A/N: I apologize profusely for the three day delay in updating; I've been dealing with my own 'pain control issues,' and the writing wasn't flowing as it should—not quite certain it is even now; however, this is what we've got…. mjf
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Trust
"Wait." Wilson hasn't risen to follow Cuddy into the living room. She turns back to him questioningly. "Cuddy, I'm… sorry. I guess I just panicked for a minute. You're right; if we're able to maintain his trust and his privacy, we should. I'm the one who made that commitment to him. I promised him no hospitals, no nasty surprises, and look at me now, caving in when it starts to get scary." He shakes his head sadly at his own failing.
Cuddy sighs, turns back into the kitchen, and sits down next to Wilson. "I need you with me on this 100 percent. If you've got doubts, then I can't be comfortable doing this; your support is essential. And he needs you. I saw how quickly you were able to calm him down a few minutes ago, and that's gonna be important. But I haven't forgotten that this is difficult for you—and neither has House. He'd be very unhappy if he knew how torn you are right now. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd agree to go to the hospital just to spare you the worry."
"What are you talking about?" asks Wilson. "House has no idea—"
Cuddy interrupts him with soft laughter. "You two are unbelievable," she tells Wilson. "Do you know why, when he asked you on Sunday to be his doctor, he insisted that I remain his physician of record? The reason he gave me was that he didn't ever want to put you in a position where a tough choice might have to be made. He didn't want you to have to go through that."
Wilson stares at Cuddy. "But he never said… I thought he was angry… I didn't think he wanted… but—" He stops talking and just looks at Cuddy, thoroughly confused.
Cuddy says with exasperated amusement, "Very eloquent! If what you're trying to say is that you didn't realize that he respects you, and appreciates you, and worries about you, then you're about as emotionally blind as he is. I'd like to knock both your heads together. Just when I think one of you really gets it, then the other one gets all stupid. Admittedly, that's usually House, but apparently you can be just as dense." She shakes her head, frustrated, and Wilson can swear he hears her mutter 'Men!' under her breath.
"I get all that; I really do," he tells her. "But most of the time, he just seems to resent that he has to need anyone. I guess I've become so expert at pretending that he doesn't need anyone that sometimes I believe it myself."
"Hold that thought, and don't move," says Cuddy, standing. "I've got to go check on him, but I'll be right back. We need to have this discussion, and we need to finish it before we talk with him about his condition."
When Cuddy enters the living room, she's relieved to see that House is still sleeping, and that there's been no change for the worse on the EKG monitor. There's been no improvement, either, but it's been only 10 minutes, and this is a procedure that can't be rushed. If she tries to raise the potassium level too quickly, the result will be congestive heart failure. So—while the temptation to resolve the deficit as quickly as possible is understandable—Cuddy's decided to be even more cautious than she'd be in the hospital setting. And because she's afraid that he might awaken while she and Wilson are not in the room, and figure things out for himself, she again turns the display away from him before returning to the kitchen.
Wilson is still looking pretty miserable. "How's he doing?" he asks.
"Sleeping; no changes. I need to know; are you going to be able to do this? Because I'm confident that we can handle this right here—if he's got you to help him through it. And I'm equally certain that if he's going to be picking up on any fears or doubts from you… well, you might as well call that ambulance right now."
Wilson's never seen Cuddy like this; she's taken charge, and she's clearly expecting complete cooperation and belief in her decision. But she seems almost driven to accomplish something that, at any other time, she'd quickly declare too dangerous. "Cuddy, what's up with you?" But as he asks the question, it comes to him. She's been willing to break rules, flaunt policy, and now maybe even risk House's life because of what she'd done six years ago when she'd allowed the surgery on House's leg. Now, Wilson needs to make certain that she's doing this for reasons other than misplaced guilt. "If this were anyone but House, would you even be considering this?" he asks.
"No, I wouldn't," Cuddy responds. "But… not for the reasons you think. Yes, I owe him for what happened. But even if I'd had no part in the surgery, I'd still want to do this for him, for the same reasons you had for starting this whole thing, when he collapsed in his office. I really do care about him, you know. And I know how much he hates this, how it goes against everything he wants us to believe about him. Call me weak, but it makes me hurt for him, and want to make it better." Cuddy pauses and takes a deep breath, and Wilson can tell that she feels as if she may have revealed too much. "So that's what I'm doing, and why I'm doing it. And if you ever share any of this with him, I'll deny it all, in the strongest possible language." She gives Wilson a shaky smile, and then, because she's Cuddy, she pulls it together, and asks, "So, with me on this?"
And all Wilson can do is nod, and follow her into the living room.
"We're gonna have to wake him," Cuddy says as they watch House, noting the shallow breathing, the pale skin. "We need to get him moved to the bedroom, get some oxygen going. And we need to let him know what we found." She and Wilson look at each other for a long moment, and a wordless decision is made that Wilson will handle it.
He sits on the edge of the couch, lays his hand on House's shoulder. "House, gotta talk. C'mon, wake up; DDX is over, need to talk about treatment."
House's eyes open slowly, and Wilson is again struck by just how ill he is. He's gaunt, and pale, and it seems as if the effort of holding his eyes open is just too much. But after a moment, House carefully eases himself into a sitting position, clears his throat, and focuses on Wilson. "What've we got? Where's the readout?" he asks.
Wilson hands him the strip of paper and watches his face carefully as he studies it. Finally, House looks up. "Not good." His eyes are asking what they plan to do, but he won't say the words.
Wilson glances at Cuddy, standing quietly off to the side. It's showtime; wish me luck. Cuddy gives him a small nod and moves to stand beside him.
"House, Cuddy here is still reluctant to punish the nurses by admitting you. So she's insisting on punishing herself instead—she's gonna take over your care, right here, for the next few hours, get you through this."
House studies Cuddy's face as she looks back at him, unblinking. Then he turns to Wilson. "Where you gonna be?"
"Well, I was gonna go catch a double feature, but someone's gotta protect the lady; guess I'm elected. I've… uh… been ordered to pack away my doctor kit until further notice, so you're stuck with me. We'll just hang out, okay?"
House looks from one to the other of them, and they can tell that he's figured it all out; he's analyzing every aspect of their plan. And they see in his eyes that he's decided to trust them. He's surprised that they've agreed to do this; he's got that strange protected feeling again, and he decides to just go with it.
"Okay." House looks at Cuddy. "What's next?"
"First, we need to get you back to bed," she says briskly. "Get you hooked up, maybe some O2 for a while." Cuddy asks Wilson, "Can you help him into the bedroom?"
Before Wilson can answer, House says, "I don't need any help; perfectly capable of limping into my own bedroom unassisted. And I don't need oxygen, either; I'll let you know on that."
Cuddy looks at him. Okay, this is where we establish the ground rules. You're trying to see if you can run this show, how much I'll let you get away with. We can't afford to let you win this one, House, so just play nice and follow the rules. "Can you help him into the bedroom?" she repeats to Wilson, as if House hadn't spoken.
"Glad to," Wilson says quickly, and before House can argue, he stands and starts to remove the EKG leads from House's chest, successfully pretending that House isn't glaring daggers at him. When he finishes the task, he says to House, "I'm going to help you stand, slowly. Grab the IV pole, and let's get this show on the road." Without looking at House's face, he gently places his arms under House's elbows, wrapping his hands around his upper arms, and, taking most of his friend's weight, lifts him to a standing position. He keeps his hands firmly in place while House gains his balance and locks his fingers around the handle on the pole. As they start the walk to the bedroom, Cuddy looks on in amusement as she notes, not for the first time, the unconscious way in which Wilson's normally assured gait now mimics House's less stable one.
They reach the bedroom, and Wilson lowers House carefully to the bed, helps him swing his legs up and get settled. The short walk has tired House out, and he doesn't protest the assistance. Cuddy's right behind them, carrying the portable O2 setup. Looking an apology to Wilson, she hands it to him while she gets ready to hook up the cardiorespiratory monitor. He thinks briefly of reminding her that she's stripped him of his medical privileges, decides she'd probably not see the humor in that right now, and sets to work.
House watches the two of them getting everything set up around his bed. He's aware that a lot of thought, a lot of talk, and probably some arguing have gone into this decision. He's puzzled that either of them would go to such lengths for him, but he's grateful. Wish I could thank 'em, but then they'd really think there's something wrong with me. Smart of Cuddy to pull Jimmy off the case; glad she did that. He's really scared; never seen him like this—he's ready to call the ambulance now. Never seen Cuddy so determined, either. Good thing, too—looks like she'll have to pull us both through. Can't think of anyone better for that job, though. When Wilson reaches over to place the nasal cannula in his nose, House doesn't even give him a dirty look. He reserves that look for when Wilson places the urinal beside the bed.
"Sorry, House," Wilson says. "But you're a doctor; you know as well as I do that you're bedbound until your cardiac status reverts to normal sinus rhythm." Wilson looks at the cardiorespiratory monitor that Cuddy's just finished hooking up. "And we're a long way from that, so just do us all a favor—try to relax."
"I'm with Wilson," Cuddy says as she picks up a stethoscope. "And if you can't relax on your own, I'm not adverse to a little IV Ativan to help you along." She finishes wrapping the BP cuff around House's arm, and holds out the pulse oximeter probe for his finger. He grabs it out of her hand and puts it on.
"Ask me, you two'd benefit from the Ativan more than I would," he grumbles.
Wilson laughs. "Sadly, that's probably true. But let's examine the reason we'd benefit from a dose of Ativan right now, shall we?"
As Wilson and Cuddy watch him with amusement, even House can't help smiling a little—he'd waltzed right into that one. "Hey, why don't you google 'patient compliance;' they just illustrated it with a picture of me, very flattering shot, check it out!" And he's glad he's made them laugh.