A/N: Sorry so long on getting this one up. Lots is going on. Here's a short chapter at least.
Several people have wondered where things go from here, long term. Onslaught is on the wrap-up, although several chapters left including a few surprises for you yet. At this point, there isn't another story developing in the series behind it. That's not because of lack of ideas - I have more ideas than I'll ever write anyway, have never figured out how to turn that switch off - but just that my muse hasn't grabbed onto any of them to run with it yet. As stated, she is entirely beyond control or suggestion. Also, there is another major project, a mystery novel, not fanfiction, that she is really working on full speed at the moment. That one is shaping up very nicely and might be worth trying to really publish (as in bookstores, not free web sites). I have actually published a few things for money before, some articles and one privately printed commissioned book, looking forward to many more in the future. Anyway, that one has most of my writing attention at the moment. It has a psychologist as the protagonist; if you like Jensen, you'd love that one, as they are based on the same real-life person. Think Jensen with action. If that one actually hits the market eventually, I'll let you know. I imagine there will be another installment in the Pranks universe at some point, and there is certainly enough room plotwise for one. My muse is just preoccupied with the mystery right now. I usually run several developing fictional WIPs at once, but she does tend to play favorites and have a main one with others simmering in the background. Right now, that novel, not fanfiction, is in the main position.
Anyway, Onslaught will certainly be finished out, although fitting in time to type the chapters up and get them proofed is getting more challenging. After that, probably a hiatus for a while. Probably eventually, there will be part 5 of Pranks.
Thanks for the reviews and enjoy 52.
(H/C)
"Dr. Cuddy?"
Cuddy shuddered and woke, gasping. Her eyes met the concerned gaze of the third shift nurse in ICU, and then she immediately looked to her left. House was deeply asleep, having had his sleeping pill as well as a larger-than-usual dose of Vicodin a few hours ago on the change to oral medication and having been exhausted anyway from writing and sharing his chronicle of hell, not to mention his efforts in PT. She had dropped his hand at some point while asleep, and she quickly picked it back up and reached to feel his pulse.
"Dr. Cuddy?" The nurse's voice was pitched soft but clearly concerned. Her hands were still on Cuddy's shoulder. "Are you okay? You were having a nightmare."
Cuddy cleared her throat. "I'm fine, thanks. Could I have a drink of water, please?"
"Of course." The nurse moved to the bedside table to pour a fresh cup and handed it to Cuddy. Cuddy took several gulps, trying to wash down the taste of the dream. "Is there anything else I could get you?" the nurse asked.
She shook her head. "No, I'm okay. Thank you for waking me up, though." The nurse smiled at her and turned to leave, and Cuddy stopped her. "Actually, could you check him over real quick?"
The nurse gave her a puzzled look, melting almost immediately into understanding. "Were you dreaming something else had happened to him?" Cuddy nodded after a moment. "He's fine. He's pretty sound asleep, but we've still got him on full monitors, you know." A moment, and then she walked around to the other bed. "But I'll check everything anyway."
Cuddy watched intently while the nurse took a complete set of manual vitals on House, double checked that the IV was running correctly, and even took distal pulses in both of his feet, being reassuringly thorough. "He's fine," the nurse repeated. "No fever now, circulation good, everything looking better. He's pretty far out of it, but he's got a good dose of Vicodin on board, since this is his first night off morphine. Dr. Dawson wanted to make sure he was comfortable and able to sleep after his PT session. And you know we restarted the zolpidem tonight along with his other routine meds he'd been on before the accident." She touched House lightly on the shoulder. "He's just resting, and that's the best thing for him right now. He's doing better every day."
Cuddy gave a deep sigh. "Thank you."
The nurse smiled at her. "Just push the button if you need anything. Are you comfortable yourself?" She knew Cuddy's pain meds were slowly being decreased.
"I'm fine now." Cuddy suddenly wanted her gone, although she appreciated being shaken out of the dream. The nurse seemed to sense it and left them alone.
Cuddy turned to House, studying his face. The lines of pain were relaxed in rest, but they were not completely absent, traces etched into his features through many years. He actually, prior to the accident, had been looking more healthy and relaxed than he had at any point since the infarction, but the devilishly carefree, graceful athlete from Michigan would never totally return. Of course, she had realized even more in the last year how much that persona had been a front, even in college. House had not truly been carefree since his very early childhood, if ever. Tears welled up in her eyes again as she thought of all he had endured, and she quickly forced her thoughts back to the recent past. He was truly happy in marriage, loving being a family together, as did she, a world so amazing to both of them that they both wondered why they had wasted 20 years resisting the obvious. He was a marvelous father. His current injuries would heal, and they hopefully had many happy years ahead as a family, Abby included.
She shuddered, remembering her dream. She had dreamed that he was lost in hell without her, that her passing him the cane had failed, and it had fallen into the fog, leaving him defenseless to face his father on the endless stairs with her only a spectator, unable to reach him. It made sense that she would have a dream about his hell tonight just after reading the details for the first time. Probably dropping his hand in her sleep had triggered it. Still, she just wanted to watch him sleep for a while before going back to sleep herself.
She had been putting off thinking about discharge, but now she forced herself to consider it. She knew she was improving faster than he was, although his recovery from his coma had been amazingly and gratifying quick so far. But he had a ways to go before achieving any sort of walking mobility, even factoring in his stubbornness and the fact that House simply did not play by the usual rules, even related to predictions on his own health. Still, even with hired help, nominally to care for Rachel but actually assisting them in small ways, too, he would have to be able to walk with his cane and be mobile around the house before discharge. She knew he was a ways from that yet. And she knew he would use hired help for himself as little as possible. For Rachel, yes, but he would draw a line personally and dare an aide to cross it. They had to make sure he really would be functional physically on a limited level on his own before letting him leave the hospital.
She also knew that the only reason she was even in the ICU at this stage in her recovery was because they were bending the rules to let her stay with him. She was sore but increasingly mobile. Walking hurt but was possible, and every day it got fractionally easier, and the distance achieved without rests increased. She had even promised herself an actual trip into NICU Monday to touch Abby and be closer to her. For Cuddy, there was also a lot of convalescence left, but basic mobility around a house from bedroom to bathroom to couch was much closer.
The thought of home was almost overwhelming. To have the privacy back, to breathe in their familiar surroundings, to be with Rachel again (without her mother still around). She longed for it, for some semblance of normality. Even if she couldn't really do anything yet, just to be there instead of in a hospital bed would be such a comfort. But tonight, she suddenly knew that she couldn't possibly leave the hospital before he did. She had come so frighteningly close to losing him. The thought of lying in their bed alone, even temporarily, was unbearable. Tonight's nightmare had been just a reaction to what she'd read this afternoon, but she knew that she really wouldn't be able to get any sound sleep away from him. She needed the connection of their hands right now as much as he did.
But how to arrange that? She could talk to her surgeon while House was at PT, but she knew that House would realize she was stalling her own discharge to wait on him. There was no possible way to fool him medically; his mind even recently out of a coma ran circles around any other doctor on staff. He would realize it, and he would be annoyed at himself, feel all over again that he was holding her back. He quite probably would even push himself more than he should to try to prove to the world how unhandicapped he was. He already was pushing for more faster than his doctors advised.
She chewed on her lip, debating. They would not leave PPTH until he really was ready, although of course she wanted that to be as soon as possible. But nor would she leave without him. "We're in this together, Greg," she promised him. "I swear, we'll leave together, not because you're holding me back but because I couldn't stand being home without you." She squeezed his hand almost painfully tightly, and even through the drugs, he responded slightly, not pulling away from the increased pressure but his fingers flexing against hers. She smiled. "We're leaving together," she repeated firmly. "We're in this together."
Their hands were still tightly intertwined when she fell back asleep in spite of herself a few minutes later, this time to pleasant dreams.
