Night of the Dripping Tap, Chapter 10

House didn't think he'd been sleeping but the clock on his phone revealed that a whole two hours had gone by since he'd last looked. He raised his eyebrows involuntarily in surprise and turned his head to look out of the window. The sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was the kind of day he used to love. The sort of day that held the promise of possibility, that you could see unfolding into something unexpected, or equally, something completely mundane yet wonderful.

He was itchy, antsy, fed-up. His mind was whirring, hatching his break-out, imagining his freedom.

He pushed the call button, stretched his arm over the rail and drummed his fingers across the bedside table. He was just getting into the complicated rhythm of 'The Wicheta Lineman' drum solo and almost had himself up on stage in front of fifteen thousand adoring fans when an annoying cough interrupted him.

'If you don't mind, I'm trying to sleep here.'

'Oh bite me!' House huffed out just under his breath. He half-hoped CEO had heard him… and half-hoped he hadn't. The ground-shaking snore billowing round the room suggested he was in the clear.

House turned on his side and brought his knees up to his belly, ready to get up. He pushed hard with his right arm and got himself into a sitting position.

It was quite disconcerting to know exactly what a body used its stomach muscles for. More disconcerting still, to actually experience the loss of said muscles. It was amazing really when you stopped to think about it. The post-op pain had dialled down to a grumble and was easily controlled by his usual Vicodin regime and he had checked out his scar adding it to all the other accessories of the War Against House adorning his body. In the scheme of things, the angry red line running up from his groin to his belly button ranked second after his leg in the competition for Biggest Scar Ever but there wasn't much point in worrying about it, he knew his garden path would cover it over in no time - and wasn't he looking forward to his chest hair growing back.

Perched on the edge of his bed, he reached very slowly and very carefully down to his bedside cupboard for his bag of clothes and dragged it up next to him. Opening the plastic bag of his belongings on admission, he found his pyjama pants and the t-shirt he'd been wearing when this whole thing had kicked off. A change of plan then, there was no way he was leaving in his jammies.

He grabbed his phone from the table and dialled his Mom. 'Mom I need you to come over here with my clothes… I know… Yes… You know all that money you loaned me back when I went to College? Turns out they can make you into a Doctor and everything with that kind of dough…Ok, see you.' Right then, what to do...

He sat and stared for what had probably been longer than he'd thought and felt his body droop like a floppy old cat on a hot afternoon. He was bone tired and he hadn't done a thing. He lay back against his pillows and rested his eyes for just a second.

When Blythe arrived an hour later, she found her boy fast asleep with his mouth hanging open. Something ruffled him in his dreams and he snapped his mouth shut, flicking at something on his eyebrow.

She was always prepared for the unexpected when it came to her son but she was a little surprised to find him so utterly out of it. He had sounded so determined and 'Greg-like' when he'd phoned.

She sat down in the armchair beside his bed and took out her knitting. Since he'd been admitted, she'd managed a sweater and two scarves. She wondered to whom she would give them now that John wasn't around.

Another hour passed and Greg still hadn't woken. Blythe was pretty happy with the way the booties for her soon-to-be great niece were turning out; a lovely shade of oatmeal and very, very soft. Greg moaned next to her but he still didn't wake. Blythe was pretty sure he would have forgotten all about his great escape when he finally did come round.

She turned at the sound of the door sliding open and smiled at the nurse coming in with evening meals for the patients in the room.

'He still asleep?'

'Yes. He was when I got here. Actually, I wanted to ask… is this… normal?'

'Oh, yes! Don't you worry. Diverticulitis and the surgery really takes it out of you, especially when you're not in the best of health anyway. You should expect him to take at least two months to get back to where he was before. He'll probably need about another three weeks before he goes back to work. I think he's going to have to be very careful getting around so that he doesn't put too much strain on his stomach; what with the leg and all.'

'Oh, right. Thank you. I don't think he would have told me that.' Blythe responded.

'Well, you know how doctors are huh?! If he's not awake in another half hour, I'll come and give him a nudge. We need to take some blood anyway.' She plopped the tray of food down on his table and asked, 'Want me to leave this here in case?'

Blythe nodded a 'yes', and found herself lost in thought. It was strange to hear someone else describing her son and his leg like that. Though she could read Greg like a book, he worked very hard to conceal his disability, even to her. He never talked about in their phone calls and tried his very best to appear un-cripplish as he described it.

He had always been so vital.

Her maudlin musings were brought to an abrupt halt with the sound of a rough, deep voice, 'Oh God, you're not trying to make me feel guilty again are you?'

'Gregory! You're awake! I've been here ages – I brought your clothes. How are you?'

'You know there is no way there are going to be any little Gregs running around, don't you?'

'Oh Gregory, just answer my question will you?!'

'I'm okay Mom. I just really need to get out of here.' As he spoke, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stifled a yawn.

'Oh really?! You know what son, I think you ought to just think about staying another night. You seem pretty tired.' She laid her hand across his, avoiding the cannula, and gave it a tight squeeze. 'Just rest honey, you've been sick, you had surgery.'

'I did? Gee, when did that happen? Got my jeans there?' He pushed the call button whilst he fished about in the bag his mother had brought for his clothes. Once he'd found some jeans, a T-shirt and some clean underwear, he headed off to the bathroom.

Blythe watched with an open mouth and had to let out a small laugh, more stubborn than a camel filling his hump. Ever since she had realised that Greg was an inherently mischievous character, she'd had no option but to roll with him. John had gone the disciplinarian route and look how that had turned out.

The nurse came bustling into the room and glanced around looking for the inhabitant of House's bed. 'Can I help anyone?' she asked quizzically.

In what seemed like two seconds, House came lumbering out of the bathroom shirtless. He dragged the IV stand behind him and Blythe realised that he'd been unable to get dressed thanks to the lines still dosing him with saline and antibiotics.

'Yup, I'm heading out and thought I should just say goodbye and how thankful I am.'

Blythe cocked her eyebrow and waited for the punch-line she knew was coming.

'Then I decided that wouldn't match my style… so I'm outta here!'

'Dr House, really! The doctor is on his way to take some blood and talk to you about your diet I-'

'Did you miss the class where they told you about doctors? Or where you too busy shovelling the candy?' he smiled sweetly and waited for his words to have their desired effect.

The nurse stared at him and shot back a reply, 'No, did you miss the one where they taught you about manners?' with that, she snapped around and headed out of the door, 'I'll get you the AMA forms'.

'Make it the 'With Medical Advice'forms and I'll sign.'

Blythe sighed and hung her head down, ashamed, yet completely used to her son's take on the rules of society.

House grabbed a handy stack of cotton, sat himself on the bed and took a deep breath. He capped off the lines and held a piece of the cotton over the cannula and pulled.

Blythe couldn't help but stare. She had never seen anyone taking one of those things out, never mind the patient himself. 'Are you sure you should be doing that, honey?'

House shot her a glance, 'Mom, remember the whole doctor thing we talked about?!'

'Ok son, ok.' She really shouldn't have asked. She glanced down at the dressings covering his stomach and cringed. She remembered back to the infarction and the last time she had seen the scar on his leg. This one looked to be pretty big too.

Once he'd pulled out the left side, he switched his attention to his right hand. It wasn't quite as easy given that he was using his weaker hand but with a bit of tugging, it came away. He dabbed at the trickle of blood escaping from his vein and once it had stopped, he pulled the t-shirt over his head, wincing as he stretched his belly, and popped his arms into the sleeves.

Snapping on his sneakers, he grabbed his cane and tugged at his t-shirt, 'Elvis is leaving the building!'

House stepped confidently forward and then hesitated, 'Beauty before age, Mom'. He swept his arm in front of him, you had to hand it to him, Gregory House knew how to make an exit.

Thanks for reading! Big thanks go out to Iyimgrace for her superb betaing help – I meant to do this for the last few chapters but my feeble mind wouldn't let me work out how to do it in – I know… I am that rubbish at computers.