Title: Some Days Are Worse Than Others
By: Sy Dedalus
Pairing: Gen; House/Wilson strong friendship, House/Cuddy friendship, Wilson/Cuddy friendship. Ducks involved in later chapters.
Rating: This chapter is T, TV-14, PG-13, etc.
Warnings: WIP, language.
Spoilers: Season One.
Summary: An alternate ending for "The Honeymoon" based on the script sides leaked by Fox in April 2005. Synopsis: instead of going home to his Vicodin, House gets angry and ends up starting a bar fight and nearly overdosing. We go from there….
Disclaimer: The beginning of this fic is written around lines from the sides for "The Honeymoon" which very obviously belong to FOX, David Shore, the writers, etc., anyone but me. I do not own the characters or the lines from the sides and make no claim to own them. I am making no money off of this. Please don't sue me. All epigraphs by Modest Mouse, Robert Lowell, …And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead, W.B. Yeats, Dante, etc., belong to their respective owners and not to me. Please don't sue over that either.
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Taru and Benj who motivated me to get it done sooner than I'd planned. I hope the scene with Cameron isn't too disappointing or out of character (that wouldn't have changed no matter how long I'd waited). She's tough to write for me.
Good news! The next chapter will be posted Tuesday prior to the new episode and it will contain a lovely twist. (House is pregnant! Oh drat, I couldn't keep it a secret.)
Please let me know if you like/dislike. :)
Chapter 19: All Roads Lead to the Clinic
"This is far and away the most you've ever done to get out of doing something I want you to do," Cuddy said sternly.
But she was smiling. How could she not be smiling? If she was any judge of Wilson, last night had been hellacious for House, and yet here he was sitting up in bed slurping chocolate milk and giving her the usual 'ah, my mortal enemy, how good to see you again' glare. Given what he'd been through in the past twelve hours, he looked great.
"You know me," House said with a smirk, "I'm a sucker for surgery."
Cuddy gave him an eye roll but she was still smiling. "How are you feeling?" she asked.
House recoiled in horror. "How am I feeling?" he said, "how am I feeling? I can't even begin to answer that question." He paused for effect, sipping the milk, before muttering, "Stop it or I'll start thinking you care. Then where would we be?"
Cuddy kept smiling. House was House, which was always both good and bad, but usually slightly better than worse. He was being himself. She'd been able to tell from Wilson's demeanor when they spoke earlier that House hadn't been himself at all yesterday evening and the change had shaken Wilson more than he would ever admit.
"You look good," she said, her smile warming. Seeing him so messed up had shaken her too.
House narrowed his eyes as best he could. The swelling around his eye had finally gone down and though it was a shade of deep purple and several capillaries had burst, making it bloodshot, it finally resembled its twin.
"Who are you and what have you done with the real Cuddy?" he asked skeptically.
Cuddy rolled her eyes again. "I was going to reschedule your appointment with Myers to give you a day to rest, but I'm starting to think you don't need it," she said wryly.
"I knew it!" House said, gesturing triumphantly. "No one can fake that kind of rack."
Cuddy glared at him. "House, pay attention," she said.
House's mouth twisted into a displeased shape. "I'll see him as an outpatient," he said dismissively. "I'm ready to leave."
Cuddy glanced from his pale, half-flushed face to his wasted upper body and skeletal arms and back. She snorted. "I'm not having this conversation with you," she said.
"If you had let me leave yesterday, I wouldn't have spent hours yesterday coughing myself into a bleed," he argued, coughing now, though whether it was meant to accentuate his point or a real reflex she couldn't tell. The congestion it revealed signified that he was still sniffing humidified oxygen for a very good reason, though. And he wanted to leave.
She snorted again. "If you'd left yesterday, you would have bled out on your couch," she said.
"Oh come on," House said. "No one bleeds out from that kind of injury. Even hemophiliacs are safe."
Cuddy glared at him again. "House," she said warningly.
But House was never one to concede a point without a fight. "Your hospital has already chewed up my lungs," he said with a cough. "I want to get out of here before it starts chewing up other parts of me—parts I really care about."
"If you leave now, you leave in a wheel chair with antibiotics and Ibuprofen," Cuddy said, annoyed that he'd catapulted her into hypothetical land. There was no way he was leaving today. "I'm not prescribing anything else until we find an alternative to Vicodin that works for you."
"You're still harping on that?" House said. "Give it a rest." He started coughing hard and had to put down the milk to cover his mouth.
Cuddy tried not to crack and show the sympathy she felt as he coughed harder, his face turning red, and tried awkwardly to hug his ribs with his right wrist in a cast. He had to know he needed at least another day of IV antibiotics before he could even think about going home. He was sick, whether he wanted to admit it or not. She'd show him his chest x-ray if he blustered about leaving again. No one with that must chest congestion was going anywhere.
She poured a cup of water and left it in his reach. He glared at her as she stood up.
"You have an appointment at two with Myers," she said perfunctorily. "He's going to order as many tests as possible; I don't imagine it will be much fun. All you have to do is say the word and I'll reschedule."
House's glare got meaner. He said nothing.
"All right," Cuddy said with a shrug. He was so intent on digging his own grave—well, he could in this case. She glanced over him again. An afternoon of tests would wear him out completely. She made a mental note to supervise the scheduling of his tests today, to make it as light as possible. Like he'd appreciate it, she thought.
"Appadurai wants to see you again too," she added. "Tomorrow morning."
"I thought we cleared that up," House said in a strained voice. He was making a show of not touching the water, which he clearly needed.
"She has some more questions," Cuddy said simply.
House said nothing, staring at her. She could tell he was doing everything in his power not to look at the water. She wanted to say something sympathetic, something nice. Something as simple as 'get some rest,' but he would only… She growled inwardly. He was so infuriating.
"I'll see you later," she said as coolly as possible and left before she did anything remotely human.
Once he was sure she was gone, House grabbed the water, swallowed it in one huge gulp, and collapsed against the bed. That had been much more tiring than he'd anticipated. He breathed in carefully, trying not to start another coughing fit, and tipped his head back against the raised mattress. So tired.
Wilson had been tiring earlier this morning when House had finally come out of the near coma the anesthesia had put him in (he reminded himself to find out who she was and sic her on all of his annoying patients in the future: they'd sleep for days under her), bugging him about labs and listening to his chest and getting him to breathe and cough and checking the incision and checking his knee and making sure he knew what the capital of New York was. House had been tired and dizzy when Wilson had finally released him from his clutches.
He dozed after that. Then breakfast had been tiring. He was back on liquids until lunch, but liquids and Good Morning America had been enough to put him down again. Then Cuddy had insisted on making a bad situation worse by showing up and saying stupid things. Now he was tired again. What a wuss.
Fever, he considered. He was still running a fever. And drugs. Painkillers. All of Cuddy's threats meant nothing when he had Demerol humming in his veins. They could be a little more liberal with it, though. His upper body hurt when he moved and his knee ached, but his leg was actually behaving itself very well on the whole and he had a feeling that if he weren't coughing all the time, his head wouldn't hurt either. He could live a long and happy life if he never had another concussion. Maybe taunting that cop hadn't been the best thing to do. Maybe Cuddy was right about him going home too. Whatever strength he'd gained yesterday had been sapped last night. But a few days of food and rest…then he'd be back on his feet.
Whatever. His eyes were closing. Sleep was a great idea.
Cameron drifted down the hall, turning the things Wilson had said over in her head. When she'd said to House last week, about him not being able to love her…she hadn't crushed some latent hope or desire…had she? But he couldn't—didn't—love her, so why would it matter what she said to him?
And yet she couldn't shake the feeling that she was responsible for what had happened. Okay, not fully responsible, but even if she were a little responsible… She had to see him. She had to know. He could be as horrible to her as he wanted; she had to know.
Why else would he have gotten himself beaten up? If that was what happened in the first place, and she wasn't sure it was. House had a smart mouth; he could easily have picked a fight. She didn't believe Chase and Foreman's "rules" for bar fights. She had witnessed a bar fight before: she didn't think the aggressors were too careful about who they picked to beat up.
But still. What if he had gotten into a fight on purpose? He wouldn't do that over her, would he?
Cameron frowned a little. He probably would do that over Stacy. Chase and Foreman were right about that: she did have House begging at her feet.
Her frown deepened. Maybe he did ask for it…
Well. That didn't really matter. What mattered was whether she'd had anything to do with what happened.
God. All those injuries and a respiratory infection? She shuddered at the hell this weekend must have been for him. If someone had only called her. If Foreman and Chase weren't both too insensitive to check the admissions records or notice Wilson was acting funny or something.
And if he did do this over Stacy… Her husband was going to be an in-patient for a while and Cameron didn't imagine she would just go home. She could hardly fathom that—leaving her sick husband by himself. Cameron hadn't left his side—her poor dear husband—when he went through chemo, no matter how bad it got. He needed her the most when it was bad. And it was often bad—very bad—especially the last few weeks before… He had been so brave, even when he was crying or cursing, he was still so brave. A few days before he died, he'd changed. He became tranquil. He knew. Of course he knew. She knew too. She never left him and she couldn't see how anyone else would ever leave a sick loved one. She knew they did—of course: she saw it regularly. Everyone dealt with the anxiety of a sick relative differently. But the spouses and parents who left…she would never really understand that. It wasn't human.
She didn't see Stacy as the type who left a sick loved one. She'd been there with House, after all, and if he was impossible to deal with when he was well, he must have been so much worse… Cameron didn't know how long Stacy had stayed after it had happened but she'd been there to make the decision that saved his life. He must have been even more horrible after he'd come to and found out what had happened. It was abundantly clear to those who knew him that he was still angry at her for it: he couldn't keep the anger out of his voice when he'd lectured those students two weeks ago. But after five years of dealing with him—and it was so clear that Stacy had loved him: Cameron could see that too—she couldn't have just left. And her husband, Mark—he seemed like a normal person. If Stacy didn't abandon House, there was no way she'd leave Mark right now. So she would be around as long as he was…and House would have to deal with that.
Cameron smiled wryly to herself. He already had to be high to deal with everyone else; if this was how he dealt with Stacy, he was in big trouble.
But if it hadn't all been over Stacy, if some of it had been over what she had said to him last week, Cameron knew she'd have to rethink working with him. She didn't want to hurt him and if she had to quit again to avoid that, she would. She wasn't Stacy: she wouldn't hang around him if she knew her presence was hurtful. It would be hard, leaving again, but she would do it if she had to. She wouldn't hurt him.
Her feet had carried her to House's floor. Well. Now was as good a time as any. She was never going to be any more ready than she already was.
Cameron approached an unfamiliar nurse. "I need to speak with Dr. House," she said, "is he…available?"
The nurse looked at her like she had two heads. "Dr. House isn't receiving visitors," she said stiffly.
"It's about a patient," Cameron said, "I work for him. I'm Dr. Cameron."
She extended her hand and the nurse shook it, but the nurse didn't look very convinced.
"He wanted to be updated on the status of one of his patients," Cameron continued, "according to Dr. Wilson."
"Oh, Dr. Wilson," the nurse said. "Well, if he knows about it, I suppose you can see Dr. House." She started toward House's room. "Let me see if he's awake," she said.
"Ah, I can check on him," Cameron said hastily. "I won't disturb him if he's asleep." She put on her most convincing smile.
"You're sure Dr. Wilson knows about this?" the nurse said.
"He stopped by our office to fill us in on Dr. House's condition earlier this morning," Cameron said.
"Okay," the nurse said, and with one final glance at Cameron, nodded.
Cameron nodded back, smiling winningly, and started toward House's room.
The blinds were closed but she could see the television from the door. A mid-morning talk show. She recognized Britney Spears. She sniffed to herself: House wasn't likely to be sleeping through that. But if he was, she really shouldn't wake him up. Wilson was a terrible liar; she could tell this morning that he was really worried about House and the fact that House was still an in-patient, well, he probably needed to rest. He didn't need her bringing up something that might be difficult. Especially if she'd had anything to do with what he did…
No.
He was fine. Cuddy, Wilson, someone would have called them this weekend if he weren't fine. And she had to know. And if it really was her fault, they could talk about it, get it out in the open, and he would feel better.
Yes.
Cameron took a deep breath. She could do this.
She tapped lightly on the glass door and slid it open. She half-turned to leave, an apology for having the wrong room on her lips, before she recognized him. Beneath the bruises, the stitches, the pallor…that was…
"Dr. House?" she said uncertainly.
She hadn't expected him to look so different, so out of place. Somehow she hadn't understood that he would look like any other patient, dressed in a gown, tucked into bed, equipment surrounding him, looking sick and helpless. Like any other patient. She kicked herself for not foreseeing the shock. A fight, two surgeries, an illness: of course it would show, and all of it did. It was written on his face and in his posture. He looked sick and injured. So normal, so not himself. Incredibly old and haggard but also incredibly young and vulnerable: incredibly not himself. The part of her not overcome by sympathy was horrified at the sight.
"Dr. Cameron," House said in his usual 'why the hell are you bothering me when I'm busy with television?' tone. "Do you have my lunch hidden behind your back or are you paying a social call?"
His tone was undercut by a cough that rumbled deep in his chest. Cameron fought back a look of horror. "Hi," she said, trying to smile.
"So that's a 'no' on lunch?" House said, coughing again.
"Dr. Wilson said you wanted to be updated on Mark Warner's status," Cameron said as evenly as she could.
House waited a beat before he spoke. "And?" he said. "Guy's not dying again, is he?"
"No, no, he's fine," Cameron said quickly.
House waited again. "Then what is it?" he said irritably.
"Nothing," Cameron said, rocking back and forth, heel to toe, toe to heel, a few times before she stopped herself. "I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing."
"I'm great," House said bitingly. "This is how I spend all of my vacations."
Cameron grinned self-effacingly. "Okay, stupid question," she said. An awkward pause ensued. Clearly House expected more than that. "You look good," she volunteered.
"Good to know," House said, "cause I feel awesome and I wouldn't want there to be a discrepancy between appearance and reality."
Cameron sighed and rolled her eyes.
House waited for her to say something. Nothing. He had a remark on the tip of his tongue when he suddenly coughed hard and had to hug his ribs. His right arm was getting really sore from being held in the same position all the time.
"Is there something you, ah, wanted?" House said between coughs, "because now isn't the best time to chat."
"Ah, no, ah, no," Cameron said, beginning to fidget openly, not sure if she should do something to help him or not. He stopped coughing before she could do anything and took a drink from a cup on the tray in front of him. Okay, so he didn't need help.
"I just wanted…to…check on you," she said, giving him her best 'I'm not really worried' smile, unaware that she was still fidgeting. "Dr. Wilson told us what happened…and Foreman and Chase weren't sure if…but I wanted to…just say hi I guess."
"Hi," House said with a sardonic grin. "Wasn't that nice? Now say what you really came here to say." He nodded carefully at the television. "My show is coming on in eight minutes."
Cameron stepped closer to him, consciously stopping her hands from wringing. "Why?" she said, brow furrowed with concentration, curiosity, and apprehension.
House turned his head slightly, the sardonic grin returning. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific than that," he said.
She was wringing her hands again without noticing. "Why did you…do this," she said slowly.
"Do what?" House asked.
"Get yourself beaten up," Cameron said bluntly.
"Oh, that," House said, oversold enlightenment filling his face. "I love pain. Pain's my new thing. I'm really into it."
Cameron's hands started wringing furiously. She looked crushed.
House caught her demeanor. "O-kay," he said. "Obviously you've never been in a bar fight." He coughed a little and took a breath. "It works like this: go to the right place at the right time and say the wrong thing or be the wrong color or the wrong orientation or the wrong anything and this is where you'll find yourself." He paused, looking her over. "Okay, maybe not you, but any guy."
Cameron looked as if she had more to say but didn't know how to say it. "Why…did you…" she began.
House waited for her to spit it out, nodding his head to encourage her.
"…go to the right place at the right time?" she finished in a half-stammer.
"It's my usual hangout," House said casually. "Normally we're just like Cheers but we had a real tough customer roll into town and—"
Suddenly Cameron snapped out of it, clearly displeased. "No," she interrupted, "I want a real answer."
"Why do you think?" House said immediately, turning the question around. That usually worked. They said what they thought and as long as he didn't overtly deny it, they went away thinking what they wanted to think and left him alone.
"Is it...because…because of what…I…"
"Oh," he said realizing what she meant. "You want to know if it was because of what you said to me last week."
"Yes," she said with a firm nod.
House regarded her for a moment. If he made any sudden movement, he was sure she'd topple over. "It wasn't," he answered.
Cameron's face betrayed confusion and concern now. "Then…why?" she asked hesitantly.
House shrugged. "Sometimes there is no why," he said. "Things just happen."
"And this is one of those times?" Cameron asked.
House donned a tight smile, part of his 'you're an idiot' look. "That's the implication," he said.
Cameron wasn't convinced. "So it just happened?" she said. "For no reason?"
"Things have a way of doing that from time to time," House said simply. "If you want to look for a reason—if it makes you feel better—you can probably find one. That doesn't mean it's right."
"Doesn't mean it's wrong either," Cameron countered.
House snorted, setting of a round of coughing by accident. "If you think I'm going to go through and negate every reason you can come up with…" he said, the last half of his sentence smothered by coughing.
Cameron still wasn't convinced. "So it wasn't…" she began.
"No," House said, taking another drink.
"You're sure," Cameron said.
House inclined his head again. "I'm usually pretty sure when I say something," he said. He finished off the water and rubbed his chin. "Look, I've got a busy schedule today. Cuddy's one hell of a cruise director." He paused, eyeing Cameron with his working eye. "If you really want to help me, go put in clinic hours under my name so I don't have to make them up later. Think of it as a gift: you get to be me for a few hours. Most people would pay and stand in line for that privilege."
Cameron sighed a little, a small smile on her face. "Okay," she said. "Is there anything I can get you or do for you?"
"Annoy the hell out of Cuddy," House said without hesitation.
Cameron smiled for real this time. "Other than that," she said.
"If I think of something, I'll let you know," House said, making a gesture that now was the time to leave.
Cameron hesitated. "You're sure you're okay?" she asked.
"As sure as I was the last time you asked me," House said, annoyance edging into his voice.
"Okay, I get it," Cameron said holding up her hands and backing away toward the door. "I was just trying to be nice."
"How's that working out?" House asked facetiously.
Cameron glared at him.
House glanced at the television. "My show is about to start," he said. "If I miss the beginning, I'll never catch up." He waved her off with his left hand. "Go save some lives or something."
"Okay," Cameron said, sliding the door open. "Let me know if you need anything."
"I will, I will," House said, eyes on the television now.
Cameron took the hint and closed the door behind her. So it wasn't…but he could've been lying. Despite his assertions to the contrary, he lied compulsively. But about something this big?
No.
No, he wouldn't lie about that. It really wasn't what she'd said. So…what was it? Was it really Stacy? Cameron felt her heart sink. She hoped it wasn't, that he really had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, because if Stacy was the reason, he was in trouble. She would be around for a while. God. How awful. And how awful he looked, his face so much thinner than usual, the wires and tubes entangling him, his wrist in a cast and his eye deeply bruised. And the wet, labored coughing. It was worse than Wilson had said.
She wasn't sure what to do with herself now. She couldn't do anything to help that Wilson wasn't already doing. House clearly didn't want her hanging around. Chase and Foreman had been right. But he hadn't been as nasty as Wilson had led her to believe he would be. Maybe she would stop by again later. She'd come up with something to cheer him up. Something he would want right now that he didn't already have. Yes. That would help.
And maybe she would talk to Stacy. Find out what had happened between the two of them.
And maybe not. Their relationship really wasn't any of her business. But she wouldn't feel right without doing something to help.
Then she had it. Of course. She'd do what he'd asked her to do, even if he wasn't serious when he'd said it. He'd appreciate it, whether he deigned to show that appreciation or not.
Cameron smiled a little, feeling better now, and started toward the clinic.