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Apologizing in advance...

Chapter 11: Time Pressure

The talon-like grip on her bicep was so sharp, so tight, that Cuddy could feel the pulse in her arm pound against the thick, unyielding fingers. She turned slowly, surreptitiously slipping her jacket higher up the boy's face, keeping her body in front of him to avoid instant recognition. Her attacker was smaller than she would have expected from the force holding, husky but short: with the added height of her heels, her eyes were level with his, the effect somehow calming. She tried to shake the hand off her arm, but that only made its iron grip tighter.

She was careful to keep her voice coldly professional. "Can I help you?"

He was sweating profusely, face pale but cheeks an unnatural crimson, eyes bloodshot. She recognized him after only a moment: it was House's patient – the smoker, the connection to the boy. She had been caught off-guard one too many times by livid patients and family members fuming about the head of her Diagnostics Department, and now always made a point of glimpsing his newest patient of the week for just such a situation. Well, maybe not just.

His voice rasped hoarsely, gravel grating against rough asphalt. "They're trying to kill me."

"Who?"

"Your goddamn doctors. All of them."

Truth be told, the complaint wasn't wholly foreign – especially as far as House was concerned, though she generally had some warning beforehand: a ludicrous request for a procedure, one of his staff, concerned about the patient, of course, but also their own salaries. She sighed, maintaining her composure; she hadn't been appointed Dean of Medicine at one of the best hospitals in the country for nothing, after all.

"While Dr. House's methods may be unconventional, I can assure you – "

"Unconventional, my ass!"

She risked a glance behind her, only looking over her shoulder far enough to see the boy still sleeping out of the corner of her eye. "Mr. Grant, I can assure you," she started, decisively, pulling his name out of thin air and firmly prying his hand from her arm, "that Dr. House is one of the best diagnosticians in the country." The rush of blood back into the limb left it throbbing but she refused to rub away the pain.

Eli Grant balled his newly-loosened fingers into a fist, his chest heaving, eyes rabid. Something rang out shrilly, familiar, but startling in this suffocating tension.

Her phone.

Neither of them moved, but still he breathed, "Don't get that."

Her heart hammered in her chest, the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears nearly drowning out the ability to think, but, oddly enough, she wasn't frightened. She launched into full-fledged administrative mode without a thought. "I'm sure if you take a moment – "

"No one in this hospital listens to a fucking thing I say!" His voice was rising dangerously, his hands clawing at her again, and if it weren't for the boy, she would have already been halfway toward the door or at least safely put her desk between them.

With the backs of her calves already digging into the sofa, stepping back was not an option, so she took a risk, guiding him backwards with a firm hand, in order to lengthen the rapidly closing distance between them. He caught her arm, yanking her off balance, and she knew by the way his hand slid off her, his raspy breathing catching for a moment before kick-starting near to hyperventilation, that Ari had become visible behind her.

"What is he doing here?"

Decorum was fleeing, anger oozing in its place. "Mr. Grant, you need to – "

"Answer me!"

He shook her roughly, but she was glad, at least, that he kept his hands off the boy. Her cell phone was ringing, but she barely heard it, brushing him off her, her temper flaring.

"Your son was – "

"I don't have a son!"

Cuddy didn't see him reach out – only felt the sudden, stinging pressure of his hands on her, saw her office tilt and soar sideways. Twisting, she caught herself, awkwardly, given the lowness of the coffee table, but not before slamming painfully against its edge and sending the vase upon it flying. It hit the ground with a bone-jarring crash.

Shouting had apparently been nothing more than ambient noise to Ari, but the shattering vase woke him with a gasp. Cuddy righted herself in time to see him jump up, scrambling against the back of the couch as if trying to escape over it and glancing around nervously. There wasn't a muscle in her body that wasn't throbbing, but she pushed through the pain without a thought: at her feet, over the glass shards, and scooping Ari up and over the back of the sofa.

The breaking glass seemed to have an oddly calming effect on House's patient. He crouched, as if to pick up the pieces, hands shaking wildly. His eyes shot around the room more erratically than a pinball, glancing over Cuddy then doubling back and locking on the boy, slamming from almost apologetic to frighteningly fiery.

Ari appeared relatively nonplussed after the shock of the sudden noise, not shying away from the angry man as he had from House only half an hour ago. He fought to get out of Cuddy's grip. She had to set him on his feet to keep him from falling, but kept both hands solidly on his shoulders, refusing to let him run forward.

"If Daddy was here, you'd be in big trouble," he scolded, folding his arms then peering up at Cuddy. "He breaks stuff a lot."

"Let him go," Grant growled.

Ari struggled forward, and her mind was reeling – this wasn't at all what she had expected. House had as good as stated that this man was Ari's abuser: of course, he had been wrong before, but always about details – petty, he'd call them – almost never the main event. It was a tendency she found obnoxiously fascinating about him; just something else that made House… House.

"You're not mad, are you, Dr. Cuddly?" Ari asked, glancing from where her hand held him to her face, obviously confused. "I can help clean it up."

"Stay here," she managed, holding him back as he lunged forward.

"Let him go, God dammit!"

"Whatsa matter, Uncle Eli?" Ari asked, voice wavering. He finally stopped struggling to leave her side, his hand searching out and finding hers, his small grip powerfully tight. "Where's Daddy?"

The tone of this question was what mattered – guarded, tremulous, petrified – because nothing could have been farther from that of a little boy waiting eagerly by the front door for the sound of his father's car tires in the driveway. This was a child more afraid of the answer to his query than of a stranger's candy or monsters under the bed.

And maybe House hadn't been that far off after all – nailing the general culprit but confusing the person and name. A thousand questions still hung in the air, unanswered.

"They're gonna kill him, too, aren't they?" Grant held a jagged shard of glass in his hand, the ends of it had already pierced his fingers, blood dribbling down his palm, but he didn't seem to notice. "Answer me!"

"Uncle Eli?" The boy was near tears.

"He's sick, Ari. He doesn't know what he's saying," she reassured the trembling child, tipping his chin up to ensure he saw the truth in her eyes. "No one's going to hurt – "

"Answer me, bitch!" Grant interrupted, lurching at her, tilting, clawing at his head with one hand. "They keep saying it, they keep sayingittheykeepsayingit…." The words came too quickly, rushing into a single buzz that rose into a shriek. One hand still tearing at his head, the other lashed out – at her, at Ari, at his own hallucinations.

All she saw was the boy, the glint of broken glass streaking through the air.

Forcing Ari behind her, Cuddy raised an arm to ward off the blow just a split-second too slowly, and she saw the blood blossom crimson on her own pale skin.

House quickly made his way to the elevator, his mind running through the patient's symptoms – the train of thought was automatic, deflecting feral emotion with the rationality of medicine. He didn't realize his team was behind him until Foreman spoke. "We can use the spinal fluid from the LP to – "

"Sure," House interrupted, impatiently jabbing the button for the elevator. "But when you get to the patient's room and he's not there, just go straight to the Path Lab instead of running sniveling to me. Use the blood there for the VDRL, then run an EIA."

"Why wouldn't he be in his room?" Cameron insisted. "You were just there."

"A VDRL and an EIA? So you do think it's syphilis?"

This was Chase. He thought. House was only half-listening – enough to hear and mechanically answer, not enough to fight, retort wittily, or even pretend to care. "No."

And they continued without any further input at all. It never mattered which of them was speaking, only insofar that it helped him personalize his responses, providing whatever insult would best fit his target. With no intention of responding, there was no point in paying attention.

"I thought we didn't test for diseases we don't think our patients have?"

"Except when we're looking for false positives."

"Sure, but we already…."

He let the conversation ramble on behind him, had been waiting for the most protracted three seconds of his life, but the elevator was too long in coming. Staying still was killing him. Movement was necessary. He pushed through his team and started down the stairs, pressing the speed dial for Cuddy's cell phone and knowing he wouldn't get a response.

"Where are you going?"

There was a pause here, indicating a response from him was necessary – that didn't mean it wouldn't be sneering. "I thought it would be pretty obvious."

"But you never – "

He stopped in the middle of the staircase, slamming his cane into the railing. "Stop questioning me and go do your jobs! Now!"

With that, he motioned the younger doctors to pass him, but none of them moved, too busy glancing at one another. House snarled with disgust as he continued downward. It was slow going, but at least it was motion. His team crept almost silently behind him, but as long as they had stopped talking, they could be easily ignored.

"Hey. House…. House?" Wilson's voice – someone else following him was just what he needed.

"I wouldn't do that…." Cameron warned, but Wilson must not have heeded her advice, his hand suddenly on House's shoulder.

"Running away from your patient?"

"Little busy," was all House could respond, so someone else took the initiative.

"Running to Cuddy."

"Is there a Jersey-wide pandemic I don't know about?" Wilson asked, clearly as bewildered as House's team.

House ignored him. The shades to Cuddy's office did, in fact, darken the door and windows – something he had known to expect but had been hoping against the entire way down the stairs. As the Dean of Medicine, Cuddy was always distinctly visible: watching with eagle eyes everything that happened in her hospital, at the same time accepting that all eyes would be on her. House had only seen her close the blinds on one occasion before; and then, he had been on the inside.

Wilson followed his gaze, sighing. "What did you do to Cuddy this time?"

Finally, finally, finally, House ground to a halt outside Cuddy's door, swearing when the handle, of course, refused to budge. Feeling for his wallet, he opened it viciously, and why was it taking so damn long to find that key?

"If you're going to follow me around like a bunch of lemmings," he spat behind him, "at least make yourselves useful. Get security."

Someone left, a coat swishing. Only Wilson was brave enough to speak. "House. What the hell's going on?"

The key was cold and solid in his fingertips, and he pushed it into the lock, hand trembling though he tried to hide it. The door handle pulled from his grip before he had a chance to turn it, and he was suddenly face to face with a pale, obviously shaken Ari. The boy almost immediately launched himself through the half-foot gap in the door, wrapping his small, thin arms painfully around House's knees.

The room was unsettlingly silent. Cuddy was nowhere to be seen.

With one hand on the boy's head, House grit his teeth and forced the door open with a quick jab of his cane.

There is good news: The next chapter's the one that's been running through my head the entire time I've been trying to write these past few, so it hopefully won't take forever (and with reviews, my muse will kick into overdrive). Plus, we're only a few chapters from the end - it won't be long now. :)

Thanks again for reading, and please take a second to let me know what you thought.