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"I found someone! She's still alive over here!"
The first thing she felt was cold. Then, the unmistakable throbbing of pain that began from her left cheek before coursing through her body and settling in various other places of interest. She was turned over onto her back and the ground felt rough beneath her.
"Can you hear me?"
Cuddy forced her eyes to open and she found herself staring at a blurry brown haired man as he leaned over her. He held onto a stick which was lit on one end and provided a slight sense of warmth.
"Can you sit up? Here."
The man extended a hand and Cuddy took it. He helped lift her to a sitting position, which made Cuddy's head spin. She was well aware that her face was cut and bloodied. She just wondered if she looked as bad as she felt.
"Do you think you can stand?" he asked her. "If not, I'll call someone else over. We're trying to make sure we see all the bodies before nightfall to make sure we've found all the breathers."
The plane crash came back into Cuddy's mind through quick flashes, the last image going back to House as he turned in her former seat to look at her. Cuddy frowned, causing more pain to the swollen areas on her face, and directed her gaze to the man.
"I can stand." Her voice was rough and unfamiliar to her ears. "Though, I think my left ankle's twisted."
"Let me help," he replied.
Carefully holding onto the light source, the man leaned down and slid an arm around Cuddy's back. Placing an arm around his shoulders, Cuddy painfully brought herself to her feet. She stood a moment, her head suddenly throbbing and her vision blurring. She drew in a few deep breaths to calm herself.
"I'm Dave," the man told her.
"Lisa," Cuddy said in return.
Dave kept his arm around her backside as he held his self made torch in his free hand. Cuddy left her arm draped around his shoulders to hold herself up. Dave carefully and slowly began to lead her over to an area where she saw two fires lit.
Cuddy scanned the group, squinting slightly as she tried to get a head count and see if any of the heads belonged to House. However, it was too hard to tell so she looked back over at Dave.
"How many are there?" she asked, giving a small nod toward the group.
"Twelve, including me," Dave answered. "With you, though, we make thirteen."
"How unlucky," Cuddy muttered.
"Not from where I'm standing," Dave replied.
"Is there a," Cuddy hesitated, the words sticking in her throat, her guilt nearly choking her. "Is there a man there with a bad leg? From before the crash. He's a doctor."
"And an asshole," Dave added. "He has a stash of pain meds and won't spare any to two people who are in severe pain."
"His name is Greg House?" Cuddy couldn't believe it was actually him. She couldn't believe he survived.
Dave stopped, causing Cuddy to stop as well. He stared at her. "You know him?"
"Yeah." Cuddy nodded and felt tears fall from her eyes. "I know him."
"Damn lucky, Lisa." Dave began to move again. "You're the only one who's got someone."
As Dave and Cuddy reached the survivors, they were approached by another man. Cuddy noted there were several pairs of eyes on her.
"This is Mark," Dave said and the man gave Lisa a nod. "Mark, this is Lisa. She's got a twisted ankle and is friends with the asshole doc."
"You a doctor, too?" Mark asked her.
"Yes," Cuddy answered.
"Good," Mark said. "We've got two people pretty bad off. And there's a kid with his arm popped out of the socket, but he won't let anyone fix him. And your asshole friend won't offer up any pain medication."
"Where is he?" Cuddy scanned the faces set aglow by the firelight.
"Over there." Mark pointed to a dark area. "By the edge of the trees."
Cuddy felt relief at seeing the hunched outline of House sitting on the ground. She withdrew her arm from around Dave and began to limp in House's direction. She almost fell when she put pressure on her left foot.
"Need help?" David offered, as he clutched onto her arm, making sure she didn't fall.
"No." Cuddy shook her head and pulled her arm away. "And I'll be right back to help you with the people who are hurt."
Cuddy hobbled along slowly until she was standing just behind House. Her tears had started again and she balanced herself, putting a tender pressure on her left foot in order to make sure she stayed balanced.
"Hey," she said plainly, as if it was any other day.
House's shoulders straightened and his head perked up. He turned just enough to catch a small glimpse of her, uncertain if he really did hear her voice or if his guilt had just reached the point where he would be hearing her deceased voice everywhere.
Cuddy hopped further towards him and practically fell down beside him. Once she had better settled into a sitting position, she looked over at him as he stared at her, mouth partially hanging open, his eyes scanning her.
"You should give your Vicodin to those who need it," Cuddy told him, narrowing her eyes and using her authoritative tone as a means to bring something normal back into their lives.
"I need it," House retorted, engaging in her attempt at normalcy before adding, "I thought you were dead."
"They need it more than you," Cuddy replied to his first statement. "And I thought you were dead."
House swallowed the lump in his throat. "You're a mess. Some emo teen found a stream a little further into the woods. There isn't much water, but enough. Let me clean you up a bit."
Cuddy shook her head. "No, it's-"
"Cuddy, if you saw yourself, you'd want me to clean you up," House cut her off.
"Do it quickly," Cuddy told him. "I have to help the people who are injured."
House reached for a melted piece of plastic that served as a large bowl. It was filled with water and a piece of fabric was half submerged in the water. House lifted the cloth and squeezed some of the water out.
"There's nothing you can do for those people," House said as he began to wipe the dirt and dried blood from her face.
"Except ease their pain," Cuddy replied. "And pop that little boy's arm into place."
House rolled his eyes since he tried to get the boy's arm into place earlier. "Good luck with that."
Cuddy winced. "Ow."
"This cut's deep." House poked at the gash on her left cheek. "You should have it stitched."
Cuddy frowned, which hurt more than it should have. "With what?"
"MacGyver found some things." House rinsed the cloth and then went back to work. "Thread and stuff."
"It's fine." Cuddy hoped rescue would come before she needed to use items that were not sterile.
"It'll be one nasty scar." House pushed gently on the bruised area of her face. "And you've got a swollen eye here."
"Well, you've got a large scrape on your forehead," Cuddy replied, eyeing the offending mark on his forehead before letting her gaze drop. "And a split lip."
"As do you." House poked the cut on her lip.
Cuddy placed her hand on his arm to keep him from wiping her face clean anymore. Her eyes locked with his as they filled with tears again.
"I'm glad you're okay," she said quietly, holding her tears back as best she could. "I need to go check on those people now. And I would really appreciate your Vicodin, House. Think about it."
Using his shoulder as an aide, Cuddy forced herself to her feet. Her ankle screamed in pain, but she held her breath and let the feeling pass. Once it did, Cuddy half hopped, half hobbled back over to the group near the fires. House turned slightly and watched her go, glad that she couldn't see the tears in his eyes that stemmed from seeing her alive.