Weary
*Writing this took a lot of time so hope you enjoy it. Takes place sometime during seasons three or four (not sure yet). Comments make me smile : ) *
House rubbed his hand over his face tiredly, grimacing as he felt a title wave of pain afflict his already mutilated thigh muscle. He began rubbing his leg knowing it wouldn't be much help but not knowing what else to do. To tired to care, he let his eyelids fall shut; his head hung ragged, while his hand wearily massaged his temple. Face flushed his body weak while simultaneously cold and shaky, longing for the warmth of snug blankets, soft pillows at his apartment. As much as he yearned to leave, he really had no desire of moving an inch because frankly it would hurt and he was sick of the hurt, the aches, the pain, he just wished he could sleep it off. Though, he knew fairly well there was no sleeping off this pain, it would always be lurking in a dark corner waiting to pounce when he least expected. Wearily, he leant back lying as flat as the chair would allow resting his legs on the desk. Delicately he crossed his right leg over his left, he signed letting his thoughts drift aimlessly. Gaze to the starry sky, shoulders slack he continued to stare out the window until his eyes drifted closed exhaustion finally getting the better of his over active mind.
What felt like mere seconds later; he was rudely awakened by the merciless glare of the morning sun, cruelly shining through the windows of his office. Groaning in response to his rude awakening, he opened his eyes and realized he had spent all night in his office chair meaning, massive discomfort in the near future. Signing deeply, House uncrossed his legs; gently moving his right protectively off the table in a vain effort to avoid further discomfort or at any rate to keep his pain at a tolerable level. Placing his aching head in his hands, he rubbed his eyes. Though just waking from a full nights slumber, the feeling of fatigue and misery had not faded from the previous night. Acknowledging he needed some decent sleep, House with tremendous effort slowly began to rise from his chair, weight solely on his left leg. Limping for his cane he was suddenly stabbed with a pain that hit him out of nowhere; causing him to stagger and nearly crack his head on the end of his desk luckily, the wall was close enough for him to catch himself. Composing himself, he picked up his cane and backpack, limping out of the office almost as quickly as a turtle which considering was pretty impressive.
When finally reaching the elevators, he pounded on the down arrow key impatiently, nearly smashing it until he heard the musical ding indicating the swift opening of the elevator doors. He stepped into the thankfully empty elevator; entity slumped against the wall clutching his thigh shakily as the doors swiftly shut. Eyes closed, head resting against the elevator wall, he couldn't stifle a yawn, the sleep depravation in result of staying up for three days obsessing over a recent case made that rather difficult. The elevator soon came to a halt; the doors slid open revealing the hospitals main entrance. To his satisfaction the lobby was nearly empty and more importantly Cuddy free. House wearily pushed himself off the supporting wall and with the help of his cane exited the elevator. With as much strength as he could muster he managed, much to his own surprise to walk steadily towards the exit. Motivation being, with each step he was brought oh so much closer to finding sweet relief in the comfort and seclusion of his apartment. Nearly managing to get to the doors without disturbance; when out of nowhere, doctor Lisa Cuddy came strutting by with what appeared to be a large file in her possession. She stood in front of him, with a look of utmost determination blocking his only exit, diminishing any hope of leaving as swiftly as possible.
"I'm going home," he said with more strength then he thought imaginable at that moment.
All he wanted was to simply go home, lay in his bed and get some sleep or attempt to anyway. Sounds so simple really but simple has been very complicated as of late.
"Sorry you have a case," she directed in her administrative tone, still glancing over at the file in hand.
"Not today I don't" he responded eyes searching for a way to get past her with little luck.
Ignoring him completely she continued on with her usual rant without missing a beat and began reading the file aloud to him.
"Patient presenting with…"
"Not now Cuddy." he snapped, as the little patients he had left diminished hand massaging his leg in a vain attempt to rub some of the pain away. Before she could protest House limped past her and continued towards the exit until he pushed the heavy doors open, feeling the welcoming breeze hit his face, as they swung open. Only pausing for a moment to take some pressure of his leg, then quickly continuing his walk in the direction of his car.
[H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H] [H]
By the time he finally made it to his apartment, he was completely drained of all his remaining energy barely having the morale to limp the short distance to his bedroom. With little thought House sat on his bed, kicked off his shoes which scattered aimlessly across the wooden floor, leaned his cane on the nightstand, popped a pill then, collapsed into his bed pulling the blankets around him. Right hand resting over his closed lids he fell into a dreamless slumber.
His eyes sprang open he turned his head to the clock it read 4:45 am. Frequent lapses of pain and an over active subconscious made his night an unsound one. The pain agonizing, Vicodin barely put a dent in it and when he could actually manage to sleep he was repeatedly assaulted with an odd array of unpleasant dreams that woke him with a start. Eyes still shut sighing deeply, throwing off the covers then gently moving his leg to the edge of the bed and stretching it; rubbing the palm of his hand against his thigh before reaching for the pill bottle. Shaking two pills out he twisted the cap on placing it in its previous location. Head slightly back he threw the pills into his mouth and waited for them to take effect. Then he stood up, grabbed his cane and began walking around the room to distract himself from his leg. As time went on, his pace slowed, his hand clenched tightly around his cane until he could barely take a step. He glanced at the clock it read 6:00 am. Giving up on the possibility of rest, he decided to get ready for work.
The sky was clear, roads dry, grass glistening with morning dew, a perfect day to ride a motorcycle he thought, mood improving a bit. Then pain, his lovely companion reminded him of its presence yet again, reminding him today was going to be rough. Though he was too determined to not waste the day, he ignored his leg's constant whines and rode his bike to work.
*Comments equals new chapter so please give me reason to continue writing.*