Chapter 7: Walk on Your Tip Toes

House lay there, listening to the sounds of his heart monitor and his own deep breathing. His eyes were closed, not to aid his concentration but to avoid the insufferable looks of curiosity and worse, pity from the staff as they passed by in the hallway outside his room.

He could almost hear their comments as clearly as he heard the squeak of their rubber-soled shoes on the antiseptic tile floors. Those senior members of the staff who doubtless felt House deserved to be laid low by his current predicament. And then there were the newer personnel who hadn't worked with House very much yet, who spoke in whispered tones about the "poor" brilliant doctor who'd lost his leg.

They were all idiots as far as House was concerned with their uninformed opinions and useless attempts to help. Nobody knew how he really felt, none of them.

Initially, House decided to just give up. He set about earning the well-deserved label of "difficult patient" as he systematically resisted all efforts to get him fitted for a prosthetic leg, into physical therapy and simply to get him up and about.

But attempting to fight against the constant barrage of Wilson and the rest of the medical staff and the drugs they used on him was akin to trying to stop the sun from rising. No one at the hospital would allow him the freedom to make his own decisions about himself and his life. Not if it flew in the face of what they thought he should do.

So House immediately switched to plan 'B.' He would play along. He would be the model patient, the 'good boy' up to and until he found a way to put a permanent end to his misery by ending his life.

He knew well not to overplay his hand. That was important. But he would start to make progress with his rehab just enough to lull his hovering best friend and the rest of the staff into a state of complacency and to convince them all that Greg House had gained a more optimistic outlook.

His plan had already yielded success, particularly over the newest nurses at the hospital in charge of his care. No longer giving him pain medication and sedatives in his IV line, they had foolishly begun to trust him with pills. And House had always known how to cheek a pill.

He had nearly enough now. He'd also begun tampering with his monitors and feigning innocence when the nurses came in to check the machines. When he was ready, all he would have to do would be to disconnect the right cables and it would be the perfect example of the boy who cried wolf. By the time anyone got around to checking on him, the one-legged doctor would be dead.

Finally, finally, he would be relieved of his insurmountable pain.

His leg was no longer his worst torture, in fact it never had been. Over the course of the last few days, the phantom pain he'd felt at first had begun to dissipate.

But the anguish House faced day after day in his heart and his mind even his soul if he had one, showed no hint of ever vanishing. Only the finality of death could make his emotional agony know a lasting end.

House was looking forward to it. Desiring it like almost nothing else before. Only when his father had beaten him bloody could House remember wanting to die this badly.

Behind his closed eyelids, House could still see his father leaning over him, doing things to him, hurting him so badly . . .

House coughed but the memory only wavered for an instant. It was still there. Greg felt so little lying on the floor, so terribly beaten he could no longer cry out, even if he'd wanted to. What he did instead was move his lips in a silent prayer, saying over and over again, "Please let me die. I don't want to live. God, just please let me die."

But God never heard him. Or if he did, he refused to answer. So House had stayed there, on that floor, in that family, his father's favorite punching bag and when John House was really drunk, worse, far worse.

House felt tears start in his eyes as he slowly opened them. There, standing silently at the foot of his bed was Rachel.

"Why are you sad?" she said.

House quickly turned his head to the side, wiping his eyes as he did so. Arlene stood on that side of his bed, also noiselessly watching him.

"You don't announce yourselves when you walk into somebody's room? You should know better Arlene. What if I was doing something dirty?"

"Rachel and I thought you were asleep."

"Was it your idea to bring the kid here? What did you do that for? She doesn't need to see me. Not like this."

"No it wasn't my idea," Arlene said. "It was Rachel's. She needed to know if you were . . . alright."

House turned back to look at Rachel. "I'm fine kid. And now that you've seen for yourself, you can go home."

"No," Rachel said, a small but distinctive pout forming across her lips.

Even though she wasn't Cuddy's biological daughter House noticed that her little face bore an uncanny resemblance to her mother's the thousand or more times she'd said "No" to some crazy procedure he'd wanted to perform on a patient. For him the similarity was both familiar and heart wrenching. He looked down at his hands lying on the sheets to avoid the child's stubborn look.

"No isn't an option," he said. "I'm not feeling so good and I'm stuck here in this hospital bed. So that means you and your dragon of a grandmother need to leave."

"No," Rachel said again. "I wanna stay."

"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn what you want," House said raising his eyes to the child's face once more. "What you want is not my problem."

"Greg," Arlene interjected, "If you would try not to be such a schmuck for five minutes . . ."

"I don't know," he said turning to look at Arlene. "Five minutes is an awfully long time for me to go without being a schmuck, an ass or what have you. Is this a timed event? Do you have a stopwatch?"

"Oy vey! I don't know how my daughter ever put up with you."

"Well she didn't put up with me. Not for very long anyway. In fact, she really never put up with ME at all. I always needed to be different for her. Walk on eggshells around her."

"You can't be serious. When did you ever walk on eggshells for anyone? More like a bull in a china shop."

"Now that's REALLY a load of bull. I won't finish that statement 'cause the kid's here."

"And do you know WHY she's here? Did it even cross that supposedly brilliant mind of yours?"

"Let me guess. How many chances do I get? Don't worry I won't waste any of them thinking your daughter sent her."

House's face held no emotion as he said this last. But Arlene caught the pained expression in his eyes. She saw there too no hint of hope; only a tragic, wretched despair so overwhelming that she could no longer meet his gaze and instead looked down at her own shoes.

"HOUSE!"

The shout startled both House and Arlene who turned their heads at the same time to look at the small whimpering child who had been momentarily forgotten in the heat of their argument.

"What?" House said.

But Rachel could no longer answer. She was biting her bottom lip, again the mirror image of her mother, as her tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

"The last time she saw you," Arlene said in a near whisper, "You'd been hit by a car. You'd pushed her to safety but gotten hit by that car. Can't you see? She was afraid you'd been killed. She thinks it's her fault."

House continued to look at the now openly weeping child. He said nothing at first and then raised his arms toward her.

"C'mere matey."

Rachel threw herself the last few steps to House's side. Arlene boosted Rachel up onto the right side of the bed. From force of old habit, the child turned to avoid House's bad leg. But it was too late. She'd already directly landed on it or rather on the spot where it should have been. She brushed her hand across the sheets as her eyes grew wider and her sobbing grew harder. House shifted uncomfortably but put his arms around the small girl who leaned into his embrace.

"Shhhhh. Stop that now," he said quietly. "If you keep that up, you won't ever be able to swab the decks. The crew'll make you walk the plank."

"Bbbbut wwhat hhappened to yyyour llleg? Dddid I . . .?"

"You did nothing. This is NOT your fault. Do you hear me? Are you listening to me?"

He could feel the child nod her head as she continued to lean against his chest.

"NONE of what's happened, not to you or to me or even between your mother and I is your fault. Understand?"

Rachel nodded again as House looked for a moment at Arlene. The tough older woman looked as though she were fighting back tears as well.

"Wwhat hhappened to yyour . . .?" Rachel's muffled voice came out from between two heaving sobs.

"Oh, that old thing. I got tired of it. Decided to trade it in on a peg leg. What kind of pirate captain would I be if I didn't have a peg leg or hooks for hands?"

Rachel began to quiet down. She leaned back away from him so she could see his face, judge the truth of his words in his eyes.

"Never liked the idea of a hook. Besides, I could really do some serious damage with a hook if I forgot about it when I went to scratch my . . ." He slyly glanced from the corners of his eyes to verify the look of horror on Arlene's face before he continued. "Anyway, I went for the peg leg instead. Don't you think that'll be worth a few pieces of eight matey?"

Rachel sniffed loudly and nodded again.

"Well okay then. Dry up those tears ya swabby. Don't you remember? No crying onboard ship. Otherwise the parrots will learn that instead of all the dirty words you're supposed to teach 'em. Have you been practicing your pirate words?"

This time Rachel looked down and shook her head.

"Well shiver me timbers. No pirate worth his salt is allowed to sail the seven seas until they've learned how to talk in pirate speak AND how to use all the best dirty words besides. Why don't you give your bubba and me a few minutes alone, go out in the hall and practice?"

The child swung her feet off the bed and left the room, heading down the short hall to the nurse's station. Arlene felt a stab of pain sear through her heart at the expression on House's face as he watched Rachel leave. His eyes held such a wealth of sadness that she didn't know how any one man could bear it.

In an instant, it was gone as he closed his eyes and whispered, "She's not coming is she? She's still refusing to see me?"

"Greg . . . I'm truly sorry. I tried . . ."

"No, she's right, she's right," he said shaking his head. "After all, look what nearly happened the last time I tried to make things right. She nearly lost her daughter."

Arlene gasped. "That was NOT your fault. You SAVED that child!"

House looked at her from the corners of his eyes again. But the expression this time was so wholly different, so bereft of hope that Arlene could not meet his gaze for long.

"Yeah, well maybe Rachel wouldn't have needed saving if I hadn't been there in the first place."

Arlene clenched her jaw and looked back at House. "You idiot. You unbelievable, meshuggina idiot! How can you still believe that? How can you think these things about yourself when my granddaughter STILL remembers you? After all this time? You are important to that child which shows what a mensch you truly are, no matter what you or Lisa think. If you think that you're responsible for what almost happened to Rachel and don't take the credit for saving her life then you're just as meshuggina as my daughter and it shows how much you two deserve each other."

"Then Cuddy blames me too . . . for what happened."

Arlene brought her hand to her lips. She'd said too much.

House nodded his head and closed his eyes. He was done.

"Greg, if you'd only just listen for a moment, listen to reason . . ."

"Don't you think you'd better get Rachel home before Cuddy gets there? There'll be hell to pay if she finds out you brought her to see me."

"Greg . . ."

"No!" House's eyelids flew open again and all the pain Arlene witnessed there before still swirling around within the depths of that vivid blue took her breath away.

"That's enough," he said. "You've done your duty as a grandma and brought Rachel down here to see I'm okay. But now you need to do your duty as a mother and get her home before your daughter finds out you've gone."

Arlene, perhaps for the first time in her life was rendered speechless. The pain and agony in the room emanating from House was so palpable her movements became sluggish. She felt as though she was wading through high surf as she walked to the door. When she reached it, she gestured to Rachel who came running to her side.

"Goodbye House," Rachel said, waving her small hand.

"Avast matey. Weigh anchor, smooth sailing."

Rachel smiled widely, broke free from her grandmother's slight hold on her and ran to House again. Before he could react, she'd leaped up onto the bed and enveloped him in a child's worshipful hug.

House choked slightly but held it together. He hugged her back.

"I love you Pirate King," Rachel whispered to him. "I love you. I'll always love you."

"Yeah, I know."

Rachel looked at him, quite serious for a moment. "Say it. Say it Captain!"

Arlene called from the doorway, "We have to go now bubbala."

The child kept looking at him as House nodded slowly feeling his heart break all over again.

"Say it," Rachel repeated.

"I love you too. Now shove off ya little scalawag."

"Aye, aye Pirate King!" she said as she scampered back to her grandmother who, with her own eyes shining with tears, mouthed a silent, "Thank you. Thank you for everything," and then turned to go.

House watched them walk down the hall until he could no longer see them. His chest burned and his cheeks felt wet as his tears, so long held back, began rolling down his face.

It was the last time he would ever see the child again. He would never know what kind of young woman she would grow into, would never know what had become of her . . . or her mother.

House could take no more. He looked at the clock. Wilson wouldn't be down to visit for at least another hour or so. He unhooked the wires and disabled the necessary monitors. He got out his secret stash. It looked a little small but it was enough.

It had to be.

Pouring himself a tall glass of water, he took all the pills in three swallows. Then he lay back down on the bed and waited, hoping against hope he wouldn't have to wait too long.