Floating

Chapter 16

House's eyes darted wildly around his office, searching for something, anything, that would help him take more than a step. He couldn't just sit there. The pain was too intense, too unrelenting. It was only a matter of time before he passed out.

He needed to think, but the sharp edges of the pain severed every idea. He could focus on nothing else. But House knew that he had to get a grip. Pull his focus away from his leg. From the pain. Every muscle in House's body had tightened in response, maybe if he could relax, just a little.

The oversized tennis ball was in reach. Grabbing it, he compressed it hard, trying to divert some of the tension into the orb. Nothing.

Wilson. No, he couldn't call Wilson. Wilson would help him, go down to ortho and get him a cane or a crutch or something. But then Wilson would have the satisfaction of having been right and being his rescuer. He couldn't live with that. The pain was more livable.

Ortho. He could call down himself. Have them send someone up. House was by now gasping and bathed in sweat. His heart was racing.

"House?" He looked up, barely aware of her. "Oh my God. What's wrong?" He looked like Hell. She had been ringing his office and cell phone for nearly half an hour. She was hoping they could do the shot a little earlier than the planned 8:00. When he didn't answer his phone or pager, she came looking for him, slightly miffed that he had become incommunicado.

She made the eight steps to his desk in three, stepping around. He was pale, face bathed in perspiration. She crouched beside him. "Cuddy, I can't…my leg…"

"Ssh. Try not to talk. Just breathe. Nice, even breaths." She didn't go near his leg, which he had in a death grip between his hands. She needed to get him to relax, at least a little. Cuddy stood behind him, firmly kneading the area between his shoulders and neck. "House. I need you try and relax." His breathing was still too shallow. "C'mon."

House tried to comply. He tried focusing on the motion of Cuddy's hands working his shoulders. Closing his eyes, the soothing way she touched him competed for attention with the intensity of pain originating above his right knee. Cuddy felt him begin to relax. Not much, but enough for now.

"Can you give me a number?"

"Ten," he rasped. The expression in House's eyes, shattered her heart into a thousand fragments. But she needed to keep it together for now.

"This is Dr. Lisa Cuddy. I need a 50cc pre-loaded syringe of Demerol STAT, tourniquet and swabs. Diagnostics, second floor. I will sign for it myself when it's delivered."

House's eyes were closed again. "House, I need to get your jacket off, OK? You need to…" He slowly removed his hands from his leg, holding the rest of his body stiff to minimize any movement. "Is the pain worse when you move anything, or just when you move your leg."

He seemed less confused by the question than perplexed about how to respond in one or two words. He nodded instead. House sucked in a breath as she helped him with the jacket. Every movement seemed to send bolts of white hot fire into his right thigh. With his jacket removed, House began to shiver in the air conditioned office. His shirt was soaked through. Great, she thought. She removed her lab coat and threw it around his shoulders. It would have to do.

With his hands pried away from his leg, she crouched again taking his right arm. Keeping it as still as possible, she gently massaged his forearm. "Stay with me House, OK?" He nodded. She noticed that his breathing was better; however, she saw no evidence that the pain had at all receded.

Cuddy noticed the courier outside the diagnostics office at the same time she noticed Wilson in the corridor. She slipped out of House's office and into the hallway quickly and quietly before Wilson could notice from where she emerged.

"Dr. Wilson. You're here awfully late."

"Thought I saw a light on in House's office. I was going to ask him if he wanted to go get a beer. You could join us…"

"No, House and I have a meeting." Wilson's cocked an eyebrow, now overflowing with curiosity. "A little late for a meeting, eh?"

"Medicaid is after him again. I'm doing a pre-interview for the lawyer." She was surprised at the ease with which she lied to Wilson. It was a lame explanation anyway, but it would have to do. Cuddy noticed the courier turning to go, looking pissed off at the apparent practical joke.

"Wait. That's for me." Again, Wilson cocked an eyebrow. Cuddy took the package and quickly signed for it. "Thank you. Tell Rodrigo I appreciate…"

"No problem, Dr. Cuddy." Wilson had lost interest, retreating back down the corridor towards his own office.

House looked worse. He needed the shot immediately. She knew this should be done lying down, but there was no way to move him, and nowhere to lie down, and with an oxygen supply nearby, in case… But there was no time. "OK, House, I need you to make a fist." Right. He was barely responsive. She took his left arm. His veins looked good. Maybe she didn't need his help. She applied the tourniquet. She inserted the needle and slowly, slowly pushed the medication into his vein. Cuddy continued speaking gently to him, trying to break through the pain and its effects. She needed him to stay with her. "Just a couple of minutes. You should be feeling better."

The syringe emptied, Cuddy allowed herself a deep sigh. She entwined her fingers in House's and sat on the floor at his feet, careful to avoid his right leg. And waited.

Moments passed that seemed like months and the pain receded like a tide pulling away from the shore. "I'm sorry Cuddy."

She had been sitting, her head resting against his left knee, physically spent, when he came out of it. "How's the pain?"

"Better." He was shaky and lightheaded; but the pain was much better. "Four."

"I couldn't give you any more. I didn't know…I was concerned about your breathing." She took a breath, crisis over for the moment. "What happened? No…wait…Can you try standing? I want to get you over to your easy chair."

Cuddy saw the sudden panic in his eyes. He didn't want to know, but nodded groggily. She got to his right side to support him if he needed it. He rose from the chair tentatively, once again keeping his weight balanced on his left leg. Glancing at Cuddy he attempted to slowly put weight on his right leg. With great difficulty and Cuddy's firm support at his back, he made it across the room to the Eames chair, sitting heavily in it.

Cuddy lifted his legs to the foot rest, grabbing a desk chair to pull beside him. "Your shot."

"Can wait. What happened?"

"Textbook. I banged it with my desk drawer." His eyes were desolate. "It was a fantasy. Damn it, Cuddy. I never should have…"

"Maybe it's temporary. Maybe…" What? That he'll put himself through it again? Be extra careful when sitting at his desk? When driving a car? When lying in bed?

"Listen to me. I need you to stay focused and with me on this. We don't know that this isn't temporary. Even if it is, we don't know how much of a setback it is. You've been doing physio for a month now; we can do the booster treatment…"

"It's too soon for that. I won't be able to handle…"

"You don't know. Neither do I. We will get on the phone with the German researchers tomorrow if your condition doesn't change!" She was nearly shouting at him, beseeching him with her tone to not give up on this.

"I'm getting pretty sleepy here. Meds are really kicking in. I need to give you that shot before I…"

"Forget the damn injection."

"No. I can do it. You can't miss a treatment." He was right. She felt terrible, having him do this, when her attention should be on him. But maybe it would distract him for a few minutes. She was even half hoping for a crack at her expense.

Cuddy brought him the syringe and alcohol pads. She hiked her skirt, somewhat suggestively, hoping to keep him thinking about her and not about what had happened. He rubbed the area with the swab; she could feel his hands shaking slightly, then the slight pinch of the needle.

"Have I ever told you that you have a beautiful ass, Cuddy?" She smiled. Maybe…

"No, House, you haven't. Just that it was big."

"Well that was before I'd seen it. It's not big. It's perfect. Can I take it home with me? Keep it?"

"I don't know about the keeping part, but you can take it home any time you want." He was completely wasted on the Demerol. "But for right now, let's figure out how to get you home." She had thought momentarily of getting him a bed for the night in the hospital. Too many busybodies. Doctors' on-call room was a no-go. The beds were terrible; his pain too severe. She needed to get him home.

His place or hers. It didn't matter. She knew she'd have to stay with him. And she needed more Demerol in case the pain returned. They would talk about options in the morning. But not tonight.