Chapter 8
"Hey." Cameron said, catching Chase in the hall. His shoulders were slumped in exhaustion, and when he turned towards her, she could see that his face was drawn and pale. "How is he? How did it go?"
"I had to remove his spleen. Kidney might follow."
"But he's alive."
"Yeah. He's alive." He sounded…tired. Defeated.
Frowning, Cameron reached a hand up to his face and touched his cheek softly. Usually they were both diametrically opposed to public displays of affection (most likely stemming from the beginning of their relationship, when House would observe a meaningful glance and use it to torture them for the rest of the week), but her gesture was spontaneous. He wouldn't meet her gaze.
"Hey." She said softly, brow furrowed in concern. "Hey, he's okay. You did good. You saved him."
Chase snorted, running a hand through his hair.
"For now."
OOOO
"You look like crap." House croaked, turning his head tiredly towards Wilson. He wasn't lying—his friend really did look like crap. He could barely count the number of times on one hand that he had woken to find Wilson sitting next to his bed. And he always looked worse for the wear, meticulously blow-dried hair mussed, dry-cleaned suits wrinkled and dirty. He felt a twinge of guilt, but it was quickly pushed aside as his side began to throb with greater fury.
"Well sitting next to your innate beauty, anyone would look like crap." Wilson said sarcastically.
"You look like Britney Spears on a Sunday morning."
"Well at least I'm wearing underwear."
"You stink."
"Your catheter was leaking earlier. Not my fault."
House sighed, and averted his eyes to the ceiling.
"You should go home." He said softly, staring at the ceiling tiles.
Wilson rolled his eyes so hard House could almost hear them banging around his head.
"It's okay. I'm TIVOing The Real World."
OOOO
"Hey." Foreman said, slipping into Rachel's room. Cuddy looked up at him wearily. Her face was drawn and pale, and she was curled into the visitor's chair in a way he couldn't even begin to imitate. Next to her, Rachel was sleeping peacefully. A cartoon character laughed manically in the background. "Time for Rachel's neuro check."
"Let her sleep for a while longer. Her last two neuro checks were fine."
Foreman frowned slightly. Cuddy looked…defeated. It wasn't a look he was used to seeing on the dean of medicine.
"You sure?"
"She's had a long day. It can wait another hour."
"I can…sit with her, if you want. House is awake." He offered uncomfortably.
In a second Cuddy had uncurled herself from the chair, and slid a hand under her daughter's little one. Her dark hair slid out from behind her ear, obscuring her face. Foreman's frown deepened.
"I'm not leaving Rachel. She needs me."
"She's asleep." Foreman said bluntly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "How long are you planning on hiding in here?"
"I'm not hiding." Cuddy said defensively, glaring at him angrily. "My daughter is in a hospital bed. This is where I belong."
"You care about him. He's going to wonder where you are."
For a moment the two were silent, Cuddy gazing down at her sleeping daughter and Foreman staring down at Cuddy.
"How is he?" Cuddy asked softly.
Foreman rolled his eyes, and turned towards the door.
"Go see for yourself."
OOOO
"What aren't you telling me?"
Wilson looked up, confused, from his seat next to House. His friend was pale, his eyes heavy-lidded and red. They had recently replaced the oxygen mask with a nasal cannula—House's O2 stats seemed to holding their own, but that didn't stop Wilson from glancing nervously at them every few minutes.
"About what?" He asked, rubbing a hand tiredly over his face.
"About the kid. About Rachel."
"How much morphine are you on?" Said Wilson, eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Chase already told you she was fine. Whiplash."
"There's something else."
"House, if there was something else, I'm sure we would have heard."
House was silent for a moment, seemingly contemplating Wilson's words. The fingers of his right hand were drumming on the bed beside him.
"If the kid was fine, Cuddy would be in here choking me to death with my own catheter."
Wilson sighed. House wouldn't meet his eyes.
"I'm sure she…feels like she needs to stay with Rachel." He said softly. He tried, in vain, to sound like he believed it, but he knew House would see right through him. House already knew. He knew Rachel was fine, and he knew Cuddy was avoiding him. House just wanted to see what he would say.
"She has an entire hospital full of minions who would give their left kidney for the chance to sit with their boss' kid."
"What do you want me to say, House?"
He drummed his fingers faster.
"She's an idiot." He said weakly.
"Rachel?"
"Okay…now you're the idiot."
Wilson rolled his eyes, glancing at House's O2 monitor. Using as much stealth as he possessed, which admittedly wasn't much, he upped House's O2.
"I'm fine." House said, glaring at Wilson. "She feels guilty."
"You're not fine. You have three broken ribs, a collapsed lung, no spleen, and a kidney that may or may not heal. You're not fine." Annoyed, he stilled House's fingers with his own hand. "Think maybe that's why she feels guilty?"
"She's an idiot." House said, grimacing. He yanked his right hand out from under Wilson's, and let it hover near his injured side.
Wilson frowned, noticing a glint of what appeared to be sadness in his friend's eyes. His face showed pain, that much was obvious. And a hint of his usual stubbornness. But…there was also sadness. Wilson's frown deepened.
House missed Cuddy.
OOOO
"Somebody needs to talk to Cuddy." Foreman said, finding Chase and Cameron seated down the hall from House's room, coffee cups in hand.
"Yeah…" Chase said sarcastically. "I'm a little bit busy trying to keep House alive."
Brushing off Chase's words, Foreman quickly trained his eyes on Cameron. Cameron would talk to Cuddy. Cameron was physically incapable of seeing someone in emotional distress and NOT acting.
"She doesn't want to talk to me." Cameron said. "She kicked me out of Rachel's room."
"C'mon Cameron, House pushed you away a thousand times and you still kept trying." Foreman said, leaning on the wall across from the couple.
"Is that supposed to convince me to talk to Cuddy?" Cameron replied angrily.
"What's wrong with her?" Chase asked, fiddling with his pager morosely.
"She won't leave Rachel's room. She's hiding from House."
"Not exactly hard to do. He can't really go looking for her."
"Fine!" Foreman said, throwing up his hands in frustration. "Never mind, forget I ever said anything."
"I'll do it." Cameron said with a sigh.
"You will?" The two men said simultaneously.
"House needs her there."
OOOO
House was exhausted. According to the clock on the wall, he had been asleep for nearly an hour, yet he felt even more tired then he did before he closed his eyes. He blinked slowly a couple of times, trying to clear the fog from his mind. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Wilson asleep slumped in the chair, legs stretched out in front of him, head tilted back in a way that had to be uncomfortable. He was breathing deeply in sleep—making those strange snore-like noises that he recognized immediately from weeks of past co-habitation.
He thought about going back to sleep, but quickly dismissed the idea. His body might be tired, but his brain wouldn't let him sleep. Something…something was off, something wasn't quite right. He just had to figure out what that something was. He needed to think.
With a soft sigh, he reached for the TV remote on the bedside table. His arm felt heavy and weak, like he had just finished 100 push-ups. With effort, he managed to grasp the remote, only to have it fall from his hand before he could press the power button. It tumbled to the floor and crashed onto the linoleum, batteries rolling along the floor. With a start Wilson awoke, nearly jumping from the chair. He groaned, one hand tiredly rubbing his undoubtedly sore neck.
"What happened? Are you okay?"
House felt like rolling his eyes, but settled on merely thinking about rolling his eyes. The actual act seemed like way too much effort.
"I dropped the remote." He said weakly.
Wilson started to bend over to pick up the remote and batteries, but paused, staring worriedly at him. He hated that look. It was almost universally a bad sign.
"Generalized weakness?"
"No." He said, heavy-lidded eyes doing their best to glare at Wilson. "Generalized clumsiness due to massive amounts of highly potent drugs."
"You could be anemic." Wilson said, frowning. "You look really tired."
"Can't sleep with you snoring right next to me." He mumbled. TV was a bad idea. He should have just gone back to bed.
"House. Anemia, weakness, fatigue…your kidney could be failing." Wilson's hand was rubbing his neck again, but House knew better than to think it was because it was sore. It was one of Wilson's nervous ticks, and he knew his friend would never leave him alone now.
"Or I could be recovering from making really good friends with my car door."
"I'm testing your BUN and creatinine." Wilson said resolutely.
"You're an idiot." He said, as Wilson left the room for supplies. But as he lay there, body heavy and tired, he started to think that maybe Wilson wasn't so much of an idiot after all.
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