Floating

Chapter 15

Mornings often brings clarity. Thunderstorms don't seem nearly as scary by day; in the morning the aftermath of them can be all the more horrific.

Cuddy woke with a start as the morning light flooded into House's bedroom. Her immediate thought was to wonder how the Hell she was going to get to the hospital. She sure as Hell wasn't going to ride to work on the back of House's motorbike. Although she had to say, she might not mind another ride. At a more appropriate time. She poured through the possible explanations as to why she would appear at PPTH. On the back of a motorbike—House's motorbike. Wearing the same clothes she had on the day before. Anyone with an IQ over 60 would have no trouble doing the math. Great.

Call a taxi. The clock read 6:00. She could get in a cab to the hospital; shower in the locker room. She had a change of clothes. It was possible. And no one would see her at this hour. She glanced over at House. She didn't want to him to wake, thinking that she had simply left. She thought a note was too formal.

"House?" She gently shook his shoulder. One eye opened.

"What is it? Are you OK?" He was whispering. "What time is it?"

"It's early. I know you don't get up this early. I need to get back…" He realized her dilemma. "Give me a minute. I'll drive you back."

"It's fine. I can call a cab."

"It'll take forever. You'll never get there before change of shift. I assume you want to be as discreet as possible?"

"I can't ride on that bike. My hair will be a disaster. And talk about an obvious entrance."

"We'll take the car."

"You still have that 'vette?" He nodded.

"And it actually has gas in it, and it works and everything?" another nod.

"Hop in the shower. I'll make some coffee. Isn't that why you came by last night? I forget. Now beat it." He motioned her out of the room. House being modest? He was still surrounded by the duvet as Cuddy left the bedroom.

House heard the bathroom door close. He gingerly sat up, unconsciously rubbing the stiffness out of his right leg. Maybe it had been too much, too soon, he thought.

Stacy notwithstanding, it had been a long time. Cuddy had it all. She was beautiful, brilliant, funny. Like him, she suffered no fools. Including him. She had, as he'd always assumed a zesty body. Soft and curvaceous. And no pity. Oh, she was compassionate and sympathetic. But she didn't allow him to wallow, or to use his disability as a weapon. She was strong. He liked that. He'd never thought it possible before, that he might let Stacy go. Really go. That he was ready to move past her; move past the hurt and the betrayal; move past his love for her and on to something else. Something better. Maybe it wasn't too late. "Get a grip, House," he thought. One time. One evening and your… On the other hand, it really hadn't been one evening. It had been an accumulation of them. Years of accumulations. Maybe…

The pain wasn't too bad this morning, he thought. Better than he thought it might be after last night. Part of him had feared that the activity might trigger a rebound and a return of the pain. It had been reckless of them. The risks… But the pain wasn't too bad. An extra Advil wouldn't hurt, though.

He dropped Cuddy near the Hospital garage at her car. He looked around, making sure they were alone. "Cuddy. I…" His eyes were soft, almost colorless. He touched her cheek, stole one more kiss.

"What time would be convenient for you to give me the shot?" It doesn't have to be that late. I know you usually don't stay past 5, unless you have a case…"

"Same time is good. Your office or mine?"

House was not accustomed to being in the office quite so early. He had grabbed a bag with a change of clothes, choosing to shower in the physician's locker room rather than drive home.

Wilson noticed the light on in House's office. He hopped the barrier between their balconies, surprised when the door was locked. House rose to let Wilson in. The stiffness in his leg still had not quite abated. The four ibuprofen had not quite done the trick.

"You're in early. For you, that is."

"Things to do; people to see."

"You take the Corvette this morning? No bike?"

"Chance of rain."

"Says who? We're in the middle of a relentless heatwave. It hasn't rained for two weeks."

"I saw a cloud."

"What's going on. Is it your leg?" Thank you Jimmy.

"Yeah. I tried running last night. Stiffened up on me. So…"

"You know you need to be careful. You told me that yourself."

"I'll try to remember that."

"So, seriously, man, what are you doing in so early?"

"Seriously, Jimmy, no reason. I was just up." Wilson was curious about House's defensiveness. He sat across from House, who picked up one of his desk trinkets. "Look. Wilson. Why can't you just be happy for me and leave it. Pain's better. I'm off Vicodin. Morphine's history. What is it with you? I'm even writing a paper for a real, refereed journal."

"Now that, I'd like to see. Do you even know how to write anymore?"

"In seven languages. But I think this one's in English. Let me check. Yep. English."

"Fine. I'll let you get back to whatever you're up to. You don't want to tell me. That's fine…"

"For Chrissakes, Wilson. I'm writing." Good an excuse as any, he mused. Wilson noted the lack of chaos on House's desk, but said nothing.

Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. To work on the paper.

The team filtered in one by one. Cameron came in first, only to find the coffee already brewed. Wondering briefly if House had left it on all night, she noticed the lights on in his inner office. "You been here all night?"

"Not very observant, Dr. Cameron. Note the change of attire. Signifies that, no, I didn't. Stay here all night. Got sleep and everything."

"You're in a good mood this morning. Why are you here so early?" House rolled his eyes, making a mental note to never, every do this again. Hospitals were as full of nosy staff as they were of sick people. They were mercifully interrupted by Chase and Foreman, who were equally curious about their boss' early arrival.

"Remind me never to do this again. Come in early. It's too much of a shock to the staff. I can't bear the responsibility. If I'm not mistaken, you have a patient, who may be dying. I think he could use your attention more than I can."

House turned on his iPod. Beethoven's sixth. He frowned at the stack of journals on his desk. He was hopelessly behind on his reading. This was as good a day as any to catch up while the kids were busy working on the patient. The tests scheduled should pretty much last the entire day. If there was a God, he or she would be merciful and he'd be left alone.

House was engrossed in an article on a newly discovered Southeast Asian virus. He always enjoyed reading in French. It had been his first foreign language, having learned it as a kid. That and Latin.

"House?" Cuddy knocked and entered. He looked at his wristwatch.

"Eight o'clock already?" She smiled. She had forgotten to remind him that the regimen required two shots per day; not one. She had also neglected to tell him that she had crossed town to her OB for the first shot the day before.

"Two injections a day."

"Right. Here might not be the best place. You don't want to end up being part of the differential… Maybe your office might be…more private. Give me 15 minutes?"

"Sure. See ya."

"See ya." House turned back to the article. They could do this, she thought. Keep things professional—the way they were by day… It could work.

House looked up, watching Cuddy leave. Appreciating the way she slightly swayed as she walked; her confidence. He'd wanted to give this space. It might be too obvious, them cordially walking the corridors into her office. Her drawing the blinds. The math was too easy, and the hospital was full of smart people, after all; good at math.

He began to rise from his desk chair. House's right thigh clenched into a strong spasm. It gripped his leg like a vise. He sucked in a breath, sitting down hard on the chair, frozen tangled in the white hot pain. Every muscle in his body tensed in reaction. He furiously massaged his thigh, trying desperately to find the source. He knew he needed to stem the rising panic. He willed himself calm. It was a simple muscle cramp, he reasoned. He just needed to stand. Walk it off. Breathe in; breathe out.

As he relaxed, the pain began to subside. He was able to stand, put weight on the leg. It was still painful, but by now he was pretty sure that it was a simple cramp. He would be fine.

His hands were still trembling when he knocked on Cuddy's office door.

"What's wrong?" Cuddy's eyes went wide. She had just seen him half an hour before. He was 15 minutes late. But more troubling, he was pale; a sheen of perspiration covered his forehead. His gait was off. "House?"

"Stupid. I've been sitting at my desk for hours. I got a cramp in my thigh. …I panicked. Stupid, huh? A simple cramp and I thought…"

"House, you're afraid that the pain is going to return. And it's a real possibility. You know that. So it's normal for you to…"

His real fear was that every time he had an ache or pain, he would react this way. He couldn't live in constant fear. "I know all that. I do. It's not…"

Cuddy smiled wickedly, pulling his thoughts somewhat away from his anxiety. "I give a mean massage, you know." An exaggerated wink.

"I'll have to remember that. Ready?" He was feeling better, which reassured him that it was simply a cramp. He took a quick survey of the room. The blinds were drawn. She had locked the door of her inner office behind him.

He was all business. Professional as he could be under the circumstances, their evening together still quite fresh in his memory. Cuddy smoothed her skirt, turning to face him again. "Thank you, House. For all of this." She reached up to give him a quick kiss, trying very hard to keep this part, at least, as clinical as possible. He returned the kiss, taking his cue from her.

"How's your leg."

"Better. Fine."

"See you at eight."

"Do you want to grab something to eat after?" She appreciated the casualness of the invitation.

"Sure. But I'm driving." He tried to suppress a smile as he turned to go.

It was late afternoon when it happened. It was sudden and unmistakable for what it was. It was as simple as a stuck desk drawer becoming unexpectedly unstuck and hitting where it shouldn't have hit when it finally opened. It was no cramp; no abrasion. The pain was immediate and searing, engulfing his leg from knee to groin in a matter of seconds. He couldn't touch it, much less massage it. The soft brace he had been wearing these several weeks felt like a boa constrictor around his thigh.

He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He wanted to die right there sitting at his desk. He vaguely heard his team enter the outer office. Great. Maybe they would go away. It was nearly five.

"Dr. House?"

"What?" He hadn't meant to snap at her, only be terse. On the other hand, maybe if he was extra nasty, they'd all get pissed off and leave for the day.

"The treatment's working." She walked in sitting down at his desk. Foreman and Chase followed.

"Great." He tried not to gasp. He needed to get through this. The last thing he needed right now was Cameron's hovering, or Foreman's disdain. "Take the rest of the day off. Congratulations. You cured her."

"Him. Are you OK?" Figures Cameron would notice something wasn't right.

"Cramp. Been sitting here all afternoon…"

"Are you sure it's not… Because you are aware…"

"Cramp. Thanks for your concern, Foreman. Go. All of you. Scoot. Busy here." The three backed off. Foreman and Chase grabbing their cases from the outer office and out the door. Two down, one to go.

"Are you sure you're OK, House? You don't seem…"

"I told you. Slight cramp. Just unnerving, that's all. Go. Really." And she, too, was gone.

He needed to stand. Somehow. See if his leg could bear weight. He knew the answer, but he had to know. He raised himself cautiously on his left leg, letting that and his arms balancing on the desk support him. He tried a tentative step. No good. He fell backwards into the chair. He slammed his fist on the desk in frustration and pain. He wasn't ready for this. Not again, and not so soon.