"At least let me do an M.R.I."
I wasn't actually expecting him to agree to an M.R.I. Apparently the pain in his leg outweighs his humility of not wanting me to see his scar. And that of hating to wear hospital gowns.
"You need help in?"
He rolls his eyes at me. "Want to come over later tonight to tuck me in as well?"
Typical House. Always deflecting any ounce of caring aimed at him with sarcasm or insults. Or both.
"Then I'm assuming that you can get changed by yourself as well," I reply, throwing the gown at him.
"Are you offering help in that as well, Jimmy?" he asks with a wink.
With a shake of my head, I leave him to himself and go up in the booth where I can work the machine from above. His leg has been hurting him a lot more lately, and he doesn't believe my theory that the pain reflects his emotional status. With he pushing Stacy once more out of his life, I have no doubt that his leg is hurting him more because he's more depressed. I should probably just mix antidepressants into his food. It might make work a bit more entertaining.
I jump as he bangs his cane on the M.R.I. machine, gaining my attention. "Alright in there?" he yells up at me, slowly pushing himself up on the belt. I wait for him to lie down before I hit the button on the microphone.
"Ready to go in?"
He gives me an overenthusiastic thumb up and I hit the button, which slowly moves his body into the tube. The machine begins to make loud clicking noises and grinning, I hit the microphone button once more.
"House," I say, deepening my voice as much as I can. "This is God."
"Look, I'm a little busy right now," he replies. "I'm not supposed to talk during these things. Got time on Thursday?"
I can't help smiling, and quickly think of a come back. "Let me check…Aw, I got a plague. What about Friday?"
"You'll have to check with Cameron."
"Aw damn it. She always wants to know why bad things happen," I say with a grin. "Like I'm going to come up with a new answer this time."
He laughs and I stop talking, allowing time for him to keep still in order to get a clean picture. I highly doubt that the muscles in his thigh have changed any since the last M.R.I., but House has asked me to help him out, and as it's a step in the right direction with him, I felt the need to agree.
"Alright," I say, when I have the image, pushing the button to let him back out.
When I get down the stairs and next to the machine, he's just attempting to sit up, swinging his legs over the side and cringing.
I sigh, grabbing a stool from behind me and moving it in front of House. He raises a confused eyebrow as I sit before him.
"I did a year of physical therapy in residency," I explain. "I know how you are about people seeing your thigh, and as I've already seen it I figured you'd let me help before others."
"And what makes you think I want you rubbing me down?"
"Okay," I reply, pushing myself a few inches backwards. "I'm sure you can get around fine on your own."
"Fine," he mutters, and I can't help smirking. Sometimes he reminds me of a kicked puppy. He's not really that difficult to manipulate, but I'm sure that the same thing can be said about me when it comes to him. We tend to feed off each other.
I blow into my clasped hands and rub them together before moving them to his thigh. Immediately, he tenses. As awkward as I feel with my hands on my best friend's naked thigh, I continue. If his pain is great enough to allow me to do this, he obviously needs it, so I begin to move my fingers, making sure to stay away from his scar for the moment.
I bring my eyes away from my hands when I feel him relax to look up at his face. I had expected his eyes to be closed or focused away from me, but instead I find him watching my hands closely. That is until he looks up and we meet eyes.
I have the urge to quickly look away, but will myself not to. I clear my throat awkwardly before speaking. "How's that feel?"
He moves his mouth as if to say something and then closes it, choosing to nod at me instead.
Taking that as a sign to continue, I bring my fingers closer to his scar, still not bringing my eyes away from his. Our faces are only inches apart but neither one of us breaks eye contact. And nor do I realize when my hands stop moving, stilling on his thigh.
"Are you going to stop teasing me?" House asks me softly, glancing down at my hand.
Following his view, I see my motionless hands and looking slightly more north, I can't help but notice a more than slight bulge through House's hospital gown. I also can't help but notice how tightly my pants are currently fitting. I'm not sure how I missed that.
"Well?" House asks and my eyes snap back to his.
I'm not sure what to do. My hands are frozen on his thigh and my breath hitches in my chest. It's only now that I can feel how quick my pulse is along with how shallowly I am breathing.
The way House is looking at me isn't helping matters any.
"House," I say, more softly than I would have liked to in the given circumstance. Actually, I'm not sure how I would have liked to say it. All I know is our faces are nearing and I can't tell if it's me or him moving, or even both.
Our lips touch in one of the most slow and tender kisses that I have ever experienced. I feel like I am fifteen all over again.
It's not until I feel House's hand in my hair, and I recall who I am kissing, do I freeze, pushing myself backwards and looking at him in astonishment.
"I-" I'm not even sure what I have to say, but the door slamming open causes both of us to react immediately.
I stand as quick as I humanly am able to and House brings his hands to his lap, more than likely an attempt to hide his noticeable erection from a furious looking Cuddy.
Giving House a quick glance which he returns with- a concerned look?- I choose Cuddy's tirade as a quick exit and I rush to my office.