Pain Share

House was the first to nod off. One minute he was caressing the back of Cindy's hand with his thumb, the next he was snoring softly, almost like a cat purring. Some hours later Cindy was awakened by a gentle nudge from Greg. She was curled up, her head on his abs. He tried to move her, but their positioning was awkward.

"I need you to move."

He didn't sound happy. "Sorry," she mumbled thinking he was discouraged by her invasion into his personal space.

"You move, then I can move." Pain made him irate.

"What's wrong?" She physically distanced herself from him.

"I'm starting to spasm." He wished he could get to his thigh and head it off.

"Here, scoot your butt down and lay back." Cindy pulled the pillows out from behind them and propped his leg up.

"It's not going to help," he said grimacing.

"Just shut up and do it." Cindy let him know that under no circumstances was she backing off.

He let her do her thing, not wanting to push her away like he had so many others. If it had been anyone else, he would have thrown them out and allowed himself to stew in his own suffering. She was a likeable and a seemingly less annoying version of Wilson.

"Okay. I think we've managed to reverse things a bit." Greg was laying in a modified spread eagle, his casted leg precariously perched on several pillows.

"Do you feel as vulnerable as you look," Cindy baited him.

"I didn't until you said something."

"Could be worse; you could be naked."

"Oy!" Greg put his hand over his face.

"What now?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Come lay back down next to me."

"Nah, I'll pass. It's getting close to dinner time. I've got to get cooking or you'll waste away to nothingness."

"I thought we'd just order in."

"Oh, you did, did you?" She put her hands on her hips reminding him a little of Wilson.

"Yes, I did." He mimicked her actions as he lay there.

"Think you're funny?"

"I know I am. You, on the other hand-"

"You don't know me. I'm hilarious." She gave him a lecherous grin. "I also like to torture people. I find it fun." She loomed over Greg threateningly.

He felt a few seconds of panic before survival instinct kicked in. "Touch me, and I'll make you wish you hadn't."

Cindy leaned over him, hands out ready to tickle him mercilessly, but before she could start, Greg's hands snatched her wrists, pulling her down on top of him. They were face-to-face, their breath mingling. Greg looked into her eyes searching for a sign of the spark they had shared days earlier. He saw something different - almost like a reflection of himself.

"You're hurting me," she half pleaded, half laughed.

Greg exerted a little more pressure on her wrists forcing himself up onto her unsuspecting lips. He wanted her to want him like he needed her. But she was trying to pull away from his hands as she kissed him back. He let go, taking the full weight of her on his chest, embracing her with fervor.

Cindy was torn between kissing him back and backing away.

Greg eased up, sensing her waning interest. "I thought you wanted that."

She pushed off him gingerly. Within moments she was out of the room.

Greg was left to wonder if he had just made a huge mistake. He listened for the front door, which usually accompanied his pissing someone off. It didn't come. Instead he heard the banging of cupboard doors and drawers being forced open and closed. A pot was dropped on the stove burner, causing him to wince. Something metallic was slammed on the countertop followed by soft mutters.

He couldn't stand the thought of her trashing his kitchen, or - There was a crash that sounded like something broke. "Too late," he mumbled. He forced himself out of bed, woozy with the pain of blood circulating through his lower leg. "You okay in there?" He wasn't sure if the dizziness drowned out sound or Cindy had given up her assault.

She was in tears, picking up the chards of a ceramic soup bowl she knocked over accidentally. "It's nothing, I've got it."

It took Greg quite a while to go the short distance from the bedroom to the kitchen. Beads of sweat covered his brow. By the time he was close enough to see what was happening, he had to lean with his back up against the wall to keep from falling over.

"Don't get any a closer," Cindy warned.

Greg got the distinct feeling she was overwhelmed by more than just his kiss.

"I broke a bowl, and I'm not sure I got it all. Don't want you to step on anything and cut your foot."

"There's a broom in the closet over there."

"You shouldn't be on your feet."

"Foot."

"That either. You're supposed to have your leg elevated."

"I thought the whole point of this was to get me up and around."

"Your boss is an idiot," Cindy snorted.

"Sometimes."

"Someone ought to break her leg and tell her to get her ass back to work."

"That's an amusing thought." Greg pushed himself off the wall preparing for the arduous task of hauling himself to the living room.

Cindy decided to forego making dinner right then in favor of cleaning up the floor. She wrested the broom and dust pan out of the closet before awkwardly sweeping the area.

Greg watched her with concern. She was clumsily moving the broom around, switching hands every few swipes. How anyone so adept in orthopedics could be lost around household objects was befuddling. Her hand shook as she emptied the debris into the waste can.

After washing her hands, Cindy returned to dinner. All she wanted to do was open the can of stew and heat it up. The manual can opener was not complying. She tried it right handed. Then with her left hand, but the damn butterfly key didn't want to cooperate.

It was clear to Greg that she was easily frustrated. After watching her at the hospital and now at home, he realized she was ambidextrous, yet conflicted as to which hand to use when it came to the mundane things in life.

His thoughts were disrupted by the can being thrown forcefully into the trash.

Cindy growled loudly in frustration before heading to the front door.

"Problems?"

"I need some air." She grabbed her coat and walked out, letting the door slam behind her.

"Okay," Greg shrugged. He had never seen anyone get so annoyed with a can opener. Well, not in a long time, anyway.

He was going to order food but decided to wait. He knew nothing about her food likes and dislikes. The last thing he wanted to do was push her over the edge she seemed to be closing in on.

Minutes later she was back inside, rubbing her hands. "It's cold out. I hate the cold."

Something had changed. She wasn't the same person he had known at the hospital. "Come in and get warm. We can start a fire, if you want," Greg offered.

Cindy approached him slowly. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I can't do the simplest things. It's so frustrating."

"Come," he held out his arms waiting for her to let him embrace her. "I promise I won't bite."

"Just don't grab me by the wrists anymore," she closed in hesitantly.

"I can't hold your hands?"

"Not so forcefully." She sat across from him on the coffee table.

"Give me them," he held out his own hands to her. She placed them in his. He held them keeping his eyes on her. His thumbs caressed her palms, lingering just long enough to discern something unusual. Greg cocked his head to the side, silently questioning her. He followed the faint scars to her wrists, sweeping his thumbs side to side. He barely touched the tiny nodule adjacent to the head of the right radius.

"Stop!" Cindy pulled her hands away.

"Obviously that lump's a problem. Have you had it checked out?"

"It's nothing," she said as she absently massaged gently around the area.

"Let me see," he grabbed her much higher up on the forearm.

"You've already had it removed once." He inspected the small wad of scar tissue just south of the tiny nodule. "And bilateral carpal tunnel release. Both old scars. Different doctors?"

"Sort of. The doc let one of his Fellows do the surgery. At least the right hand release. When they went to dig out the cyst, it wasn't what they thought."

"Pre-MRI and CT?"

"Yep. 'Just a ganglion cyst. A quick excision and you'll be fine'."

"But you weren't fine." Greg continued to hold her hand, examining the scar ask she squirmed.

"The last thing you want to hear your doctor say during surgery is 'Uh oh'."