A/N: Here's another update. Hope you enjoy! Someone asked if this story is ending soon. It's on the wind down, yes, although there are a few chapters left. I deliberately hadn't given an idea on the story timing while they were trapped to help keep the suspense, as "story ending soon" at the top kind of defeats "will they get out without further complications?" down in the body of the action. My favorite chapters in this story are the one where a drugged Greg has to let Thomas help him with his leg and the final chapter.

Today is my birthday. I'd love a review.

(H/C)

The ambulance pulled up to the ER, and House was swiftly unloaded. The second ambulance pulled in right beside them, and Cuddy hesitated for just a few seconds, long enough to see Thomas move a foot slightly as the back doors opened, before she raced after her husband down the hall. Thomas was still alive, at least. But there was so much blood. She had to check on him, too, but she couldn't stand the thought of leaving her husband at the moment. Besides, House wasn't likely to be 100% cooperative, even sedated and injured. (But was Thomas?) She wished the others were here already, but lacking sirens, their arrival would take a little longer.

House was quickly wheeled into a room. The doctor was there almost immediately, closing in, one eye on the monitors and the other assessing his patient. He seemed steady and competent. Cuddy looked at the monitors again herself. His vitals weren't normal, but they weren't dangerous, either. Pulse was up some right now, and he was sweating. The rapid transport out of the ambulance and down the hall had jostled him. She squeezed his right hand, the one without the IV, and he looked over at her. "I'm. . ." he started.

"Shut up, Greg," she snapped, not even letting him finish the disclaimer.

The doctor pulled out a penlight and checked his pupils. "He had Ativan for a bad spasm while he was trapped," Cuddy informed him. This was going to complicate evaluating him for a head injury.

"They mentioned that in the summary report on the radio," the doctor replied. "How much was he given?"

Cuddy had no idea, since it was right after that that communication had dropped off. A lot more than his usual dose, obviously. She looked at her husband.

"He said four," House replied.

"Of what size pill?"

Cuddy at least knew that. "0.5. So 2 mg."

"If he can't do that math, we're in trouble," House commented.

The doctor didn't seem offended. In fact, he gave a friendly grin as if sharing the joke while he continued his assessment. "More to the point is whether you can do the math at the moment, Dr. House. What's 12 times 3?"

"36." It took him a few seconds to calculate. "Probably the same time we were in there in hours. Is it still Saturday?"

Cuddy sympathized; the day felt like eternity even to her, and he had been trapped all that time in the dark. "Yes." She looked at her watch. "It's 8:05."

He tried to sit up a little and pull his right hand away from hers to reach across his body. The pain knocked him back, and the pulse on the monitors took another jump. "Damn it, Greg, stay still."

His eyes were closed again. "Watch. Get the watch. Don't let them take it."

"You want me to keep your watch?" Confused and worried, she reached over and started to unbuckle it just to pacify him.

"Not that watch. In my left pocket." She pulled it out, and she couldn't help smiling even in this tense moment. The age of it was obvious, and the origin was easy enough to guess. "Is it still ticking?" House asked.

"Yes." She put it up to his ear, and he relaxed a little.

"You hang onto it."

She tucked it carefully into her purse. "I will, Greg. It's perfectly safe."

The doctor had finished his initial exam, enough to convince him that House, while clearly injured, was stable at the moment. "We're really going to have to get you cleaned up before we can get a full idea of injuries." He nodded to a nurse, and she left the room, returning a minute later with a basin.

They stripped his clothes off and bathed him. Their touch was professional, but House cringed at being laid out here naked with his leg on full view to strangers. He was grateful that Cuddy was there; the touch of her hand helped, but this still felt like a violation. Cuddy started her own inventory of cuts, scrapes, and bruises, and it was an extensive one. He would need stitches in a few places himself.

The doctor launched into a series of mental status exam questions, both gauging his answers and trying to distract him. House was getting the correct answers, to Cuddy's relief, but his processing time was definitely slowed. After several minutes of that, the doctor felt along the scar very gently, and House tensed up, leaning against the Ativan now, hoping to avoid another spasm.

"What pain meds have you had today?" the doctor asked.

"I took Vicodin and ibuprofen about noon with lunch. Took two more Vicodin later."

"When?"

House tried to shrug and hurt himself doing it. "The lights had already gone off. It had to be hours ago. Thornton was still unconscious; that was when I set his shoulder. It was after I finally got the bleeding stopped." He looked over at Cuddy. "He dislocated his left shoulder. They need to know that."

"We'll tell them, Greg." Hopefully Thomas could tell them himself.

"They need to know that," he insisted. Someone started putting him into a hospital gown, and Cuddy helped. They were careful, but it knocked the pain up a little even so.

The doctor looked at a nurse, who was just heading out of the room to empty the basin. "Would you please tell them that Mr. Thornton had a dislocated shoulder?"

"Of course." She left the room.

The doctor abandoned House's leg to make another tour, his third, of his patient's skull, fingers carefully probing through the thinning hair. He stopped at the slight swelling and felt around it. "Does that hurt?"

"No." At least, if it did, it was not even noticeable compared to the leg and ribs.

The doctor spoke to another nurse. "Get him booked for a CT of the head. Also a portable chest x-ray to look at those ribs." He glanced at pulse oximetry again. House's breath sounds were even, and his sat wasn't low. Probably no punctured lung, but the ribs were definitely broken. He could feel a slight irregularity himself even on physical exam, although he wasn't really applying pressure. House tensed up any time he came near the ribs or his leg. Ativan or not, the pain was intense. "Give me a number on pain right now."

"5 . . . 8," he amended under Cuddy's glare. "I don't want morphine," he insisted. "Hits me too much mentally. I don't want to be totally out of reach tonight." He was still looking at his wife.

"Greg, you need something."

"No," he replied, digging in.

The doctor looked from one to the other of them, then back at the monitors. "What about OxyContin, Dr. House?''

He considered, then slowly nodded. He wouldn't want to be doing a differential under the influence of it, but it wasn't as hazy mentally as the morphine. He was worried about Cuddy.

"Of course, there's a lot of room to step up on the anti-inflammatories." The doctor studied his leg again. "You're usually only on ibuprofen as an NSAID?"

"It helps," House snapped. "It's enough to tell a difference with it." Cuddy stayed silent. She had twice in the last month suggested carefully that they amend his med regimen and go up a few notches, not with the Vicodin but with the others. His reaction had been about what she expected, and she had been leaving him room since to think about it once the idea was planted.

"Well for now, at least, you need something much stronger. Any objections to that?" House sighed and shook his head carefully. "Normally, with this level of musculoskeletal insult on top of a chronic injury, I'd suggest a short course of steroids, too, but that might interfere with healing on the cuts."

"Wouldn't recommend steroids," House agreed. After a moment, he grudgingly admitted, "I use Flexeril on bad days."

"Okay. I'll write some med orders, and we'll try to get you a little more comfortable."

"And antibiotics."

"Definitely antibiotics. We'll keep you on IV antibiotics at first."

The nurse re-entered. "They know about Mr. Thornton's shoulder. He just went for a head CT."

"Is he doing okay?" Cuddy asked.

"Yes, ma'am. He's stable."

"He needs a transfusion," House repeated. "He lost all that blood."

At that moment, the portable x-ray machine was wheeled into the room. A rib series was taken quickly, and by the time those stat films were up for review, someone else had come in with the extra meds. House took them without protest; his eyes were on the x-rays.

"Three broken ribs," the doctor announced. "No pneumothorax." He looked from the films to House, wondering how the hell the man had managed to set a dislocated shoulder after his own injuries. He turned to Cuddy, who was wound up painfully tightly right now. "I don't think he has a significant head injury, but we'll check. He's going to be very sore. I want to admit him for observation, at least for tonight."

"Only for tonight," House insisted. "Got to get home to the girls."

"You'll stay as long as you need to," Cuddy countered. "We'll handle the girls somehow."

Another ER worker stepped in. "They'll be ready for the CT soon."

"All right. I'll see you afterward, Dr. House, and we'll do some stitching. And it is an honor to meet you, even though I hate doing it like this. I heard you at a conference about five years ago."

"Which conference?" House asked, curious.

"Atlantic City. You spoke on things which can be misdiagnosed as lupus."

House grinned. "It's never lupus."

Two more orderlies appeared, and the gurney was wheeled out, the journey much more careful now, less focused on speed. They were trying diligently not to jostle him. As they were rolling it down the hall, Cuddy spotted Jensen. He was standing in the door from the waiting room, looking worried. She darted over, still keeping an eye on her husband. "Could you do something for me?"

"Of course," he replied. He was looking after House himself. Patterson and Wilson got up and hurried to the door of the waiting room as they saw Cuddy. Kate's friend had gone to the surgery waiting room to be with Kate; the betting clerk had been taken straight to CT and then the OR on his arrival.

"He has three broken ribs," Cuddy filled in. "Lots of cuts and bruises; vitals are stable but not normal. He's going for a head CT now. Dr. Jensen, would you please check on Thomas?"

"Sure." Cuddy ran after the gurney.

It took Jensen a few minutes to find Thomas' room. Thornton was lying still on the gurney; he looked sleepy. He had been cleaned up by now, and his doctor was just starting to approach that long, gaping gash on his temple.

"How are you doing?" Jensen asked.

Thomas turned his head toward the door as he heard him, and the doctor sighed. "Hold still unless you want zigzag stitches." By tone, it apparently wasn't the first time Thomas had been told to keep still. Jensen quickly entered the room and stood at the foot of the gurney, easily visible on a straight line. There was a unit of blood hanging as well as the IV fluids.

"How is Greg?" Thomas asked.

"He's stable. He has three broken ribs. They just took him back for a head CT. How are you doing?" Jensen repeated.

"I just had a CT myself. Other than that, mostly bruises." Jensen looked to the doctor. "You can talk to him," Thomas said, giving permission.

"CT reading by the radiologist will be stat, but it isn't up yet. He's got at least a mild concussion, hopefully not more. Very banged up, several cuts, especially on his back. This cut on the temple is by far the worst of them. He was hypotensive when he arrived, and his hemoglobin is low; we're transfusing a few units, and he should hopefully feel a lot better after that. We have an order in for an x-ray of the shoulder, but he got the head CT first. His dislocated shoulder seems to be reduced. He might need a CT of that to check for more internal damage if it's still bothering him in a few weeks, but we don't like doing multiple scans at once unless we have to. Too much radiation and contrast. Overall, he seems to be in remarkably good shape for what he went through."

"Did they give Greg some more pain meds?" Thomas asked.

"Dr. Cuddy didn't say, but I'm sure they'll take care of that. She wouldn't let them miss it."

"And how is she doing?"

"Remarkably well, I'd say. This really shook her up, though." Jensen reached out to give Thomas a pat on the foot. "You were wonderful earlier dealing with his spasm."

Thomas shuddered, suddenly looking much less sleepy. "I was absolutely terrified."

"I can't imagine what that was like. But well done. You saved him."

"Finally," Thomas said.

"Hold still," the ER doctor admonished.

Jensen smiled at him. "I'm going to go try to find Dr. Cuddy and give her an update on you, but I'll be back. Okay? Hang in there." Thomas nodded, to the annoyance of the stitching doctor, and Jensen left the small ER room, looking for someone to ask where the CT was.