Floating

Chapter 17

A flash of clarity in the chaos. She couldn't get him home. Not yet. What if there was something else going on with the leg? A new injury. Another clot. She needed to examine him to make sure it was only, right only, the original damage.

A new problem presented itself. A knock on the glass terrace door startled Cuddy. She looked back towards the sliding door. Wilson. Great. What was he still doing here. She thought of sending him away. Before she could think of something effective to put him off his curiosity, he had entered the office.

"What's going on? You are NOT going over Medic…" Then he really got a good look at House. "What happened?"

Cuddy sighed, unable to really conceal the truth from him. He'd know soon enough anyway. Her voice broke as she explained how she had found him. "Right now we're dealing with the pain. I gave him Demerol IV and it's taken most of the edge off. He's at a four. But he's loopy as Hell and I need to get his jeans off. I've got to get a look at his leg."

"You don't think it's a rebound?"

"It probably is rebound. It's too soon. It was working. He was beginning to…"

"There's a reason it's not considered a panacea. He knew the risks of the procedure. HE was willing to take the gamble."

"Still think it's a conversion disorder?

"I still think there's some degree of that. Yes. But I think that it was only part of the problem. I also think that he was beginning to live again. And this is going to be a huge blow to him."

"C'mon House, let's get your jeans off."

"Go away, Jimmy. Cuddy can handle this herself." That was new.

"Cuddy your best friend now?" House was stoned out of him mind. Wasted.

"She believed me."

"We need to get your jeans off so we can take a look at your leg."

"I don't think so." His voice was displayed a sudden alertness. "I really don't think that's a good idea."

"House." Cuddy understood. "I'm going to send Wilson to get a blanket from his office and find a cane for you to use. But I'm going to need you to help me, OK?"

"Cuddy. This is…" She walked Wilson back to the terrace door.

"You're an idiot, Wilson. He doesn't want to be seen. And I really don't want him any more upset than he already is…"

"He looks pretty relaxed to me."

"Demerol. It's a miracle drug. Makes the pain and the panic go away. Just go. I can handle this. He's going to need a cane to walk. He doesn't have one with him. You know he's self-conscious about the leg. A blanket will help. I know you've been sleeping here half the time. You must have a blanket in your office. Go."

Wilson was about to ask a question about why House would be any less self-conscious in front of Cuddy. But her tone of voice brooked no dissent. He filed it for a more appropriate moment.

Cuddy turned back to her patient. "OK, big boy. We got rid of dad. Let's get you stripped."

"Are you trying to encourage lascivious behavior, Cuddy?"

"Don't you know? It's the latest advance in pain management."

"Have to try that some time. Looks like…"

"Pants off. Now." She helped him sit on the edge of the chair. Despite the Demerol, anxiety radiated from him. He undid the zipper and pushed the jeans down until the waistband rested at the top of his thighs. He sighed, humiliated and defeated. The last thing he wanted to see right now was his destroyed right leg.

"Cuddy, can you…"

"Of course." She eased the waistband down, carefully as possible, trying to avoid scraping it across the terrible scar. "I'm going to remove the leg support, OK?" House nodded tentatively.

It had felt like a vise-grip before, now he almost believed that it and it alone was all that was holding his leg together. He braced for a new flood of pain, hoping the Demerol was enough. Cuddy spotted his jacket out of the corner of her eye. She retrieved it from the floor, where she had deposited it earlier. She draped it across his lap. It would do. He didn't need to see her see it. He didn't need to see it. Didn't need any more reminders.

If anyone had walked in on them, they might have mistakenly thought that something very naughty was going on in the eccentric Dr. Gregory House's private office. Cuddy was kneeling in front of him, ever-so-gently removing the elastic support from House's leg, her head virtually in his lap.

Part of House was amused by the vision of Cuddy in that position—the part that was on the outside, looking at her (and himself) through a Demerol fog. He tried to concentrate on the immediate situation. What Cuddy was doing; what she was going to do. To consider the implications of what had happened was… His mind would wander there. House would push back against it. Hard. He pulled his focus back towards her hands working the fasteners on the support, keeping some measure of pressure on his leg, even as she removed it. She worked slowly, deliberately. She didn't want a sudden change in pressure on his leg to worsen the pain.

"You doin' OK?"

"Yeah." It was fine. His leg didn't explode into a thousand pieces. It didn't even hurt much more than it had with the brace. He breathed out slowly.

"I know this my hurt a little, but I need to do just a little poking and prodding. No redness or warmth No swelling." She pushed in with her finger, watching the blood reperfuse the capillaries quickly. Is your foot cold?

"No. Cuddy, I don't think it's an clot, thrombotic or embolic. It's rebound. Pure and simple. It just fucking didn't work."

"It did work. We'll just have to redo… Figure out how to avoid..how to protect your leg better. It worked." She put her hands on his right thigh, now exposed below his jacket. She began a gentle massage. If she could just relax him a little. He was still so tense. House placed a hand on her head.

"Cuddy. No. It's not…" Even as he hated the attention to his leg, he craved her touch there. It was all so screwed up. All of it. Everything. It had been a fantasy and now it was over.

When Wilson breathlessly re-entered the office, he was carrying a blanket and an adjustable aluminum cane. Cuddy was still on the floor at the foot of House's chair.

"No wonder you wanted me out of the room." Wilson tried to make light of the sight, knowing that it was not what it appeared. Cuddy blushed unexpectedly, straightening her clothes as she got up to take the items from him. She would not look him in the eye. On the other hand, maybe it was.

"Hey, Wilson, I never break up your little rendezvous', do I? On the other hand, what the Hell does Cuddy want with a cripple? Right, Lisa? Gorgeous babe like you. Maybe Wilson's more your type." He was rambling, his moods swinging as erratically as he pulse had been earlier. Cuddy chuckled, going with it. Hoping that Wilson would see it for the drug-induced rant that it was…more or less.

Wilson looked from Cuddy to House and back again. He knew them both too well. "I'm just going to leave now. I think you're in good hands, House."

Cuddy approached Wilson, walking him to the office door. "I hope you know what you're doing, Cuddy."

"You questioning my medical expertise?"

"No. I'm not. Just your judgment. And I don't mean medical judgment, either. Just …take care of him. You don't know…"

"I know a lot more than you think I do Wilson." He voice sounded more indignant than she meant it to sound. And he was gone.

She turned her attention back to House, who was attempting to pull his jeans. It would have been humorous under other circumstances. Under these circumstances, the sight broke her heart and brought tears to her eyes.

"Need a hand?"

"Why Cuddy…" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. At least the vestiges of his sense of humor were remained. "And hand me the cane. Wilson has no sense of haberdashery style. Aluminum? No character to it at all." He lengthened it to the tallest setting, locking the pin in place.

"You seem like you're doing better."

"What can be better? Quality drugs. Quality babe. Brand new cane…I'm in heaven." There was a sharp edge to his voice. Bitter and harsh. "Look on the bright side, at least I can stand again." He rose from the chair shakily, re-doing his jeans.

"I know this sucks big time." She approached him, trying to draw near enough to touch his arm. He backed away, turning away from her.

"Sucks doesn't even begin to describe this." His voice was broken. He was being brave in the only way he knew how. She could feel him retreating from her inch by inch and she was helpless to bring him back.