Chapter 43

"Gifts Far Beyond Those of Mortal Men …"

The following week brought monumental changes for all of us:

House was on the mend, even though there had been a few setbacks along the way. After his initial session with Dick, he continued to have muscle spasms in the good leg, and I still had to use morphine a few times to control the pain he was experiencing. It wasn't pleasant, and he seemed embarrassed by its persistence, although he said nothing. But he no longer made an effort to push me away when his discomfort began to build.

I stayed as close to his side as he could allow, and massaged the cramped thigh for him as best I could. I could also sense his eyes upon me while I worked the tense muscles, but did not let on that I was very aware in every nerve fiber of my being, that his intense scrutiny was pinning me in place where I sat.

But I knew he knew I knew … if you catch my meaning …

Every other day, Dick Dickinson turned up at the apartment for another session behind closed doors. We had not requested it. He wanted to do it. His dedication was above and beyond the call of duty, and both Cuddy and I were beginning to realize that the two of them were enjoying a connection built on mutual respect and mutual understanding. We welcomed it, and encouraged their time together.

House and Dickinson were not only working on House's pain and acceptance issues. The thing that they shared in common helped cement their growing rapport. I had a feeling that Dick's disabled hand and Greg's crippled leg were being verbally abused in an increasingly sarcastic manner, right along with their discussions of the mind's astounding ability to completely sidetrack reality when it came to avoiding the truth.

As the week progressed, I knew I was right. It was so great to hear House's booming, deep-voiced laughter again, the commodity I had missed for so long that I couldn't even remember when I'd last heard it. Even the fact that it was coming to me muffled from the confines of the bedroom did nothing to quell my delight about the fact that it was there!

After every session, Dick would leave Greg mentally and physically exhausted and sleeping, and leave on silent feet, closing the door softly behind him. He would then amble out to the kitchen for coffee, which I always kept brewing in the French press. If Cuddy happened to be there, she would join us. If not, then just the two of us discussed the session. Dick told me that Greg always insisted I be kept appraised of his progress … or lack thereof, as the case might be.

I remember sitting and laughing with him as he related their "can-you-top-this' stories at the end of their sessions, and the laughs they generated with the distracting silliness.

Dick would tell House that his "permanent" right fist was very good for stomping grapes if he didn't feel like taking his shoes and socks off … except that a fist that stayed purple for a couple of days sometimes made his clients look at him funny …

And Greg would come back with something like: "If I decided to get my leg amputated and have one of those fancy prosthetics fitted, I could probably use the part they sawed off for a Jai Alai cesta! And none of my patients would ever come near me again. Wow! What a concept!" Greg and his dark sense of humor!

On Tuesday evening, we finally put in a call to the diagnostics office to tell House's team that it was he who had now come down with the flu. He was in less than a stellar mood, but I didn't press him for reasons. I would talk to whoever answered the phone and convey the "bad" news. I hoped Chase answered the phone. Or Foreman. Or for that matter, the janitor!

House glared at me and said he hoped it was Cameron who answered. Just what I needed! He said: "You've been telling me for years that I'm too rough on little 'Starry Eyes' … and it'll serve you right, having to deal with her 'nurture-poor-wounded-House' mode. Just stand back when you tell her how sick I am … so you don't get spattered …"

"H-huh??" I stammered.

"Cameron's bleeding heart! Makes a mess when it really gets pumping." He leaned back on the couch with a satisfied smirk while I punched in the hospital's number. I rolled my eyes and pretended to not pay any attention to him.

"Ahh … hi Dr. Cameron, how are you?" I scowled across at House and deliberately turned my back on his laughing eyes and evil grin. "I'm feeling a lot better, thanks. Almost human again! Yeah … we miss you too. Can't wait to get back there. But I'm afraid it's not gonna happen for awhile yet … seems his cold-hearted meanness isn't as protective against the flu virus as he claimed it was …"

I chanced a look across the room and almost lost it when I saw him deliberately sticking out his tongue at me. "Yeah, he's got it, all right. It's just started, so he's blaming it on food poisoning … my cooking, I guess."

I stood listening with the phone held away from my ear for quite some time while she babbled away about "… poor House!" And I couldn't help it … I rolled my eyes more than once while Greg held his hand over his mouth to keep from chuckling out loud.

Damn him!

"No, Cameron, I don't think Cuddy will make an exception just because it's House. No … not even if you wore isolation gear."

Greg laughed at that, and I walked across the room, grabbed a pillow and jammed it in his face. "Naw … he's retching … trying not to throw up. But you know him … doesn't trust anybody but me to clean up after him."

I tossed a second pillow when it looked as though he would choke himself trying to keep a straight face. "Check on him? Why? He'd only throw me out. He'd say it's just more Wilson-induced food poisoning … gone by tomorrow. You know the drill. When he wakes up tomorrow with a spiky fever, he'll blame that on me too … for letting my germs replicate in his apartment! You know him … not a sympathetic bone in his body."

By this time, I was enjoying myself listening to Cam's "poor baby" moaning, and ducking the pillows House was throwing back at me from the couch.

"You know me better than that. Would I treat him the way he's treated me these past few weeks?"

Oh sure … bet your bottom dollar I would!

I listened again, patiently, I thought, and finally sighed mightily into her ear. "Look, I don't know how much clearer I can make this. The man doesn't even trust me to take his temp. He'll want to start his own IV … if it comes to that. House trusts House! Period! My biggest job this coming week will be vomit patrol. So thank your lucky stars Cuddy has us quarantined. Don't worry … I won't let him die. Why would I want to deprive the world of his brand of misery?"

This time the pillow hit me square in the middle of my forehead. "Gotta go, Cameron. The flu must really be setting in. His sense of humor seems to have bit the dust."

I stuck my tongue out at him when I hung up the phone, then laughed at his "attack" of playfulness.

"That was unnecessary," I told him, still laughing. "I was just keeping you in character so she doesn't show up here with Child Protective Services, claiming I was neglecting you. Could happen! The kids just finished up a case, got too much time on their hands. I think she was hoping to make you their next project."

He looked at me from beneath shaggy brows. "Keeping busy is good," he muttered.
"They should find something to do."

"Like your clinic hours, maybe?"

House had sobered fast, and it suddenly made me uneasy. I asked him if he'd like to talk. His mood had been interrupted only momentarily by the short, silly interval with Cameron on the phone. Now he was back to seriousness. His session with Dick earlier seemed to have put him in an introspective mood. They'd discussed coping mechanisms, and the usual banter at the end had been missing.

"Dick says I've got to find ways to stay occupied when I don't have a case. He says I think the pain's safer than anything else …"

"I know," I answered quietly, and I wasn't sure I liked where this was going. "He told me about it. Have you given any thought to … actually interacting with … other people? Might not be as … pardon the expression … 'painful' … as you think."

"I'm no good at that." He began to run the palm of his hand over the left thigh again, in another of his coping mechanisms. I hoped it was just a lingering habit by this late date, and I decided not to call attention to it.

"You could practice it … beginning with your team. Get to know them as people instead of pieces of diagnostic equipment who just happen to breathe. They're pretty interesting, you know."

"If I start to do that, they'll think there's something wrong with me."

I watched him shift position on the couch, gingerly, moving his weight off the left leg. It was indeed hurting him. The mindless rubbing of the muscle intensified.

I smiled and tried to keep him from knowing I was worried. "They already think there's something wrong with you. This'll just be something new to add to the list. Shouldn't be a problem." I wondered if I should draw his attention to what he was doing to his leg.

"By the time we go back, we'll have been gone over a month. What's everyone gonna think?" As I watched, he began pressing deeply into the quad with stiffened fingers. Then he looked down at his hand, and the realization settled in. With a determined grunt, he shook his head and lifted his hand away from the leg.

"Since when have you thought about what anyone else thought? Let alone everyone else?"

"You're right." His fingers stole back to the spasming muscle. "I don't care. Doesn't matter. So what, right?" By that time, both hands had gone to the quadriceps. He didn't acknowledge it to me, and I wasn't sure how to handle it.

"No, House … it does matter. Most of us care what other people think of us. If nothing else, it helps temper our behavior and make it fit into society's norms. Whatever those are …" I smiled faintly.

Then he was bending his upper body over his legs, and I heard the sharp intake of breath that told me I'd let it go on far too long. My instinct told me, however, that I must not interfere this time. This time it is his call all the way. Biting my lip, I said nothing. I let him go.

He looked up at me with dark, piercing, pain-filled eyes. Questioning. Why had I said nothing? I met his gaze, questioning as well.

"Gonna go get a shower …"

I nodded, closed my eyes briefly. It took every shred of self-control I possessed not to go to him. Help him. Hold him. Offer him my promised "whatever-you-need" … kind of assistance.

Finally, I removed the tubing from the PICC port. I stood back. He was on his own. I didn't following his halting progress out of the room. I had to trust that the sessions with Dick were helping him as much as Dick said they were. I had to trust in the fact that everything Cuddy and I tried to do was making a difference. I had to trust House!

I stayed on the couch, in the spot he had vacated. My fists were clenched, but I hardly noticed. This was a turning point. I knew it. I watched the dark space back the hallway where he had disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door. The steady thump of the cane on the hard wooden flooring stopped.

Then the call came. Quiet. Resigned. "Jimmy … need some help here …"

I began to breathe again, and knew that things would be okay. Dick had been right.

I gave Greg a reassuring smile when I went back there with the wheelchair. How amazing it was how far we'd come in just those few weeks. It had been difficult and painful for all of us, but it had finally paid off … better than I could have hoped.

It was a little sad though that only Cuddy and I would probably ever be privileged to see this gentler side of Greg House … but I recognized it for what it was. An honor!

Hope I remember that the next time he pisses me off! I'd hate to have to kill him after all this work!

When I'd settled him into bed and administered the morphine, both of us sat still and looked at each other while the medication took effect. House spoke first. "I should'a been able to talk myself out of that one. Shouldn't have needed the med."

I knew that whatever I said then would matter. I sat down on the side of the bed next to him. I went through the motions of taking his pulse, but I didn't remove my hand from where it encircled his thin wrist when I finished counting. "All in good time," I told him. "Changes take time. Results take longer. You can't have everything five minutes ago. The bad stuff came on gradually, and that's how it'll fade away. Clichéd as it is, if something's worth having, it's worth waiting for. Believe me, this is worth it. Just maybe … you're worth it too. Maybe. Give it the time it needs. You won't be waiting alone."

I hoped I'd chosen the right words.

He smiled at me faintly, and I saw some of the tension and pain fall away from his features. The blue eyes softened. The words had been right. "Hey! I thought I was the big brother in this outfit. I'm supposed to be the one to give you all this sound, philosophical advice. You're way too young to make this much sense!"

I smiled back, squeezed his wrist a little, then let go and withdrew. I was deeply touched that he acknowledged the bond between us. But my usual waterworks had deserted me. I no longer pitied him, felt sorry for him, or needed to shore him up constantly any longer. He was growing. Assuming a new maturity. We both were.

At least until the next time one of us was hurting too badly to suck it up alone.

"Out of the mouths of babes comes wisdom, I'm told …" I teased him.

He tilted his head at me in that way he has, and wrinkled up his nose disdainfully. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Jimmy … but you do so not qualify as a 'babe'!"

Yeah … well … not in the way you mean it, smart-alec!

I laughed and got up to turn out the light. "Maybe not. But if you'd let me have my blow-dryer, I could be!" I winked and turned away from the door.

There was gonna be plenty of time in the next two weeks for Dick to help him work on the coping mechanisms … and time enough for House's adopted family to learn to reinforce it all. And trust. And love.

I walked down the hallway to the living room feeling good, still smiling to myself. Then I stopped dead in my tracks to listen.

What??

Something soft and sibilant. Coming from his bedroom.

He was laughing …

Oooo0oooO

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