Wilson had only been gone for a few minutes – and already House felt like he was falling apart.
Sitting up again, he stared out the window into the sunlight, finally alone in the privacy of his hospital room, if only for a few moments. There were a lot of things he knew he should be thinking about – decisions that needed to be made, arrangements he had to consider. He had to let Cuddy know that he was resigning, effective immediately, and he had to convince her to accept his resignation – and he had to do it in a single conversation to take place in a few brief minutes.
And all he could think about was convincing himself over and over again that he would be safe alone in this room for those few brief minutes.
He wouldn't dare…not in broad daylight, not when anyone could walk in at any moment…he probably doesn't even know I'm here…
The door to his room swung open with an audible creak, and House's stomach lurched as his eyes darted toward it, his mouth suddenly dry with an unreasonable – but equally uncontrollable – terror.
It was Cuddy.
Of course it was Cuddy.
Pathetic. Just pathetic.
House recovered as quickly as possible, nodding briefly in greeting to Cuddy before turning his face away again, before she could read the fears he knew were in his all-too-expressive eyes. His hands were trembling where they lay against the mattress, and House clenched them into fists, adjusting the blanket over him in an attempt to hide the slight tremor that shook them.
"Hey."
Cuddy's voice was softer, gentler, than House was used to hearing it, with a compassion and concern that were more often directed toward the patients with whom she came in contact than toward him.
He hated it.
"Hey," he whispered in response, still not looking at her. He raised his voice slightly with a bitter smirk as he added, "Come to check out the side show?"
He glanced uncomfortably up at her as she moved around the bed to stand between him and the sunlight that had held most of his focus all morning, afraid to see her reaction to his harsh words, which he was certain had revealed too much of his shame and vulnerability. He did a double take, frowning when he saw the soft smile of gentle amusement on her lips, instead of the expression of pity he had expected.
"Well…whatever you happen to be doing at any given moment is usually the most interesting thing going on in this hospital," Cuddy pointed out as she slowly sat down in the chair beside his bed. "In fact it's usually a little too interesting."
House looked up at her sharply, searching her eyes for any trace of mockery or false cheer – anything that would have allowed him to dismiss her. There was nothing but tenderness in her smile, and he had to admit that her attempt at lightening the mood was well executed indeed. He was the master of one-liners, and he couldn't have done any better himself, given the grim circumstances which did not lend themselves readily to humor.
Reluctantly he returned her smile, though it didn't quite touch his eyes.
Silence fell between them for a few moments, as Cuddy tried to think of something to say that would not sound utterly ridiculous.
"How are you feeling?"
"Are you all right?"
"Is there anything I can do?"
The problem with all the standard questions was that they either had no answers, or the answers were so obvious that she already knew them. The kind of banal platitudes that might have worked with anyone else seemed almost obscene to use with House, who would surely see through them in an instant.
So Cuddy said nothing, just sat there by his side, offering her silent support, until she could no longer hold back the words that echoed over and over in her mind – simple and probably useless, but utterly heartfelt. She reached out, following instincts that contradicted with all of her experience with this man, and wrapped her soft, small hand gently around his pale, shaking fist, as she whispered the only comfort she could offer.
"House…I am so…so sorry."
House still did not look at her, but he swallowed, the convulsive motion visible in his throat, and she could see the stark pain in his eyes, glittering brightly in the late morning sun. When he finally spoke, his voice hoarse and quiet, it was not to acknowledge her words.
"I'm resigning."
She blinked, stunned by the blunt confession, the last thing she had expected him to say. Wilson had warned her that House had mentioned resigning, so she knew that he was considering it; but she had not expected him to bring it up so quickly.
Everything in her rebelled against the idea, not understanding why this would be his immediate response to the attack, or why he would not see that it was a very bad idea as far as his recovery was concerned. However, she could not bring herself to correct him, to argue or insist that he remain at his job – the same job from which he had been forcibly dragged away and viciously assaulted.
She wanted to argue, but knew that even if a time for argument would come – it was not now.
"If…that's what you think you should do," she finally replied, her tone carefully calm and even, her thumb stroking slowly back and forth across the back of his trembling fist, "then I support you, House. Whatever you need to do."
House looked at her again, clearly surprised at her ready acceptance. The ghost of a smirk traced the edges of his mouth, a flash of resentment in his eyes as he guessed, "Suppose this makes things easy for you, doesn't it? No more lawsuits every other month, no more patient complaints to deal with…"
"No more last minute saves of patients who would otherwise die," Cuddy interrupted, no trace of anger in her voice as she met his eyes directly, facing his assumptions and boldly backing them down, but just enough sharpness in her tone to emphasize the ludicrous nature of his accusation. "If I wanted you gone, you would be already."
She paused, allowing that to sink in, before adding in a soft, even voice, touched with just a slight note of trembling emotion, "I want you here, House. I need you here. But…if that's not what you need…" She shook her head, willingly accepting defeat. "…then I'll accept that and support you every step of the way."
She hesitated, glancing away before meeting his eyes again and adding, "And, if…a few months, or years, down the road…it is what you need again…well, I'll be here for you then, too."
House's eyes widened, clearly stunned by the open, ready devotion in her words and her eyes, before his expression softened, touched by the gesture. He looked away, unaccustomed to dealing with such warmth and kindness, turning his head away; but even as he did, his fist relaxed under her hand, his hand slowly, painfully unclenching and turning under hers to return her gentle grip.
He cleared his throat a bit awkwardly, before responding simply, "Thank you."
Not trusting herself to speak for the tears that choked her, Cuddy just nodded, gently squeezing his hand. They stayed there like that, in surprisingly easy silence, for the next few minutes, House just accepting her wordless comfort, until Wilson returned with the medical team from New York to take him to the operating room.
Aware that the private moment they had shared was swiftly drawing to an end, Cuddy could no longer hold back the emotions that were overwhelming her – at least, not completely. Steeling herself for what seemed to be inevitable rejection, she rose from her seat and leaned over the bed to gently hug House's shoulders, which seemed so much more slight and narrow than usual.
He tensed slightly at the unexpected touch, but did not pull away, and after a moment, relaxed, accepting her embrace without responding to it. Despite his height and ever-present strength, he seemed so small and fragile in the light of how viciously he had been broken.
It made her furious, angry enough to kill.
Still, there was only tenderness in her voice as she whispered next to his ear, "You know I love you, right? You're like family to me, House…and I'm gonna do everything I can to help you through this."
She had hoped for a nod, a word, some acknowledgment that he knew her words to be true; but she had known better than to expect it, and was therefore not greatly disappointed when House did not speak, did not even look at her as Wilson carefully repositioned the bed to a fully reclined position, then laid a folded sheet across the railing at the head of the bed, a makeshift shield to conceal his friend's identity from any curious eyes they might pass on the way to the OR.
And then, he was gone, leaving Cuddy alone in the room with her own swirling emotions, which were swiftly combining into a single overwhelming wave of heartbroken, protective rage.
We're going to find them, House.
Cuddy made a silent vow, even as her heart filled with frustration with the memory of what Wilson had told her, about House's refusal to call the police. She could not understand why he would not want to make sure that the men were captured, off the street, not free to hurt him – or someone else – again.
It did not matter.
One way or another, we're going to find the monsters who did this to you…and they're going to pay.
House slept through most of the three days following his surgery. He was heavily medicated to ease the pain of his injuries, and the measures that had been taken to repair them. Thankfully, there was no internal bleeding, though there had been extensive tearing, and even some damage to House's lower intestine, no doubt from the vicious assault with his cane.
Wilson thought it a miracle that no bones had been broken, considering the brutal beating House had obviously taken, but it seemed that, though painful to experience and alarming to look at, those injuries were mostly on the surface. Even the knife wound to his abdomen had managed to miss any vital organs. Wilson's estimate had been pretty close to accurate; three days after the surgery was performed, House was ready to be released from the hospital.
Physically, anyway.
The other injuries, the ones the surgeons couldn't see – Wilson knew that those would take much longer to heal.
House's team had been informed only that he was taking a few weeks sick leave. Both Wilson and Cuddy still hoped to be able to convince House to keep his job, despite his firm insistence that he was done at PPTH. There was no opportunity to talk to him about it during the first two days, as he was mostly asleep, or too hazy from the drugs to be coherent; but Cuddy kept his job open for him, just the same – just in case.
By the third day, House was more lucid, but neither Wilson nor Cuddy wanted to push him to talk about the issues he seemed so determined to avoid. Wilson just hoped that the opportunity would present itself for them to discuss it again, and that he might be able to convince his friend not to give up the only thing left in his life that meant anything to him.
House was very quiet, barely speaking at all, that third day – and Wilson guessed that it had something to do with the fact that he was going home that evening. He didn't press for conversation, just sat at his friend's side, offering a sense of security and support that went beyond whatever useless words he might have offered.
Ten minutes before it was time to go, House announced to Wilson and Cuddy, the only two people who had been in his room at all over the past few days, "I'm walking out of here. No chair. That's all I'd need, to get the gossip mills going over me being wheeled out of here like an invalid."
Wilson nodded once without a word, his jaw working with nervous emotion as he crossed the room to table where House's bag waited, packed and ready. Immediately following the surgery, he had made a trip to House's apartment to pick up a few things he thought his friend might want or need.
Then, he had stopped by his own apartment and packed some of his own things, having no intention of returning home any time soon. He would be remaining at the hospital until House was released, and then likely staying with him in his apartment for a while as well.
He had also made a trip to a local pawn shop, in search of one very specific item which needed immediate replacement.
Now, he reached behind the bag and picked up the cane he had purchased, dark cherry wood, beautifully glossy, and in almost perfect condition. He shrugged dismissively at House's wide-eyed look of surprise as he leaned the cane against the bed, leaving the handle a couple of inches from House's hand.
House swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, and Wilson was almost certain that he was struggling to hold back an emotional reaction to the unexpected gift. All at once, House looked up at him, a question in his eyes.
"Where…what did you do with…?"
"It's…with the other…evidence," Wilson struggled to get the words out, unable to hold House's gaze. The admission felt like a betrayal, in light of House's desire to keep the whole thing a secret.
But House did not react as such, just nodding slightly as he picked up the new cane, looking it over closely with the hint of a pleased smile on his lips – the first Wilson had seen since he had shown up in his office that awful night.
For a moment, Wilson thought he might cry with relief.
When the time came to go, Cuddy made sure that the route leading to the back exit, where Wilson's car was parked, was clear of any possible prying eyes. Only when she indicated that all was clear, Wilson helped House to stand from the bed, hovering at his side as he made his way slowly, painfully out of the room and down the hall with the aid of his new cane.
Cuddy walked with them to the car, carrying House's bag and medications, and helped him get settled in the passenger seat while Wilson tossed House's small duffel bag and his own briefcase and suitcase into the trunk of his car and walked around to the driver's side.
"I'll stop by tomorrow to see you, okay?" Cuddy offered with a warm, reassuring smile.
House simply nodded, looking her in the eyes with open gratitude as he repeated earnestly, "Thank you."
Cuddy reached through the window to touch his shoulder, pressing gently before pulling back and allowing him to close the window.
The entire drive to House's apartment was quiet, neither man really knowing what to say. Given the circumstances, there was little they could have said that would have held any real meaning. However, since both of them instinctively understood the futility of conversation in their situation, the silence was not particularly uncomfortable. In fact, it was no less than both of them had expected.
Finally, Wilson parked his car outside House's apartment, silently getting out and going around to help House out of the right side. He was much better, but still in a lot of pain; while walking was easily manageable now, getting up and down was a bit more difficult.
Once his friend was standing on the sidewalk, Wilson headed for the trunk to get their bags. He was stopped by the sharp intake of breath he heard behind him, turning immediately toward House with concern, expecting him to be in some kind of pain, needing some kind of physical assistance.
House was staring past Wilson, his eyes wide and stricken, his face pale and drawn with shock. His hand resting on the top of his cane was shaking violently, and Wilson rushed to his side in alarm, slipping an arm around House's waist an instant before his knees nearly gave out beneath him. Without Wilson's support, House would have collapsed to the sidewalk; as it was, he was nearly doubled over, his breathing shallow and panicked as he stared at that same spot behind Wilson's car.
"House…what…?" Wilson whispered, bewildered, as he followed his friend's gaze.
His stomach lurched at the sight of House's motorcycle, in the same condition as the last night he had ridden it – parked in House's ordinary parking spot. Wilson's mouth felt dry with fear, and he swallowed to dampen it, his stomach churning with apprehension.
"What…why would they…?" He couldn't quite finish the question, shaking his head in confusion, glancing around them in spite of himself, half-expecting House's assailants to come at them out of the darkness.
"It's a reminder," House whispered, breathless and shaky, his entire body trembling violently against Wilson's supportive arm.
Wilson frowned. "What do you mean? A reminder of what, House?"
The answer chilled Wilson's blood, and his heart dropped at the realization that came with House's hoarse, whispered words.
"A reminder that…that he knows where I live."
