Chapter 4 – Blood, Sweat and Tears

Wilson sat with Cuddy on the sofa in her office. The blinds were drawn against the prying eyes of the people milling around outside the room. He appraised her as she stared ahead, caught up in a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions. Her tears had stopped, but her trembling hands, curled around her steaming mug of tea, showed she was far from calm.

When they first entered the room Cuddy, finally having regained control of her rebellious limbs, began pacing her office in a state of extreme agitation. Then rushed to the phone to ensure the ER kept her and Wilson updated on House's condition. Next, she rang the insurance company to demand that her best doctor was covered for any and all procedures and treatments he needed. Then she contacted the head of security to update him on the situation in the clinic. When she ran out of jobs she tried to make Wilson tea, but her shaking hands refused to cooperate and she almost scalded herself with the boiling water from her kettle. Wilson took over and guided her to the sofa. Here she remained, silent and immobile; Cuddy hadn't spoken in some time as she relived the traumatic events over and over, trying to think of anything she could have done differently.

A soft knock at the door made both people recoil at the sudden interruption, Cuddy flinched then as cooling liquid jumped from her cup and succeeded in spilling over her hands this time. Wilson reached over and relieved her of the drink as a face appeared when the door gently swung open. Nurse Regina appeared, concern filling her face at the violent reaction. "Sorry to disturb you Lisa, but the police are here." Regina spoke softly, as if afraid she might spook her boss.

Cuddy looked at her for a moment before nodding. "Of course…" She paused, wiping the tepid liquid from her hands onto the fabric of the sofa. "Um… can you show them please?" She asked, before rising from the sofa and smoothing out her skirt.

Two uniformed officers were ushered in, before Regina ducked out into the clinic again, where Wilson could see other officers talking to Thirteen and Taub. Introductions were made, refreshments were offered and declined, and seats were proffered. Both officers sat in the stiff armchairs opposite the sofa Wilson and Cuddy perched on once again and both officers pulled out notebooks. One of them leaned forwards and cleared his throat, his handsome face a professional mask. "I understand that some armed men stormed your free clinic and raided the pharmacy. Can you tell me what happened here?" Cuddy, who had been staring at her hands, where the tea had doused them, slowly looked up and began to relay the events in a voice devoid of emotion.

When she had finished the officer nodded and asked a number of questions to clarify specific details and events. When it was clear he had grasped the situation he announced. "We apprehended the three men outside, and a fourth man, the driver, was picked up in the car outside." Both officers watched the two doctors for their reactions.

Stunned, Wilson and Cuddy looked at each other before turning to the men in front of them. "How did you arrest them so quickly? Did you have someone in the area already?" Wilson asked.

"The silent alarm in the pharmacy was triggered. We were scrambled. Managed to get here before they left the clinic. Picked them up as they exited the hospital." The second officer told them.

The first cop allowed them to process this information before carrying on. "Your doctor, Dr…" He checked his notes. "House? Was severely beaten trying to stop them from taking you hostage?" He looked at Cuddy here. "No one else stepped forwards to help."

"Well… I… I tried, but one… one of them hit me with a bat." Wilson stammered lamely, trying to defend himself.

The man looked Wilson over, who found his hand drifting over to clutch his aching stomach, attesting to his failed attempt to support his friend. "So, you stepped in, and were hurt in the process. But no one else came forward to help at that time and you didn't try to intervene again, even when the doctor was beaten, and Dr Cuddy was struck. My question is what made people step in after so long?"

HHHHHHHHH

The ER was overflowing. The usual car accident victims, assault victims and seriously ill patients were present, as were those unfortunate people who had been in the clinic at the time of the robbery. Thirteen and Taub had triaged patients and sent those home who were well enough to move or to other clinics. Those who required more immediate treatment were sent to the Emergency Room. The clinic had been cordoned off by the police, CSI teams were currently sweeping the area looking for evidence.

Wilson hurried through the busy ER, peering into bays and looking into treatment rooms for any sign of his best friend. He recognised some of the patients from their shared traumatic encounter. The man in the business suit was complaining loudly at the length of his wait. Wilson's heart was pounding in anticipation of what he could find when he finally located House. He quickened his pace when he spied Foreman exiting a curtained bay at the other end of the busy, open planned room.

"Foreman." He called loudly, gaining the other man's attention. They both picked their way across the teaming space and greeted each other soberly. "How is he?" Wilson asked, trying to conceal his worry when he spotted the blood dappling Foreman's lab coat.

Foreman's face was inscrutable as always. He sighed but quirked a wry smile. "He's awake… and majorly pissed." He said, simply.

Wilson felt himself smile faintly in return. Of course, House was angry, he should be angry, maybe that would get him through the recovery. "I can only imagine." He conceded. "…How bad is he hurt?" Again, he felt apprehension build in him at what the younger doctor might tell him.

Foreman sighed and paused before answering, Wilson felt his anxiety increase. "We're just waiting to get up to X-ray, but he's got a concussion, a lot of contusions, some broken teeth…" he paused a moment, steeling himself before continuing. "I'm almost certain he's got a broken jaw, nose, and a fractured cheekbone but he could also have an orbital fracture. His ribs are pretty bruised as well. We also want to X-ray his skull and spine to rule out major injuries. Chase's ordered a head CT, I don't want to take any chances after his skull fracture last year."

The room suddenly swam in front of Wilson. He knew it was bad; House had been beaten unconscious with a baseball bat, right in front of his own eyes, but he somehow hoped he'd get away with only minor injuries. "Damn." He muttered when he'd processed the sacrifice his friend had made for Cuddy.

"Yeah." Foreman responded, shaking his head again as he mentally ran through the list of injuries again. "How's Cuddy?" He asked.

He paused, trying to figure that out himself. "I don't know… She's … in shock. The police are still with her." He answered. But really, she was scared, angry, hurt. She was worried about the hospital. She was definitely worried about House…. He didn't really know how to respond. Like everyone else she was trying to figure out what had happened and come to terms with what House had done to save her.

"I'm going to see if I can get House an earlier X-ray slot. I don't think he should wait too long with his injuries." Foreman said and strode away.

Hesitating a moment, Wilson looked at the curtain closed around House's bay, preparing himself for the encounter with his friend. Before too long his apprehension got the better of him and he made his way over, gently pulling the curtain aside so as not to startle his friend, he peered into the harshly lit bay.

House was slumped on his back on the bed, unmoving, his eyes were closed. His stiff posture, however, told Wilson he was far from asleep. The lines around his eyes were creasing in pain, sweat gleamed on his brow. He was obviously listening intently because when Wilson failed to enter the bay further House cracked the eyelid of the eye that was not swollen shut to see who was hovering at the threshold. When he saw it was Wilson, he closed his eye again and turned his face away slightly.

Wilson took advantage of House's troubled state to look his friend over. House was clothed only in a cheap hospital gown, the kind that closed at the back, not one of the expensive gowns Cuddy kept for those patients that were admitted to the wards. His gown and the sheets that covered his lower body were stained with fresh blood, as were House's hair and beard. Blood had also been allowed to dry on his face and hands. House's nose was obviously broken. A ragged cut and sickening dent marked the bridge of his nose and the cartilage had been shifted to the right, his appendage was packed to stem the flow of blood and prevent him from choking. His left eye was swollen shut, a large sodden dressing on his eyebrow told of a substantial wound. A deep, jagged cut ran down the side of his lip, still oozing blood. Numerous bruises and cuts covered his face.

Wilson was speechless.

"You jus' gonna shtand there?" House ground out eventually when Wilson failed to speak, blood leaked from the deep laceration on his lip with each word. He kept his face composed but Wilson knew those five words caused his friend agony.

He stepped further into the room, forcing the look of concern from his face. He carefully considered what to say, a hundred thoughts leapt into his mind: platitudes over the severity of his injuries that House wouldn't appreciate; concerned questions over his wellbeing that he was sure Foreman had already answered; trite exclamations at his courageous actions that would only embarrass him. No, it was better to be forthright and honest. "You scared the crap out of me." He sighed, suddenly deeply tired. House didn't answer but kept his eyes trained on the wall again. Eventually he nodded his head, acknowledging his friend's concern.

After a moment he sighed, tired of pretending to ignore his friend and turned his face towards the ceiling, grimacing as the slight movement aggravated his wounds. "Wha' happen'd?" House murmured eventually.

"You don't remember?" Wilson blurted out, concerned. Memory loss could be an indicator of a severe head injury.

House sighed in frustration, annoyed that he would have to clarify. "Remember everything. Wha' happen'd af'er?" He asked, wincing as blood oozed from his ragged lip.

"After you passed out?" House nodded vaguely. "I thought Foreman, Chase and Cameron filled you in."

"How'm I shtill alive?" He asked, still avoiding eye contact.

Burgeoning realisation caused Wilson to sigh again, he collected his thoughts before telling his friend the tale. Recounting the traumatic ordeal again for the second time in 20 minutes. "The younger man… Kenny… hit you with the bat for the final time. You went down hard. Then he and the other man… Pete..? They began kicking you while you were on the floor. Then Pete pulled a gun. They were going to shoot you, House. We were… we were going to watch you die… I was going to watch you d…" He felt his breath hitch, a sob building unexpectedly in his throat, taking him by surprise. Tears obscured his vision, he blinked furiously to clear them. The room swayed slightly, he grabbed the rails of the bed, supporting his weight and lowered his eyes to the blankets covering his friend's legs, avoiding looking at his face and the horrific wounds. Even here, small spots of blood appeared, dotted around the sheet at irregular intervals.

House, who still had his face turned towards the ceiling, his eyes closed during the recap, opened his good eye and trained it on his best friend. Wilson could have sworn he saw concern hidden beneath its depths. He drew a number of steadying breaths and forced himself to continue. "Foreman…" His voice was still strained and the husky sound told of the emotions he was still fighting to control. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Foreman stopped him. Cameron and Chase backed him up. They could see the crowd had begun to turn. So, they backed off."

House continued to watch him. Then nodded confirming something to himself. "It wor'ed." He breathed. Wilson frowned, wondering what House was talking about. But House's brows furrowed questioningly before he could ask what worked. "Cuddy?" House asked.

Anticipating what he wanted to know, Wilson continued. "Taub, Thirteen and I got Cuddy away from the leader and they all left through the lobby doors. No one else was hurt."

"Good." House said softly, almost smiling to himself. His face, his posture suddenly content. Wilson studied him, puzzled. Then slowly he understood.

"Wait a minute." Wilson said, thinking back over events. "You… You waved me off. I was going to help you… You didn't want me to because… because you knew I'd get hurt too. That I could get killed."

"We couldn' do I' alone…" House responded, now contemplative.

"Did you do all of this to get more people to help? They couldn't kill everyone there. If they hurt you badly enough it would force people to act." House closed his eyes. "But… that's crazy. A couple more seconds and they would have shot you. You could have died… Don't you care?"

"I' worked. I was righ'." House said simply.

"You're up next for the X-ray." Foreman said, entering the bay, jolting the two men out of the moment. Together Wilson and Foreman disengaged the breaks and wheeled him into the bustling ER. People starred as House was wheeled towards the lifts. House did his best to avoid the curious glances, his eyes fixed determinedly at the ceiling.

Suddenly, the sound of clapping came from the bay he was just wheeled past, the occupant on his feet looking at the man in the bed. It was joined by another slow clapping sound as a women opposite the moving bed spotted House, and then a third person joined in. Soon the room was filled with the acclaim of staff and patients alike, some of whom had been present in the clinic during the robbery, others who had heard of the doctor's daring feat. Slowly, House lowered his eyes and looked around the room, shocked at the ovation. His eyes passed over Chase, Cameron, Taub and Thirteen who stood huddled by the nurses station, cleared torn between their knowledge of what House would want and their need to recognise his heroism.

House's face hardened and he abruptly grabbed the rails and pulled himself further up the bed. He shook his head angrily. "What're you doin'?" He ground out, suddenly furious. His voice so full of menace that it carried across the space. Hands faltered mid clap and the smiles froze as if the crowd wore death masks. "I didn' do anythin'. I'm jus' a guy who go' his ass kicked. You're the ones who wa'ched it happen." He lowered his head to the pillows again and resumed his study of the ceiling tiles. "Le's go." He said impatiently when Foreman and Wilson didn't move immediately.