Chapter Text
Maybe it was the fact he was halfway through his first honeymoon with his second wife that should've told him something was undeniably faulty. It was a pleasant experience, all in all. The setting, weather was top notch only the company was a bit hit and miss. He couldn't yet admit to himself that maybe all the times he thought of how much he loved his wife, he was actually trying to convince himself.
The skies were blue, sapphire almost in their earnest glow that seemed to radiate both warmth and cool vibes simultaneously. A breeze was picking up the lesser combed parts of his hair that appreciated their break from rigidity. The pool water encompassing his legs proved to be a nice touch as well as it was cool but not cold. Perfectly medium. The soft gravel beneath his hands that laid lazily on top of the pool's edge proved to ground his sleeping mind as the sweetness of the afternoon lulled him into a lethargic spell. Had his body no mass to interact with the earth's gravity, he may've been lost to the temperate winds forevermore. As it happened, he was a being of mind, soul, and body that gave him the stability that rooted him to the spot. He was at peace.
The wife was off ordering drinks for the two of them. She knew what he liked and he trusted her to get it for him. The bar was tucked just out of view and she hadn't been gone long, he reckoned maybe ten more minutes of bliss before she came bounding back.
With that, he sighed and turned his view skyward. He'd kill to be a bird. Being that free to roam sounded incredible and of course, flying, who wouldn't want to? Not even parachuting could come anywhere near close to defying the laws of physics and gliding thought free through the air. He did in a dream once, flew right around his childhood home, not stopping until he awoke. It was a nice dream and a decent day, he supposed looking back on it. Some time before he met his second wife and after the first, after meeting Gregory House and having his life forever changed.
The breeze seemed to pick up a bit, awakening the dormant goosebumps that lined his forearms. No sooner had it died down that thunder struck. A lightning point sprouted from some unidentifiable point in his thigh and stayed contained mostly, but the pain heightened. He hadn't known it then, but that pain would last much longer than wanted. Desperate for relief, Doctor James Wilson M.D slipped into the pool and stayed hidden from view for as long as humanly possible. Which for an unexperienced swimmer, such as himself, was barely ten seconds.
The bubbles that had fought free from his throat floated to the surface in worrisome abundance, mimicking a scream worthy of a horror film. The surface tension broke further when he burst his head through. He forcefully stopped himself from unhinging his jaw on the pool side, he didn't think he could handle anymore pain but oh, God please make it stop.
Had he done something to upset Him. To many it may not seem that he truly lived a Jewish life, he visited his synagogue scarcely, he didn't eat kosher and he rarely embraced God's presence in his life. Oh shit, it was penance for his less than religious ways. God was sending him a message in the form of a divine punishment. He'd later reflect on this moment and realise what an idiot he was being, but he was an idiot in pain that he had never come close to before. It even beat out the time he fell down the stairs, not quite blackout drunk, much to his mind's dismay. At least then the alcohol had cushioned it, now the water was doing a poor attempt of mimicry. A disastrous attempt. A pitiful attempt. A horrific attempt. Was it really doing anything at all? He was physically unable to find out, trapped as he was in the liquid limbo.
The pain mushed his mind further, he was lost in some place he couldn't come back from. He didn't hear the frightened gasp of the others in the pool as he passed out, the panicked whistle of an out of practice lifeguard as he lurched into action, the frightened squeal of his frightened wife as she saw a hubbub in place of her husband, the shatter of their glasses on the ground as she ran over. Night time had come early for him so it seemed.
When the night turned to day it was in an artificial matter. Blinding white lassoed his mind back into his body and then shocked his body back into consciousness. Blinding white saturated his mind's eye as his eyes blearily blinked open.
For a moment, all stimulation had ceased.
For a moment, there was nothing.
For a moment, there was only blinding white.
For a moment. . .
And then. . . nothing.
What? He distinctly remembered unbearable pain, and, before the nothing. . .There was- there was sun! sky! Sea! No dull thud in his arm, no slightly scratchy sheets against his bare skin, no thin blanket pulled up to his neck. No tell-tale signs of being a patient in a hospital. No tell-tale signs of being a patient in a hospital thousands of miles from his home. He wondered, briefly, if he would ever make it back.
As it was, he was somewhere completely foreign to itself, encapsulated in foreign sensations that whispered weak semblances of familiarity. It had to be bad, whatever landed him here as the effects of the sheathed is began to slowly wear off and the room sharpened before him. He saw the intricate pattern of the roof tiles but not much else.
Nothing.
And then. . .
“James!”
He recognised the voice instantly although he put a name to it quite slowly as it appeared his mind wasn’t feeling too cooperative. They must’ve had him on some excellent drugs.
“Bonnie?” He croaked then regretted it soon after. It hurt a lot to speak, he discovered, and his lips were dry as the Sahara. They cracked like the coating of a crème brûlée and caused short lived agony. To him even, his voice sounded weak, the final ribbit of a dying frog and he cringed. It was bad enough he landed himself in the hospital, worse still that he actually appeared to need it.
“James!” She cried again. Her voice had a more delicate break to it than his did, bordering on the edge of hysteria. Perhaps he was some long ago solider, shot and shipped home and she his patient wife. Or a soul departed too soon and she his sole mourner. “You’re awake!”
Soon after that declaration, he felt a weight upon his chest. From what he could scene, brown hair had cascaded into his vision, Bonnie had lent her head on his chest. It did feel nice, to have a warm body there, especially as he slowly became increasingly aware of how frigid his igloo was.
“W-what happened?” He hated that those words had come from his mouth. He felt like some action movie protagonist who the audience was so sure was going to die after a climatic battle, yet survived. He’d spent years training to be the person answering that question, years of his life learning how to answer it. He’d learnt to be the only one in the situation to have that knowledge before he divulged it. So to be the clueless one was a cruel haddock to the turned cheek indeed.
“Perhaps I should take it from here, Mrs Wilson,” a smooth, deep voice glided into the room. An accent twinged here and there, specifically on the vows. For the second time, he wondered if he’d ever get back home.
He felt her warmth leave him but missed her nod as she tried to stifle her cries.
“Hello James, I am Viktor Reeves, you may call me Doctor Reeves, I will be your attending physician until we can get you back in the States,” the comforting voice continued.
“Wilson,” James said.
“Pardon?” Dr. Reeves inquired.
“I too am a doctor, Doctor Wilson,” he clarified.
“Ah, well, in that case, would you like me to address you as such?” The senior doctor inferred.
“Yes please. Now can you please tell me what happened, where am I and just- what?!” He was so close to getting the answers he so desperately needed.
“We are in a hospital just down the road from the hotel you were staying at, you passed five hours ago, we believe the cause to be a leg infection and to treat, we’ve started a course of amoxicillin and to reduce discomfort, I’ve administered a fairly high level of morphine. Your wife has been organising your return to the States yet we fear we may need to extend your stay,” Dr. Reeves explained calmly. He was sincere to the point of pain.
“An infection! How? I’ve kept all my blood on the inside where it belongs, and there have been no abrasions or cuts anywhere near my leg made at all recently enough to cause this,” he said frantically. No no no. This cannot be happening.
“As I stated, we believe it to be the cause although we have not yet reached the actual diagnosis so there’s a high chance you could be right,” the man was too calm for James. He felt like his world was ending and this imbecile was acting like it was just the usual work day. It set his teeth on edge.
“So you’re treating before reaching? That’s very stupid of you,” he decreed. Dr. Reeves nodded grimly.
“We know Doctor Wilson, but for now it will have to do, if it really is an infection, you should know it will only get worse if left untreated.”
Yeah, he knew.
“Alright, thank you Doctor,” his tone was dismissive, luckily the implication wasn’t lost on the man who promptly said ‘you’re welcome’ and took his leave.
For a moment, peace.
Then he was thrusted back into his head. The word diagnosis had jumped out at him like Vegas lights. He knew a guy working in diagnostics. He was best friends with a guy working in diagnostics. For the nth time since he boarded his plane, he thought of House. For the nth time he thought of how much better it would be if House was there. Suddenly the thoughts became too much and he began to quietly cry.
“James!” He heard his wife rush back into the room. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m just so sorry that I ruined our honeymoon like this, it was perfect,” he lied.
“Only a bit,” she amended, “but this part of those vows we exchanged. I promised you, James, I will be there for you in sickness and health.” She rubbed her forehead against his and he felt himself smile at the contact.
“Hi,” he said when her face began moving slowly closer toward his.
“Hi,” she said back before giggling when he caught her lips in his and kissed her.
He would worry later. For now, this, they were hand in hand, was enough for him.
He was a fool for falling back asleep. He realised that when he awoke to the pain he’d felt some hours earlier. Had his morphine been lowered? Was it so bad that the morphine didn’t dare touch it? He couldn’t tell, but it hurt, it hurt bad.
The next person to walk into the room saw him flap around like a fish on a wire, writhing in agony, letting out shuddering breaths. They immediately turned one drip on and another off.
The relief of the morphine gave him a momentary respite that he used to talk to his visitor.
“Not an infection then?” He mocked, his teeth were bared, like that was going to do anything.
“No, you were right,” Doctor Reeves returned, not quite rising to the bait.
It should’ve felt like a win. He knew he was right. Yet an infection could be a quick fix and now with no interim diagnosis, who knows what there was to come? Was he doomed to spend forever this way?
Some painful and boring days later, after Bonnie had gone back to the hotel to sleep and eat before joining him in his hospital room the following day, the Doctor had returned.
“We believe the time has come for exploratory surgery,” he said morosely. “You’re booked in for now, ready?”
All James could do was nod his head; he was appropriately depraved of food and interest. A surgery at least meant being asleep. And maybe, just maybe, he’d wake up to all of this being a weird dream.
He was wheeled up a floor to the anaesthesia room, where he had his cannula flushed before the anaesthesia was inserted. He was told it may make him feel a bit spacey but all it did was cause his rib cage to fall the core of the earth and the mask on his mouth and nose to rise to the high heavens.
Then, nothing.
The darkness was back.
The world came into view, one ornate tile at a time.
The world came into view, with it, guilt.
The world came into view, he’d been betrayed.
“James! Please! It was our only choice!” His wife pleaded, tears once again flowed freely from her eyes and onto his covers.
He didn’t reply.
“James! Please, you know I don’t know medical things, but it was my name down as a medical proxy, I’m sorry! I didn’t know what to do!”
A tear slid down his cheek. His hands trembled.
“You ruined my life!” He yelled, more angry than he’d ever been.
Her pleading mumbles were lost to him as it began to sink in.
His left hand was asleep by his leg. Just a couple of inches to its right, a butt ugly scare, a significant mass of thigh tissue missing and more than enough agony to make up for it.
James Evan Wilson had become a cripple.