alanwolfmoon

“Foreman.”

Foreman turned around, blinking at the door the call had come from.

“Yeah?”

“Foreman.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Foreman!”

Foreman frowned, getting up and poking his head in House’s office, looking irritated.

“What already?”

House sighed, groaned, and let his head drop onto his desk.

Foreman raised an eyebrow.

“Are you... ok?”

“What?”

Foreman tilted his head a little, frowning at his boss.

“Are you ok?”

House didn’t answer.

Foreman dug in his coat pocket, producing a otoscope.

“House, can you hear me?” he said, loudly.

“Kinda...”

Foreman stuck the scope in, frowning as he saw nothing wrong.

“Just plain can’t hear or–”

“Ringing and insensitivity.”

Foreman sighed, straightened, and folded his arms.

“It’s the vicodin and you know it.”

House glared.

“Do you know how rare that is?”

“Yeah. In the general population, it’s rare. In chronic vicodin users....”

“What?”

Foreman rolled his eyes.

“You’re going off the vicodin. Now.”

House raised an eyebrow.

Foreman picked up the infamous lupus textbook, took out the orange bottle, and put it in the trashcan.

“OFF. VICODIN.”

House groaned.

Foreman sighed, scribbling a script for some compazine, as he watched House lean over his trash can miserably, right hand clutching his thigh.

House wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, groaning, and sitting back in his chair with a sigh.

Foreman tapped him on the shoulder, and he nearly fell out of the chair, he jumped so violently.

“SORRY. HERE.”

House blinked, looking at the slip of paper.

“Oh.”

He took it, breathing heavily.

Foreman entered the differential room, to find the kids missing and House sitting on the floor of his office, cradling his left arm close to his chest.

“House... dammit, fingers were a better idea, they take less time to heal.”

“What?”

Foreman sighed, dragged the whiteboard over, and wrote on it.

‘Fingers were better.’

House snorted.

“Yeah, well I didn’t exactly chose what I fell on when the patient hit me.” he half snapped, half explained, talking louder than he probably meant to.

Foreman sighed, seeing the bruise and dried blood on House’s chin.

‘Stay there.’

House closed his eyes, resting his head back against the wall.

Foreman came back, holding an ice pack and a splint.

“Sorry, but you’re not gonna get away without a cast if your whole arm is broken.” said Foreman loudly.

House grimaced, letting Foreman palpitate the injured arm, yelling when the younger doctor shifted it.

Foreman sighed, placing the splint under House’s arm and tightening the straps so it didn’t move.

“It’s broken. Get up.” he said loudly, directly at House’s ear.

House nodded, leaned forward, and ended up falling on his face as his leg gave out.

“Oww!”

Foreman sighed again, placed his hands on House’s upper arms, and lifted him to his feet, despite the obvious pain the arm was causing.

House had to lean heavily on both his desk and the wall to stay upright, and Foreman realized that this just wasn’t going to work.

He ended up sitting House in the recliner, and walking off to get a wheelchair.

As he explained why he would rather Cameron not record where he was taking the wheelchair, he found himself being confronted by Kuttner and Thirteen.

“Is House ok?” asked Kuttner.

“We know he’s not ok, the question is what’s wrong with him?” asked Thirteen.

Foreman sighed.

“What’s wrong with him is an unbelievably long list of things, half of which are caused by the fact that he’s insane. The most current problem has a long explanation.”

“That problem would be...?”

“The broken arm.”

Thirteen shook her head.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“I know you didn’t mean that. The fact I didn’t tell you what you meant, and instead told you something that might have sidetracked you off asking about what you meant, was an attempt to clue you off that I didn’t want to answer the question you actually asked without having to explain it all.”

Cameron frowned, tilting her head a little and looking at Foreman.

“Foreman, did you just quote House, or did you make that up?”

Foreman looked at her.

“What?”

She smirked, shaking her head.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Kuttner.

Foreman sighed, exasperated.

“Nothing. Go do clinic duty or whatever you’re supposed to be doing.”

“We’re supposed to be working on a case. We don’t have a case because House hasn’t taken any of the ones we found, and because we’ve been ordered to go home. So, we actually can’t be doing what we’re supposed to.” said Thirteen.

“You *can* go home, can you not?” asked Foreman, annoyed and tired of dealing with them.

Thirteen sighed, walking away, Kuttner following her after a moment.

Cameron was still smirking at him, House was a pain, and he was tired. Today sucked.

House had curled into a ball by the time Foreman got back, trying to fight back pain, whether from his leg, his arm, or the detox, Foreman didn’t know.

“House?” he asked, placing his hand on House’s shoulder in case House hadn’t heard him.

House jerked, yanking his head around to see who was there.

Foreman pointed to the wheelchair, unfazed.

House sighed, breathing heavily as Foreman braced him by the shoulders, helping him take the two steps the chair without falling.

“Dammit....” he muttered, in pain and uncomfortable.

Foreman sighed, pushing him to the elevator.

“This sucks. This really, really sucks, and it’s all cus you’re a stubborn ass.” said Foreman quietly, rolling his eyes as half the hospital staff stared at him.

House, of course, didn’t notice the comment.

Foreman found that saying it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he had thought it would be.

As they rode the elevator down to radiology, Foreman started to wonder exactly how bad House’s hearing had gotten.

“House.” whisper.

“House.” quiet.

“House.” slightly louder.

“House.” just a bit quieter than usual.

“House. Normal volume.

“House.” a bit louder than usual.

“House.” slightly louder than that.

“House.” loud.

“House.” obnoxiously loud.

House looked up, frowning.

“You say something?”

Foreman shook his head. House sighed, rolling his eyes.

Foreman sighed as well. This sucked. This really sucked. This really, *really* sucked. Where was Wilson when you needed him? Actually... really, where was Wilson? House had gone half deaf, stopped taking the vicodin, and now broken his arm, but Foreman hadn’t seen hide-nor-hair of the obsessively supportive oncologist.

“House.”

House looked up.

“You said something that time. Are you messing with me?”

Foreman shook his head.

“Not messing with you. Where’s Wilson?”

House frowned, trying to figure out what Foreman had said.

Foreman sighed, digging in a pocket for paper.

‘Where’s Wilson?’

House sighed.

“He’s off getting married again.”

Foreman blinked, rather surprised. According to the pictures he had seen on Wilson’s bookcases, House had been present at both of Wilson’s more recent weddings.

House rolled his eyes.

“Not literally, he took his girlfriend to go skiing in New Mexico. He hasn’t come back from a ski trip without getting engaged since I met him.”

Foreman’s expression cleared, and he nodded.

‘You tell him?’

“Why? Anyway, he doesn’t check his email when he’s on vacation and I’m not gonna be able to hear him over the phone.”

‘This is true. But there’s this really cool new thing, called text messages... or, failing that, actual physical letters, with stamps and all that.’

House closed his eyes, and Foreman stopped pushing. He didn’t know why he cared in the first place.

“Yeah, hi. Wrist, hand, arm, left side. Thanks.” said Foreman in response to the radiology nurse’s startled look upon finding them in her otherwise empty waiting room.

She nodded, ducking behind the door for a moment, then ushering them inside.

House couldn’t help making a small, nearly inaudible whimper as the nurse lifted his arm gently, untying the splint to lay it out on the table.

By the time the nurse had finished all the different films and angles, House was pale, clenching his teeth, and shaking.

Foreman nodded to the nurse, set the splint on the table next to House’s arm, but did nothing to connect the two.

House didn’t look exactly grateful, but he didn’t snap, which Foreman was glad for.

House eventually moved the splint into position behind his arm, then started sliding the injured appendage into it.

He gasped, stopped, and gripped the edge of the table with his right hand.

Foreman sighed, touched House’s shoulder to let him know he was there, and gently maneuvered the splint into place.

“House.”

House looked at him.

“READY?”

House rolled his eyes, but nodded.


Silence is really crappy (ch 2)