Morning Rush

i luv ewansmile

Summary: Gregory House loves the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he rides his motorcycle but who will be there for him when he finds himself in need?

Hurt!House. House/Cuddy. Complete.


Chapter 1

Sitting on the crinkly paper of the exam table, Dr. Gregory House cradles his left arm against his chest.

Eyeing the nurse, House is sure he hasn't seen her before, or else he hit more than just his wrist when he flew off his motorcycle.

But I was wearing my helmet, wasn't I?

He glances over at the counter, surely enough, there rested his back pack and now tattered blazer, along with his helmet, a fresh scratch in the black paint. His cane dangled from the drawer handle.

"A doctor will be with you in a few minutes," the nurse says cheerfully as she exits the room.

House eases himself down slowly, lying in a supine position with his left knee bent comfortably.

He closes his eyes and rides out the aching throb in his thigh and the shooting sensation in his wrist.

He sighs, he can't open his vial of Vicodin with one hand, and he was in too much pain to care at the moment.


It had happened so fast, his memory of the event is a blur.

It all begin when he took a short cut, turning the roads into a puzzle, trying to figure out a new way to make it to his work.

He was well on his way to enjoying the summer sunshine and the breeze when this yellow Labrador juts out in front of him.

He knows he must have missed the dog because he doesn't remember a yelp or thump.

All he remembers is the stubbing sensation of his lift wrist as he quickly pulls himself off the asphalt and watches as his motorcycle's engine dies.

Shit.

Adrenaline is coursing through his veins. He doesn't feel much yet, just numb from the shock.

Damn. He mentally curses.

He looks around. No traffic on the road but there is a woman talking on her cell phone walking on the other side of the street.

Hey, come over here. He thinks.

But it comes out more like, "Hayy…com-h-ow 'ova hib-ber?" He shouts.

The woman thinking he is just a drunk, speeds up her walking as she turns down the next street.

Damn.

Looking around desperately now, he realizes he's on his own.

Realizing he has his phone with him he begins to reach for it but stops.

Gasping from the shot of pain shooting through his wrist House cries out in pain.

It's no use anyway, his cell phone is smashed.

Who would I have called? Wilson. Ha. Away at a conference, no doubt looking for Mrs. Wilson number four.

Shaking his head, he feels the weight of his helmet. Too heavy.

He's beginning to feel lightheaded.

This time he utters, "Damn."

Wiping his brow with his healthy hand House glares at his bike then slowly eases it up and throws his legs over it.

He cranks up the machine and he lets out a half a sigh, half a laugh as it roars to life.

This is going to hurt.

Grasping with the handle bars, the pain intensifies and he's suddenly aware of his heavy breathing and the thud of his heart in his ears.

Swallowing he tries to calm down the growing nausea.

Okay, Greg, you can do this, just glide 'er in.

He talks himself through the pain as he slowly and carefully makes his way to the hospital.


Cuddy returns with her cup of morning coffee as she walks through the clinic to get to her office, she catches sight of her newest employee.

A nurse who is definitely too cheerful to be a regular.

She smiles at Cuddy who realizes she's been staring at the nurse who just walked out of an exam room.

Eyeing the file in the nurse's hand, Cuddy asks, "Who's that?"

"Just some motorcyclist who fell off his bike," The new nurse informs her.

"Oh," Cuddy glances at the closed door to the exam room and doesn't notice the nurse is still talking to her until she hears the word 'cane'.

Cuddy whips her head around, "What did you say?"

The nurse looks shocked, thinking she was in trouble. She certainly was violating patient privacy, but she thought she was okay, talking to the Dean of Medicine and all.

Cuddy stares at the silent girl. Knowing she can be intimidating at times, Cuddy reassures her, "It's okay, just repeat what you said, you're not in trouble."

Breathing a sigh of relief she states again, "I didn't think he would need to be riding a motorcycle to begin with, he already uses a cane."

The young nurse is left speechless again as the Dean of Medicine takes off in the direction of the exam room, white lab coat flapping, heels clicking.


Peering into the room, not knowing what she would find, voice soft but urgent Cuddy asks, "House?"

That was fast. House thinks, thinking a clinic doctor was ready to see him.

Wait, I know that voice. He cracks one eye open to confirm and gives a half hearted sigh.

"Present." Man, is that my voice? It sounded paper thin even to his own ears.

Cuddy isn't relieved at his sense of humor but is shocked to see her best doctor laid out on an exam table in her clinic.

"House, what happened? Are you okay?" She crosses the room to him and quickly switches into doctor mode.

He eyes her concerned face as she takes in the sight of him.

She notices how damp his t-shirt and hair are from sweat, the pallor of his skin and most noticeably the way he is cradling his arm to his chest, keeping it from being jostled.

Instead of saying what he was thinking, If I was okay I wouldn't be here, he settles for, "Motorcycle and dog, bad combination."

Seeing the look of shock on her face he continues, "Don't worry, didn't hurt the dog…didn't even hit it..." he pauses, trying to make sense of his blurry memory, "I think."

Working through the shock, Cuddy asks, "Can you sit up?"

And he does, grunting in pain. She frowns.

With gentile fingers she coaxes his left hand after from the safety of his body and slowly turns it to look at the damage done.

House hisses in pain.

"Sorry," Cuddy whispers and tries again.

"I wouldn't be surprised if it's broken."

She lays his arm in his lap, "Does anywhere else hurt?"

He stays quite but her eyes trail up his left arm, there is already shades of blues and purples, bruises around his t-shirt sleeve, and around his neck they rest hidden under his shirt.

"May I?" She gestures to his shirt.

"Don't start something you can't finish," House looks eager.

She half laughs, half smiles, as she begins taking his shirt off. His eyes stare into hers, unspoken questions, desires… but ultimately trust.

He lets her ease the shirt off slowly, careful of the hurt limb.

"If you like that you should try a little south," House winks, watching her eyes roaming across his body.

"If south looks as bad as this…you might be out of commission for a few weeks," She laughs.

"Oh, that's got to hurt," she states as her finger tips ghost across his battered chest.

The whole left side of his torso is covered in one ugly bruise, she wonders why he didn't call her, or at least go to the emergency department.

Then she remembers who she's looking at, the man is so stubborn, well, at least he came to get himself help.

"Why didn't you call me?" She asks, hurt that he wouldn't trust her with this.

"Phone was a casualty," he states, it wasn't a lie but it wasn't a whole truth. She could tell.

"And what? You could walk to the clinic but not the next five steps to my door?"

He did, she wasn't there. She realizes this and a pang of guilt washes over her, but what he says next takes her breath away.

"I didn't want you to worry about me…" House watches her reaction out the corner of his eye.

Her words get caught in her throat, she swears these hot summer days are too humid, as moisture collects in her eyes.

Her soft eyes peer into his as she touches his chin, making him look at her.

"I always worry about you," she watches his face.

She smiles, "Every morning I walk in I'm thankful the building hasn't burnt down. But it worries me, just like when there is no crying nurses or complaining patients, I know there is something terribly wrong because Gregory House would be out there terrorizing them as long as he wasn't sick… or… or hurt," her voice cracks but she keeps on smiling.

"I'm fine." He huffs.

"You are not fine," she retorts, "look at you!"

"It's going to take a few tests, just to make sure you don't have any internal bleeding and an x-rays of both your arm and shoulder before you can even begin to say you're fine or even okay."

Seeing she was done with her rant, he begins to get up, but her two soft hands against his bare chest stop him.

She speaks softly but with authority, "Don't. You're riding today."

"But, mom!" He whines and rolls his eyes.

But he gives her a gentile nod and he watches her hips swing as she struts out.

He waits as she retrieves a wheelchair, lost in the emotions caused by her lingering touch.

He shivers, and draws his t-shirt around himself, missing the warmth of her hands.


The wheelchair ride down to Radiology was done mostly in silence…almost.

"So are you going to put those "do me" pumps to good use Doctor Cuddy and get me a free ticket to the straight of the line?" House smirks.

Cuddy snorts, "You better be grateful I'm not rolling you to the morgue…" she stops abruptly, House twists to look at her, "Keep talking, I'll still make you do your clinic hours you've skipped out on this week."

One doctor watches the scene and has nerve enough to ask House, "So, Dr. Cuddy finally beat you for skipping out on your clinic hours?" The man smirks, but House and Cuddy give him a Mind your own damn business look.

Cuddy must have sent him a death glare also because the rude doctor shuts up and walks off pretty fast. This makes House happy.

"Way to go boss lady, didn't know I wasn't the only one you got bitchy with."

Cuddy just rolls her eyes, and starts pushing him faster down the hall, "If you only knew."


"It's definitely broken," Cuddy holds up the x-ray to the light, "the only good thing though is it appears just a fracture."

"Gooood," House draws out, waiting for the inevitable 'but'.

"But, it'll have to be in a sling for a few days to let the swelling go down, then we'll put it in a cast."

"Darn." Was House's unenthusiastic reply.

Cuddy laughs.

"Oh, so you take pleasure in my pain?"

"Come on," Cuddy wraps the warmed blanket around him, "let me take care of poor little Greggy."

"Oh, patronize the cripple, nice…" His sarcastic snark is back.


Cuddy wheels him back to the exam room where she splints his wrist and helps him into his sling.

Once she was done, she stops and just looks at him.

House who had been resting his eyes during most of the procedure didn't open them but asks her, "Like what you see?" A small smirk lights up his face, looking out of place against his taunt, pale skin.

Cuddy goes over to the medicine cart, fingers gliding over the buttons, its beeps and she opens it.

Curious, House opens his eyes, eyeing Cuddy as she pulls out a pre-filled syringe of Demerol.

His eyes questions hers, her only response is, "Don't tell me you don't want it?"

He lifts up his healthy right arm, the action silently telling her yes.

"It'll go better in a large muscle."

"Oh, you just want to see the whole package, ooh, naughty doctor..." House smirks, pushing her limits.

"Drop 'em right now and we'll see how naughty I can be." Cuddy rises up to the challenge, giving him a smile that would undo him right then and there.

The smirk is wiped off his face but he fumbles for his belt buckle, he hesitates, knowing he can't do it by himself, with one hand impaired in a sling.

Cuddy watches this, and taunts, "Let mommy help," and reaches for him.

Cuddy undoes his belt, then his pants with practiced, skilled hands.

House turns himself onto his right side and eases himself up enough so she can slide his pants down below his hips.

Cuddy quickly covers her eyes.

House worried asks, "What?"

She giggles, "Nothing," and pretends to shade her eyes, "Just blinded by the light."

She begins cleaning the area with an alcohol pad.

House snorts, "Don't get much sun down there…although… I know this great beach where we can…"

"Ow!"

House breaks off as the needle hits its mark as Cuddy injects the pain medicine.

"Oh, did I hurt you?" She baby talks to him as she chunks the used needle into the sharps container.

"Gezz, Woman!" House yells, helpless even to cover himself up.

She grabs his boxer and jeans and pulls them up for him, she's inches from his face.

"You know you love it." She smirks.

He grins, busted. She can see his eyes glaze over already, the drug taking effect.

She waits a few minutes, watching as House visibly relaxes, breathing a bit easier.

She doesn't quite catch it but she hears House's sleepy, pain-free, "Thank you…"

She smiles, "You're welcome."

She means it.

"Come on."

She helps ease him up off the table and she supports him as they walk to her office.

Laying him down on her couch, she tucks a blanket around him, "Sleep tight Dr. Keneval, and maybe tonight we'll try some tricks you won't need your bike for."

He drifts off with a brilliant smile upon his face.


Lisa Cuddy watches over her man as he sleeps the rest of the day on her couch with a smile on her face.

Happy he trusts her and thankful he is still alive.


To be continued...