Chapter 29: Comfortably Numb
Allison Cameron can hear the music blaring from her apartment as soon as she gets out of her car. She is not surprised. She's here because her landlord called about a complaint, because Foreman cornered her as she returned from the site and because Greg didn't answer any calls or texts, otherwise she'd still be dealing with the crisis at the ER.
Her heart is racing, instinctively knowing this is bad.
Opening the door, she takes in the chaos before her. A nearly empty fifth of Jim Beam and white pills spilled out from an overturned prescription bottle sit atop her coffee table. A figure is lying in the floor between the couch and table; her horrible gut feeling confirmed.
"Greg!" She shakes the filthy man lying on his back before her in the floor of their small apartment. Music from Pink Floyd's The Wall still blaring in the background, ironically in the middle of the Comfortably Numb track.
His pulse is slow, but steady. 'I should probably try to get him to purge.' she thinks to herself as she rolls him to his side and grabs the cushions off the couch to help keep him propped that way. Just in case he pukes on his own, he won't drown in his own vomit.
"Goddammit!" She cries out in fear and frustration, "This is all my fault," grabs the remote and turns off the stereo to prevent the complaint from escalating to a call to the police. That's the last thing they need.
Her mind wants to shut down and cry, but the ER doctor has kicked in and so the scared and empathic little girl is told to 'back the fuck off,' so the ER doctor can work. She heads to the kitchen, grabs a deep pan and brings it back to the living room.
"Okay, Greg baby. Can you hear me? I need you to try to sit up, baby." She tugs at his arm, but to no avail. She's too tired and he's too heavy. She'll have to grab a sheet and use her engineering skills.
A moment later she is back with a sheet, twisting it loosy at its longest length she proceeds to weave it under his armpits and around his chest and now has leverage to hoist him to a seated position against the front of the couch. "Okay. That wasn't so bad." Now the really fun part.
Slap!
She strikes him across the face in an attempt to wake him. Then shakes him from the shoulders. His eyelids open a sliver, but the eyes are still rolled back. His pulse is still acceptable.
"Come on, Greg." She pets his sweaty hair. "Neither of us wants me to have to call 911. You'll lose your license again."
A moment later, she forces him to purge and is glad. He has not compensated for his loss of tolerance and what was still in his stomach would have made things far worse.
He looks up at her with glassy and unfocused eyes. He should feel something but just like the song says, he has become comfortably numb. She fades from focus and everything is dark again.
Nine Hours Earlier
Sliding open your desk drawer, you pull out the book, open the front cover and read the inscription.
Lisa and Lucas,
Here's to a new chapter…
Best,
Greg and Allison
Taking a deep breath you place it a manila folder and send a text off to Allison. "Meet you in her office in 5"
"K" She replies and you stand up and make your way to Cuddy's office.
You had heard through Wilson that Cuddy and Lucas had been fighting early in the week. He had even put off his moving into the new house. However, they've apparently now made up and he has started moving in again. Her demeanor today and her finally wearing the engagement ring to work would support this intel. She even ran you down this morning and sentenced you to the clinic as penance for still having no case.
Finally.
Never thought you'd think that now, did ya?
It's a good window of opportunity to give her the book. Allison agrees, wanting nothing more than to close this chapter and move on.
Her office is empty when you arrive. It's late, and no one attempts to prevent your entrance. You start to take a seat on the couch to wait for Allison and Cuddy, but the pressure in your bladder begs you to visit her restroom. Inside you close, but don't latch the door, toss the package on the back of the tank, unzip, and aim. Finishing, you shake, tuck and zip back up and even close the lid, which you think is a really nice touch.
Before you can get to the sink to wash your hands you hear the door to the office and Allison's voice bleeds through the crack in the bathroom doorway, filled with agitation.
"...to see how any of this is really any of your business."
"House is my friend, I think you and I are friends. I'm just concerned you're moving too quickly."
"We're basically living together anyway as it is. My apartment is more or less a big closet and half my stuff is still in storage. House doesn't want to move back to his place. Wilson's place isn't really an option for House now that Sam has moved in. Neither of us wants to move twice and neither of us wants to rent, so why not buy together?"
"Okay. And I'd agree with all of that logic if it were a normal guy."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean!" Alison's voice is dripping with venom.
You really should go out there and break this up, but you are riveted, so instead you remain still and listen.
"I mean he's House, Allison. You know exactly what I mean." There's a short pause, and you imagine ice daggers flying from Allison's eyes, but you can't see anything through the small crack. "I get the attraction. I even get loving him. I know you know that's not news, and believe me I've even tried to throw my better judgment to the wind on more than one occasion, but at the end of the day, don't you want a guy you can count on? Someone you don't have to worry about crashing and burning and dragging you down as he goes?"
Cuddy's words hit you like a ton of bricks embedded with razorblades. Knowing she probably thinks those things is one thing. Hearing the words come out of her mouth is quite another. You step back and sit on the toilet lid, staring into nothing as they continue to argue.
"Don't you dare make this about him. This is about you still being in love with him and you aren't sure if you love the man you're with as much."
"So now you're going to make it about me and drag Lucas into it? Very mature, Dr. Cameron. I see being with House is already starting to rub off."
"Fuck this."
"You had a great thing with Chase. He would have being a wonderful husband and a great father, but you let your impulses about House cloud your judgement. But don't think your lack of better judgment gives you the right to presume you know anything about my feelings for Lucas. I do love him and Rachel loves him. He's what we need."
Cuddy continues "I know you love House and I know why you want him. He's incredible, sexy and even charming when he's doing well, but how long do you really think that will last? Can House really be what any sane woman, who wants a husband and a father for their children, needs?"
Your eyes are burning, your heart is pounding, it feels like you've forgotten how to breath. She's fucking right. You are a fucking mess. Allison deserves so much better than you. You've already fucked everything up. It's clear you're not ready to live without the meds, but your stubbornness keeps you from getting back on track.
Any good and sane person would keep on the path. Things were good. Why are you dragging the person you love more than anything down with you? And kids. Yeah. Like they deserve a guy like you. Unstable as fuck.
"How fucking dare you!" An incredibly pissed Allison yells back. "You don't have any fucking idea what an amazing man Greg is. All you care to see is the wall he has so carefully built up around him. And you are happy to lay a few more layers of bricks on it while you're admiring it! Every single time he finds a sliver of happiness, a few days with no pain, you decide 'This can't be right. There can't be a happy House. It can't happen, so let's figure out a way to drag his ass back down so we can keep the status quo for the fucking hospital.'
"You twist his mind into believing the shit you're serving because for some fucking reason he trusts you! What a fucking joke. You talk about him dragging women down. Name one fucking woman he's dragged down?
"Stacy?
"Umm, let me see... Ah nope. He trusted her and she conspired with you behind his back to let you butcher him.
"You?
"Oh, sure he might have broken your heart in college, but it was fucking college. One night stands happen. But he puts his trust in you now and let's see what the scorecard says there. Hmm… going along with Stacy, despite knowing what Greg wanted, oh, and don't even fucking try to tell me you were saving his fucking life! I'm a fucking doctor, and I know better. You still had fucking time to let him have a choice and his plan, as crazy as it was, it was still his plan and he is House and that means he was probably right.
"Let's not stop there, shall we. How about letting Vogler bully him? Or the whole Tritter situation? Oh sure, in the end you came around, but you really enjoyed watching him suffer. How about his first case after he came back from being shot? When he was doubting he could still be himself while being sober and not in pain and while having actual empathy for a patient. He was doing everything you've ever said you've wanted him to do, but you let him believe he failed! And he went back down the hole.
"And don't think for one minute I don't regret following your orders on that one. I hate myself every time I think about it.
"Or how about when he was able to manage his pain with Methadone? Honestly, you just couldn't let him go? Let him have a shot at getting his life turned around?
"Your idea of loving him is controlling him and since you know at the end of the day you'll never really be able to do that, you just leave him hanging on. Leading him on just enough to keep him hopeful, but not enough that he'll move on.
"But he went and fucked that plan up for you. And it just burns you. So now you're trying to control me so you can control him. Well fuck that and fuck you! I not only want Greg, I need him. If he wants to get married, fine. If he doesn't, fine. If he wants to have kids, I think he'll be a great father, but if not, I am happy with the two of us. I can't remember the last time I was this fucking happy. So you can…"
A pager buzzes interrupting Allison's scathing arguments in your defense and a second later Cuddy's phone starts ringing. You see a shadow pass by the door crack and then hear someone leave the room. Most likely Allison.
She fucking loves you. She's happy with you. She'd marry you. She thinks you'll be a great father.
Her words spin around in your head. All the times you had needed help from Cuddy, all the trust you had in her suddenly feels like it's all been in your head and the reality is quite different. Hearing it all from Allison's perspective makes everything that Cuddy said hurt even more and you didn't think that was possible.
You can hear Cuddy talking on the phone, but her words don't register. You need her to leave so you can get the fuck out of here. You've not wanted to run this badly since you were a boy dealing with a father who thought controlling you would help make a man of you. It's like being a trapped animal. Your eyes burn, cheeks are wet, you hadn't even realized you were crying until now.
The door pushing open brings your mind out of itself. Looking up you see Cuddy raising her head as she wipes her cheek and then her eyes meet yours. Her mouth forms an 'H' but can't even speak, however, her look speaks volumes. Shock, guilt, embarrassment, sadness, hurt. You imagine your eyes are like windows now as well. Neither of you are prepared or able to put your guard up.
After what seems like an eternity you stand and take the package from the back of the tank. "We were meeting here to give you this. I just needed to take a piss."
Taking the package she opens it, still in shock, the act is mostly reflexive. "My great-grandfather?" She reads the inscription and looks back up to you. "You are giving this to us?"
"We wanted to give it to you when we told you. Then we were hoping to just… I don't even know."
"House, what I said… I… I didn't…"
"Don't. Just… Don't." You look down and shake your head, then swallow hard. "This thing with us was never going to work."
Looking back up, she can only nod back, tears starting to stream down her face again. You take a step forward and she moves to the side to let you pass. As you do, her hand reaches out to rest on your arm. You look down at it, then back to her. It's her way of apologising. All you can do is look forward again, and as you do her hand drops and you walk away without looking back and exit her office to find Allison.
The hustle and bustle of the hospital is washed out to the background, you reach the ER on instinct alone, somewhere in the back of your mind you register the questioning looks from a few people who look up at you as they pass but none dare ask. Her office is your first stop. Finding it empty, you head to the nurse's station. Looking past it as you approach, you find the ER is a swarm of activity. After a moment's pause, staring into the ER, a familiar voice calls out to you.
"House…" The word worms it's way into your brain, but no reaction follows. "Greg?" You look over then. Rebecca looks concerned. "Hey, are you okay?"
You shake your head and force your brain back to the moment. Pull it together, man! "Allison?"
"She's on an ambulance heading to Trenton. A huge construction crane collapsed into a building. It's a major trauma scene. We've called every available doctor not currently on duty here to work here or to work the location. She'll be heading up the triage unit there." She's still looking you over with a keen eye. "What happened? Did you guys fight? You both look wrecked."
"I need the address." Is all the answer you'll give her. There's no time now. She'll just have to deal with not knowing for a while.
You're able to weave your bike past the roadblocks and police crews and farther into the disaster area. It's dark, but the rescuers have portable lights illuminating the area. Rubble is everywhere, the large crane lies on its side, people wander around in a daze, bodies lie on the ground, EMTs, doctors and emergency rescuers attend the injured and rate them for triage.
Jack hammers rattle loudly in the background, sirens blare as ambulances and fire trucks come and go, news helicopters fly overhead, people yell orders. Among the voices, you hear Allison bark out "Rodgers, you take charge of area three, Foreman you assist area two. Daniels, you're with me in area one." You follow the sound until you see her standing behind an ambulance dressed in blue coveralls. She looks up and sees you as you approach.
"House. I'm going to need you here with me in area one." It's all business right now. In fact you are rather impressed. The Cameron you hired couldn't flip the switch like that. She'd get through it, but the person before you is in full control of the situation. She has grown into a leader working in the ER. "Expectants stay where they are. Immediates stay put, but are logged by a site worker to get the next available ambulance out. Delayed go to area five and minor area six." She points to the direction of each station as she explains the triage setup. Nodding in understanding you grab a set of gloves and a light from the equipment area and get to work. Your personal life is just going to have to be put on hold.
You walk to the end of a line of people in various positions, some lying, others sitting a few standing and start working through them yelling instructions off to a site worker as you go and leaving them to direct the injured to their final destination. As you work on a girl with head trauma, you hear the voice of Cuddy. "Dr. Cameron, Jacobs got me up to speed and directed me here. Where do you need me?"
Cameron directs her and she starts attending. If you hadn't been in the office, you'd have no idea that they had been in a shouting match less than thirty minutes ago. They both look rough, but this late in the day with this kind of crisis, no one would think it is anything more than being tired.
You shift your focus back "Can you hear me?" you ask the girl.
"Hmm?"
As you continue your examination and test the girl in front of you for a concussion. you listen in on Cuddy's conversation with her patient. "Sir, we have to get you to the OR You have a bad wound, but we're gonna pack it and transport you as fast as we can."
Finishing up, you instruct the worker taking notes, "Skull fracture. Glasgow coma score of eleven. She's immediate," and start to wander over toward Cuddy. She's out of practice or just not observant. You know the man won't make it, but it's not entirely because of his injuries. Looking at his toes gives you the evidence. Atherosclerotic emboli. He'll never survive surgery. You only make it a step before Cameron pulls Cuddy to the side and speaks to her softly. Cuddy protests for a moment before agreeing with whatever Cameron said. Moving to her assistant worker you hear her tell him "He's expectant. Leave him."
Damn, Cameron has gotten really good.
"House!" You look over to Cameron as she calls your name. "Got a call. Can you help Foreman in area two?" With a nod, you head over to the area closest to the center of the crane collapse.
As you approach, Foreman and a number of EMTs are in the final stages of extracting the crane operator from the cab. "I only nodded off for a second. I lost control of the load. I'm so sorry."
Foreman tries to calm the man "Don't worry. We're gonna get you outta here."
"I'm sorry." he continues to mutter.
An EMT puts a strap around the man's head to secure the neck brace and Foreman finishes making sure he is secured. "He's secure."
"Ready? Three, two, one." The EMTs lift the driver out of the cab and load him onto a stretcher.
Foreman looks to you as you step in next to him. "Crane operator. Made it through amazingly well. Lucid and responsive. Stable fracture, right humerus. Haven't gotten to his lower half yet."
You start examining his lower body "Tell me when something hurts," as Foreman splints his arm.
"I fell asleep, killed all those people."
"Something other than your conscience." You feel something in his pocket. "Is that a pill in your pocket, or are you just happy to have a tiny pill-shaped penis?" you quip as you pull out the packet of pills. "Caffeine pills. You fell asleep taking these?"
That's bizarre and it causes your brain to actually kick in. There is more to this guy than just a tired, overworked man who fell asleep on the job.
"I drank two cups of coffee too." It gets more interesting.
"Is that normal for you?" You ask, now fulling engrossed in the puzzle.
"No, I hate coffee. I'm working on no sleep. My daughter has the flu."
Looking to Foreman "This much caffeine for a coffee virgin. There's no way he fell asleep. He passed out. Which means a neurological disorder caused the crash, not fatigue."
You yell over to Cameron "Hey. We're taking the crane operator back to Princeton."
Cuddy cuts in "They said he was barely hurt—he can wait."
You instruct Foreman, despite Cuddy's instructions, perhaps just to spite them. "Steal an ambulance. And call the team. Tell 'em we got a case."
"House. No!" She continues.
At that moment Cameron pipes in. "Cut the shit you two. This is my scene. Foreman, take the Crane operator back. House, you stay. I need everyone we can spare here. There were over 100 people in that building. Only 76 have been accounted for. Foreman and your team can handle the crane operator for now."
You have your suspicions that she doesn't want to be left here alone with Cuddy. You can't blame her. So despite your brain's urge to bury itself in a new puzzle and get some relief from the emotional turmoil of this shit day, you stay because you love her and she needs you.
Behind the women you see the man Cuddy was working on earlier being covered fully by a sheet. You and Cameron were right. He was never going to make it.
You're still having trouble keeping the events from earlier in the evening off your mind, with your puzzle back at the hospital and you left with triage duty. You need to talk this one out. That's not going to happen anytime soon with Allison. Maybe Wilson. He's probably home by now.
You pull your phone out and hit the shortcut to dial his number.
"Having fun down there?" he asks from what sounds like the ER. Guess he got stuck on double duty as well.
"Loads. Every time Cameron bends over I get a great little view of her ass." Moving through a part of the building that is still standing, you find a vending machine. You manage to read, through the dirt, the words 'Cold Drinks' and see some snack bars inside as well. They look fucking amazing to you right about now. Afterall, looks like you're not getting dinner tonight. Transferring your cane to the hand that also holds the phone, you dig in your pocket for coins.
"So something happened on the way to give Cuddy her gift today. I went in her bathroom to take a piss and…" Suddenly releasing that the machine isn't going to dispense with no power, you opt to break the glass with your cane as you talk, which startles Wilson.
"What was that? You okay?"
Reaching into the machine to take a snack bar, you joke "Yeah. Vending machine collapsed." Looking around what appears to have once been a lounge, you find a chair covered in dirt and take a seat and prop your cane next to you.
"Anyway, while I was in there, Allison and Cuddy come in together and they don't sound friendly. So I decided to stay put and…"
Clang
What was that? You definitely heard something clanging. "I gotta go." You hang up without further preamble and rub your leg a few times as you listen. Hearing another clang you get up and follow the sound. Pausing in front of a pile of concrete you wait again, listening intently. A third clank rings out, even closer this time. Turning toward one of the rescue workers you call out "Hey! There's somebody down here!"
A small group of rescuers, Cameron and yourself huddle around a piece of sensory rescue equipment looking for any sign that the noises you heard came from a person buried on some level beneath the rubble. The clanging noise stopped and everything is quiet. Rescue dogs maneuver about the area as well, but so far nothing.
After a while, the fire and rescue captain speaks up. "I'm not getting anything."
"I heard something—there's gotta be a void down there," you answer.
"There's a million voids down there. It was the parking garage. But equipment hasn't picked up any movement. Dogs haven't picked up any scent."
You know what you heard and you trust the feeling in your gut, because that feeling is rarely wrong. There is someone down there. Alive, trapped and terrified. Why can't these people do their damn jobs?!
"There's smashed cars down there. The gasoline throw off their scent?" You prod, willing them to continue the search.
The captain, however, has already decided. "Look, we gotta get back to work, okay? We'll get to this area soon. Excuse me." And with that, a whistle shrills twice and the group of workers break up and the other work in the area resumes.
"I know what I heard," you say to Cameron, who has stayed behind with you.
She looks up to you and puts a hand on your arm. That look. What is that look?
"I know it's fucked up. But you of all people understand, we won't be able to save everyone. Even if you're right, and you probably are, we can't let twenty other people die to save one."
When the hell did she become so logical? So calm in the face of a tragic death? Cameron of all people should be first in line to climb under the building and save the one that can't be saved. The realization leaves you with even more mixed emotions to pile on top of the emotional hurricane of the day. Your left brain is proud of her. Your right brain mourns the loss of the girl you hired, the one you secretly respected, but doubted would survive the job long.
With that, she leaves you and returns to her focus to triage, knowing you need some time to process and knowing you're going to do what you need to do.
With the flashlight you'd managed to procure from the rescuers earlier, you continue to look around the area. A pipe sticks up from out of the ground. Approaching it, you bang it with your cane and it sounds exactly like the clanging your heard earlier. Following the pipe with your light, you find a space big enough to crawl into. Well, if those mother fuckers can't do their job, guess a cripple with have to do in a pinch.
Crawling into the hole, you shine the light around a small void in the rubble and call out "Anybody hear me? Hey! Anybody hear me?" You hear nothing but some falling debris and the workers outside. This is fucked up and no place for a cripple to be crawling around. Hell this is no place for anyone, able body or no, to be crawling around.
You should just turn around while you still know you'll have the room to back out. First rule of emergency training is to survey the scene, and not to put yourself in a place to cause there to have to be two rescues instead of one. But rules are for pussies anyway.
On you continue, into the narrow crawl space. Hoping you're not fucking yourself in the process, but the need to know is overwhelming now and you have to move forward.
After crawling a short distance, you come to a short incline and have room enough to swing your feet in front of you and then you slide down. At the bottom you come to a door, whose bottom half is completely covered in rubble. With your left leg, you kick it hard until it opens. Beyond it is a large void with enough room to squat. You start to edge forward, adrenaline masks the pain you should be feeling in your thigh, in this position. Using your cane, almost like a blind man, you poke it forward through the darkness and dust.
"Ah! Auhh," you call out, freaked for a moment, as a hand grabs your cane unexpectedly in the darkness. Your heart races and you breath hard as you point the light towards the end of your cane.
It's a woman. African American, lying on her back covered in dirt, cuts on her face, her work suit grey with pulverized cement dust, her right leg completely pinned under a fallen beam of concrete. Her teeth are chattering and her eyes wince at the light as she mutters "Help me."
You scoot up to sit beside her and start checking her vitals. "What's your name?"
She coughs and tells you "Please...my husband's gift. I was supposed to pick it up at the framers. It's on Elm."
It's always amazing what people think when in shock. "Well, you should have told me earlier. I could have picked it up on the way. What's your name?" you ask again.
"It's a picture from our Tortola trip. For his birthday."
Maybe you should be more clear. Continuing to check her body, you explain "I'm not asking your name because I wanna become friends. I'm trying to gauge your mental state."
"Hanna," she finally answers.
"Okay, that's a start. What day of the week is it?"
"Tuesday."
"Better still." Good. Looks like her injuries, save her leg, are minor.
"What happened?" she asks as you look around. This area doesn't look like the most secure, but it at least seems to be holding for now.
"You know that giant construction crane next door? It's kind of on top of you right now. Okay, I'm gonna try to pull you out." Doubting it will work but obligated to at least try, you position yourself above her head, place the flashlight in your mouth and pull her by the armpits.
"Ow! My leg! Oh! Oh! Oh!" she cries out, in obvious pain.
"Okay, okay," you mutter as much to yourself as to her as you think of something, any solution to get her out of this. Shining the light around again, with a sigh, it is apparent you need reinforcements. Heavy equipment and manpower is the only thing going to save her now.
Letting out an audible exhale you tell her "I'm gonna need to get help."
Immediately she grabs at you, terrified. "No, stay! Someone else will come," she pleads.
It tears at you, but you give no outward sign of it. It will do her no good if you come off as panicked and you don't do flowery lies and smiles. Best to be detached and curt for both your sakes. "No one knows I'm down here."
"Please!" she cries out hoarsely. "Stay with me. Don't leave me in the dark."
"I'll be right back." It takes your left brain's full control, but you manage to crawl back out the way you came to get help. Knowing full well this is the only way. Willing back any emotion, you dig deep for your best jerk demeanor.
Behind you, you ignore her screams. "No! Don't leave me in the dark! Please stay!"
Once back to the surface you make your way back to area one. "Cameron!" you call out. She looks up. "I found the person making the noise. She's trapped, call the rescue crew again and tell 'em to do their damn job this time!"
She's on the horn in seconds and minutes later you've relayed the necessary information to the captain and his crew and they descend into the hole to save Hanna.
Fucking idiots.
Cameron gives you a proud look and you give a small smile back to her. Wishing you both could just get the fuck out of here. But that is wishful thinking. She is back to her work a few seconds later and you can't find it in yourself to deal with anymore fucking triage. So you decide to focus your mind on something it can handle right now—the crane operator's diagnosis. Pulling out your phone, you call Foreman.
"He's still in the ER House. We haven't had time to start a differential."
You pop a squat on some rubble as rescue workers continue to swarm around the site. Yelling slightly to overcome the noise you answer "Perfect! Let's start right now. Put me on speaker. What causes syncope?"
Taub cuts in, annoyance in his voice. "Your guy's stable. The two dozen other patients—"
Interjecting, you shut him down. "Who don't need to be diagnosed. They just need to be bandaged. What causes syncope?" You need to solve this puzzle as much as the crane operator needs you to, who you are sure is working on borrowed time as it is. You start to rub your aching thigh as they finally start the differential.
Chase is first with "Vasovagal reaction…" then Foreman with "Meningioma, sick sinus syndrome" and finally Taub with "Or you're wrong, and he just fell asleep." Fucking little prick.
"How's he gonna sleep with 50 cups of coffee going through his veins?"
Taub counters with "Were you never a medical resident?"
You're missing a lacky. "I hear ten, eleven, and twelve. Where's Thirteen?"
"She's not here. And the answer to your next question is no. I don't know where she is." Foreman answers.
Funny how he thinks he can read your mind. "Do you have the answer to my question after that? Space-occupying lesion in his brain is most likely. MRI will prove I'm right."
Fucking Taub, still being difficult. "Or it'll just prove he suffered head trauma from the crash."
"Which we'd wanna find anyway. Two birds with one scan. Do it." You order and and hang up, done debating the matter, as an EMT approaches you.
"Having trouble finding a vein for Hanna's IV." He informs you.
"She getting weaker? Paler?"
"No, no. She's stable."
"That means her blood loss in minimal. Buys us some time. Get the IV into her tibia. It's almost hollow, feeds into the venous system." Getting a blank stare in return, it occurs to you that procedure is likely above his paygrade. "Which, they obviously don't teach you in EMT school."
Standing you grab his kit and head back to the tunnel. Sometimes you just can't call in a boy to do a man's job. Hanging your cane on an exposed piece of rebar, you bend down, and push the kit in front of you as you descend down the tunnel once more. A minute later you are back with Hanna, who now is surrounded with flood lights and rescue workers. The fire and rescue captain is attempting to break up the beam on Hanna's leg with a drill.
"Told ya I'd be back." You tell her in a cheery voice as you unzip the kit and pull out what you need. "Heard you might be thirsty."
Captain McCreaney stops drilling and takes off his safety goggles and mutters "Ahhh…"
"I assume that bodes well for the rescue?" you say to him.
"Structural beam. High compression concrete. I can't break it up."
That statement freaks Hanna out. "You can't get me outta here?" She cries out.
Reassuring her, McCreaney smiles down "Naw. Just means we gotta move on to a different piece of equipment. I got airbags comin' in that'll lift 70 tons."
You prepare her left leg to insert the IV. It's going to hurt like a mother, but nothing you can do about that really.
"What's your name?" she asks. Great, she wants to make small talk.
"You testing my mental state?" you tease back. Hoping she just leaves you to your work. You don't do bonding.
"I'm gonna be stuck down here for a while. I'd like somebody to talk to."
If she only knew who she was asking for friendship, she'd run, well, you know what you mean, anyway. "Look, the guy who just left is the one who's gonna be holding your hand through all this. You talk to him." It's cold, but it is for the best.
You unwrap the needle and tell her "Little pinch." A lie, of course, which she finds out in short order.
"Aah! Oh! Ow!" She screams out in pain.
"Okay. Big pinch."
As she calms back down she asks you. "I gotta call my husband. Can I use your phone?"
Now there is a horrible idea. The last thing her vitals need is for her to get emotional. She needs to keep her heart rate down.
Then it happens.
Fucking empathy.
Your brain pictures Allison lying there. Scared. Wanting to speak to you. And you, probably at home, wondering where the fuck she is. Calling. Texting. No answer. Maybe you see the news and know in your gut she is there. Maybe dying. Maybe dead.
No. Keep it together. It is still a fucking bad idea. The site workers will have called him by now—now that they know she is here and who she is. He'll be waiting on the surface when they get her out.
Hanging the IV bag on another piece of rebar you decide you need to get the fuck out of here. This isn't something you are good at. Especially not tonight.
"Uh, no bars down here," you lie as you make a hasty retreat. "L'chaim."
"Where are you going?" She cries out again and it eats at you.
"Don't worry. Fire marshal Bill will be back soon."
Back on the surface, you pass Cuddy as you wander back to area one to find Allison. Cuddy is bandaging a woman's knee. She looks up to you, and looks away again, tired and guilty. Moving past her, you continue around a corner and find your girlfriend. She's helping to hoist a patient onto an ambulance. Once in, she slams the doors, turns and walks to a cooler where there are bottles of water. Taking one she opens it and chugs back half in one drink, wiping her mouth with her arm to catch the water that managed to spill down her chin.
She looks shattered and she should be. Her day started 14 plus hours ago and shows no signs of letting up for the foreseeable future. You stop when you reach her and pull her into you. "Take five. It'll be the best thing for everyone involved."
"If I sit now, I may never get back up." She wraps her arms around you and buries her head in your chest. Neither of you gives a shit who sees.
You wonder if Cuddy told her about your being in the restroom. Is now even a time to bring this up? Probably not, but you'll be damned if she hears it from Cuddy.
"I need to tell you something."
She looks up at you with tired eyes and waits.
"I heard everything—from earlier. I went in Cuddy's bathroom to take a piss. I was in there when you came in. Then when you guys started fighting I just froze. I should have…"
"Shh." She soothes you. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. She just… the way she talks about you… I just saw red."
Hugging her tighter, you place a kiss on her head. Then it happens again. Images of her being trapped. You push them away. You can't do what has to be done if you see her in your patient.
"Cuddy walked in on me after you left. I could barely look at her. I felt like a fool. Everything you said was…" you are interrupted by the captain.
"'Scuse me. We're going to need a doctor down there. Things aren't going to be so simple as we first thought."
Looking up at you, she sees right through you. You don't want to go back down there. But she also knows that what you want isn't really an option. "We'll be down in a minute," she answers and he walks back towards the tunnel entrance.
"You look like you could use a consult."
Answering her with only a nod, she takes your hand as you turn to follow the captain.
Back underground you sit on Hanna's right and Allison on her left as Captain McCreaney explains the problem. "The way things fell, this support beam is now holding up a giant pile of rubble. We can't lift it without jeopardizing everyone down here. So it's time to discuss amputation."
Hanna cries out. "No."
Your head is really spinning now. Like hell they are cutting off her leg. There's still fucking time. Somewhere in the corner of your mind you know that Allison is taking her hand and speaking to her gently. "Hanna. I know this is upsetting and it's a shock, but there may be no other way…"
You interrupt and send a chilly look to Allison. How could she even agree?! "We are not cutting off her leg." Looking down at Hanna you assure her. "You don't have to rush through this to make his job easier." You motion back to the captain.
"You kidding me?" McCraney asks incredulously.
"Greg." You look over at her, and tilt your head at the use of your first name in this kind of work situation. Is she trying to manipulate you? After that speech even? This is a woman's fucking leg we are talking about. She isn't a fucking caged animal. No need for her to gnaw off her leg just yet!
"House," she corrects herself, seeing her mistake from the look you just sent. "If we leave her leg pinned for very much longer, we risk crush syndrome."
Hanna pipes in, not wanting to be left out of the discussion about saving her own limb. "What's that?"
"If the circulation to your leg is cut off for long enough, the muscles in your leg die."
"So what does that mean, like a limp?" Hanna interjects, trying to understand and not to lose her already waning composure.
"As the muscles die, they release toxins. When your leg is freed, those toxins can rush back into your body and that could stop your heart."
You can't even deal with this discussion. It is too close to home now. "So could cheeseburgers." Looking back to the Captain "Let's get your lazy friends to start moving that pile. She's got two more hours before crush syndrome could possibly set in."
Damn fucking straight. You'll be damned if she loses that leg a minute before it really is absolutely necessary.
"We're digging up there by hand. I can't guarantee I can get ten tons of debris pulled off in two hours."
"Well, you need to try. It's my leg."
McCreaney softens his voice and pleads with Hanna. "It's not just crush syndrome you gotta worry about, okay? There's gas leaks. There's fire. We can never rule out secondary collapses, no matter how much we shore this thing up."
You counter, "You think chopping off someone's limb inside a pile of dirty rocks is safe? Sepsis, fat embolism, a hemorrhage…"
"Those risks are nothing compared to the risk of this thing coming down again."
Tired of the argument, Cameron interrupts the debate. "Captain, it doesn't matter at this point. We can't cut the patient's leg off against her will. House is right, at least about the timing, she has a couple of hours before it becomes a medical necessity."
Sighing the Captain yields, not wanting to waste any more time. "Okay. We'll give it two hours," then moves from the area.
Cameron gives you a soft look, but you still haven't forgiven her completely, even though deep down you know she was just trying to do the right thing for Hanna. "I've got to get back up there." You nod and she is gone a moment later and you are left with Hanna.
"Thank you, Dr. House." She says with a sly smile as you check her IV, having overheard your name you'd refused to give her earlier.
"Just House is fine. You don't need to thank me. It just makes sense."
"Just promise me you won't let them cut off my leg." She begs.
You want more than anything to save her leg, but you also know that there is every chance it will still have to come off, and you won't lie to her in that way. So you cross your fingers so she can see and tell her what she wants to hear, hoping it helps put her at ease. "I promise. Does that make you feel better?"
"For some reason, it does," she smiles at your solution.
Great. Your team has decided to call you while you are down here. You should go up to answer it, but you also need to know about your puzzle and so you can't wait.
"Your phone is working down here." She calls you out on your lie from earlier.
"Switched carriers. Better rollover minutes." You quip back and hit the answer button. "Talk." You say into the phone.
Foreman starts "MRI was clean, but afterwards, he started bleeding out of his eyes and nose."
"So there was something wrong before the collapse." Just as you knew there would be.
Taub pipes in "Unless it's just conjunctive coagulopathy from the trauma."
That short little prick is getting on your last nerve tonight. "Yeah, yeah, yeah — you don't think he was sick before. We get it! You're wrong." You yell back.
Chase offers up "Brain infection?"
"Sorry I'm late." Finally, Thirteen is here. Maybe she can use her brain unlike the rest of the morons on your team.
"Where were you?"
"Physical therapy. I left my phone in my locker."
Chase speaks again, drawing the conversation back on topic. "The infection causes neurological symptoms, goes systemic, and DIC causes the bleed."
You might have to text him an image of your eyeroll "Good theory. Except for the part that there's no fever. Get an X-ray venogram. See if you can find a reason for your existence. Also look for venous sinus thrombosis."
"Would have seen it on the MRI." Foreman counters.
"Not if you were too busy not looking for it."
Thirteen finally offers something "We should X-ray for a facial fracture first. This could all be simple trauma." And no, she is not going to save you with her brain. She's just going to join in with the idiots.
"Just do what I tell you. Be back in ten minutes." You hang up then and Hanna looks up to you frightened.
"You're leaving?"
"There's a dozen people here who can save you. I'm apparently the only one who can save this other guy." And you put the clamp back on your emotions and head back up the tunnel. Got to get back the hospital and deal with the case and get away from this emotionally overwhelming situation. You've done all you can here. Making friends isn't going to save her life.
"W–wait! Don't go." She pleads again, but you tell yourself to just keep moving.
Once on the surface, it takes a moment to remember where the hell you parked your bike amidst all of this chaos. Passing Cuddy, another awkward look is exchanged.
Oh yeah, that's where you left it. You begin ambling your way back as your brain fights to regain control over the raw emotions that threaten to overwhelm you with increasing waves. Finally reaching your bike, you snap your cane in the clip and toss your aching leg over and sit. Just as you do, Cuddy runs up to you. What the fuck could she possibly want from you right now?
"Hanna's freaking out." she says, a little out of breath, having probably run to catch up with you to deliver the message. "She's having a panic attack. She can't breathe. She's gonna rip out all her IVs."
Someone else needs to handle this. Zipping up your jacket, you play it cold and calm "So calm her down."
"She wants you."
"I'm flattered. Give her oxygen." You say as you start your engine.
Speaking up over the roar, she pleads with you. "They won't let O2 down there. Fear of explosion. You have to go back. She needs you, House."
Fuck. Fucking fucking fuck! Cuddy is right. Hanna does need you. She needs to stay calm and apparently you were not able to prevent her bonding with you. Turning the engine off, you dismount and follow Cuddy back to the entrance. Somehow you have to get through this or she'll die for no good reason. Just a really fucking shitty, but preventable one.
You look around and Cameron is no where around the tunnel. She's most likely still dealing with triage. Cuddy makes her way to another patient and gives you a sympathetic look as you continue on to the tunnel.
Below ground again, you take a blood pressure cuff from a kit and sit down once more with Hanna. Just seeing you visibly calmed her immediately, but you need to try to wrap your mind around her vitals and not her emotions. You have too many of your own right now to start becoming inundated with hers.
"You have to keep your blood pressure down." You tell her as you adjust the cuff with a rip of the velcro.
"You only came back because I freaked out. Right?" she asks.
"Not at all. I just realized how... big and scary the world is and how cozy and safe this little place is." Removing your jacket, you reside to your fate. There is no escape.
"Thank you. I'm sorry I needed you." Dammit. Don't do that. Flashes of Allison run rampant in your mind again. Guilt even biles up from your gut as part of you realises you'd rather Allison lose her limb and just be taken the hell out of here and back to you. Then disgust at yourself builds for ever thinking of doing to Allison what Stacy did to you. It's her fucking leg. She has every right to exhaust every opportunity to keep it.
You imagine her husband again. How he must feel not really knowing. Wondering if the last time he talked to her might really have been the last time. Maybe it wouldn't be a terrible idea for her to talk to him. Maybe hearing his voice will help.
Reaching into your pocket you pull out your phone. Glancing down at the home screen as you unlock it, you see the image of Allison you added as your wallpaper and it steels your resolve.
You hand the phone to her. "Here. Call your husband."
Hanna is breathing hard as she dials her husband's phone number. You pump the cuff up and take her blood pressure as she begins to talk.
"Charlie? I'm here in... They called you? They're helping me. Are you coming?" She's crying and her teeth chatter as she talks. Dammit. It's just making her worse. Fucking empathy, why can't you just turn these damned emotions off? You know what you need to do you look up as she continues "I don't know how this could happen. It's your birthday. I'm so sorry."
"See?" You say to her, motioning for the phone. "This is why I lied about the phone. Your BP is spiking, so you're bleeding faster from your leg wound. I'm gonna have less time to save it. Hang up."
She looks at you, and concedes "Okay. Okay, they're telling me I have to go." She tells him, disconnects and hands your phone back with a whimper.
Admonishing yourself, your thoughts come out of your mouth "That was stupid of me," as you tuck your phone back into your jacket pocket. Ducking under a low beam, you settle back against a wall.
"It was nice," she defends.
"I don't see that as a contradiction." See, this is what people just don't understand. It's shouldn't be about mean or nice. Just results. It's putting the focus on all the wrong things. You are not the heartless bastard people make you out to be. You are just logical. Emotions, connecting with the patient, it clouds impartial judgement. No way to think clearly and not feel guilty for the hard decisions. It's just fucking miserable.
"He was already on his way. He was in Baltimore, and they all saw it on the news. How many people were hurt?" she asks. Trying to make small talk, but about the wrong thing.
"What did I tell you about not raising your blood pressure?" you warn.
Looking around you survey the space once more. It seems secure. Wooden blocks now sure up the beam. The place is a mess though. Crushed cars, rubble everywhere.
And your fucking leg. All this crawling around is taking it's toll and it cramps and screams at you for your abuse of the remaining muscle there. Rubbing does little to alleviate the pain, but somehow the act of it is comforting.
"Can I ask what's wrong with your leg?"
Great, now she wants to make it about you. "Crane fell on it. Small world."
She laughs at your sarcasm. "You could have just said no."
"I'll remember that for my next human contact." Which you hope is no time soon.
"Would you pray with me?"
Oh fuck. Now we're going there. Like let's believe in a guy, up in the sky, that thinks it's fine and dandy to put you in this mess, and ask him to save you from said mess he let you be in in the first place.
"No. I'm not in the habit of encouraging my patients' superstitions."
"How is that a habit? You plan on getting trapped under a building again?" She teases.
"I don't believe in God."
"I don't either. Please?"
She's scared and you don't want her BP to rise again, so you close your eyes and fold your hands over your chest and breath. If she wants to take is as a prayer than fine. Everybody lies.
You eyes open again after she breaks the moment of silence. "I always thought... If I did the right thing, if I treated people right, then good things would happen to me. You think that's how it works?"
"I didn't use to. Then recently I tried… It seemed to be working… Now I don't know." It's the truth. Today has you on edge. Your wall is up and all you let people here see is your hard exterior, but you know the wall is crumbling as surely as this building is around you. A few more knocks to it and you aren't sure what will happen.
You hear someone entering from the tunnel. Looking over, you see Captain McCreaney carrying in an air tank, some tubing and air bags. "Good news."
You move to the other side of Hanna as he sets up and positions the air bag under the beam next to Hanna's leg and gets ready to lift it. You grab a wooden wedge and place it on one side of her leg and under the beam. Relief is flooding over you now as you finally have what you need to save her and her leg. You were right to wait. Damn straight mother-fuckers.
"You think we can be friends when I get outta here?" she asks as you work.
"Yeah. We'll catch a ball game or... group sex show or something."
The captain hands you another wedge of wood and points to a location on the beam on the other side of her right limb. "Put the cribbing in there." You shove the wedge under the beam next to Hanna's leg, and give the wedge on the other side of her leg an extra push.
Turning to her, you give her the bad news. "Okay, now when the beam starts lifting, you're gonna feel pain. It's gonna be like your foot's gone to sleep times a billion. You'll notice that I'm waiting till now to tell you" she smiles slightly and nods.
"All right. We're ready." McCreaney announces and turns on the air compressor. "Lifting."
"I'm feeling the pain already." she cries out as you push the wedges in more with every centimeter the airbag lift affords you.
"That's good," you inform her. "That means the pressure's coming off. Much closer to getting out of here."
The beam groans, rocks and dirt begin to fall as the beam continues to lift. Not good. It's starting to look like the whole place may come down around you. The structure creaks and your heart races as Hanna screams.
Moving to above her head you and the captain try to get her free. "Come on. Pull her out," you call to him and you both pull. Hard.
The creaking of the building is getting louder, things are falling all around you as you pull for all you are worth. "Come on!" you shout.
"It's moving!" she yells.
"Pull!" the captain yells over the noise. Then another scream from Hanna as you are all covered in dirt and rubble.
For a moment everything is black and quiet.
Too black.
Too quiet.
As you come to, covered in dirt and debris you cough and call out. "Hanna… Hanna!"
"What the hell happened?" you call out to the captain who is coughing as well and dusting himself off. He looks around, the only light in the room now coming from his helmet. The ceiling is much lower now forcing you to have to crawl on your belly back toward them.
"I think the adjacent beam snapped during the lift." He calls for help on his radio. "Mayday, mayday, mayday! We had a secondary collapse. We're all right. How are you guys?"
"Rescue one, copy the mayday. Main tunnel is fine. Rescue's on the way." A voice answers.
A large piece of concrete has fallen on top of Hanna's midsection. Jesus. "Lift this up," he orders and you position yourself with him and call out " One, two, three—" lifting with a groan. You manage to lift it off of her, but her breathing is fast and shallow.
"Kit. Gimme the kit," you order.
"All right." He drags over a duffle bag to you.
"No breath sounds on the left side. Tension pneumothorax." you call to him, then tell her "Okay, Hanna. One of your lungs is collapsed. I'm gonna have to reinflate it, okay?"
Ripping a syringe packaging open with your teeth, you perform a needle thoracostomy to reinflate Hanna's lung. She coughs and inhales audibly. You listen. She is still wheezing but her breathing sounds better than before.
The captain then calls to you. "Hey. You better get back up top and make sure you didn't nick an artery." Looking down you see you are bleeding from a deep wound around where you neck and shoulders meet. Putting your hand up to the area, you pull it back and confirm the blood on your fingers.
Damn. He's right. You'll do her no good passed the fuck out.
Taking her hand for a moment, you tell her "I'm gonna have to go."
Behind you, as you crawl back out, you hear him tell her "It's okay. You're all right."
Once back at the surface, you come face to face with Cuddy, who's been called over to attend you. Damnit. Where's Allison? You can't deal with this shit right now. Limping forward, you find a place to sit and let her tend to your wound. She hands you a water and goes to work cleaning and stitching the gash.
"You're lucky this isn't worse," she tells you, as if you are a bad child who wrecked his bicycle on a poorly built ramp.
Finishing the water in a few drinks, you toss the bottle aside and rub your leg.
"You know who's even luckier? You and just about every other human being who wasn't down there." You cell rings mid sentence and you pull it out to answer. Happy for any chance to avoid talking to Cuddy.
"What did the venogram say?" You ask your team.
"Clean." Thirteen answers. "Now the guy's starting to spike a fever."
Taub adds "Subarachnoid bleed."
"Meningitis?" Foreman suggests.
Chase jumps in "He didn't say his neck was sore."
"That's 'cause everything's sore." you remind them "He just took a fifteen-story swan dive into concrete. Do an LP."
Taub speaks again "We also have to consider other infections."
Jesus that guy. "So you're suggesting we do an LP?"
"I guess I am." he concedes.
"Genius," you say and disconnect, suddenly missing the act of hanging up on your old phone. This iPhone button thing is not nearly as satisfying while angry.
You see the captain approach as Cuddy finishes up. "Hey, bad news. Because of the collapse, we can't try the airbag again until we get everything off the top. Be five, six hours at least."
This is just fucking great! This day just can't get any fucking better! Where the fuck is Allison?!
"Then we have to amputate." Cuddy pipes in.
Fuck that. "No."
"It's been four hours already." she reminds you, as if you don't fucking know the goddamn time. "It used to be a long shot. Now it's...crazy."
There is a solution. There is always a way. Just think. You know the answer.
"Crush syndrome is basically a buildup of potassium. If we remove potassium—" she cuts you off.
"We're already treating with sodium bicarbonate."
"But not with glucose and Insulin. We have glucose in the kit. There's gotta be a diabetic here somewhere." yeah that's it.
"You wanna dose the insulin here in a non-hospital setting? That is insane! It's not worth it." she yells at you. Back to her true form, as you adversary. Good. You fucking prefer it this way.
Rubbing your leg as the pain shoots through it, you yell up at her. "Really? 'Cause I think I'm the only one here who knows what a leg is worth. And fortunately, you're not the one in charge—he is." You point up to the fire captain. "And he knows that I'd testify against him if Hanna sues for cutting off a leg without exhausting every option." There. Take that shit, you fucking know-it-all, out-of-practice, leg-destroying bitch!
Looking to the captain, she asks "Give us a minute?" He moves away, leaving you with her.
"I know you're angry, but please don't put her life at risk just to get back at me."
Now that is fucking rich! "Really?" Standing up you tower over her. "Wow. So this is all about you now?"
"This is about what you overheard in my office. You're pissed at me, because I moved on—because your girlfriend thinks I'm out to get you, that I have some sort of fucked up love-control thing for you. But I don't. I don't love you. I don't want you. Just move on, House. Go play house with Cameron until you fuck that up too, and it all blows up in her face. I'm happy to just watch it crash and burn from the sidelines. I'm sick of making excuses for you. I'm sick of other people having to tiptoe around you and make their own lives worse while they try to keep you from collapsing. I'm done."
She walks away, and you yell after her, "Fantastic! Just stay away from my patient."
She whips around at that, and marches back toward you. "What are you clinging to, House? You're gonna risk her life just to save her leg? Really worked out well for you, didn't it? I'm going down there, and I'm gonna convince her to let me cut her leg off. If you have any decency left, you'll stay out of it."
Sitting back down you stare forward, her words digging deep once more. Your leg screams at you and you consider, what you have only thought in your darkest hours. Maybe you should have just let them take the damned thing. All it causes you now is pain, and you are fucking sick to death of pain.
"Hey," a soft and welcome voice calls out to you. The owner of said voice is seated beside you a moment later. "Cuddy told me what happened down there, and that she's going to talk to Hanna now and try to convince her to amputate."
You nod, still questioning your argument with Cuddy.
"Bargaining."
Her random comment pulls you out of your revery. "Wh—what?"
"You're at bargaining. With a little bit of anger hanging over."
Now you understand. She's using your own lesson on you now—the five stages of grief and death.
"We can force them to delay, but deep down you know the answer Greg. No amount of great thinking or bargaining is going to move that pile of rubble fast enough and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you have to go through this, but it's time, and somewhere in that head of yours, past all of the emotions that you are normally so careful to avoid, is the voice of a purely logical Dr. House. Listen to that voice, because if you had never crawled down into that hole, his is the voice that you would follow."
Looking over at her, you nod in affirmation and stand. You have to do this. Hanna trusts you, you can't just leave the mess you made with Cuddy. "Thank you," you say.
"I can go down there with you if you need me," she offers. But no. This is your mess to fix, not hers.
"You have plenty to do here. I'll be okay." And with that you put your jacket back on and make your way back underground.
Nearing the bottom of the tunnel you hear two female voices. As you get closer, you make out Hanna's "It doesn't hurt right now. I can wait."
As you enter the void, Hanna sees you, "Dr. House. Tell her." is her plea.
Cuddy looks at you as you crawl beside her, sure you are going to argue again, but instead you look at Hanna and speak softly "Hanna... We have to amputate your leg."
"No." she sobbs, teeth chattering, "You said... that there was time."
Your heart breaks for her. "There was. And it's run out."
"No." she cries again.
"You asked me how I'd hurt my leg. I had a blood clot, and the muscle was dying. And I had all these doctors telling me I should amputate, and I said no, and they did this... very risky operation. I almost died."
"But you saved your leg."
"I wish I hadn't."
For the first time, you admit, even to yourself, that you'd prefer no leg to the pain you are in. A part of you has always wished the betrayal had been complete and not the wretched middle ground that ruined your life. Robbed you of a life with Stacy, of making a family with her. Then left you without hope of ever having that kind of life with anyone for over a decade.
You've only just started to believe you can have those things again.
And if you do get them now, then what? You can only ever half enjoy them. You can't fuck the way you want to fuck; play with a wife and children the way most other men can. Even now that you are willing to have them, your cup will never really be full. It's no life for anyone with a choice.
"They cut out a chunk of muscle about the size of my fist, and they left me with this, mutilated, useless thing. I'm in pain... every day. It changed me. Made me a harder person, a worse person. I was alone for a very long time. You don't want to be like me. You've got a husband who loves you. You have friends. You can start a family. You have a life. And this... This is just a leg."
The two of you look at each other for a long time and your eyes plead with her to give you consent.
"Okay." Comes her answer finally.
Looking to Cuddy, you tell her "I got it," and you pick up the amputation kit.
"I need you to go back up. Tell the captain I need better lighting down here to do this."
A short while later, the crew has provided you with everything you need and have backed into the tunnel to give you and Hanna a little privacy for the hard part. Removing your jacket, and putting on gloves, you take a deep breath then give her more bad news.
"I can't put you out. It could depress your respiration too much. This should take away some of the pain." Picking up the pain killer, you push it into her IV.
"Will it be quick?" she asks.
"I'll use a scalpel to slice through the skin, muscle, and fat. That should go pretty fast. Then I'll switch over to the electric saw when I get to the bone. It's two bones... About as thick as a broomstick. Takes about as long to get through. I'm gonna cut as close to the concrete, as I can, save as much of your limb as possible. Then the orthopedic surgeons back at the hospital will clean you up; have you fitted for a prosthetic. You'll be running circles around me in no time."
She chuckles at this, still shivering.
"How bad will it hurt?"
"Like nothing you've ever felt before."
Hanna holds out her hand, which you take, she grasps both your hands with her other and nods to you as tears stream down her face. You admire how brave she is in this moment. Letting go of her hands, you take a scalpel, a gauze pad, and the electric saw and, duck under a low beam, to move down to where Hanna's leg is trapped. You rip open the gauze pad, wipe her leg with it, and take one last look at Hanna before you take the scalpel and cut deeply and quickly into her flesh.
She groans out loudly and you focus your mind away from the pain you know you are inflicting.
You've made it to the bone. Picking up the saw, you reposition yourself into a more stable position and test it. Once sure everything is good you quickly cut through the bone. It's fucking archaic and heart breaking to mutilate her in this way, but you do what has to be done.
Her screams ring out as you saw off her leg, as if in some sort of horror movie.
You call out to the rescuers standing by when she is clear and ready to be moved. You feel defeated as they move her, watching them load her onto a plastic stretcher and start to move her toward the waiting ambulance.
A helicopter whirs overhead and rains a spotlight down on the scene. The noise is deafening as you crawl out from the tunnel, stand and limp toward the emergency crew and Hanna, but not half as deafening as her screams had been breaking through the silence of the void. You slide your jacket back on as you walk.
As they load Hanna on the gurney, Cuddy motions to a young man, most likely Hanna's husband. He looks down at her and calls "Hanna," with a soft concerned voice.
"Baby. I'm so sorry," she smiles back. He takes her hand and affectionately tells her to "Shut up."
"You always loved my legs," she says to him.
"I don't care about your legs. Baby, I love you. I love you."
You are relieved for him. Knowing what it means to love someone so much it hurts. You look around for Allison. She's walking toward the crowd now and you exchange a knowing look.
Hanna's husband leans down to kiss her as the EMTs prepare to load her into the ambulance. "I love you." she tells him.
She is loaded quickly and you climb in after her, briefly looking back to Allison and nodding as she raise a hand to you, as if to say 'see you later' as you close the doors.
You're not even sure why you got on the ambulance. Hanna will be in good hands now. All you've basically done is strand your bike at the site. Fuck it. You're too tired to drive the damned thing right now anyway.
You plop down heavily on the bench by Hanna's feet. You've never been so drained. Hanna's husband, holds her hand and strokes her fingers looking at her with so much relief and love. You know how he feels. You're relieved. They have a long recovery ahead but they have each…
Your phone interrupts your thoughts. "What?"
Foreman's voice comes over the line "He's fallen into a coma. LP was clean, but…"
"What are his vitals?" you ask. Tired, but happy to be dealing with something you're good at again. A puzzle. A mostly faceless puzzle to be solved. No emotions involved.
"Excuse me, officer." you hear Taub's voice. Officer?
"What do you mean, officer? How long has there been a cop there?" you grill them.
Thirteen answers, "I don't know. Ten minutes. He was being questioned when he fell into the coma."
Wait… that's got to be it.
"Was anything else making him nervous or worried before his other symptoms?"
"He was claustrophobic right before the bleed and before the fever. We told him that he probably did fall asleep." Taub's voice informs you.
"Was his BP spiking?" you know the answer, but you have to ask.
"But that didn't cause his first symptom." Foreman contends.
"Yeah, it did. All the caffeine. We thought the problem was in his toilet — by that, of course, I mean his head. Which distracted us from the fact that it could have been just a clog in his sewer pipe, and by that, of course, I mean his spinal cord. And blah, blah, blah, blah. You get the idea."
"An arachnoid cyst on his lower spine. That's why we missed it. He's been sitting ten hours a day. Spiked his spinal fluid pressure." Thank you, Chase. Finally.
"Run a CT—"
The EMT barks out "BP's 72 over 42," and you hang up the phone to tend to Hanna.
Her husband calls out as she wheezes and starts to lose focus. "Hanna? Hanna?"
"Heart rate 148" the EMT calls out.
"I can't breathe. I can't breathe." Hanna chants as her respiratory continues to increase.
You grab a stethoscope to listen to her lungs. "Breath sounds bilaterally. It's not another pneumothorax." You examine her neck. "Neck vein's flat. There's no tamponade." you tell the EMT.
"Damn it, I waited too long." you mutter under your breath.
"Hanna, you've got a clot in your lung. I'm gonna fix this." you promise. Wishing for all you are worth you didn't just lie to her. Looking to the EMT you order "IV streptokinase."
As you work to get the blood thinners into her, her husband cries out to you "What's happening? What's going on?"
"Her body won't get any oxygen unless we can bust the clot. This is a blood thinner." you inform him, not really caring if he understands, but needing to tell him something as you push the drug into her IV.
"Is she gonna be alright?" his question more of a plea.
"It's gonna make her bleed more. We'll take care of that next."
"It's not busting the clot." you tell the EMT.
"Maybe it's her heart." he suggests and you listen with the stethoscope.
Oh no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no! The world fades out into the background as your mind draws the conclusion. A fat embolism. It's done. She's dead. After everything, she's going to fucking die. Her husband's voice pulls at you.
"What?"
Defeated you tell him, "It's not a clot. It's a fat embolism. From the amputation."
You lock eyes with Hanna. Hers are pleading; yours convey nothing but the helplessness you feel. You want to tell her you are sorry. But there are no words. You wish there was someone to blame, but you did everything right.
Her husband is talking. His words don't register because his words don't matter. Nothing does right now. This is her final moment and she gives it to you. The person she trusted to save her, but couldn't.
Looking down into her eyes you watch her life drain away, a little each second, until the light fades completely and you are left completely and utterly alone.
It barely registers when the doors to the ambulance swing open. One look at the passengers and the emergency room team goes silent. You're not really sure how, but her body is taken, and when you finally snap back to the world around you, you are sitting alone. Foreman is standing by the open doors of the ambulance.
"There's no way to prevent a fat embolism. Even if you'd done this in an OR, you couldn't have saved her." He tries to comfort you as if you are a first year resident and don't know that or something. Can't he just go away and leave you to wallow in your misery?
You need to get out of here. Go home. Get drunk. Sleep this one day off. Something. Anything really, to numb the overwhelming pain you feel all over. Inside. Outside. Every part of you hurts like nothing you've felt in so many many years.
Tossing the stethoscope aside, you climb out of the ambulance, limping heavily past Foreman. Where's your fucking cane, anyways? Fuck it. Just get the hell out of here.
"You can't blame yourself for her death. This wasn't your fault." With the platitudes again. Didn't he learn anything from you in all of these years?
"That's the point!" you scream at him, feeling completely unleashed. "I did everything right. She died anyway. Why the hell do you think that would make me feel any better?"
You can barely walk, stumbling forward you grab onto the counter of the empty nurses station.
He follows you. "You shouldn't be alone right now. You're bleeding."
You muster all the vehem you can one last time. "I'm gonna give you a task as an employee. Get out of my way."
He finally steps aside and lets you go out into the night.
Oh fuck. You have no ride. Allison is going to be stuck dealing with this all night. Fuck, you could use a drink, but the bars are damn near last call.
There is, of course, your stash. Addicts are like squires stashing nuts to get through the winter. You'd hidden a fifth of Jim Beam when Allison freaked out on Wilson. You didn't want to get in a fight with her, but sometimes, a man needs something more than a beer to deal with life.
If ever there was a time.
Getting to the street, you look around and find yourself lucky for the first time tonight. A cab. You raise an arm to hail it and it pulls up a few seconds later. Getting in, you rattle off the address to the apartment and head home.
As soon as you are through the doors, you toss off your filthy jacket and hobble over to the kitchen, dropping your keys on the counter as you go. You look beside the fridge and find the small two step ladder that Allison needs to get into the tall cabinets, pick it up, open the junk drawer, grab a screwdriver and head back into the living room.
Music. You need some fucking mood music.
You set the step stool against the wall for a moment, wonder over toward the stereo and glance down at a stack of CDs. One jumps out at you immediately. The fucking soundtrack to a life thoroughly fucked. Pink Floyd's The Wall.
"That'll do," you murmur to yourself as you toss both CDs it in the player so they'll play back to back and hit play.
Now. Back to the task at hand. You grab the stepping stool and open it, placing it under the air return, which is just out of your reach, on the wall above you. Precariously you step up, nearly falling over twice before steadying yourself enough to work.
Reaching up, you unscrew the vent cover, pull it off and toss it to the foor. Glancing in, you see your prize and something else.
Now. Maybe...
You take the fifth of whiskey and twist off the lid and take a big gulp as you decide what you should do. Having seen the yellow pill bottles, it is impossible to excise the thought from your mind. The guitar riff in the background pushes you on and you take out the pills and slowly step yourself back down with a ticket to escape from this wretched and overwhelming pain in each hand.
Sitting on the couch half way through Thin Ice you continue to fight your resolve, and take another drink, then slam the liquor bottle on the coffee table. Looking down you, you read your name on the prescription. A moment later you open the bottle and drop two white pills in your hand and stare at them for long enough for the sound of helicopters from The Happiest Days Of Our Lives to sound out from the speakers.
You flash back the the site. Getting into the ambulance. Hanna.
Fuck it.
You need to stop feeling for a while. There is just too much fucking feeling.
With that, you pop the two vicodin into your mouth and swallow. Reaching forward you grab the Jim Beam by the neck of the bottle and chase the pills with the burn of sweet Kentucky bourbon and wait for the numbness to come.
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Jesus! Who put the floor there?
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Cameron? Wha….?
