Chapter 7

The Fix

22 April

Wilson holds out the prescription. I take it so he won't suspect anything. His eyes turn to the ventilator, watching it for a few moments before he settles into the chair next to me.

"You know," he says after a while.

Great. Got a feeling I'm not going to like this.

"It's not easy... especially when it's someone you love, but..." His breaths are uneven. "I think... I think it's time to start preparing for the worst."

My fingers tighten around my cane handle. "No." It's come out before I realise I sound like a defiant toddler.

"I'm worried about you." His arm lifts from his side, like he wants to set it on mine, but thinks better of it.

"That's sweet." I want to head for the door. Cuddy's unconscious. This would hardly count as abandoning her. She doesn't need me right now. She'll recover just the same if I'm not here.

"House... I'm serious. I don't want to see you back in Mayfield... or worse."

"There's something worse than Mayfield?"

He returns a solemn stare. I glance away.

"I'm not letting you go through this alone." He finally clutches my wrist, his jaw hardened with determination.

I narrow my eyes at him, a silent command to keep off. "What if that's what I want?"

23 April

I toss the oversized tennis ball to Rachel.

She catches it in both hands, grinning. "I got it!"

"Yeah. I can see that." I swivel in my chair. "Now throw it back."

She winds her arm behind her.

"Carefully," I add.

Just as the ball goes into the air, the office door swings open and draws my attention. It's Thirteen. The ball smacks me in the chest..

"It's daytime," she remarks.

"Oh, is that why the sun's up?" I take the ball in one hand and pass it to the other. "I was confused."

She rolls her eyes and glances at Rachel who's toddling off into the conference room. "Rachel's here, I mean."

"Babysitter has the flu." I watch her stop at the whiteboard and scribble, then I stand up, turning back to Thirteen. "Which is why I'm looking to fill the position. You've got perfect timing."

"Found a case." She lifts a folder from her side. Interesting that she was so quick. Either Wilson put her up to it—worried I'll fly to pieces without a puzzle—or she's just desperate for something to do. Or a bit of both.

"Seizures," she says after a moment.

"That all?"

"She works at a weapons development compound. Thought you might find that interesting." She drops the folder on my desk.

I bend over to snatch my backpack from the floor.

"Could be karma." she adds, causing me to glance up.

"Her seizures are the result of bad karma?" I continue before she can say anything. "You're right. Intriguing." I sling the strap over my shoulder. "Whether or not you actually believe in karma, that is. Do you?"

"Well, I think if you spend your days designing ever more effective ways to blow people up, stuff's bound to come back to you."

"If only the universe operated under such simple laws."

Rachel draws a misshapen blob person with stick legs, not so much as glancing back at us.

"I need to do something," I say. "Keep an eye on her."

"Skipping out on your parental duties already?"

"Well, that doesn't apply seeing as how I'm not her parent... and, it's only for about half an hour."

"Looks like I don't really have a choice."

I go into the other room, Thirteen trailing, and kneel beside Rachel. Yes, I'm able to kneel without collapsing in agony. Thirteen's noticed. "This is Dr Thirteen." I over-enunciate the words. "She's going to play with you for a bit."

"Okay." Rachel nods.

"Make sure she limits her artwork to the whiteboard." I start out of the room, pausing in the doorway to cast a backward glance. "Have fun."

Thirteen looks at her, then me, with one of those cryptic expressions halfway between annoyance and amusement.

I stick up my cane at her. "And don't pretend you don't like the idea."

Must be bittersweet. She likes kids, but obviously won't ever have any of her own. She's too smart for that, not selfish enough.

I feel stupid holding Cuddy's hand. She doesn't know we're here.

"MRI was clean." Thirteen comes in with Rachel in tow.

Rachel lets go of her and charges over, climbs up on my lap. Her elbow jabs into my leg. My bad leg. Wilson scrutinises as I bear the discomfort, arms floating out from my sides awkwardly.

"Huh. Looks like the little cub's getting attached to the grumpy old bear," he says.

"Shut up." I let my arms down, Rachel digging in again with her elbows and knees, settling into a comfortable position. Comfortable for her, that is.

She looks at Wilson. I can only see the back of her head, but I imagine she's twinkling with curiosity. "Will you play too?"

His smirk from before is wiped off and replaced with bewilderment. Serves him right. "Play what?" he asks.

"Give them sprinkles!" She mimes a pitching motion.

Hm. Is that what she's calling it?

His eyes narrow towards me. "What is 'give them sprinkles'? Do I even want to know?"

"Adorable," Thirteen interjects, drawing our attention.

"What?" we both ask at the same time.

"You guys." She can't seem to stifle a smile. "You make a cute family."

"I know." I throw on an exaggerated tone. "Wilson's the mommy."

He scoffs. "Very funny."

"Wilson's not Mommy." Rachel turns around to scold me with a frown.

"Aww, don't you like Wilson?" I ask mockingly. "You'll make him cry." I rub my eyes.

"Will not," he says. Rachel doesn't notice.

"No, no! Stop!" She swats me, then climbs down, pats Wilson's arm. "Don't cry, Wilson. I like you."

Thirteen's getting a good chuckle out of this.

"I'm okay," he tells her. "I like you too." He gives her a pet on the head and she juts her chin up, beaming. Just like a little retriever. No wonder she took to clicker training so well.

"Since the MRI was clean," I redirect to the case. "Nothing left to do now but throw on your tactical gear and break into the compound. Might want backup. Get Chase and Cameron."

Thirteen's eyes glint with amusement while Wilson cocks his head to the side, electing not to comment.

She starts to leave, but stops when I speak again.

"Don't get shot."

She turns.

"Don't get shot!" Rachel repeats. How cute.

"All right," Thirteen says. "But we're not breaking in. I'll ask if we can search her office."

I bounce my cane. "And I thought you were fun."

"I thought you were fun," Rachel says. Her obnoxious mimicry provokes a chortle from Wilson and a curve of lips from Thirteen before she heads out.

"I'm gonna get something to eat." Wilson stands, goes in the same direction. Before I can say anything, he interrupts. "Don't worry," he says, without looking back. "I'll get enough for two."

"Oh, excuse me, Dr House." An unfamiliar man greets me as I come out of the bathroom. He looks at me, then the door, then back at me. Clearly confused about the lady on the door.

"Eigo wakarimasen," I mutter.

Not falling for that I see.

"I'm a co-worker of Wendy Lee's," he says, walking beside me. "I'm also her boyfriend."

"Great. I'm a guy who doesn't care."

"She's your patient."

"Oh, you thought I didn't know who Wendy Lee was?" I step into the elevator, press the button with my cane. He follows. "Yeah, makes sense. I'm not good at names."

"Did Dr Fortune tell you? Her last boyfriend was a real nut. He's basically stalking her."

"See, this is what I don't care about." The elevator lurches into motion. "I don't care who cares about her."

"I think I know what's wrong with her," he says, like he hasn't heard a word I've said.

"You screwed up in the lab and accidentally spilled some bomb on her?"

"No. I think she was poisoned."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Apparently he can't detect sarcasm very well. Maybe that's a symptom of something. The doors open. I step out.

Still following. "Her ex is another co-worker. He's been pissed off ever since she broke up with him for me."

"Hm. Wonder why." I open my office door. The team are waiting in the conference room, Chase and Cameron at the table, Thirteen on the floor with Rachel, going through a picture book. "Oh, wait. People tend to do that in relationships, don't they? Jealousy is a thing, right?"

He sighs.

"If you had any evidence, you'd be going to the cops, which tells me this is just a theory based on a fairly normal reaction to being ditched for another co-worker." I limp through, towards the other room. "Oh, and it's not really stalking when you work together."

"Was that the boyfriend?" Cameron asks as I step in.

"Yeah. Thinks she's been poisoned by a stalker. Apparently, it's unusual for a guy to get upset when his girlfriend dumps him and hops onto the next nerd in the building."

"Regardless of the likelihood, it's not poison," Thirteen says. "When we tested her blood and CSF for toxic exposure they were negative for everything we could think of."

"Well, that just leaves everything we didn't think of." Chase drums his fingers on the table.

"She works in a bomb factory," Cameron says. "Couldn't hurt to start activated charcoal, see what happens."

25 April

Most of the day is spent watching Cuddy's ventilator rise and fall to the beat of the droning heart monitor in between listening to the team argue over whether the patient is an alcoholic because of the empty booze bottles found at her place.

She's on diazepam for the seizures and morphine for the abdominal pain caused by pancreatitis. Alcoholism, a UTI allowed to run rampant and attack her kidneys, or poisoning. All theories that are diagnostically boring.

I pull back the plunger and draw the colourless solution from the vial. There's no where to set it. Should have left my backpack open.

Ting. Clatter.

"Shit," I say under my breath.

The vial rolls off somewhere under the toilet. Now I'll have to sanitise it for next time.

My jeans are hanging from the handicap rail to the side. My backpack is lodged there too. I stretch and grab the swab packet I've laid out on top of my jeans, tear it open using my teeth. The paper floats to the tile and the scent of alcohol wafts out. It's cold to the skin.

After drawing a big circle across my thigh, I toss aside the used swab and palpate the muscle, or lack thereof. A few seconds to dry. Then I pretend I'm shooting a dart. On the third stroke, I plunge the needle in with a sting.

The bathroom door swings open and closed. Footsteps come near the stall. Babbling. Sounds like a kid. Another stall closes. I don't look away from the syringe barrel.

No blood when I pull back the plunger. Good. Haven't hit any vessels. I push down. It's all in.

I reach around and balance the used syringe on the back of the toilet, take the leg exerciser from my backpack.

Clatter.

The syringe rolls off too. Dammit.

"What was that?" The kid sounds remarkably like Rachel.

Clang.

The stall door. It's wide open. The lock doesn't work. Thirteen's in the opening.

"Did you follow me?"

"Rachel had to pee. This is the ladies' room," she says, not quite a question.

"Exactly. Almost no chance of encountering Wilson in here. Or Foreman, or Chase. Cameron maybe, you apparently, but..." I sigh instead of finishing.

Humming comes from the next stall.

"This is what you've been doing."

"Either get in here and close the door, or get out."

She takes a moment to digest it, ends up choosing the first option. Her eyes skim the stall, taking in the scattering of injection paraphernalia, then the strap on my leg, then they stop, lingering in one place.

Great. I didn't even think. Only a handful of people have ever seen it. I'd grab my jeans and cover myself, but it seems pretty pointless now. And would only be pathetic. "Just gonna stare like a pervert?"

"S—sorry." Her gaze shifts from the disgusting, hollowed out log that's my right thigh. "That's not morphine... or heroin."

She's likely deduced from the lack of bloody backflow into the syringe, and from the positioning of the injection mark that I wasn't shooting into a vein.

"Pain's bad again. And more opioids could mean a rubber room." I lift my leg against the tension of the strap. "Don't have many choices. This seemed like the smartest one."

She's quiet. Either she thinks I'm a moron, or still has no idea what's going on. "Everything okay, Rachel?" she calls.

"Yes!" The toilet paper rolls and rolls. Someone's having fun.

Thirteen suddenly squeezes into the tight space beside me and crouches.

"Careful now. They might not believe you if you're reported for sexual assault a second time."

Her eyes glint up at me. Then her hand rises with the vial. "Compound CS-804?" she reads the label aloud, backing to her previous distance.

I resume the leg exercise. "It's an experimental drug that's supposed to regrow muscle."

"All done!" The toilet in the next stall flushes.

"Okay, wash your hands!" she calls to Rachel, then takes a moment to mull over my reply. "Why have I got the feeling it's not been approved for human trials yet?"

Rachel's pattering over to the sinks is unmistakable.

"Doesn't matter." I grunt, pulling against the tight strap again and again. "It's groundbreaking. Huge success."

Water runs.

"In rats, I assume."

"Well, they've got four legs. Think how fast it should work on one."

She leans against the side of the stall. "If you're so sure this is a great idea, why hide it from Wilson?"

No mention of Cuddy because everyone knows her plate is already full.

"You know Wilson. He gets his undies in a knot over crap like this."

"True." She pushes the door open with her shoulder. "But I think you're just ashamed."

26 April

"My throat hurts," Cuddy manages hoarsely. She looks around the room, then at me, Rachel, and Wilson beside her bed. She reaches towards the bedside tray.

"You were intubated." I fill a cup with water from the pitcher, then offer it. She doesn't have to thank me, the look in her eyes as she gulps the cup dry is enough.

"How you feeling, Mommy?" Rachel bounces her toy elephant on the edge of the bed.

"I'm all right, honey, just tired." Cuddy sets down the cup and brushes her daughter's cheek.

"Tired? But you were sleeping a lot."

She turns to me. "How long was I out?"

"Little over a week."

"What happened?"

Wilson is decidedly silent about that.

"Flash pulmonary oedema sent you into respiratory and cardiac arrest. Code team resuscitated you, but had to put you on a ventilator."

She watches me, mulling it over.

"It was my fault." My tongue feels like a dry log in my mouth. "I pushed you too hard."

Her eyes spark with disbelief. I can't tell her the rest. That I actually have no idea what I was doing when it happened. Or what else I might have injected her with.

Rachel interrupts. "I wanna see a real elephant." She clings to the bed railing with one hand and leans herself back and forth.

I squeeze Cuddy's fingers. "It's not over."

She gazes at the clear sky through the window behind us, then faces me again. "I don't..." Her voice falters. A tear threatens to fall. "I don't know if I want to do the second round."

Wilson scolds me with his eyes. He knows I'll force her. And I will. But only because the alternative is even more idiotic.

"Wanna see a real elephant," Rachel repeats. She's still rocking on the railing. "You promised."

Wilson stands, pats her head. "Sorry, sweetie," he says, easing her to let go, "but I don't think your mommy is quite up to a trip to the zoo just yet."

"No," Cuddy croaks out. "She's been begging me for weeks."

He raises a brow.

"Call Julia. She'll take her."

I pull out my phone.

"Really?" Rachel's face lights up, then scrunches after a moment. She latches onto my cane."But I wanna go with House."

I tuck the phone back into my suit jacket.

"And Wilson!" She grabs his hand too.

"If..." Cuddy hesitates. "If you don't mind... it would mean a lot to me."

"Sure." I lean down and kiss her cheek. I won't argue with her now.

"I'll be okay," she says. "Let her have fun." She turns to Wilson. "But you don't have to go."

"No, it's fine."

"She's had a heart attack. We need to implant an automated cardio defibrillator," Chase says.

"Fibillator." Rachel swings my hand out with hers. "That's a funny word."

"Go ahead." I press the elevator button with my cane.

"Obviously, it's only buying us a little time to figure out what's wrong with her." He squints. "Are you going somewhere?"

"The zoo!" Rachel hops in place.

He looks at Cameron and Thirteen. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." The doors come open.

"It's for Cuddy," Wilson says as we step in.

They're all quiet.

"Call me if you've got any ideas." I press for the ground floor.

Rachel swings between us, hanging from each of our hands, pretending she's a monkey. We must look pretty stupid and my limp doesn't help. Wilson's eyes dart to my leg every so many steps along the path. Probably thinks I don't notice. He wants to probe me about something.

"There they are!" Rachel lets go of us and rushes up to the African elephant enclosure. "Look! They're so big!" She points and bounces beside the plaque. "Elephants are the best!"

A little boy, about five, turns to her. "Na-uh. Lions are the best."

"Elephants are bigger!"

"But lions have sharp claws and teeth."

The exchange provokes a smile from Wilson as we approach more slowly.

"You're not on oxy," he remarks. The kids' chattering fades into the background. "Thirteen found the whole unused bottle in your desk."

"Too lazy to rifle through my crap yourself?"

He barely acknowledges that with a faint twitch of his brow. "You're suddenly coping so much better. Easiest explanation would be you've found something stronger."

"This is why you came. To watch me walking around, confirm your theory."

He takes a moment to respond. The space allows the little boy's voice to stand out. "A lion would win!"

"And keep an eye on you," he finally says.

"Oh, right. 'Cause I'm gonna go and score a big bag of heroin with a three-year-old along for the ride."

"It wouldn't be that surprising, really."

I scoff. "Give me some credit."

The largest elephant raises its trunk and bellows. Rachel hops up and down on top of the bench at the enclosure wall..

"Come on, Jackson, we're leaving." The boy's mom calls.

"Okay." He groans, then runs off.

Rachel turns. "I'm thirsty."

"Then we'll go and get some drinks."

"But I'm not done." She looks over the back of the bench again.

I exchange a glance with Wilson. No explanation necessary. "I'll be right back," he volunteers.

I sit on the bench. My phone goes off. The team.

"Wendy's bleeding from her anus, mouth, and vagina now," Cameron begins.

"My favourite kind of report. Blood gushing from all orifices. Any breathing issues?"

"No, but... we're not sure it's internal," Chase says.

"If it's coming from both ends, it's internal."

"Her gums look like they were burned."

"What about this?" Thirteen asks.

"She's looking through some case files," Cameron says for my benefit.

"28-year-old woman presenting with burn-like wounds in her mouth and oesophagus from a candidiasis infection."

"Interesting." I switch my phone to my other hand and other ear. Rachel's still standing beside me, looking over the back of the bench, watching the elephants. "Might even be relevant if the woman had had seizures and it was flowing out the other side too."

"If the fungus had entered her bloodstream—"

Chase interjects. "Would have seen it in the blood work."

"Acute myeloid leukaemia can cause swelling in the gums."

"She doesn't have a history of blood diseases in her family, her blood count's normal, and she hasn't been exposed to chemical toxins."

"Not that we know of."

"The person that she works most closely with is also her boyfriend," Cameron says. "You don't think he would have told us if there had been some sort of chemical spill or accident?"

"You know, there is one other cause of AML," Thirteen says. "I've seen some reports that their company was developing tactical nuclear warheads."

Ionizing radiation. "Start the treatment." I hang up.

Rachel plops down, looks at me like she's sorting a jigsaw puzzle in her head. "That kid..."

"Yeah?" I tuck my phone away.

"He said his cat beat up a mouse." Her focus isn't on the elephants behind us any more. "The mouse was hurt... and it died."

Oh great. The big talk. Really shouldn't be me giving it.

"What's that mean?" she asks.

But... you know... it might be a good thing. This might work.

"It stopped living," I say. "It's like going far away and never coming back."

She squints for a moment. "Is that what happens when animals get hurt?"

"Not always."

The elephants bellow again.

"But everything dies."

She looks at a family walking past us. "Even people?

"Afraid so."

Her eyes get big. "Even... Mommy?"

The signal in front turns red. Its glow blends with the final glare from the setting sun. "I caught the end of your little discussion with Rachel earlier." Wilson eases the car to a stop.

We left the zoo a while ago, stopped to get something to eat, let Rachel tire herself out. He's had plenty of time to inform me of this, but I'm guessing he didn't want to start lecturing me in front of the little one.

"Can't say I find your idea shocking," he says, "but it's a new low."

"Wait... new low?" I peek in the rear-view mirror. Rachel lies across the seat, breathing deeply. "Isn't that exaggerating?"

The light turns green. It's clear ahead. MMMBop rings out from my jacket pocket before he can comment further. He gives me an unamused sideways glance, then pushes down on the gas pedal. The car drags forwards.

"Inflammation of the genitals," Cameron says on the other end.

"Wow, might wanna get Chase to help with that instead of me."

"Wendy's." She sighs. "Means we were wrong."

"I'm not so sure about that," Chase argues. "The seizures have stopped. Her fever's gone away. She's improved."

"By luck."

"Oh, no, don't you two start fighting now. You're gonna make me cry and snot all over Wilson." I lean towards him.

He raises a brow, stops us at another intersection. This time he flips the turn signal.

"What else has been different since you started the treatment?"

"Her boyfriend hasn't been around her," Thirteen says after a moment.

"Poisoning." I shift in my seat.

"What? I thought we agreed the theory about the ex was crap," Chase says.

"It's not the ex." Thirteen rips the words from my head.

"Best way to avert suspicion from yourself. Put it on someone else before anyone even suspects you. Pressure him." I hang up.

Rachel rushes ahead of me, tosses herself against Cuddy's bed. "Mommy."

"What's wrong, honey?" Cuddy hugs her. "Didn't you have fun at the zoo?"

She's quiet, latched on until I'm at the rail. She draws back, tears welling. "Don't die," she whimpers.

Shock slams into Cuddy.

"Take the medicine again... please. So you won't die."

Shock turns to ire that sears straight through me."You told her?" Cuddy's tone is what I imagine it would be if I'd given Rachel a chainsaw to play with.

"What was I supposed to do?" I ask. "Lie to her?"

"She's three!"

I tilt my cane. "And smart enough to know the truth."

Rachel rubs her eyes. "Are you mad, Mommy?"

"No, no, sweetie." Cuddy softens towards her, touches her hand. "Not at you."

"At House?"

"Why don't you take your elephant and play over there for a bit?" She points to the window.

"His name's Mr Trunk," Rachel mumbles, rubbing the toy against her cheek.

"Of course it is," I say. "Can't believe Mommy didn't know that."

The exasperation etched into Cuddy's face deepens. She watches Rachel toddle off, waits for her crouch in the corner, babbling to Mr Trunk, then turns to me again. "It wasn't your choice."

"Why not? Not my daughter? Not my cancer?"

"That's beside the point, but yeah!" She raises her voice as far as her recently intubated throat will allow. Rachel peeks over.

"She deserved to know." I meet her glare head on.

"Oh, no, don't you dare pretend this is about what she deserves. You just wanted to manipulate me like you always do," she says. "You could've at least had the decency to leave her out of it."

She's not wrong. But she's not entirely right either.

"She'd hate you one day if you lied to her about this."

She looks at Rachel, still chattering, sitting cross-legged, raising the elephant's trunk and flapping his ears."Maybe so, but I'd rather she hate me. I don't want her scarred."

"Life leaves us all scarred. Not even the best mom in the world can protect her from that."

A moment passes. She doesn't remark.

"I just want you to live, dammit."

Her scowl melts, replaced by helplessness. "So do I."

"Then finish what we've started."

"You make it sound like it's a sure thing, like I've got a choice."

The uncertainty and indifference are a rake across my internal organs. I can't hold in the harshness. "It's better than doing nothing. We haven't even got the scans yet."

She trembles. "I'm afraid."

"I know." My thumb brushes her knuckles.

She looks at Rachel again, then out the window to the lights glowing against the night sky, mulling it over. "If I do it... I want you to do something for me."

"Tell me and it's done." I slide my hand from hers and pull one of the chairs closer.

"I doubt it."

"Won't know if you don't tell me." I sit down.

"You'll think it's stupid... and this is not how I imagined I'd—not that I've imagined it much before." She blinks longer than normal. "I want to get married," she blurts.

The muscles in my brow region draw tight. Not what I was expecting.

"I knew it." A deep breath heaves out. "Forget it. I know how you feel about marriage... it's no big—"

"No," I cut in, still not quite sure of my own intentions.

She studies me, her lips parting and sealing a few times before she decides not to say anything else.

Marriage is pointless, sure, and when you look at Wilson's string of disasters, only a complete moron would even consider it. But it matters to her.

"Why now?" I ask after a moment.

She hesitates. "You know why."

"So... you wanna get hitched now 'cause you think this is it."

She wipes her wet streaked cheeks. "Not the way I would've put it, but... yeah."

"Interesting."

Her eyes probe mine for any indication of my thoughts.

"You just got done telling me it's not my cancer, Rachel's not my kid. But you know what marriage means. Or what it's supposed to mean."

"I'm sorry. That was stupid. Of course, I know this affects you too," she says. "But about Rachel... it's just... you don't like kids."

I glance at Rachel again just in time for her to peer at me. Her eyes are like ravenous black holes pulling all matter towards them in some attempt to assimilate the secrets of the universe. She's not boring. Not like before.

"On average, not so much." I turn back to Cuddy. "But adults usually suck too."

"So...?" She trails off, too squeamish to repeat the request.

Our eyes stay locked for several moments of silence.

"No," I say.

It's like she's been hit in the chest and had her air knocked out. Then the surprise gives way to dejection. She faces the floor. "It's fine. I understand." She says that more for her benefit than mine. "I shouldn't expect you to sacrifice your principles for me."

"It's not that."

She waits for the rest.

"I won't do it because you're not going to die."

She ruminates for a couple of seconds. "Meaning what exactly?"

I turn to find Rachel approaching.

"Are you sad again, Mommy?" She stops beside me, touches the bed rail.

"No, I'm okay, sweetie." Cuddy tries to will away the redness around her eyes.

"Are you gonna take the medicine?"

"You shouldn't worry about that." Cuddy pats her hand, quivering voice betraying her words."Everything's going to be okay."

Rachel abandons the rail to climb on me.

"If you really want to do it..." I say finally, adjusting to the new addition to my lap. "It can wait."

Rachel sags against my arm. It's getting to be about her bed time.

"What if..." Cuddy hesitates. "What if it can't?"

"It can." I grab her hand again. "We'll do it right. When you're over this. When it's all behind us."