Chapter 16

"The Morning After"

I thought I was hearing bees buzzing.

Buzz … then nothing. Another buzz a couple tones lower … then another silence. Then the original buzzing for a couple of seconds, and nothing again! I blinked my eyes hard a couple times and listened more closely.

Voices! Not the buzzing of bees. People talking. Funny: the sounds rolling around inside my conscious mind weren't all that different!

Where was I? It was completely dark within my tiny circle of existence, and for a moment I was disoriented; lost inside the unfamiliar territory of my own suddenly vacant head. What a strange sensation. I sat up quickly.

Whoa! That was a mistake!

The room swam in a nauseating whirlpool … as though I were sitting on a piano stool and spinning. I'd pushed upward with both hands, trying to get my bearings. I was still on House's couch with a light blanket over me, but I'd also done something nasty to my injured hand. I winced sharply and grasped the wrist with my right hand, hissing a curse through my teeth.

Wow! Damn!

My right hand met loosely woven cloth … not skin.

What? Where's my watch? Oh yeah …I switched it to my right arm.

The present came slamming back with a hard dose of reality, and I remembered the night before. Had it been the night before? It was still dark. I played with the loose weave between thumb and forefinger for a moment, and then remembered that Cuddy had talked me into letting her examine my hand. She'd clasped my wrist between gentle fingers and rotated the joint carefully. It had hurt like hell, and I remembered her saying something about a possible sprain.

She disappeared for a few minutes, and I almost went to sleep during that interval. Then she was back with a tube of Mentholatum Deep Heating Rub and a battered 2" Ace bandage. She plastered the smeary stuff onto me and wrapped the bandage firmly. The heat it gave off and the support it offered were comforting.

She didn't say much, but she didn't have to. It probably wouldn't have sunk into my foggy brain anyhow. But I remembered her being beside me … and then not.

I woke up a little more and looked around. It wasn't quite as dark as I'd thought at first. The little light near the piano was on, casting a very dim glow upon the room. Down the hallway I saw the nightlight was on in the bathroom, which House always kept burning so he wouldn't break his neck if he had to get up at night.

And there was a sliver of light showing beneath his almost-closed bedroom door. The intermittent buzz of voices was emanating from there. Cuddy and House.

House!

I was off the couch quickly, blanket dropping to the floor. I didn't bother to pick it up. House was awake. And talking! I turned on the floor lamp and paused a second to bring up my hand and look at the time. Only 8:45 in the evening? It had seemed much later than that.

As I approached the bedroom door on silent bare feet, I heard Cuddy's voice. Low and reassuring: "Of course I'll stay. I was pretty much planning on it anyway."

I pushed the door open the rest of the way and walked in. "What's this about staying?" The sight of Greg House, still looking drained, but alert and comfortable, made my heart jump in my chest, and I didn't care if he saw that fact mirrored in my face. He was even sitting upright against his mound of pillows.

He turned his eyes toward me, and I saw the twinkle. "I asked Cuddy to stay the night." He said. "We'll have a sleep-over … you sleep, and she will take over!"

I shook my head, even though I couldn't stop the foolish grin I felt spreading. "Nuh-uh! You wore her out today. She needs to go home and get some real rest. I just had a nap, and I feel much better."

I saw him look pointedly at the ace bandage wrapped around my hand, and thought:

Uh-oh … here it comes.

"What happened, Jimmy?"

I held it up purposely so he could dispel his curiosity. "This? Nothing at all. Cuddy's trying for her Girl Scout badge in first aid. She was practicing on me. Good job, huh?"

Peripherally I saw Cuddy's open-mouthed expression. Her dark blue eyes were aiming sparks in my direction, but nothing in the world, at that point, could have taken away my good feeling.

"That's not true!" She said to House. "His car skidded off the road in the rain, and now his wrist is not only bruised, but probably sprained too. But not to worry … I examined it and decided he's probably going to live."

I shot Cuddy as much of a dirty look as I could muster, which wasn't very … and looked back at House to be sure that the news of my little fender-bender wouldn't upset him.

Greg said nothing, just held out his hand and wiggled the fingers, indicating that he wanted a look at it. So I walked around the bed and sat down carefully at his side. Presented my "injury" for his scrutiny. His look was serious as he reached for me, and I was put in mind of the time he'd broken his own fingers and I'd been so consumed with guilt I'd been almost afraid to touch him for fear of injuring him further.

His touch on my arm was tender and kind, more so than I'd expected. He rolled it over and probed, equally gently, scrutinizing the dark bruising extending down over the base of my palm. There was a definite tinge of regret in his eyes as he released my arm. "Cuddy's right, you know. You have a sprain. Does it hurt?"

"Not much." I lied. "It's had a chance to rest awhile. It'll be in the way for a few days, then that'll be it."

"Probably not a fatal injury," House agreed, keeping his features stern. "It's your own fault for not being right-handed like the rest of the world! If you were, this would only be a minor inconvenience." His eyes wandered appraisingly over the rest of me … rumpled, sweated, dirty, and dog-tired. "Any other damage?" He finally asked.

I was unreasonably happy he was being sarcastic about the whole business. I saw the relief in his eyes when I shook my head in the negative. "Nope … not to me anyway. The old Volvo's gonna need a little work though, I'm afraid …"

House looked away for a moment. His voice was deceptively low when he continued. "Cars are easy to replace … and this clinches it! Cuddy stays."

They dispatched me to the shower.

"Get going!" They said, almost in unison.

"I'll rebandage your hand when you get out," Cuddy said.

"There's a new Ace bandage on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet," House told us both.

"I'll get it for you when I come out of the shower," I said to Cuddy, "so you can finish practicing your first aid …" and didn't give either of them any further argument as to whether or not I'd need it.

After that, I … in their words: "Got!" And … oh my God! That hot shower felt so damn good …

… and it felt even better to be home!

I languished in that hot steamy enclosure for more than fifteen minutes, letting the hot water cascade over me in rivulets and soothe my weary shoulders and droop my hair down over my eyes to the point that I couldn't even see through the dark curtain of soppy strands.

I stood leaning against the side of the stall, clasping one of House's "handicap grabs" with my good hand while watching the hurt one swell like a kid's balloon beneath the hot water, and wondering why I didn't even have the sense to ice it instead of broil it.

I finally got out, squeaky clean and smelling of Irish Spring; dried what I could reach of myself with my right hand and let drip-dry what I couldn't. Gingerly, I slipped into one of House's old tee shirts and an ancient pair of gray sweats, and returned to the bedroom, feeling like a very clean, wet dishrag.

Greg and Lisa were talking in low tones, and when I showed up, they took one look at me and smiled at each other. I tried to hand her the Ace bandage from the medicine cabinet, but she took one look and shook her head. "I'll rebandage that when it comes back down to room temperature!"

I scowled at her, but refrained from comment. House merely raised an eyebrow.

"Dinner will be here in a little while," Cuddy added, probably to break the sudden silence. "We'll eat … all of us will eat …" looking pointedly at House. "And then I'll fix your hand, help you get the 'kid' settled for the night, and go catch a rest myself. Sound okay?"

"All except the 'kid' part," House interjected before I could reply. "It's Saturday night, and the 'kid' wants to stay up and watch wrestling!"

I wondered if I could derail him from that one, and I looked at him with a few daggers included in the stare. "But then Cuddy won't be able to rest," I reminded him.

His mouth twisted to the side with displeasure for a moment, and the silly expression did make him look a lot like a kid. Then his shoulders hunched with concession. "Oh, all right. TiVo it for me then, willya? John Cena's gonna try to be kickin' my boy Edge into next year … can't miss that."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

Was he serious?

"Yeah, we'll certainly TiVo that 'can't-miss' moment for you. When you get back to work, remind me to raise your salary above minimum wage so you can afford a TV for the bedroom."

"Don't want a TV in here. Rumor has it that it cuts down on other activities …" His eyebrows waggled and he leered at Cuddy, blue eyes shining.

"And you'd know this … how?" Cuddy asked him with utter disdain in her voice.

"I don't!" He shot back. "I said it was just a rumor. But I would know … probably … if you'd just stop turning me down." He waggled the eyebrows again, but she just smirked at him and shook her head.

"That's my cue to get the pizza ordered," she said to both of us, and somehow she was looking at me as though searching for some tiny indication that I might be siding with House.

I combed my face of all expression and stared back at her. Maybe it was something in my eyes that told her I was stonewalling for all I was worth. She scowled and walked out of the room, saying something or other back over her shoulder that sounded a lot like like:

"… you sprain your damn hand and then you get in a hot shower and boil it like a lobster! You two would do just about anything to get out of a little work …"

I couldn't be sure that was exactly what she said, but I believe I was a little insulted.

I looked at House. House looked at me.

We grinned, but we didn't dare let her hear us laughing.

A few seconds later he was silent again, leaning his head back against the pillows. From the look of him, he was still feeling the residual effects of the morphine. He didn't look especially pained, but I watched him with a raised eyebrow as he wilted gradually. "I'm just gonna close my eyes until dinner gets here … if no one minds …"

I sat down on the end of the bed, below the tent his feet were making beneath the blankets. "That's a great idea," I told him. "But this time, try to skip the bad dreams, okay?"

His eyes snapped open and he frowned. "What're you talking about?" He looked a little worried.

I was instantly sorry I'd mentioned it. Maybe this wasn't the time to say anything about his strange behavior and odd ravings when I'd first arrived home. "Nothing … forget I said anything! I guess when I was napping in the living room, I had a dream that you had a nightmare. Kinda complex. Pretty boring. I'll tell you later … it can be your bedtime story." I made a joke of it and let it drop like a hot potato.

Fortunately he let it drop also. He must be more tired than I had realized.

Cuddy stuck her head around the doorframe to let us know the pizza was ordered, but a finger at my lips silenced her when she saw that House appeared to have dropped off. I rose from the bed and walked silently out behind her.

Thinking of the suddenly quiet bedroom, I wondered if that had been the end of it for him this evening … pizza or no pizza. Knowing how the man's mind works is sometimes a disadvantage though. I had slipped up and mentioned the word "nightmare," and if I knew him at all, he was lying there feigning sleep in order to wrap that gigantic brain of his around one more enigma along this recent pathway of pain, and endeavoring to figure it out.

Dammit, House!

In the living room, Cuddy handed me two more ibuprofen and a small glass of water. My hand was throbbing all the way to my fingertips and she manipulated it carefully, watching for reactions.

The swelling had gone down considerably, but I wondered if she was speculating whether something might be cracked or broken. I knew it wasn't, but Cuddy wasn't much at hiding worry.

She massaged the deep heating rub into the ligaments laying shallow at the underside of my wrist, and then down across the palm where the bruising was darker and the slightest pressure hurt like crazy. It felt very good, and the balm was already heating below the surface of the skin, easing away some of the pain. She wrapped it firmly in a figure eight and admonished me to keep it elevated.

I pretended to be a patient instead of a doctor and let her "mother hen" me. It was very nice to be tended to by someone who really cared.

The pizza arrived just as she was finishing up.

I sighed.

Oh well …

Oooo0oooO

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