Life and limb
A.N. The key event in this chapter is based on a similar episode (my favourite!) in the show. In other news, I've been struck with the 'rona. So if you find that this story suddenly receives no updates then I have perished. I'm sure it'll be fine, though.
Foreman sat at home eating stir fry noodles and browsing the latest paper published by Marty Hamilton in California: a good one, for sure, but given the long list of co-authors, perhaps not entirely written by him. Even though the neurologist had decided against taking the job with his former mentor, he still liked to touch base every now and then. It always paid to network.
After reaching the end of the page he sat back in his desk chair and stretched his arms so that his t-shirt rode up. He needed to get back in the gym. It had been easy to let himself go somewhat since the steady relationship with Katie, but Thirteen was now on the scene and completely beautiful: play it cool and there could be a chance. Sure, she seemed a little cold, but he liked to think he could warm her up. Literally and figuratively.
He headed into the kitchen to make himself a drink, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. Thinking it to be Katie, he pulled it out with a sigh. A message from the hospital. Actually, an alert.
Foreman scanned the words and strode into the bedroom to get changed, drink forgotten.
"You were in the water with a Great White. Where…?". The woman was unconvinced.
"Manly, New South Wales. Great diving area, y'know".
"Hmm. Don't you need a cage normally?".
"Nah, those are just for scared American tourists", teased Chase, whispering in her ear on the couch.
"Surely it's still pretty dangerous, though? I mean, these are wild animals".
"It can be. But generally you land a quick punch on the nose and they give it up".
"That's a good story", she smiled, kissing him gently. "Mind if I freshen up?".
"Yeah, 'course. You know where it is by now".
"Meet you in the bedroom?".
Chase threw a salute and admired her butt as she meandered down the hallway. This one was a babe. They had met up for several dates already, but tonight would be their first time sleeping together. He flexed his arms and legs, getting into his pre-game ritual. You are the man, Robbie.
A couple of minutes later his phone vibrated on the coffee table and he picked it up, reading the message. "Bloody hell", he muttered, hauling himself to his feet. Fortunately (or unfortunately), he had decided not to drink tonight.
She poked her head round the door. "You coming or what?".
"Ah, thing is, I gotta go into work", he shrugged apologetically.
"I thought you weren't on call tonight".
"I'm not. Looks like something's come up, though, and I can't ignore it".
Cameron finished her last scoop of Italian ice cream and set her spoon in the bowl. A great meal, and she couldn't believe that after all her time in Princeton she had never come here before. Who said you couldn't bury your sadness in food?
Meanwhile Sebastian sat back and let out a breath. "I am so done".
"Yep", she chuckled. "It was a big one, no word of a lie".
"I'm surprised you ate so much!".
"You callin' me fat?".
He held his hands up in mock surrender. "I'd never dream of such a thing. Nah, but not had a feed like that for at least a year. Feels kinda decadent".
"Well, welcome to the US of A, the home of food and decadence".
"Good to be back", he snorted, toasting her with his wine glass. "Listen, this was great. Thanks for coming out with me".
"No worries, no worries".
"You want a coffee before I grab the check?".
"Nah, but I can pay half".
"No, no. Honestly, it's my treat. You can get the next one".
Cameron winced at that but, since Charles had turned in his seat to find a server, he didn't notice. The evening had been fun, and he was decent company, but that fact need not lead anywhere further. Before she could raise this issue, however, her phone buzzed, and she read the message, her eyes widening.
"What's up, Allison?", he asked, noticing her reaction.
"I've been called back to the hospital…".
"At this hour?".
"There's been…", she re-read the alert, "…some sort of accident. Dunno the specifics, but a ping's been sent for all available staff to head back in".
"In Africa we had protocols in place to deal with region-wide natural disasters, terrorist attacks, and the like. Fuck, you don't think…?". He trailed off as he took out his own phone to check the local news.
Cameron rose to her feet and slipped into her coat. "No idea, but I gotta go. Guess I'll find out more at work".
"I'll come as well-", he began.
"-no, you've been drinking. Can you just settle up here and I'll fill you in when I learn more?".
"Sure, of course. Good luck. I'll be thinking of you".
But Cameron was already on the way out.
As she drove to the hospital, Cameron was secretly thankful for an excuse to leave the dinner. It saved a potentially awkward situation where Charles tried to kiss her on the lips and she, meanwhile, tried to keep it a platonic farewell. Obviously, such mental hand-wringing was completely unnecessary because no explanation needed offering, and Charles would in any case not look for one. But she thought about it all the same. Single life was complicated, in its way.
An ambulance zooming past, presumably to the hospital, brought her mind back to the task at hand. In all her years at PPTH, there had not once been a situation like that which seemed to be unfolding. The message appeared to be a hospital-wide alert and the details were fuzzy. She turned on the radio to listen for any announcement at the national level, but nothing stuck out as untoward. Then she cycled through local stations at random:
"-and that was Heaven by Jason Aldean-",
"-President's healthcare policy leaves-",
"-advise motorists to avoid the intersection at-",
"-carpets in New Jersey-!".
Cameron flicked quickly back and turned the volume up.
"-still coming in, but we've just heard from Denise that there's been some sort of major incident around there. So, again, we urge you guys, if you're, uh, in the area, to give it a wide berth, and let's pray that no one's seriously hurt or, God forbid, that…that, there aren't any casualties".
"Right on, Klara. I pass that place a lot, y'know, so let's just hope that the guys and gals on the ground have got it all in hand. We'll obviously keep you updated on what is an evolving situation, but in the meantime, here's something to get you in the Friday night mood…".
Another ambulance hurtled past as Cameron reflected on the scraps of gleaned information. Some sort of road accident, most likely. Unfortunate, obviously, but nothing other than what she had been dealing with in the ER for the last few months.
Cuddy was a woman possessed as she sent staff where they were most needed, organised triage areas, facilitated access to Operating Rooms, and fielded enquiries from members of the public and the press. The incident had completely destroyed the intersection at which it occurred. Scrambled dispatches from the paramedics on-site mentioned a full-speed, side-on collision between a garbage truck and a large bus which in turn had wiped out lines of parked cars before careening into an apartment block. The specifics did not matter. What mattered was that the hospital's emergency protocols were once more being tested. Not since House's shooting had there been a similar buzz of frenetic activity, though at least in this instance it was a situation which she could influence through the medical resources at her disposal.
The ER had been turned into a war room. All those with non-life-threatening injuries she moved on or else discharged to make space for new arrivals. The casualties were being transported to various hospitals throughout the area, but given that the accident occurred at peak time on a Friday night, floods of wounded poured in with depressing frequency. How many of these victims, in the wrong place at the wrong time, would not wake up tomorrow morning?
Cuddy shook her head, dispelling such thoughts. This hospital, these people, needed her fully focused on the job.
"Norma, I want those three", she pointed at a trio sitting at the far end clutching bandaged arms and legs, "shuttled into exam room four".
"OK", replied the harried nurse, "but they say they need more pain relief".
"Dr. Constable's in there; he'll assess their needs and prescribe additional meds if required. Don, Don!", she called to a passing man in a white coat, who strode over.
"Yes?".
"Any word on the in-flow to OR Two? I'm getting a backlog down here".
Don checked his tablet. "I'm not receiving updates on this. I'll go check and ring it down?".
"Do that. Tell Henry that if he needs more hands, he can have them. I can probably divert a surgeon or two".
"Will do".
"Dr. Hadley, what's the situation in triage red? Are you making progress?".
Thirteen nodded. "Some. Foreman and Chase have set up shop with Palmer and Watkins, but we need more drips urgently".
"Understood". Cuddy unclipped the radio from her waist and barked orders to someone else in the depths of the hospital as Thirteen plunged back into the chaos.
"Dr. Cuddy, Dr. Cuddy!". A doctor jogged towards her from the double doors.
"What is it? And don't run, Morris". A young man recently hired by Wildermuth, Morris seemed competent if baby-faced.
"Sorry. There's…there's someone in OR Five…".
"Of course there is", she snapped, "what of it?".
"No, but, it's…it's…there wasn't time to confirm before the guys had to put him under, but…".
"But what?", she asked, beginning to lose her patience.
"They think it's, uh, Dr. House. Gregory House. From Diagnostics". Morris looked completely overwhelmed by the news he had to bring.
Cuddy's heart fell through the floor, and her next word emerged hoarsely: "what?".
"They've got House in there. In the OR".
"Why? How? Are you sure?". This made no sense. House and Wilson were at karaoke tonight, nowhere near the crash site.
"That's what they're saying".
"Why's he in surgery? What are they doing?". Her mind was turning at a hundred miles an hour and the questions sounded like they came from someone else.
"His leg, it's, it's, been…impaled. And there seems to be a piece of floating rib, maybe some lung damage…".
"Show me", she commanded tightly. Only her own eyes would know the truth.
"Where's mommy?", asked the little girl in a tremulous voice.
Cameron knelt down and smiled at the kid whose gaze trailed to a patch of blood on the woman's white coat sleeve. She covered it with a hand before replying: "mommy is with some very important people at the moment, OK, Hannah? She's just getting some band aids on her cuts and bruises".
"But why didn't she get her band aids when I got mine?". Hannah thrust out her arm to display the proof.
"Because mom's grazes were slightly more serious. But don't worry, because I know the people she's with, and they are expert band aid-ers".
"Really?".
"Yep. D'you want a piece of chocolate? I got some earlier, but dunno if I can finish it all…". The immunologist miraculously fished out a candy bar, unwrapped it, and snapped off a chunk.
"I like chocolate", said Hannah quietly.
"Everyone likes chocolate. Here". She handed the block over.
"Not everyone…".
"Fine, most people. How'd you like it?".
"S'nice", muttered the girl, munching slowly. "Th'nks".
"Now I've given you that, can you do me a favour? Girl to girl?".
"'kay".
"I need you to look at this light. I'm gonna flick it from side to side and you follow it with your eyes". Cameron whipped out her penlight and showed it off.
"Umm, OK".
"Great. So…just to the left, yep; to the right…OK. Up, uhuh, looking good. And down, finally. Aaand, we're done!". Now she tucked the device back into her coat pocket and took a seat next to the girl. "You're a natural".
"I only did it because of the chocolate", she giggled.
Cameron laughed while she made a note on her iPad. "Sounds sensible to me".
"I like your hair".
"Yeah?".
"You look like a princess…like Elsa from Frozen!".
"Well, that's good, because she's a cool character…".
"Dad makes the same joke". Hannah threw Cameron an eyeroll.
"Great minds think alike, then".
Before the conversation could continue, however, Cuddy walked over. "Allison, could I have a word, please?".
"Sure-".
"-where're you going?", the girl asked timidly, her bravado giving way once more to fear.
"I need to speak with Lisa here. But if you stay put with this chocolate bar", she handed the remainder over, "the nurses will see you in a sec, and then it's just a case of waiting for your dad to arrive".
"'kay. Bye". She gave a little wave as Cameron straightened up and faced Cuddy, looking at her enquiringly.
"I need to talk to you in my office", said the Dean softly.
"No problem, but I was just about to help Foreman and Chase in triage".
"I sent them Patel. Come".
Cameron followed her boss across the packed lobby. "Are you OK? You've gone pale".
She didn't answer until they reached the relative sanctuary of the office. Hospital sounds and sirens still filtered through the walls but it was muffled, and the headlights of passing vehicles penetrated the closed blinds, dappling the walls with intermittent light. It occurred to Cameron that she had only ever been in this room during daytime.
"Take a seat". Cuddy gestured towards the soft chairs in the corner, sitting down herself.
Cameron tilted her head but nevertheless did as instructed, noticing that the other woman's gaze was downcast and her hands fidgeted in her lap. "What's up?".
"I've got some bad news".
"What kind of bad news?". A flash of adrenaline.
"I'm so sorry". In the subdued tones of the office, Cuddy's paleness made her appear almost ethereal.
"Lisa, you're starting to scare me".
"There's no way to say this, so I'll, uh, I'll just…". It took a supreme effort of willpower to muster the strength.
"Cuddy?". The fact that she had never seen this formidable woman so shaken caused a tremor of white-hot terror.
"It's to, to…do with House. They have him…in the OR".
"Makes sense. He's a brilliant surgeon, isn't he?".
"No, I mean, he's in there right now. Being…oper-, operated on".
Cameron's half-smile at House's surgical skills faltered. "What? Why?".
Cuddy took a deep breath. "House was involved in the accident and he's…he's not doing well".
Cameron searched her superior's eyes and saw the truth as a sledgehammer seemed to strike her chest.
It took Cameron a few moments to process Cuddy's revelation and she felt immediately queasy, her ears ringing weirdly. When she tried to speak the words caught in her throat and they emerged as a croak: "wh-, what do you mean? How can that be?".
"I don't know", admitted the other. "I thought he was with Wilson tonight, but I've checked the logs and rung around—James wasn't involved".
"But I don't, don't understand-, I don't get it. The crash involved a bus. Why was House anywhere near that accident? Why would he take the bus?".
"Again, I've no idea. But it is him in the OR-, where are you-?", she asked as Cameron got to her feet shakily.
"I'm going to fucking see him. It can't be!". Cameron shook her head firmly.
"No". Cuddy stood and placed a hand on the other woman's arm.
"They might need help!", she yelled, eyes wild.
"What Wildermuth needs is full focus, not an audience!".
"Focus to do what?".
"Where House was sitting…one of the handrails…". Even Cuddy could not bring herself to share these details.
"Please…".
"The force of the collision…the handrail pinned House. Wildermuth and his guys are working to, to…save the leg".
Cameron visibly shook, and were it not for Cuddy's support she would have likely staggered back into the door of the office. Instead she slumped into the chair and covered her face with her hands. "No, no, no. This is not happening. This is a nightmare. How can this be happening?". Just two hours ago she had been eating Italian pasta and ice cream with Sebastian Charles while House was hurtling towards life-changing injury, possibly death. Just two hours ago she had been angry at him.
"I'm going to be sick", whispered Cameron, her face still covered. "I'm going to be sick".
"Over there", she pointed, helping her up.
The immunologist crossed the room unsteadily and located the door handle to Cuddy's private bathroom not three seconds before she threw up violently into the toilet.
"Borrowed some of your mouthwash", muttered Cameron when she reappeared a few minutes later, accepting a glass of water as well. In normal circumstances there would be professional embarrassment at her own state. But now she felt only numbness.
"Listen, I'm giving you the rest of the night off. You should go home. House'll be in there a while".
She shuddered at the mention of his name, but her voice was firm. "No. I'm not leaving".
"You can't watch his surgery, Allison, I'm sorry".
"No, I know. You're right. It's too important. Is Wildermuth up to the task?". The woman wandered back to the chair again.
"He's the best surgeon we have".
Cameron carried on as if she hadn't spoken. "I just…I have so many questions. Why was House on the bus? And why wasn't Wilson with him?". Why wasn't I with him?
"I don't know", Cuddy confessed.
"Have you told him?", she asked, wringing her hands in her lap.
"Wilson? No. You're the first person. I only found out myself thirty minutes ago".
"How long 'til we know the outcome? God, if House's leg…or, worse, if he, he…". Cameron could feel tears welling up and there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop them.
"Hey". Cuddy took the neighbouring seat and covered the other woman's hand with her own. "Whatever happens, we'll be there for him. He's a tough nut".
"S-, stubborn as a mule".
"That too", smiled the Dean bleakly.
"I need to walk; can't sit in here". Cameron got up and took a deep, sniffly breath, wiping an arm roughly across her eyes.
"Good thinking. I'll ping you when he's out of surge-".
A knock on the door and a doctor whom Cameron didn't recognise poked his head around. "Dr. Cuddy? The guys on-site need more gear, if you…?". The man's eyes flicked to Cameron's tear-streaked face and back again.
"Right, thanks, Mark. I'll be out", she replied firmly, waiting until he had retreated. "I should see to things…".
"Yes", said Cameron, willing strength on herself. She needed to be strong for House now. Nothing else mattered.
"Where're you gonna go?".
"Dunno, but you'll let me know as soon as you know?".
"Not a second after", nodded Cuddy, leaving quietly.
Giving the Dean a thirty second head start, Cameron navigated the lobby, which was still bustling with activity, and stepped into an elevator, pressing for the fourth floor automatically. Blissfully, the thing was deserted and she rode up hanging grimly to its internal railing. When it opened, she walked to Diagnostics, passing a few people on the way but not making eye contact.
Upon reaching the department she tried the doors but was dismayed to find them locked. And she no longer had a key. This was understandable, and really ought to have been predicted. She wanted the comfort and familiarity of being in House's personal space, but the area was inaccessible. A tremor of desperate panic.
Breathe.
Defeated, she rested her head against the glass, attempting to bring order to her scared and frantic mind.
Breathe.
Diagnostics was off-limits. Where else to go? The roof, maybe, but for superstitious reasons she didn't want to physically leave the building while House was still within its walls.
Superstition, superstition. That gave her an idea.
Cameron entered the chapel and waited as its lights, blinking a little, turned on automatically. Deserted. She thought about heading up to the central altar, but instead decided to sit in the exact same place as the last time. Nearly two years ago, after the case with Dr. Ezra Powell, she had come here seeking absolution for her role in his death. House, predictably, had known of her hiding place, seen her crying, and told her he was proud of her. The man was petty, mean, and bitter. But beneath all that, beneath the layers of dissimulation, he was a decent human being. Back then, in this room, he had offered her support, and it had meant a great deal.
And now it was time to do the same for him, in the only way currently available.
On the drive to the hospital, unwilling to deal with Sebastian Charles and a potentially awkward situation, she had been secretly thankful for an excuse to leave dinner. But now it transpired that House was caught up in all this, fighting a literal battle for life and limb, and her pathetic reservations paled into insignificance. Cameron felt consumed by guilt, not least because she had spent much of the last fortnight thoroughly annoyed at him. But that didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was that House made it through.
There were so many things she wanted to say, so many feelings she had to master. The overriding emotion, though, was regret. Regret at the time they had wasted not being together; regret that she had not insisted on spending every single day with him; regret that she had stormed out of his office; regret that she had even considered looking at another man. Most of all, regret that he had been on that bus in the first place. If only he survived, she would sacrifice her chance at being with him; she would, if it were possible, sacrifice herself.
Once, House had called her the most naïve atheist he had ever met. But there were no atheists in the trenches. She clasped her hands together and bowed her head, preparing to do something she had not done since elementary school.
House would call her a gullible moron. Or pathetic. All she wanted was for him to get the chance to say it himself, to her face, when he woke up from surgery.
Cameron had never prayed for anyone before but, alone in the chapel beneath its blinking light, she prayed for House.
