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
damigellaWarning: this is a very sad story that will eventually become smut and find its way to a kind of happy end. But there will be pain. There, I warned you.
Coming back to consciousness is weird. Not painful, but not pleasant either. Maybe the same happens at birth? No way to know. All I know is that I suddenly remember what I was trying to do, and it clearly didn't work. Crap. Damn Swedes and their safety features. I can't move anything nor feel any part of my body. They must have flooded my system with the good stuff, including a safety limit override. House would be so envious. House. Wherever he is. I feel a touch on my hand before the darkness returns.
-----
This time it's a voice that wakes me up. Pettersson, the replacement radiology head - she isn't shouting, but the coldness in her tone reminds me of a winter in Umeå or Kiruna or wherever her ancestors came from.
"The surgery was a success. The temporal bone is healing and the brain swelling has gone down. I cannot understand why you would complain - you can't have anything to object to Dr. Wilson's treatment."
"We just cannot know what his real damages are until he gets out of the coma he's spent the last week in."
Chase's voice comes from far away. The door? I can't turn my head or open my eyes.
"And no one properly evaluated the effect of putting in a coma a person whose brain was flooded with alcohol and antidepressants." Remy sounds gentle and caring. So why is it I feel only rage when I hear her voice?
"We ran all the tests we could think of and honored your every request. I understand your concern, Dr. Hadley, but your friend will be fine."
"I hope it for you as much as for him."
The last speaker is unexpected, and surprisingly close. House must be sitting near the bed. I wonder whether he can watch his favorite soaps here before my brain switches off again.
-----
"Is he in pain?"
Is that concern for me in House's voice? If so, how sick am I?
"Not yet, but he probably will be. Waking him up was your idea anyway."
I struggle to open my eyes, but discover one is heavily bandaged - and the one's that open is my lazy eye, I can tell it's light but not much more. Eventually my hand finds its way to my temple, assessing the relationship between the bandage outside and the mounting, dull pain within.
"Wilson? How are you?" I can't see him, but House has noticed my eyelid opening. Concerned fingers brush my wrist, follow the scar from the fracture. House is here, for me.
I force myself to speak, even though my throat hurts. "I've been better. Glad you're here."
"Thirteen called me. I've come as fast as I could."
God. The pain I had hoped to kill forever has been waiting for me. Except now I'm hooked to a heart monitor, so everyone in the room notices.
"Are you so sure this is good for him?"
Dr. Pettersson's tone is harsh. House doesn't answer: what must be his fingers start unwrapping a bandage I didn't know I had on my left hand. "Move your fingers and toes, please Wilson."
Please? I must be in deeper shit than I thought. Or at least I might be. I pull and push, and someone checks I'm moving.
"Great. If you can stand a bit more pain, I'd like to examine your head. Nod if you agree."
I nod. He doesn't know what a hell my life has been lately: physical pain will be a welcome distraction. Delicate fingers - can they be House's? - flicker around my temple. When he speaks again, he's so close I can feel his breath on what is probably a freshly sutured wound.
"Look at me, then move your eyes slowly sidewards, then even more slowly your head."
The fingers are now cradling my head. I try to do what he asks but cannot. It's a very long handful of seconds until I admit to myself what the problem is, and I hesitate in the fear that mentioning it aloud will make it real. I then reject this thought as crazy, and force myself to speak.
"I cannot see you, House. Nor anything else."
Coming back to consciousness is weird. Not painful, but not pleasant either. Maybe the same happens at birth? No way to know. All I know is that I suddenly remember what I was trying to do, and it clearly didn't work. Crap. Damn Swedes and their safety features. I can't move anything nor feel any part of my body. They must have flooded my system with the good stuff, including a safety limit override. House would be so envious. House. Wherever he is. I feel a touch on my hand before the darkness returns.
-----
This time it's a voice that wakes me up. Pettersson, the replacement radiology head - she isn't shouting, but the coldness in her tone reminds me of a winter in Umeå or Kiruna or wherever her ancestors came from.
"The surgery was a success. The temporal bone is healing and the brain swelling has gone down. I cannot understand why you would complain - you can't have anything to object to Dr. Wilson's treatment."
"We just cannot know what his real damages are until he gets out of the coma he's spent the last week in."
Chase's voice comes from far away. The door? I can't turn my head or open my eyes.
"And no one properly evaluated the effect of putting in a coma a person whose brain was flooded with alcohol and antidepressants." Remy sounds gentle and caring. So why is it I feel only rage when I hear her voice?
"We ran all the tests we could think of and honored your every request. I understand your concern, Dr. Hadley, but your friend will be fine."
"I hope it for you as much as for him."
The last speaker is unexpected, and surprisingly close. House must be sitting near the bed. I wonder whether he can watch his favorite soaps here before my brain switches off again.
-----
"Is he in pain?"
Is that concern for me in House's voice? If so, how sick am I?
"Not yet, but he probably will be. Waking him up was your idea anyway."
I struggle to open my eyes, but discover one is heavily bandaged - and the one's that open is my lazy eye, I can tell it's light but not much more. Eventually my hand finds its way to my temple, assessing the relationship between the bandage outside and the mounting, dull pain within.
"Wilson? How are you?" I can't see him, but House has noticed my eyelid opening. Concerned fingers brush my wrist, follow the scar from the fracture. House is here, for me.
I force myself to speak, even though my throat hurts. "I've been better. Glad you're here."
"Thirteen called me. I've come as fast as I could."
God. The pain I had hoped to kill forever has been waiting for me. Except now I'm hooked to a heart monitor, so everyone in the room notices.
"Are you so sure this is good for him?"
Dr. Pettersson's tone is harsh. House doesn't answer: what must be his fingers start unwrapping a bandage I didn't know I had on my left hand. "Move your fingers and toes, please Wilson."
Please? I must be in deeper shit than I thought. Or at least I might be. I pull and push, and someone checks I'm moving.
"Great. If you can stand a bit more pain, I'd like to examine your head. Nod if you agree."
I nod. He doesn't know what a hell my life has been lately: physical pain will be a welcome distraction. Delicate fingers - can they be House's? - flicker around my temple. When he speaks again, he's so close I can feel his breath on what is probably a freshly sutured wound.
"Look at me, then move your eyes slowly sidewards, then even more slowly your head."
The fingers are now cradling my head. I try to do what he asks but cannot. It's a very long handful of seconds until I admit to myself what the problem is, and I hesitate in the fear that mentioning it aloud will make it real. I then reject this thought as crazy, and force myself to speak.
"I cannot see you, House. Nor anything else."
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no subject
Date: 2011-08-25 06:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-25 07:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-25 12:44 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading and commenting!
no subject
Date: 2011-08-25 12:43 pm (UTC)Perfect, I said. Imperfect vision may end up being enough for happiness (don't I know that).