Floating

Chapter 5

Two days had passed since first waking from the Ketamine coma. The vivid dreams had continued whenever he fell into a deep enough sleep. But no repeat hallucinations. House's mind had cleared and he was feeling stronger as everything healed. But two days of staying put was wearing thin. Waiting for clearance to walk beyond the walls of his hospital room was becoming a brutal game of anticipation and disappointment.

"Ready?" Cuddy stepped into his room.

"For…?"

"Wanna go for a walk down to the cafeteria? I'll buy you an ice cream sundae." House blanched.

"No. I…" He looked away. Cuddy suddenly realized. Too public. Too soon.

"Well…Better idea. Look the service elevator is right around the corner. We can take it down to the basement. Nice long corridor…Right near the morgue. No one really knows you down there…" House almost laughed. This was ridiculous. Why was he hesitant to be in public? Why was this becoming so hard?

House glanced at his cane sitting in the corner. "Look, House. Bring it with. Use it if you need to. If you don't or you do, you won't be conspicuous, if that's what you're…"

"You'd like that. If I brought my cane. Knew you always liked the hard wood."

"Yeah. Your best feature. Get your shoes on and let's blow this popsicle stand." Cuddy understood House's fears, although he'd never express them to her or anyone else. What if he failed? What if the short trip to the bathroom was all he could manage? It wouldn't be the failure itself, it would be the visible disappointment and hurt in his eyes that House wouldn't want so public. That sort of public display would never match with the Housian public persona. She knew he was taking a risk.

"I want Wilson in on this."

"That was random."

"Page him. Have him meet us down there. Let him pay. Sundaes all around." Cuddy smiled. Of course it made sense. Wilson was the skeptic. The one who was, even now, albeit privately to her, sure that House's pain was a conversion disorder. That no medical procedure would help him more than a couple of hours while he was distracted.

"Are you sure that you don't want to wait?"

"Why?" Cuddy shrugged her shoulders.

"I just think. Let's do this. We'll party tomorrow. With everyone. The whole Scooby Gang." House nodded tightly. He looked tense. "You OK?"

"Stitches are still pretty uncomfortable." Idiot. Of course. Shoes would be a real problem for him. He had been trying to reach for them, gasping at each attempt to get them from the floor. "Do you mind…?"

"Here, let me do this. You can barely bend. We should get you a pair of those cute hospital slippers. Be easier." She eased the right shoe onto his foot, tying it tightly. "My, my, what big feet you have Dr. House!"

"Better to…oops can't say that to my boss. My bad." He was smiling at least. And some of his tension seemed to abate a little.

"Hey, I made the foot comment. How's your leg?"

"Seems OK. When do I start physio to strengthen it?"

"Friday. Inpatient for a complete workup for your leg and other injuries, then outpatient beginning…Sunday, I think."

"Sunday. Great."

"Ready? Don't expect miracles, House. That muscle is very weak, so be gentle with your right leg."

House carried the cane in his left hand, making his way to the door. He felt free. Free of wires, tubing, soft wrist restraints. Free of a third leg. Free of the pain that had held him hostage for eight years.

The limp was still there. It always would be. A support of some kind would help, he was thinking. That and the physio… He walked slowly, testing, finding a correct pace and bearing.

"Any pain, Dr. House?"

"Not so far, Dr. Cuddy." He looked straight ahead, not attempting eye contact. "Not so far," he repeated in a bare whisper.

"Some of the pain relief may be coming from the ibuprofen you're taking for your more recent injuries, but…"

"No. Ibuprofen doesn't…hasn't worked. You know that."

"Just trying to keep you skeptical here."

"Hah! Right."

"I just know that hope is a funny thing. We all can have it. It's just something new for you. Don't want it to get all out of control or anything!"

"Yeah. You are the master of pessimism." House smiled as the elevator dinged. The doors opened the first floor lobby.

"Dr. House. Good to see you up and about. I stopped by, but the unit nurse said no visitors, so… Any word about when you're coming back?"

"Miss me, Dr. Cameron?"

"No, I…" She was flustered and House was enjoying it.

"Relax. Cuddy tells me that you're all rotated to appropriately challenging departments. Not as challenging as diagnosing leprosy or seeing your boss nearly killed before your eyes, I'll admit, but…" He glanced at Cuddy to answer the actual question.

"A week probably." Cameron hadn't appeared to notice the change in House's ability to walk. Or she was too polite to ask. Good. If she, the most nosy of colleagues, hadn't said anything, maybe no one would. Oh, there'd be talk. But at least he'd be spared from having to deal with it for a week. And then everyone would know. It had worked!