Introspection

Greg lay in bed looking up at he ceiling and replaying Foreman's words. He was old. Much seemingly older since he hit fifty. And his body wasn't responding as quickly as it use to, let alone healing the smallest of injuries.

On the bright side, at least he still had a sex drive. Without that, life would not be worth living.

His thoughts turned toward Cindy. She had said something about cast fetishism that at the time he thought was weird and sick. Yet every time she was around, he was aroused more than normal. The cast didn't make him horny, but being unable to escape any sexual advance increased it. Greg wondered if it heightened the pleasure as well.

She called it something. What was it? Oh yea, medical bondage. "That's just freaky," he mumbled aloud.

Cindy couldn't concentrate at work. She was worried about Greg being alone too long. His friend hadn't made sure he had ample help. She believed he wasn't ready to be on his own at this point of his recovery. The more distracted she became thinking about it, the more obvious it became necessary to remedy the situation.

Her work was suffering, but only slightly. Instead of being the cheery practitioner, she was going through her routine as if on autopilot. At three she went in search of her boss. The time had come to ask for some personal time off - provided she could get some of the other staff to fill in.

Greg spent the afternoon dozing on and off. He was bored. And with nothing more to do than watch his leg hang, the boredom intensified exponentially. He should have asked Foreman to hook him up with a laptop and some medical journals. Hell, National Geographic would be better. Sudoku or even Where's Waldo? would suffice. Even though he was week and his leg ached when he stood, laying in bet waiting to recover wasn't going to cut it.

Sure he could do it for a few more days, but the prospect of a week or more only firmed up his resolve to push through the pain. Damn his body for betraying him!

Greg's anxiety was growing. There was a way to move beyond all of it. An intramedullary rod through the fibula and a few screws would have him fixed right as rain. Of course, he'd never be able to step foot in the MRI suite again. Good for him - no interactions with the patients during MRIs. Bad for him if he needed an MRI in the future. What were the chances of needing one?

"Hell," he sighed with defeat. MRIs seemed to occur three times a year. With the change in seasons, the leg pain would worsen and Wilson would insist on a scan to look for another clot or a miracle. It was never either, but it did put Greg's mind at ease.

His cell phone rang and he was at a loss to remember its location. It's not like it could go anywhere. It had to be in reach. Unless he flicked it onto the floor when he got back into bed. By the time he finally located it, the call had gone to voicemail.

"Hmm." The screen read unknown. It could be from anybody. Normally he did not respond to these types of calls or listen to the messages. Switching carriers, telemarketers and corporate conglomerates withholding their identities didn't warrant his interest.

But today he was bored. He'd be willing to talk to Ding Whu in Kuala Lumpur if it meant harassing someone and enjoying himself. Greg hit the voicemail code and heard a voice he wasn't expecting:

'Greg, it's Cindy. Taking some time off work for the next few days. Wanted to know if you wanted some company. Since you didn't answer, you're probably sleeping, so I'll call back later.'

Damn! His mind was going to places it shouldn't. 'Little Greg' was stirring as he thought of the various ways a woman might pleasure a man in his condition.

"Why am I doing this to myself?"

'Little Greg' didn't care. It had a mind of its own; a capacity to assert dominance over its master-servant. Greg realized he was fondling himself as images of Cindy crawling over his body, teasing his erogenous zones, circled his thoughts.

They had connected in some primal way without actually knowing it. And he found himself thinking about her constantly. The only way he could justify her wanting to be with him was because he was injured and needy. Perhaps she was a bit like Cameron; except for the self-righteous attitude.

The thought of Cindy and Cameron being alike was enough to put 'Little Greg' to rest. For all of Cameron's advances and interest; House couldn't bring himself to get serious with her. The main reason was her skin wasn't thick enough. No way would she last through his moodiness without trying to force him to change. Her real allure to him was the fact that she couldn't have him. Cameron always worked too hard to get what she wanted.

Cindy was still a conundrum. All he knew about her was that she worked a lot; much like himself. She was married to the love of the job she did; much like himself. And that she cared about him.

Wilson used his spare key to access House's apartment. It was all quiet. Proceeding to the kitchen, he dropped his briefcase on the chair, then set the take out containers on the kitchen counter.

"Wilson, is that you?" House called out from the bedroom.

"How'd you know?" He shrugged off his overcoat while heading down the hall toward his friend.

"One, you had a key. Two, you brought take out, and three," Greg waited for Wilson to reach the door before fanning away his pretend tears of emotion, "your overwhelming air of caring is stinging my eyes."

"I'm glad you've found your sense of humor."

"You mistake my annoyance for humor."

"I'll let you off the hook."

"Make it quick, I have to pee."

"Oh, sure," Wilson hadn't meant it literally. He tossed his coat on the chair and began the arduous process of unhooking the weights from the pulleys.

"Have I missed anything fun today?" House's boredom made him desperate for any conversation; even if it meant he had to forgo his anti-Wilson campaign.

"The clinic was pretty busy today. Taub got saddled with the kit with six toes and the seeping wart."

Greg was on his foot waiting for the blood to circulate through is bad leg before moving further. "Did he suggest amputation?"

"Uh huh."

"And she gave him the 'polydactyl is a dominant trait and therefore superior' speech?"

Wilson was smirking. "You should have never told her that."

"Well, most of it's true."

"The Vibram shoe company still sending you hate mail?"

"I was just joking when I wrote that paper on the evolution of feet. Who knew it would have such an impact on individual toed shoes?"

"Yeah, who knew?"

"Got it from here," House said while slamming the bathroom door in Wilson's face.

"Give a shout when you need me. I'm going into the kitchen."

Cindy stood outside of the 'B' apartment at 221 Baker Street. They key was on the lintel over the door, and yet, somehow in her sleep, she had managed to reach it. Wide awake there was no way. Knocking would be futile. Greg couldn't answer. Out of curiosity she tired the knob.

She nearly fell through, not expecting it to open. "Hello? Greg?" She peered around the door cautiously. Hopefully no one was robbing the place.

"Come on in," Wilson invited. He was in a good mood because of his friend's reacceptance of him. Seeing the other person who cared about House come to visit seemed like an all around good omen.

"I didn't expect anyone to be here."

"I didn't expect to get out of work as early as I did."

"I just wanted to make sure he got a break." She looked at her watch. It's been about-"

"He's in the litter box as we speak."

Cindy scribbled down her number on a scrap of paper she found in her purse. "Give him this," she proffered it to James, "and have him call me later."

Greg's frame appeared at the end of the hall. "Quit talking about me like I'm an invalid."

"You are," they said in unison.

House was moving at a snail's pace. Cindy thought she should at least greet him properly before heading out.

"Hey," he nodded in her direction.

"Hay is for horses." What the? Why did her mother's stupid retort have to rear its ugly head now?

House cocked his head to the side while smirking. "That's new."

"What's new?"

"Your sense of humor."

"Oh, it's not mine. I borrowed it from my mother."

"Stay, make yourself at home." Greg headed for the sofa.

"Can't," she said, glaring at his friend. "Just stopped in to check on you. Call me later." Cindy didn't want to go, but it meant she'd have to put up with a guy she didn't want in her life. She only needed one book end, not a pair.

Wilson handed House a carton of Chinese food. "She doesn't like me much."

Greg looked up at him with astonishment. "You two have words?"

"A few." James sat across from his friend and began eating. "I'm picking up on your amazing powers of deduction."

"Do tell, Watson, is she a black widow? Have you gotten in the way of her diabolical plan to marry me for my great wealth and then off me for all these wonderful possessions?

"You really must be feeling better. Your sarcastic wit is heading for caustic."

"I'm bored. I need my laptop."

"A laptop."

"Everything that was in by back pack needs to be replaced."

"That reminds me." Wilson tossed his take out carton on the coffee table, leaned over to the chair and retrieved his briefcase. "Got your reading glasses, the NEJM, NAMA, and the American Journal of Epidemiology. And," he pulled out another magazine, "the latest Hustler."

House smiled lecherously.

"I knew you were dying for your porn."

"I read it for the articles.'

"Yeah, right."

Cindy spent her pent up energy on picking up her apartment. There wasn't much to do, as she was hardly ever home. Ready for bed, she sat in front of the television, channel surfing until settling on an old episode of Trapper John, MD. 'God I must be desperate,' she thought. Then, fortunately, the phone rang.

"Hey." She knew from the caller ID it was Greg.

"Hay is for horses."

"Ouch."

"Yea, it is pretty bad."

There was a bit of awkward silence that followed.

"You never called me back this afternoon. I was waiting impatiently."

"Sorry, I got caught up at work. You know how it is."

"What's going on? Why are you taking time off?"

"I just need some time to myself…I mean time away from the hospital to enjoy myself." She wrapped her robe around herself in a comforting gesture.

"Oh, 'cause I thought you wanted to be my personal slave until I'm back on my feet, so to speak."

"Is that code for: you need me to come over and unhook you so you can potty?"

"If I said no, would you still come over?"