House lay in the hospital bed, breathing heavily from his earlier outburst. He felt trapped in the lumpy hospital bed. The countless monitors, tubes and wires surrounding him just reminded him of how he was trapped in his failing body. It had finally failed him, after countless encounters with illness, injury and death.

So many times since the infarction, the constant pain in his right thigh had driven him to find new methods to treat and eliminate the pain, all of which had failed. Except for the Vicodin. The pain and the Vicodin had ruined him. It wrecked havoc on his personal life. Stacy, Cuddy, who both left him.

Only Wilson stayed. Wilson was a constant he was glad for, though he would never admit it.

But this time, the lack of pain and the deadweight that was his useless legs are just stark reminders of what he no longer can do. No need to use the cane anymore. Can't walk. Can't run. Can't ride on the bike, experience the freedom that the breeze and speed give him. Can't play the piano pedals. Can't even stand to pee anymore. Can't step on the accelerator. Can't climb the stairs. Can't see over counters in the hospital. Can't reach the books on the higher shelves.

Then there was the stutter. When he opened his mouth to speak, he could only hear a weak voice, stuttering, stumbling over the simplest of words.

Just a weakling, his father used to say.

Rage suddenly swelled up in him. Pure anger and resentment at what the universe had thrown at him. It was just proof that there wasn't a god out there.

He didn't need pity or sympathy. He hated it. He hated relying on others for help. But that would be all he would be getting in the future.

The wheelchair-bound doctor with a stutter.

Cuddy and Wilson probably feel guilty as hell. But he doesn't blame them. Not their fault. It's no one's fault. It's the truth. There's no one to blame for his legs this time. No Stacy going against his wishes, no Cuddy at fault. And that makes the anger just so much harder to deal with. There was no one to blame.

He could never blame Rachel.

He calmed down as he caught sight of the card that she had made him, propped proudly by his bedside table. He reached out and took the card, smirking slightly at the red suckers and pirate cartoon references.

As his brain commands him to sleep, he holds the card tight.


Moments later, Cuddy slips back into House's room as he sleeps.

She quietly gathers the files and papers that he had flung on the floor, and tucks the blankets securely around him. She sees the card he is gripping tightly, and smiles slightly. This is the House she loved. He had a hidden wealth of love and emotion, though concealed it with his aloof exterior and lewd comments because he was afraid of being loved.

She didn't blame him for chasing them out of the room earlier. That was just how he is – he chooses to deal with his emotions alone. She knows.

She settles in the chair, and simply watches House as he sleeps. As night falls, she gently places a kiss on House's forehead, and leaves the room as quietly as she entered.

House watches her silhouette as she leaves his dark room. He had woken just as Cuddy had fallen asleep in the chair. But he didn't chase her out.

She looked so weary, but so beautiful. He felt comforted by the simple fact that she is near him. He kept his eyes closed, and savoured her presence. Not since the breakup had they been able to be so close to one another without lapsing into arguments and taking shallow jibes at one another.

She left him to fend for himself against his demons when she broke up with him. She told him he was an incredible man, and she never wanted him to change. In the end, she left him standing shell-shocked in his doorway, watching her walk away. She broke his heart, she walked away from him. But he never walked away from her. He never will be able to.

He still loves her.

But he doesn't dare hope now. He is so much more damaged this time. She doesn't deserve a misanthropic, bitter man who is paralysed from the waist down. She deserves so much more. She deserves happiness and someone who can give her that.

So he quietly watches her leave.


It was a long journey of recuperation. Being in a coma for weeks had left him physically weak, and simple tasks left him exhausted. That, and the stutter meant that he had to go through physical and speech therapy. As expected, House was resistant to them both, and resentful of his own physical limitations. He terrified the nurses and snarked at the doctors and therapists, undermining and defying their instructions. Cuddy received countless complaints. Wilson had to use his gentlemanly charm on the nurses, apologizing on behalf on House and thanking them for their dedicated care of House.

To almost everyone, it seemed like he was still the same old jerk who was the worst patient ever.

But Cuddy and Wilson saw through him. He had become quieter and more withdrawn, choosing not to speak unless necessary because of his stutter. Whenever he had to accept someone's help, there was in his eyes less anger and determination, but more resignation and a haunting kind of sadness.

Many a time, before entering his room, they stood outside and watched him.

Sometimes, he would be staring wistfully out the window at the people walking in and out of the hospital. Sometimes, he would be unconsciously gripping his right thigh despite the fact that there was no pain there anymore. Sometimes his eyes were closed but the tell-tale lines around his eyes, his mouth pressed into a determined grimace and tiniest of grunts would tell them that he was desperately trying to feel and move his legs.

Even in front of Wilson, his best friend, House was reluctant to speak because of his stutter. For Cuddy, fewer lewd comments came out from House's mouth. The team came and visited House with cases, and differentials were conducted in his room. But gone were most of the insults and snide remarks that always accompanied his dismissal of their theories.

He was a shadow of his old larger-than-life self.


House was struck with a migraine on a particularly bad day. He had been susceptible to them ever since the deep brain stimulation, and the recent skull fracture had exacerbated the condition.

His upper torso was weak and trembling from all the exercises the therapists had put him through on that particularly grueling day. As he leaned over his bed to retch from the agony of knives twisting and turning in his head, he had over-balanced, and ended up falling from his bed and into a pool of his own vomit in full view of Cuddy and Wilson. They could feel the bitterness and embarrassment emanating from House's hunched form as they approached him. He panted and struggled against them futilely as they hoisted him back into bed without a word.

"G-get out!" he had yelled.

He didn't let anyone into the room for the rest of the afternoon.


The door to the room slid open with a gentle whoosh. House fought off the sleep that he was about to surrender to after his PT session and opened his eyes blearily, only to see Cuddy and Rachel hand in hand in his doorway. His eyes widened slightly.

Rachel immediately snatched her hand away from Cuddy's, and ran towards House with her arms outstretched. "HOWWWWWWS!" she squealed.

House felt conflicted. He didn't want to see Rachel, what with his stutter and useless legs. But before he could say anything, Rachel clambered onto House's bed using the chair next to the bed.

"Rachel!" Cuddy admonished.

House surprised both her and himself. "'S'okay," he mumbled. His arms immediately went around Rachel's waist to prevent her from falling off the bed. Cuddy's face softened, and she sat down on the chair. House's arms immediately retreated from around Rachel's waist once she was no longer precariously at the edge of the bed.

Rachel sat cross-legged on the bed and faced House. She looked into his cerulean eyes. "No more owie?" she whispered tentatively.

"N-no," the stutter revealed itself in his soft response.

Rachel didn't react to his stutter. She started to clamber into his lap. Before she settled her weight down though, she froze midway. "Here?" She gently stroked his right thigh, barely touching it. She knew that place always hurt.

He bowed his head and broke eye contact with her, swallowing hard. He simply shook his head, unable to say anything without breaking the fragile hold on his emotions. Rachel wrapped her arms around him, as though sensing the emotional storm within him. "No pain. I glad you feel better, Hows," she sighed contentedly into his chest.

House glanced at Cuddy, slightly uncomfortable at her witnessing all this. His arms remained by his side, flat on the bed. He didn't know what to do with them. But she only glanced down at her Blackberry, pretending to be busy.

Rachel bounced suddenly, and reluctant to leave House, reached her hand out towards her mother, and sounding extraordinarily like Cuddy, said. "Bag please, mommy."

Cuddy handed her the pink backpack, and Rachel reached in to retrieve two red lollipops. She thrust one into House's face with a self-satisfied grin and twinkle in her eye. "Here Hows! Suckers! One for you and one for me."

House could not help but smirk, and immediately popped it into his mouth. Cuddy shook her head in exasperation, hiding her smile. She had been practically forced by her daughter to grab them from the nurses' counter.

"Look Hows! Cool scar, like a real pirate." Rachel enthusiastically brandished her arm in front of House's eyes, waving her sucker excitedly in the air.

"V-very cool. N-now all you n-need is a p-parrot-t." He wiggled his eyebrows at her, not-so-subtly hinting that she should bug her mommy for a parrot.

"Please don't give her any ideas, House. It's bad enough that you introduced her to that obnoxious cartoon…" Cuddy was interrupted by the ringing of her Blackberry. She sighed.

"I've got to take this…"

"S-Spawn s-safe with m-me."

Cuddy strode out of the room. Now that House and Rachel were truly alone together, House felt more at ease interacting with the little girl.

"N-not a b-bad c-card," he mumbled, gesturing to the card proudly propped on his bedside table.

"Silly! Card help make your owie better," giggled the innocent little girl who firmly believed in the healing powers of a card made with love.

"Mhmm."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company and sucking on their red suckers. Rachel snuggled deeper into House's embrace. "Love you, Hows. Happy your owies are gone."

There was no response from House. Rachel looked up, and saw that he had dozed off. She smacked a loud kiss on his scruffy cheek, giggling happily at how she was doing something he absolutely detested.

He stirred and grumbled, "Ewwwwwwwww."

She grinned at him, and settled herself comfortably in his lap, sucking contentedly on her red sucker. Everything was good.

Cuddy entered the room 20 minutes later, and was greeted by the sight of Rachel and House both snoring gently. Some time while she was gone, House's arms had finally found their way around Rachel's sleeping form. His hands interlocked to form a warm embrace within which Rachel was safe.