Cast off

A.N. House's conversation with the little girl is ripped straight from S3E10 'Merry Little Christmas'. You guys (or at least the ones still reading through my slow uploading) will be pleased to know that Hameron 2.0 is in sight…


"Well, I have to say: this is looking very good indeed". Wildermuth, House's case lead, was currently examining the latter's leg, whose plaster had just been removed. Next to him on the table was a scan. "The bone has healed remarkably well. Remarkably well. There's still pain?".

"A dull ache. But nothing too dramatic", replied House, browsing the readout himself.

"Well, there's a chance it could just be the limb repairing itself. Or-".

"-or it's with me permanently, yes", he sighed, casting his eyes down to the ugly scar on his right thigh, just below the site of that caused by the infarction. "Turns out that taking a bus pole to the leg is pretty bad for the skin. Who knew?".

"Mmm. But even the scar…", Wildermuth prodded it delicately, "…seems to have knitted together easily".

"Yeah, right. Easy for you to say, Wilders; you still possess full use of your limbs".

Cameron, who had been standing close by throughout the consultation, piped up: "quit your moaning, buster. What more do you want?".

"How long have you got?".

"You've been taking your painkillers?". Wildermuth was not one to be diverted from his task.

"More or less".

"What does that mean?".

"It means", commented Cameron archly before he could respond, "that Dr. House here believes regular painkillers to be, and I quote, 'for wusses and Jews'. I've tried to get him to up his intake for a month or two, but he's a stubborn donkey".

"Mule", corrected House. "Not donkey. I have some standards". Now he winked at Wildermuth: "she's just grumpy because yesterday I-".

"-anyway, there's no need to bore Larry with irrelevant details", laughed Cameron nervously. "The point is that House currently takes his painkillers at irregular intervals and at a low dose".

"Larry? Did I know you were called Larry?".

"Well", nodded the surgeon, making a few notes on his file with a New York Yankees pen and conveniently ignoring his patient's aside, "you obviously have the experience to know your own limits. I'm happy to sign off on your discharge and-".

"-excellent, thanks, Wilderberry-", announced House, getting gingerly to his feet and reaching for his cane, which was hanging over the back of his chair.

"-send you to Carter downstairs".

"Carter? Who's Carter? He sounds sketch".

"She is your physiotherapist. There's a fully tailored rehab programme waiting. The two of you—or three", he glanced at Cameron, "can hammer out the details yourself. But the hospital expects you to fulfill the stipulated course with no complaints".

"Oh, what? No complaints?".

"You can complain to me", offered Cameron helpfully while browsing the scans herself. Wildermuth was right: structurally, House's leg looked to be in decent shape. Of course, this didn't magic away the muscular damage, but, as she had observed just now, he stubbornly refused to take much beyond the barest minimum in pain relief. House often liked to moan, but deep down he could be remarkably stoic; far more than herself, sometimes. To patients she was warm; to outsiders she could be aloof and prickly. And to House she could be herself, unafraid to display the emotions he often made her feel.

"Man, this leg is an absolute shitshow". House's words brought her back to the present. "I need a shower".

"That can be arranged", she replied. "So, we're done?". This was directed at Wildermuth.

"Yes. I'll forward my notes to Dr. Cuddy and yourself, Dr. House". The surgeon went to his computer and brought up the hospital portal.

"No", House said quickly. "I don't want to know the details of my…condition. I want to just be a patient".

Wildermuth nodded.

"Do you mind if I have a look at the file?", asked Cameron. "I know it's not really my business".

"Knock yourself out", he shrugged. "We going downstairs, CB?".

"Uhuh".

House hooked the wheelchair with his cane and settled into it. "My last chance", he explained, catching sight of her hands-on-hips posture. "Thanks for everything, Wilders. Turns out you're not all that bad at this doctoring thing".

"I'm the head of surgery, Dr. House".

"But you have a real 'can do' attitude, and that's what counts". The nephrologist threw the other a double thumbs up as Cameron, shaking her head, pushed him out of the door and to the elevators.


"You got any idea where we're going?", asked House as Cameron wheeled him down nondescript beige corridors.

"Paediatrics. Carter has an office there, along with a few other therapists".

"Huh. You've met this woman?".

"No. I just happen to know that PPTH has a decent therapy provision". Although Cameron had once before mentioned to House that she had seen a counsellor, just prior to their first sleeping together, she neglected to elaborate that this had taken place within the walls of PPTH. For a while last year, she had walked these halls every Tuesday afternoon, sat in a warmly furnished room, and attempted to talk through the complex feelings of anger, despair, fear, and longing brought about by House's shooting. No small feat, she reflected mirthlessly. But it had helped, and hopefully now the man himself, the locus of her emotions then as now, would derive a similar benefit from therapy, physical if not psychological.

"First I've heard of it". Though, on balance, House thought it unsurprising. After all, this was a teaching hospital, and it stood to reason that it possessed a broad curriculum.

The pair continued on their way, the beige gradually giving way to colourful wall designs and posters, many of which seemed to have been drawn by children. Soon enough, they reached a waiting area, in which played a number of youngsters. Cameron had always appreciated this feature of the therapy wing's entranceway, and she smiled to herself as she set House in a corner. "I'll just check-in with the receptionist".

House grunted and closed his eyes for a few moments. Even though the accident was a few months in the past, he still felt tired whenever he left his apartment. People were exhausting.

"What are you doing?".

The voice caused House to open an eye. Level with his wheelchair was a girl, also in a wheelchair, looking up at him.

"I'm sleeping", he sighed. "Go away".

"You're not sleeping. You can't be asleep if you're awake".

Once again House sighed, closing the eye. Perhaps the kid would lose interest if he refused to engage. Like a cat.

"I want my ball back", she said after a few moments.

Mission failed.

"I don't have your ball. I just got here".

"It's under your wheel and I can't reach it".

"What makes you think that I can?".

"Longer arms", she replied slowly, as if he were a moron not to realise the reason for himself.

House respected that. He opened both eyes this time. The girl wore a thick pink dressing gown, and she clutched a brown bear toy in her lap. "What's wrong with you?", he asked, reaching down and passing her the ball. He understood the power of such things. Spheres truly were the best shape.

"I got spinal muscular atrophy". The way she delivered the words without any hesitation suggested that she had long grown used to explaining her condition.

"But you still play ball".

"Not me. My dog". She patted the head of the bear and pressed the ball to its mouth.

"That's a bear".

"His name is Bill. He's a dog".

"Bill is a bear name".

"Bill has fur, four legs, and a collar. He is a dog".

Cameron was signing in at the receptionist's desk, and she glanced by chance over at House, surprised to see him deep in conversation. What was perhaps not as surprising was the fact that he was talking with a child. The scene warmed her heart. House liked to maintain an armoured shell, as she did, but those who had tended to get past that more than others were children. Many times over the years they had dealt with youngsters, as both patients and relatives, and House often found ways to talk with them, and they to him. Although Cameron had not had reason to think on this too deeply, she figured that he appreciated their straight talking. Adults had so many reasons to lie and obfuscate, invariably making their job as doctors harder. A child's tendency to see, and say, things in black and white chimed well with House's own style.

She wandered over, just in time to hear House's comment: "if you try and play ball with a bear it will eat you. A dog wouldn't".

"Do you see any bears?", asked the girl.

"No".

"Then when am I ever going to play ball with a bear?".

"My point is that you need to know the difference between animals".

The girl rolled her eyes.

"How's it going over here?", interjected Cameron.

"Just having a little talk with Sarah. She's struggling with animals".

"My name is Annabel", said Annabel, now rotating the ball on the bear-dog's head.

"That's a pretty name", smiled Cameron. "I'm Allison; this is Greg".

"Hello. This is Bill. My dog". The girl side-eyed House again.

He suppressed an appreciative nod at this kid's tenacity and looked at Cameron. "Are we set?".

"Yep. Carter's on her way".

"Hi, Greg House?", the voice came from behind them. It belonged to an attractive woman with jet black, straight hair, and soft brown eyes. Her complexion suggested a Mediterranean heritage.

"That was quick", said Cameron.

House, though, shook the outstretched hand. Generally, he preferred to avoid physical contact. But this woman was a babe. "You don't look like a Carter".

"My mom's Italian", Carter replied evenly.

"Full-blown Italian or just half?".

Instead of responding, Carter turned to Cameron. "And you are…Allison, correct? I think I've seen you around".

Cameron smiled tightly and nodded. Unfortunately, this woman was beautiful, and she could already feel the gentle stirrings of jealousy. It really was a massive character flaw.

"Larry mentioned how much you've been helping Dr. House with his injury".

This reference to Wildermuth encouraged House to move things along. "What's the plan? I need to get back to Prescription Passion".

Carter shot him an odd look, not sure if he was joking, but soon regathered herself. "If you'd both like to follow me to my office? We can discuss things there".

Annabel, who had been watching the whole thing with naked curiosity, patted House's arm.

He looked down. "What?".

"D'you want Bill for company?", she whispered conspiratorially. "I don't mind borrowing him to you".

"Lending".

"What?".

"Nothing. You keep him. Dogs shouldn't be separated from their owners".

The girl nodded solemnly, watching as House and Cameron disappeared around the corner.

"She's been here a few months", explained Carter as they progressed down the corridor. "We help her with a few exercises to assist movement and breathing. But as you can see, she still needs the wheelchair".

"Are her parents supportive?", asked House.

"Of course. Why wouldn't they be?".

Instead of answering, he shrugged. The less he revealed about his personal life, the better.

"Please, take a seat". Carter gestured into the room they had just reached and held the door open for Cameron to push the wheelchair through. When everyone was settled, the therapist continued: "OK, so I've obviously read your file and, in consultation with your doctors, I've devised a rehabilitation programme. As you'd expect, we have a smooth take-off, but when you build strength, it'll become more strenuous. The end goal is really to be determined. If we're lucky, you'll regain full mobility. If not-".

"-I'm screwed forever. Got it". He could do without small talk. This office gave him the creeps. It was too bright.

"I don't think so. In any case, I suggest we start with a twice-weekly appointment in our specially appointed therapy suite".

"I'd prefer if we could do this at home", said House immediately.

"Would that be possible?", asked Cameron, who had hitherto remained quiet, even if she sensed her companion's discomfort.

"It wouldn't, sorry. The equipment's not portable".

House sighed at that and began picking at the armrest on the wheelchair. The prospect of shuttling back and forth twice a week for the foreseeable future filled him with annoyance, not least because it would require Cameron sacrificing yet more of her time acting as a taxi service. Over the past few weeks he had really grown to appreciate the part she had played, and continued to play, in his recovery. The phrase 'above and beyond the call of duty' came to mind.

"Fine", he sighed again. "I'll drive in myself".

"No, I don't think so. It's too soon after your cast removal", insisted Carter.

"Then I'll get Cuddy to pay for a regular Uber".

"What?". Cameron glanced sharply at him. "I'll drive you".

"No. You've got work".

"My work is caring for you".

"That's exactly what I mean, Cameron. This rehab is gonna be a constant thing, and it'd take up too much of your time trekking here and there".

"Screw that. I'm driving you".

"Allison-".

"-don't 'Allison' me. I'm driving you and that's that". Now she folded her arms and glared.

Carter's gaze flicked between House and Cameron before nodding slowly. "I mean, I'm pretty sure you'd have to be here, but what if I just came to your place and inspected your setup for myself? At the very least we could do mat work and leave the more involved stuff for the sessions after".

"Well, how about we say Thursday you come to our-, House's-, place and that can be the first session? Sort of as a taster". Cameron's swift correction of the possessive pronoun perhaps brought more attention to her slip than if she had just let it go.

Sure enough, a smile tugged at House's lips, but he hid it by scratching his face. Already he could feel his mood lightening.

"Umm, sure", said Carter. "If you guys could just give me your address?".

"Oh, we don't live together", she corrected, feeling her cheeks flush ever-so-slightly.

"Ah, sorry. I must've misunderstood Dr. Wildermuth's description of the situation. He said that you were a live-in nurse?".

"Well, I mean, yes. But, y'know, we don't, like, live together as in 'live together'. I, uh, have my own place. Right?", she asked of House, nudging his shoulder with a hand.

"Right", he announced with exaggerated enthusiasm, now grinning moronically up at the immunologist. He was reminded of her stumbled words to his parents, shortly after the accident. She really was cute when flustered.

"Regardless", said Carter bracingly, clicking a pen and flipping open a notebook. "I'll just make a note, and I guess I'll see you both Thursday?".

"It's a date", smiled Cameron, pleased at the change in subject.

"We're not dating, either", added House to Carter. "Just in case you were under any illusion".

Since the therapist was still writing, she missed both Cameron's glare and House's grin.