Title: Clues
This is a One-shot and there is no more.
Rated: PG-13
Summery: Set between House's Head and Wilson's Heart. House is still missing a few pieces of the puzzle.
Disclaimer: I don'w own House.
House limped into the hospital room. Wilson had been taken home for the night, but Amber remained ina medically induced coma, bruised, bloodied, cleaned up, and scared. Physically, her scars may heal, but emotionally, House knew she'd doubtfully ride the bus again.
He studied her face for a hint of what was missing in his head. A flash of her face before the crash, a snide comment, and little more before its a haze of metal, blood and sheer terror. The fear in Amber's eyes during the crash burned into his mind. She was silent. Amber was preparing herself to die. Probably thinking of Wilson. At least House hoped she'd been thinking of Wilson.
People thought of Gregory House as a selfish, self-loathing person, hardly a man who should walk away from a bus accident. The same could be said about Amber. She was Cut-Throat Bitch. He remembered how happy Wilson was when they first started dating months ago.
"Cut-throat bitch?!"
"I call her Amber."
He snorted at the memory. In his mind, Amber was the female version of himself. Perhaps that's why, in his dream, the woman who was supposed to be Her, looked like him. Same blue eyes, same smile, when he DID smile, and his mother's ears. Wilson had asked if there could be anything going on between the two of them. The thought made Greg's stomach drop. He had feelings for Amber; loathing, contempt, the need to harrass. Almost brotherly feelings, as he would assume.
"Amber," he said looking over her face again. "I really suck at nice. But I know you can hear me. You make him happy. Oddly enough, I am less miserable when he's genuinly happy. Do me a favor; don't die."
He sighed at the lack of response.
"Stop staring at my breasts. And don't even say, 'Or lack there-of."
A true smart-ass. He admired it in her. And seconds later she was almost floating toward him, glass shattering behind her, screaming surrounding them. He remembered she hadn't screamed. She just looked up at him as she started to slip under the bus. Greg reached out, and for a second, he made a connection. He had her hand, but when another crash jerked her away, he feared she'd been crushed under the bus.
When he'd opened his eyes, She was near by, a rod through her leg. It was probably what saved her life. He knew it from looking 3 inches to the left of her head where another part of the hand railing was stabbed into the seat, or just a few inches below her, where the pavement had eaten away the sides of the bus. The rod had held her firmly in place, saving her life, and killing her now.
But why? Why was he here? It was well after midnight, and she was, more or less, stable. Thirteen and Kutner were in the office. He should be there, too, bouncing his ball off the side wall of his office. She was a patient with a mysterious illness that he had to diagnose, and he was in her room; the worst place he could be.
But where his best friend was concerned, he lost his objectivity. Save Amber; save Wilson. Save Wilson; save self? Who knew. Certainly, he wasn't this selfless.
Again, it was James Wilson. Of all the trouble and divorces that House knew he'd been the root cause of, he couldn't take this away from him, too. Perhaps figuring out the illness wasn't the reason he was here. Or maybe he was curing himself. Studying her could bring back more.
All he needed was the Finale clue; the First one. They were on a bus together; he didn't know why. He's seen the first hint of a very fatel illness. What was the hint, so he could cure the disease? It was just a small detail that only he'd be able to notice, but looking at her now, he couldn't find anything.
"House," called a soft voice. "Get some rest."
"Not until I figure it out," he moaned, scrubbing at his eyes to wake him more.
"Can I at least check your stitches?" Cuddy asked, stepping in. Greg leaned toward the light just enough for Lisa to look, and be certain he wasn't bleeding and not telling her. "Cameron did a nice job."
"She did a lousy job."
"I factored in that you were probably not holding still, and fighting her every step of the way."
"I...probably."
"You don't remember?"
"Of course I remember. You are just so much fun to screw with. She did a bang-up job-"
"She's worried."
"Have her cry on Chase's shoulder."
"House-"
"By telling me she's worried, all you are really telling me is that you're worried. By putting it in third person, you're only trying to appear neutral so I'll open up and talk to you. Psych 101. I'm fine." Cuddy sighed. "I have a little head ache, but its to be expected."
"Did you remember anything else?"
"She was wearing a necklace. Its not with her things. I don't know if its a clue or not. The scarf I tied is gone, too. Everything is a clue, and some moron tossed them in the trash. Its like having a big puzzle and all the edge pieces are missing. They aren't missing, they're just locked away in my head, and I can't get them out."
"You got out enough to remember who was on the bus."
"Not enough to save her life."
"Maybe not, but enough to save Wilson's." House turned to her. "If she dies tomorrow, which she might, Wilson was with her, held her hand, and could be okay. If you hadn't remembered, she'd be Jane Doe, and Wilson would have never known what happened. I don't think he could have handled it."
"I'll figure it out."
"I know."
"I'm not doing it for Wilson."
"I know."
"Stay a while?" Cuddy nodded and pulled a chair up. The only noise in the room was the machines, keeping Amber alive. House wracked his exhausted brain for that memory. Why was he on the bus with her. Why was she smiling at him? What was wrong?
But he only heard the beeping of her life-support. And all he could do was hope for his memory to return.
I hope you enjoyed!