Only the Brave
Sorry for the onslaught of fics lately. I've had lots of free time on my hands. Just for the record, my muse is completely unpredictable, so I could go into an extended dry spell any day now. Anyway, this is another post Bombshells fic. No Dominika, cause I just wasn't in the mood. (Sigh). This is an exploration of House's physical handicap and how he feels emasculated by it, something the show really didn't touch on that much. A little angsty after all the fluff I've been posting lately. Should be a two-parter.- atd
"I'm outta here," House said, grabbing his coat.
Wilson looked up, saw Cuddy entering the bar.
"I honestly had no idea she'd be here," Wilson said.
"It's a hospital happy hour," House said. "She's the hospital dean. Makes sense. . . See ya!"
He started toward the door.
"If you leave now, she'll think she drove you away."
"And she'd be right. She is driving me away."
"Do you really want to give Cuddy that much power?"
House stopped, scowled a bit. He looked at Wilson, then glanced quickly at Cuddy, who was saying hi to one of the nurses.
"Alright, one more drink," he said, sitting back down. "You're buying, needless to say."
"Needless to say," Wilson said gamely, fishing for his wallet.
"Hi guys."
They looked up. Cuddy was standing over their table, with a nervous smile.
"Hi Cuddy," Wilson said.
It was awkward for Wilson now that his two best friends weren't talking. When they were dating, he had never really considered the personal consequences of their (inevitable) breakup. But the hostile nature of the split dictated that he had to pick sides. He was definitely on Team House, both because he genuinely felt Cuddy's breakup had been abrupt and unwarranted and because he knew House needed him more than she did. Still, he and Cuddy still talked, and even occasionally snuck out for a quick lunch. For her part, she was glad Wilson was sticking by his friend. It made her worry about him less.
"Did that shirt shrink in the wash or are you just getting fat?" House said to her.
"Good to see you, too, House," she said dryly.
"I never said it was good to see you," House replied.
"So I guess joining you two is completely out of the question," Cuddy said.
"We're in the non-bitch section, so I'm afraid not," House said.
"House!" Wilson scolded.
"It's okay, Wilson. I see some colleagues I know at the bar. Goodnight." And she walked away.
House put his head in his hands.
"You don't have to be an asshole to her," Wilson said.
"Actually, I do," House said.
He watched Cuddy warily out of the corner of his eye, as Wilson bought their second round of drinks.
"Who's the goon talking to Cuddy?" House said.
Wilson looked over.
"That's Roscoe Davis, the new head of security," Wilson said. "I think he was a Navy SEAL or somethin'."
"Impressive," House said sarcastically.
"Hey, I happen to feel very secure at the hospital now," Wilson chuckled.
House kept watching them, while pretending that he wasn't.
"He's hitting on her," he finally said, annoyed.
"Guys hit on Cuddy all the time, House. Get used to it."
"I know. But not when she's wearing such a tight top."
"Her top isn't that tight, House. You're imagining things. Let's play pool."
House sighed, and followed Wilson to the pool table.
House usually destroyed Wilson at pool, but today he was too distracted by Roscoe Davis, former Navy SEAL, to play well. Twice, he prematurely scratched the 8-ball, because he was glancing at the bar. Cuddy was beginning to look like she wanted to escape the conversation.
"He's starting to get on her nerves," House said.
"And you're starting to get on my nerves," Wilson said.
House shrugged.
"Another game?" he said.
"You only want to play pool because the table is closer to the bar and you can keep a better eye on her."
"Is that so?"
"Yeah, House. It's so. Why don't we get out of here?"
House glanced back at the bar. Roscoe wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to Cuddy. She laughed, in a somewhat derisive way, and slid the napkin back to him. Grinning, he folded it and tried to put it in her pants pocket. She hit his hand, not entirely playfully.
"You go ahead," House said cagily. "I think I'll stay."
Wilson narrowed his eyes.
"What kind of trouble are you going to cause?"
"No trouble. I swear," House said. "You told me I needed to socialize more. So let me socialize more."
"The happy hour is over, House. The only one's left are Roscoe and Cuddy."
"I am capable of socializing with people who don't work at the hospital."
"You're not capable of socializing at all," Wilson said.
"I'll be fine Jimmy. Get out of here." Something in his tone suggested this wasn't a request.
Wilson shoved his hands in his pockets.
"I have a bad feeling about this," he said.
"Shoo!"
So Wilson left.
House bought another drink, went back to the table, and continued to surreptitiously watch Cuddy and Roscoe.
At one point, Cuddy got up to leave and Roscoe kind of grabbed her arm. He had a jokey demeanor so it was hard to really see him as a threat, but House didn't like the way this guy was manhandling her at all.
He saw Cuddy struggle a bit, still smiling, but getting a bit tenser.
"Shit," House said.
He got up from the table, limped over to the bar.
"Everything okay here?" he said.
Cuddy looked slightly embarrassed by the whole thing.
"I'm fine, House. I was just leaving," she said, extricating herself from Roscoe's grip.
"And I'm trying to convince Dr. Cuddy to let her hair down and live a little and stay," Roscoe said.
And he grabbed her arm again.
"Hey pal. The lady said she wants to leave," House said, taking a menacing step toward him. "Let go of her arm."
Roscoe took one look at House, his cane, and snorted.
"Go back to your table, crutchy," he said dismissively.
"I will, once you let go of her arm."
"House, I'm fine," Cuddy said. "I can handle this."
"Oh, so now I need to be handled?" Roscoe said. There was still something merry in his voice, like he hadn't noticed that the situation had escalated into something rather tense.
"When a lady says she wants to go, you let her go," House said, staring him in the eye. This Roscoe guy easily had 60 pounds on him, but House never backed down from a bully.
"I said go back to your table, Tiny Tim," Roscoe said. "Before I make you."
"House. . ." Cuddy said. She put a hand protectively on his shoulder. "Let it go."
But House was already in too deep.
"Was that a Charles Dickens reference?" he snarled. "You know how to read? The wonders never cease!" Then he thought about it: "You probably just saw it in a Saturday morning cartoon."
Now Roscoe stood up. He was built like a truck.
"Back off, Citizen Cane."
"Now that's more like it. You do realize that there was no actual cane in that movie? Different spelling and everything."
"Sit back down, Nancy," Roscoe said, stepping toward him.
"Funny you calling me Nancy, since a 'roid freak like you probably has nuts the size of raisins."
Roscoe stepped toward House, pressed two fingers hard against his chest.
"I said sit the fuck down, Nancy."
"Make me!"
And without even realizing what he was doing, House reared back and punched Roscoe in the jaw.
It all happened very quickly, Roscoe barely seemed to register the blow and began pounding on House's face and chest.
House staggered, fell to the ground.
"Stop!" Cuddy screamed. "Roscoe, stop!"
Roscoe was now kicking at House's chest and groin and House was curled in a fetal position, trying to protect himself from the onslaught.
"Who's the big man now?" Roscoe was screaming. "Who's the big man now, you fucking crippled faggot!"
"Help us!" Cuddy screamed.
Finally, about three guys were able to leap on Roscoe and pull him off House, who was bleeding from his nose and mouth and writhing on the floor in agony.
Cuddy rushed to his side.
"House," she said. She went to touch his face, but he brushed her hand away violently.
"Leave me alone," he said. He had tears in his eyes, that he hastily wiped away. He tried, unsuccessfully, to stand up. Finally, two more guys helped House to a chair. He was having a hard time drawing a full breath.
Cuddy went to dab his mouth with a tissue, but he wouldn't let her. He snatched the tissue out of her hand, did it himself. It immediately filled with blood. She went to hand him another tissue, but he again pushed her hand away.
"Somebody call the police," Cuddy said.
"No!" House said, still gasping for breath.
"No?"
"I punched him first," House said.
"Yeah," Roscoe said. He was still being held back. But the guys had loosened their grip. He had completely vanquished and humiliated his enemy. No point in more bullying. "He punched me first."
"Yeah, and you're a real macho guy beating up a cripple," the female bartender said.
House winced—and Cuddy wasn't sure if it was from pain or humiliation. Probably both.
"House, everyone here saw what he did to you," Cuddy said gently. "He assaulted you."
"We had a fight. He won," House said.
"He was kicking you when you were already down."
"It's called winning a fight."
"He could've killed you! We have witnesses"
"Well, I'm not pressing charges," House said stubbornly. His voice still sounded funny. Cuddy wondered if he had lost a tooth.
She gave up. Turned to Roscoe.
"Well, guess what, Roscoe? Dr. House may not want to press charges. But you'll never set foot in Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital Again. You're fired."
"You'll be hearing from my lawyers," Roscoe said—and he stormed out of the bar.
"Don't come back, asshole!" the bartender yelled after him.
She poured some bourbon into a shot glass, handed it to one of the guys who had been holding back Roscoe. "Here, give this to him," she said, gesturing toward House.
The guy gave House the drink. He gulped it gratefully. Then he stood up. He held the table for support.
"Somebody get him his cane!" someone said.
House's cane was found under the bar and handed to him. Then he slowly, creakily started toward the door. Cuddy followed him. He had shaken her off enough times to know that she couldn't try to help him walk, but she hovered alongside him.
When they finally got outside, she said: "I'm taking you to the hospital."
"No, you're not," he said.
"House, you're in bad shape. You might've broken some ribs. Please let me take you to the hospital."
"I'm a doctor, remember? I think I would know if I had broken any ribs," House said.
"At least let me drive you home, make sure you get inside okay," she said.
"Cuddy, I'm fine."
She went to touch his arm. He flinched.
"Leave me alone!" he shouted.
She was slightly taken aback by the anger in his voice.
"Please House. Let me help you."
"Cuddy, I'm fine," he said, a bit more evenly this time. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
Okay," she said, uneasily, and watched as he limped to his car, opened the door and got in.
She finally gave up and headed to her own car. As soon as she pulled out of the parking lot House slumped against the steering wheel, barely able to sit up, and got on his cell phone.
"Wilson, come get me. I think I'm about to pass out."
######
The next day, he called in sick.
Two days later, he showed up late for the DDx. When he sat down, his team gaped at him. His lip was cracked, there was a cut over his eye, and it was obvious by the way he was gingerly walking that he could barely move his torso.
"What the hell happened to you?" Chase said.
"I tripped in the shower," House said.
"Was the shower a black belt in karate?" Taub said.
"I don't want to talk about it," House mumbled.
"Are you okay? Are you sure you should be at work? Do you want to lie down?" Masters said, all concerned.
"What part of: I don't want to talk about it don't you understand?" House growled.
"Okay, okay, you don't have to bite my head off."
There was the sound of a woman clearing her throat.
They all looked up: Cuddy.
"I need a moment alone with House," she said.
Four pairs of eyes shot to House.
"Go run tests," House said to them.
"What tests?" Masters said. "We haven't begun the differential yet."
"I don't know…maybe the LSATs or a Driver's Ed exam. Or wait! Here's a bright idea: Why not do an X-ray and a pulmonary function test since our patient clearly has some sort of problem with his lungs?"
They exchanged looks and quickly scattered.
Cuddy took in House's appearance.
"You shouldn't have come in today," she said. "If for no other reason, you'll scare the patients."
"I always scare the patients," he said.
Cuddy pursed her lips.
"Are you okay? It hurts just to look at you."
"I'm fine," he said.
"Are you taking anything for the pain?"
"Yes, as you well know, I'm taking vicodin."
"I guess I stepped into that one," she said, sheepishly.
"Yeah."
"House, I wanted to say. . .thanks for coming to my aid last night. Roscoe was starting to scare me."
"Oh yeah, I was a real fucking hero," House muttered.
"You were, House. You defended me."
"Any time you need someone to get their ass kicked and cry like a little girl, I'm here for you."
"House," she went to touch his shoulder, but he swatted her hand away. And even that tiny amount of movement, had him almost gasping in pain.
She lifted his shirt, without waiting for his permission.
His ribs were taped.
"You did break your ribs!"
"Just a few of them."
"House!"
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You should take the rest of the week off. I can stop by after work, make you dinner, bring you some groceries."
"I don't need your pity," he said.
"This isn't pity," she said. "It's gratitude."
"I don't need that either. What I really need is for you to leave so I can do my job."
She stared at him.
"So that's it? Nothing has changed between us?"
"Why would anything have changed?"
His eyes were even glassier than usual. He must've taken half a bottle of vicodin.
"No reason," she said, slightly hurt.
She looked at him again, stupidly feeling like she was about to cry. Then she left.
To be continued. . .