Wrong Diagnosis
Part II: My Doctor's Keeper
i luv ewansmile
One hour later…
Getting the feeling that he's being watched, House snaps his eyes open to the sight of the concerned face of Lisa Cuddy.
Along with waking, comes the sensation of agony, as his entire body feels like he's being roasted over a burning fire, aching in places he'd never knew could hurt so bad.
He mentally laughs to himself as he hears the click of her high heels, as she gets closer. Oh, this day just keeps getting better and better.
"House-" Cuddy starts.
He groans in reply, his head throbbing from even the soft sound of her voice. Hot, wet moisture trickles down his face as he feels the bile rising up his throat.
"One…" gasp, "…moment," He whispers, voice paper thin. Rolling to his side, he heaves, his body clenching as he vomits. Puke splattering on the cement as he misses the trashcan. Eyes shut against the nausea. With trembling hands, he wipes at his mouth and face. If Cuddy notices the tears on his face, she doesn't show it.
Cuddy takes a step away from him, scrunching her face up in mild disgust. Breathing a sigh, she walks up to him and motions for him to move his legs, as she sits down beside him.
"So I take it, this is not a hangover." She comments dryly.
House makes a sound halfway between a laugh and cry, and leans back, covering his face with his arm, shielding himself from the sun and Cuddy's pitying stare.
She places her hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him but he flinches at the touch. When she doesn't withdraw her hand, House moves his arm and opens his eyes, peering at her. His eyes trailing her face, her dark curls, her… chest.
She pops him in the arm for his wandering eyes. He gives her half a smirk, "The girls are…. quite perky today…." His voice sounds rough and he ends up coughing, his body shaking, causing Cuddy's annoyed smile to turn into a worried frown.
Her frown turns into astonishment, as House's face turns green right before her eyes as he hurls. Covering her blouse in foul smelling vomit, making it a biohazard zone, in need of hazmat suited dry cleaners.
Resisting the urge to vomit herself, Cuddy stands up, thankful for the cool breeze blowing fresh, clean smelling air her way.
As House collapses on the chair, exhausted, she makes her way to Wilson's office and marches right in as she sees he's not in with a patient.
Startled by the abrupt appearance of his boss, Wilson stutters, "What happened to your-"
Cuddy cuts him off, "You didn't say he was this sick," she scowls at Wilson, severely agitated, not entirely by the vomit covering the front of her blouse but by the lack of responsibility on Wilson's part to his friend.
House's team had solved their case. Finally having a free moment, Thirteen informed Cuddy of her boss's condition and Cuddy had called Wilson. Having been with a critical patient at the time, Wilson had just told Cuddy House was sick and that he probably would be okay in a little while.
"What are you talking about?" Wilson asks, clearly confused, looking to Cuddy for answers.
Cuddy had come by to check on House, finding his office door locked, she opened it with her set of keys and had found House asleep on the balcony. Watching him for several minutes before he felt her presence and woke up, she analyzed him. The painful grimace on his face even as he slept. His appearance telling her everything she needed to know to understand how bad off he really is.
She nearly yells, "He's weak as water! Dehydrated… Vomiting… He's in pain Wilson…" She marches up to his desk, "Why haven't you done something? Taken him home?… Brought him to me?.... Admitted him?… Anything?" She nearly shrieks.
"What are you talking about? House went home at least an hour ago. I walked by his office, the door was closed, blinds drawn. I thought…" Wilson pauses.
"Damn, I should have known… The blinds… He didn't leave… He just wanted it to look like he did… He wanted to be alone." The look on Wilson's face causes Cuddy to soften up as she sees the panic in his eyes.
He glances up at her, trying to formulate an apology, "I was so caught up with work, one of my patient's had an incident, I was paged, and I left him alone… I thought he went home…" Wilson murmurs.
Wilson stands up and hurriedly starts making his way out to the balcony from where Cuddy had entered.
Cuddy sighs, "I'm taking him home now… You can help me get him to the car…. Call a nurse; I'm going to need some fluids and an IV kit…" She pauses, looking at the passed out man, subconsciously gripping his thigh in his sleep, "…and a wheelchair."
When they reach House, Wilson's face blanches as he takes in the sight of his friend. Hair matted to his face with sweat, vomit dampening his shirt, hands trembling as they grasp his leg. Wilson could kick himself for not having known better.
Wilson heaves House into the wheelchair much to House's protest as he's startled awake. Cuddy unlocks the breaks and steps in front of House, shoving an emesis basin in front of his face.
"Here," she tells him. He grabs it but has eyes only for her chest, again.
"Zing! I think we've got a winner…" he says, closing his eyes for a moment as another bout of nausea hits him, telling her between breaths, "…you should do… wet t-shirt… competitions more often… Cuddy…" House grins devilishly, looking like a sick old man staring at her soiled top.
"Oh, the girls are not happy about this," Cuddy sternly tells House.
Apparently, he thinks it's funny since he starts laughing softly, telling her slowly, "Oh… you're so sexy when you're riled up…"
He wiggles his eyebrows. The coyness of his statement is lost as she runs her finger tips up his sweaty pale face, lingering over his cracked lips before resting on his feverish forehead.
"I'm taking you home…" She tells him.
His eyes jerk up at this.
She continues, enjoying his reaction, "Where you'll get plenty of-" she pauses as a nurse hands her the supplies she'll need, "-fluids and rest." Cuddy grins as she sees House expression drop, showing his lack of enthusiasm.
"Ow…" House hollers, "What was that for?" He whines, looking more and more like a five-year-old than a grown man to Cuddy.
"Oh, I just love the smell of fresh vomit in my car," She replies sarcastically, dropping the syringe she used to administer the antiemetic drug to House.
House sighs, as he rubs the sore spot on his upper arm where Cuddy treated him with a shot to help fight the nausea.
"Ready to go?" She asks. And with a slight nod of her head to Wilson, as House doesn't answer, they're off, making their way down the corridor, to the parking lot.
Not feeling up to arguing, House concentrates on the air hitting his face as Wilson pushes him out to Cuddy's car.
House can hear Cuddy's clicking of her high heels alongside of them. She's got House's backpack slung across her shoulders, box of medical supplies in her hands, while his cane dangles from her arm.
"Thanks Wilson, I can take it from here." Cuddy thanks Wilson as she slides into her car.
Wilson says goodbye and carefully closes the door to the car. House wraps his arms around himself, resting carefully across his stomach, looking miserable and glances in Cuddy's direction.
She gives him a soft smile and cranks up the car.
The ride to her house is quiet until House's quiet voice breaks the silence, "Can you turn the air on?" He asks, having to clear his throat after he speaks his throat aching.
Cuddy quickly switches on the air conditioner. The cool air blows out of the car's vents and House angles it so it hits him softly in the face.
"Thanks," House mumbles as he rests his head back on the headrest, closing his eyes, dwelling in the sensation of the cool breeze taming the heat radiating off his feverish skin.
Glancing at her lover, seeing the weariness in his features, Cuddy drives a little faster, wanting to get him home so she could take care of him.
Pulling into her driveway, she parks, and shuts the engine off. Opening his door, she urges him gently to get out of the car and into the house.
One arm slung around her shoulders, the other sweaty palm gripping his cane for dear life, they make their way into her bedroom, making a detour to the bathroom first.
With expert hands she strips him of his shirt, he's halfway out of it as the shot from earlier begins taking full effect.
He slurs, "What else was in that shot?"
She smiles and tugs a fresh t-shirt over his head, one that she had pulled out of his backpack. She leaves him to relieve himself and she returns shortly with two Vicodin and a cold glass of ginger ale.
He grabs the pills quickly, but wearily eyes the glass in her hand. She patiently holds the glass out to him and waits as he caves in and takes a sip of the liquid, aiding in washing down the painkillers.
She gives him a few minutes to let the liquid and pills settle on his stomach before they move out of the bathroom.
She asks, "Feel like you're going to be sick?"
He waits a moment, before replying, "No."
She holds the glass back out to him, "You think you can drink anymore?"
"No."
She sighs, glad she came prepared. She'll get fluids in him one way or another. Since he doesn't want to do it orally, she'll just have to give it to him intravenously.
He pulls himself up off her bathroom chair, using the sink as leverage and they once again hobble the few feet to her bed.
Nearing the night stand, House groans as his stomach clenches and he stumbles, trapping Cuddy between the comforter and his over-heated body.
The scene would be comical to Cuddy if House's breath hadn't reeked so much, even after she lent him a toothbrush, mere minutes ago.
He takes advantage of the moment and cops a feel while their bodies are pressed closely together.
"House…" She whispers dangerously.
"Cuddy…" He smirks, then grasps the headboard and holds himself up, as she slides out from under him.
"Cuddy…" He says weakly as he gasps.
"What House?" She asks impatiently, and then sees how he's got his eyes closed, and one arm wrapped around his middle.
She jumps, "Oh," and dashes across the room retrieving a waste basket from the bathroom and shoves it under his face.
She murmurs, "It's alright…" as she rubs her hands up and down his back trying to soothe him, feeling his body quiver with the force of his dry retching.
The earlier shot of antiemetic is helping to keep the sips of ginger ale and Vicodin down but he still feels the urge to gag but he's trying to control it.
House groans pitifully as he falls into bed. Cuddy maneuvers his limbs so that he's resting comfortingly on his left side. She pulls up the sheet and comforter, tucking him in gently.
Padding to the bathroom she grabs a couple of wet wash clothes and a tiny basin of cold water.
Breathing out a content, "Ah…" as Cuddy places the washcloth to his forehead, House grabs her wrist pulling her back to him, "Lay with me…" he pleads.
Seeing him this way tugs at her heart, but the doctor in her keeps her strong.
"On one condition," She says, trying to sound both authoritative and caring at the same time, "I'll be back in a few minutes," she says and he reluctantly let's go of her.
She slips out of her clothes, quickly washes off with a washcloth and puts on a fresh tank-top and cotton shorts before washing her hands and grabbing the IV kit and a bag of fluid.
Feeling the dip in the bed, House blindly reaches out his hand, exposing his arm. She grabs it and his eyes snap open at the feel of latex on his forearm.
"Nooo." He groans, his quick mind already knowing what she had in store for him.
"Come on," She urges, "The sooner you get some fluids in you, the better you will feel…" she states knowingly as she palpates for a good vein and continues, "and the sooner I'll lay down with you," she smiles at his pitiful attempt at a glare.
He relents, turning his head away from her and the needle and mumbles into his pillow, "M'kay," and sucks in a painful breath as the needle hits its mark.
She tapes his hand, securing the IV catheter and hangs the bag of fluid on the pole she brought with them, and then rearranges the blankets around him before slipping into bed, close beside him.
He lets out a content sigh as she wraps her arms around him, pushing herself up against his back.
"I should get sick more often…," he mumbles contently, relaxing into her touch.
"Just sleep," she whispers, running her fingers through his sweat soaked hair, making the ends stick up.
"Tired," he tells her, restlessly.
"I know," she whispers and holds him tighter as a soft moan escapes his lips.
"Lisa…" He calls out.
"Hmm?" She replies softly.
"Love you…" He tells her. She smiles.
"…No more clinic duty?" He pleads.
She laughs, "…No more clinic duty..." he breathes out a sigh of relief and closes his eyes in sleep.
She smiles at the content look on his face and whispers, "…this week."
