House wanted to see Cameron, maybe it was for his own piece of mind or because he didn't trust Wilson's story that she really was going to be okay. Sam was there to help aid his transfer to the chair. He had a feeling he was going to regret this, both physically and emotionally.
Sam moved the wheelchair that was in the corner of House's room over to the side of the bed.
"Should I get a nurse?" Sam questioned.
"No," he clipped out. There wasn't a nurse on staff that he wanted seeing what was inevitably about to happen.
"Okay," Sam complied, "Just tell me what to do."
House hit the button to raise the head of the bed. Slowly he was brought into a sitting position, his body protesting the movement. Taking a few deep breaths, he took the blanket in his left hand and pulled it off his lower body. His heart skipped a beat and his stomach twisted in a knot when he looked down for the first time, seeing the results of his stupidity.
The left leg looked fine, just a few scrapes and bruises, but overall intact.
He looked at his right leg - or what remained. All he could see was the very bottom of a white compression bandage peeking out from under his hospital gown, wrapped tightly around the remaining stump. Trying to hold back his emotions, he swallowed hard as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. He was an amputee whose life will consist of recovery, rehabilitation and trying to return to a normal life, whatever the hell that was.
"You okay?" Sam asked, with a look of concern.
He snapped out of his thoughts, nodding his head, "Yeah."
House disconnected himself from all the tubes and wires he was attached to. He knew this would be at least a little easier once this damn cast was off his arm.
Spotting the catheter taped to his left leg, he weighed his options. He was in no shape to be hopping into the bathroom, especially when he still needed help just standing up. No way did he want a complete stranger holding him while he peed. The catheter would have to stay for now.
"First, you've got to grab that little bag of pee hanging on the side of the bed there and hang it on that handy dandy hook," pointing to the side of the wheelchair. "Don't want to leave that behind or a certain part of my anatomy would protest loudly when we reached the end of the line."
Sam wrinkled his nose as he glanced at the urine filled pouch.
"Oh relax, it's not toxic waste."
House just rolled his eyes as he watched Sam pick it up with his thumb and index finger and hold the bag as if it was a bomb ready to blow at any moment. He hung it on the chair, moving back to aid House in the transfer.
"My arm is pretty useless so you're going to have to grab me under my shoulder and steady me while I move to the chair," House said slowly looking at the floor, calculating the easiest and least painful way to pull this off. He gently put his left hand under his remaining right thigh. He didn't want it painfully dragging across the bed.
"I'm going to support my leg, go ahead and pick me up under my arms," House suggested. "On three, lift and get me up on my left leg. We'll go from there."
Sam positioned himself behind House and grabbed him under his shoulders.
"One... Two... Three."
Sam lifted and slid House sideways off the edge of the bed. House gasped as he was pulled to a standing position, body trembling with the movement. He released his leg and let it dangle beneath him. Gravity rushed blood to the damaged area, causing it to throb, feeling twice its size.
So this was his new existence – physical dependency. He felt helpless and vulnerable. He was at the mercy of a complete stranger. Sam's arm around his back was the only thing keeping him from falling to the floor of his hospital room and not being able to get himself up.
Greg House and dependency, well human dependency, had never gone together, and never will. But dependency of another sort, preferably the white bitter sort, sounded pretty appealing right now.
House grimaced with pain as he tried balancing himself on his left leg that was already weak from four days of lying in a hospital bed while Sam held onto his right side. Then he groaned when the bandage on what was left of his right leg bumped against Sam.
"Damn, I'm sorry," Sam apologized quickly pulling his leg back and away from him.
House stopped short at yelling at the kid and pleading with him to please not drop him but he knew how pathetic that would sound. So he just grumped out a chosen four-letter word instead.
Sam was strong and able to set House down as gently as possible.
"Man, I'm sorry about that Dr House," Sam breathed out while he straightened himself up.
"Drop the doctor bullshit and just call me House, okay?" He forced out, trying to deflect the pity he was hearing in Sam's voice while he let out the breath he'd been holding.
"Sure," he answered and gave him an uncomfortable smile.
House settled into the chair and tried to relax, "Well, that was fun."
Blythe returned with his dinner and smiled when she saw him in the wheelchair. He looked a bit haggard, but she was happy to see him making the effort to move around. When she saw the missing leg, her heart sank for her son, but she continued smiling. "Glad to see you up and about," she stated.
"Are you going to go see her?" She continued.
"Yeah," he answered quietly glancing down at his leg. "Hey, can you hand me that?" pointing to the blanket folded on the end of his bed.
"Sure, dear." Knowing what he was thinking, Blythe picked up the blanket and placed it in his lap, spreading it over his legs, hiding his injury from onlookers and a certain immunologist.
"Thanks, Mom," House said as he looked thoughtfully at her.
He wanted to say more but not in front of Sam. He wanted to tell her how glad he was that she was here and that he loved her but he knew she understood that. She always understood.
"Hi, I'm Sam Dunbar. Alli's brother," Sam spoke up as he took a step towards Blythe and offered to shake her hand.
She looked confused until House added, "Cameron's brother."
"I see," she smiled at both of them and shook Sam's hand, "Blythe House, Greg's mom. Nice to meet you."
"Let's go before I change my mind."
Sam pushed him into Cameron's darkened room and House instructed him to leave him towards the end of her bed. The only light was a florescent glow reflecting off of the white ceiling above her bed and the amber and green glow of the various machines that were monitoring her.
House sat there apprehensive about her waking up. He knew she would be in a certain amount of pain and it was his fault. If he couldn't erase the events of the last few days, he wished he could at least fast-forward through the next few months and just be done with all of this.
His desire to be here was just as strong as his need to get up and walk out of the room but the glaring absence of the leg in front of him was a stark reminder that he didn't have that option. He tried telling himself this is exactly why you live your life detached from the people around you. This is why you don't get involved. This is why you don't care. But he wasn't so convinced anymoreCameron had managed to get to him and he couldn't make himself believe he was better off without her.
Sam pulled a chair up to the other side of her bed and they sat waiting. House looked down at his leg and then to Sam and said quietly, "Not a word about…" his voice trailed off as he looked back at Cameron.
"Sure," Sam said nodding his head showing he understood.
It felt like hours sitting and waiting, but slowly she started to show some slight signs of movement. Sam took a hold of her hand.
"Hey Alli, it's Sam," he said quietly.
She opened her eyes looking into the darkness above her bed.
"How do you feel?" he asked, not knowing what else to say.
"Are you in any pain?" Sam asked calmly.
She tried to speak and nothing came out, but she managed to let her brother know she wasn't feeling any significant level of pain.
So many things were converging in on House at once. His emotions were wreaking havoc with the tough outer shell he had worked so hard to create over the years, but in the last six months, since he and Cameron had grown closer, that shell had begun to crumble.
Sam saw Cameron's eyes start to focus as she became more aware of her surroundings.
"Al, you were in a motorcycle accident a few days ago. You're beat up a little but you're going to be fine," talking like those words were as much for his benefit as they were for hers.
"Do you remember anything?"
Her response was slight but communicated 'no'.
"It's going to hurt if you try to talk, so don't."
"You and House were on your way to work and hit a stalled car on the side of the road," he paused, "He's okay. You're both going to be okay."
He glanced over at House and continued, "He's sitting on the other side of your bed."
She tried moving her head towards House but her muscles were too stiff and she grimaced with the pain.
Her face was bruised but just on one side. She had a few scrapes and cuts, but nothing had been stitched so the scarring wouldn't be too noticeable. Her right leg was in a brace and her mid-section was wrapped tightly with bandages. At least Wilson had told him the truth.
He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and take her home with him and make everything be okay again. Of course, that's nothing he could have been physically able to do a week ago, not to mention now. His inadequacy slapped him hard across the face.
At the very least he wanted to put his arms around her, take away her pain, and make her understand how sorry he was for what he did to her. But he didn't feel like he deserved to do any of those things. He's the one that caused this. He's the reason she was lying there, bruised and broken. He somehow felt he'd lost the privilege to touch her now or ever again.
He wished the last six months of his life had never happened. He wished he'd never gotten strung out on Vicodin and that he'd never asked her to help him with detox. Why is it that everything he does is shrouded in pain and everyone he touches ends up getting hurt?
He knew he had a choice to make. He could let her go or he could continue to infect her life. Both options sucked.
He sat and watched her drift in and out of sleep. Each time becoming a little more conscious until finally she was able to turn to him.
"Hey," she whispered.
"Hey," he answered back.
"A wreck huh?" her voice was becoming only slightly stronger but it was still dry and raspy.
"Yeah."
"Diagnostically boring," she said with a weak smile crossing her lips.
House's eyes just shifted away from hers as he slowly nodded his head in agreement.
"And you're okay?"
"I'm fine," was his short answer as he looked back at her.
"Sure?" she asked, her eyes questioning him.
"Sure," he answered looking at the tiles on the floor then out the glass wall that separated him from the hallway.
Cameron became quiet and when House finally forced himself to look at her again, she had fallen back to sleep.
Not looking away from her he said, "Take me back to my room."
Sam looked at him with half confusion and half disappointment. Then he let go of Cameron's hand and did what he asked.
When Cameron woke up, her entire body ached and it felt like they had immobilized her leg. Her eye and the side of her face felt funny but she wasn't sure why, then she felt the pain in her side and avoided trying to move any more.
She opened her eyes and saw Sam slouched down asleep in the chair next to her. He was tall and looked uncomfortable with his head leaned to one side and his mouth slightly open. He had that Dunbar quality of being able to sleep anywhere so she figured he probably had been there all night.
She lay there in the quiet trying to piece together what must have happened. She remembered leaving her apartment on House's bike but everything after that seemed to be gone. She vaguely remembered House being in her room but she couldn't grasp any of the details.
She saw Sam start to move, pulling his wrist close to his face and squinting, trying to figure out what time it was. He turned and looked out the window seeing last night's fog giving in to the heat of the morning sun.
"Hey Sammy," she whispered.
He turned back towards Cameron with a surprised but still drowsy look on his face.
"Hey Alli, how ya feelin'?" he answered.
"Beat up," she croaked.
"Damn, I'm sure," he laughed lightly.
"Do you need anything?" He leaned forward and put his hand on her arm, "Should I call Dr Cuddy?"
"No, it's ok."
She tried taking a deep breath but the stabbing pain in her side kept her from getting it and made her cough instead.
She pulled away from Sam's hand and clinched her stomach, making it worse. The pain from the breath paled in comparison to what shot through her then. She closed her eyes tight, waiting for it to pass and when it did she turned to Sam and whispered, "Do I have broken ribs?"
"Yeah," he started, "and an incision from the surgery. They removed your spleen"
"Damn that hurts," she slowly breathed out closing her eyes trying to think of anything else. After the lingering pain had subsided, she turned back to Sam.
"Hey," she tried swallowing then continued, "House was in here last night?"
"Yeah," he answered flatly. Sam's disinterest caught her attention and she feared House had made his usual, very unpleasant first impression on him.
"Okay, Sam, what did he do to you?" She gave him a weak and hesitant grin.
"To me?" he let out a quiet sarcastic laugh, "Nothing."
"You mean the accident?" she questioned, "Please don't give him a hard time…" but Sam interrupted her.
"He hardly said two words to you last night before he made me take him back to his room," he said letting some anger through in his voice.
Cameron wondered what might have happened, and then she reminded herself this was Greg House, a real ace when it came to dealing with emotional situations.
"Then when I took him back he wouldn't say anything to me."
"He's just not very good at this kind of thing," she tried to explain.
"You sure about this guy, Al?" he looked at the floor while he rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands together.
"Yes," she looked over at her little brother, "I know how he can be but I also know how he feels," she grinned, "once you get through that abrasive exterior."
Her voice turned serious again, trying to make him understand, "He makes me happy, Sam. I love him."
"And does he love you?" he asked lifting his eyes to meet hers.
House had never said those words, but she hadn't really expected it yet. He had the most surprising and sincere ways of showing her how he felt, and in those moments, she felt a connection to him like she'd never felt with anyone before. For now, it was enough for her.
"I don't know, Sam, but he's good to me. House doesn't do anything he doesn't want to do," she answered, returning from her thoughts.
"Well, it was obvious what he did and didn't want to do last night so don't make excuses for him, Al."
Cameron knew House was either making his life or everyone else's life hell over this - probably both.
"What happened to him in the accident?"
"I'm not sure. A broken arm and he's scraped up a bit," choosing his words.
"A broken arm?" she questioned, "Which one?"
Sam thought for a second, "His right one I think."
His right one in particular made Cameron a little more concerned. "Is he in a lot of pain?"
"Doesn't seem to be," Sam answered looking back at the floor. Cameron knew when her little brother was lying and that wasn't like him.
"Do you think you can get him to come back down here?"
Sam looked back up at her with a hesitant expression of dread on his face, "You sure?"
Cameron clearly tried working her bother's emotions with a pout she'd perfected over the years, "Please?"
"God, Cameron…you so don't play fair," he grouched out as he locked his hands behind his head and looked up.
"I know," she laughed barely loud enough to hear and even then she winced from a shot of pain going through her side.
"I'll go get him, but I sure hope you know what you're doing," he huffed as he stood up from his chair and walked towards the door.
"Thanks Sammy," she said as she grinned at him while he walked across her room.
House woke up to the smell of a cold Reuben wafting over his shoulder while the nurse was checking on his bandages and the levels of his IV bags.
She got dangerously close to his sandwich and while making a judgmental tisking kind of noise, she reached for it assuming he was still asleep.
"I'll tell everyone you're sleeping with Morrison," he warned. Never acknowledging her, never opening his eyes.
He knew that if he did right now he'd receive a look that morphed between shocked and pissed. He'd seen that look many times before. All the nurses had their own version of it. And Nurse Debbie's was particularly cute but he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of thinking he'd cheated by peeking.
"You know you're not supposed to have that," she snipped as she continued checking his wounds.
"Don't care."
Suddenly he felt her rip the tape off the dressing covering his shoulder, taking some hair and what felt like three layers of skin.
"Ow!" He yelled, reaching up with his left hand to soothe the aggravated area.
House glared menacingly at her, but she continued her work, unfazed by his scowl.
"How soon until we get him off of our floor?" He heard her voice fade off as she walked into the hall and questioned the other nurses at the station.
After she left the room was silent, except for the annoying beeping of the monitors. Thoughts started flooding into his mind, overwhelming him. His life sucked right now. He had been trying so hard to avoid thinking about the future, but now he was alone with only his thoughts.
He closed his eyes, trying to think of anything else besides his screwed up, miserable life, but kept returning to the accident and Cameron.
"Are you awake?"
He opened his eyes to see his mom standing by the bed, reaching for his plate.
"You didn't eat your sandwich."
"Kinda lost my appetite, sorry."
"It's okay, Greg. I'm sure it's not good anymore. Let me get rid of it."
She walked it over and dumped it in the trashcan.
"The nurse wasn't happy with me that I got this for you," she informed him as she pulled a chair up to the side of his bed.
"Which nurse?" House questioned furrowing his eyebrows.
House knew all the nurses and he knew they were all too familiar with him. She pointed out to the nurse's station and indicated the one with the light-green scrubs. It was Erin, the bitchy one who always cursed under her breath anytime she'd walk away from having a conversation with him. Well, that was about three-quarters of the nurses here but Erin always cursed in German. He made a mental note to make her life a special form of hell the next time he got the chance.
"Did you go see her?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said leaning his head back on his pillow staring off through the window.
"How is she?"
"Don't know," he mumbled.
"What do you mean you don't know?" she asked, rubbing her hand lightly on his forearm.
"I think she'd just be better off without me screwing up her life," he said closing his eyes and trying to convince himself it would be better for both of them but he knew he was just trying to avoid dealing with any of this.
"Are you better off without her?" she said trying to reason things out for him.
He turned his head and looked at her, "Without this? Yeah," he said convincingly.
"I said without her, Greg," she rubbed his arm again.
"No," he resigned and looked back towards the window.
They sat there in silence while House's thoughts were so disjointed he didn't know what to think or what to feel.
Blythe took his hand and lifted it towards her lips and kissed it then waited for him to turn and look at her.
"Don't push this one away." Her words stung but he knew she was right. He knew this is where things had gone wrong before.
"I just don't want to hurt her."
"How have you hurt her?" She asked.
House raised both of his eyebrows at her and asked with a hit of sarcasm, "I thought you said you saw her?"
"You mean this?" she looked around indicating the accident.
"Yeah," he answered knowing that's not all that he was referring to.
"Besides this, how else have you hurt her?"
"I dunno, Mom," he answered beginning to feel cornered.
She waited for a better answer.
Finally, he looked back out the window and confessed, "Every day I know how capable I am of it."
"Capable of it and doing it are two very different things, Greg."
He hated it when she did this to him.
"What right do you have to decide what's best for her? I think you need to let her make her own choice."
"That's exactly what I'm afraid she's going to do," he admitted quietly.
"Why do you say that?" She asked gingerly.
House quickly turned his head and looked at his mom and with anger in his voice said, "Look at me, Mom!"
He glanced down at where his leg used to be and finished, "I'm twenty years older than her, a grumpy old bastard, and now I don't only have a damaged leg, I've got no leg at all. What the hell is she doing with me?"
Tears started welling in his mom's eyes hearing so much pain coming out of him.
"I'm sorry, Mom…" His voice trailed off as he turned away from her again.
After a few minutes of quiet, Blythe finally said, "If she's worth keeping, she'll stay. Don't be so afraid of getting hurt that you let go of something this good."
With that, she left the conversation alone and just quietly sat holding his hand for a while as he closed his eyes and tried thinking about anything else.
"Would you like me to turn the TV on?" She offered looking for the remote.
"Sure," he answered but not really caring.
House lay quiet, listening to the sound of his mom flipping through the channels when he heard his door slide open.
"Good morning, Blythe."
House opened his eyes to see Wilson walking into his room.
"Good morning, James," she answered cheerfully and smiled at him.
"How's our little pain in the ass today?" he chuckled.
Wilson was carrying a small plastic container that looked like it might be hiding something tasty from the nurses.
"He's feeling fine, thank you very much," acknowledging he was being talked about like he wasn't in the room.
"What did you bring me?" he snipped eyeing what was in Wilson's hand.
"What makes you think it's for you?" He grinned.
"Because you're a hopeless do-gooder. What is it?" He asked impatiently.
"Guess," Wilson teased.
"Oh hell, Wilson…hand it over," House put his hand out rolling his eyes at the immaturity of his little games.
Wilson sat the container on the table and wheeled it over and in front of him pulling a fork and a napkin that he'd stolen from the cafeteria out of pocket of his lab coat.
Blythe reached over and took the lid off for him and peeked inside, "Mmmm, smells pretty good James. Did you make these?"
"Yeah," he laughed out.
Blythe looked at him and asked, "And you're not married because…" she drew out searching for an answer.
Wilson just dropped his arms to his side, lifted his heavy eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders in a way that looked just a little too innocent.
"Because he's a horny son of a bitch who can't keep his..," House grumped out before taking a long sniff of the fresh macadamia nut pancakes lying before him.
"House!" Wilson interrupted, hiding his eyes with his hand.
"What? It's true. You can't control little Jimmy. I think he needs a leash."
Wilson put his hand on the back of his neck, clearly getting uncomfortable with his objectionable behavior being discussed in front of House's mother.
"Geez…" He moaned.
House continued talking, "I'll have my mom check the pet store for you. Maybe a nice shih-tzu leash would do the trick.
One of those with the fancy studs on..."
Blythe just smiled at her son's antics, happy to see some of his sense of humor returning, even if just for a few minutes.
"I'm outta here." Wilson replied before House could finish his sentence. His arms raised in frustration as he turned toward the door. "Talk to you later, Blythe. Oh, and don't try to steal any of his pancakes, I heard he bites."
"Thanks for the warning."
She leaned over and gave Greg a peck on the forehead, "I'm going to go downstairs and grab some breakfast for myself, since my own son won't share with his own mother."
"Sorry mom, but nobody touches my macadamia nut pancakes." he replied, encircling the plate with his left arm, guarding them from any attacks.
"See you in a bit then. You need anything before I go?" she asked.
"Nope, I'm set." as he picked up the fork a little awkwardly with his left hand, digging into the stack of pancakes awaiting him.
Wilson and Blythe hadn't been gone more than ten minutes before Sam hesitantly walked into his room looked up at the TV then back at him asking, "soaps?" Making an obvious effort to be casual.
"Yeah, they've got this great network now that plays re-runs," he returned his attention to the breakfast sitting on the table in front of him which was easier than looking at Sam, "I can't always stop saving lives between three and four o'clock, ya know."
Sam lifted one side of his mouth in a half-grin that looked very unconvincing, "Yeah, I guess not. That looks pretty good for hospital food. Where's the applesauce and beef broth?"
Sam looked over at the tray full of empty containers sitting on the chair next to the bed.
"In the trash," he took a bite, "best friend's a great cook," he said around a mouthful of pancakes looking back up at the TV.
"Alli is awake. She's been asking about you," he said, holding his breath waiting for House's reaction.
House finally looked at Sam and asked, "How is she?" feeling a little uncomfortable about what happened last night.
"It's pretty painful if she tries to move too much but she's talking quite a bit. They sat her up a little this morning."
House looked back at his food and shuffled his final bite around. His mom's words came back to him, encouraging him to try this one more time when he realized her being awake would make it impossible to hide his leg from her. He knew he wasn't ready for that.
He passed on the last bite of pancake and left his fork in the container. He knew what he should do, but his insecurities had him paralyzed. Damn it, this was Stacy, the infarction, and all that shit all over again.
Sam shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and with a hesitant voice said, "She wants me to bring you back down to see her."
House reached for the remote and started flipping the channels.
"No thanks," was all he said but it mistakenly hinted of sarcasm.
House could feel the anger just seething from Sam. He hoped he'd just turn and leave without saying a word but he figured that would just be too damn fortunate for him.
"You are some piece of work, ya know that?" Sam started. House refused to look at him.
Sam took a step towards House's bed and continued, "You act like some kind of cocky son of a bitch on your bike, with my sister on the back of it," he took one hand from his pocket and pointed in the general direction of her room and continued, "Now she's lying down there in so much pain she can hardly breathe and all she wants is to see you!" His voice was getting louder and shakier with every angry word.
"And you can't be bothered?" he asked rhetorically. Or at least House assumed it was rhetorical so he didn't answer – not that he wanted to say anything anyway.
Sam shoved his hand back in his pocket then opened his mouth to speak again but swallowed his words down and took a breath before continuing.
"You can't even look at me," he paused, shaking his head, still staring at House, "I have no idea what she sees in you."
He turned and walked out the door leaving House alone thinking 'me either.'
"Hello Dr Cameron, I'm Mike," the orderly announced as he walked into her room pushing a wheelchair. Cameron had seen Mike around the hospital but had never known his name. He was short and solid and would have looked to be in his late twenties if he wasn't almost bald. Regardless of the rest of his features, that alone made him look older than he probably was. He had on blue scrubs, white tennis shoes, and his hospital ID was hanging around his neck but tucked into his shirt.
"Hi," she answered politely. She was sitting up in bed trying to choke down at least one of the two pieces of dry toast they'd given her for breakfast.
"Ready for your first therapy session?" he asked cheerfully.
"Ready as I'll ever be I guess. They sure don't let you get any rest around here do they?" she laughed lightly but regretted it as soon as she did.
"Well, what day was the accident," he rolled his eyes up trying to think, "Tuesday? And here it is Sunday morning. We've got to get you moving again," he smiled. Mike had a cute smile.
"You can get back to that later," he said as he nodded in the direction of her breakfast.
"Or not," Cameron interrupted and smiled.
Mike laughed in an unexpectedly high-pitched way that made Cameron try to hide her grin.
He rolled the table away from her bed and moved the wheelchair into its place. With his skill and the strength she had in her left side, they managed to get her into the chair with as little pain as possible, which was relative considering broken ribs hurt like hell.
"I had the pleasure of taking Dr House down to PT a little while ago," he joked.
"Lucky you," she joked back.
With that, they set off down the hall towards the physical therapy room. Cameron hadn't seen House for two days and even then she vaguely remembered him being there. Sam had come back furious from trying to get him to come to see her again so she had decided to not push it, at least until Sam went home. She knew House and she knew her little brother. Under the right circumstances she'd hoped they would get along fine but these weren't it.
She spent most of the last two days thinking about him and missing him. She could only assume all the things he must be dealing with – or not dealing with in House's case. She wished he would just talk to her but she knew better than to expect that. That aspect of House hadn't changed in the three years she'd known him. When he wanted to, he could put up an emotional wall that was impenetrable. So far their relationship had gone on well enough that he evidentially hadn't felt the need to put one up between them but that seemed to have changed now.
One damn incident and Cameron feared their relationship was propelled back to square one, or worse.
Mike pushed Cameron through the doors of the PT room and leaned over to mumble into her ear, "Lucky me. Maybe if I drop you off quick enough I won't have to be the one to take him back," he laughed quietly then stood up straight again.
Mike brought her back from her thoughts and she wasn't quite sure what he was referring to but then she saw him.
Cameron's heart sunk and she could hardly breathe. House was lying on a bench with a therapist standing at his side, exercising his left leg. But his right leg wasn't there. All she saw was his cut off sweatpants hiding what looked like only half of his thigh. Cameron's thoughts went completely numb.
"Oh, God..." she muttered.
His broken right arm was resting across his stomach, his left hand gripping the side of the table. His eyes were closed and facing the ceiling, cringing a little from the therapist flexing his leg a little further than it wanted to go. Cameron put her hand out signaling Mike to stop pushing her any further and he complied.
She just sat there looking at him, wondering what the hell she should do next. He hadn't seen her but she didn't want to leave. She wanted to do quite the opposite but she knew whatever she did next could have some serious consequences on their relationship.
It made sense now why he wasn't coming down to see her. He's been sitting in his room dealing with this alone.
Cameron was angry and hurt, but she felt for him all at the same time. Unable to imagine what he was going through over all this just had a whole new dimension.
She waited for the therapist to finish the reps on his left leg. He backed away from House and noticed Cameron watching.
"Hey Dr Cameron, you're early," he said, stepping towards her.
With that, House raised his head and looked in her direction then dropped it back down on his pillow looking straight up at the ceiling.
"Hey, I'm really sorry to do this," she said quietly, "but would you two mind giving us a couple minutes?" she asked, not taking her eyes off of House.
Cameron wheeled herself over to where House was lying but he didn't move.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked quietly.
"I take it Sam didn't rat me out," he answered.
"No."
The air was dead between them.
"House," she said quietly, wanting him to turn and at least look at her. Cameron's heart was beating out of her chest.
"Why won't you look at me?" she asked again…quietly. She didn't want to talk because she didn't know what to say. All she really wanted to do was lie down beside him and just hold him.
"Because I'm counting the ceiling tiles and don't want to lose my place," he quipped.
"House, I'm serious. Why won't you look at me?" she repeated.
"Because I know what I'll see, and I'm not really in the mood for it." Hesitating, he slowly turned toward Cameron.
"Yep, that's it. Like that," he finished. He held her eyes and analyzed them.
"Like what? What do you see?" she questioned. She knew he had a keen sense for reading her this way and she only hoped she wasn't showing any false signs of pity or rejection. She had a feeling that's exactly what he was looking for.
She didn't really know what she was feeling but she knew neither of those things were true, she just hoped he could see that.
She could see the struggle going on inside him.
He turned away from her again and she just watched him, wondering what she could do. But nothing came to her. She felt helpless to do anything…to say anything. So she just sat there with him, in the quiet while the seconds felt more like minutes.
"It's going to be okay," she finally said, hoping it was the right thing.
"How do you know that?" he finally replied, eyes closed.
"I just do."
"That's not rational," he said looking at her again.
"Are we rational?" she grinned but he didn't smile back. His face was full of doubt and uncertainty.
"No, but I'm not sure we're okay either," he argued back with very little enthusiasm.
"Right now I think that's completely up to you," she responded and he turned his head away from her again.