A/N: This is my first fanfic. I apologize for mistakes and sucky-ness. I'll also have you know that I'm inexperienced in the medical world and I have no 'MD' behind my name.
Chap. 1 Skin of the Teeth
Hobbes: Why do we play 'War' and not 'Peace'?
Calvin: Too few role models.
-Calvin & Hobbes; Bill Waterson-
Cuddy: You want me to yell at you?
House: It is comforting.
-Informed Consent-
Cuddy was awoken from her peaceful stupor by the sounds of annoyingly repetitive knocks. Cuddy would have recognized the sharp knocks if she wasn't so drunk with fatigue. She turned over onto her side and placed a pillow over her head to drown out the noise. She didn't care who was knocking on her door this late at night (11:57, to be exact). For all she cared at the moment, they could go to hell if meant that she could go back to sleep. It had been a hectic day at work and she just wanted to snooze.
But the banging didn't let up even 15 minutes later. She grudgingly made her way out of bed, and with her eyes half closed, she stumbled to her front door.
She unlocked her door and swung it open crankily, the cold winter breeze immediately assaulting her. It was snowing outside, and everything was covered with white powdery stuff.
At first she didn't see anyone in her line of vision, but then her eyes moved downwards to see a cold House sitting by her door. He was dotted with melting snowflakes, his shoes and pants soaked, his hair speckled with snow. He had his cane in his right hand, and was obviously the one responsible for the knocking, and he had his blue backpack sitting beside him. But the most observable thing about his appearance was the large four inch gash that appeared on his face, one end by his temple, the other by his hairline on his forehead. His blood encrusted brow was creased as he gazed up at Cuddy.
"Cute jams," he said halfheartedly, observing Cuddy's cotton pajamas.
"Are you ok? What happened?" demanded Cuddy, taking in his disheveled appearance. She immediately bent down to help him to his feet.
"Car slipped on some ice. Hit a tree, and walked here," he said, grunting, as he made his way to his feet, using his cane and Cuddy as support. His cold and sore muscles protested but in the end he was vertical with his backpack and cane in hand. "Could I stay here for the night? My cars kind of wrapped around a tree."
"Um, sure," she said lamely. The thought of House staying at her home was weird, but he obviously needed a place to stay and some medical attention.
House gingerly sat down on her couch, and Cuddy left to get some medical stuff.
- - - - - - - - - - -
Cuddy returned moments with her "medical stuff". She took out a penlight and began to check House's pupils. "I'm fine. Really," he protested.
"House, you could have a concussion," she said, gently lifting one of his eyelids, his skin cold beneath her fingertips. She began flashing the penlight into his eye, doing the same to the other. "Pupils are even and reactive," Cuddy stated professionally, though her eyes were clouded with worry.
"That's because I'm fine," he persisted quite lamely.
But Cuddy ignored him and began to clean the blood from his face. "Do you have a headache?"
"Well, it stands to reason that when one's car assaults their forehead they'll get a headache."
"How about dizziness?"
"A little; and I'm fine."
"Why were you out driving this late, anyway?" she asked, taking a glance at the wall clock. It was about 12:20.
"My patient's got a new symptom," he said wincing, as she began to clean closer to the cut.
"Johnny Beckett?" asked Cuddy. She was always informed on House's patients. He was always bound to do something reckless or break hospital policy.
Seventeen year old Johnny was turning out to be a difficult case.
"Is that his name?" asked House. He remembered patients by their symptoms, not their names. "Foreman called me in. The team's still there and apparently they couldn't possibly do a differential over the phone."
A few moments of silence followed. Lisa would have felt awkward being this close to House, but Dr. Cuddy was assured that this was only an exam.
"Well, you won't need stitches. What else hurts? Did you manage to break any bones? Or is the rest just bruises?"
"Which one of those questions would you like me to answer first?" Upon Cuddy's look he responded with "Just bruises. But I think I busted two fingers."
Cuddy looked down at his left hand which he had been cradling against chest. "Let me see," she said, gesturing for his hand.
Grudgingly, House handed his hand over (haha, I made a funny). Cuddy gingerly examined the purple fingers, the skin broken with a red cut stretching over the last three digits.
She wanted to get an x-ray of his hand, but that required dragging him to the hospital. Instead she changed the subject, holding off the inevitable, still gently holding his hand. "Where's your car?"
"In a ditch some two miles away…"
"You walked two miles to my house?" she said, incredulously.
"My cell phone's dead and you were the closest."
Cuddy began to worry more for the doctor sitting on her couch. She didn't even want to imagine a cripple with chronic pain and a migraine treading his way through two miles of snow.
Cuddy covered her concern. "You need to learn to recharge your cell phone."
"So I've been told."
"You should let me take you to the hospital."
He groaned. "I don't want to go. I'm fine."
"You were just in a car accident, you have broken fingers" she said, exasperated by his stubbornness. "You need to be fully checked."
"No, I don't."
Cuddy paused for moment. "Think of it like this: If I don't get you to a hospital and I let you sleep here, then I'll be up all night being worried. Then I'll have to drink a lot of coffee, and there won't be any left when you wake up. And then you'll have to worry about me 'mother-henning' over you without any coffee."
She could see House weighing the two evils, deciding with was the lesser. "Well, since you put it like that," he said, his face mirroring defeat.
Cuddy grinned. "Let me get changed, and then we're off."
"Like a prom dress," she heard House mutter dejectedly as she left the living room.
- - - - - - - - - -
The ride to PPTH was uneventful.
In fact, House slept throughout most of it. The only time he spoke was when commenting her choice of music when she started up the car. Imagine, by John Lennon, had played softly through the speakers.
"I didn't strike you as a Lennon fan," he had said, quirking an eyebrow.
"It's a good song," Cuddy said, her tone defensive.
"A classic," he agreed, and she couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. And shortly after that he had fallen asleep.
Getting him out of the car was another story. It was like trying to wake a grizzly bear in the middle of its hibernation. There was a lot of complaining and threats going back and forth until finally he stumbled out of the car.
Of course, then she had to convince him to get into a hospital gown. He had groaned, moaned, and muttered a string of profanities about 'stupid hospital gowns', but in the end, Cuddy, once again, prevailed.
A brief differential, exam, x-ray, MRI, two vicodins, and a coffee later, they were back at Cuddy's house, only after arguing in the car.
"You might as well just bring me to my house," he had muttered, watching the world go by out the window.
"Your bag is at my house," she said, keeping her eyes on the road.
"You could just drop it off tomorrow."
"Yes, but then I would have to go out of my way on my day off to give it to you. Besides, my house is closer. And I'm tired and don't want to drive anymore. Want to go for a record and try for two car accidents in one night?"
"No thanks," he said quickly, too tired to fight about where he spent the night.
And then they were standing in her living room, both a bit awkward, and both very exhausted.
"You'll have to sleep on the couch." She didn't want House sleeping on the couch, and she knew she would feel guilty sleeping in a warm bed while the cripple slept on the sofa, but she didn't have a spare room. "You could sleep in my bed, and I'll sleep on the couch," she offered, quite awkwardly.
Seeing her unease, House said, "And get your girlie cooties? I'll take my chances with the couch."
"I'll get out some spare blankets and you need to change out of your wet clothes. I smuggled a pair of scrubs. I figured they'd be more comfortable then sleeping in wet jeans." She handed him a pair of blue hospital scrubs. She knew he hated them, but she figured that he'd rather be comfortable.
House simply nodded, then immediately regretted it. The motion upset his headache.
"Right, well, you go get changed."
"Yes, sir. But I need to use your phone to have something done with my car."
Cuddy thought a moment before replying. "I'll call for you. Just go change."