Chapter 9

"Just a Touch of 'Sneakery'!"

"Stop here!"

"What? Where? Why'd you bring me all the way out here … ? Ohhh … I see … You wanna go in from the back … right?"

"I thought it might be the best course of action … wouldn't you agree?"

"Okay, yeah! Now I get it!"

"Freight elevator's back here!"

"Right!"

The dark grey Ford Explorer crept along beside dumpsters, refuse bins and hazardous waste containers. Its shadow lengthened and then shrank down again as it moved in and out of hazy light puddles, the only means of illumination along the rear access to PPTH.

When they passed the last alcove where tractor-trailers made their daily deliveries, Eric Foreman paralleled the building deep in shadow and shut off the engine. The men's eyes met briefly across the expanse of the front seat. They didn't laugh, but they were close.

"Wilson, you amaze me," Foreman said at last. "I had you pegged all wrong."

Wilson offered his best chin-dipping pseudo-frown. "Why is that?"

"I never thought you'd go through with this. Figured you'd chicken out for sure."

"Couldn't," Wilson said. "House asked us to bring him …"

Foreman sighed heavily and shook his head in amazement. "Y'know, Wilson, that son of a bitch has every one of us jumping through hoops for him … and all he has to do is waggle his little finger!"

Wilson smiled a tad, snuffing softly in agreement. "He does have that certain … way … about him …"

"'Way?' Is that what it is? I don't get it," Foreman continued. "I realize now how badly injured his leg was … is … and I sort-of understand the way he must hurt every day of his life. But the power he has over people, and the fact that he knows it and exploits it … just blows me the-hell away! What is it with the man?"

Then Wilson did laugh, understanding exactly what was puzzling his younger colleague. "Y'know, Eric … if I had the answer to that, I'd probably let you in on it and we could bottle it. None of us would ever have to work again for the rest of our lives."

Foreman snorted. "Tell me about it!"

By the time they let Baxter out the back of the SUV, the big brown dog was prancing and panting with excitement. He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he was ready for any adventure these two foolish humans were willing to offer. He sniffed around at the old brickwork of the building and then lifted his leg on it in a happy aura of nonchalance. Foreman and Wilson laughed lightly, cut if off quickly. Guiltily! Twice Wilson had to pull back on the leash and shush him to keep him from breaking into a flurry of exuberant barking.

The two men were almost as excited about their nocturnal excursion as their furry friend, but they did not dare allow any more noise than the absolute minimum. It was going to be an exercise in "sneakery", and the odds were excellent that someone would see them and rat them out anyway.

They had a gauntlet of corridors to navigate if they were to make it to the freight elevator without incident. A circuitous, round-about path would bring them into contact with the fewest night-shift people and the ever-present security guards.

They almost made it.

Wilson had a tight hold on Baxter's leash. There was only one remaining bend in the corridor before they could close the door of the freight elevator securely and make their escape all the way from the sub-basement to the third floor without being discovered.

Almost!

A security guard was checking the air pressure in a fire extinguisher right next to the yawning door of the open elevator. The man turned just as the two doctors and the dog made the corner and headed in his direction. It was too late to turn back.

"What the hell? What's this? Dr. Wilson? Dr. Foreman? What are you doing with this … dog?"

Baxter chose that moment to run up to the man, tail wagging, tongue out and ready to make friends. The man patted his head.

In the meantime, Foreman was thinking on his feet. "Hi Barney," he said. "Like to stop and shoot the breeze awhile, but we gotta get this mutt upstairs. A man has Vatagialis Primus and he's fading fast. This is the only breed of dog in North America that has a tissue match for a Vataige patient. This guy here …" indicating Baxter with convincingly sorrowful dark eyes … "is going to save a man's life tonight. You ready, Dr. Wilson?"

Wilson picked up on the ridiculously blatant lie and ran with it, holding back startlement and amusement with a tightly held breath. "Uh … yeah … we gotta get going. It's all in the timing! Thanks, Barney … have a good night … see you …"

"Uh … see you later, doctors … it's a shame. He's a nice dog …"

"Yeah … he is …" They scurried away from Barney and onto the elevator like rats escaping a sinking ship.

The top half of the heavy elevator door trundled downward to slam against its other half, rushing up to meet it, with a hollow bang. When the two halves connected, Foreman slammed the safety grille closed, grabbed the activating handle, and pushed the crawl lever forward. The heavy gears meshed together in a screeching metallic groan, and they were on their way to Gregory House …

… laughing like two foxes in a henhouse!

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Gregg was in pain, letting the discomfort find a voice and biting off each breath in a tortured "chuff" that rocked his entire body. Two night nurses were with him, bathing his forehead with cold cloths, but they were not authorized to increase his pain meds without a doctor's authorization. The night-shift attending had his hands full elsewhere and could not take the time to come over. He told the nurses to stay with House until he could get there for an evaluation.

Someone had called Wilson's office, his apartment and his cell phone, none of which did he answer. They tried Cuddy at home, but she wasn't answering either.

Out in the corridor, John and Blythe House stood outside the glass wall watching their son suffer one leg spasm after another. Heartbroken and anguished, they clutched each other and watched in horrified fascination. They had never witnessed one the spasms before.

The intercom system came alive and called out an "available-doctor" summons for room 317. A minute later two lab-coated residents came running down the hallway.

From their position outside the room, Blythe and John saw the vertical blinds close in a flurry of movement. After that they were blind and deaf to whatever went on in there.

Lisa Cuddy hurried to Room 317 when she heard the bulletin on the loudspeaker. She answered her cell phone when it rang, but she was already on her way. She forgot about the missing dog and made tracks to House's bedside. She saw Gregg's parents and wondered what the hell they were doing there. She couldn't stop to ask them now.

A vial of Demerol administered directly, stopped the spasms and gave him respite. He collapsed, sweating and heaving, into the pillow.

Wilson and Foreman and Baxter were already on the third floor when they heard the page to House's room. Wilson handed Foreman the leash and whirled around, senses at high alert; took off at a run.

Oh God! House!

"Take him up to my office!" He called over his shoulder. "It's open!"

Foreman and the dog spun around and ran in the opposite direction. Baxter thought it was a game and barked explosively. Foreman jerked the leash and ran faster. Baxter followed eagerly all the way back to the elevator.

Blythe turned to John anxiously. "Did you just hear a dog bark?"

"Yeah … look … here comes Dr. Cuddy!"

"And Dr. Wilson!" She added.

Cuddy came off the 'up' elevator and Wilson came out of the 'down' one. Both doctors disappeared into Gregg's room and were swallowed up by the ominous vertical blinds.

They waited.

In Wilson's office Eric Foreman sat with Baxter snoozing by his feet. Baxter slept. Eric waited. He wished Wilson would let him know if House was okay. He was amazed at himself for the unfamiliar pocket of anxiety he felt for the strange disabled man who was his boss. He'd never thought of House as "crippled" before. He'd thought of him as an "asshole." A whiny, angry one at that! Actually, he was both. He was also the most unique individual Foreman had ever met. And one of the most courageous! What a difference a day made!

John and Blythe House waited in uncomfortable plastic chairs outside Gregg's room. Fifteen minutes passed, then a half hour.

The two residents emerged from the room with vials of something in their hands. They hurried off down the hallway without looking to the right or the left.

Lisa Cuddy walked into the corridor shortly afterward with a look of relief on her face. She had peeled off a pair of rubber gloves, but still held them in one hand. "He's all right," she said breathlessly as she walked over to where they were seated.

"We gave him a shot for the spasms, and they've stopped. He's much better. They're setting up a new IV for the night … something to help him sleep. Our people drew some blood samples and they're taking it to the lab now. We checked his leg, and it's still a little swollen. His old injury doesn't like the close proximity of the new one … and it was reminding him about it. In the morning they'll take him down for a new evaluation, but he should be more comfortable now. They're putting new dressings on the leg. He'll be groggy, but don't worry! He's fine!"

Fine!

Where had they heard that before? "The Gregory House Theme Song!" Around this place, everybody sang it!

She frowned at them, curious. "What are you two doing here at this time of night?"

"We were worried," John said. "I was worried … we couldn't sleep, so we came on over. We're glad we did."

"How would you like to go down to the cafeteria with me? We can have coffee together while he settles down. Believe me, he'll be much more congenial after his pain has eased up. We need to give him an hour or so. Dr. Wilson is in there with him now, and he'll probably stay the rest of the night, if I know James. What the hell … I've got all night too … looks like all of us have!" She grinned. She felt better now that House was better.

They agreed easily, and Lisa led them in the direction of the same elevator that had brought them up there.

Wilson stood in House's doorway and watched Cuddy and House's parents walk away. What in the world are they doing here so late at night? Wish they hadn't had to see him in the middle of leg spasms. That couldn't have been fun …

When the elevator door closed on the trio, Wilson turned and walked back to the bed. House was still breathing a little faster than normal, but his eyes were heavy lidded and a little out of focus. Wilson reached out and touched the backs of his fingers to the healthy side of his friend's face. He was happy to see the black eye turning a lighter shade, and the cuts beginning to scab over. Most of the swelling at his cheek and temple had receded.

"Hey!" Softly. "Have the seventy-six trombones backed off to clarinets yet?"

House smiled weakly at the musical reference. "The leg? Marching past bassoons and headed for violins. My hand, though … that's still a bass drum surrounded by tympanis! I think I bumped it sometime while my leg was trying to jump off the bed and do a tap dance all by itself …"

Wilson walked around to the opposite side of the bed and gently picked up the injured hand. Carefully he checked the splint and the anchoring bandage, and then ran his fingers expertly up House's arm, feeling for changes in the musculature and searching for further swelling. "It seems to be doing all right. Thumping?"

"Yeah. I need to hold it up. Elevated. Helps." He searched Wilson's face for a moment, and Wilson got a distinct feeling of quiet despair.

"What? What is it?"

"I can't seem to do one fucking thing right!"

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Another ten miles an hour and that thing would have arced like a Gladstone missile. Dived itself into the ground like a giant Sequoia and taken root right there. And me with it!"

"House!"

"Ah, Jimmy … don't worry … I wasn't trying to 'piff' myself if that's what you're worried about. I'm not that stupid! Besides, who would look after you and make sure you ate right … and said your prayers at night … and brushed your teeth and combed your hair? You'd miss your Uncle Gregg."

"House … one of these days …"

"Awww … you'd miss me, Jimmy, if I wasn't around to watch out for you …" His eyes were slowly closing, the deep voice fading out. The injured hand which he'd been holding vertical to the bed began to ease back down again.

Wilson took House's wrist and placed it onto the soft pillow at his side, beginning to think their clandestine dog roundup awhile ago had been in vain. Now he and Foreman would have to sneak Baxter out of the hospital again.

Oh joy!

He turned to leave and stood in the doorway for a moment with his head down. Some of his thoughts were most confusing. He did not want to leave House's side. Not now; not ever.

Damned confusing!

Wilson paused a moment and looked back. House was staring at him, blue eyes bright and amused. Wilson scowled. "I thought you were asleep."

"Fooled ya. I'm hungry."

"You are?"

"Yeah. Ice cream. Willya?"

"Tonight? Now? What if you get the …"

"Shits? I'll handle that when it happens. If it does!"

"House … what the hell am I going to do with you?"

"You're gonna feed me ice cream … that's what you're going to do with me. Now scram before one of those damned nurses comes back!"

Wilson walked into the corridor and turned left, in the direction of the elevator. It had been nearly an hour since they'd come back here and run into pandemonium. Now, things had suddenly taken a turn for the better. He quickened his pace, shook his head slightly and smiled foolishly. The nighttime visit might be on again. He'd have to see what Foreman thought.

He'd look around for ice cream … later.

At the doorway to his office he stopped abruptly. Voices! Foreman wasn't the only human in there … unless Baxter had suddenly taken to speaking like a girl. He opened his door and walked in.

There, on the old couch across from his desk, Foreman, Cameron and Chase sat playing with the dog.

Oh, for cryin' out loud!

oooooooooooooooooooo

Cameron looked up and smiled charmingly. "Foreman called us, Dr. Wilson. He thought maybe we could come over and help divert the troops while you took … someone … to see Dr. House."

Beside her, Chase nodded his head in agreement. "If you expect to pull off this little 'cay-puh'," he said carefully, you may requiah a few more hands in the pot, so to speak?"

Wilson's gaze lingered on both of them in turn, both of them in scruffy clothing, both obviously not intending to return to the hospital tonight, but lured in by Foreman's call for help.

Wilson shook his head in wonder as he centered his attention back on the black doctor who sat there so self-satisfied with a smug look on his face, hand scratching gently behind the ears of the contented brown dog.

"Wow!" Wilson said.

How the hell did House do it? How did he manage to cast this mysterious spell over all of his staff and everyone who touched him … or them? How? House did not even need to be there in order to make things pop. All that was required was the mention of his name in the same breath as a need in his behalf … and the bells rang and the whistles blew … and the crap flew! There was a raging typhoon that blew a powerful wind over Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, and its name was Gregory House!

ospitalHispitalNot his to figure out right now, Wilson thought. Where help is offered, take it! He drew a deep breath. "All right … let's go for it!"

He pointed a finger at Cameron and waggled it back and forth to include Chase. "You two! Get down to the cafeteria and waylay Cuddy. She's there with House's parents. They came in on an impulse tonight because they were worried about House. They'll be antsy to see him, and she diverted them to give me some time with him. Cam, I know you met his parents briefly, so go say hello and try to keep them occupied a little longer.

"I don't care what you tell them … tell them he's getting some kind of treatment or something. Make something up. Chase, you back her up, and if you have to, convince Cuddy that his pain has escalated again … just stretch it out another hour if you can. Even a half hour will help. Foreman and I will take Baxter over there as soon as the two of you leave.

"Go!"

Both young ones were up and gone. Fresh lab coats pulled over old tee-shirts and shorts, raggedy sneakers notwithstanding. This was an emergency. (What a crock!) They both loved the excitement and danger factor of it … plus the unprecedented pleasure of doing something kind for Dr. House. They hoped he never found out … they would never live it down!

Wilson and Foreman checked the empty hallway for straggling night shift personnel. None were in sight. Foreman took Baxter's leash and they started off down the corridor. To the elevator and down one floor. Room 317.

oooooooooooooooooooo

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