Disclaimer: Would that I owned House MD. But I don't. David Shore, Bryan Singer and FOX do. I just play with them.
A/N: This is my first fanfiction, and any advice, recommendations, criticism or nitpicking is highly appreciated. And kinda required if you want this story to get anywhere!
Also, I should probably explain the formatting. I saw the Now.../Then... done in a Veronica Mars fiction (not sure which one) before, and just FYI, it's just a different way of doing flashbacks. Basically, the story carries two timelines: the present time (Now) and the events which took place leading up to the present (Then...). Hope I explained that okay! Please read on and enjoy, and then review!
Pillow Tales - Prologue:Then…
House's eyelids fluttered open momentarily, briefly plunging his retinas into the light that lingered sometime between dusk and dawn. He was vaguely aware of the pillow he lay against. It was soft and clean, scented with the subtle smell of pungent perfume.
Breathing in the intoxicating aroma, House began to recall the previous night's events. A series of frivolities flashed before his eyes; a bit too much liquor, perhaps. Despite his best efforts, House was unable to determine a recognisable sequence of events. There had been drinking, most likely during all the intervals between his more lucid recollections. Some heavy banter, lending sympathy, and sex with his boss.
House gently raised his head from the pillow and pulled his bare upper body into a sitting position on the bed. He waited for the spinning sensation and nausea to subside before opening his eyes, carefully twisting his neck to identify the profile of Lisa Cuddy lying beside him on the bed. Every muscle in his body ached from the aftermath of a wild night on the bottle. It was with great caution that he pulled away the covers and rolled his legs to the edge of the bed.
He was completely disorientated. Still doubtful as to the circumstances of his arrival there, and with his head still spinning rapidly, House had to take a few deep breaths to compose himself. He rubbed at his eyes, and found his footing on the cold wood floor of her bedroom, desperately searching through the darkness for the clothes discarded the night before.
House located his undershirt and pulled it on. The sound of ruffling sheets filled his ears, and House, panicked, turned to see Cuddy roll onto her stomach, tucking one of her bare arms beneath the pillow. He glanced at the red LED alarm clock glaring angrily through the darkness from her bedside table. 4:09am. He quickly picked up the rest of his things and hurried out of the bedroom.
In the lounge, House pulled on his trousers and shoes and buttoned up his shirt. He found his coat thrown over an armchair and his cane resting against the coffee table. Crossing the room to the door, a notepad by the phone caught his eye. He paused and considered leaving a note. There was nothing he could do to improve the situation, but much could happen that would deteriorate it. He should at least have the courtesy to leave her a message.
House picked up the pen attached to the pad, and poised it above the blank page. He grimaced and sighed softly, before deciding on the most appropriate greeting.
Lisa,
House stared down at the small word. That little ink formation on the page was so unfamiliar to him. There was no 'Lisa' in his life. Lisa was the woman he'd slept with last night, who he'd probably never have to face again. Cuddy was the one he'd want to watch out for.
He ripped the page from the pad, crushed it to a ball and slipped it into his pocket. He considered the desired content for his new message, and began to write once more.
Cuddy,
Heading home to get ready for work. Talk later.
G.H.
House dropped the pen, and backed away from the message. He gently opened the door latch and stepped outside the front door, closing it as quietly as possible behind him.
The sky outside had lightened to a cold sort of blue. The sun had yet to rise, and Cuddy's neighbourhood was rendered gaunt and dreary in the dullness and quiet of the morning. House reached into his jacket pocket for his Vicodin, but his hand remerged empty. He paused midway between the front door and his motorcycle, checking all of his pockets. Somewhere, in the rush to be unclothed, his Vicodin had found their way out of his pocket.
Not wanting to face the possibility of running into Cuddy, House decided to wait until he arrived home to get his painkillers. He continued on towards his bike, inserting his cane into the clasp and clumsily throwing a leg over to sit astride it. He was hung over, and his leg hurt. And it was still only about 4:15.
Truckers in their enormous articulated lorries and washed-out businessmen in small executive cars dominated the early morning traffic. House made his way to his apartment, lost in a hazy dream-like setting of cold blues and deep navies. His leg was really beginning to ache, and his whole body was freezing as the predawn breeze lashed against him. He was probably even still under the influence. His head pounded stubbornly, and House winced uncomfortably. The throbbing persisted, and he closed his eyes and brought a hand to his forehead.
It was the distraction that caused it all, because a moment later, the bike was swerving out of control and onto the next lane. The front wheel had met with a piece of trash, or a sewer grate, and House's bike veered directly into the path of an oncoming lorry.
Now…
House's eyes fluttered open momentarily – the shock of the brilliant white fluorescent light breaking through his lids automatically clamped them shut again. This time, the pillow he lay upon was soft but worn, and smelled of hospital. He weakly turned his head to the bedside, forcing his eyes open once more to find the chair empty. He inhaled deeply and blinked a little, his eyes still adjusting to his surroundings. House swallowed a bit, and lifted his head from the pillow to ensure his room was otherwise vacant. It was a private room, with a view of the campus and a small TV. He lay back down and gazed up at the ceiling.
House closed his eyes and began testing his muscles, clenching and unclenching his fists, and raising and lowering his right leg on the bed. Everything seemed fine, except for the heavy lethargy that swept over his body immediately after the simple exercises.
He considered calling for a nurse, but decided instead to relax against the pillow and rest his eyes for a while. His breathing slowed to a leisurely pace, and he felt himself drifting off into a light sleep.
He was awakened, however, when a nurse bustled noisily into the room, looking distractedly at his charts. She was in her early twenties, with a slight build and blond hair. House studied her for a minute, before deciding to speak up.
"You know, patients have feelings too."
The nurse's head shot upwards, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. She stared at him for a minute, trying to blink away uncertainty of his apparent revival. Her mouth opened and closed, failing to form coherent speech.
"Moment of epiphany? Vowing to never ignore a patient again?" House prompted knowingly. The nurse frowned and backed away from the bed, before turning and running haphazardly out of the room.
"Dr. Chase! Dr. Chase!" she called, and House sighed and returned his gaze to the ceiling. Damn nurse, setting him up for a session of prodding and testing with Chase.
Chase dashed into the room, followed shortly after by the blond-haired nurse. He was wearing his white coat, and looking more over-worked than House had ever seen him. He paused at the bed, staring intently at House, his eyes wide in shock.
"House," he murmured sharply under his breath. He stood there, staring dumbstruck for a minute. Finally, the corners of his mouth began to slowly curl upwards.
Chase, now grinning broadly, moved around to the side of the bed and pulled a flashlight from his pocket. House grimaced in discomfort as Chase leaned across him and began checking his pupils.
Chase pulled back and began squeezing on different parts of his leg – testing his responses and reflexes, his smile never wavering. After the brief examination, he gave a deep sigh of relief.
"It's good to have you back," he remarked, filling in the chart.
House stared bewilderedly at Chase, who was glowing in elation at his return. "Oh, God," House noted, "you've lost the fear. What the hell is going on?"
Chase put down the chart and walked back around to House's side. The nurse turned and left the room. He sat down on the bed at House's feet, the smile slowly slipping from his lips. He looked down at his lap, and then back at House, who returned the stare attentively.
"House, you were in an accident. You had a minor skull fracture, and a couple of cracked ribs. When the ambulance arrived you were knocked out." Chase paused for a moment, fidgeting with his hands on his lap. He sighed, and looked back at him. "You've been in a coma for over six months."
Onto phase two... review!