I hope this chapter appeases everyone :o)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Affirmation
Two days have since passed since Dr. Gregory House has been shot. The infection which caused his fever the day after the surgery quickly dissipated after the antibiotics did its job. He has been walking around the floor of the hospital a couple of times but with the aid of the I.V. stand because he is still mildly dehydrated. The pain in his leg is still pretty substantial and gradually he has been upping the morphine dosage and he is very, very close to the daily maximum allowed for a patient.
His parents are still in town but luckily Blythe has been coming to visit her son alone. Every time she sees him he just knows she's going to mention the gray box but she never has. But that is not a comfort to House – 'the longer the waiting time, the worse the punishment.' He has known that about his mother since he was a kid, but since he isn't a kid any more maybe he's safe now?
Chase and Foreman have been in to see him several times but Cameron has only been in twice, which surprises him. And the times she has come in she's quiet; quieter than he's used to her being. Cuddy, of course is a constant visitor, and aside from Wilson she is the most frequent visitor.
Dr. James Wilson never has visited House because he still continues to lie in a comatose state, still requiring a respirator to breathe and still non responsive to any stimulation provided by Dr. Sutherland, the physical therapist (for lack of a better word). A few times the nurses, and Julie when she was in the room, have been alarmed when he opens his eyes and seems to look at them, but once Cuddy takes a look at Wilson she confirms that he is still comatose. And all hopes are dashed for a speedy recovery from Wilson.
What makes matters worse is that Cuddy has denied House from visiting Wilson, although she has never given him a reasonable explanation. House desperately wants to see Wilson because the past two days have been hell for him. He has continued to have nightmares about Wilson and the dreams have become more vivid and horrifically nightmarish that sometimes he doesn't want to administer the morphine for fear he will fall asleep and dream again.
The time is early afternoon and House has just come back to his room from physical therapy for his neck, and a little on his right leg, and he is completely exhausted. During the waiting time before an orderly brought him he has worked himself all up in a tither, becoming angrier at Cuddy for not allowing him to see Wilson.
So, Dr. Greg House puts his childhood battle plans into effect. As soon as the orderly leaves he lies in bed until he is completely out of sight. (Ok, actually, he rested about five minutes but that's not the point.) He takes a deep breath, grabs an edge of the tape holding the I.V. needle in the back on his hand, counts to three and quickly pulls the tape off the back of his hand. He groans and grunts loudly before he gently pulls the I.V. needle out of his hand, slips out of bed and goes to the bathroom for inspection before his mission begins.
"Okay," House says quietly but confidently as he stares at his reflection in the mirror. "Comb hair pause to comb ; check. Take a wizz pause to wizz-flushes toilet ; check. Let drawers drop to the floor pause ; check. Untie nasty-assed hospital gown pause ; check. Shake the man awake pause, stares at himself in admiration ; check. MISSION, BEGIN!"
House walks out into the hallway, limping with his trusted cane, and amid stares of disgust (and a few eyeballs popping out), ignores them as he walks toward the elevator to visit Dr. Lisa Cuddy in her office, outside the lobby of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, where there will be patients in the waiting room, sure to become even MORE sicker (or miraculously healed) when they see a respected doctor flash them until he is taken off restriction to see Wilson.
The elevator doors open and he bravely walks out, passes the reception desk and Rosetta Sanchez warns him to 'cover up' but he ignores her. He continues to walk by and heads for Cuddy's office, opens the door and nonchalantly walks in.
"Hey, Dr. Cuddy! How's it going?" he shouts just to alarm her a bit, and indeed she jumps and gives him a dirty look for making her doing so.
"House! Get back in your room!" she demands, but her expression changes to almost a genuine smile, until she notices how daringly close the front of the gown is to showing something she just doesn't want to see.
"I want to see Wilson," he states.
"You will."
"No, I want to see him NOW."
"I'm afraid that's impossible," she says frankly.
"And why not?" he asks, raising his voice even more.
"I thought we covered that. You won't scare me by yelling at me."
"Oh, yeah? I can scare you," he threatens, placing his hands to his thighs.
"I doubt that'll scare me."
"Well, how about I go see some patients?"
"You wouldn't DARE!"
"Wouldn't I?"
The two have a staring contest for several minutes before House turns around and heads for the door, all the while Cuddy remains seated. The door opens and he walks through slowly, waiting for Cuddy to chase after him. But there is no hollering after him or hands holding him back, so he figures he's just got to go through with it. He approaches the nurse's station, grabs a patient file and takes a few steps to the waiting area, standing still for a brief moment to make sure everyone has seen him stand there.
He looks at the name on the file and says, "Peter Scarborogh?" Not one person raises their voice or hand to indicate they are who this crazy lunatic is looking for. "I ca assure you I am a doctor. No Peter? Uh, it says here you have a little constipational issue?" A man in the far corner embarrasingly raises his hand. "Ah, there you are! Follow me." The man shakes his head, stands and heads for the door.
"Sir, please, wait," Cuddy says from behind House as she grabs the patient's file. "We'll have someone with you in just a moment. This man is actually an escapee from our Psyche Ward and I have to get him back as soon as possible." She says as she practically pushes House toward the elevators.
"Ow, Cuddy! Stop pushing me. You'll bust my stitches," House protests as they enter the elevator and the door closes behind them.
"Believe me, House, I'll bust more than your stitches!"
"Oh, and I believe you, too. Are we going to see Wilson?" he asks hopefully.
"Yes, but you owe me five hours of clinic duty."
"But I can't do clinic duty, boss! I'm sick!" he whines.
"When you are well, God let's hope it's months from now, you owe me five hours."
"Three," he says as the door opens and they walk off.
"It is NOT open for debate."
House mumbles under his breath as they approach Wilson's room. He feels his heart pound harder and faster in his chest as they get closer. Now, House has seen patients hooked up to all kinds of tubes and monitors and the like, but the sight of Wilson lying in the bed rips at his heart. He gulps hard and proceeds to his bed, holding his breath.
He realizes Cuddy is standing in the corner of the room and says, "You can go now."
"I don't think so. It's a supervised visit."
"Fine," he says as he turns back to Wilson and says, "Let me tell you about a dream I had last night, buddy! Man, it was wild." He laughs then continues. "There were three women and...no, wait, four, and..."
He hears Cuddy sigh and she says, "You have FIVE minutes," and she leaves the room.
House smiles to himself in triumph and stands at Wilson's bed, trying to think of something to say, anything. The words just don't come out. All he can do is look at him. After several minutes he finally says affectionately and with deep meaning, "Wilson, I...I am so sorry."
Suddenly the heart monitor beeps wildly, the brain waves flicker and at first he's concerned. "Wilson, can you hear me?" he asks, leaning in closer. "Open your eyes if you can hear me," he orders.
Nothing happens but the monitor continues to beep loudly as House grabs Wilson's hand and squeezes it. "Squeeze my hand back if you can hear me."
Nothing happens.
"Wilson, damnit! SQUEEZE MY HAND!"
A second passes when, ever so lightly, he feels Wilson's fingers softly tighten around his own. "Ok, that could just be a reflex. Squeeze my hand once if you think I'm the best looking man in the world."
Nothing happens.
House takes a deep breath. "Ok, fine, I'll give you that one. Squeeze if you think I'm the ugliest man in the world."
Not a milisecond goes by when he feels Wilson's fingers gently squeezeagain. House's heart skips a beat, he turns his head and screams, "CUDDY! Wilson's awake!"