House's session down in PT was more extensive than he had counted on. He got not only another delightfully hot whirlpool treatment but also a massage of both legs. It felt so good that he kept getting distracted from worrying about Cuddy and trying to mentally follow her progress and guess where she was in his document at each moment and how she was reacting. He was feeling thoroughly pummeled and relaxed simultaneously when the physical therapist came back in just as House had been moved back to the gurney for his return to his room.
In his hands, the therapist was holding a lightweight Neoprene brace, not jointed but just a sleeve with Velcro to go around the thigh. House's attention zeroed in on it instantly. "No," he started.
The therapist cut him off. "I know you can't tolerate any kind of brace on the right because the thigh is just too sensitive for constant pressure. I wasn't thinking of the right. This would help support the left thigh for the moment in the bruised area. That's muscle damage, as opposed to missing muscle and nerve damage on the right. Different kind of sensitivity. I think it might help function."
House rolled his eyes. "What . . . function? So I can lie in . . . bed more gracefully?"
The therapist was glad for a few months of hands-on experience of House already. "You know and I know, House, that you aren't going to stay lying in bed. You're going to try to get up again pretty soon, at least to get up, if not try to walk. Only next time, you'll probably pick a time when nobody at all is around to see you. Which is stupid. You can't tell me you haven't considered doing that." House didn't reply, but there was a flicker in the annoyed eyes. "Thought so. You want to find out if there are systemic balance issues. This won't affect that assessment; it's purely a treatment for the local injury to the leg."
House looked away. "Won't do . . . anything if you hold it."
Concealing the smile, the physical therapist took the implied permission and walked around to the left side of the gurney, carefully fitting it around the badly bruised thigh. He in fact would have rather waited a few more days for this, but he knew House wasn't going to. The stubborn idiot was going to be trying soon to stand up again, with or without help and most likely without it. House needed an answer regarding his balance and would push himself until he had one. The therapist stepped back. "Okay, does that hurt you?"
"No," House replied. It felt good, actually, like an ace bandage around a twisted ankle.
The therapist walked around to lock the gurney wheels. "Okay, try to stand up. Don't try to walk, just stand up. Right after the whirlpool and massage, this should be as good as we're going to get right now." Two assistants moved up to join him within helping range.
House debated. Yes, damn it, he had been thinking of trying to get up again after a few whirlpool treatments, but he had been planning on trying it alone, with nobody around to see any potential failure. But the therapist looked perfectly willing to stand here and wait at the moment even if action was delayed, and Cuddy was up there in the room alone. He needed to get back there. House sighed.
Very slowly, he edged his legs over and sat up, almost cringing, waiting for a spasm. Both legs responded to the movement by ramping up complaints, but neither one locked up. The therapist was right; this was as good a chance as they were going to have, most likely better than later when the treatments were wearing off. He'd had a few doses of Flexeril by now, too. Once he moved past waiting for his legs to bite him, he was aware all over again of the general weakness. It was an effort just to sit up on the side of the gurney. Damned head injuries. Damned drunk drivers. They weren't going to make a permanent invalid out of him, either one. He refused to put that burden on Cuddy.
Tentatively, he slid down onto his feet. He almost slid further, his legs buckling without resistance, and hands closed in on either side, grabbing his elbows, holding him. "Careful," the therapist said. "Remember, you are actually too weak to be trying this yet, you stubborn idiot. Anybody else would have waited a few more days."
House stood there for a moment, getting his legs set under him, waiting until they felt a little less like they were about to fold up like a collapsing house of cards. Both hurt, but the right one he was familiar with, and the left one was helped by the Neoprene wrap. "Okay, let go," he ordered. They did so, backing off a token 6 inches, and he stood. He felt shockingly weak. He knew if he took a step, he would most likely fall over. But standing there on his own feet, he did not feel off balance. Weak, shaky, and in pain, yes, but not systemically off balance. The feedback from the ground to his feet was there. He nodded. "Okay." The hands closed in again, and he didn't resist the support as they practically lifted him back into bed. He closed his eyes and let himself be positioned.
"The weakness will keep improving, as will the legs," the therapist said. "We'll work on it a little bit every day. But don't try that yet on your own. Fall, and you'll do nothing but set yourself back. Now that you know the answer, show some common sense."
House grinned without opening his eyes. "How long have . . . you known me?"
Cuddy still had tears in her eyes when he returned, in spite of the longer than expected session in PT. He looked over at her in alarm as the gurney rolled up beside the bed. "Are . . . you okay?"
"I'm fine, Greg," she said shakily. She waited until they got him back in bed, got all the monitors and lines arranged, and redid the dressing on his left wrist, which was looking better. The stitches could come out soon.
As soon as they were alone in the room, she turned to him, but he was already speaking. "Sorry. I thought . . . "
She glared at him. "What the hell are you apologizing for?"
"I didn't mean to . . ." He trailed off. He hadn't meant to upset her. He'd thought she'd want to know the details of how she had helped him. He should have kept his nightmares and hells to himself.
She gingerly got out of bed and came around to the other side of his, lowering the rail and leaning over, wrapping him in a fierce hug, regardless of the pull from her own healing incisions. He was startled into stillness for a moment, and then his arms came out around hers. It was the most they had been able to touch each other in over a week. She was crying again, her tears soaking into the front of his hospital gown. "Lisa . . ."
Her head lowered. "Just shut up, Greg. You haven't done anything wrong, and if you apologize again, I'll slap you." She slid down slowly, her head resting against his chest, listening intently. The monitors were right next to the bed, but she didn't want electronic evidence; she wanted direct confirmation. Beneath her ear, she heard the steady thud of his heart. She closed her eyes and just listened to it for a few minutes.
House was totally baffled. "It's over . . . Lisa. . . I'm okay."
"I know," she replied and didn't move. Helplessly, unsure what to do, he simply held her and wished women came with an instruction manual. He was still floundering at times at interpreting emotional reactions.
Finally, she released him and straightened up a bit. The pain across her abdomen was getting better, but it didn't like changing positions much. Too bad. She looked at his blue eyes, totally confused blue eyes at the moment. "I'm just relieved, Greg. Happy. I just wanted to listen to your heart for a while."
He shook his head. "You're happy? It didn't scare . . . you?"
"Yes, it scared me. But for you. For what you were going through. I wish I had been there the whole time, to face it with you, and I'm glad we found each other eventually."
She wished she had been there the whole time? Through the beatings and the ice and the stairs?
Cuddy fought back a laugh at his expression. He was so cute when he was confused. "Don't you dare ever go to hell again without me, Gregory House. If you go to hell, I'm coming too for the whole show."
His confusion relaxed slightly into a grin. "Jensen asked if . . . you tackled my . . . father. You would have."
"Damn right. Wait a minute, you've told Jensen about all this already?" She had been going to suggest forwarding the document to the psychiatrist; she wasn't questioning the need, just the opportunity.
House immediately looked sheepish. "Oops."
Cuddy tilted her head, trying to work it out. "Jensen himself said a few days ago that he'd love to have a long session with you about hell but didn't think you were up to it yet. And I agreed. At no point prior to his leaving were you up to fighting through that with the words on top of the weakness. You still weren't strong enough. So if you just wrote it down this afternoon for me, when did you have a full session with Jensen?"
House looked away. "I refuse to answer that . . . question on the . . . grounds that it might in. . ." He stumbled slightly over the longer word and kicked on. "Incriminate me. And . . . him."
Cuddy's eyes flashed. "You can't plead the fifth with your wife, Greg. There's a different bill of rights in a marriage." She shook her head. "You haven't been strong enough. And if it wasn't written, how on earth did you two . . ." She trailed off herself. "Greg, I'm not asking exactly what you told him, although since you wrote it down for me, I think I know. I'm asking when he put you through that."
House shook his head. "He asked if . . . I wanted to. . . He was careful."
Cuddy was rewinding the last few days in her mind. "He left yesterday morning. You said you had a speech therapy session with Rachel after the mothers and I left you alone, and even though he was here when we got back, there wasn't enough time after that." In fact, it would have taken House the better part of a day to get through telling that narrative. She couldn't piece this together at all. "He was here when I got back from Abby Friday afternoon, but you were asleep." She read the lightning flash of expression in his eyes. "Friday afternoon. That's why you were so worn out then, so much more than you had been when we left. But that still wasn't enough time."
House didn't answer, and she released him and turned away to head back for her bed and her cell phone. "I'll call and ask him. He shouldn't have pushed you like that."
His hand came out and closed over her wrist. "He was careful," he insisted. "I needed a . . . session. He thought . . . I should get it out. . . He was right. It helped."
She turned back to face him. "How did you have a session? You didn't write it, and you couldn't have said all this."
He gave in to the inevitable. She wasn't going to rest until she'd excavated all of this. "Music."
She looked over at the piano mat in the chair by the window. "You played hell?"
He nodded. "He wouldn't let . . . me try to find . . . words. I played. . . He guessed. He wouldn't let . . . me go past yes or no."
Cuddy stared at him. "You played a piece of music, and he guessed what it meant? For all of that?"
"Yes. His . . . idea. It worked."
She was stunned anew at the imaginative brilliance of Jensen. "Wow. He is amazing."
House nodded. "We were careful . . . He didn't push."
"It still wore you out."
"It helped. To process. . . He helped."
She relaxed her concern slightly, although she still thought Jensen had been pushing it trying this so early in House's recovery. "I'm glad you found a way to go over it with him." She leaned over again, embracing him, ignoring the pain of changing position. He was alive. He was improving. It was going to eventually be all right.
A throat cleared behind them, and they broke apart to face the dietary worker pushing the dinner cart into the room. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but it's dinner time."
Cuddy nodded and slowly walked back around to her own bed as the worker set up the two trays. It was only after they were eating dinner that House remembered the further news. "Lisa?"
"What is it?"
"Down at . . . PT, I stood up for a . . . minute. Weak but not . . . balance." He smiled at her. "I think it's just the . . . legs right now. Not . . . brain damage."
She smiled back at him. "We're all going to be okay, Greg. We've been through hell already, even if I arrived late on the scene. It's all up from there."
