CHAPTER THREE: Testing the Walls
Cuddy has been trying with little success to get House settled for the night. So for now, she's involved in organizing a corner of his room with the things Wilson may need for the next several days. She sets out the usual equipment, but decides to leave the IV fluids, injectables, and other equipment in the cardboard box—they won't be needed, she hopes, so there's no sense potentially upsetting House by allowing him to see them.
Once she gets everything set up, she turns back to House, who's apparently involved in destroying alien creatures of some sort on his GameBoy. He looks tense, and she can tell he's not really concentrating on the game. When he feels her gaze on him, he shuts off the toy and looks at her.
"Will you go check on Wilson? Make sure he's sleeping okay?" House asks her.
"Sure. I need to warm up your dinner anyway. Do you need anything else? I can bring you something to drink first, or—"
"Not thirsty, thanks anyway. Not hungry either. Or no. Maybe a little coffee, but it can wait. Could you just go check on him?"
"It's late for coffee. Decaf?"
"No point to decaf. Why bother to drink the stuff without the addictive chemicals? It's not that good."
Cuddy knows from long experience that arguing with House is profitable only if one enjoys exercises in futility. Since she doesn't, she ignores his refusal of nutrition and his insistence on a stimulant at this late hour and leaves the room. On her way to the kitchen, she sees that Wilson is sleeping soundly, just as she'd expect of an exhausted man who has a large dose of a strong sedative in his system. Just as House would expect if he could see past his own worry for his friend. But she knows he can't, so she returns to the door of his bedroom to reassure him.
"Sleeping like a baby; looks peaceful. He's fine, should be out a good ten hours, I'd imagine." This news gives House some measure of calm; she sees a bit of the unformed anxiety leave his eyes. "I'll be back in five." She doesn't bother to tell him that when she returns, she'll be carrying his supper tray, and that he will eat.
---
When Cuddy returns in a few minutes with the tray of food, she isn't surprised to see House lying quietly, eyes closed. He needs all the sleep he can get, so she turns silently to leave and is startled when he says, "I told you I wasn't hungry."
"I thought you were sleeping."
"Not sleepy either."
Cuddy enters the room, mentally repeating "pediatric patient" to herself like a mantra. She realizes that she'll get nowhere very quickly with House if she treats him as she'd treat the normal adult patient. While House-as-recalcitrant-child can be amusing, she's aware also that it's not an unheard-of profile for adult sufferers of chronic pain. While many caregivers quickly become impatient, even annoyed, with an adult who's acting the way House is, Cuddy has studied the phenomenon, and so understands House's behavior.
House's reversion to both childish and childlike behavior is a manifestation of fear and anger. The necessary loss of control caused by his current condition is something he can't acknowledge or accept, so he attempts to wrest control back from the very people who can't allow that to happen. When he's acting childlike, the charm and the humor are appealing. But the other side of that coin is the stubborn childish behavior he's exhibiting now. It can be sad to watch, difficult to deal with.
Cuddy's learned that the most effective way to handle House when he's in this frame of mind is to treat him as a precocious child who's in a sulk. "Are you nauseated? I'll bring you a Compazine, but you've got to eat. You know you won't regain your strength by refusing food, House. And you should be touched; I made this for you myself."
"Yeah, well, my food taster's on vacation, and since you're the chef, it'd be smarter to wait 'til he gets back. Thanks anyway."
"Nice. Look, just try it; I promise, if you turn blue and start gasping you won't have to eat anymore." She sets the tray across his lap and sits beside the bed. "I'm sitting right here until you tell me how you like it. And I really need to go check on Wilson; he seemed a little restless just now."
House looks immediately towards the living room. "I knew we should've gone with the 3mg; go see if he's okay."
"You eat a few bites first; then I'll go check and come back with a full report." She knows that using Wilson is sneaky—but if it gets House to eat she's willing to take a page from House's own rule-breaking book—the ends always justify the means. She's certain the soundly sleeping Wilson would approve the tactic.
House rushes through three small bites of the homemade soup and sets down the spoon. "Delicious. Go."
Cuddy is ready to give him a hard time about his half-hearted attempt at eating when she realizes that House feels responsible for Wilson's state of exhaustion; he's feeling guilty and worried, and those are two of the many emotions with which he's uncomfortable. So she simply says, "Keep eating; I'm going," and stands to leave.
House hasn't picked up the spoon yet. When he becomes aware that Cuddy is still standing there watching him, looking a little sad, he retrieves the spoon and starts stirring the soup, finally taking a small mouthful. Cuddy sighs and exits the room.
---
When Cuddy returns to House's room, she sees that he's set the tray on the other side of the bed, and that both the soup and the cup of coffee he'd specifically requested appear scarcely touched. House is sitting completely upright in the bed, wearing an anxious look.
"Well?" he says.
"He's out of it again. Nothing to worry about. I'm more concerned that you're not eating or drinking." Cuddy eyes the tray.
"I'll work on it tomorrow. Just… tired."
Cuddy approaches the bed. "Okay, but I'm holding you to it. Tomorrow you start gaining some weight back. For right now, I'll get an assessment, set of vitals, too. Then I want you to get some sleep." She's busy gathering the necessary tools, but glances up and doesn't miss the odd look in House's eyes at mention of the word "sleep."
Cuddy takes the B/P twice and confirms her first set of numbers. Hmm. Everything else looks okay, though, and House is almost cooperative. Something seems to have changed for House over the last 72 hours, something good, maybe.
He seems… she searches for the word. More open? A little more accepting? Could be just the normal vulnerability of serious illness; don't know if it's really an elemental change or not. Won't know until he starts to recover, but I'm gonna take advantage of it. Wilson said he thinks House may not be so resistant to our concern now; he may be right. House is clearly anxious about something. If he were anyone else I'd just hug him, hold him. But I don't want to push it, maybe undo whatever good's happening with him….
Cuddy casually reaches over the bed, makes a show of rearranging the pillows at House's back. Then she sits at the bedside and puts her hand around his wrist as if to monitor his pulse, and idly asks him a question about Steve McQueen. She watches as the anxiety leaves his eyes when he gets into a funny story involving Wilson and the rat. While he's talking, she loosens her grip on his wrist but leaves her hand lying there.
House glances down once at her hand, but continues regaling her with his description of Steve's propensity for Wilson's neck. House is actually relaxing, Cuddy thinks. But his voice is getting weak again; he needs to sleep. And that's enough touch therapy for now, anyway. She removes her hand in a natural motion to smooth her hair back as she stands. "Get some rest; I'll be here bugging you again in another couple of hours." She smiles. "G'night, House."
House waits until she leaves the room to draw a shaky breath and set his mind to work on the fingering of a complicated piano piece; that should help him stay alert. He unconsciously moves his left hand over to cover his right wrist, where the warmth of another human being still lingers.
---
Cuddy's sitting at the kitchen table doing paperwork. She glances at her watch—almost midnight, time for House's meds and vitals. She rises, gets the pills and a glass of water. As she walks through the living room, she looks at Wilson, nested into the blankets and pillows on the couch. He's somehow managed to bury himself into the linens; all she sees is a shock of dark brown hair. She gently rearranges the blankets around his neck and shoulders; she's pleased to see that his face actually looks relaxed.
She opens the door to House's bedroom quietly. In the dim ribbon of light from the doorway the first thing she sees are eyes; alert blue eyes glowing at her in the dark.