Chapter 20

"Giddy Up Little Nightmare!"

I walked back to the bedroom with my little bag of ice in my hand and a growing sense of resignation in my head. I knew I was being a coward about it, especially after my glowing assurances of a few minutes before. I was going to hate rehashing my nightmare with House, or trying to find a gentle way to tell him about the vivid mind pictures I had of him beating his one good leg to a bloody pulp.

I walked through the open doorway into his bedroom with a load of excuses in my mind for getting out of it, or at least putting it off until a more reasonable hour. Then, as though in answer to a prayer, I saw that I had gotten a reprieve. House was asleep. He looked peaceful, face relaxed and not pinched with pain or rigid with his extraordinary methods of privacy and control.

I stood watching him for a minute, heaving a deep sigh of relief. I was glad he'd been able to return to sleep so quickly, and unreasonably happy that telling him about my unsettling dream would have to be put on "hold" yet again. Prolonging the agony?

On the other hand, I was a little curious about what he might have to say in return; what the reason could possibly be that would have caused him to shout out loud about hitting … or not hitting … me! Well! That had to wait also. Putting off the inevitable!

The platitudes that were suddenly swimming around in my brain were becoming more diverse and more and more plentiful. "Excuses" was probably a better word!

I turned off the light and left him to whatever dreams lurked in his complicated mind this time. Leaving the door open behind me in case he awoke and needed something from one of us, I retraced my steps and returned to the kitchen and the company of Lisa Cuddy.

She was still fiddling around with the piles of junk she had pulled from the cabinet, but turned when she heard me approach, rattling the bag of ice that I had yet to place over the bandage on my wrist.

I spoke before she had a chance to say anything about it. "Will you please go lie down now? He's asleep … and trust me … I don't feel much like sleeping after that experience."

She sat down on one of the counter stools and turned to look up at me. "What experience? What'd you dream about? It might help you to talk it out …"

I thought about that for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of spilling my guts about the images of House trying to destroy his only healthy leg. Maybe it would help dilute the horrifying details I'd imagined so clearly, and reduce the power of the chilling illusions if I attempted to paint some kind of graphic picture to another person. If there were one human being I knew who would be able to handle the gory details of what I would describe, it would be this no-nonsense woman beside me.

I started to speak, beginning with a stumbling recitation of seeing myself from a distance … trying to talk to House about the effects of the diminishing of his breakthrough pain. I then segued into his litany of bitter accusations and maniacal laughter … then the grabbing of the pestle … and his insane mutilation of his remaining thigh muscle …

I guess Cuddy saw my eyes go unfocused, and she realized I was about to lose it. The next thing I knew, her hand was reaching across the counter, her warm palm settling gently atop my wrist. I must have kept on rambling for a few moments longer, because the next thing I was aware of was her fingers squeezing the Ace bandage just a tad, bringing me to the edge of pain, but not quite over the threshold.

I stopped talking as I started feeling the pressure. I had no idea where I had been going with the aimless narrative, but she had evidently heard enough. More than enough! She must have seen the sense of helplessness and the terror still in my eyes and flashing across my face. I sat with my mouth hanging open, staring dumbly into the distance.

When she spoke to me at last, it was very slowly, each word enunciated clearly. "I'd like you to call Dr. Dickinson and discuss this with him. Please. And when you're finished, I'd like to speak with him."

Her eyes were full of question marks. Had I heard her? Had I understood? It was clear from her expression that she didn't know.

I nodded, having heard her words only in the abstract. "I'll do that … first thing in the morning …"

"No!" She said. She stressed the word, drew it out until she was sure I'd understood what she was saying. "You'll do it now!" There was suddenly a cell phone in her hand, and I had no idea where it had come from. I looked down at it as though I'd never seen one before in my life. "You said he told you that you could call him anytime … night or day. I think this warrants taking him up on that. Do. It. Now!" She was allowing me no quarter. No wiggle room. No way out.

I knew she was right, but my sense of resistance was high. I started to shake my head, processing words of denial, and beginning to back away. She was insistent. The phone in her hand seemed to jump toward me as she thrust it sternly in my direction.

I took it from her. Her eyes were dark, full of compassion. Determination. I could not hold her gaze. "Will you stay?" I asked softly.

She nodded.

I pulled Dick's card out of my wallet where I'd stashed it after I got out of the shower earlier … much earlier. "It'll save me from having to repeat it all to you later on …"

I shut up and punched in Dick's number.

He answered after the fifth ring … and I knew right away that I'd awakened him. But his voice was warm, a little concerned, and immediately attentive, even to the lethargic mumblings of some idiot from New Jersey in the middle of the night.

I started hesitantly, but relaxed into the narrative once I got going. I told him about the strangeness of the evening, and my own stranger reactions to it … and after relating most of the details I could remember, I found myself beginning to feel a little better about the whole thing.

Dick picked up on the center of my agitation right away. I didn't have to go into minute explanations. "You're pretty concerned about his other leg, aren't you?" He asked, coming straight to the point. "Are you worried that he might be exaggerating the pain? Or using these new problems to avoid dealing with the old ones?"

Dick's bluntness shocked me into full wakefulness, and out of the fuzzy cocoon of my own denial.

"No!"

What was I saying about denial?

I also shocked myself by yelling at him. In pure psychologist fashion, he had jolted me back into dealing with the reality that was facing all of us. I curbed my anger and continued, suddenly aware of the renewed prickling that coursed through my nervous system. Why was I so upset?

"I'm absolutely certain there's no exaggeration! He may actually be underplaying it! And I've already told you … he's been responding very well to the loss of the breakthrough pain."

Dick's voice gentled down at once. He had brought me quickly to my senses by taking two bare wires, representing my biggest concerns, and touching them abruptly together. Sparks had ensued. Now he must take the time to insulate one of them at a time.

"I only ask because your dream indicates to me that House is actually capable of harming himself physically. Or … he may indeed be having problems with a different perception of himself."

I wanted to argue, rail against those words I didn't want to hear, but at the same time I knew he was presenting me with the only truth that seemed in the least plausible. Reluctantly, I continued to listen as he took up again where he'd left off. "James! I'm going to suggest to you again that you stop putting off that conversation with him. And I'm concerned about you too!"

"I'm fine, Dick," I told him. "Nothing a couple of nights' sleep wouldn't cure. Once we have a diagnosis on the other leg, things should settle down around here. I just have to hang in, I guess. I do appreciate your take on all this … and I'm really sorry I woke you. Talking with you really seems to help."

All I could think of at that moment was getting off the phone and slinking off to a corner somewhere to lick my wounds. And chastise myself for not having the courage to confront Greg about his, perhaps unrecognized, problem with self-perception!

Across from me, Cuddy was holding out her hand for the telephone. I thought of shaking my head in a "not necessary" gesture, and then realized that denying her the chance to talk to Dick would be just one more grasp for denial on my part. I sighed.

"My boss, Lisa Cuddy, is here with me, Dick … and she'd like to speak to you."

I knew he was going to ask for my formal permission to discuss the case, but I assured him that she'd been with me the whole time, listening to my end of the conversation. "You have my full permission to speak openly with her, Dick … and thanks …"

And I handed her the phone.

She didn't have anything to say that surprised me, particularly, although I thought she seemed far too concerned with my state of mind. I didn't mean for her to be so worried about me that it interfered with all the other things she had on her plate.

When she started to tell Dick about my lack of sleep and my reluctance to take a break from caring for House, I started to shake my head at her to get her to stop. But she turned her back on me and kept talking.

Damn!

Then I caught a few words about "a mild tranquilizer" … and I was sure she hadn't meant Greg!

"Not necessary!" I broke in loudly. "Not interested!"

She turned and looked at me sideways over her shoulder and ignored me again. I heard her thank Dick for his time … and the rest of the little pleasantries that people do with each other when speaking on the phone with a total stranger for the first time …

Then she hung up and turned to me with a conspiratorial smile on her face.

"Here's how it's gonna be!" She had the nerve to say to me … and she looked me right in the eye. "Lorazepam, 0.5 milligrams during the day. As necessary … but at least one dose. And one milligram at night."

I tried to protest, but her finger was in my face again, even as I opened my mouth to say something she had no intention of listening to in the first place. "Don't even think of trying to interrupt me!"

I shut up. What was the use? I sighed, prepared to hear her out.

"You need to sleep. Your stress levels are dangerously high. If you don't listen to me, I'll have no choice but to tell House what all this is doing to you!"

Cuddy … you wouldn't!!

I was pretty sure she was bluffing, but I didn't dare take any chances. If she ran to House and squealed to him about me, it would probably disconcert him beyond measure. "You wouldn't really risk upsetting him like that … ?"

"Don't bet on it!" She snapped at me, and her blue eyes were blazing. "At those doses, the Ativan won't knock you out, Dr. Wilson … it won't keep you from hearing him if he needs you … it'll just take the edge off and make all this a little easier. And that'll enable you to go on being there for him."

"You'd really tell him if I refuse?" I still wasn't sure if I believed her.

"In a heartbeat!" Her expression was determined, and I was no longer willing to believe it was just a bluff. I couldn't take the chance where Greg was concerned. Reluctantly, I conceded to her wishes, even if only in my mind for now.

I felt a little trapped … and a little closer in empathy with him … this must be how he felt when we didn't bother to consult him … or worse … just blatantly ignore his feelings on any subject. I became more determined to use a little more sensitivity in the future.

I'm with you, Buddy. This stinks!

Cuddy was watching me. Calculating which direction I still might decide to go.

"You don't play fair!" I told her, and the words came out as whiny as House had ever sounded. I wondered if he ever sounded that way to himself. Surely …

I broke eye contact with her and got the distinct impression that she was intensely aware of my every thought. Cuddy was the boss for good reason!

"You leave me no choice," I told her. "You win." The contest was over … if there ever was a contest.

"I'm gonna go check on him … maybe just sit there with him for awhile." I left the kitchen before she could respond.

I entered his bedroom and closed the door gently behind me. I wanted this to be private.

I wanted to lick my wounds and do some thinking … not only about what Cuddy had just said to me, and which I resented, even though I realized she'd had my best interests at heart. But I needed to think about Dick's words too.

Somehow, I felt I was losing the battle to let Greg down easy. Maybe my soft-heartedness was getting in the way of his recovery, and my empathy for his pain and misery pushing us both forward from the wrong end of the spectrum.

I moved over to the bedside chair and eased down. My wrist protested and I grunted unexpectedly. Damn!

But House didn't move. He was sleeping deeply, his breaths coming in soft buzzing noises, rather like a big house cat with a full belly and a warm place by the fire. The little night light by the bedside table threw a soft glow across his shadowed form, giving him the look of slender grace, rather than fragile illness, and I warmed to the sight of him, comfortable, as always, in his presence.

Even when he was in one of his angry or pissy moods, I was comfortable around this man. He was an extension of myself; the bolder, snarkier "me" that I kept mostly hidden from the world because the cloak of it looked so much better on him.

I found myself smiling, even against my will, and I whispered to him in the darkness. I just couldn't contain myself:

"I'm sorry about the morphine thing … just had the tables turned on me … and it's not much fun, is it? But I did what I had to do, and I guess that's how Cuddy feels too.

"Yeah, I'll forgive her in a little while … not that she needs it … and I hope you'll forgive me …"

I leaned my head back against the back of the chair and let myself drift slowly away. My legs ached. I came to again, just long enough to kick off my shoes and lift my feet up on the edge of the mattress, close to the spot where Greg's made little tents in the blanket …

The world around us dissolved into oblivion for awhile … and if there were dreams, I wouldn't remember them this time anyway …

Oooo0oooO

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