AN: This fic is dedicated to Ducky'sgirl4ever. Happy Belated Birthday!
Finally, today is the day that Greg is going to take me out. For my birthday, he's made reservations at Antonio's! Even though we have been friends ever since James Wilson introduced us, four years ago, we have never had a formal meal before. Lots of cold cereal at night and grilled cheese sandwiches, sure, but never had we dined at a restaurant. I am very excited about this and absolutely cannot wait for the work day to be over. Nothing could dampen my mood. I walked down to the parking garage and started my car. As I neared the end of my thirty minute drive to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, I began feeling a bit anxious. I shrugged and pushed the matter out of my mind. Everything was fine, just some left over nervousness from the last case.
It was nearly four now, so he should have just finished hiding for the Dean of Medicine, Doctor Cuddy. When I pushed open the glass door into the clinic, I arrived to complete disarray! There were frightened patients cowering in their chairs, nurses looking flustered, paper and chairs were lying haphazardly on the floor and, in the middle of it all, to my horror, was Gregory House, on the floor, moaning in pain. I vaguely noticed the middle aged man who was growling like a wild animal surrounded by security guard. Something with the psyche ward,I thought. But that was not important now. All that mattered was Greg. He was clutching his bad leg, his teeth gritted, brow covered in sweat. His cane was next to him, broken clean in two. Doctor Lisa Cuddy was hovering over him like a scared parent. I rushed over and fell to my knees beside my friend and looked at Cuddy.
"What happened?"
She looked at me and then back at him. "He'd just finished…um…clinic hours and was signing out. Mr. Travers over there," she pointed to the gray haired man in handcuffs, "burst in and attacked the first person he saw, House."
"W-What? Why?"
"Schizophrenic," she said as if that explained it all, which, it kind of did. Still, I was angry at him. Why today? Why, of all the days in the year, did this have to happen TODAY? I shook my head and sighed. As angry as I was, I was concerned even more for Greg. He wasn't looking good. He was panting in the way he did when his leg felt like it was killing him. I looked at Cuddy. "He needs a doctor, now." She nodded and called for a gurney. With the help of a few nurses, we lifted his dead weight onto the stretched and wheeled him into a room.
A few hours later, after the morphine had kicked in, Gregory awoke. His face was still contorted in a grimace, but he seemed pleased to see me. He smiled weakly, before another wave of pain overtook him. I flashed him a sympathetic smile; I hated it when he was in pain.
"Happy birthday, Laura."
I laughed. With all that had happened, I had almost forgotten about it. "Somehow, I think we'll have to skip Antonio's tonight, Greg."
His face fell. The morphine must have had an unexpected side affect, because, in my four years of being Gregory House's friend, I had never seen him emotional. He looked away, embarrassed. I saw a tear leak from his eye. Greg crying, now that was a rarity. "Hey, come on Greg, it's just a restaurant. You can make it up to me later." I punched him playfully in the shoulder, trying to make light of the whole situation. I saw Doctor Robert Chase and asked him to call Antonio's and cancel our reservation. He nodded and went to the nurse's station to make the call.
Two hours later, I was getting quite hungry and about to venture down to the cafeteria. Greg was asleep and, for the moment, as pain free as he ever was. I was just getting up when James came in with to steaming plates of spaghetti. I looked at him gratefully, snatched the plate from his hand, and began to practically inhale the pasta. "Thank you! I was starving, but I didn't want to leave, so, thank you!"
He chuckled. "No problem. I heard about the commotion earlier. Poor guy probably didn't even know where he was."
I grunted, as sorry as I felt for the crazy guy, I still wished he had had SOME control. I mean, even crazy people know not to hit people, right? I asked myself.
When James and I had finished, he took my plate, tossed it into the trash and bade me goodnight. I got some towels from the bathroom and put them over me like a blanket, this was going to be a long night.
The next morning, I was helping Greg with some physical therapy, his least favorite thing, well, except for patients, maybe. Doctor Cuddy said that it will get him up and about a lot sooner if we could get him moving. He complains for the better part of an hour and does the exact opposite of what the therapist tells him. After a couple of whacks on the head from me, however, he grumbles and gets to work. By ten, physical therapy is over and Greg is back in bed and we're discussing our recent cases. I told him of the U.F.O. sighting we had. "And we went so far as to drive up to Keane, New Hampshire to convince this old couple that the things were not U.F.O.'s, they were airplanes!" He got a kick out of that one and proceeded to tell me of some of his recent dealings. We spent the rest of day laughing over cases and we were both tuckered out by nine.
Cuddy, had, unfortunately, cut Greg off from his Vicodin, so it was not an entirely peaceful night. I was awoken many a time to Greg's muttering and groaning. In the end, I called James and got him to write a prescription. Doctor Cuddy would be mad, but my friend was more important than her temper tantrums, even if she was probably right.
The next day, we were roused by the beeping of monitors and cries of "Move!" and "Come on, we need this bed!" I got Greg out of bed and out of the room. We went to the nurses' station and were informed that we had automatically been discharged to make room for a patient who had gone into, well, a lot of medical gargle that I would get Greg to explain later. But, basically, were discharged because somebody needed the room more than my friend.
I drove House back to his apartment and decided to stay a while. He decided to take a bath to help soothe his still aching leg and ribs. I helped him undress and get into the steaming water. He lets out a sigh of relief and I go into the front to watch some television. A while later, he calls, telling me he is done. After helping him get into a pair of pajama pants and a tee shirt, I grabbed an extra cane from his closet and give it to him. He could have some mobility, at least.
We were in the middle of "The L-Word", which he insisted on watching without sound, when it started to rain. He was alright for a while, but then his leg gave a violent spasm, protesting the cold weather. He yelled and clutched his thigh. He moaned for his pills and I searched through his coat pockets to find the bottle. I handed him a few and he dry swallowed them. Ug, how can anyone do that, I wondered. I stayed the rest of the night and returned home the following afternoon. The next Saturday, I received a phone call telling me to meet Greg at Antonio's at six. I smiled; I was getting my birthday dinner after all.