Chapter 21

I don't know if anyone is still interested in this story, but I recently began rewatching House and decided to dig out my old stories. I always regretted leaving them unfinished, so I've spent a little time this summer redrafting the original content and writing some new chapters. I hope you enjoy.

Elated, the scene played through Wilson's head as he hurried downstairs to relay the good news to Cuddy. House was lucid, he answered questions, and he was interested in what had happened to him. This was more that Wilson could have hoped for when he awoke this morning. Of course, the memory loss was concerning, and House hadn't seemed quite himself. But the progress was remarkable considering his condition less than two weeks ago.

As he approached Cuddy's office a furious man strode out, pushing past Wilson. "Watch where you're going!" the man growled, striding away without a backwards glance.

Wilson looked after him in disbelief. Wasn't that the husband of the woman who hit House? Shaking his head, he walked into Cuddy's office, first checking to ensure no one else would be exiting.

He found Cuddy in a state of extreme agitation, pacing around her spacious office. "Are you ok?" he enquired, making the tense lady jump.

She turned to him slowly, attempting to compose herself in front of her subordinate. "Wilson. What can I do for you..? Is House ok?" She suddenly asked, fearing the worst.

"He's fine. More than fine actually." Here he couldn't contain the smile, tugging at the corners of his lips. "He woke up again."

Despite his smile Cuddy didn't let her emotions get the better of her yet. "How was he?" she breathed, her tone guarded.

The Oncologist filled her in on his latest encounter with the injured man. She hadn't realized she had been holding her breath, but when he finished, she let it out in a slow puff, relief flowing through her.

Once he had finished he left with instructions to fill in House's team. As the door shut behind him Cuddy lifted the receiver on her phone and dialed the number for ICU, leaving them strict instruction to alert Cuddy as soon as House was awake again.

She then settled down to work through her Hamilton problem.

HHHHHHHHH

House awoke with a start. Confused images had plagued his sleep: exploding glass, fire, ice, his father's face contorted with rage, Wilson, his face scarlet with blood, angry hands holding him down.

Suddenly he found himself lying in the same hospital bed, hooked up to the same monitors. The same wires clinging to his damp body. He lay still for a moment, the feelings stirred up by his restless sleep lingering. He drew in a shuddering breath, then another.

"It's good to see you awake, Dr House." A voice pealed from his left-hand side, startling him anew. He turned his head warily and saw a bright eyed Nurse looking at him, her expression changed from pleased to remorseful as she saw him start. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." When House didn't answer she turned away discreetly so he could compose himself. When she finally finished her checks, she left the room to page the Dean of Medicine.

Before long, the hallways of the ICU echoed with the sound of high heels striding purposefully towards the private room. Pausing before entering, she looked through the door to check on the man within. The TV was on, but the man inside lay still, his eyes closed. A quick check of the monitors told her he was awake, his tense posture confirmed it.

Bracing herself, she slid open the door and stepped over the threshold. His eyes remained closed. "Hey", she said, hovering by the door. Languidly, his eyes opened a crack; their diminished gaze aimed at her. He didn't respond but looked at her expectantly. "…how are you feeling?" Still the man stayed quiet. His eyes wandered over to the TV, before closing painfully. Sensing the issue, she walked to his bedside, grabbed the remote and halted the obnoxious voices and perky blur of colour from assaulting his senses. His body visibly relaxed as he painful stimuli was removed. After a minute he opened his eyes again and trained them on her, contemplating the woman in front of him.

"Hey…" she repeated, feeling absurd as soon as the words left her mouth. "How are you feeling?" Again he didn't answer, still appraising her. She was beginning to feel a breath of concern whispering in her ear. Why wasn't he answering? Had they given him too much sedative, was it his head, was he in pain? Feeling strangely exposed over his intense gaze, she approached the bed and picked up the charts. Scanning the recent notes, she checked on his progress. "Your notes look promising. How's the pain?"

"Why am I restrained?" The metal clanked against the bed frame as House shook them.

She felt her breath hitch suddenly. Of course she knew he would notice, but had hoped that she had better news for him before she could discuss his recent symptoms.

Taking a steadying breath, she turned to him. "Wilson said he spoke to you about the accidently. You were very badly hurt. You had to have brain surgery. You have been in and out of consciousness for a few days… Do you remember?" Again, he didn't bother responding, just continued watching her. "Wilson, your team and I, we were very worried. We sat with you almost around the clock while you were out. When you woke up you were agitated and became violent, people got hurt."

Here, his eyes flickered away from her and focused on a spot on the wall. The steady beep of his heart monitor suddenly increased as he processed the information. "It wasn't your fault, it's mine… and Wilson's. Wilson and I thought we were taking care of you, but we made a mistake and you paid the price. I'm so sorry." Her voice cracked as she said this, the emotions she held at bay for so long suddenly threatened to overwhelm them.

But this wasn't about her, it was about House. She swallowed the pain down, determined to get through this conversation. She forced herself to look at him. His face was pale, sweat pricked his brow. The heart monitor was still signaling an increased heart rate. He squirmed uncomfortably, and his breathing had increased. Concerned, she stepped closer.

House flinched away, avoiding her touch.

Suddenly wary of another attack, Cuddy took a step back. "House..?" Cuddy tentatively questioned. He didn't respond; but turned away so she couldn't see his face.

"What… how long?" He finally breathed.

"Until we remove the restraints?" When he didn't respond again, she continued. "I'll need Foreman and … another colleague to examine you to see if the treatment is working.

As she said this his heart rate increased further, his breath hitched. Concerned, but wary of approaching the bed any further, should he have further symptoms of the psychosis, she hesitated.

From her position she craned her neck to try to gauge his mood from his expression, but he was still facing the wall. Finally deciding that she was safe from an imminent attack, she slowly made her way around the bed. His eyes were closed, but he looked far from peaceful. His face radiating tension. His whole body heaved with the effort of drawing breath and even through the blanket she could see the shudders that caused his muscles to dance and skip.

"Get out!" He panted as he opened his eyes to see her witnessing his moment of weakness. The restraints clanked as he began twisting his arms, trying to free himself, the wound on his left wrist from his previous attempts to remove the restraints began to reopen, blood seeped into the dressings covering his abrasion and down his hand. His upper body squirmed with the effort of maintaining some level of control over his rebellious mind.

The cardiac monitor began to beep insistently, mirroring the distress that was all too clear to the two people in the room. Steeling herself, Cuddy approached the bed, placed both hands on the rails, near where the shackles were secured, and she leaned forwards slightly. "House, you're having a panic attack. It will pass, but I need you to take some deep breaths." She stated as calmly as she could, desperately hoping her detached façade hid the roiling emotions she felt.

He shook his head and twisted his body further away from her, again fighting the bonds that held him to the bed. More blood slipped down his hand and began to colour the sheets. "Look at the monitors. Your heart rate is elevated, your sats are tanking. You must be starting to feel a little dizzy by now." His eyes flickered to the monitors but immediately moved away again, as if stung. Remembering his reaction to the TV before she began to read out the stats. The effect was immediate, he began forcing himself to take deep steadying breaths. Pleased that his clinical instincts were at least partly intact, she continued to describe the readouts. After what seemed to both like an eternity the beeping stopped. He stopped resisting the restraints and eventually stopped his restless movements. He let his head drop to the pillow, exhausted, but kept his gaze averted, his guard up.

The Doctor in her took over and she began to monitor his condition. He was still trembling slightly, and he held his upper body stiff, which told her his ribs were still painful. The wound at his wrist, from the biting metal, was still weeping blood. Her eyes travelled to his face, turned from her, but not completely successfully. His complexion was pale, almost grey, his eyes appeared to be closed, his mouth was pressed into a thin, tense line. Inevitably, her eyes tracked upwards to the disturbing crimson scar that meandered across his head. It was still livid, inflamed, but was clean, the edges knitting together. It was healing.

When it was clear that he was not going to make the first move Cuddy tentatively tried again. "House, you feeling better?" Her words felt awkward, but their usual communication method of scathing retorts didn't feel appropriate until she was able to assess his frame of mind. She moved her hand slowly to place it on his upper arm. He tensed under her touch.

"Don't… please don't touch me." He breathed. "…Everyone keeps touching me." As her hand was withdrawn, she saw the tension release. He resettled in the bed, rolling onto his back slightly, but kept his face averted. His eyes were open again but focused on that same spot on the wall.

"Sorry." She responded. He had never been particularly tactile, in fact he often actively avoided physical contact, especially since the infarction. But the accident changed things for him again, it left body and brain broken, everything in his life had been ripped from his control the moment that car crushed him. "Sorry for…everything."