Her reflection didn't stare back at her in the glass, longing imposed over the tiny bodies that lay before her. She was secretly glad of the fact – she had no desire to see her own reaction to the small miracles behind the glass. She felt a hallow feeling pervade her chest as she inspected first one row and then the next of small bundles, pink then blue then blue again, three pinks and a whole row of blue. Another pink, two blues a pink and a yellow.
She frowned slightly looking in the far left hand corner of the room. Yellow was unusual. Yellow was wrong. They didn't ever dress newborns in yellow. Curiosity got the better of her and she tugged the door open, the cold metal twisting soundlessly under her hand. She paused for a moment as she swung the door open, assaulted by a wave of sound. The crying was loud, breathless sounds that made her gasp slightly. She quickly shut the door behind her, hoping the sound didn't permeate the hall outside.
She walked slowly to the back of the room, the screams hitting her in waves, each one twisting her heart just a bit more painfully. Her steps were slow, and she pushed her way to the yellow bassinet – her heart thundering in her ears. Each step seemed more and more difficult, like the air around her was a physical force, pushing her back. Babies she passed had their faces screwed up, red from crying. She was almost there now – and her hands were suddenly clammy – her heart beating so hard there was an ache in her sternum that she longed to rub away. The baby swathed in yellow was the exact counter part of every other baby there. Sleeping, perfect in it's repose – soft skin, and Cupid's bow mouth slightly open. Small nose and dark lashes sweeping against a plump cheek. Perfect. Her heart suddenly stopped it's frantic beating – and she held her breath, wondering if it would ever start again.
As if just realizing the noise around it, the baby startled awake – hands stretched out as if to display ten perfect fingers – each long and elegant. Eyes blinked open and she met the serious slate blue gaze – and odd disappointment coursing through her veins. She had expected something else.
There was no placard on the baby's bassinet – no cheerful disclaimer of 'It's a Boy!' or 'It's a Girl!', This baby was nameless, and completely anonymous. No hospital tag adorned it's tiny delicate wrist and she stared down at it with a slight frown – her mouth dry with sudden inescapable fear. The baby stared back at her, unblinking and sucking on the fingers it had managed to get into it's tiny mouth. Her eyes were suddenly covered in a film of tears and she felt a physical pain grip her, pooling in her chest cavity and pushing outward until she thought it would kill her. She gasped for breath, her hands gripping the warm plastic of the bassinet until it bit into her palms hard enough to leave a mark.
Her hand shook as she reached out slowly, her outstretched fingers reaching toward the soft skin of the baby. She closed her eyes tightly, shut them against the image of her desperate pale hand, shaking with fear as it slowly approached the curious stare of the child below her. Her fingers brushed soft fabric, and her eyes shot open as the crying in the room seemed to grow in her ears – echoing painfully against her eardrums. Her hand clutched only yellow blanket and she could smell baby powder in the air as panic settled in. Where had the baby gone?
Her heart kicked into high gear – each beat radiating through the pain as she fought to breathe. Where was the baby?! She looked around frantically but could only see a sea of blue and pink – a symphony of cries playing out in her head – her own mixed among them. She had taken too long – she had moved too slowly. The bile rose in her throat as sobs ripped from her body – bleeding her pain out onto the yellow blanket she had twisted in her hands and held to her face. It was too late.
She woke with a jerk – clammy skin tangled in bedsheets that threatened to suffocate her. With a choked sigh, she relaxed back against her pillow, staring blankly at her ceiling as the dream still gripped her. Absently she rubbed at her chest, where an ache still echoed, a ghost of a pain that wasn't even real. Dragging a hand over her face she glanced at the clock with a sigh. It was nine am and she was still exhausted. She had been at the hospital until almost four am – a donor had been brought in at seven in a car accident. It had been nasty – and she had contacted his family, helping the trauma team when she could. He had passed away at two am, and she had sat with his widow – a comforting arm and a steady shoulder. He had been a good man – a local business owner who gave profusely to quite a few charities.
When she had crawled into her bed at almost five she had felt physically sick with exhaustion. She had left a message for her assistant to push back her morning appointments – that she wouldn't be in until after ten – and now she lay here, awake before her alarm, her hand still rubbing against her aching sternum while snippets of the dream played back in her head. She sighed, knowing she needed to get up now anyway. The longer she waited, the more rushed she would feel. She dragged her sheets off of her, unwinding them from her legs and almost dragging herself across the sift carpet. She would need a lot of coffee today – she could tell.
She was brushing her hair when her cell phone rang – shrill and insisting. She frowned – it was almost nine thirty now and she had taken extra care with her makeup – hoping to hide the circles under her eyes. Her suit was selected to make her feel better – a purple and gray mix that made her feel softer than she really was.
"Cuddy." She spoke tiredly into the phone, pressing it against her shoulder as she bent down to slide her shoes on.
"Cuddy." His voice was rough, and laced with reluctance and she stood slowly, her senses on alert.
"House- I know it's almost ten, I know I'm not there for you to bother with whatever the hell you want right now but I'll be in in-"
"You're not at work?" He blurted out and she heard the surprise and odd traces of.. thankfulness? She grabbed her keys and her purse from the hall table, shooting a longing glance in the direction of her coffee pot before heading toward her door.
"No I didn't leave until four last night. Why? Aren't you there?" She was locking her front door as she spoke and she frowned at the phone trapped between her ear and shoulder. Rain was dripping down the back of her neck and she glared at the sky – wondering how she hadn't noticed that.
"Like I'm ever there before ten." Tension was laced through his lame attempt at humor and her frown deepened. "I need a ride."
Shock left her speechless for a moment. House never asked for favors – he never asked her at any rate. She could hear his reluctance, and wondered at it. Why wasn't he calling Wilson? "Where's Wilson?"
"Unsuitable. Can't ride the bike and my car is... not an option." She was slightly damp as she slid behind the wheel and she blinked, finally able to identify his tone. Pain.
"I'll be there in ten minutes. Be ready." She hung up quickly, pulling her seatbelt on as she gunned the engine, not waiting for it to heat up before switching gears and pulling out of her driveway quickly.
He was waiting on the curb for her and his movements were slow as he dropped is bag on the floor and slid into the passenger seat of her car. His face was contorted in pain and she stared at him with worried eyes. His hand rubbed along his thigh as he pushed his back into her car seat.
"Did something happen?" Her voice was soft and hesitant and he grimaced slightly before shaking his head no.
"Just getting worse." He ground out and she could see the tension in his frame as she watched him. She dug a hand into his coat pocket, past his keys until she felt the small yellow bottle. Pulling it out she glanced at him as she shook two out and handed them to him.
"When was your last dose?"
"An hour ago." He ground out and she looked at him seriously for a moment. That was too much – if he was still in pain-
"House, you need to get checked-"
"Yes Mother." He sneered back at her but she knew it was more anger at the pain itself than her.
"It shouldn't be spiking like this. Could be regeneration.." She trailed off, neither he nor she really believed it could be that – not after six years, but anything was possible. And anything was a better explanation than it just getting worse.
He chuckled, but it was bitter sound in the small confines of her car. "Oh they haven't shown up for six years – it would seem a bit bad taste to do it now, huh?" She rubbed a hand on her face and glared at him slightly. He avoided her gaze, staring out the window as his long fingers moved along his thigh nimbly. Now was not the time to push him. She slid the car back in gear, and pulled away from his house silently. Neither of them spoke on the short ride, and she glanced at him as she pulled into her parking spot.
"Stay here until the Vicodin kicks in." She commanded, reaching into her backseat for her briefcase and wishing she had an umbrella hidden back there too.
"You're not the boss of me." He mumbled and she looked over at him silently until he smiled slightly. "Fine."
"And I meant it about checking that-" He nodded and waved irritably and she closed her mouth. Not the time, pain was still evident in his tense stature, the way his free hand bit into the leather armrest, the tension in the line of his back. She placed a hand on his shoulder for a moment before dropping it quickly. "I'll leave the keys. Lock it when you're leaving please." He managed to nod and she slid out of the vehicle, looking down at him one more time before turning and running through the rain.
She headed for her office quickly, dropping her case and scanning her messages briefly. Four calls to return, but she decided to go out to the desk first, and check the patient files. Somewhere in the dash between the car and the foyer she had decided that a case was the best thing to distract him. So she headed straight back out to the main entrance after making sure her hair still looked decent, and standing there she rifled through the files at will. It needed to be a difficult case – an easy case would only annoy him. She looked at symptoms alone at first – pulling out three that could be a possibility. When she read the patient histories however, she smirked slightly. There was no competition. She turned with the winner in her hand when a nurse called her back and handed her the phone.
It was the widow from last night, calling to thank her for her personal attention. She leaned against the counter awkwardly – she was never comfortable with this kind of praise, but she couldn't seem to find a way out of not only accepting it but providing a fresh wave of comfort as well. She saw Wilson bustle by out of the corner of her eye, and when she glanced across the busy desk, he was standing next to House, a skeptical look on her face. They walked toward her, and she half listened to the women on the phone, and tried to listen to them at the same time.
"Infarctions hurt, that what they do." House was saying as he glanced up at her for a moment, his eyes meeting hers. She swallowed before waving the file to indicate he should stop, but he carried on as if she hadn't even done it. Covering the mouthpiece, she hissed his name, but he and Wilson continued as if she wasn't there. Rolling her eyes, she turned back to the phone, expertly extricating herself from the conversation and keeping an eye on the two of them as she did so. Thankfully they stopped by the elevators and she was able to hang up the phone and head toward them.
"More pain, more pills" He was speaking sarcastically before taking the pill in his hand and she wanted to smack him. He'd taken a pill not an hour ago – if the pain was this bad- She left that particular though unfinished, instead holding out the file like a red flag.
"Teenage super model!" She spoke brightly and opened the file. "Presented with double vision, sudden aggressive behavior, cataplexy-" He looked up at the elevator as she spoke before looking back down and snatching the file from her hands.
"You had me at teenage super model." He limped into the elevator, his gait unsteady and she watched him go with a small triumphant smile. Beside her, Wilson sighed heavily as the doors slid shut behind him.
"I want him to have an MRI." Wilson stated, looking over at her with worry on his face. She nodded unsteadily, like her head wasn't quite attached to the rest of her body. She met his worried gaze and smiled reassuringly.
"If he comes to you – let me know and I'll clear the machine." She placed a comforting hand on his elbow - and nodded before turning her back and heading back to her office. The widow was coming in for coffee and she needed to get as much paperwork done as possible before she arrived. She made a mental note as she entered the office to have the University Chaplain present for the meeting – it would help with the arrangements. When she entered her office she pulled her paperwork toward her as she picked up her phone to make the calls.
When she headed to House's office in the evening she moved soundlessly through the halls. She had survived the day – barely – on enough caffeine to kill a small animal and sheer determination. She hadn't blinked when she had singed approval for a twenty four hour detox for House's model. She had sailed through her morning coffee with a comforting shoulder and a box of tissues, used liberally. She had worked through lunch – and again through dinner, her appetite non existent in wake of the massive amounts of coffee. Every now and then she would find her hand lingering along her sternum and she would snatch it away quickly. When she finally turned her office light off the clinic was dark, and she was convincing herself that she wasn't avoiding going home by coming up here – logically she had driven House here, she should drive him home. It was just a dream.
When she entered his office, he was laying in the Eames chair, a pillow under his foot and his head back and eyes closed. He wasn't asleep though, she could tell by his breathing pattern. His face was pale – the line sin it seeming that much more deeply etched and she wanted to run a hand over his face, and smooth them away. Control kept her hand at her side though. "House." Her voice was soft and he opened his eyes immediately.
"Knew it was you. Could smell you." His voice was laced with pain and she crouched beside his chair looking up at him in concern.
"You need a ride?" He looked down at her before turning away from her swiftly. His hand rested on his thigh and she could see he wanted to rub it, but was trying to stop himself. Her own hand came up to her chest, before she realized what she was doing and placed it on his other knee.
"Didn't you only get four hours sleep last night? Why are you so late?" He turned to her, apparently trying to distract her – or him – from the pain. He narrowed his eyes at her, studying her intently for a moment. "You look like crap."
"Yeah well, you're no prize either." She spoke, standing and handing him his cane from where it rested against the wall. He took it from her hand, his knuckles white as he gripped it tightly for a moment before standing up. She grabbed his bag and handed it to him after he stood slowly. "Come on. Nothing you can do for your model until morning. I'll take you home." He was uncharacteristically silent as they stopped in her office before exiting to the parking lot. When she glanced over at his face and saw the slight sheen of sweat from the effort, she knew why. She didn't say anything, driving in silence and pulling up to his house before speaking. "Do you need any-"
"No!" he snapped out before she could finish and she nodded, knowing she shouldn't have asked in the first place. An awkward silence filled the car as his white knuckled grip on his cane seemed to turn slightly blue. "Are you not sleeping?" His eyes met hers for a moment and she saw they were clouded with pain, and a longing as well. She didn't mention either as she sighed softly.
"House.."
"What? Everyone can ask me about my pain, but if you look like crap and haven't been sleeping it's a taboo subject?" He spoke snidely and she shook her head slightly as if to clear it.
"No." She spoke softly in the dark interior of the car, lit only by the dashboard lights – giving the whole conversation an unreal feel. "I just don;t want to talk about it." she knew if she mentioned the dream he would latch on and chew until he knew what it was about. And the sad meaning of said dream was obvious even to her – he'd have a field day with it. He watched her for a moment, before nodding softly in the green light. His hand moved to the door – apparently he had mustered up enough strength for the walk to his door and she watched him apprehensively. "Do you need a ride- tomorrow-" He shook his head shortly.
"I'll be fine." Her car door fell shut heavily after him and she sat and watched as he went inside – like he knew she would. Once the door shut behind him, she sighed softly before heading toward her own dark house – filled with her own worries and fears. Sleep would not be easy that night either.
She had not tried to find House that morning when he skipped out on clinic duty, forcing her to cover for him – but she had stayed in her office afterward trying to finish up paperwork. She had slept badly again last night – the dream back and if possible more vivid. She didn't want to think about it – so really the amount of work she was doing was perfectly fine with her. She needed the distraction. She was halfway through her pile when her phone rang at her elbow.
"Cuddy."
"I need the machine cleared." Wilson was speaking low and she sighed in relief. House had finally agreed to the MRI. Which of course, meant that he was in God knew how much pain. She frowned, motioning Brenda through the doors as she spoke to Wilson.
"Not a problem, I can get that done for you right now." Covering the receiver she looked at Brenda with her best 'say nothing' face. "I need the MRI machine emptied for approximately half an hour. Starting in fifteen minutes, got it?" Brenda nodded and exited quickly – not asking any questions. She was the most discreet nurse in the entire hospital. She uncovered the phone and looked down at her desk blotter. "Fifteen minutes. Can you get him up there-" She broke off as she saw Cameron coming through the outer office and she cursed inwardly.
"I'll have him there by then. Thanks Cud-" Cameron was inside now, having burst in without knocking and she looked away quickly.
"Find a way to kick up the contribution." She spoke, hearing Wilson's laughter as she hung up with a sigh. It was a lame cover – and wasn't necessary but for some reason, she knew if House thought any of his team had even gotten wind of this – so she ignored Wilson's laughed and stared across at the obviously distraught doctor. "What did House do now?"
"The patient's father sexually abused her and he's refusing to report it to the proper authority's." Before Cameron even finished speaking, she could feel a headache coming on – sudden pounding pain behind her temples and she put her hands there now.
"Did he give a reason?" She spoke tiredly and Cameron looked further angered by the question.
"He said that she's dying and he needs him here in case there's anything else the father isn't telling us." If possible Cameron sounded more offended than usual by this and she shook her head tiredly. She knew House tended to put patient interest ahead of everything else, rules especially and apparently now the law.
"I'll call social services." She picked up the phone as Cameron nodded and left, looking both pleased with herself and apprehensive at the same time.
She found them in the middle of the MRI, alarms going off as she entered the room. Rather appropriately but she ignored them, and Wilson seated in the other room. "House!"
"Quick God, smite the evil witch!" House was speaking for what she only assumed was Wilson's benefit but she didn't let him distract her as she stood by the MRI machine. Her headache was throbbing now – and she had the lovely visit from the police to look forward to later. In pain or not, she was about ready to put him into more.
"Are you sitting on evidence that your patient was sexually abused by her father?" She asked incredulously, already knowing the answer but hoping he'd called someone and had just told Cameron he wouldn't to piss her off.
"God, why have you forsaken me?" He spoke from inside the MRI and she was fairly certain she heard muffled laughter from Wilson behind her, but she didn't look.
"Don't worry. I have contacted child services for you." She spoke sarcastically, her hands at her sides. "I let you get away with more than anyone at this hospital! Shielding a child abuser isn't covered. Cooperate with this investigation or I'll have you fired." She glared at the machine one last time before turning on her heel and exiting the room quickly. She had a meeting with child services in an hour. Rubbing a hand along her head, she prayed silently that whatever the hell was wrong with House's leg was fixable – she didn't know how much more she could deal with.
The mid afternoon light was suffocated by her blinds as she sat on the couch , pretending to work on the files laying haphazardly on the table in front of her. She lay back, her head resting wearily against the sofa when Wilson burst into her office. She frowned, he was limping slightly and glaring at her like it was her fault. Sitting up quickly, she idly wondered if anyone would knock today.
"He hit me!" Wilson exclaimed, throwing himself into the arm chair beside her and she arched a brow in confusion. "The MRI was normal. And I simply suggested that it might be psychological-"
"Conversion disorder Wilson?" She spoke in a disappointed tone.
"You think it's just a coincidence that all of this is happening right after Stacy leaves-" He spoke in a disbelieving tone and she shook her head.
"It doesn't have anything to do with Stacy." she spoke in a sure tone and he shook his head at her in wonder.
"Do you two practice these lines together? That's what he said – right before attacking me and accusing me of missing Stacy too!" She bit her lip at this, staring at him thoughtfully for a moment.
"You really think this is all in his head Wilson? Haven't you been watching him the past two days? He can barely walk-"
"The power of the mind Cuddy. If he believes the pain is there – he feels it. I'm not saying the pain isn't real – it's just not his leg." She watched him silently for a moment, her mind turning over what he had said. She almost wanted him to be right. The alternative was that House was getting worse, and she didn't want to consider that. It whispered in her mind, presenting one horrible possibility after the other.
"I don't know-" She had seen his face last night – not Wilson. It was her he had called in the first place and she wasn't sure even his twisted mind could torture him this badly. Wilson also thought this had everything to do with Stacy and she privately doubted that as well. "It doesn't matter either way, Wilson. What can you do?"
"He won't come to me now Cuddy. He won't ask me to help." Wilson sat up, staring at her seriously. "He'll come to you."
"House would never ask me for-" She protested but he shook his head emphatically.
"Yes, he would. He trusts you. He'll ask you for help – and all I'm saying is.. let him think you helped him." She caught his meaning all too clearly and she drew in a sharp breath.
"A placebo- Wilson-" If he was in pain ... it was cruel at best.
"Just.. think about it Cuddy." he spoke softly, patting her hand lightly before standing and exiting the office – leaving her to her confused thoughts, and even more confusing fears. She couldn't let House get worse. And she wasn't entirely sure why it was so important to her – but as she thought it she closed her eyes tightly and saw yellow.
She was turning off her office lights, enjoying the way each click plunged the room in that much more darkness when she heard his steps behind her. She was surprised by how long he held out actually – she had thought he would be here much earlier than this. But House was nothing if not stubborn – and probably avoiding her after the child services debacle anyway. Her headache had slowly increased all afternoon until she finally broke down and took pain relief for it. The pain was still there, but a manageable shadow in her mind.
"I need a favor." His voice was rough, and she heard Wilson's echo in her ears as he spoke. 'He trusts you.' She sighed softly – she didn't want to be the one to do this. She turned to him, her face neutral, and her eyes pleading.
"I'm not in a giving mood." The only light entering the room now was from the lit hall beyond it. She picked up her briefcase and walked toward the door, refusing to meet his eyes which were sure to be filled with pain.
"It'll help us both. I need a shot of morphine in my spine." She drew in a quick breath. She knew he would ask – she knew it would be drugs. But morphine?
"Sub arachnoid morphine is extreme House – even for you." She walked past him with a look, and he glanced down at the floor. "Get one of your lackey's to do it." She spoke in a soft tone. She wanted the decision to lay out of her hands. She wanted to believe Wilson was wrong. She didn't want to choose.
"I don't want them to know-" he turned to her as she moved past him, pulling her coat off the rack. "-how much pain I'm in." He sounded more pained than ever to admit this and she watched him silently. They'll question my judgment. I can't ask Wilson because-" He paused for a moment, his eyes wavering from hers to the cane in his hand before reconnecting with hers. "I just can't."
Her coat lining was cold on her arms and she shook her head slowly. "It's too dangerous. I'm going home." She tried to move away but the clatter of his cane hitting the floor froze her in place. His hands shook as his fingers fumbled with the buckle at his waist. Her eyes widened as she watched him, unable to breathe. "What are you doing?" She walked over to him quickly, stilling his hands with her own.
"It hurts Cuddy – you need to see-" His hands struggled against hers until she let go, nodding. Her hands reached out, pushing his aside as she undid the belt nimbly. She moved him over to the sofa – him leaning heavily on her as she walked slowly. Once there, she pulled his pants down before seating him and inspecting his leg carefully as she kneels between his legs. It was swollen – raised and and slight redness around the area. She pressed against it gently and heard his hiss of air escaping his lungs as hi hand gripped her shoulder tightly.
"Are you sure you didn't hit it at all? There's more redness than usual." her calm gaze met his troubled one and he looked thoughtful for a moment as she waited. It had never bothered her, examining him. She did it often in the days after the surgery – it had truly been painful to look at then – like it carved the same shape into her own heart.
"I don't- I don't remember." He glanced down at his leg as if for the first time. His eyes narrowed as he studied the surface he knew by heart, running his hand lightly over it – as if feeling for confirmation of her words. His eyes met hers again and he nodded.
"I'll go get a syringe." Her voice was soft in the dark and he nodded again as she used the couch to push herself up. Shrugging off her coat – she stepped out of the office and walked along the hall to the pharmacy. She hesitated once there – clearing her throat twice as the pharmacist looked at her like she was insane. She had to decide. 'Let him think you helped him. He trusts you.' She bit her lip, remembering his face in her office and his eyes as she said no. 'It hurts Cuddy-'
"I need an 21 gauge with one milligram of morphine." She spoke the words quickly, not looking at him as he nodded and went into the back. While he was gone she went into the shelves, gathering iodine and lidocane and a saline needle as well. She was back around the other side when he reappeared with the syringe. Taking it, she signed the sheet provided before returning to her office quickly. She closed the door and closed her blinds, plunging the room back into darkness.
"Mood lighting. Nice." House's voice issued dryly from the sofa and she sighed, turning on a small lamp next to him. When the light came on he blinked and grinned weakly – she was leaning right in front of him to reach the lamp and he was staring at her appreciatively.
"Lay down, back to me." He complied, curling into the couch easily since his pants were still in a heap on the floor. He had also shrugged out of his jacket, leaving just his shirt on. She ripped open the iodine cloth quickly, speaking around it as she did so. "Why is it that I am always giving you drugs lately?" She muttered as she pulled down his underwear slightly, pressing along his spine and counting vertebrates.
"Because you're a good friend." He answered, his amusement laced with pain and she chuckled as she wiped the area. She injected the lidocane first, waiting a moment for it to take effect and numb the area. House scoffed beneath her hands. "I didn't need the numbing-"
'Oh yeah, because it's a total picnic having a 21 gage needle driven through your dura is always fun. Shut up House. Curve." She muttered, taking out the saline needle and waiting for him to arch his back before using it to locate the epidural space. When the needle slid in and injected a small amount of saline, she reached in her pocket for the morphine needle. Removing the saline needle, she kept her eyes on the prick and slid the needle in quickly, pushing past the epidural space and injecting the morphine.
His hiss of relief was immediate and she felt him relax within seconds under her hands. "How much?" His voice was looser now – more relaxed as he straightened his back. She wiped the area clear of iodine and put a hand on his shoulder.
"One milligram. Lay still for a minute – then you have to get dressed." She spoke swiftly and he rolled on his back, his eyes closed in appreciation. She observed his breathing carefully.
"Thank you Cuddy." His voice was serious and she felt the pain return in her chest briefly before she shook it off and stood, disposing of the needles and pulling her coat back on.
"Come on. Time to go." He looked at her in confusion and she glared down at him. "You're either coming home with me. Morphine can cause respiratory distress-" He was sitting up and pulling his pants on slowly, before standing and buckling them as he pulled a face at her.
"I went to medical school too you know-"
"Good." she handed him his cane after he had pulled his jacket on. "Then you won't argue with me. You can't be left alone tonight." He smiled hazily at her, nodding surprisingly before following her back out of the office.
The dream woke her up again – breathing erratically and clutching her sheets in tight hands. She blinked for a moment, allowing the panic to wash off of her as she sat up in her bed. It was the third night in a row and she was tired of waking in a panic, her heart physically hurting as she cursed her inability to sleep. She dropped her head in her hands, resisting the urge to cry as she fought for a calm demeanor.
"So this is why you're not sleeping." House's voice spoke from her doorway and she jumped guiltily before glaring at him.
"Shouldn't you be in bed?" She snapped out wearily and he moved further into the room at her words. He sat on the other side of her bed, bracing his leg with his hands as he swung it up on the bed and sank against her headboard, his eyes never leaving her face.
"Shouldn't you be asleep?" He spoke back mockingly, watching carefully, his eyes dropping to her chest. She glanced down, seeing her own hand rubbing there, and snatched it back quickly. "What did you dream about?" When he broke the tense silence his voice was casual and she sank back against the headboard as well, suddenly exhausted.
"No." She spoke in a surprisingly strong voice and his eyes widened. "I'm not doing this. This- this thing where you dig and dig until you find out what's wrong and then what? Trust me House – you can't fix my problems and I am perfectly aware of what they are." Her voice was bitter and he frowned at her as she stared off through her bedroom window. Her arms and chest still seemed to ache and she shook her head slightly. She was out of time and suddenly longing for things out of her reach. He could help with none of it, and she blamed turning forty this year. She had put her career first before everything for years – and now she was finally paying the price.
His hands pulling on her shoulders were unexpected and she sank against him easily. His arms were warm as he held her, and for once he didn't say anything – inappropriate or otherwise. She listened to his lungs and heart as her head lay against his chest – and although she told herself that it was purely medical concern, they both knew it was more. Something between them that was almost a third presence at all times. She breathed in deeply, smelling iodine and spice and soap, her hands wrapping around his waist despite her best efforts. It was comforting – even if it was a word you wouldn't normally associate with him.
They slid down more, a mutual decision they reached without speaking. As she closed her eyes and breathed in his scent – she fell asleep to the sound of his heart and dreamt of yellow blankets again. But this time, the touch of skin met her hand, and she felt the weight of the small baby, welcome in her arms as she smiled down at him.