Much shorter today, it's the middle f th night. Sorry for errors x
House pushed himself off the table and, steadying his leg, hobbled to the door. So far, so good. Opening the door, he leant against the wall with one shoulder and pulled his leg along behind him. He made it half way to the elevator before he was sweating with the exertion of walking and fighting spasms simultaneously. He stopped, put his back against the wall and took a Vicodin. Waiting a second or two for it to hit his system, he launched off the wall and continued his laboured journey. It took him fifteen minutes to limp to the elevator. The box was deserted. He took the opportunity to lean stiffly on the cool walls, unseen by human eyes. Sweat was rolling down his face, his leg itching to burst into full blown spasm, his heart rate rising. The elevator dinged, and the doors opened onto a quiet corridor. House knew he only had one left turn to make before he hit the bustle of the ER. He dragged himself along the corridor, dreading what he would meet at the other end. He entered the brightly lit, clinical ER, and was met by absolute chaos. Patients were waiting, moaning in pools of blood, whilst crazed nurses ran around trying to fix up the worst. It looked like two busses had crashed I to each other. About one hundred people were milling around, some screaming, almost all crying, the majority unseen by medical professionals. Bad day to need a doctor. House groaned. He could see the box that was usually stuffed with crutches of all shapes and sizes, and it was empty.
"Somebody get me some help over here!" he yelled. No one listened. He was just another yelling patient that no one could get round to seeing. His leg spasmed under him, and he grabbed the nurses station to stop himself falling again. He knew that if he fell, he wouldn't get up for a long time, not until after the spasm wore off. It happened often enough for him to know what would exacerbate it. Frustrated, aching with sharpening pain, he turned away. There was nothing here, nothing that would help him. He had to get back to the elevator. His pulse was racing with the pain he was fighting desperately to control, his vision blurry with the sweat dripping into his eyes. He lurched across the hall, back to the elevator. He would get to Cuddy. She would help. He concentrated all his effort on getting down the hall and into the elevator. He had no choice. He hobbled and lunged his way closer and closer, until he almost fell inside the cool, music playing box that would take him to Cuddy. It went up one floor, to the lobby. He had to get across the lobby, through the Clinic and into Cuddy's office. It would be okay. He couldn't stand up straight, his breathing uneven and laboured as though he'd run a marathon. He limped through the lobby, attracting stares and whispered gossip from the nurses. He pushed thought the doors to the Clinic. Patients looked at him sympathetically, wondering why the poor cripple was in the free Clinic rather than the ER. Close to fainting, House bumped into Cuddy's office without announcing himself and collapsed on her couch.
"House, what the hell are you doing? Your patient's crashing!"
"I-I need..."
"You need to go do your job!" she yelled, standing up from her desk and going to him. She noticed his sopping hair and shirt, his odd breathing, his thigh almost jumping with the spasm rocking through it. "Oh God" she exclaimed.
"I-I..." House muttered
"It's okay, I'm going to get you some meds to slow your heart rate"
"I need pain meds... It's my leg... It hurts" he hissed though clenched teeth, his hand gripping the arm of her couch.
"House, are you jerking me around?" she asked, hands on hips, lips pursed.
"No- I-"
"Because if you're out of Vicodin, there are easier ways to get some than faking this"
"I'm not..." House was panicking, feeling his heart beat out of control. His leg straightened suddenly, causing his head to lol back into the wall and his eyes to roll back into his head. He grabbed his leg with both hands and held his lips tight shut to stop himself screaming.
"House, if you're faking this, you'll be doing double Clinic duty for a month!" she threatened, just to see if he'd drop it. When he didn't, she took a vial of morphine she kept in a cabinet under her bookcase, and injected it into House's arm. Within moments, his dFace had relaxed slightly, and he let go of his leg.
"Thank you" he slurred slightly "I... I lost my cane"
"You lost it?" she said, incredulously
"It broke. Dad... Snapped it..."
"No way. He wouldn't break your cane, House. Look, if you'd just wanted opiates, you should have dipped into your secret stash, not come looking for me. Unless, of course, it was just get my attention" her voice faded into the background as House passed out. His head dropped to his left shoulder, and he fell into a deep sleep on Cuddy's couch. she sighed. He really was a liability sometimes. She'd have to get Wilson to talk to him about drug seeking in their own hospital.