House, M.D. 1. Chapter 1

Life and Limb

The darkened room was quiet, almost silent except for the soft inhale and exhale of the sleeping couple in the double bed. The two dark heads were angled towards each other, almost touching. A soft buzzing sounded from the bedside table, a muted glow feebly shone from a small phone. A soft groan escaped from the mouth of the woman previously lying peaceful on the bed. She slowly reached towards her phone, her head rolling down the strong arm supporting her head, it was quickly pulled out from under her as the tall man next to her rolled away from the conversation about to begin.

Cuddy checked the display out of habit, it was the hospital, of course. She quickly rolled out of bed, phone in hand and crept towards the door before answering the call.

"What…" she croaked, cleared her throat and tried again. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry to wake you Doctor Cuddy but we have an emergency here." The voice at the end of the phone sounded nervous. Cuddy's PA worked 9-6, so the person speaking to her now had obviously drawn the short straw. He briefly hesitated before continuing, "The site of an illegal rave collapsed downtown and we have been overrun by patients. The night staff can't cope with the extra demand and the emergency services have requested Doctors from both local hospitals at the scene."

Cuddy sighed and checked the time on her phone, 2.15, she'd only had three hours of sleep. "OK, I'll be there in 20 minutes. Page all Doctors on-call and call in anyone else you can round up. Oh, and could you alert day care that I'm going to be bringing in my daughter, and warn them to expect other children as well." With that she hung up the phone. Cuddy was pleased that she had the forethought to set up a new day care centre on site at the hospital. It had been a godsend to all of the working parents at the hospital and came into it's own on a night like tonight.

Cuddy slipped back into the silent bedroom and walked towards the bed. "Hey," she whispered to the sleeping man on the bed, he rolled over, obviously already awake and opened his eyes. "There's an emergency at the hospital, we both need to go in." She steeled herself for what was to come.

He blinked and fixed his piercing gaze on her "We don't need to go, you need to go." He maintained eye contact for a few seconds then looked away. "Look, if there's an emergency you really don't want me there. I am the bringer of chaos if you remember. I'll keep the bed warm for you." He pretended to roll over but she put her arm on his shoulder and pulled him back. He flopped onto his back and looked at her again.

"House," she sighed, "Come on, it's late, we're both tired and I still have to get Rachel up. Please, do me a favour and co-operate." House just burrowed deeper into the covers and closed his eyes. She realised that this tact wasn't going to work, she was going to have to give him something else, his guilt over her going to work without him was obviously outweighed by his desire to go back to sleep. "I'll get someone to cover your clinic hours this week." When he didn't open his eyes she battled on, "Fine, this month." It was House's turn to sigh. She knew she had him, but was prepared for a little more banter before he gave up his pretence.

He levelled his gaze at her. The soft moon light shining in through the window created a halo of her hair, reminding House of how lucky he was to be with Cuddy. However, he couldn't let her think that she could just smile and ask nicely to get her own way. "I've only been in bed an hour."

"Three…" she corrected him.

He carried on as if he hadn't heard her. "And my leg hurts, even more if it doesn't get the proper rest, which I can't imagine it would get, walking those long hospital hall ways and treating whining patients…" He glanced at her to see if it was working. It wasn't. "Fine, but you owe me. You can make it up to me tonight." He grinned evilly and circled his arm around her waist, drawing her in for a slow kiss. Cuddy melted into him before remembering that they were short on time. She reluctantly pulled away from his warmth and moved away from the bed, bending and scooping up a pair of his jeans and tossing them onto the bed.

She grabbed some clean clothes and quickly dressed, giving House the time he needed to get his leg moving and to pull on last nights crinkled clothes. Then left to make coffee and gather everything she would need before lastly waking up her sleeping toddler.

By the time she got to the door juggling two travel mugs of coffee and Rachel, grumbling in her arms, House emerged from the bedroom and limped heavily down the hallway to join her. She felt momentarily guilty, seeing him in obvious discomfort, but reasoned that he would be fine once he worked the stiffness out. He walked up to her and pulled the toddler's bulky overnight bag from Cuddy's shoulder, then reached around her and pulled open the door, seeing that her hands were full. She smiled slowly; he really could be sweet when he wanted to be, and when he was away from an audience.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The ER was chaos. Cuddy had immediately gone to her office to begin co-ordinating the massive influx of casualties the hospital had received. House tried to sneak off to his office as well, but the nurses knew his face. One particularly surly nurse cornered him with a patient file and dragged him over to look at her patient. As soon as he was done and tried to slip away another approach him, then another, and another. He was beginning to suspect that Cuddy had organised her nurses to keep him busy during major incidents. Just as he had pronounced a particularly nasty code Cuddy came rushing up to him.

"They need Doctors at the scene. Princeton General have sent people but they need more. Wilson, Foreman and Taub are already heading to the ambulance bay with five other Doctors." She looked harassed and tired.

"Great, let me know how you get on. I'll be in my office supervising Chase" He turned to walk away but Cuddy caught his arm, pulling him back towards her.

"Chase is in the OR with his patient. I need you with me at the scene. You have the best instincts in this hospital. You can diagnose a patient just by looking at them, you proved that at the crane incident." She could see that he was about to interrupt, so she pushed on. "You're going, that's final."

HHHHHHHHH

Cuddy walked up the transport ambulance handing out florescent yellow jackets to all of the Doctors. The jackets were thick and padded and would keep them warm and visible at the scene. She approached House and Wilson who were seated at the back and handed Wilson the last yellow jacket. "I'm not wearing one of those." House grumbled, grabbing Wilson's jacket and looking at it in disgust, he turned it over in his hand, DOCTOR was printed on the back in bright white letters. "I have a reputation to uphold you know.

"That's why I saved this one for you." She smirked as she handed a different jacket to House. It was cut in the same style as the other coats and had the same padding but was black with a strip of florescent yellow around each bicep, DOCTOR was also printed on the back, but in yellow. It more like a Fire Department uniform. He still didn't look convinced so Cuddy leaned forward. "You're wearing it, so no complaints… and I don't want to hear about you taking it off." With that she turned around and strode down the bus, giving instructions to the Doctors in her team. House shoved Wilson's jacket back at him, smirking. Wilson looked ruefully at the jacket in his friends hand before putting his on.

HHHHHHHHH

Before long the transport approached the scene. Crowds gathered around the old factory building. Emergency workers moved quickly between onlookers, emergency vehicles and the disaster site. Sirens blared as more emergency vehicles arrived and ambulances pulled away. The sounds of cranes and machinery could be heard in the distance. Cuddy stood up on the bus and looked out of the window, along with most of the other Doctors, taking in the scene, but also trying to determine who was coordinating the whole affair.

As soon as the bus stopped and the doors open Cuddy jumped out, followed by her other Doctors. Wilson was half way down the bus before he realised that House wasn't following him. "You coming?" He asked.

"Thought I'd stay here, get a ride back to the hospital, or maybe catch up on some sleep. I definitely don't want to go out there, it looks dangerous." He quipped. He absentmindedly rubbed his thigh, looking out of the window.

Wilson frowned and took a step towards him. "People are hurt, dying, and you are making jokes." He pointed at House, "Why don't you cut the act, you know you're going to do what Cuddy tells you to do and she will tell you to get your butt off this bus." He turned away and began walking towards the door.

"But she won't know I'm still on the bus, how could she? Unless you tell her." Wilson stopped and turned to see House leaning forwards menacingly. "But you aren't going to do that. Are you?" House grinned evilly, then slouched back against his seat and folded his arms.

"Why not? Because you might mess with me? What else is new? Cuddy obviously wants you here, for whatever reason and she is going to notice if you disappear. Why don't I just save her the trouble of looking for you by telling her that, you have lied to her about helping at the scene, that you are going to make life more difficult for her because she will have to chase around after you and that , like a sulking teenager, you are refusing to get off the bus!"

HHHHHHHHH

House limped slowly up to the building, following the team of Doctors. Like them a bright yellow Doctor's bag was slung over his shoulder. He looked up at the old factory. It spanned an entire block and according to the co-ordinators multiple floors had been filled with young people, raving, hanging, partying or squatting. High on drugs and bored with the music a group of kids had set off a small explosive on one of the lower floors which had compromised the already failing structural integrity of the surrounding walls and floors. An outside wall had crumbled pulling down a load bearing beam, causing a cascade reaction of walls and floors collapsing in on each other, burying and injuring hundreds of teenagers and young people. Before Cuddy went in through a gap in one of the walls House stole a quick look. In her Doctor's jacket and jumpsuit she looked quite cute, and the radio strapped to her belt was a definite turn on. He smirked before ducking his head and entering the building.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The crumbling entrance opened up into a large room. Dust hung in the air and on every surface, strange moans and sobs could be heard coming for the gloom. Occasionally, the sounds of machinery or the screeching of metal on metal or the deep rumble of brick on brick could be heard, reminding everyone present of the precarious position of the building. Victims of the building collapse could be seeing lining the walls, some lying motionless or moving weakly, others sat cradling injured body parts or stood leaning against the wall or wandering around the room dazed. Most of the patients looked lost, not knowing what would happen to them or where to go next.

"That explains it…"House announced cryptically, his eyes keenly taking in everything around him.

"What..?" Wilson questioned distractedly. He, like the other Doctors in the room, looked completely overwhelmed by the carnage in front of them.

"Didn't you notice the lack of patients outside? The whole building could come down around us at any minute, but some _moron_ has chosen to keep everyone inside." At that last bit his voice rose, trying to provoke a reaction from whoever was in charge, his eyes raked the crowd, looking for someone looking disgruntled. Nothing.

Wilson tore his eyes away from the scene in front of him and turned to his friend, disbelieving. "In case you hadn't noticed, the temperature is hovering just above freezing. Do you want your patients to be sitting in in the rain puddles or on drafty corners? The walls have been shored up, look" he pointed to a row of poles braced against the ceiling at regular intervals.

House turned to him, "Idiot! You would rather risk being in the building when it the inevitably comes down, burying all of us, than chance some of these people catching a cold?" He huffed when he saw his friend's sceptical look. "Look at the size of those poles, there is no way they can support the weight of that brick ceiling for much longer. Can't you hear that?" As he finished his rant, a low groaning sounded, echoing throughout the room and the floor began to vibrate. The pole closest to the far wall shifted and brick dust and small stones pelted an unlucky accident victim walking around wrapped in a foil blanket. Alarmed, Doctors and patients able to move fled from the wall to the middle of the room. Others ran in ready to pull out those who couldn't easily move themselves.

House turned grimly to Wilson, "See?" He asked, then limped towards the doorway before Wilson could answer.

"Where do you think you're going?" Cuddy caught up to House and grabbed his cane to stop him from leaving.

"I'm going to find the idiot in charge." He answered simply.

Cuddy frowned. "I'm in charge, and I'm telling you to get back in there and treat patients."

He caught Cuddy by the arm and lead her away from the small crowd gawping at them, Wilson followed. "Not you, you're just the petty bureaucrat in charge of our hospital, I'm talking about whoever's in charge of _this_ disaster… This place is going to come down around us, everyone's lives are at risk if we don't move outside at set up triage somewhere else. Preferably somewhere away from those walls" He gestured at the building vaguely and looked at her intensely. Cuddy looked around at Wilson, trying to catch up.

Wilson threw up his hands and nodded. "He's right, I don't think it's stable, if we don't get everyone out there could be an even bigger disaster.

Cuddy looked from one man to the other, then turned to look at the room behind her. Dust clouds frequently fell from the ceiling, small piles of rubble and dust were forming in small drifts around the walls at the back of the room and grinding and grating sounds could be heard in the distance. She nodded once. "Come with me." She purposefully walked out of the room, not waiting to see if they followed her or not.

HHHHHHHHH

Within the hour triage tents had been set up at safe distances from the crumbling factory. Blankets were being given out to patients and more transport ambulances were ordered to quickly clear those with minor injuries. Wilson was sent to help out with the injured. House and Cuddy had stayed with the disaster co-ordination team for the first half an hour, giving tips on how to best manage the situation. The head of the operations, Mike Sullivan, blustered for a while, insisting that he was carefully monitoring the condition of the building and was updated of it's deterioration continually. He maintained that he was in the process of bringing in heavy duty equipment to secure the site, organising a triage area outside and that they were preparing to move the injured. However, despite his bravado he frequently turned to House for guidance who was able to assess the situation quickly and formulate the most convincing plan. Cuddy stayed to ensure that he didn't provoke a fight with his jibes and goading comments.

Eventually the team grew tired of House's comments and superior attitude and sent him and Cuddy back to the factory. Victims still inside needed to be looked over and allocated a triage tent depending on their condition. House tried to head to one of the tents, but Cuddy worked her charmed and convinced him the she would make it worth his while if he followed her in.

The first room had been cleared of patients but the rest of the factory was like a maze, with corridors and rooms of various sizes leading off in all directions. Cuddy ordered House to follow one recovery team to a large room to the left of the first room, while she was led to stabilise a critical patient further inside the building.

House tried to control his heavy breathing and ignore the shooting pain radiating up and down his damaged thigh. To get into the next room, which was accessed by a crumbling doorway at the back of the room, he had to scramble over piles of rubble and duck under a collapsed beam. His leg did not appreciate the strain, especially after only a few hours of rest. By the time he entered the room he was leaning heavily on his cane. He leant against the doorway with his other hand, taking some of the strain off his ruined leg and surveyed the room. Teenagers in dirtied and dusty party clothes were slumped on mildews couches or leant against walls. Like the other rooms, bricks, dust and rubble covered the floors and a hole gaped in the ceiling, revealing glimpses of the room above.

Rescue workers and paramedics made their way among the wounded, stabilising broken limbs and bandaging cuts, ready to move them. "Are you gonna stand there and watch or help us?" A gruff voice just inside the room questioned House.

"I thought I'd just watch, that way I can make sure you don't kill anyone." He quipped, hesitated a moment, looking at the annoyed face of the paramedic who had spoken, then limped into the room. He headed to the closest couch to him and threw himself down, sending clouds of dust flying into the face of the girl he sat next to. She looked slowly at him, her expression glazed, and coughed once as the dust assaulted her nostrils. House waved his hand in front of her eyes before pulling out a small pen light and flashed it in to each of her pupils in turn. They were sluggish, but responded to the light equally. A bad concussion he mused. He asked her some questions, probed and bandaged her head wound and made sure her ear canals were clear before giving her a ticket for the minor injury triage tent before calling another victim over to him. He could just about get through this if he could just stay off his feet. The other medical workers seemed annoyed at the arrogant Doctor ordering injured patients to come him, but kept their mouths shut, remembering his heavy limp and seeing the cane on floor at his feet.

House quickly worked through seven patients, he was much faster than the paramedics seeing two or three to every one they were able to assess, which meant that patients could be quickly moved out of the building, to safety. He was just assessing his eighth patient when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He got his patient to apply pressure to a large gash in his arm and pulled his phone out, checking the message. As soon as he read the first line he grabbed his cane, levered himself to his feet and limped quickly out of the room.

HHHHHHHHH

House scrambled out of the factory opening and looked for the tent he wanted. He spotted it quickly and moved through the crowd, jostling with people who got in his way. He arrived at the minor injury tent and looked over the crowds. In the far corner he saw Cuddy sat on a bench, holding a small dressing against her forehead. He walked up to her, pushing Wilson out of the way, just as he was about to check her over. He walked right up to Cuddy and pulled her hand away from her face. "What happened?" He asked, probing the wound, causing Cuddy to flinch, and hiss at the sudden pain. Wilson took in the scene for a moment. House towered over Cuddy, close enough to reach down and kiss her, looking at her cut intensely, concern evident in his blue eyes. There was no malice, no mischief planned in his intelligent eyes. He looked like any other caring Doctor, or worried boyfriend. Wilson had not seen his friend look at anyone like this since Stacey. There was no denying it, Cuddy was good for House, she got his back in touch with his human side, she kept him grounded when he got caught up in his quest for answers, and schemes to prove to everyone just how intelligent he was.

"There was a small ceiling collapse, I was lucky, the rescue worker with me shielded me from the worst of it, he was just taken away in an ambulance. I'm fine… really." She tried to put on a brave face but her hands trembled and her eyes clouded over as she replayed the events in her mind. House didn't react to her news and reached out for a clean dressing to replace her sodden one and gently pressed it to Cuddy's tender head wound, then raised her hand to hold it in place. He then reached over to Wilson and pulled a pen light out of his pocket to check her pupil reactions. He checked her for a concussion before again pulling the dressing from her head. If was soaked. He rooted through the med kit and pulled out a pressure bandage, expertly securing it in place, his right hand lingering on the bandage before moving down to stroke her cheek. His eyes looking into hers, asking all of the questions he couldn't voice out loud. She reached up, curled her hand around his and managed a shakey smile. "I'll be okay. We can finish up here and when we get back to the hospital I can get patched up. "

House frowned at this and pulled his hand away. "That's a great idea!" He snarked " You have a concussion and are still bleeding. You can stumble around here, misdiagnose injuries and bleed into open wounds. It's not like there is enough work to go around. Do you really think you are the best person to treat anyone here? You are going to the hospital!" With that he stalked away, leaning into his cane. Cuddy turned to Wilson in exasperation, but he just smiled meakly, his hands on his hips.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Cuddy had escaped from her bed and was walking amongst the patients checking wounds and handing out blankets, when House walked back up to her. "There's a medical transport leaving in five minutes that has our names on it." He stated simply and began to gather her things.

Cuddy glared at him, but didn't look surprised by this. House had been trying to avoid work all night and now he was using her as an excuse to get out of work early. "Not so fast, we aren't going anywhere. I have to co-ordinate our Doctors and you have patients to treat." House ignored her and turned towards the bus, carrying her hospital issue jacket, clipboard and radio. Cuddy was forced to run after him if she wanted her things back. "Don't pretend you didn't hear me, House. I don't need to go to the hospital and I need you here to triage and treat patients." She grabbed his arm forcing him to turn and face her. "House, stop being such an ass and listen to me…" He made a show of listening, looking amused, so that Cuddy felt embarrassed at having nothing else prepared. "I'm fine." She finished lamely.

House smirked at her knowingly and carried on walking, they were half way to the bus before he began to speak. "_You_ are not fine. You can barely even argue with me. You have a gash on your head and a concussion. You need an X-ray and maybe even a CT. So for once in your life you are going to listen to me. Get your substantial ass on that bus, before I'm forced to carry you kicking and screaming onto it. Actually…" He cocked his head to the side as if considering, "please make me carry you. It would be a massive turn on. And it might put an end to all this talk about who is really in charge in our relationship." He grinned evilly, his hands clasped in front of him, as if he were begging, then dropped them, looking serious again. "Let's go, I have you booked in for an X-ray in 45 minutes."

"OK, maybe I do need to get checked out but in case you haven't noticed, I'm a big girl. I can go on my own. You," She began jabbing a finger playfully into his chest, "need to stay here and do your job."

"Actually, I'm going with you and I have six good reasons why I'm going with you: one," He held up his index finger, "my leg hurts, two," he continued bringing his middle finger up to join the first, "I'm your concerned boyfriend, you need me to hold your hand and reassure you that everything will be ok. Three," he continued raising fingers, his voice getting higher as he continued his diatribe, "I'm your treating Doctor, so I need to follow your case through. Four, I can work just as well at the hospital, and five, this place is full of injured people and it's bumming me out. Let's go." He looked smug as he reached the bus and was about to climb on when Cuddy spoke up.

"That was only five." She folded her arms looking unconvinced.

"Six, my leg HURTS." He said slowly, pretending to be frustrated. Then he dropped the act. "…I'm not going, am I?" He relented.

She smiled sweetly at him and began shaking her head slowly. "No, but you can work here safe in the knowledge that you have convinced me to go." He began to give her back her things, Cuddy took her coat, but pushed the radio and clipboard back towards him. "I do have one condition for going. I need you to co-ordinate the Doctors and keep track of the patients heading for PPTH." He looked like he was about to protest so she kept going. "If I don't have anyone I trust to run things then I won't be able to relax, and if I can't relax I can't get better, and if I can't get better and relax at the hospital I may as well stay here."

House looked away, hiding his emotions while he considered what to do. Finally he sighed heavily and nodded his head. "Fine, I'll take care of it." With that he clipped the radio to his belt, and quickly kissed her on the cheek, before he turned around and walked away.

HHHHHHHHH

House made sure that Cuddy was definitely gone before he sought out Wilson and shoved the radio and clipboard into his hands. "What's this?" Wilson asked, slow to catch on after a stressful night and almost no sleep.

"Fillet mignon. You look like you could do with a good meal." Wilson stared at him, annoyed for a moment before House continued. "Cuddy wants someone she trusts to run our Docs and patients, and guess what? You hit the jackpot. Congratulations!" With that House walked away, knowing that wouldn't seriously consider that she had really asked House.

House began picking his way through the now thinning crowds, looking for somewhere to hide out and rest his leg for a while, when Sullivan caught up with him. "Doctor House, we need you back in the factory. One of the vics is really sick and some guy called Foreman is asking for you to help him out." He looked concerned and a little pathetic to House.

"Sorry, I've filled my quota on doing moron's jobs for them today. Try me again tomorrow when the clock re-sets." Sullivan looked confused, then as he realised what House meant he looked annoyed. "Don't look at me, I don't make up the rules." House jibed.

HHHHHHHHH

For the third time that night House found himself walking through the darkened, crumbling hole that lead to the factory. He was annoyed, he was usually able to get his own way, or at least twist the situation so that he came out on top. However, it turned out that Sullivan had a quick temper and was able to make his threats seem pretty plausible. So House, was forced to back down and head into the breach once more.

This time, rather than turn off into a small side room House was lead to a large room full of outdated machinery. This must have been one of the main factory floors, judging by the size of the room and the offices looking onto the floor. House guessed then that the room he originally entered by must have been a warehouse, and the second room with the sofas could have been a break room.

House looked up, the ceiling and one wall had collapsed, leaving rubble, bricks and plaster strewn across the wooden floor. One corner housed a large beaten up sound system and speakers had been inexpertly hung at random points throughout the room. This was obviously the party room and most of the victims in the first room must have come from here. The floor was weak in places and yellow tape marked a safe path through the wreckage.

Broken bodies were being carefully uncovered and carried out. Only a few survivors were still left in this room, they were either too serious to move easily or had not been dug free from the wreckage. House spotted the unmistakeable form of Foreman through the gloom and slowly made his way over to him, through the detritus.

Foreman's patient was a young woman in her early 20's. She was struggling to breathe and was obviously in a lot of pain. Her eyes wildly darted around the room, she was obviously scared. Her face and bare arms were covered in deep scratches and slowly maturing bruises. Her clothes were dirtied and torn, especially around her torso, she was clearly unable to draw a deep breathe, instead sucked in short, sharp gasps. A catheter had been inserted into her arm and snaked its was up to a bag of fluid hung from a nail sticking from the wall. "Is that sodium bicarb?" House questioned by way of a greeting, gesturing to the bag with his chin. Foreman glanced briefly in House's direction before turning back to his patient, whose extremities looked unnaturally swollen. He was listening to her chest and frowning. I take it her crush syndrome hasn't responded well to fluid overloading."

Foreman grunted his assent, "She was fine, but she just started decompensating. I'm thinking reperfusion syndrome." He stated grimly, "Any ideas?" He had obviously been working on this girl for a while and had become attached to her.

House looked around for clues as to what had landed on her and spied a large piece of masonry on the floor a few feet from her. "How quickly was she released from that?" he asked, gesturing to the clump of stone near her prone form with is cane.

"We pulled her out as soon as we heard her shouting, she must have been out for a while, or we would have spotted her sooner." A rescue worker offered almost defensively, misunderstanding House's intentions.

House sighed and scrapped his thumb nail across his eyebrow, an unconscious tell showing how tired and frustrated he was becoming with the whole situation. "Of course you did, you idiot, that's you job!" He snapped. "What I'm asking is whether you removed the weight from her chest slowly, controlling the amount of crap flooding into her system or did you pull if off like a band aid, flooding her system and poisoning her? I take it from your slack jawed expression it was the second one." He turned away from the rescue worker, dismissing him and addressed Foreman. "Tie tourniquets around her arms and legs, release them slowly so you can control reperfusion. There might still be time to save her."

As he finished his phone began to trill in his pocket. He fished it out and left the small team without checking their treatment, there was nothing else he could do for her. Before answering he checked the display. "Good morning, sunshine." He sing songed "How's the head?"


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**I just want to say thank you for the reviews I have received. I haven't written anything for a while and I'm trying to get back in my stride.**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter, things are about to kick off.**

"Good morning, Sunshine. How's the head?" House asked the person at the other end of the line. Just as Cuddy spoke the sound of an industrial saw sounded across the room, muffling the sound of her voice. He pulled the phone away from his face and turned to the team working to free bodies from crushing stone pillar. "Hey, I'm on the phone here!" He yelled across the room. People nearby turned to look at him disbelievingly. He scowled at their lack of humour and looked for a quiet corner in which he could take the call. His eyes landed on an inconspicuous doorway close by and headed for it. He put the phone to his ear again and called out, "Hold on" as he made his way into the quieter room.

The doorway led into a long, shadowy corridor punctuated by doors at regular intervals, with a stairwell at the end. A large window, stretching the length of the stairwell, was partially lit by a flood light set up to light the triage area outside. Tall concrete pillars held the high ceilings up, although those closest to the blast sites had collapsed, making the areas surrounding them impassable. House looked around for somewhere comfortable to rest while he spoke to his girlfriend, and spotted a bench in a secluded nook. He gingerly tested the strength of the floor, pressing down with his cane, as he made his way to his seat.

"OK." House said into the phone as he sat down slowly, stretching his right leg out in front of him, resting just his heel on the floor and absentmindedly kneaded the mangled muscle, trying to ease the pain and fatigue that were threatening to overwhelm him.

"How's it going down there?" Cuddy questioned immediately, ignoring his previous question.

House ignored her opening comment; two could play at that game. "So, the Doctors were able to stitch up your gash and the X-ray revealed no fracture? That's great news." He chirped annoyingly. "Do you know how worried I've been." He continued, gushing.

Cuddy sighed down the phone. "Shut up, House. Dr Hourani has just been brought in from the incident site, unconscious. What is going on down there? I left you in charge, so you had better have answers." She threatened, obviously not in a playful mood.

House grimaced and began rubbing his forehead, desperately thinking about how he could talk his way out of this. Suddenly, something caught his attention, House heard the feint sound of stones hitting the wooden floor from somewhere behind him in the sparsely lit corridor. He quickly turned and peered into the gloom, trying to assess his own safety. When he didn't hear anything else he assumed that it was just shifting rubble. "House…? House..? Are you even listening to me?" He heard Cuddy ranting down the phone line.

"In case you hadn't guessed, I'm pretty busy here. You caught me in the middle of a consult, while signing off on a tricky evac, and waiting for word about Dr Hourani. I'm sorry I couldn't find time to ring you and update you right this minute." He improvised. "You don't need to micro manage, I've got this covered." The lies were coming more easily, now that he was in his stride. "Now, are you going to tell me how you are, or am I actually going to have to guess?" He asked her again.

This time Cuddy was more subdued. "You're right, I'm sorry. You told me you would handle things, and I trust you." Cuddy reassured him. House was irritated by the sudden stab of guilt he felt when she told him that she trusted him. He would have to make this a short conversation or he could actually be in danger of telling her the truth. She continued, "My head is fine. I did get stitches, and my X-ray was clear. They have insisted on keeping me in for a few more hours for observation."

"Good…" House replied absently. He didn't know whether it was real or just fatigue, the dark or the stress of the day playing tricks on him, but he thought he heard the sound of stones being scraped along the floor. This time he held his phone out in front of him, using the light from the display as a makeshift torch and ran it across the room. He couldn't see anything out of place, but a sharp gasp sounded from behind one of the collapsed columns. "I've got to go, there's an emergency I have to deal with. Let me know what time they are release you." He hung up the phone before Cuddy could reply and hauled himself to his feet.

The closer House got to his target, the more the old wooden floorboards protested at the added strain. Most of the collapsed pillar had fallen against the solid brick wall, wedging it just above the floor but a large section of collapsed pillar had detached from the rest of the structure and lay embedded in the old wooden floor, leaving the area around it splintered and threatening to give way. House again employed his cane to test the strength of the floor, enabling him to avoid particularly dangerous sections. Using this technique he was able to traverse the room safely and was just peering around the base of the column when he heard unmistakable low moan coming from behind it.

He shifted his weight and leaned over, peering around the column to see a tangle of limbs sticking out from under a large section of ceiling. He moved around the pillar to get a better look and bent down using his phone to light up the scene. House could see the upper back of a well build man in a concert T-shirt, pinned underneath him laid a young girl of about 15 or 16. She had long brown hair, with purple streaks and was wearing a grungy tank top. The girl flinched away from the light and blinked a couple of times. "Help us, please." She rasped, and locked eyes with House, pleading with him to do something, anything to help her.

House covered the last few paces to the two injured people. "You've been a naughty girl." He told her, amused as he quickly and awkwardly knelt down to begin assessing them. "This guy is at least five years older than you, and here you are, bumping uglies in a dark corridor. What will your mummy say?" He used his phone to first assess the man, as he had better access.

She slowly shook her head, "No, we were just making out. I only met him tonight." Her partner was unresponsive.

House frowned. "So of course you couldn't sleep with him then, that would be impossible!" He looked at her, but she seemed confused by what he had said, not entirely following his train of thought. House dropped the topic, using his phone light to help him look the man over. A large open wound was visible on the back of his head, and congealed blood matted his hair and had run down his head and shoulders. House rummaged in his med bag and came up with a fresh pair of gloves, which he pulled on with a snap. He leaned forward to palpate the wound but spied splinters of bone around the edge of the wound. House began probing the site and spotted something more sinister, he sighed, grey matter. He reached around the man's neck and pressed two fingers to his carotid artery, nothing. He skin was cool. He had been dead a while.

House frowned, again. "Is he ok?" the girl whispered. House was about to answer with a caustic comment about how she had been cuddling up to a corpse for hours, when he looked down at her. She looked so young and scared, her big brown eyes full of trust and hope. He hesitated, he couldn't tell her yet. Not until she was free and on the mend.

"He's fine," House lied uncomfortably. "He's just unconscious; he'll be out for a while." He glanced at her briefly before looking away awkwardly. She sighed in relief and lowered her head to the floor. He shifted around so that he could check her over. A large red bruise surrounded a deep gash on her forehead. House stripped off his bloody gloves and replaced them with a fresh pair before carefully pushing down on her wound, testing the edges and feeling the bone underneath. It gave slightly beneath his fingers. She definitely had a skull fracture. That explained why she had been there so long, unseen. She must have been slipping in and out of consciousness since the accident.

He put his phone on the ground, screen face up to illuminate the field. He reached into his bag again and pulled out his pen light. He checked her pupils for normal movement; they were sluggish, but contracted evenly. Then he checked her pulse. A little high, but that could be explained by the stress of the situation. There was no way he could check her chest, as it was currently hidden under the large torso of the man on top of her. He leaned closer, his ear inches from her mouth and listened, her respirations were slightly quick and a little laboured, but he couldn't be sure if that was due to an injury or the weight on top of her.

"Hey," he called, getting her attention, which had wandered back to her boyfriend. When she didn't respond straight away he clicked his fingers in front of her eyes a couple of times. That got her attention. "Are you hurting anywhere, your chest, stomach?"

"My head… kind of hurts… it feels … little fuzzy. Leg … hurt before, not so bad … now..." She panted. House shuffled down to their feet. He could only see her feet and ankles, but could tell right away that her left ankle was badly broken. It was very swollen, the bone jutting at an odd angle under her skin. Even if he could get her out from under the ceiling and her weighty boyfriend she wouldn't be able to walk out.

He moved back to her head to talk to her. "I need to get you some help. Someone will be here soon to pull you both out. You'll be fine…" He began to haul himself, painfully to his feet, when her arm appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his leg.

"Please… don't leave me… here." She panted. Her eyes became wild as she started to panic. "I… can't… stay… here…like … this.. anymore." Her voice became a high keen, which grated on House. As she pleaded she began to struggle uselessly against the weight on top of her, her hand wrapped around his leg in a surprisingly strong grip. Her breaths came in short gasps and she seemed to be fighting against unconsciousness.

"Hey" he shouted at her, kneeling again so that she could see him clearly. "You need help, more than I can give you alone. I will be gone a few minutes, then I'll be back." He looked at her intensely, but his words had little impact on her panicked state. She began thrashing in her desperation to free herself and get an adequate air supply into her lungs.

"I… can't… I can't … I can't," she repeated incoherently, wheezing.

He stared at her a moment longer, he couldn't believe what he was about to say. "Ok, he breathed, I'll find a way to pull you out." House assessed the situation. She was deteriorating quickly and probably would be unconscious by the time it took House to find and bring back help, she may even have stop breathing all together. He would have to do it himself. He looked around for something that could help him free the trapped teenager. There was nothing that would help him. He grabbed his can, looking it over. If he could get it in the right spot he could lever the roof section off the trapped couple. He stood again and walked around the rubble, looking for the perfect place to begin.

"Archimedes said 'Give me a lever and a fulcrum long enough, and I can move the world.'" He said to himself as he searched. "I'm sure I can find a way to move a hunk of stone… There…" He spied a brick that had come away from the main roof section that would make the perfect fulcrum. He turned to her again and looked into her eyes, she had already begun to calm down, watching his attempt to find a way to free her, and now looked more reassured by the intensity of his gaze. "When I lift, you need to try to wriggle from under your boyfriend. Understand." She nodded and braced her hands on the floor, ready.

House positioned his cane between the ceiling and the loose brick, bracing the rubber tip of his cane against the floor. He positioned all of his weight on his good leg, and began pushing up. At first nothing seemed to happen, then slowly, ever so slowly the weight began to shift. House shuffled forwards, taking the weight on his hip to prevent it from dropping down, then pushed up again, he began to shake with the effort. It moved again, and again he moved his body further under his cane, it was a slow process as it was difficult to balance the large section of ceiling on the relatively small area of his cane. "Can you move? He gasped, fearing that he might drop his burden at any moment, he could feel sweat prickling his brow. She began clawing at the ground with her hands, struggling to get any purchase on the wooden floor. House could see that he needed to shift the weight more and again pushed upwards, grunting with the effort. At last she was able to move a few inches, enabling her to move her hands further down so that she could push herself out rather than pulling. She moved a few more inches, but found her legs were trapped by the man crushing her. She then braced her good leg against the ground, and grabbed her partner round the shoulders, she couldn't get out from under him, but maybe she could get them both out.

House found that he couldn't lift any longer, his arms were burning, his left leg was screaming, his cane buried into his left hip, his right leg was shaking badly with the effort of keeping him up right. The muscles in his arms bulged against his jacket, and the tendons in his neck began to stand out, from the strain. He bit his lip and forced himself to clear his mind, he could get through this if he didn't have to think about the pain he was feeling.

The teenager was now making slower progress, her burden slowing her down significantly, but she was moving them both, centimetre but centimetre. Finally, she was clear of the danger above her, but the man on top of her wasn't. She kept kicking with her leg, and pushing off with her hands, her injured ankle screamed in protest at being moved.

Houses' whole body was shaking now, blood was flowing down his chin, from where he was biting his lip to keep from calling out. "Can't … hold it." He panted. Although he raged against it with all of his will, gravity was slowly winning the fight. Suddenly the cane, slick with House's perspiration slipped from his hands, and the whole ceiling came crashing down. House over balanced and fell onto his right leg, crying out in pain, as the girl screamed.

"His legs!" she screamed, "Get it off his legs." House sighed in relief, realising he hadn't hurt her and the man on the floor before him wouldn't feel a thing.

He dragged himself over to the girl, his legs didn't have the energy yet to carry him. He grabbed her face to calm her, and looked into her eyes. "He's dead, he died a while ago." He watched as her eyes flicked quickly between, House, the man on the floor and back to House again. Then realisation slowly dawned on her face. Her lips trembled and a single tear snaked its way down her grimy skin. Then she took a breath and seemed to regain control. House was impressed.

He realised that they still needed to get out of the drafty corridor, he needed to make sure she was stable and then he had to get help.

When he was happy that she wasn't going to die any time soon he reassured her that he would be back, then he hauled himself to his feet once more, this time with great difficulty and turned to walk to the door. Then as an after thought he, turned back, began removing his hospital jacket and placed it over her shivering form. "Suits you," He said. He pulled the med kit onto his shoulders and slowly limped to the door.

He was a few metres away when he realised his mistake. He had strayed too close to the pillar section that was embedded in the floor. It began to groan and creak loudly under his weight. He tried to move away, but the exhausted muscles in his left leg and his screaming right leg couldn't move fast enough. He spun around and looked to the girl on the floor watching him. He didn't even know her name, but that didn't stop him from dying for her.

She pulled herself up from her prone position at his panicked expression, just in time to see the huge bulk of concrete pillar disappear through the floor, taking House with it a moment later.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**I hope you all enjoyed the previous chapter. The wait was quite long, but I hope you thought it was worth it.**

**Please enjoy this chapter.**

House saw the massive section of the column disappear through the floor and realised it wouldn't be long before the section he was standing on gave way under his weight. Then he was falling, he felt his legs pull up in reflex, so that he would land in a prone position, his right side hitting first. A huge splintering sound boomed below as the concrete juggernaut led the way, destroying everything in its path. Suddenly pain exploded in House's left side as he hit something, momentum bouncing him off a large piece of machinery. He tried to grab hold of whatever he hit, trying to stop his progress to the floor, but his fingers slid down cold unyielding metal. He scrambled furiously as he fell but it suddenly fell away from him. Then too soon the floor flew up to meet him.

Pain suddenly exploded from every point in his body, blocking out sight, sound and smell, overriding his every memory and sense of being. House didn't exist, only pain existed. Then it began to recede slightly, in tiny increments, so that he could think again. The sound of gasping, and a distant high scream brought him back to reality. House struggled to keep sucking in pained breaths. It was difficult to think. The pain began to wane some more, concentrated to three main points. His ribs, his head and his already damaged right leg. His eye raked the room of their own accord, it was dark, much darker than the room above him, light above him drew his gaze upwards, dust rained down from the ceiling. He had not lost much time.

"Hello." A voice barely registered through the pain. He was aware of chucks of splintered concrete under his body, a large chuck cradled his head and a large jagged mass held his right leg awkwardly off the ground. He began to move uncomfortably, shifting his hands restlessly, his right hand found its way to his ruined limb, trying to determine the extent of the damage. Even through the fug in his brain he was able to make out liquid everywhere. He ran his hand over his jeans, they were soaked through, dragging his hand up to the top of the valley in his thigh he tried to find the source. Something was pumping fluid all over him. He dragged his hand away from his leg and he began feeling around him, searching for a broken pipe or tap. It would be typical for him to be trapped down here in the cold, injured and soaked through. Nothing, in fact there was no water anywhere else. "Hey… are you ok down there?" Still House barely heard the scared voice from above. He frowned weakly, feeling light headed. He brought his hand back to his leg. The cuff of his shirt snagged on something, causing House to flinch. He pulled his hand further up his leg, something grazed his hand. House suddenly found himself biting his lip to keep him from crying out in pain. He looked down, his eyes had begun to adjust to the gloom, what he saw scared the hell out of him. A jagged spike of bone stabbed through a rip in his trousers, blood pumped slowly from the wound. A dark stain covered his leg to well below his knee. House was bleeding out. "Please, answer me!" The girl pleaded.

As quickly as he was able, House fumbled to remove his belt and fed one end under his damaged leg. He looped the end through the buckle, then stole himself against the pain he knew he would soon be in. He gripped the end of his belt, took in a breath and pulled hard. A scream forced his way up his throat as the belt pressed down on the wound, grating the raw edge of the bone sticking out of his leg. House's vision clouded over for a moment, then slowly began to clear, he looked down, spots danced across his vision. Holding the improvised tourniquet with his left hand he felt the area below his belt, it certainly wasn't pumping any more, but was still bleeding more than he liked, he would have to tighten it again. Tensing again in anticipation of blinding pain, House gripped the belt in both hands and pulled again, screaming as he did so. This time when his vision clouded over it didn't clear again. Hoping that he had done enough, House secured the tourniquet, keeping his life from spilling out on the cold concrete strewn flood. Suddenly, he couldn't keep his head up any more. He slumped back onto his stone pillow and his eyes rolled back in his head. The sound of a girl sobbing filled the air.

HHHHHHHHH

Wilson was tired. After a long and difficult day at work he had returned home to his big rambling apartment alone. He made himself a dreary sandwich and slumped on the couch, watching TV with his cat. The next thing he knew his phone was going off and Cuddy was calling him back into work. He had since spent half the night triaging patients in the cold drizzle, thankful for his garish hospital jacket for the protection it offered him from the elements. He also had to keep track of his colleagues at the disaster site and liaise with the hospital over which patients could be admitted to PPTH. The situation was becoming increasingly dangerous in the old crumbling building. First Cuddy was hurt, and then Hourani was injured protecting a patient from a falling beam. Wilson himself had handled his evacuation from the scene. Even outside he was able to hear the distant sounds of he building slowly pulling itself apart. 10 minutes ago a deep booming sound echoed around the factory, signalling a large area collapsing in on itself.

Wilson kept track of the rest of his Doctors closely; most of them were, like him, working outside. Only Foreman and House were still inside moving through the victims still trapped. Foreman had emerged half an hour ago helping to stretcher out a patient with severe crush syndrome. House wasn't with him but had assisted Foreman with the case before moving on. He sighed, he would be happy when all of the Doctors were back at the hospital, regaling the rest of the staff with stories of their daring exploits.

A shrill tone sounded from Wilson's pocket bringing him back to the present. He looked at the screen. Cuddy. He drew in a breath, knowing that he would now have to update her on the situation. God, he felt tired.

HHHHHHHHH

Cuddy was almost surprised at her anger towards House. She should have expected that he would do anything he could to avoid the responsibility she thrust onto his shoulders, that was his way. But that didn't stop her from feeling pissed off that he had lied to her face, then he had the nerve to make her feel guilty for not trusting him when she called for an update. At least Wilson was doing a good job. He could account for all of her Doctors, and had carefully ensured that Princeton-Plainsboro was not overrun with patients, his need to look after people and keep them safe meant he was more than up to the task.

She sighed feeling restless in her hospital bed. She couldn't help at the scene and was barred from treating patients at the hospital and to top it all off she felt too dizzy to do the paper work that had been fetched from her office at her request. She was determined not to sleep until all of her Doctors were back safe and sound from the incident site. Cuddy had even considered going to day care to collect Rachel, but quickly dismissed the idea, it would be unfair to wake her sleeping toddler, just to keep herself amused.

She sighed, and reached for her phone again. No doubt Wilson had warned him of the situation by now, and he would dodge her call, but Cuddy still felt the need to try. After a couple of rings the phone went through to the answer machine. She felt like hurling the phone away from her in frustration but just managed to keep her cool. He was in for a world of pain when she caught up to him.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

**Sorry for the delay in posting, life got in the way for a while, as I'm sure you can all relate to. I will hopefully be able to post more regularly again, for now.**

A weak light peeked through the grimy window; panels of sunlight lit up sections of the littered floor. Motes of dust carved languid spirals in the stifling air, drifting from a jagged, gaping maw in the ceiling above. A low groan sounded from behind a large industrial machine. Dust had settled in his hair, smeared his blood dappled lips and dusted his slumped shoulders. Though his eyes were closed they moved slowly beneath his lids. A scraped and grimy hand lifted from its rocky perch and brushed restlessly against the bloodied tatters of his jeans before settling on his left side, cradling shattered ribs.

House was aware of pain before he was even awake. As he began to surface out of the sea of unconsciousness the pain intensified. He found that he could only breathe in quick shallow gasps, each unsatisfying breath caused pain to radiate from his left side, out across his chest and back. At first House struggled to remember why he was in so much pain, and why he was having such trouble drawing breath. His eyelids fluttered as he fought against the darkness that was so much more welcoming. Eventually he was able to regain control over that basic bodily function. Blurred vision made it difficult for the man on the floor to make out what was in front of him. He blinked a few times in an effort to clear his vision, he was rewarded with a slight clearing, but he could still not make anything out clearly. Concerned his hand slowly went up to his head to feel for signs of trauma. His hand found a painfully swollen area behind his right ear, congealed blood matted his hair together. That explained the vision and difficulty waking up. If he could just remember how he came to be hurt in this unfamiliar place he could work out how to get help. He let his hand drop down to his side in frustration, and lowered his head to the debris strewn ground.

Bloodshot eyes stared at the splintered ceiling above him and widened in surprise at the yawning hole above him. That would explain the severity of his injuries. He tried to make out details that could give him clues as to where he was or how he fell, but his eyes refused to focus. Then something red at the edge of his vision drew his gaze away. He tilted his head slightly and uttered a sharp hiss of pain as his inflamed and tender head scraped against rough concrete. His vision blurred out of focus as he recoiled quickly from the source of the pain. A wave of nausea threatened to consume him, House tried to breathe through it but his battered ribs sent white hot flashes of pain radiating throughout his torso. Teeth gritted and eyes crushed shut, he suppressed a scream of agony that would surely begin the whole cycle again. When the pain began to ebb, too slowly, he was left trembling, sweating and still trying to will away the surge of nausea threatening to bring a repeat of the previous miserable minutes. He longed to roll onto his side but was terrified of the pain. After what must have been an eternity, he was able to open his eyes again. He panted out shallow, pained breaths, and could not suppress a pitiful whimper.

HHHHHHHHH

Time of death 07:14. Wilson sighed an utterance full of exhaustion and remorse. The Doctor gently picked up the victim's dirty coat and draped it over the bloodied face blocking out cold, staring blue eyes, and sighed again. He had been working on the young man for the past 35 minutes and was sure he would recover from being impaled on a piece of rebar in his right stomach. When suddenly he went into cardiac arrest and could not be revived. He straightened up and stretched his aching back out and pulled off bloodied gloves, before wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow, despite the chill in the air. He turned away from the body, there was nothing he could do for the boy now, and surveyed the area. A few ambulances lingered along with many fire officers and other rescue works. Most of the Doctors, from both hospitals, had now left for their usual places of work. Wilson alone had remained, hoping to catch up with House so they could swap stories, but also to ensure that he personally accounted for everyone he worked with. That was before he was involved in the prolonged code and his attention was entirely focused on the vulnerable person in front of him.

He needed to ensure that everyone was safe before he could finally go back to PPTH, follow up on those he had treated and eventually get some rest. A discussion with Sulllivan didn't prove to be too helpful. Doctors had left in different ambulances going to all hospitals in the region. He sighed for a third time and pulled out his phone. Perhaps Cuddy could help him.

HHHHHHHHH

Cuddy dozed fitfully on her hospital gurney. The bright lights, hurried footsteps and occasional moans made for difficult sleeping conditions, even combined with a concussion. The irritating trill of a cellphone brought her back to consciousness. She scrabbled around on the bed for a moment before locating the phone, answering the call and pressing it to her ears. She didn't bother getting up or even opening her eyes before mumbling "Cuddy…"

Wilson hesitated before speaking, she sounded so tired that he was loath to burden her with this, but he had to make sure everyone entrusted to him was safe, or he wouldn't be able to forgive himself. "…Um, It's Wilson. Sorry to wake you… "

"You didn't." She lied smoothly, hating to appear weak, even to Wilson. She sat up on her narrow bed and unconsciously began to smooth her hair.

James was unconvinced but continued anyway. "I just wanted to let you know that things are winding up here. I'm the last PPTH Doctor on the scene, but I lost track of where everyone ended up. You wouldn't be able to make sure they are there would you?" He asked hopefully.

This caught Cuddy's attention and she sat up even straighter, absentmindedly fingering the dressing on her forehead, which wrinkled as she frowned. "Do you mean to tell me that you lost some of my Doctors? I was annoyed when House unloaded his responsibilities onto you, but at least I thought I could trust you to do a decent job." She ranted down the phone, aware that she was probably being too hard on her friend, but fatigue, worry and, she hated to admit it, her head injury was getting in the way of her judgement.

Wilson faltered again, hearing her disappointment down the phone. "I'm sorry. I tried to keep track of everyone, but I had a patient, I worked on him for a while, but… he coded. When I tried to account for everyone the last four Doctors were gone."

Cuddy relented, feeling guilty for her outburst. "It's fine. I'll make some calls, I'm sure they all made it back ok. Which Doctors?"

Wilson gave three of the names, but paused before revealing that he had failed to keep track of his best friend, and Cuddy's boyfriend. He heard Cuddy's sigh over the phone, he could practically hear her mind whirring at a hundred miles an hour, thinking up possible scenarios, because he had gone through those same scenarios himself. If there was one thing that House could be relied on for, it was that he generally knew how to shirk responsibility. He probably caught a ride in an ambulance and was currently sleeping in his office, or the deserted clinic. Or he could have slipped away and caught a cab to a bar to wait out the night. It was even possible that he had accompanied a patient and was now locked in some form of bizarre puzzle only he could solve.

After reassuring Wilson that he had done all he could, Cuddy hung up and immediately hit House's number on her speed dial. It went straight to voice mail. Of course, it would have been too easy if he had just answered his phone for once. Muttering a curse under hear breath, she swung her legs over the side of her bed and lowered herself to the cold hospital tiles. She decided to track down her other Doctors before focusing her attentions on her infuriating boyfriend.

HHHHHHHHH

House floated in a dizzy haze, unaware of time, while above him stones fell, skittering across any surface they hit and lights shone across the damaged floor.

The rescue crew were doing a final sweep of the factory, looking for survivors before beginning the grim task of freeing and removing the trapped bodies. They entered a long hallway, lined with doors at regular intervals. A large cracked window was lit by the pale orange light of dawn. Torch beams moved across the floor restlessly, briefly lighting up the shadowy recesses, before coming to rest on a cavernous hole in the scarred wooden floor.

Two men approached the hole cautiously and peered into it. A concrete pillar that had once supported the sagging ceiling, now covered the floor with its shattered remains, lying at the foot of a large piece of dented and dust covered machinery. House's prone form was mostly hidden by the angle and jutting metal surfaces, a foot was all that could be seen of Doctor Gregory House, but it was so well hidden by layers of dust of grime that it was easily mistaken for another piece of concrete. They directed their beams of light into the room below, lights arched gracelessly, searchingly across the grim room below but failed to reveal anyone, injured or otherwise in the dirty basement. Satisfied, they straightened up and continued searching the room.

Seconds later they came across two people lying close together on the floor. A male, in his late teens or early twenties was pronounced dead on the scene, his legs crushed beneath a heavy steel beam. Next to him late a young girl, his head smeared with blood, but otherwise untouched. Annoyed that she had obviously been treated by a Doctor, their coat still keeping her warm, and then abandoned her. They marvelled at how a person could care for such a vulnerable girl, then cursed the person's cowardice while they ensured that she was stable and could be moved. The team radioed for a stretcher and were able to efficiently moved the girl within minutes, before moving on, completely unaware of the man opening his eyes, feet below them.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Cuddy sighed as she hung up the phone. She was able to track down three out of four of her missing Doctors. Two were in her own hospital, one in the ER and one in theatre, operating on his patient. The other had accompanied his patient the Princeton General and was awaiting a ride back to PPTH. House, however, had not yet been accounted for, not at PPHT, not at Princeton General and not at the incident scene.

So far Cuddy was able to make a few quick phone calls from her hospital bed. She had even called Wilson back just to check if House had turned up. But now she was starting to feel anxious, she couldn't think of anything else to do from her hospital room. She sat up slowly, breathing through the wave of dizziness that swept through her, swaying slightly. When it passed she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and lowered herself to the floor. She stood for a moment in her socks, looking around for the shoes she wore to the accident site. Locating them under the bed, she dragged them out and stuffed her feet into them before striding purposefully out of the hospital room.

Cuddy walked into House's darkened office and looked around disappointed. She had somehow hoped that he would be sat there, playing on his PSP, an impish grin on his face for fooling everyone. But the room was cold and dark, without his presence to light it up. She switched on the light and moved to his desk, locating his blue rucksack on the floor. Rifling through it she found a number of journals, both medical and scientific, his PSP, earphones, iPod and what Cuddy hoped wouldn't be there, his wallet. She gripped the leather between her palms and slid into the empty desk chair, sighing. "Where are you House?" Lowering her head so they resting on the back of the hands still clasping House's wallet. She mumbled "Please be ok." She let out a slow breath, hoping that she was just overreacting.

HHHHHHHHH

House opened his bleary eyes for the third time, looking straight ahead at the hole above him. He could feel sweat soaking his clothes, despite the chill of the room, and the trembling in his limbs, symptoms of shock, he dully thought, he needed to get out of here soon. Beams of light flashed across the chasm above him, and muffled voices drifted down to the man lying broken on the floor. He tried to call out but couldn't draw enough breath the make himself heard. He tried again, but began to cough at the effort, curling in on himself. The voices became more distant, as House's chance of an immediate rescue left the room. Blood flecked the ground around his mouth as House coughed pitifully. When the hacking finally abated he slowly rolled onto his back again and trained his gaze on the ceiling above him. The lights had gone, so had the noises and movement. Despite this he listened carefully, straining to catch the slightest sound. Nothing, eventually he gave up and rolled to his side left side again, where the pressure in his chest was relieved slightly.

House was about to close his eyes again, surrendering to the pain threatening to engulf him when he spotted a large red bag behind his head, just out of reach. Curiosity overriding the need to sleep, he squinted his eyes in an effort to make out what he was looking at. Eventually it swam into some sort of focus. The bag was large and boxy with the word medic written on the top. It was his medical bag.

Slowly House rolled onto his stomach, trying to minimise the pain and exacerbation of injury these movements could cause and reached out his right arm almost pleadingly to the bag that could save his life. His fingers brushed the air; the bag was too far out of his reach. House huffed out a quick breath in frustration, he knew that further movement would cause him agony, but he needed help. He pulled in a shaky breath and closed his eyes, composing himself. He stayed this way for a moment, lying almost on his stomach; his right arm stretched in front of him and drew from the well of strength he kept locked within his core. He could deal with pain; he _had_ done for most of his life. This would just be for a moment, and then he could do something purposeful, rather than lie pathetically on the floor and wait to die or be rescued.

When he reopened his eyes they were full of focus, if slightly glassy, and trained on his goal. He planted his uninjured left leg and reached out with his right arm and pulled, moving forward a few inches, the pain was unimaginable, causing bile to rise up in House's throat, and he swallowed convulsively, forcing his stomach contents back down. He would not give up now, not when he could actually do something about his situation. Gaining control of his body, he repeated the process and inched forwards again, and again and again. By the time he reached his goal House was sweating profusely, his vision had clouded over, momentarily blocking out all light, and the bile he had previously swallowed was threatening to make an appearance. The breath hitched agonisingly in House's chest. He rested for a moment, wrapped in a cocoon of misery. When the pain finally ebbed to a level just below torture he was able to open his eyes again, they fixed blearily on the bag touching the tips of his fingers. He stretched out his hand and closed it around the handle in front of him, and sighed triumphantly, the ghost of a smile briefly touched his pale lips before being replaced by a pained grimace. He pulled the bag towards himself hungrily.

He realised he wouldn't be able to rummage through the bag properly while lying in his current position, let alone treat himself. He eyes scanned the area around him, he couldn't lean against the machine next to him, machinery jutted out at regular intervals; he quickly dismissed it and settled instead for a brick column two feet to his left. Hooking the bag strap over his elbow he turned and began the slow shuffle to his next destination, breathing painfully, leaving a thin trail of blood in his wake.

HHHHHHHHH

Wilson stood restlessly in the lift, willing it to speed up in its journey to its destination. He had searched the ER for Cuddy but she wasn't there, had checked her office and had even checked day care for his boss. His last hope was that she was stood in House's office, hands on her hips and her face like thunder, berating him for shirking his duties to the hospital, to his patients and for letting her down in a big way. It would be worth witnessing that fight if it meant that House was ok, and that Wilson badly didn't screw up his duty of care towards the Doctors in his remit. When the doors finally slid open Wilson propelled himself out of the small opening and down the corridor to House's office. One look, however, through the glass walls told him that he had been too optimistic. Although the lights were on and Cuddy was slumped over the desk the room felt cold and lonely, without House's considerable personality to fill it.

Cuddy lifted her head hopefully as Wilson entered the room, and tried to hide her disappointment when she saw who stood there, looking awkward. He checked his watch; House had been missing for about four and a half hours, which was far too long. Foreman had been the last to see House in the factory, Wilson had questioned him when he arrived at the ER, but the Neurologist was too distracted by the patient in front of him to give Wilson his full attention. He had merely stated that he had seen House in the factory, and then he had disappeared through a door at the back of the room to answer a phone call. No one had seen him since.

Wilson hovered in the doorway, unsure of what to do or say until Cuddy trained her gaze on him. "Has there been any word?" She asked trying to keep her voice steady. She looked back down at the collection of House's things in front of her when Wilson reluctantly shook his head.

HHHHHHHHH

House had managed to lever himself painfully into a sitting position and had balanced the bag on his left leg. Everything had been dislodged in the fall and the equipment was in chaos. He removed a clipboard from the top of the bag, despite his hatred of charting and all paperwork he knew that keeping track of his treatment could save his rescuers precious minutes when he was finally found. He rummaged through the disordered bag until he came across what he was looking for. He pulled out a bag of saline and went back in for a cannula and a tourniquet, ready to start an IV. When he had found both he wrapped the tourniquet around his left arm and swabbed a vein before expertly inserting the IV, relying more on muscle memory than his blurry eyesight. He connected the fluids to the IV port. He noted down the time and treatment in his new chart before moving on to the next immediate problem. He noticed that his leg wound was oozing blood, the wound covered in dust, that had turned to gunk as it came into contact with the blood. He found a vial of sterile saline and sealed dressings. Pulling the top of the plastic bottle he irrigated the wound, leaving it as clean as he could in this environment and covered it with the dressing, securing it in place with a large bulky bandage, ignoring the pain his treatment caused.

There were no oxygen canisters hidden in the confines of the bag, so he could do nothing for now for the shortness of breath or the agony he felt with each shallow, unfulfilling gasp he sucked in. He continued treating wounds and probing for new ones, but in the 10 or so minutes he had searched through the bag he had not once come across a vial of morphine or any other painkillers. It was only when the bag was fully emptied, its contents scattered around him, that he really believed that he would have to wait out his time down here without any pain relief. He cursed his generous nature, giving pain meds to the sick and needy on the floor above him, without saving anything for a rainy day. Exhausted with his exertion, he let his head fall against the wall. It wasn't long before he eyes had closed and he had slipped into unconsciousness again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Cuddy and Wilson sat opposite each other at House's desk. They had just run through the dwindling list of scenarios for House's prolonged absence. He was at his apartment, at Cuddy's House, at a bar somewhere or he was stuck somewhere at the factory, either with a patient or hurt and alone. The last one had caused both Doctors to shudder. "We can't dwell on what it could be at this point." Wilson reasoned, "We should check out his apartment and any bars he could be hiding out in before we start to worry." When Cuddy didn't respond he put a reassuring hand on her arm and squeezed. "He'll be ok, it's House."

As she looked up at the man opposite her, she attempted to pull a cool, calm mask into place, but Wilson was able to see the worry buried deep in her eyes, "That's what I'm concerned about. He attracts trouble…" She let her voice trail off, unable to continue.

Unable to sit and do nothing any more, Wilson pulled out his phone, ready to call his best friends home. "I'm gonna try his home number again, why don't you check yours? You never know, he could be there waiting for you." Three minutes and two fruitless phone calls later and Wilson stood up, ready to go and check out House's home for signs of him. Just as he was walking towards the door his pager went off calling him to the ER. They were swamped and needed all the help they could get down there.

Wilson hurried into the bustling ER. Cuddy followed closely after him. Relieved that there was something she could do, she couldn't just sit around waiting for House to show up. She had to act, do something to either track him down or take her mind off it.

Wilson walked over to the Doctor's station to grab a patient chart that hadn't already been claimed when Cuddy pushed passed him and ran to a bundle on the desk. Puzzled by her actions he followed her and peered over her shoulder. "What is it? What's wrong?" He questioned; his voice full of concern.

Cuddy picked up the coat in front of her and shook it out. It was hardwearing, black with reflective bands across the upper arms. "It's his coat. The coat I gave to House, we only had one in black, I knew House would never wear they yellow ones, so I gave him this one." Wilson looked closer at it and recognised the coat he had wished was given to him on the medical transport. Cuddy frowned as she felt a weight on one side, a quick check of the right pocket revealed a phone and a prescription pill bottle. The name on the bottle read Dr Gregory House. Relief flooded Cuddy's very being; leaving her feeling light headed. He was here, working. He had not hidden somewhere, avoiding Cuddy and his job, he was not trapped somewhere, he was not hurt. He was in the hospital, safe.

Scanning the room she spotted Foreman working alongside a pretty young nurse in bay three and Chase in the corner talking to a worried couple, obviously parents of one of the victims. She strode over to Foreman, still clutching the Jacket, Wilson following her this time. Without preamble she demanded, "Have you seen House? His coat is here."

Foreman fleetingly turned his head to look at his boss, but the girl on the bed in front of him began moaning, demanded his attention. "Falling…falling…" her voice was weak, raspy, she coughed, then repeated the words, her eyes unfocused. Suddenly she turned to Foreman, reached up a shaky hand and grasped his coat. "Help him!" Her voice was slightly stronger now full of purpose, the look in her eye unnerving. Foreman was forced to return his attention to the girl.

"She's becoming agitated. Get me some Ativan" He directed at the nurse attempting to calm the girl, without even looking at her. He glanced over at the two Doctors behind him before turning away. "Not seen him, don't know where he is. I'm a little busy here. I have a patient." He didn't turn around again and continued working on the girl in front of him, effectively ending the conversation. Cuddy and Wilson exchanged annoyed glances, before moving off to question Chase. He was equally unhelpful.

Wilson reached out to take the coat from Cuddy, she let it go without question. It was filthy, grime and dust covered the outside, a thin smear of blood stained the collar, the inside smelled faintly of perfume. "I don't think House was wearing this. It smells like perfume." He jogged to the desk and held it up to the duty nurse. "Excuse me," The nurse was on the phone but turned to him anyway.

"I'm on hold. What do you need?" She looked tense, harried and more than a little annoyed that she couldn't even make a phone call without being interrupted.

Wilson didn't hesitate, pushing the coat onto the desk in front of her, "Do you know where this coat came from? It belongs to a Doctor, but we can't find him.

The nurse pulled the phone from her ear and placed the mouth piece against her hand, "A patient had it on her when she came in, girl in bed three." She motioned towards the bay they had left minutes before, with the phone, before turning away again.

Cuddy ran ahead of Wilson and grabbed Foreman's shoulder turning him towards her. "I need to talk to your patient."

Foreman sighed, "You can try, but she's not very lucid, suspected fractured skull." He finally took in her flustered appearance and worried eyes. "What's wrong?"

"House is missing, this girl had his coat." Wilson supplied.

"Missing, missing? Or House missing? He's probably just hiding out somewhere to avoid getting his hands dirty." He brushed their concern off smoothly, always quick to believe the worst of his boss.

Ignoring the obnoxious Doctor next to her, Cuddy looked down at the girl on the bed. She was young, maybe 15 and looked like she had been through a lot. A large dressing covered her forehead. Her eyes were closed now. Cuddy moved further into the bay and gently placed her arms on her shoulders, shaking gently. "Hey, hey, open your eyes." The girl was slow to react but finally began to stir. When she opened her eyes they looked around the room, taking in the Doctors in front of her. Cuddy gently shook her again. "Look at me. I need you to answer some questions." The girl pulled herself up the bed slightly and nodded her head, looking worried. "Where did you get this coat?" Cuddy showed it to her, the girl took it and looked up.

"The Doctor… he gave it to me." Her words were now slightly slurred, her eyes still unfocused, but she was lucid.

"Did he tell you his name? Who he was?" Wilson asked.

"Umm… No." She answered slowly, trying to remember her encounter with the man who had saved her life. "I can't remember much… he had a bad leg, I think." She looked uncertain, trying to piece together what she had seen. It all seemed to float just out of her reach.

"Do you know where he went after he saw you, was he ok?" Cuddy's was talking faster now, her voice fretful.

Suddenly the girl became anxious. Her eyes darted around the cramped bay. She made a move towards the end of the bed, but Cuddy's arms held her in place. "No… no…" the girl pleaded, "He's dead! He was alive, then… then he was dead! Dillon is Dead." She looked at Cuddy, her eyes round, fat tears welling in the corners before spilling over and leaving trails down her smeared face. "I have to go. I shouldn't have been there. I have to go…" She looked at Cuddy with wild eyes, "I shouldn't be here."

"Where is Doctor House?" Cuddy was not so gentle now, she shook the girl hard, then for a second time, trying to bring her back, make her focus.

The girl looked stunned, but she calmed a little. "He fell! I don't know where he is, I just know he fell!" She screamed at Cuddy. Then covered her ears with her arms and began rocking. Cuddy's hands fell away. Suddenly numb.

HHHHHHHHH

Darkness slipped over House like waves. It ebbed and flowed and merged with consciousness, leaving him confused about what was reality and what was dream. When he was awake he began to see things that brought him comfort, that muffled the pain, the all-consuming need to draw in enough oxygen to fill his battered lungs: Cuddy, Wilson, his mother. When he drifted off he saw the room, his prison, his own version of hell. Time had begun to lose all meaning. Time was running out.

HHHHHHHHH

Wilson and Cuddy moved as one, leaving the stunned Foreman behind them. They ran towards the ER doors, towards the ambulance bay, where they could begin to gather together the resources that could retrieve House, that could potentially save his life. Cuddy pulled a phone from her scrubs, not even realising that the phone she was using was House's, and dialled the number for the rescue co-ordinator. As she waited for Sullivan to pick up she clung to a mantra forming in her head. _Hold on House, just hold on._


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Cuddy had been authoritative when she approached the paramedic crew taking a well-deserved break beside their newly stocked rig. She briefed them of the situation, told them to radio the call in and demanded that they be ready to leave in two minutes. Meanwhile, Wilson had contacted the rescue crew still at the scene and explained the circumstances. He told them to track down the team that had located and removed the girl from the site, so they could track down House.

Now that they were in the ambulance, rushing to the scene of the Factory collapse for the second time that day, Cuddy had started the tremble. When the ambulance first set off she had checked and rechecked supplies, tried to predict all outcomes and prepare for any medical emergency, until there was nothing left to check. When there was nothing left to do she sat, full of nervous energy. She kept her face calm, but constantly fidgeted with the phone in her hand, House's phone. The last call displayed was Cuddy's own number; she was the last person to talk to him. She wished she could somehow crawl through the phone into that conversation: where he was safe, where his health was certain, where Cuddy could talk to him. Her head throbbed painfully in time with the wail of the ambulance sirens. She sighed and rubbed her head, wincing as she caught the painful cut just below her hairline. This whole night was a disaster. Multiple casualties filled up her ER and OR, beds were at a premium. Two were injured Doctors, herself included. Now House trapped somewhere underground. She felt so useless, it was not a feeling she was used to. The ambulance was ready, its paramedics focused on the task ahead. The emergency crew were working to locate House. Cuddy and Wilson could do nothing but wait until they were face to face with House and could assess his status for themselves.

Wilson watched over Cuddy, concern written all over his face. He was concerned for the woman in front of him, who obviously cared for his best friend and loved him deeply, despite his obvious and many flaws. He was also worried about his friend, trapped who knew where, probably hurt, and definitely unable to get himself free. He only hoped that House would be ok. He also felt angry. Angry with House for being the type of man no one felt they could rely on. Angry with the rescue crew for not finding his best friend already. Angry at the stupid prank that had caused the factory collapse in the first place. Angry at the world for letting any of this happen.

The ambulance finally pulled into parking lot surrounding the factory. Cuddy opened the door and was running before the engine had even died. Her destination was the rescue team gathered, pouring over plans of the building, determining the best route to take. The men stood in a tight huddle, but broke apart when Cuddy, Wilson and the paramedic crew approached them.

HHHHHHHHH

The two anxious Doctors sat together in the back of the ambulance listening to the tinny voices over the radio. The young, pretty driver sat in the front waiting to be called into action. Sullivan and his crew agreed to take a paramedic with them, but drew the line at the two Doctors. They were too close, too worried, they could end up endangering the mission. His only concession was to allow them to remain in the ambulance, where they could hear the radio.

Cuddy replayed the conversation over in her head, as she waited for news. "We have located the girl's last position. She was trapped with a young man, who was pronounced dead at the scene. We believe that Dr House freed the couple from a fallen beam, actually lifted the beam, we think it made the area unstable. There is a large hole in the floor near where the couple were trapped, we think this is where Dr House fell. We have explored the area as much as we can from above its unstable so we have to find another route to Dr House. I was just briefing my team, who are going to go in through an entrance to the basement were they should be able to retrieve Dr House safely." That had been 20 minutes ago, they had barely heard anything since.

Suddenly the radio blared into life. "He have located Dr House." It was the paramedic. "Patient is unconscious at the scene, GCS of two. He was cyanotic with resps of just 84, is now holding steady at 95 resps per minute on 100% O2. Severe open displaced fracture of the right femur, the femoral artery has been compromised. We will need more blood standing by when we bring him up. It looks like he has severe breaks to a number of ribs on the left side; they may be compromising his breathing. He has multiple contusions over his body, the worst of which is his head, severe scalp lac. and swelling. I have administered morphine. We are going to move him once he is stable. Core temp seems low, so make sure you have warm blankets standing by. Dr House started his own line and administered fluids and has cleaned and dressed his leg, he even started a chart." The man at the end of the radio sounded impressed, almost disbelieving that a patient with such severe injuries was able to treat himself.

The driver responded, asking questions before moving to begin setting up for the patient.

HHHHHHHHH

20 minutes later lights began to appear in the crumbling opening to the factory. The crew emerged into the dull, drizzly morning and began to carry their patient towards the waiting ambulance. Cuddy, Wilson and the driver rushed forwards, pushing the waiting bed with them. The driver was focused on the information being relayed by her partner but the two Doctor's attention was focused on the man strapped to the stretcher, completely unmoving. He looked a lot worse than both of them hoped. His pale face, hair and clothes covered in dust and grime, his damaged leg immobilised in a heavy splint, his head strapped down, immobilised by blocks on either side.

The team lifted their burden higher and dumped him heavily on the bed. House groaned briefly, his eyelids fluttering before stilling again. Cuddy rushed to his side, Wilson to his head, already pulling out a small pen light and began shining it in his eyes, the reactions were sluggish, House groaned again, his breath fogging up the mask supporting his breathing. "House" Wilson called loudly. "House, if you can hear me open your eyes." Nothing

Cuddy joined in, trying to bring her boyfriend back. "House, it's ok, you are going to be ok. Try to open your eyes for me." Still there was no reaction. The paramedics were getting impatient, shuffling from foot to foot. They realised their patient wouldn't last much longer if he didn't get some serious medical intervention. Sensing their eagerness to get started, Wilson backed away, putting a gentle hand on Cuddy's shoulder, guiding her out of the way.

Warm blankets were pulled out and placed over House's lower body. His shirt was opened and pads were placed on his chest, attached to monitors, a pulse ox was placed on his finger. They pushed him towards the ambulance, its door open, warm air inviting them in. They sped up as they got closer, pushing forcefully. The legs of the bed folded beneath it as the trolley slid smoothly into place. The reaction in House was immediate. His shoulders hunched, hands clenched into fists and his eyes flew open, he tried to raise his head and curl protectively around his injured ribs but was held down by the straps of the backboard. A deep guttural groan escaped from his lips. The rescue crew moved back uneasily, aware that they couldn't help the man. Wilson and Cuddy flew in to take their place.

The driver picked up the radio and began to talk to dispatch "Please alert Princeton General that we are 7 minutes out." The Driver called to the Doctors.

"No, take him to Princeton Plainsboro. I want him there." Cuddy ordered.

The driver looked exasperated before replying. "PPTH is 12 minutes out but Princeton General is only 7, he needs immediate attention. We are going to Princeton General, she overruled Cuddy starting up the engine. The older lady glared at the medic in front of her, but eventually gave in, she could always transfer him once he was stable.

The driver was already in her seat, the second paramedic sat at House's head. Cuddy slid in past the narrow bed, taking up his right hand as she went. "Hey." She looked carefully at the man lying prone before her. His eyes were a little unfocused, but they moved to settle on her face.

He breathed in a shallow breath, obviously unable to draw in a full breath and replied weakly, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask. "What took you so long?.. Did you think I was propping … up some bar somewhere?" He couldn't say more than a few words before sucking in another breath. Wilson worriedly eyed the sat monitor, from his position by House's legs, avoiding the perceptive question.

"Based on your past behaviour what else could we think? You normally go out of your way to avoid patients." House struggled to breathe again to answer, wincing as pain tore through his side.

"Can you get me off the back board? I need to sit up."

The medic was quick to jump in now. "Sorry Dr House, no can do. You need to be cleared by a Doctor before we can let you up."

Gasping again House trained his eyes upwards towards the man at his head. "I am a Doctor…" Gasp "I say I'm fine…" Gasp "Let me up…" Gasp "I can't breathe lying down like this…."His gasped again and began panting painfully and squeezed his eyes shut to block out the sudden spinning. He felt light headed. All three sets of eyes watched the monitor as House's sats dropped to 92.

"Please try not to speak Dr House. Concentrate on your breathing." The medic said, adjusting the mask on House's face. House glared at the man behind him, then looked at Cuddy.

She motioned for the medic to pass her the charts House had started. She scanned the dirty page, trying to ignore the smear of blood in the right hand corner. "There's not mention of neck or back pain. House, does your neck hurt?" He answered no. "Your back?" Again no, "Any numbness in your extremities? "The third answer in the negative left her satisfied, the risks were low. She looked to the young paramedic. "We are taking off the collar. " He was about to jump in so she continued. "His need to breathe outweighs the small risk to his spine at the moment. Wilson watched the whole exchange in silence. House's ability to get what he wanted from his boss, his girlfriend always surprised Wilson. All it took was a word, a look, sometimes a speech and Cuddy would trust her life to him, would trust his life to his word.

"Fine, but the responsibility falls to you if something goes wrong." He began to undo the Velcro straps holding House in place, then removed the blocks keeping his head immobile. Soon he had removed the backboard and House was being slowly raised up. The man on the bed kept his eyes shut against the pain, feeling as though his ribs were grinding together. He breathing however began to stabilise at 94 as the pressure was eased in chest.

Slowly House opened his eyes again as the pain eased down to tolerable. Cuddy was looking down at him, her expression full of concern, her gaze focused. "How's the pain? Do you need more morphine?" She asked as she adjusted the blankets over his chest.

House shook his head, enjoying the freedom, by stopped when his vision clouded over. "I'm fine. Pain's better than it was." Cuddy was about to push the point when Wilson interrupted.

"House, can you feel this?" The concern in his voice caused House and Cuddy to break their gaze and look to the man hunched over House's leg .The blanket had been pulled back, his right shoe and sock had been removed and were lying on the bed. Wilson was holding House's foot, it looked blue, cyanotic. "Can you feel this?" Wilson repeated as he drew a pen down House's foot."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Hi everyone, thank you for all of the lovely reviews and the support. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. The medical jargon and techniques had been based on what I have picked up from medical dramas, including House and ER. Please forgive any inaccuracies, I am a complete layman.

"House, can you feel this?" The concern in his voice caused House and Cuddy to break their gaze and look to the man hunched over House's leg .The blanket had been pulled back, his right shoe and sock had been removed and were lying on the bed. Wilson was holding House's foot, it looked blue, cyanotic. "Can you feel this?" Wilson repeated as he drew a pen down House's foot."

House looked at his friend, he could barely feel it. He shook his head. "Not really." He murmured tiredly. Wilson rummaged in a drawer to his right and pulled out a needle. He stuck it in House's foot without warning. There was no twitch, no tell-tale flinch as he pushed down. The oncologist quickly removed the needle and repeated the process further up the leg, again and again. "House I need to loosen the belt, its compromised blood flow to the rest of your leg." He looked at House, eyes reassuring but could tell that House's eyes were glazed, he was struggling to focus. Wilson frowned and placed his hand on his friends left leg and shook. "House, listen to me. I'm going to loosen the tourniquet." He repeated.

House realised what he said and shook his head, setting off another wave of dizziness, tinged with nausea. He closed his eyes, but breathed out "Don't…" When it passed he opening his eyes again and looked at his friend fuzzily.

"I need to do this; your pulses are practically non-existent."

Cuddy let go of House's hand and moved down the narrow space. She placed her hand on his ankle, barely feeling a pulse. His foot was cold. She looked at House, he was struggling to keep his head up, his eyes barely open, he couldn't make this decision at the moment. She turned to Wilson and said simply, "Do it."

The reaction was immediate. As soon as Wilson loosened the belt cutting off blood flow to the rest of his leg he regretted it. The dressing covering the wound turned from white to crimson, the stiff, dirty jeans began to soak up more of House's life blood. He was bleeding out. "Damn." Wilson uttered and began fumbling around for a dressing to staunch the flow. Cuddy did the same with shaking hands, nothing worked.

"Hang another bag of blood, wide open!" She ordered the man studying the monitors at the head of the bed. Then turned to Wilson, panic scarcely held at bay, "Put the tourniquet back on." She grabbed one end of the belt, the other had slipped down below the dressings covering House's leg, Cuddy reached in amongst the mound of scarlet dressings while Wilson kept the pressure on and felt around, finally closing her hand around the fallen buckle. When she looked up she noticed House was paling, his eye lids drooping, he was about to pass out. She shoved both ends of the belt into Wilson's chest and moved back up the ambulance. She reached out a bloody hand and picked up House's limp right hand and squeezed. "Hey, I need you to stay awake. Keep your eyes open." When he didn't respond she glanced at Wilson to check his progress, he had threaded the end through the buckle and was preparing to pull, eyes full of regret for having gone against House. Blood began to drip onto the floor. Letting House's hand drop to the bed she moved up and grabbed his shoulders, shaking them roughly and leaned down to look into his face. "Dammit, for once in your life will you listen to me? Open your eyes!" Finally his lids began to flutter, and he forced them open to gaze drowsily into Cuddy's. He blinked a few times but made no other attempt to communicate.

Wilson pulled on the belt, tightening the strap once again, House's reaction was instantaneous. His back arched away from the pain and he tried to pull away from Wilson, a rasping groan escaped his lips. Blood still pumped furiously from the wound. Pulse hammering in his ears, heart beating wildly, Wilson knew he had to pull again, causing his friend more agony. "Hold still House. I need to stop the bleeding." Without waiting for an answer he pulled again. This time House kept his leg still but curled over on his side, breathless with agony. Cuddy still had hold of his shoulder, her head close to his, whispering comforting words to keep him calm. Blood still gushed from the wound. If the artery wasn't severed before, it was now. A small pool of blood was now collecting on the floor of the once spotless ambulance. Bracing himself against the bed, Wilson tightened his grip on the belt and pulled again. House let out a strangled scream. Blood was no longer pumping from the wound. Wilson pulled the soiled dressings out of the way and searched for a clean one. He pressed it to the wound, it soaked up the remaining blood in the area, this time no more rushed from the wound to take its place. The bleeding had stopped. He sighed shakily and secured the improvised tourniquet. With nothing left to do he took in the scene around his feet. His emotions were in turmoil, he wanted to save House's leg, just as House would have wanted. He ignored his patient's wishes just as House would do and look where it landed House, lying semi-conscious in a pool of his own blood. But he had to try, Wilson told himself. Finally he raised his head and looked guiltily to his friend.

House's eyes were tight shut now, he was curled around his leg, protective without touching it. Each shallow breath was like white hot fire, licking at his left side. His panting quickened as he found it harder and harder to breathe. He coughed once weakly, then again. Tasting metal in his mouth. He tried to breathe in again but it felt like he was drowning. He coughed again, trying to clear the feeling. Blood speckled his O2 mask. Cuddy jumped up, Wilson rushed around the other side of the bed.

"Sats are dropping quickly." The medic announced. "We are going to have to intubate." He said rummaging around in his drawers for the tools he would need. House began coughing in earnest now. More blood flecked the clear mask. Suddenly thick red/black blood coated the inside of the mask. Cuddy ripped it away and grabbed the suction machine jamming it into his mouth, more blood mixed with saliva pooled from his mouth onto the white sheets of the bed.

Wilson grabbed a stethoscope and listened to his friend's chest. The right sounded fairly clear, he moved it over to the other side. "No breath sounds on the left." He grabbed House and rolled him onto his injured side, tearing him from Cuddy's grip, freeing up the other lung to draw in the oxygen he desperately needed. House didn't protest, still coughing, scarlet dripping from his blue lips, eyes unfocused, unseeing.

When the paramedic finally gathered all of his supplies he lowered the head of the bed and thrust a loaded syringe into Wilson's hands. He took it up and injected it into the IV on House's right arm, sedating him and paralysing him for the procedure. Cuddy couldn't see House's face from her angle but Wilson could, he watch as his friend's eyes slowly closed, giving in without a fight. As a team they rolled the unconscious man onto his back. Cuddy carefully tilted his head the give the paramedic a clear view down his throat. "There's so much blood." He murmured, trying to position the laryngoscope between the vocal cords. Cuddy immediately began suctioning inside the mouth with shaky hands, moving the hollow tube down the throat, but more welled up to meet it. The young medic huffed in frustration as the clean field was immediately obscured by blood again. When the monitors began beeping three sets of eyes flew to the screen. House's sats fell to a dangerously low level before stopping entirely; his lips were turning a darker shade of blue.

"He's not breathing. You need to hurry." Wilson shouted unnecessarily, his eyes fixed on the monitor. House's heart beat was becoming erratic now too. The oncologist looked ready to vault over the bed to take over the intubation.

"Give it to me!" Cuddy demanded. She snatched the scope from the young man's hands, pushing the suction tube into his hands and bumped him out of the way. She leaned over her boyfriend and let out a slow breath, she placed the scope into his mouth, being careful not to rock back into his teeth. Blood was everywhere, being sucked away, only to be replaced by more. The task in front of her would be very difficult without a camera. She vowed to spend more time with patients from now on to keep her skills up, she used to be able to do this with her eyes closed.

Suddenly she was struck by an idea, something she had seen early in her career, she looked to Wilson. "I need to you put both hands on his chest, when I say so push down hard. I should see a bubble of air, I can follow it down to get the tube in place." He got into position and nodded. Cuddy hunched over again and held her breath, just as she had been taught in med school, she positioned the scope and readied the tube. When she was happy that she was ready she nodded to Wilson, without moving her eyes, watching, waiting for that tell-tale bubble. There! She moved the tube into position and slide it easily between the vocal cords. Then quickly removed the scope and attached the balloon cuff and squeezed. She was satisfied when she saw House's chest finally rise, but was pleased when Wilson quickly positioned the stethoscope over House's chest to confirm the placement was correct. He smiled a shaky smile when he heard breath sounds again. Cuddy let out her breath slowly.

Cuddy squeezed a few more times, watching the sats readout on the screen rise. She finally began allowing herself to believe that House was stable when she realised she felt resistance. She squeezed again, it was getting harder to squeeze the bulb. "He's getting hard to bag." She announced. A quick look at the monitor told her that his sats were once again falling. "He needs a chest tube." She looked at Wilson.

"No, you can't do that while the bus is moving, we're gonna have to wait till we reach the hospital. How long?" The paramedic demanded of the woman driving.

"Two minutes out." She shouted over the sounds of the siren.

"No, that's too long. It'll take two minutes to get there, another few before they get set up to do the chest tube, it'll compromise his brain!" She looked down at the man lying unmoving before her, she couldn't do that to him, she had to fight for him, he would do it for her. She looked to her colleague. "Can you do it?" He looked at her determined and nodded.

"You can't!" Shouted the young man. "One bump, one pothole and we will have a serious problem, he could bleed out. You could cut his lung open!" He glared first at Wilson then at Cuddy, but saw that both had made up their minds.

"We know the risks. Get a chest tube tray." She ordered the medic.

30 seconds later and Wilson was gloved and ready, the tray was open, House's shirt had been unbuttoned fully and pulled out of the way, his left arm was pinned behind his head by the paramedic and the area had been sterilised. Forcing his hands to remain steady, Wilson located the correct spot, he picked up the scalpel and removed the top, exposing the deadly blade underneath. It glinted menacingly in the light.

Slowly he lowered his hand and placed the blade against the skin. He was about to press down when he heard a shout. "Pot hole!" The driver screeched. He quickly pulled back as the rig slammed into the crater in the road. "Sorry, I didn't see it until the last second." She called out a desperate apology. "Is he ok?"

"Yeah." Her partner called, "Just make sure you keep it steady. Okay."

Wilson tuned them out. This was unbelievably dangerous, his mind was screaming at him. But he had to try. Taking a deep breath and forcing himself to focus he pushed the knife against his friend's side again. The small amount of pressure caused blood to bead around the blade, he pushed harder and drew the knife across the skin, creating a small opening. He inserted a gloved finger and felt around, finding what he was looking for he reached over and picked up a sharp ended tube with a clamp and brought it to the wound. Again he paused to steady himself, forget that this is House on the table, he told himself. This is just another patient who needs a procedure. Refocused, he brought the tube to the opening and pushed it in. He carried on pushing until he felt resistance. This was the part he always hated. Tightening his grip on the clamp he pushed harder, straining against the resistance in House's chest until he felt a pop and the tube slide into position. Seconds later blood began to flow freely from the tube, blood that had been surrounding House's lungs, squeezing them like an empty sponge. He quickly attached the tube to a bag, to collect the fluids and sat back watching the monitors. House's sats once again began to climb as the ambulance pulled into the Hospital bay.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

As soon as the ambulance screeched to a halt the doors flew open. A team of Doctors and nurses waited on the other side. Ignoring Cuddy and Wilson, two nurses reached in, unlocked the brakes and pulled the gurney out into the chilly, damp air. The paramedic followed close behind, expertly running down the list of injuries. The two Doctors in the ambulance paused momentarily, stunned by the flurry of movement, then gathered their things and followed, trying to ignore the pooled blood and soaked dressings on the floor.

Cuddy ran next to the gurney as her unconscious and bloodied boyfriend was wheeled to aid, struggling to keep up with the pace. Her eyes were glued to his face; House looked awful. He was deathly pale, almost grey; a thin sheen of sweat covered his dirtied face. Dried blood caked his hands and chin and covered his clothes. But when she tried to enter the treatment room with Wilson in tow her way was barred. She was directed to a sign on the wall which read 'No family allowed'. "Wait!" Cuddy called as the door began to swing closed, "He has a previous severe injury to his right thigh, he had most of his thigh muscle removed, please be careful with it." When they asked if there was any other history of injury Cuddy and Wilson listed the two gunshot injuries and the severe fractured skull he suffered over two years ago.

The attending seemed puzzled by the fact that this was his fourth serious injury, but thanked the two Doctors and requested that they send over his up to date medical records, before letting the door swing closed. Not used to being turned away from a procedure room in a hospital Cuddy tried to argue but was overruled and directed to a overflowing waiting room, where House's admission forms were shoved, none too politely, into her shaking hands.

Cuddy grabbed the pen inserted in the clasp of the clipboard and peered down at the familiar form, she began filling out House's name when she was distracted by the sight of deep rust colour of dried blood, House's blood. It had dried on her hands, covered her sleeves and smeared the front of her top. She glanced at Wilson, who was sitting stiffly, staring straight ahead, he looked worse. Blood had soaked through his sleeves and shirt front and stained the top of his trousers. Chancing a glance around the room she noticed the covert looks of other people in the waiting room. Obviously wondering what had happened, whether they were involved and how badly the person they accompanied was hurt. It was something for the crowd to distract them from their own worry, they seemed to draw comfort from the fact that at least someone else was in worse off shape. Breathing deeply to suppress the sob building in her chest Cuddy wordlessly shoved the clipboard into Wilson's hand and mumbled that she was heading to the bathroom.

She strode straight up to the sink and turned the warm tap on full, she began scrubbing at the stains on her hands before moving onto her sleeves, resulting only in spreading a deep pink stain up her arms. Frustrated, she ripped off the cardigan and shoved it in a nearby bin before walking into a cubical and slamming the door behind her. It was only when she was alone that she finally let her emotions overtake her. Shaking silently, she grabbed a fistful of wadded up toilet paper and attempted to staunch the flow of tears suddenly spilling down her face.

HHHHHHHHHH

The worried pair sat in the crowded ER waiting room for the next hour and a half worrying, waiting desperately for good news, for any news. The incident at the factory had stretched the busy hospitals resources to their limit and the staff were struggling to deal with the resulting backlog. Wilson and Cuddy had sat in a silent daze for 20 minutes after Cuddy returned from the bathroom, red eyed and subdued, before Cuddy's phone rang, startling her out of her stunned reverie. It was Marina, her child minder. She was stood outside Cuddy's house waiting to take care of Rachel, wondering if Cuddy was OK. Guilt suddenly coursed through Cuddy's every fibre, she had forgotten her daughter, hadn't given her a moment's thought after dropping her off at day care. After arranging for Marina to pick Rachel up at the hospital and letting day care know who would pick her up Cuddy hung up the phone and put her head in her hands, trying to hold back another wave of tears, caused by the stress of the morning.

When Cuddy and Wilson were finally allowed to see House he had been stripped of his stained and bloodied clothes. A fresh medically issued tourniquet stopped him from bleeding out. He was carefully hooked up to machines and given lifesaving drugs. X-rays had been administered and bloods drawn. The intervention had gone some way to improving his condition, he had stopped sweating and looked less pale and shocky, but the blood and grime was still there, a stark reminder of how close they had come to losing him.

A sober, grey haired Doctor fiddled with glasses as he told the pair of their friend's condition. They were still awaiting results of the CT scan on his head and were monitoring his kidney function, worried about how trauma to his lower back could have affected his soft, delicate organs. His lung was punctured and was bleeding into his chest cavity, he needed surgery to repair it and the arterial damage in his right thigh, and an orthopaedic surgeon would attempt to repair the nasty break, but they had to prepare for the possibility that they may not save the leg. He would have to wait his turn, the OR was backed up with emergency patients, and despite the severity of House's injuries there were other more critical patients ahead of him. By the time he was moved to a side room to await his slot, he had finally been cleaned up somewhat. The blood had been hastily wiped from his chin and the palms of his hands. Cuddy and Wilson were allowed to sit with him.

Within minutes Wilson excused himself, claiming a need to freshen up and for strong coffee, he promised to bring her something to eat and drink and shuffled tiredly out of the room, looking defeated. Left alone, she had nothing to do but looked worriedly at her unconscious boyfriend. She hated seeing him like this, so still and lifeless. He was normally so animated, he filled the room with his overpowering personality and demanded that everyone focus their attention on him. Now his face was still, his body was motionless and his voice was silenced.

Her thoughts drifted unbidden back to the traumatic ambulance ride. The pain House was in, the lack of focus in his eyes, the intubation, the terrifying moment when he actually stopped breathing. She replayed the traumatic insertion of the chest tube and the blood that flowed freely from the small tube. Her eyes went anxiously to the container collecting the blood from his chest and she was satisfied that he was not bleeding too much. Unable to quell the anxiety suddenly rising in her chest, she fixed her eyes on the monitors, tracking his vitals. For now they were depressed, but stable.

Wilson found her this way when he finally returned to the small room thirty minutes later. His shirt had been sponged, but still bore the evidence of the traumatic ambulance ride, he carried a steaming cup of coffee in his left hand, which he handed to the woman next to him as he sat down. He was quiet for a while as he sat looking at the battered and unconscious form of his friend. As he perched on the hard, unforgiving chair his jaw tensed and relaxed rhythmically, his hands fiddled with a loose thread on his lap. Finally he spoke, so gently that Cuddy almost missed it. "It's my fault." She looked at him curiously but didn't speak. "House told me not to touch the tourniquet but I didn't listen. He nearly bled out because I ignored him." He continued to look at the hands in his lap. His posture defeated.

Cuddy's voice was also hushed, devoid of its usual authority, "His pedal pulses were weak and his foot was cold. You did what you had to do, you were worried about his leg, you didn't know the bleed was arterial." Normally Cuddy would have reached out to him, held his hand or would have put a comforting hand on his arm, but she couldn't bring herself to move her hand away from House's lifeless hand, resting on the bed. She couldn't offer Wilson comfort, because she was desperate for some of her own.

"But it was and he nearly bled out and I froze." He confessed miserably. "…It's my fault he stopped breathing, that he needed a chest tube. If I hadn't moved the tourniquet he wouldn't have been writhing in agony when I tightened it again, he wouldn't have ripped his lung apart on his broken ribs."

Cuddy didn't reply. She didn't know what to say, he was right of course, they both knew it, but he had acted in his friends best interests. He always acted in House's best interests.

Suddenly House's hand twitched under her own, movement from the bed caught Cuddy's attention. House swallowed convulsively around the tube in his throat. When he couldn't dislodge it he moved weakly, an uncomfortable groan echoed down the tube. Cuddy and Wilson were on their feet in moments. Cuddy used her free hand to stroke his hair, soothing him while Wilson stepped forwards to look down at his friend.

"Hey," Cuddy said softly and smiled when he slowly opened his eyes and looked unsteadily at her. He tried to speak and frowned when he couldn't. "Don't try to talk, you're on a ventilator. Your lung collapsed and you stopped breathing." He blinked slowly and looked lazily around the small cubical, frowning again at the unfamiliar environment. Then his gaze floated over to his friend.

Wilson's reassuring smile faltered when House seemed to stare right through him. Hoping that his friend was just tired he began talking. "I always knew you would do anything to avoid work, but this is ridiculous." He didn't get the reaction he expected, there was no eye roll, no smirk around the tube in his mouth. He merely blinked lethargically and let his head roll to the side.

Worried, Wilson announced that he was going to get the Doctor.

"House," Cuddy began and was pleased when he dragged his gaze to look at her. "Blink if you can understand me." There was a pause before he slowly blinked. "Do you know where you are?" She asked, her voice soft and low. He looked around the cubical again, then looked back at his girlfriend, his furrowed brows told her everything, he had no idea. Cuddy was about to explain when Wilson returned with a Doctor.

He was tall and plump, his brown hair was thinning. An eager grin plastered his face.

"Good Morning, Doctor House. I'm Doctor Franks. I have to say, it's an honour to meet you." He paused, seemingly waiting for some sort of reaction, when he didn't get one he continued. "I've followed your work closely for some time." He bounced animatedly on the balls of his feet as he talked. "I particularly enjoyed your article on infectious diseases last month. Perhaps you could take some time later to look over an article I'm writing on trauma medicine, I'm sure you will find it…" His oblivious diatribe faltered when Wilson cleared his throat, and he looked up to see House's eyes wandering the room listlessly, before resting again on Cuddy's. "Sorry, now may not be the time." He blushed slightly at having been caught gushing.

He went on to explain House's condition in minute detail, his eyes buried in the chart in his hands, not noticing that his patient was not listening at all. When he finally looked up he noticed the disconnected expression and the listless wandering of his eyes. "Dr House," When it didn't work he repeated himself then again, finally succeeding in gaining his patient's attention. "Are you experiencing any pain? Dizziness? Nausea?" A slight shake of the head seemed to account for all three, before his eyes slid slowly shut. "Dr House" He called again, the man on the bed jumped slightly at the loud noise and he opened his eyes again. "Your drowsiness, can be attributed to your head wound and blood loss. You will feel better soon." Again there was no reaction, but he continued none the less. "You are next in line for the OR where we will repair your ribs and the damage to your lungs. Ortho will also be there to reset your leg and vascular to repair the damage to the artery." Here he took a breath, stealing himself to broach the next topic on his list when House's eyes slid shut again.

This time Cuddy stood to rouse him, but with no success. Worried, three sets of eyes travelled to the monitors, his stats had dropped. A sudden alarm drew their attention to the dwindling BP. "He's bleeding." Cuddy voiced the concern of all three. Franks threw back the sheets and lifted House's gown, there was no sign of haemorrhage around his ribs. A dark spot lower down the sheet caught Wilson's attention. He moved the sheet down further to reveal a slowly spreading pool of blood oozing from the tourniquet around his leg.

"Ring the OR," He commanded. "he needs the surgery now."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

A nurse entered the cubical and was ordered to put pressure on the site of the bleeding. She gloved up and complied without a fuss. Then, as they prepared to move the bed, she climbed on the lower railing of the bed as the breaks were removed and House, the lifesaving equipment and human tourniquet were all rushed smoothly to the elevator.

Princeton General Hospital supplied no viewing room into the OR. Relatives and friends were instead directed to a drab waiting room, lined with rows of unforgiving chairs, the armrests preventing anyone from lying down and resting. A low table was stacked with dog eared, coffee stained magazines about fly fishing and interior design, all years out of date. An ancient and whirring coffee machine stood in the corner, belching out watered down coffee with powered cream at the low cost of $1 a cup. The only saving grace was that it was scalding hot, but was soon abandoned as it cooled. Discarded, half empty cups littered every available surface.

Two Doctors sat slumped in a dim corner of the room away from the harsh glare of the flickering fluorescent lights. Wilson clutched a lukewarm coffee in his left hand, afraid to move lest he disturbed his dark haired boss resting against his shoulder. He chanced a look at her out of the corner of his eye, she finally looked relaxed. She had taken the latest setback badly, worried that House would not come out of theatre, or that he would be permanently affected by his injuries. Finally exhaustion and the lingering effects of her head injury teamed up to drag her down into slumber, she slumped over onto him and slept.

Not for the first time, Wilson considered the relationship between his best friend and his boss, who he also considered a friend. He didn't admit it, but he had expected the tryst to play itself out in a couple of weeks, for House to say something insensitive or act recklessly, or for Cuddy to become domineering, or demanding. But to his surprise it was working. What they had worked, in a screwed up way. They had overcome the pitfalls of their working relationship. House had learned to compromise, Cuddy to relax. They seemed happy.

For the hundredth time Wilson looked at the cracked clock on the wall. House had been in the OR for almost three hours. Time was ticking by, second by second, almost imperceptibly. There was nothing in that dreary room to distract Wilson from the fact that his best friend was being cut open, that his torn flesh and rended organs were being stitched back together. He longed to stand up and stretch, to pace that small room to help pass the time, but he was weighed down by his boss. Instead he stared at the wall and let his mind wander over to the events of the day.

Finally he was startled out of his reverie by a surgeon, still sporting his surgical cap and bloodied gown. Wilson sat up slightly and placed his hand on Cuddy's arm, shaking her gently. Startled, her eyes flew open and she sat up straighter looking around. When she saw the grave expression on the surgeon's face she seized Wilson's hand, drawing strength from his warm, gentle touch. Both looked fearfully at the man in front of them for a moment before he came to join them.

"Are you with Gregory House?" He questioned them, his voice formal, his face serious but detached. When they nodded he continued. "I'm the one of the surgeons on his case. The surgery to repair the damage to his lung went well. We were able to reset the break in his leg and vascular were able to repair the damage to the artery." He paused, letting the information sink in. The couple in front of him sighed their relief, but remained guarded, he had obviously not finished. "However, the leg is not recovering the way we hoped it would. The pulses in his leg and foot remain weak and the leg is still cyanotic. His early labs showed that he has an infection, the wound was open and exposed to pathogens for so long that we fear this is the source. We are, of course giving him antibiotics, but his temperature is rising." He paused again here, visibly bracing himself before he continued. "We believe that the best course of action is to amputate the leg to prevent the infection spreading to the rest of his organs. We need consent." Here he addressed both of them, but his eyes landed on Cuddy, as his girlfriend and medical proxy the decision fell to her.

Seeing the stricken look on Cuddy's face Wilson jumped in. "When did you last draw blood? Have you debrided the wound? It the infection could be something minor, or it could be coming from somewhere else. You want to remove his leg before you are one hundred percent certain it's necessary?"

At this the man in front of them looked uncomfortable. "We haven't received his latest labs yet, but we are all in agreement that the most likely source of infection is the leg wound. Add to this the fact that the tissue is not responding to the restored blood flow we are extremely concerned about the effects this could have on his weakened system. If we wait the chances of survival could drop dramatically."

At hearing this last exchange Cuddy pulled herself out of her trance and directed a steely gaze at the man in front of her. "You are covering your own ass! You are not going to amputate House's leg, unless there is an actual reason to. There is no way I am going to let you start lopping off body parts unless it is the only way to save his life. Get back in there, chase up his labs, get him on targeted antibiotics and close him up. I want you to run every aspect of his treatment by me before you do anything." Cuddy was standing now, her normally diminutive presence seemed to have swelled and she was looming over the man recoiling on the chair, every inch of her screamed self-assurance. She was the Dean of Medicine at the prestigious Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and was used to people running to do her bidding, it didn't occur to her until he had left that she was not in charge here, and the man she had sent scuttling away was not on her staff.

HHHHHHHHH

An hour later House was being wheeled into a bay in the Intensive Care Unit. He was deeply unconscious, heavily sedated. A nurse walked at the head of the bed, manually pumping air into his lungs until he could be hooked up to an oxygen supply. A second drain had been inserted into his chest to draw fluid away from his compromised lung and one had been inserted into the stitched wound in his leg. A Foley drained fluid from his bladder. To replace these waste liquids he was hooked up to an IV and given blood, blood products, saline and antibiotics. His head had been cleaned and stitched, a pristine dressing protected the wound from infection. More dressings covering the fresh surgical wound in his chest was hidden from view by the thin hospital gown. Wires and leads collected vital information about his condition and relayed this information to a screen temporarily placed on the bed.

Cuddy and Wilson were allowed to accompany the bed to the ICU, the one concession to their status as Doctors they were allowed, but were made to wait outside while he was settled. What they saw as he was wheeled out of recovery shocked both of them. He looked half dead, completely reliant on the machines and medicines keeping him alive. His temperature was obviously higher than normal as a sheen of sweat covered his skin. His face looked too pale, and dark smudged ringed his closed eyes. What worried them the most however, was the fact that he was still reliant on a ventilator, he was not breathing for himself, and he was not able to communicate. This was not going to be something he was going to bounce back from in a matter of days.

They had both seen him sick before and they had seen him injured but this seemed different somehow. This time they were not in a position to help him, they were not in control of his recovery, they could not do anything but watch as strangers cared for the person they were both closest to in the world.

Then the nurses and orderlies finally left House was settled in his ICU bed. A surgeon, not the one who spoke to them before, briefly visited to update them of House's condition, particularly his new labs, but soon left when he was satisfied that his patient was settled and handed off to the ICU staff. Cuddy and Wilson both pulled up chairs, sat around his bed and began the wait, to wait for him to improve and wake up or for the infection to take over of force the Doctors to take action.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Cuddy and Wilson settled into the hard, unforgiving chairs on either side of House's bed in the ICU. Cuddy held House's limp, lifeless hand, staring into his slack face, desperate for a trace of his usual animation, for a lewd comment or sarcastic barb to fly from his lips at their concern. She was not rewarded; instead she was lulled by the dim lighting, the soothing regular sound of his heart monitor, the too regular, almost eerie whoosh of the ventilator forcing oxygen into his battered but healing lungs.

Thoughts raced through Cuddy's head trying to determine her boyfriend's chances of a full recovery. His ribs would heal, his lung injuries would take a little longer but barring complications, they should heal well too. She, and the other Doctors were concerned about how House's previous severe skull fracture could affect his head injury, they would have to wait until he woke up to determine that one. Some blood was present in his urine, indicating at least some damage to his left kidney, but tests had revealed that the damage was minimal and it should heal on its own without the need for dialysis. That just left the leg.

It had barely pinked up since the surgery to reset the bone, repair the artery and restore blood flow, the foot was cool and pulses were still depressed. Cuddy was not naïve; she knew that the chances of saving the limb after such a long time without any blood flow were low. Even after the infarction there was an adequate blood supply to the lower limb, only the thigh muscles were compromised. Despite this she still held onto a slim hope that he would be ok, that his leg would be ok, she couldn't imagine any other scenario.

Some time later Cuddy's phone began trilling, calling her attention back to the hospital, her hospital. She excused herself from the bedside and walked into the brightened hallway, blinking at the dazzling light. Trying for a professional veneer, and almost succeeding she listened to her assistant ramble about the ER, OR and ICUs overstretched resources and tired staff. She approved an order to bring in agency staff and send home all non-urgent cases and cancel elective procedures. Then she made arrangements for herself and Wilson to take a leave of absence. HR had already been informed of House's injuries and the fact that he would be off work for an indeterminate amount of time. She also rang the insurance company to ensure that House was fully covered. When she finished her admin tasks she also allowed herself a phone call home, checking on Rachel and talking to her about her day. When she finally hung up she felt exhausted despite the early hour.

When she re-entered the darkened room Wilson had scooted his chair forwards and was talking softly to House, telling him an amusing story from the clinic that he knew his friend couldn't hear. Smiling faintly despite the situation Cuddy slipped into the chair and listened to the story.

The rest of the day crawled by slowly, the quiet interrupted only by nurses entering discreetly to check his vitals, his incisions and the condition of his leg. The wounds in his head and chest had started the slow healing process but the leg looked livid, his temperature had been tracking the whole afternoon and the thin sheen of sweat had now progressed, his cheap hospital gown and sheets were now damp, his hair plastered to his head; he was shivering slightly. A cooling blanket had been ordered and covered his motionless form. Despite all of this the main concern for everyone involved was the continued poor state of his leg.

Alarmed at the decline in his condition Cuddy insisted on a consult with his Doctors. Half an hour later Cuddy and Wilson reluctantly left House's bedside and were showed to a small meeting room. The bland room looked remarkably like that found in any hospital. Medical posters giving advice about the importance of properly washing your hands, exercise and being vigilant about spotting disease appeared at random intervals around the unremarkable beige walls. Low, comfortable beige chairs lined the room, an equally low table held a tissue box and empty, unused plastic cups. A water cooler in the corner bubbled.

Looking around the room Cuddy identified Dr Ramirez , the ICU Doctor who stopped by briefly during rounds, Nurse Smith, the ICU Nurse in charge of House's care and Dr Williams the Surgeon in charge during the surgery.

After the brief introductions Williams was the first to speak, "As you are aware the surgery on Dr House went smoothly. We were able to repair the damage done to the lung and were able to re-inflate it without any issues. We were able to re-set the leg and repair the arterial damage and restore blood flow to the leg. Post-op examinations, of the leg however, have not been as positive as we would like." He looked grave, about to continue.

Here Cuddy jumped in, unable to hold her tongue any more. "That is down to your OR. House was left lying on a gurney in your ER for hours while his leg was slowly dying. He only got a spot because he almost bled out. If you saw him straight away his leg would be healing right now." Everyone shifted uncomfortably, they knew that she was right.

Red faced, Williams jumped in to defend his department. "I'm sorry Dr House had to wait for so long, but we were inundated by patients who were more critical."

"His lung was shredded, he wasn't breathing and a tourniquet was stopping him from bleeding out! How much more critical could they have been?" This time it was Wilson's turn to jump in to defend his friend. He was rewarded with silence from the man in front of him.

To prevent further embarrassment from his colleague Ramirez took over, "Dr House's latest labs showed that his leg was the cause of the infection." Cuddy nodded impatiently, she knew this already, biting back the scathing comment desperate for release she listened as he continued. "We are presently unable to identify the strain of infection… He's becoming septic. The prescribed broad spectrum antibiotics don't seem to be working well enough to combat the sepsis. We are running tests to determine which targeted antibiotics will work best." He paused letting the information sink in, before continuing. "His organs were starting to show the strain. They are becoming deprived of oxygen and essential nutrients. He sats are dropping and liver and kidney panels showed decreased function. I've prescribed vasopressors to improve blood pressure." At this Cuddy began to feel light headed, her breathing quickened. "I know that you refused amputation during the surgery, but I think it's time you reconsidered."

"No!" She practically shouted, exasperated. She was beginning to know how House felt during the infarction when everyone tried to force him to relent and let them take his leg. It was a much easier decision to make when you were the one wearing the white coat, but from the other side the decision weighed much more heavily. House was the only person who advocated keeping his leg, even Stacy and Wilson agreed amputation was the best course of action, leaving him feeling cornered, feeling alone. He had wanted to tough it out, to wait for the toxins released into his system to be filtered out by his kidneys, but that choice was eventually taken from him, by Stacy and herself; leaving him in chronic pain, and alone.

During the crane collapse House had again fought strongly against everyone to save a leg, that of his patient Hanna. He went as far as to say that he actually knew the worth of a leg. He had fought for so long to save his leg that Cuddy couldn't just give up at the first, or even the second sign of trouble, she needed to give him time to fight this. "You need to give him time. Get him on the right antibiotics, order dialysis to support the kidneys if he needs it, up his oxygen. Give the medicine time to work, and wait to see if the leg improves. We can talk about it again later if there's still a problem."

Everyone else in the room looked at her incredulously, including Wilson. They were all concerned about the stress that was being placed on his already weakened system. She had considered this and had given them a course of treatment. As far as she was concerned the discussion was over. Cuddy stood up and picked her way passed the legs to the door. She had left House for long enough.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Cuddy released House's hand her arm aching and sat up straight, stretching her body out, her joints cracked and popped in response, only to slump back against the chair, at a loss for anything else to do. Since the meeting she had stood, paced, sat, and walked the short distance to the bathroom or the coffee machine. But none of it detracted from the fact that she was in an ICU room by the bed of her boyfriend, watching over him, waiting to see if they wouldhave to amputate his leg.

House's team had showed up a short while ago. She didn't know what they expected when they walked into the ICU, but they had evidently been shocked by the condition of their boss. Cuddy and Wilson left the small room to give them some space, but watched from the open door. Foreman entered the room but lingered by the foot of the bed, looking momentarily stunned, then immediately pulled on a stony mask, the only member of House's team who had truly learned to do this with any success. Without a chart present to distract him from the scene in front of him, he left the room within minutes, quick firing questions about the accident, House's injuries and long term recovery, merely nodding at Wilson's responses. To all who didn't know him he looked indifferent, those who did knew he, like House, only swallowed his emotions when they threatened to overwhelm him, to cause him to lose control. Taub lingered by the door, being the newest member of the team, he was reluctant to see his boss in such a vulnerable state. It was subtle but clear to both Cuddy and Wilson that House had invested a lot of time into shaping Taub into a better man; more caring, less selfish, with better instincts. Taub seemed to realise it too, and faced with his bosses mortality he seemed to be frozen, unsure of how to react.

Chase however, paled the moment he entered the room, he was the only one who walked right up to the bed and stood there for the duration of their short visit, his hand resting awkwardly on the older man's shoulder. He took in the medical equipment keeping his boss alive, taking in the falling vital signs, the drains, dressing and other medical detritus before falling on the heavily bandaged right leg, pale and in traction. Chase had always been observant, like House, he was able to take in minor details and use them to make intuitive leaps. He didn't need that skill now, the condition of his boss, his mentor, the only father figure who ever really matter, was obvious to all.

When a nurse entered to complete her quarter hourly vitals check the team took it as their cue to leave. All offered help and support if needed and nodded self-consciously when Wilson told them to keep the department running smoothly, Cuddy couldn't speak. They all shook Wilson's hand but seemed embarrassed when it came to bidding farewell to Cuddy, Foreman nodded tightly, Chase held out his hand to shake before removing it again feeling foolish, Taub was the only one who moved in for a short, awkward embrace before releasing her and walking away without a word. Leaving Wilson and their boss alone again, with nothing but their silence for company.

HHHHHHHHH

Sat in her chair once again, Cuddy checked her watch, Rachel would be arriving soon to see her briefly, before her mother arrived to take her for the night. At least she would have someone to talk to. Wilson, exasperated by her refusal to allow the amputation and thus save his friend's life, had barely said a word since returning from the meeting. Cuddy knew that he was only protecting his friend, that for the longest time he was the only person willing to take on that thankless job and that he couldn't help but worry. Nonetheless, Cuddy had a say now too, and as his girlfriend she had a greater say. He knew that amputation would also be the best way to take away the chronic pain, that House would finally be able to function without relying on pain medication to get through the day, that he could actually be truly happy. Cuddy, however knew that House wanted something else, he wanted to be whole, he would never admit it but he was scared of what people would think of him if he only had one leg, instead of 'three'. She didn't want to be the one to force him to have to deal with that.

Just then Ramirez entered with a bag of antibiotics. They had finally identified the type of infection running rampant through House's system, and knew which antibiotic to give him. Before hanging it he checked over the patient in front of him. House was worse. His temperature was now hovering around 102, his sats were at 91 despite being on 100% oxygen, despite fluids the urine output had dropped. This was partly due to the infection but could also be explained by the continuing ischemia.

An examination of his leg show that there was no improvement, in fact it was now less pink than blue. Exchanging a significant look with Wilson, that Cuddy ignored, he hung the bag and hooked it up to the IV and left.

HHHHHHHHH

A text told Cuddy that Rachel was waiting in the main reception with her child minder. Relieved that she had an excuse to leave Wilson and his silent judgement, she gathered her bag and left, knowing House would be in good hands.

Rachel ran into her arms and Cuddy gathered her into a grateful hug, lifting her small daughter off the ground. She had missed her daughter, and knew that she wouldn't see her again at least until the next day. Thanking the woman holding her little girl's bags she put her down but held onto her hand, picked up her bags and walked with her to the cafeteria to await her mother.

She spent a quiet half an hour pocking at a withered, unappealing salad, while Rachel ate pudding and drank a glass of milk, telling her mum about her day. Before long her mother entered the large room and spotted her before ordering a tea and bringing it over to the table. Then Cuddy had to endure question after question about the building collapse, her head wound, (would it leave a scar?) and the condition of her boyfriend. By the time they left Cuddy longed to be back in House's quiet room, any time she spent away from him was punctuated by dread and worry.

Of course the room was quiet and still when she entered. Wilson had once again pulled his chair close to the bed, but sat staring off into space. They barely acknowledge each other as Cuddy sat down opposite him. They sat for a while listening to the beep of the monitors and the whoosh of the vent before Wilson excused himself, muttering something about the cafeteria.

The evening passed in the same way as the interminably long afternoon. Hours of dragging boredom and worry punctuated only by vital checks, confirming the slow deterioration in House's medical condition and Doctor's sporadic and brief visits, relaying information that Cuddy and Wilson already knew.

At nice o'clock the ward nurse began to make noises about their arrangements for the night. The pair insisted that they remain throughout the night. Limp pillows and scratchy blankets were brought in, but nothing could be done about the hard, unyielding chairs, they would just have to make do.

At eleven o'clock Wilson wetched as Cuddy finally drifted off, her head resting on the bed, hand still clutching House's as though her contact alone could keep him safe, could heal him. He stood up and quietly began pacing the small room, stretching his knotted back out, wincing at the shooting pains travelling up and down his spine. He felt guilty for how he had treated Cuddy, he had since the meeting, but couldn't seem to force himself to offer her words of comfort, to tell her that he admired her for standing firm on her decision to advocate for House's wishes, to even offer a small smile of companionship. He was normally good at swallowing his feelings, at being the good guy in all situations, but he was also aware that where House was concerned his judgement was often a little off.

He thought back to those wretched months that followed the infarction. Trying desperately to salvage House and Stacy's imploding relationship, trying to console a broken House when Stacy finally packed her bags, long after the couple had stopped speaking altogether. Trying to support House through the excruciating pain he experienced from his mangled thigh and exposed and screaming nerve endings. He witnessed the miserable PT sessions that had his friend soaked in sweat and moaning in pain. He was there when House finally abandoned rehab, opting instead to teach himself to walk. Despite Wilson's own misgivings, House had succeeded through sheer force of will. Then discreetly searched for a new apartment for his friend when House finally admitted that he couldn't live in the apartment he had shared with Stacy. Wilson had even put in a good word with Cuddy when House, finally mobile was ready to look for work after almost six months of living on disability benefits. He knew the aftermath of House's latest injuries were going to be just as traumatic. If he did keep his leg the further damage to the muscle and nerves caused by the open fracture would mean more painful rehab, probably resulting in even more long term pain and less mobility. The delay in re-establishing a blood supply probably mean a loss of sensation in the whole of the limb, again reducing mobility further. House would probably have to retire the cane even if he kept his leg, instead relying on crutches, or even a wheelchair for the rest of his life.

Tired, Wilson moved his chair against the nearest wall before sinking into it, leaning his aching head against the cool wall, trying to find some semblance of comfort. Before too long his body surrendered to sleep, exhausted by the long hours of worry and little rest. He was aware of Nurses entering the room quietly at regular points over the next few hours but was able to let his body drift in a haze until the room was quiet again.

The sleeping couple were jolted from their broken sleep when a discussion between the ward Nurse and ICU attending became heated. They both rose from their separate chairs together, finally united in their concern for the man in front of them.

"What's wrong?" They both asked in unison, both too tired to take in the data from the monitors themselves. The Doctor continued speaking to the Nurse in front of him for a moment, ensuring that she understood his orders before glancing at the two people in turn. Finally he let his eye settle on the notes in front of him before he started talking.

"Doctor House's condition has been deteriorating throughout the night. We are not at all happy about his sats, his kidney and liver function have diminished further and now we are seeing some heart involvement as well. We have been administering medication but it is no longer working". He motioned towards the monitor with his pen, a pointless gesture as both pairs of eyes were already taking in the information themselves. Both paled, knowing that House would not be able to hold on much longer without drastic intervention.

"Dr Cuddy, it's time for you to make a decision. We have an OR standing by, ready to take him. We either amputate the leg now or you prepare to say your goodbyes… He won't last the night if we do nothing."

Cuddy stumbled back into her chair, her hand flew to her mouth to try to suppress the nausea she suddenly felt and she leaned forwards to try to combat the wave of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm her. She felt her world spiralling out of control, she could let the man she loved, had loved since college, die, or she could mutilate him further, and again risk losing him. She had no idea what to do, what to say. She closed her eyes desperately trying weighing up her options objectively, but unable to form a coherent thought. Suddenly, she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see the pale, distraught face of James Wilson, inches from her own. Seeing tears threatening to spill from her deep blue eyes he pulled her into a hug, the hug he should have given her twelve hours ago.

When he was finished he hooked his index finger under her chin and gently angled her face up to look at him again, took a breath to gather his thoughts and began to offer her the counsel he should have offered a long time ago. "Lisa," The use of her name helped to focus her. As Doctor Cuddy, Chief Administrator and Dean of Medicine for Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital she was always able to hide behind her surname, her employees always addressed each other by their last names. It enabled a feeling of detachment and stopped people from getting too close. It got to the point where even intimate couples avoided first names, somehow thinking that this would stop them feeling too open, too vulnerable. They felt stronger this way, but it was only now that Lisa Cuddy realised how much stronger she felt when someone she was truly close to used her first name, it didn't mean leaving yourself vulnerable to hurt, it mean relying on someone else to support you in times of pain, loss, confusion. It meant stability.

She looked at him and held his steady gaze. He didn't smile, but she felt warmth radiating from him. "You can do this. You make difficult decisions every day; but this… this is easy. If we do nothing House _will_ die. We _will_ lose him. He won't share the office next to me, he won't steal my lunch or find new and imaginative ways to humiliate me. He won't be there to solve the cases nobody else can solve, people will die. You won't go home to find him on your couch, eating your ice cream. You won't be able to go to his apartment and listen to him rant about the latest ridiculous thing annoying him. He just won't be there anymore." Here tears began to pool in his own eyes, but he continued. "Are you prepared to risk all of that for a leg? On the chance that he might hold it against you? I'm not ready to give up on him yet, he's my best friend. He's … He's my brother…" Here his voice cracked and he couldn't continue. He looked away afraid to see any sign that Cuddy was prepared to stand firm and choose to let him die.

Distraught at seeing James let his emotions get the better of him this way, Lisa put a hand on his arm. Then reached up to the bed with her free hand and took Greg's hand in hers. She looked at him his, lips were once again tinged blue, skin looked grey, his temperature had come down and now his skin felt too cool, clammy. His monitors had been silenced, but his heart rate, BP and pulse ox were highlighted in red. The urine in his collection bag had a nasty brown tinge to it. His body was failing, but there was something she could do about it. Wilson was wrong, the decision wasn't easy, but it was simple. She could let nature take its course and say goodbye to the most exasperating, amazing man she had ever known. Or she could save his life, disable him further and risk losing him.

Letting go of both men she wiped the tears from her eyes, stood up and levelled her determined gaze on the Doctor standing at the foot of Greg's bed. She cleared her throat, lest it betrayed her true emotions and nodded once before speaking. "Okay, we need to take his leg. You need to amputate."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"Okay, we need to take his leg. You need to amputate."

Without a word or gesture of acknowledgement to the woman in front of him the nameless Doctor turned to the doorway and nodded to the waiting team of Nurses and Orderlies Lisa had not noticed. All at once the room became a flurry of activity. The first Nurse in flicked on the bright overhead lights, causing Lisa and James to squint, momentarily dazzled. The small room filled up with staff preparing Greg House for the move to surgery. Without realising it Lisa and James were pushed out of the room, forced to observe from the outskirts, feeling useless.

Then the bed was rolling across the smooth tiled floor, Lisa ignored instructions to wait in the room, insisting that she walk with her boyfriend. James followed quietly behind, stunned by the sudden movement and urgency. When they arrived at Pre-op the pair were directed to the OR waiting room, their way barred by a young Doctor with bags under her eyes. James trudged towards the small drab room and began to make himself a coffee. However, watching Greg disappear behind the closing door was more than Lisa could bear.

Disregarding instructions she walked into the room and was again faced by the Junior Doctor. "I'm sorry Mrs House, this room is for medical personnel only. You need to leave." Here she firmly took Lisa by the upper arm and tried to steer her towards the door, only to find the older lady whirl on her.

"Actually it's Doctor Cuddy. I have been a Doctor since you were a little kid, so I'm pretty sure I can wait in here without getting in the way or making myself a nuisance. There is no way I'm letting Greg lie here alone on the worst night of his life while you prepare to cut his leg off. When he is ready to go in I'll leave, until then I'm staying!" Stunned, the young woman turned to the attending administering medication into the IV line. He watched the entire exchange in silence, but now seeing the two women looking to him he considered for a moment before nodding his head and moving aside to let the formidable woman pass and stand at her now customary position at Greg House's side.

When everyone was ready she kissed him on the cheek, whispered words of comfort only she could hear, and stood calmly by as he was wheeled into the operating room, before joining Wilson in the gloomy waiting room.

HHHHHHHHH

An hour into the operation Lisa Cuddy's resolve began to falter. She worked to calm the beating of her heart, breathing deeply at the sudden onset of emotions. James noticed the change in the woman at once and turned to her, concerned.

Strong emotions bubbled up in her chest threatening to overwhelm her. She stood up in panic and began to pace the room quickly. Wilson stood too and took a step towards her just as she whirled towards the door. "I have to stop them. I made a mistake." She began to ramble, James ran over to halt her progress laying his hands on her upper arms gently but firmly. "He doesn't want this, he never wanted this. Oh God, what have I done?" She locked panicked eyes with his and nearly shouted. "We need to stop the surgery!"

James began to slowly rub her arms, trying to calm her, before he spoke. "You didn't make a mistake, he was going to die if we did nothing. You are saving his life."

He didn't understand, she tried to make him see, "No, he would rather be dead than let us take something else from him, then let _me_ take something else from him. He is going to hate me, he's going to leave me." Again she tried to move to the door. "I need to stop them."

Here James pulled her close and looked into her eyes before he gently said, "It's too late. They will have removed his leg already. There's nothing else we can do."

Lisa suddenly seemed to become boneless, she sank towards the floor, James' arms were the only thing that prevented a sudden bump as she landed. He sat with her, his arms wrapped tightly around her shaking form as she began to cry quietly, then sob as it finally dawned on her what Greg had lost, and what she could lose.

Eventually James managed to calm the distraught woman in his arms and return her to the relative comfort of the stained and worn chairs behind them.

Time ticked slowly on as their medical knowledge, now a nightmarish burden, took them through the procedure that was being performed on the most important person in both of their lives. The amputation, preparing what was left of the leg to accept a prosthesis, stitching up the remaining skin, treating the wound to prevent infection, bandaging him up.

Eventually their thoughts were interrupted as another faceless, nameless surgeon appeared to tell them the surgery was complete. Greg had survived the 'procedure' and was resting in recovery. He would be moved back to his room in the next hour if all looked well. They nodded numbly, accepting the information but finding that they couldn't comprehend what to expect next. They just couldn't imagine seeing Greg House without his right leg. Couldn't imagine seeing the once long and graceful limb, now ending abruptly in a short, bandaged stump.

HHHHHHHHH

The stress on his system meant that House remained in the recovery room for longer than expected as Doctors and Nurses attempted to stabilise his weakened condition. He was becoming fluid overloaded due to the decreased function in his kidneys. This put pressure on his heart and lungs, his low oxygen saturation continued to be a concern. His kidneys and liver would take a while to recover after everything they had endured for the past two days. Once he recovered from his latest surgery he would be scheduled to have a dialysis line inserted to facilitate the procedure.

Finally, as the clocked showed 8.45 Cuddy and Wilson were woken from their light sleep to be told that House had been returned to his room in the ICU and they could sit with him. They numbly gathered their few possessions left lying around and began to walk slowly towards the darkened room. Scared of what they would find.

Both hesitated in the doorway a moment, eyes fixed on the empty space on the bed before shuffling forwards. James grasped Lisa's hand in his own, for his own comfort as much as hers, his free hand went unconsciously to rub the back of his neck, his breath quickening in his throat.

He didn't know what he had expected to feel at this moment, but the sudden rush of emotions he felt was not expected. His resolved, unwavering throughout the entire ordeal, now began to falter. Maybe they had made the wrong choice, maybe it would have been better to let his friend go than to force him to face this again. He would have to learn to walk again for the third time in his life, if he were able to walk again.

The remaining stump was somehow shorter than he expected, what if they couldn't fit a prosthesis? What if he was never able to walk properly with what he had left? What if he was doomed to spend the rest of his life confined to a wheelchair, relying on other people? Could Greg House renowned jerk, hater of pity, stubborn to the point where he would rather suffer than admit he needed help, learn to rely on other people? Would he be able to roll through the hospital corridors and ignore the looks, the whispered comments, the well-meaning but misguided offers of assistance, or would this finally be the thing that would break him forever?


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

The room was once again quiet and still, the golden morning sun streamed in through the open curtains, a gentle breeze causing the leaves on the trees outside to flutter tranquilly; it looked almost peaceful. The patient was once again situated in his bed, his heart monitor beeping softly, accompanied by the gentle whoosh of the ventilator. Everything seemed the same as it was the day before, but things would never be again.

Cuddy approached the bed haltingly, her eyes never leaving what remained of Greg House's right leg. It looked so unnatural, his leg disappeared under a small platform keeping the sheets off his wound and allowing for easy access, but nothing appeared out of the other side. After the spectrum of emotions she experienced during the night, Lisa felt numb. None of this seemed real, after the jarring reality of being woken from a fitful sleep to make the hardest decision she had ever had to make this now seemed uncanny, surreal. She stared down at the empty space on the bed dumbly for minutes before realising that she hadn't moved.

She slipped into her empty chair aware that James had stopped at the foot of the bed, lost in thought. He hadn't said anything or looked away from the unnerving sight before him. Lisa couldn't really bring herself to think of him, or to say anything comforting or otherwise to the man looking so lost beside her.

Finally, she was able to tear her gaze away from the discomforting sight further down the bed and was able to look her boyfriend over. The head of his bed had been raised to prevent the excess fluid his kidneys should have flushed out from pooling around his heart and lungs, compromising them further. He was still hooked up to a ventilator, his sats were still below normal but the bluish tinge had once again left his lips. The chest tube had finally been removed during his surgery, he was no longer bleeding into his chest. His clammy skin had a slight yellow tinge to it, a sign of the impaired liver function, her eyes swept over the cath bag strapped to the bed, the urine was still discoloured.

It occurred to her that she had made the impossible decision to remove his leg to save his life, only to be faced with the possibility of him not recovering from the time delay. The lack of blood supply and trauma had caused the muscles in his leg to break down, releasing toxins into his system that overwhelmed his already injured kidneys. Maybe he would have recovered quicker if she had agreed to amputate as soon as it was suggested, then at least there would have been fewer toxins compromising his organs. She knew the odds of him surviving were not good when there was multi-organ involvement. In her mind she jumped ahead to the moment he finally slipped away, to his funeral, Lisa and Wilson sat on the front row of the service with Blythe House, of her and Wilson working together to pack up his apartment, to closing his front door for the final time. No, she couldn't think about that, House was stubborn, there was no way he would just slip away, if there was one thing she knew for sure about her boyfriend, it was that he was a fighter and would always remain that way. She took his hand in hers and settled in for the next long day.

HHHHHHHHHH

Frantically beeping monitors woke Wilson and Cuddy out of their respective reveries. Their eyes flew to the monitors to find that his sats had fallen to a dangerous level and were continuing to drop and his heart rate was elevated. A team of Nurses ran into the room, alerted to their patient's condition and once again ushered the loved ones out of the room. Dr Ramirez soon followed the Nurses into the room and took charge. He ordered a crash cart and began assessing the situation. Cuddy and Wilson were doing the same from their limited vantage point. The chest tube had been removed, that ruled out a blockage, they watched as his chest was pronounced clear. Ramirez ordered the vent to be removed and suctioned in case a mucus plug was blocking the tube, a small amount of pinkish fluid was suctioned out but no mucus. Given the sudden drop in sats, that left a blood clot that had moved to his lungs or a fat embolism that had travelled up from the broken bone. She reached the conclusion at the same time as Ramirez, and heard Wilson gasp in understanding next to her. TPA was ordered to bust the potential clot just as further alarms sounded, Greg's heart rate was now falling fast. The Nurse nearest the door flew from the room to get the medication as the paddles were charged and the bed head was lowered.

Cuddy desperately hoped that the medication worked, it would be too ironic for House to suffer from an embolism due to an amputation when that is what began their relationship together, she didn't think she could handle it ending in the same way.

"He's crashing." These words pulled her kicking and screaming back to the present. Ramirez ripped the gown front open exposing ugly purple bruising covering the length of his left torso and a dressing from the surgery to repair his lung injury. "Charge to 200… Clear." Lisa flinched as the volts sent into her boyfriend caused his lifeless form to jerk from the bed, James grabbed her hand but remained silent, his eyes fixed on the scene playing out in front of him. "No change, charge to 250… clear." Again he lurched from the bed, again Lisa flinched. The Nurse sprinted back into the room and pushed the medicating into the Doctor's hands as he handed off the paddles to a Nurse. He checked the label then administered the meds, and waited a moment, his eyes on the sats monitors. All eyes in the room followed his cue, taking in the information from the sats monitor, for a moment the numbers remained in the red, the oxygen forced into his lungs was unable to pass the blockage. Then, just as suddenly as it all began the sats began to rise, the blockage was gone. Happy with what he saw, Ramirez ordered the paddles to be charged to 300, he now had a chance to bring his patient back. The man on the bed jolted one more time, his girlfriend jumping as if she too was experiencing 300 volts of electricity coursing through her body. Suddenly the monitors showed a blip, then another, and another. He was back.

Ramirez dismissed the Nurses before checking over his patient himself. Satisfied that nothing else was amiss he approached the couple still huddled together outside of the room. He briefed them on the current situation, then took them through the surgery step by step, then explained that barring any further complications the dialysis line would be inserted the following day. He walked them back into the room and grabbed the chart to update it. He also made a note to order blood thinners to prevent further clots. Then Ramirez left, leaving Lisa and James alone again with Greg.

Only when he was gone did Lisa realise that she and James hadn't uttered a word since the amputation. There was nothing they could say, nothing that could make this situation any better, any easier. Taking a deep breath she exhaled slowly, releasing the tension that was building in her chest. She swiped at the tears trailing down her face then took up her seat at the head of the bed. Continuing to watch over her boyfriend as he slept on.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Cuddy could not help but draw parallels between what was happening now and the events following the crane collapse where the inscrutable Greg House finally connected with a patient and opened up to Lisa Cuddy. Where he put his life on the line to save a patient, not for the thrill of solving a puzzle, but because he had actually made a connection with her. He opened up and described his own, similarly awful, decision where he was forced to choose between his leg and his life, and had come to regret his fear of the unknown. Then the woman he watched over, talked with and stayed in that suffocating place with to perform the traumatic amputation died despite his correct decision and best efforts. That was the night Cuddy was finally able to see the real man behind the unyielding mask, inappropriate behaviour and juvenile jokes, the man who could be vulnerable and open up and finally accepted that he was worth taking a risk on.

Whereas, James Wilson saw a blatant connection to the time of the infarction. Where House, post bypass lay in his hospital bed suffered through the effects of the toxins released from his dead muscle flushing through his body; in kidney failure and terrible physical pain. Wilson wasn't there himself, but had heard the stories of his best friend's agonised cries echoing up and down the quietened corridors as he tried to save himself the torment of having his leg cut off, leaving him disfigured and disabled. Then later, post debridement, when he realised what Stacy and Cuddy had done to him while he slept, while he was at his most vulnerable. Finally he thought of how defeated House seemed as he was forced to rely on his only friend to help him move around, to wash and dress himself. The once fiercely proud and independent man was forced to call out to Wilson to help him to the bathroom.

Wilson hoped that when House awoke this time the pain would not be present. Those same toxins that had caused him so much agony after the bypass were now bulldozing their way through his system once again, compromising his organs, threatening his life. The dialysis should help, but this time House's whole leg was left without a blood supply for too many long hours, causing those toxins to build to dangerous levels. Wilson could only hope that the dialysis would be able to filter them out of his system before House woke, once again in agony.

HHHHHHHHH

As morning slowly crawled into the afternoon Chase, Taub and Foreman returned to visit their boss. They were completely blindsided by the sight that greeted them as then entered the room. James and Lisa sat mutely by as House's fellows took in the sight of his deteriorated condition, the missing leg, the obvious liver damage and the kidney problems. No one said anything for a number of strained minutes. Foreman was the first to talk, again asking medical questions in an attempt to distance himself from the strong emotions he felt. Taub nodded at the appropriate times, trying to look like he was following the conversation closely, but his eyes kept wandering back to the awful space on the bed where his mentor's leg should be. Chase however, said nothing, he merely stared blankly down at the man on the bed for a while before slowly walking out of the door, looking defeated. The other two made their apologies and hurried to catch up to their colleague.

The rest of the day passed slowly. House's heart rate and breathing had stabilised and there were no further signs of clots, but the kidney and liver function continued to concern all involved.

That evening Cuddy and Wilson were told to go home, rest, take a shower and spend time with loved ones before they could return for regular visiting hours the next day. It was not open for discussion. Wilson reasoned that it could only be a good sign, House was no longer in immediate danger of dying.

Wilson returned to his quiet, spacious home and forced himself to eat a meal he couldn't finish. He couldn't think of anyone to call so he ate alone, watched some television alone then exhausted, dragged himself off to his cold, lonely bed for an early night.

Cuddy rang Marina as soon as she left the hospital and organised to meet her daughter at home. They prepared a simple meal together and watch Rachel's favourite cartoons before getting ready for bed. Both missed each other desperately after days of barely seeing each other and ended up in Cuddy's spacious bed, Cuddy's arms wrapped protectively round her small daughter.

HHHHHHHHH

The next morning, after a comfortable, if restless night, Cuddy and Wilson arrived at Princeton General Hospital just as visiting hours began.

They were shocked to find that House was not there when they walked into his room. Fearing the worst they both flew to the Nurses station to demand information and were relieved to find that he had rested comfortably and without incident. He was now down in theatre having his dialysis line inserted.

An hour later House was back in his room, looking much the same as the night before, with the added addition of a port and line snaking its way out of his neck. The surgery had gone well and dialysis was scheduled for the next day.

House began to improve as soon as his first dialysis treatment was completed. He continued to improve throughout the following days. The site of his surgeries continued to heal, as did the head wound. His kidneys began to function better without the extra strain to contend with, which, in turn, resulted in an improvement in his liver function; the yellow tinge began to fade from his skin and eyes. Physiotherapists began to visit twice a day to work on the remains of House's leg, ensuring that his leg did not stiffen up, impeding the healing process and prevent him from getting back on his feet. Soon House showed signs that he was able to breathe on his own, to the extent that they were able to finally remove him from the ventilator that he had been so reliant on. They also began to wean him from the sedatives keeping him unconscious while he was on the vent.

Finally, six days after that fateful phone call woke Cuddy and House from their peaceful sleep, House began to stir. Lisa was the first to notice. She was in her customary position at House's left side, loosely holding his limp hand in hers while she watched some inane show Wilson had put on for House's benefit. Suddenly she felt his fingers twitch in hers. She looked down at the two hands curled together on the bed, looking for any other signs of life. Nothing happened for a number of long seconds, then again another slight twitch ran through his fingers, before they flexed slightly inwards.

Cuddy suddenly dropped the hand as if burned and leapt from her seat, startling Wilson, who was dozing at House's right hand side. He looked to her questioningly, his hands unconsciously smoothing his hair down. "He's waking up." She murmured in a low voice, afraid that he would hear her, pointing to the hand she had just been holding. Wilson looked to the hand shifting weakly on the bed, then to his friend's face. The once lax and lifeless face now began to grimace as House fought to regain consciousness after almost a week.

Without realising it Wilson also found himself on his feet, he moved towards the bed, relieved. He was about to call out, to try to guide his friend back to consciousness when he noticed Cuddy had backed away and was now stood at the foot of the bed, her eyes all the while on the face of the man she loved, her face a mask of dread. "What's wrong?" Wilson asked alarmed, he was afraid that something was seriously wrong. He spun again to the bed but couldn't see what had triggered this reaction, then looked to the monitors; breathing and heart rate were elevated, which could have been attributed to the effort of waking up or to the pain from his injuries. All seemed normal, then he bent down the check the cath bag attached to the bed, it was fine. Bewildered, he rounded the bed to see if it was something only she could see from her vantage point but again came up with nothing. "What's wrong..?" He repeated, this time gently seizing her upper arms.

"He's waking up…" she repeated, tears pooling in her eyes, threatening to split down her cheeks. Still confused, Wilson shook his head to show that he wasn't following her train of thought. "We are going to have to tell him what we did… He's going to be devastated… He's going to hate me…" Finally, the tears began to flow as she lost control of her emotions.

Finally understanding dawned on Wilson. He had spent all of his energy worrying about whether House would wake up, that he hadn't thought what they would say to him when he finally did. He stood dumbfounded, clutching Cuddy's arms when a small groan from the bed drew both of their attention. Pulling out of Wilson's grip Cuddy back up a few more paces until her legs collided with a seat near the door; she fell roughly into it, clutching her head in her suddenly shaking hands. "I'm not ready… not ready for this to be over." She sobbed. Wilson looked at her lost, before another groan pulled his attention back to the bed.

Deciding that he would have to take charge for the moment he walked purposefully towards the bed and stood at House's left side, taking Cuddy's place and blocking her from view. Without thinking he grabbed the table that stood off to the right side of House's bed and pulled it across the bed, blocking House's view from his legs. This is stupid, he inner voice screamed at him, he's going to find out, and soon, how is hiding it going to help. He grabbed at the corner of the table again and was about to roll it away when he saw he friend looking at him with heavy, unfocused eyes. House blinked a few times before his vision cleared then looked around the small room before settling on his friend. He gave a small, pained smile.

Ok, Wilson thought, you need to give him at least a few minutes to wake up before tearing his world apart, act natural. "Hey, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence." Again House gave a small tired smile. "You scared the hell out of us… again." House opened his mouth to speak but winced instead and coughed lightly, he throat raw from so many days on the ventilator. Wilson hurriedly snatched the water pitcher from the table he had just wheeled into place and poured a small amount of tepid water into a plastic cup and stuck in a straw. As he brought it to his friend a shaky hand came up to meet him, the IV cannula in his hand caught his eye before he looked again at the glass in front of him. He wrapped his hand around Wilson's hand and the glass and helped to guide it to his mouth. Despite the situation Wilson could not help the small smile that crept on to his lips, House always had to control the situation. After a few pained sips House let go and leaned back into the pillows supporting his head. He let his eyes fall tiredly closed for a moment wincing at the slight movement.

When he opened his eyes again he found that Wilson was staring at him intensely, the muscles in his jaw working furiously. Uncomfortable with the level of scrutiny and concern, House again looked around the room, when he failed to find what he was looking for he looked again at his friend, "Where's Cuddy..?" He swallowed painfully, "She ok?" His voice was rough, quiet, each work seemed to hurt. Before Wilson could answers his eyes fluttered closed, seemingly of their own accord, his breathing started to even out, he seemed about to drift off but jerked himself awake. Then looked around, he had obviously lost his train of thought. Concerned, Wilson looked again to the monitors, heart rate and BP were still up but not outside of normal range, everything else seemed normal. He looked back at his friend, he looked pretty bad; his normally messy hair was now squashed flat from days of lying in bed, his usual stubble had progressed to a full blown beard, dark rings circled his eyes, and he looked to be in a lot of pain.

"Stop staring." House croaked wincing again at the strain on his raw throat. "How bad?" He demanded suddenly, fixing Wilson with one of his patented probing stares.

Here Wilson hesitated slightly before deciding to give him a brief rundown, glossing over the leg. "It was pretty bad. After you lost consciousness in the ambulance you stopped breathing, your lung collapsed, you've been on a ventilator for days. You also got some kidney contusions, and broken ribs, and you hit your head pretty good. For a while they were worried that there might be complications from the skull fracture…" Here Wilson faltered, not wanting to pick at that wound while House was in such a vulnerable state. "…How do you feel? How's the pain?" He asked, suddenly noting the shallow breathing, and the stiff way House held himself, as if afraid to move or even relax.

After a long pause House finally answered "…It's fine…" He forced out looking at the table in front of him, always uncomfortable when asked this question. After a long pause he dragged his eyes back up to meet his friends. Wilson, looking unconvinced, merely started back expectantly. "Where's Cuddy?" He suddenly asked, deflecting. Seeing the concerned look on Wilson's face he suddenly seemed more focused. "Is she ok? Where is she?" He demanded, all pain seemingly forgotten as he tried to sit up higher in bed.

Unsure of how to answer, Wilson began to stutter out an excuse when Cuddy appeared at the end of the bed. Tears stained her pale face and her hands still shook but she forced a small smiled onto her lips. "I'm here." Her voice shook slightly, despite her obvious attempts to compose herself for House's sake. "I'm ok" she added, failing miserably to convince him.

The man on the bed took in the sight of her, pale, eyes bloodshot, with a hopeless expression in her eyes, even as compromised as he was he was able to tell something was horribly wrong. "What's wrong?" He rasped, but neither person in front of him seemed willing to answer, in fact both suddenly looked stricken. His mind began racing to figure out what it could be: Rachel? No, Cuddy would be by her bedside instead of here. Was someone else sick? No, she would have said so straight away, or Wilson would have. Something could have been wrong at the hospital. No, she would have sorted it out straight away; she wasn't the type to sit around worrying when she could be working to fix the problem. When he couldn't come up with anything valid and the people in front of him didn't seem very forthcoming with answers he looked around the room again maybe there was a clue here.

For the first time, he realised that he wasn't at PPTH, this was a different hospital. It must have been Princeton General, it had the closest trauma centre to the accident site. It was an inconvenience, but he couldn't think of a reason why it would render Cuddy and Wilson speechless. Then he strained to look at the monitors over his bed, wincing at the fire that suddenly licked at his whole body. Fighting the nausea that suddenly threatened to overtake him he forced himself to lie still for a moment before slowly turning again. His vital seemed to be in normal range. The only other explanation was that they had not been truthful about his injuries. He began to take stock of how he felt. His ribs on his left were certainly broken, his back was tender, so were his shoulders, this head throbbed mercilessly. All to be expected after the fall he took. He was definitely woozy, that could be attributed to days spent unconscious or the head wound. And still, overriding it all, he felt the ever present shooting, tearing, throbbing sensation in his right thigh.

He suddenly remembered the injury to his leg, the stark white bone jutting from his gaping skin, the blood pumping from the wound, soaking his jeans and pooling on the filthy concrete floor, swirling with the dust and grime. Suddenly he couldn't breathe, there was no thick cast weighing down his leg, or feel the constellation of metal plates and pins holding his leg in place as the bones knit together. He couldn't see clearly with that damned table in the way. Despair building in his chest he looked again to the people stood over him, struggling to draw any air into his lungs, desperately fighting the anguished cry building in his throat. "What..? What did you do?"

A quick hand reached out and flipped the table on its end, the thunderous clatter making Wilson and Cuddy flinch sharply and revealing the horror it had hidden so well. Three pairs of eyes stared down at the empty space on the bed dumbly, Cuddy and Wilson frozen in shock. "What?!" House cried again breathlessly. Then began to claw at the sheets, when he was at last able to pull them free he was faced with the sight of his leg, ending harshly in a short stump, sporting clean bandages. He began panting as panic took over, small sobs escaping his lips at jarring intervals. Then, as if he still couldn't believe what he saw, as if his leg was hiding somewhere, whole and undamaged, he began to tear at the dressings.

Wilson rushed forwards and grabbed both wrists, trying to prevent his friend from unwittingly causing himself more injury. "House stop, you're going to hurt yourself." His voice broke as he saw the agony written plainly on his friend's normally stoic features, he couldn't stop his own tears as they prickled his eyes and began to spill over his lids. "Stop… It's ok, you're going to be ok." Eventually House's movements became less frantic, he was weakening. "Shhh" he whispered soothingly. "Shh, it's ok, we're here with you. It's going to be ok." He murmured, not sure if it was helping, but not knowing what else he could do. House's upper body was now supported by his right shoulder, Wilson could feel the shudders as his friend struggled to deal with the strong emotions overpowering him.

Suddenly the door swung open. A Doctor Wilson did not recognise stormed in, followed by a Nurse and finally Cuddy. She had obviously gone for help while Wilson tried to calm his friend. This time, rather than hanging back she ran to the bed and placed her hand gently on her boyfriend's shoulder and began rubbing small circles, tears once again flowing freely down her tired face. She began quietly shushing him in the same way as Wilson, desperate to calm him down.

Taking in the scene in front of him the Doctor immediately ordered up a sedative. At this House began to struggle again, "No!" He shouted and began to pull at his wrists, his eyes never leaving what remained of his leg, his hands flexing as he longed again to rip away the dressings and see the wound for himself, so he could finally accept what he had lost.

Cuddy and Wilson rounded on the Doctor as the Nurse left to get the medication. "No!" They called out in unison. Wilson continued, "He doesn't need it, we can calm him down. Please." He implored, but the man in front of him seemed resolute.

He shook his head and he looked pointedly at the scene in front of him. "I'm sorry, but I can't take that chance. He is obviously a danger to himself." At this moment the Nurse hurried back into the room and handed the medication over.

As he took up the IV line and tried to locate the port House jerked his arm away. "Don't" He pleaded. "Don't please." But the Doctor wasn't moved, he grabbed the line firmly and quickly injected the medication. It worked quickly.

Wilson suddenly felt his friend go limp in his arms and began to topple forwards. He reacted quickly, letting go of his wrists, Wilson grabbed House's upper arms to steady him, Cuddy helped by gently supporting his head, together they both guided the now unconscious man down onto the bed, before Cuddy reached down and carefully wiped the tears from his still face.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Raised voices filtered through the partially opened doorway and echoed around the small room. House became aware of them after a number of heated minutes. However, he had no strength, no desire to wake up and find out what they were saying. He lazily allowed himself to float on the edge of consciousness, he felt pain setting every nerve ending alight, something akin to what he felt after the bypass surgery on his leg, but felt dulled to it. Somewhere at the back of his mind he was aware that all that waited for him when he woke up would be pain and misery on a level he had not yet experienced, he wanted to delay that for as long as possible.

Before too long the voices died down, someone left but two people entered the room and sat together, continuing the conversation in hushed, hissing breaths. House was finally able to settle back into blissful, pain free slumber. Suddenly he jerked awake as he felt gentle hands touching what was left of his leg. He was sat up before he was fully awake, his eyes flew open of their own accord as he reacted to the alien sensation, trying to pull his leg from the tender but firm grip. He looked down the see a startled Nurse finishing up a dressing change on his stump, soiled dressings that had been piled neatly on the bed tumbled to the floor. Cuddy and Wilson stood at his right side, looking equally shocked.

The only sound in the room was the startled gasps of the man on the bed. Cuddy and Wilson stood hesitantly, unsure of whether he would need their help to calm down. Finally the Nurse spoke up, "I'm sorry I woke you Mr House. I'm just finishing up, then I'll be out of your hair." She guided him gently back onto the bed then began to awkwardly finish up taping the dressing on his leg, very much aware of his woozy but scrutinising gaze, and the way he held himself, as if deeply uncomfortable with the whole process. When she finished she gathered her supplies and the soiled dressings and walked out of the room.

House followed her out with his eyes, his head once again supported by his pillow. He felt exhausted: his limbs heavy, his head felt stuffed with cotton wool, his eyes stung. Once again his whole body burned with pain from the wounds on his chest, back, shoulders and most of all, his leg. Every wound pounded out a throbbing accompaniment to his rapid heartbeat but underlying it all was a jarring constant agony that turned his stomach and caused sweat to break out on his forehead. He closed his eyes, trying to control the bile rising in his throat. Finally, gaining a measure of control over his mutinous digestive system, he opened his eyes.

"Hey," Cuddy gently cooed as soon as she knew he was back with them, her hand rested gently on his shoulder. He looked towards her, but something felt wrong, his body complied to his instructions too slowly, his eyes felt sluggish as he tracked her, his thoughts came to him slowly, as though surfacing through treacle. "How do you feel?" She asked, concern evident on her face.

"Why'm I s'dated?" He slurred out. He tried to pull himself into a more comfortable position but his wrists caught on something. Looking blearily down, he saw heavy restraints bound wrists, holding them to the bed, he couldn't lift his arms more than a few inches.

Cuddy stiffened, obviously upset. Indecision played across her face for a moment before she decided what to say. "Your Doctor thinks you might be a danger to yourself. When you… woke last time you were tearing at your dressings, you pulled out the stitches in your chest, and your dialysis line came loose. You had to go back to surgery. You lost a lot of blood."

Seeing his expression darken, his shields fall into place Wilson began to explain further, to justify their inaction. "We tried to talk him around, to explain that you wouldn't intentionally hurt yourself, but he wouldn't listen, he's your Doctor, we don't get a say." Here he began rubbing the back of his neck, an unconscious indication of his frustration. "As soon as you are stable you are being transferred back to PPTH. Where we understand you and can take care of you properly." The last word was spat out, he was obviously angry at the decision to keep him both sedated and restrained, or both, Cuddy's expression showed that she agreed.

Once again bile started to rise in House's throat, but he swallowed it back painfully, wincing as the acid exacerbated his raw throat. Cuddy and Wilson were still watching him closely. They noted the deliberate way he held himself, the pained expression on his face, the sluggish movements. He was obviously in a great deal of pain and seemed to be struggling to process the information with the strong drugs coursing through his system.

He was in too much pain, too exhausted to say anything, for the first time in his life he didn't know what to say anyway. He couldn't rage, he couldn't run away, there was no point deflecting, he felt stifled. Instead he went with the only option available to him, he ignored them. Rather than look at the couple standing over him he looked to the leg. It looked unreal, uncanny, like it didn't belong to him. He tried moving it, at first his body didn't respond at all then slowly the limb complied, feeling like it was a lead weight, moving just an inch. He tried again, moving the offending limb an inch the other way. Watching in horrible fascination he realised it looked inhuman, almost wormlike, wriggling about on the bed, attached to nothing, going nowhere.

Before he even realised he was gagging he felt strong hands turn his shoulders pulling his upper body over the bed railing. He gagged and retched for long minutes, bringing up nothing but bile from his empty stomach, but unable to stop. He body screamed at the uncomfortable way he was twisted, his arms pinned under him unnaturally, bound to the bed. The pain at being moved kept him heaving long after he forgot the image of his pitiful, squirming leg.

The rest of the day saw House flit in and out of consciousness. His pain medication had been adjusted to accommodate the agony he was obviously experiencing. It was finally obvious that he hadn't escaped the agony he had endured after the infarction, causing his breathing and heart rate to elevate to dangerous levels and the overwhelming nausea he felt when awake. Instead he floated on a comfortable cloud when he awoke, the pain muffled, all emotions muffled, all thoughts muted, sluggish. Cuddy and Wilson tried to engage him in conversation, but he wasn't interested, couldn't follow what they were saying. Instead they tuned the television into his favourite shows, but even these couldn't capture his attention. He found himself staring, glassy eyed out of the window, watching the sunlight track around the building, showing the passing of the hours.

While House enjoyed his vacation from his brutal reality Cuddy and Wilson hated every minute of it. They felt overwhelmingly guilty that they could not sway the ward Doctor, Dixon, from his brash and uninformed view of his patient's ability to handle the situation. They hated seeing the fierce intelligence in House's eyes dulled by the drugs, the way he was barely aware of who he was and what was happening around him. They tried to get him to take an interest in something, anything, but all efforts were in vain. He may have finally woken up, but he certainly wasn't with them.

The next morning House awoke to find that his head was a little clearer, his thoughts came a little more easily, they must have titrated down the dose. For the first time he found himself alone in his room. The thin sunlight outside told him it must have been early morning, before family and friends were allowed to visit. He began to feel impatient to be freed from the sedation altogether. He still couldn't think clearly enough, nor could he float, blissfully unware of his situated, as he had the day before. He couldn't stomach the wretched, concerned looks he was dimly aware Cuddy and Wilson had shot him the day before whenever he awoke.

For a while he sat and merely stared at the empty space on the bed, foggy thoughts of all he had lost flittered through his mind. He probably wouldn't be able to ride his bike any longer, or drive without alterations being made to his car. Walking would be difficult, if not impossible with the pathetic stump that remained. Would he be able to continue living by himself, care for himself? Could he even keep his apartment, when those three short steps were impossible to traverse in a wheelchair? He tried to imagine wheeling himself through the hospital corridors, the leg of his trousers pinned back. Those pitying stares he would receive from staff and patients; the intimidating advantage of his tall build, allowing him to tower over most people, lost; people crouching down as they spoke to him like a child.

For a moment he was able to ponder the injustices Cuddy and Wilson had done him. His supposed loved ones had let him be mutilated, his leg removed while he was most vulnerable, so much like last time. Then they stood by and watched as he drooled all over himself for an entire day. They did nothing to help him; they didn't fight for him, or help to restore his dignity. Although they sounded bitter and outraged at his treatment they hadn't acted, and it was actions that mattered.

Then, out of the haze a plan suddenly formed in his mind. He had to work quickly, before he was distracted, before the drugs dragged him down to sleep, before the Nurses began their rounds and served breakfast.

He drew up his right hand as far as he was able and flexed his wrist, examining the placement of his cannula. It had been inserted into the back of his hand, a large plaster holding the needle in place. Slowly examining the bed he realised he could loop the line over the gap in the railing where the top of the bed was separated from the bottom. If he pulled firmly the needle and plaster would come free, then he could smooth the sticky dressing back in place. If he hid the hand under the blanket perhaps the Nurse who performed his checks wouldn't notice the fluids pooling on the bed. Once he was free from the sedation he could demand to see his Doctor, advocate for himself; and convince everyone that he wasn't a danger to himself.

When the task was done he felt tiredness once again take over, he hadn't be conscious for this long in a week. He let himself doze, fitfully sleeping through his Nurse's quick visit ten minutes later, through half-hearted attempts to get him to eat something, aware of the mounting pain whenever he shifted. He finally stirred when Cuddy and Wilson trudged dejectedly into the room, loath to face another day watching House lie drugged, incapable of coherent thought.

One look at his monitor told them that House was in pain. His eyes were closed but he was obviously awake, his stony expression attempting to hide any outward sign of the agony he was feeling. But he couldn't hide the elevated heart rate and BP, or the sweat that clung to his forehead. Cuddy was the one to approach him. "Greg?" He opened his eyes at her voice and she was shocked to see not the dull and glassy stare of the day before but eyes full of understanding, intelligence, and something else, betrayal. Questions began to tumble though her brain but she pushed them all to one side, she had to gage his pain level and get him the relief he obviously needed. "Greg." She repeated, "How are you feeling? Give me a number."

He sucked in a shallow breath and shook his head briefly. "Get the Doctor, the one that sedated me." When no one moved he stared pointedly at them, "Now!" He spat.

Wilson fled the room to alert the staff that there was a problem, instructing them to page Dixon, then rushed back in, a Nurse in tow. Both took in the worsening situation. House slumped back on his pillows, breathing shallowly; his skin had taken on an unhealthy green tinge. Wilson grabbed an emesis basin and placed it near his friend's right hand, but it didn't move from under the covers to grab it. Instead he closed his eyes, brows furrowed in concentration as he tried to calm himself against the waves of agony and nausea threatening to sweep him away. Cuddy's voice a constant drone in his ear, trying to determine what was wrong, how he felt, how bad the pain was.

The Nurse hurried over, chart in hand and tried to figure out why her patient had taken such a turn for the worst. She checked his temperature, which was slightly elevated, then each wound site systematically, ruling out a new source of infection. Finally she moved to the IV to ensure that the pump administering his pain medication was working correctly, all seemed to be fine. She was about to check the IV cannula in his hand to make sure it hadn't moved, that the tube hadn't kinked, when Dixon strode into the room.

He immediately snatched the chart from the young Nurse and demanded an update, she complied in a clipped professional tone, never looking at the Doctor standing too close to her. Once he had been apprised of the patient's condition, he turned away from her, dismissing her, but she remained in the room, watching over the situation. "Ok, Mr…" He glanced at the chart "House, you seem to be experiencing some pain, despite the morphine. What seems to be the problem?"

"Doctor!" House ground out, taking an immediate dislike to the man standing over him.

"Yes?" He obviously expected a question to follow the statement.

Interesting, thought House, he's either so arrogant that he can't fathom a world where his patient could have as much medical knowledge as he did, or he was an idiot… probably both. "Not Mr House, Dr House… The problem is that you sedated me and shackled me to the bed without taking the time to learn my state of mind. Just how long were you planning on keeping me drugged?" Despite the fact that he couldn't manage more than a whisper the intensity of his voice kept the people in the room rapt.

Here the man blustered, not used to having his orders questioned. "… Mr… Uh _Dr_ House, when you woke you were agitated, you seemed intent on ripping out the stitches in your… um… leg. I sedated you for your own good, until your leg has healed somewhat." As he finished up his statement his tone became belligerent. "I did what was best."

House had begun physically shaking now, the nausea the drugs kept at bay now becoming overwhelming once again. He sucked in a shaky breath, forcing the pain and bile back down. "Is that... still… the case?" He rasped out, trying not the gasp at the pain.

The Doctor eyed him carefully, taking in the alert gaze, the pain and obvious nausea and worked out what House had done. "I would certainly say so. You have removed your IV, stopping all medication, your pain meds. If that isn't self-destructive I don't know what is." Here Cuddy gasped and tried to reach for the hand under the thin blanket, but House pulled it back impatiently.

"Not self-destructive… Did it to prove … I wasn't trying to hurt myself. To advocate for myself… no one else will." He added, his eyes darting to Cuddy and Wilson, hurt, before settling on the Doctor's face again. "If I wanted… to hurt myself… wouldn't have told them… to page you." He couldn't stop himself from sucking in short breaths every few words now. His shattered ribs screaming at each breath, his body on fire. To centre himself he grabbed the bed rails with both hands, holding them in a death grip. The Doctor looked unconvinced. "Unless you want … to place … me under… a psych hold… you can't keep … me … sedated…" House's head began to spin, he desperately hoped that he had made some sort of impression; he didn't think he could hold out any more. "I'll just keep … removing my IVs … If you do."

Dixon eyed him a moment longer, weighing up the situation, "Very well Doctor House. I'll concede that you may not need to be sedated _any longer_, but I want you restrained until I am totally convinced." Here he whirled on the Nurse. "Restart his IV… leave out the Ativan. Get him back on the morphine before he goes into cardiac arrest!" With one last look at the bed, he strode from the room, some of his earlier swagger gone.

The moment he left House fell back against the raised bedhead, squeezing his eyes shut. He felt the Nurse pull the plaster from his right hand before she left the room to collect her supplies, heard Wilson and Cuddy take their positions at the head of the bed. "What they hell were you thinking?" Cuddy yelled, causing him to jump slightly at the sudden noise.

"…That I couldn't wait … for either of you … to grow a pair" House ground out, desperate to supress the groans that were building in his chest.

"You would rather torture yourself than relinquish control for a few days?" Wilson asked, incredulous.

"Drool … doesn't … suit … me." He spat out. Where was the Nurse? What was taking her so long? He couldn't supress the shuddering groan that spilled from his lips any longer. This seemed to stop all arguments in their tracks. Cuddy rushed forwards and prised his aching hand from the bed raid, holding it in her own, while Wilson rushed from the room to hurry the Nurse along.

Seconds later they were back. The Nurse moved to his left side and hurriedly tied a tourniquet around his arm searching for a vein. When she found one she picked up the needle and tried to push it into place, then tried again, and again. "I'm sorry Dr House, but you need to relax, I can't get the needle in." Wilson and Cuddy longed to snatch the needle from her, to insert it themselves, to take the pain away. Both could see for themselves that all of his muscles were rigid, tendons standing out as wave after wave of agony swept thought him. She tried a few more times, each time pleading for her patient to relax just a little.

House began moaning in earnest now, gasping at each painful breath. Cuddy took his head in her hands, pressing her forehead to his, desperately trying to keep him calm. Finally Wilson could take it no longer. He ran around the bed, and took up the small vial of morphine, ignoring the nurses protest, inserted a syringe and drew up the maximum safe dose before driving the needle home in a particularly bulging vein, holding it in place to prevent it from rolling.

Moments later House once again lost his battle with his stomach spilling bile down his gown front, narrowly missing his girlfriend.

No one moved until House began to relax, as muscle by muscle began to lose it's tension until he slumped forwards, exhausted. "Woah, he's out." Cuddy gasped at the sudden weight in her arms. Once again Cuddy and Wilson guided House's unconscious form back onto the bed.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

House slowly forced his mutinous eyelids open. Nothing but nuances of black and grey greeted him; it was difficult to make out more than a few indistinct, looming shapes. After a few moments his eyes adjusted, revealing the dank underground basement of the factory, huge shadowy machines standing sentinel over his broken body. He was back underground, covered in dust and grime, staring up at the gaping hole in the ceiling. Blood covered his leg, stiffening his filthy jeans, meandering lazily down into a spreading, crimson pool. No, he though, this isn't right. I got out. I'm lying in a hospital bed right now.

Suddenly, a rustle to his right caught his attention. He tried to turn towards the sound but bound hands trapped him on his back, directing his gaze up to his only obvious means of escape. It was then that Cuddy appeared from behind a pillar, smiling down at him. She was dressed in figure hugging pink scrubs, her hair pulled back into a no nonsense ponytail. She knelt down in the bloody pool, fingers idly swirling the oozing liquid before reaching up and stroking his sweat and dust matted hair. "It's ok." She whispered, reassuringly. "We are going to get you out, just lie back and relax." She slowly pushed his shoulders down onto his rock strewn, concrete bed, jagged pieces of concrete and stone cutting painfully into his bruised flesh. But she didn't stop when he was laid flat, she continued pushing, forcing him further into the biting ground. House looked up, alarmed.

The sound of a power tool alerted House to Wilson's presences as he too rounded the pillar. He handed the tool off to his boss, then took her place, restraining the man on the floor. House tried to speak, but a long flexible tube had been inserted into his throat, making him gag, silencing him. He tried to sit up, to get some idea of what was happening but the hands holding him down were too strong. "Shh, relax. It'll be over in no time." A sudden ripping sensation in his thigh told him everything he needed to know. He struggled fiercely against the hands holding him. Heard Wilson chuckle darkly over the sound of the saw going to work. Heard Cuddy's whispered words of comfort, belied by the manic grin on her face, now flecked with blood.

House came to sitting bolt upright in his hospital bed. Bright overhead strip lights making him squint painfully. The world suddenly tilted on its axis and he felt as though he would surely tumble from the bed, in that moment he was actually thankful for the restraints around his wrists, binding him to the bed. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision but that made things worse. He had to ride it out, slowly the world righted itself. Sweat clumped the hair on his forehead and ran icily down his spine. A Nurse stood on either side of him. Two sets of hands placed on his shoulders, trying and failing to prevent him from moving; from tearing out any more stitches. He gasped as the shocking images slowly began to recede. It was only then that he noticed the nurse from the previous day whispering to him, "Shh, it's ok. Just lie back and relax."

He realised that his hands were twisted awkwardly behind him, still attached to the bedrails. Looking around he took a moment to scan the room, to reassure himself that he was actually out of the basement. One look down though, told him that his leg was not whole, as he had hoped. That much of the dream was true. He finally allowed himself to be pushed gently down onto the bed, his ribs shrieking in protest at the movement, his head throbbing in time with his thundering heartbeat. When she was certain he was settled the Nurse from the previous day volunteered to stay with the patient, dismissing the other woman. When the door swooshed closed she looked at House, concerned. He was a second too long in pulling his shields into place, allowing her to see all the pain, sorrow and terror he felt in that moment, before it was shut away. He looked towards the window, embarrassed.

She was tactful enough to allow him some time to compose himself, determining his condition from the monitors before questioning him. Ascertaining pain levels, gaging the severity of his concussion, checking dressings, asking whether he wanted to talk. Finally, after coaxing out a few clipped answers she caught his eye. "I'm truly sorry for the way Dr Dixon has dealt with your case. I could see straight away that you were not a danger to yourself. And… I'm sorry about the IV… I'm usually so good with needles, everyone comes to me…" Realising she was making him uncomfortable she looked down, awkward, then changed the subject. "It's almost 7, how about you try to eat something? Your chart says you have had some juice and water but not much else."

The thought of food so soon after being jolted awake was not appealing, despite the medication he felt a distant and nagging nausea turning his stomach. Concussions sucked! His muscles felt sore and stiff, his various wounds throbbing uncomfortably through the morphine and that underlying agony he felt the day before, despite receding somewhat, was still present. "I'd rather have a bath." He blurted out, shivering slightly in his rapidly cooling sweat soaked gown and sheets.

Her face fell slightly at this request. "I'm sorry Dr House, I can go and check, but that may not be possible yet. You might have to settle for a bed bath."

Not really believing he would actually get a bath, he merely grunted in response, his eyes now trained on the window again, the only link to the outside world he had. She disappeared but returned a few minutes later with a trolley holding a steaming bowl of water, wash cloths and fresh sheets and a gown. "Sorry." She replied sheepishly when she saw him eye the bowl.

It didn't matter anyway. He now felt too tired to move around and didn't even have the energy to argue with the young Nurse. What difference did it make? They had bathed him, changed his catheter, tended to his various wounds, all while he was unconscious. He was just another patient to her.

He stared out of the window as she began to undo the gown preparing him for his sponge bath. It was then that he felt the biting restraints on his wrists being loosed, then removed altogether. He glanced at her in surprise, then looked back out of the window. However, he enjoyed being able to stretch out his aching shoulders, and the warm water as it began to clean his sweaty skin.

20 minutes later he was clean, dry and in a fresh gown. The sheets had been changed, causing him to stifle groans as he had to move to allow the sheets to be pulled free, then again as fresh ones were pulled up the bed.

Now that he was free she seemed reluctant to tie him down again. "How about we get you that breakfast?" She pushed the trolley bearing the soiled bedding and now cool water bowl from the room and returned with a breakfast tray holding a small bowl of oatmeal and a glass of orange juice. She put it on the table before wheeling it in front of him. "Sorry I couldn't get you something more exciting but you need to start slow." Despite the small portion House could only manage half a glass of juice and a few spoons of oatmeal before he was done, too exhausted to even eat.

Seeing that he was fading she spoke softly, as if afraid she would startle him. "You are scheduled for dialysis in 30 minutes that should help with your energy levels." He considered pointing out that he was a Doctor and a Nephrologist, but didn't have the energy to speak." In the meantime you should get some rest." With that she patted his arm, removed the tray and walked out. House was distantly aware that she had not retied the restraints before he drifted off to sleep naturally for the first time in over a week.

HHHHHHHHH

When he awoke late in the morning he heard the whir of the dialysis machine next to him as it removed his blood, cleaned it and returned it to his body. His eyes lingered on the machine for a moment, watching it work before movement caught his eye.

Cuddy sat up when she noticed that he had once again awoken. She trained a smile on him and walked over, perching herself on the edge of the bed. Wilson was nowhere in sight. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

He looked her over for a moment before answering; she looked tired, strained, nervous about how he would react to her. _He_ was unsure of how to react to her, his thoughts still felt muddled, a headache was building behind his eyes. Suddenly uncomfortable under her scrutiny he looked down at his hands; they were back in the restraints. "Fine…" He heard her sigh and realised this wasn't good enough and fought against his programming which told him to evade, to deflect all personal questions. "Better, I think. The pain is getting better." He forced himself to look up, to meet her eyes, they looked sad. He suddenly felt a need to connect with her, to take her hand, tell her that everything would be ok, but hesitated, he wasn't used to offering comfort, to being the caring, empathetic boyfriend. He tried to bring his hand up, to place it on her hand, shoulder, cup her face but was pulled back, tethered to the bed. Both of them looked at the restraints, Cuddy looked uncomfortable but he felt the first prickles of anger. His emotions seemed to be at war with each other, all fighting to come to the surface, he mused dimly.

"I'm sorry Greg." He started at the use of his first name, looking up at her. "When Dr Dixon placed you in restraints we were in shock. You took the news about your leg so badly that we didn't know how to react. When we realised what he was doing we tried to stop him. We told him you weren't trying to hurt yourself."

"Wasn't I? How could you be so sure? I have a history of self-destructive behaviour, remember?" His voice quiet, but intense. She looked uncertain of how to proceed so he pushed the point. "Maybe I _was_ trying to hurt myself. How do you know that I won't try it again?" He could feel his voice getting harsh now and tried to pull back, but days of hurt, and frustration were bubbling to the surface. "Are you sure you didn't agree with him? Just a little?" His heart rate and breathing were speeding up, adrenaline began to pump through his system, fuelling the fire that had smouldered for days. "Are you sure that you and Wilson didn't have one of your little chats and decide that it would be better for me if I couldn't move, better for you if I couldn't talk?"

"Stop!" Cuddy shouted after failed to interrupt his diatribe. "Just stop. I know you. I know when you are lashing out, when you are being self-destructive and when you are looking for proof. If I believed Dixon I wouldn't have drawn up the paper work to have you transferred back to PPTH. You are all set to leave tomorrow. No more sedation, no more restraints."

This caught him by surprise, but again new emotions began to course through him. "No!" He barked, shocking even himself. "I am not going." She looked at him, shocked and hurt. "Do you really think I want to go back there, where everyone is going to look at me and know what happened? To have them whisper that that ass Greg House finally got what he deserved? That I want to be treated by people I have yelled at, undermined, blackmailed?" He longed to get up, to pace the room as he yelled, to stand toe to toe with Cuddy as he had so many times but he was chained to his bed, unable to stand, too weak and crippled to walk. "I'm never going back there." He finished, feeling suddenly impotent, his headache now a throbbing roar.

Tears began to well in Cuddy's eyes. "Do you hate me?" Her voice cracked as she whispered these words. House hated seeing her like this, hated feeling like this, his emotions exposed, out of control. Slowly he shook his head, causing another wave of dizziness. She paused for a moment taking in his answer, his apparent dizziness, then forged on. "I… _we_ did everything we could to save your leg, we waited for three days, but you were getting worse, you were slipping away. Your heart stopped once and nearly did a second time. I thought I would lose you. I knew I could lose you either way, but I couldn't just let you die. Please don't punish yourself… and us for that decision." House took a moment to process the information. He didn't have a clue what happened to him after the ambulance ride; even that was fuzzy. He hadn't considered the burden that was placed on Cuddy while he was unconscious.

Warring emotions battled in his head. He wanted to tell Cuddy that she did what she thought was best, that she had saved his life, and that he loved her but something held him back. A lifetime of trusting people only to have them turn on him as his father had, as Vogler and Tritter had, or let him down, as his mother had, as Stacy had during the infarction, as Wilson and Cuddy often did when they tried to change him, to normalise him. Experience made it difficult for him to reach out, to be vulnerable; it just hurt too much when things went wrong. For years he kept people at a distance, even Wilson, never letting them see his true emotions, pushing people away before they rejected him, that way he could rationalise that they _hadn't_ rejected him, they didn't know him. The night of the crane collapse was the first time in such a long time that he allowed himself to be vulnerable with anyone, to allow them to see his true feelings, to see him as he really was. It terrified him but he realised that it was the only way he would be able to finally connect with Cuddy, to finally have a chance at happiness. And he had been happy, at least for a while. But something always came along to change that.

The look on Cuddy's face told him that he had been quiet too long, she began to pull away, convinced that he did not accept her apology, her explanation. She stood up. He suddenly felt the need to make her stay, that if she left they wouldn't make it. He would be alone again. He knew that he would never love again if she walked out of his room. He made to grab her hand again but again was pulled short. "Don't… Don't go." He looked her in the eye, feeling completely vulnerable in a way he could only let himself be with Cuddy. She sat back down on the bed, not smiling but relief had lightened her features. Hesitantly she reached down and took his hand in hers.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21 **

**Hi all, I'm sorry for the delay in posting but I have struggled with this chapter. I have rewritten it multiple times and I'm still not convinced by it, but it serves in it's function for moving the story on. I hope you don't judge it too harshly. Happy reading.**

House's wounds were healing. His concussion was finally starting to subside, allowing him to think more clearly, his headaches and blurred vision diminishing. The swelling in his right leg was starting to abate, he was now undergoing treatment to prepare his leg for a prosthesis in the coming months. He had been allowed to leave his bed for short amounts of time. To sit in a chair beside his open window, to be wheeled around in a wheelchair too small to contain his tall form, causing his left leg to jut up almost comically, emphasising the lack of a partner.

Cuddy and Wilson started to spend less time at House's bedside. They had finally returned to work after he, frustrated at the on-going pain, his lack of mobility and their constant presence caused him to grumble, to ignore them and to lash out at them until they reluctantly gave him his space. Visiting in the evenings, sometimes together, sometimes on their own.

During the day he was largely left to his own devices, whiling away long hours watching television, playing games on his new iPad, a present from Wilson, reading or just staring out of the window, thinking. His boredom broken by daily physical therapy sessions from his hospital bed designed to strengthen what was left of his leg muscle; that left him shaking with exhaustion and pain.

A knock on his door alerted House to Chase's presences. House had barely been able to leave his room. His kidney function had not yet improved to the extent that dialysis could be discontinued, and he still felt weak and tethered to the machine that was keeping him alive. Pain still accompanied every minor movement of his right leg. His ribs and surgery site still made it difficult to take deep breaths and move freely.

He was sitting upright in his bed watching a show he really wasn't interested in but he didn't have the energy to change the channel, when he heard the noise. When House looked up he was surprised to find his employee standing awkwardly in the doorway. This was the second time Chase had stopped by. The first time, a few days before, he merely chatted, Chase relaying information from the hospital, discussing Foreman's sometimes laughable attempts to show that he was in charge and told amusing stories from the clinic, a constant source of comedy. House barely spoke, still struggling to fight off the effects of his battered kidneys and concussion. He was sure that Chase would not repeat the uncomfortable encounter. However, here he was, holding a selection of magazines in one hand and a hypodermic shaped helium balloon in the other. House eyed the balloon with something approaching amusement. Seeing where his boss's eyes had landed, Chase donned a rueful smile and walked into the room, placing the goodies on the table by his bed. "Sorry, I couldn't resist. I thought you might get a kick out of it."

"You thought a reminder that I am constantly getting stuck with needles would be funny? Maybe there's hope for you yet." He gave the man in front of him a slight smile.

If this embarrassed Chase he hid it well, shrugging off the comment easily. "I learned from the best. Anything decent on?" He asked gesturing to the small television suspended in the corner of the room.

Both looked up at the box to see a rerun of an old antique show just beginning. House shook his head, irritated, "They don't even have cable." He said by way of an explanation. They sat around chatting for a few minutes until it became obvious that House was losing interest, the silences began to stretch, House looked more and more detached from the room until Chase could stand it no longer.

"Your patient was discharged today." House looked at him confused before he elaborated. "You know, the girl from the factory? The girl who was trapped under the beam…"

House looked down at his hands for a moment, processing the information. "Skull fracture and broken leg?" He asked clarifying. When Chase nodded he nodded his head in return.

"She was your last patient, so when you couldn't follow up we took over her care."

"Ok." His mind wandered back to the night in the factory over two weeks ago where he stumbled across a scared girl, crushed under a heavy beam and her dead boyfriend. He remembered the desperate look in her eyes, the agony that shot though his leg as he lifted the beam, her fear as he made to leave her to find help, her scream as he fell through the floor…

"Foreman had to drill a burr hole into her skull to drain a haematoma, she slipped in and out of consciousness for a couple of days. I had to insert a pin into her leg to stabilise it, but she is recovering remarkably well. They released her today." Chase began to ramble as he saw the dark look that came over his bosses face. "She asked about you, you know? It was the first thing she asked when she woke up." If he heard what Chase was saying House ignored it. His gaze falling on the window again, the sun was shining weakly through the open window, a slight breeze caused the branches on the tree outside to stir lazily. Chase fell silent again for a few minutes, considering the man in the bed.

"Do you wanna get out of here..?" He blurted suddenly. This got his attention. House looked at him like he had grown a second head, he looked pointedly down at the void on the bed then looked back at the young man next to him. "You _could_ try hopping the whole way, but I thought we could get a wheel chair." Again, House merely looked at Chase, unconvinced, so he continued. "There are some nice places to sit on the grounds. It's a pretty nice day, and you have been stuck in here for weeks…"

House considered the request for a moment, looking to the open window, watching the light breeze stirring the heavy curtains, but not actually reaching him, he found that he missed feeling the breeze, the sunshine on his skin. The room he was stuck in suddenly felt too small, too warm; claustrophobic. He paused for a moment, breathing shakily, before nodding his head. "OK, if you can talk Nurse Ratched out there into letting me leave this room I'll go." Chase hurried out of the room to clear it with the Nurses and organise for a wheelchair to be brought in, while House remained behind, considering whether he had made the right call. He hated to look weak in front of anyone, it was bad enough that Wilson and Cuddy saw him looking so helpless every day, that the Nurses had to help him move around the bed, that the Doctors made his decisions for him. Now Chase was going to have to help him up, see his leg, wheel him around like an invalid.

Chase was gone for almost 10 minutes, he finally began to think that maybe the request would be turned down, letting him off the hook, when he heard Chase enter the room pushing a wheelchair along with Nurse Hawthorn. The Nurse who had failed to insert the IV, who had bathed him when he woke up drug free. He was about to tell them that he had changed his mind, then he saw the hopeful smiles they both wore.

"You ready to do this?" Chase enquired, keeping his voice light.

House could only answer "Yeah, let's do it."

The wheelchair was brought nearer and positioned as close to the bed as possible. House sat upright slowly and brought his left leg over the side of the bed, trying and failing miserably to ignore the slight spinning caused by his blood pressure dropping, he felt himself begin to topple forward, all colour leeched from his vision. Hawthorn, recognising what was happening hurried forward to support his shoulders and waited for the spell to pass, when he felt better he nodded that he was ok. They both helped him slowly stand and lower himself into the waiting chair. The sensation was strange, the padded chair supported his stump, though the sutured and swollen wound hung over the edge, he looked down at the bandaged leg and how it came to an abrupt end, studying how it would look to everyone else, how it would attract attention, pity. Then a blanket was been placed over his lap, cutting his thoughts short. When they were sure he was comfortable, Chase released the breaks and wheeled him from his room.

House actually found that he enjoyed leaving his small, stifling room, enjoyed the stimulation from being wheeled through the unfamiliar hospital, taking in the unfamiliar, yet familiar corridors and people. Chase wheeled the chair, keeping up a constant flow of conversation the whole while, out into the weak spring sunshine. The mild warmth from the spring sun was relaxing and the feeling of the breeze on his skin, through his hair, helped to clear his head. Chase chose a sunny bench by a small ornamental pond and parked House and his chair. Both stared at the water feature for a long while, lost in their own thoughts, relaxed by the sound of the bubbling fountain.

For a moment it was easy to ignore the many smokers wearing thin hospital gowns and threadbare robes or hospital issue scrubs or white coats lingering by the walls or hunched painfully in wheelchairs or on the benches provided, chain smoking and staring despondently at the trickling water.

HHHHHHHHHH

Finally House was pronounced well enough to begin rehabilitation. He was wheeled down to the physical therapy suit by an orderly, Cuddy kept pace with the pair, occasionally trying to shoot her boyfriend encouraging smiles. He, however, remained quiet, eyes fixed on the tiles passing in front of him. He was dressed in sweatpants, with one leg pinned up, a plain T shirt, and one expensive running shoe. When Cuddy had appeared with the bag bearing clothes from his apartment he looked up eagerly, pleased to have something to wear other than a thin piece of cotton that barely closed at the back, but his enthusiasm quickly paled when he saw the one, lone shoe.

There were a number of therapy rooms; House was wheeled into one at the end of the corridor. As he was wheeled along he peered into open doors: all of the rooms were spacious, mats covered the floors to muffle the impact of a fall, making it less painful, gleaming equipment lined the edges of each room, each had a set of balance bars. The room House was wheeled into also had a small set of stairs going nowhere, House tried not to compare it to his mood at that moment.

House hauled himself to his feet once again, he swayed slightly, still unused to his new centre of gravity. He had already hopped up and down the balance bars multiple times, was taught how to climb up and down the stairs in a safe fashion and was now learning to use crutches. Sweat dripped from his body. His T-shirt clung to his thin frame, his hair plastered his forehead in sweaty clumps. His arms shook as they supported the weight of his body, he gritted his teeth and tottered up and down the path laid out for him. His eyes showed nothing but determination: he was determined to get back on his feet, determined to reclaim some semblance of his old life. When his time was up he refused to leave. His body hurt, his head ached, his ribs screamed at the unexpected exertion, his muscles shook, threatening to give way, but still he wanted to continue.

Back in his room later he regretted pushing himself so hard. The bed he had slept in for weeks now felt hard and unyielding, like he was sleeping on a bed of broken rocks. He constantly shifted, trying for some sort of relief. Cuddy watched quietly as he constantly squirmed, suppressing grunts of pain and frustration. She had suggested a bath, which helped for a while, had tried to massage the fatigue from his sore muscles, tried to distract him with bad TV and good music but nothing helped. Wilson joined them later, sneaking in a pizza but House's surly mood and discomfort caused him to sit in sullen silence, then to snap at them as they chatted quietly to each other.

When they eventually left, looking hurt House called for his Physical Therapist to be paged. He was sick of constantly being watched by Cuddy and Wilson, of the helpless looks on their faces as they stood by him, of constantly having to check his mood, of feeling angry at himself for lashing out at them, when they were just trying to support him. Something had to change.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

House sat on his bed, his good leg dangling loosely over the edge, packing his last few possessions into a gym bag in front of him. As he collected his electronics and multiple chargers he tried to ignore the click clack of Cuddy's designer heels as she paced his small room in an attitude of extreme agitation. Suddenly she whirled on him again. "Why? Please just tell me why? Why New York? Why decide to go to a rehab centre over two hours away when there are plenty of good centres in the Princeton area?"

House had only broken the news to her days before, and even then it was under duress. She had walked in on him passing the time before his next PT session, contemplating a stack of leaflets in front of him from his chair by the open window. He had already made his decision and filled out the paperwork days ago but couldn't help being drawn to them anyway; doubts niggling away at him. Should he change his mind and choose somewhere closer to home and have Cuddy and Wilson fussing over him, their guilt suffocating him at every turn or should he stand firm and take the space at the clinic in New York where he could have some space to work through his demons in peace?

House thought back to the moment days ago when Cuddy finally understood what he had planned. She had arrived early from her budget meeting which had ended early due to a particularly nasty case of stomach flu making an appearance partway into item four on the agenda. Seeing that he had been outed House didn't make an attempt to cover the leaflets.

"Hey. How are you?" Cuddy breezed into House's room, dropping clean clothes and chocolates onto the bed before rounding it to kiss him on the cheek. She didn't seem to notice that he had frozen and was eyeing her warily as she began to recount the gruesome events of that afternoons meeting. Her eyes brushed over the leaflets on his lap and she froze, still bent over slightly. "What are these?" She asked simply, House avoided her eye but sighed as she reached out to pick up the top leaflet. He didn't have to look at her to anticipate the range of emotions that played out across her face. "What are these?" She repeated her confused tone hardened.

He had tried to deflect with a frivolous comment. "Leaflets…" but had soon relented when he saw her face. Then the truth, or at least some of it was finally teased out of him.

When the Doctors first began talking about his release Cuddy had previously been under the impression that when he left he was going to attend his daily PT sessions as an out-patient. That he would stay at her home with her daughter until he was mobile, that she would cook for him to strengthen his body, clean up after him, share her home and her bed with him. But no matter how he longed to, he just couldn't go home with her yet. He couldn't play happy families and pretend that he was fine with his new dynamic in their relationship.

When they found that this wouldn't be the case Cuddy and Wilson then spent his remaining days there trying to convince him to stay at the hospital or to relocate in favour of a closer centre. He had wheeled himself in after rehab to find Cuddy was furiously tapping away at a laptop, perched awkwardly across her lap. Her diminutive stature meant that she had to brace the tips of her toes against the floor to prevent the machine from sliding off her tensed legs. Wilson was engrossed in House's selection of leaflets, taking note of the information in one before making notes then switching to a another to look up some relevant piece of information, both ready to make their arguments. They did not notice him hovering in the doorway or that he was watching them. He was content to sit and contemplate them for a moment, trying to reconcile their actions with the people in front of him.

His adamant refusal to listen to their arguments caused no end of frustration and anger. Eventually they gave in, hoping for the slightest possibility that he would change his mind on his own.

"It's the best in the area. They have made remarkable improvements into above the knee prosthetics in recent years." He repeated for the twentieth time, before returning to drop a stack of journals on the top of his bag and zipping it up.

"House you're leaving in 20 minutes. Aren't you even going to explain to me _why_ you are doing this?" Her question was met with silence. Cuddy knew House, she knew that there would be a misguided but logical explanation for why he was willing to go through rehab alone, she just had to make a connection, she had to get him talking to her again.

She looked over at him sitting alone on the bed, trying to avoid her gaze and decided to try a different tack. Slowly she walked over to the door and slid the lock closed before approaching him on the bed. He took it all in and looked at her questioningly. Before she sat down on the bed she dropped the bag into the waiting wheelchair and slid in close to him. "You know we haven't had a chance to say goodbye properly." She moved in to kiss him, and he relented, leaning back into her, enjoying the moment. They had barely kissed or touched since he had been hurt, the pain from his injuries preventing them at first, then feeling awkward by the constant presence of other Doctors and Nurses, then it felt wrong somehow, as if they had waited too long.

The moment swelled and Cuddy began searching, her hands now reaching under his light T-Shirt feeling his newly lean and scarred body, he responded with a hand to the small of her back, pulling her in closer, sighing as he responded to her touch. When she suddenly began fumbling with his belt he hesitated, an action compounded by the rattle of the door knob and they heard Wilson telling them House's ride was waiting from the hall. House pulled away, looking to the wall blankly, breathing heavily, leaving Cuddy feeling cold and disappointed.

"…You must really hate me…" She eventually choked out. "You realise we won't be able to visit you every day, or even every weekend? Is that your plan? To push us away? To push me away?"

"I don't hate you. I don't!" He repeated when she couldn't repress a sob. "But I do resent you…" He eventually admitted. "You and Wilson."

"Because of the leg." It was a statement, not a question. This was her deepest fear from the moment she saw the tourniquet over his bloodied and mangled leg, that her decision to save his life would drive him from her. "How many times do I have to tell you? We did what we did to save your life. We couldn't just let you die."

"I know. Do you think I want to feel this way? Because I don't. I don't want to resent you Cuddy… like I resented Stacy." He took a breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say, opening up never did come easy to him. "I hated her and you for what you both did to me after the infarction, you took everything from me, you were my Doctor, it was your job to make that call, but she, she…" Cuddy froze, she could only speculate on what had been the final nail in the coffin of House and Stacy's relationship, but now he was finally opening up, she didn't want him to stop talking, even if she didn't like what she heard. "But after, In the hospital she was around all of the time, trying to make up for what she had done, but I just ended up resenting her for trying too hard, for constantly reminding me of what she had taken away, for even being there. I can't go through that again." He paused for a while, needing to say more but finding it difficult to open up further.

"I… I… love you." His voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes focused intently on the spot on the wall. "I just need some time to process what has happened and I can't do that with you around. I can't keep pushing you away but I don't know what else to do…" Again he took a breath, what he had to say next was going to hurt Cuddy, but he had to say it, or he knew it would never work, he wouldn't have the chance to miss her, to forgive her, to get over everything he was feeling; he would never be able to be with her again. "I don't want you to visit me until I contact you, I need to do this alone."

Cuddy gasped when she heard this, then tried to take his hands in hers, willed him to look at her, but his eyes remained stubbornly fixed on the wall, his hands limp him his lap, hers grasping them. "Don't Greg, please. Please don't do this. You know that if you leave we won't survive this."

House shook his head. "No" he breathed, "I know we won't if I stay." He finally dragged his eyes up and settled them on Cuddy's. Unshed tears shimmered against her blue /grey irises making them glisten, others had snaked their way down her flushed cheeks, unchecked. Slowly he brought his hand up and thumbed them away before turning away for the last time and manoeuvring himself into his wheelchair. The conversation was over, it was time for House to go.

Cuddy pushed herself onto unsteady feet and walked to the door to unlock it, setting House free.

Hearing the bolt slide open Wilson quickly wrenched open the door and hurried in. If he noticed Cuddy's emotional state he didn't mention it, but turned to House, whose head hung low to the floor, his shoulders emphasised the steady breaths that were helping him rein in his emotions. "You ready to go? They're getting pretty impatient." At House's slight nod he picked up the bag from its new resting place on the floor and turned away to escort his friend to the waiting medical transport. When he felt a tug on the bag he turned back and was surprised when House succeeded in pulling the bag from his grip, dropped it into his lap and began rolling himself across the room.

"See you around Jimmy." Was all he said as he passed through the open doorway and out into the corridor. Stunned Wilson turned to Cuddy but she shook her head and watched his progress across the quiet hallway to the bank of lifts, a Nurse joined him and pressed the down button. Just as the doors opened Cuddy saw him surreptitiously swipe as his own cheeks with the back of his hand, then roll smoothly into the lift.

The door slid closed.


	23. Chapter 23

**Hello all, I'm sorry for the long delay in updating. I had another baby, who is a handful, and my family has been taking up all of my time. I hope to finish this story soon.**

Chapter 23

"Item 9 on the agenda concerns the new budget constraints and, of course, how they will affect your departments…" several voices piped up at once, as a number of Department Heads began to make their cases to secure their usual budgets, simultaneously. Raising her voice so she could be heard over the angry voices, the dark haired woman's commanding tone brought a semblance of order. "You will all have a chance to make your cases in due course, but for now I need you to listen so that I can outline the cuts that need to be made and how they will affect the day to day running of this hospital."

The meeting of Department Heads had been in session for almost 90 minutes and no end was in sight. After Cuddy said her piece the Dept Heads took turns arguing, sometimes strenuously, why their departments should be spared the worst of the cuts. Following Oncology, represented by James Wilson, was the Department of Diagnostic Medicine. After a brief pause Eric Foreman shuffled his papers and began to speak.

When it became clear that House wouldn't be returning to the hospital anytime soon, Cuddy had to consider who to make Interim Department Head. After much debate Foreman was deemed the most confident and efficient of House's remaining Fellows. As the Doctor began to outline his budgetary needs for the department Cuddy began to drift off, she had heard the data many times. As they usually did, her thoughts went to her boyfriend, currently living hundreds of miles away.

It had been three weeks since he entered that elevator. Three weeks that passed interminably slowly. Three weeks in which Cuddy heard barely a word from Greg House. He refused to allow visitation rights, Cuddy and Wilson had to make do with the odd text message or clipped phone call. The few short conversations they had were strained, the weight of all that had passed between them making their speech awkward and stilted. House inevitably made excuses to end their calls early. The one concession House made to the information embargo was to allow the Doctor overseeing his care to give them weekly updates.

As more time passed Cuddy found that she spent more of her free time worrying about her absent lover. She was well aware that he was prone to bouts of depression; that he was self-destructive and stubborn, and that he tended towards isolation when he was in pain. How could he possibly cope alone in rehab without the only people in the world who understood him? Despite his infuriating stubbornness, Cuddy missed him, couldn't stop thinking about him. How was his day? Did his leg hurt? How were his ribs healing? Did he miss her as much as she missed him?

When the meeting was finally over many of her disgruntled staff members hurried from the room giving her mutinous looks. Cuddy sighed as Foreman wandered over, bracing herself for a rant over his slight drop in budget.

Seeing that he was about to speaks she jumped in first. "I'm sorry, but it's out of my hands. Your… the Diagnostic Department faired a lot better than most. Until your patient quota picks back up there's nothing either of us can do…" Here she faltered; they both knew why the patient numbers had dipped in recent weeks.

Foreman looked uncomfortable too; it was obviously harder to fill House's shoes than he had anticipated. "That's not what I wanted to talk to you about." He paused for a moment before continuing. "How's House? We wanted to go and see him but we haven't heard anything from him. He's not answering his cell or emails… We're worried." He tagged onto the end.

Cuddy paused, debating how to continue, before deciding to go with the truth. "He's not really talking to me or Wilson… But I've been told he's healing, coming to terms with his leg."

"You've not seen him?" Foreman demanded incredulously.

"He won't let us! He blames for taking his leg." She jumped in quickly, defending herself.

On hearing this news he stepped forwards, standing toe to toe with his boss, his normally stoic expression was livid. Cuddy fought the urge to step back, refusing to show how much he suddenly intimidated her. "Do you think that would stop House if the situation was reversed? He'd be straight down there, badgering you, annoying you until you forgave him, and you know it." With this Foreman stormed off, looking disgusted.

Cuddy paced her office, running through Foreman's words. He was right. House never took no for an answer, in fact when faced with an obstacle he always fought harder. She grabbed her phone and dialled a number from memory. House's Rehab Doctor was evasive; he was willing to update her about her lover's physical condition, as she was also his Doctor of record. However, as House and Cuddy were not married, he refused to discuss his patent's state of mind. Cuddy reached breaking point. "I have known Greg since College, that's the longest relationship we've both had with anyone apart from our parents. I know him better than anyone. I know how he thinks, I know how he feels and, since I've been there for every crappy moment in the last 10 years, I know how he reacts when he's depressed. How does that make me different from a spouse?" When the Doctor on the other end stammered, she knew she had him.

HHHHHHHH

A hard elbow slammed into the soft flesh of Greg House's mouth, causing his head to snap back. The back of his hand went to his mouth, to hastily wipe away the smear of blood that welled up. Gritting his teeth against the sudden sharp pain in his healing ribs he began to furiously propel his wheelchair forwards, his arms pumping like pistons. The man in front of him quickly whipped his own chair around and tore across the large room, disappearing into the red and blue crowd. The time on the clock was running down. The man in red fumbled with the ball sitting in his lap. He aimed to shoot the ball, but found his way blocked. He turned to find a hole in the wall of people, his opening appeared. He aimed again and was about to shoot when House appeared out of nowhere, he didn't bother checking his speed, so he collided with the man in red. His long arm reached out and knocked the ball off course, it flew into the waiting arms of a man dressed in blue. House tore away, protecting his team mate, as his opponent fell to the floor with a crash. The winning basket was scored just as the clock ran out.

The blue team wheeled around the floor in triumph as the reds exited the court. House, however, wheeled determinedly to the man trying and failing to right his overturned chair. He was a Hispanic man with a shock of dark hair that looked as though it had once been a buzz cut, but was now left to grow out untidily. The man was shorter than House by a few inches but was more muscular, a tattoo on his left forearm showed that he was in the military. Both legs had been amputated below the knees and his right arm was heavily scarred and sported a brace. Both men glared at each other, stony faced for a moment, before they both grinned and exchanged some words. House then reached down, grabbed the other man's hand and bracing his chair, pulled him upright. Cuddy and Wilson watched the whole exchange, in surprise, from the viewing gallery overlooking the gymnasium.

"Wheelchair basketball may seem violent, but it gives many of our patients an outlet for their anger." House's Doctor, Carter began. He removed his glasses and proceeded to clean them on his brown checked shirt before replacing them and putting his hands in the pockets of his khakis.

Cuddy and Wilson had finally been allowed access to the rehab centre. The facility was state of the art, all equipment was state of the art, brand new and gleaming, each room looked like a high end hotel, House had done his homework. Once they were there Doctor Carter admitted that House had been aggressive, argumentative and showed signs of depression. He had bonded with his roommate and enjoyed the release of wheelchair basketball, but had been slacking on his rehab and refused to attend therapy sessions. Carter finally relented that House could benefit from seeing familiar faces, and signed their visitor passes, without House' knowledge.

After a tour of the facility they were briefed on House's condition, before they were escorted to the gym to watch the end of the game and wait for House. Before too long people began to walk, crutch or wheel themselves down the ramp and past the door to the meeting room. Carter stood in the doorway exchanging words with the men and women as they passed him. House and his friend were the last to leave, racing each other down the ramp, smiling as they jostled for the leading position.

"Dr House," Carter called out before they could whiz past him. House turned, a triumphant grin playing across his face as he raced ahead of the other man, who slowed to see who was talking. "Dr House…" Carter repeated. "Could you come in here a minute?" House slowed when he realised his racing partner had stopped, but a shadow passed over his face when he saw who was calling him.

He turned easily in his chair and lifted his foot support up, balancing on two wheels as he began to speak. "If you want to talk about rehab again you're gonna be waiting a while; I've just heard they're serving fish sticks for lunch. I couldn't be held responsible for my actions if I miss out on _that_ delicacy!" His voice was contemptuous as he eyeballed the other Doctor, still balancing on two wheels. When Cuddy stepped out from behind the young Doctor, House faltered, his chair righted itself with a thunk; he was completely blindsided. For a moment he was speechless, his mouth hung open slightly in shock before he looked away. Cuddy looked him over. Along with the fresh cut on the corner of his mouth he also sported a yellowing bruise on his cheek. Dark smudges circled his eyes, his beard was unkempt, but his hair had been cut short and he looked thinner and paler than when she last saw him. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a low, gravelly voice.

"House man, is everything ok?" The other man in the wheelchair hovered behind House, looking unsure as to what to do, House seemed oblivious to the question.

"We were worried." Cuddy replied in a soft voice.

"Wilson's here too!" He stated without looking up. Wilson, hearing his name also appeared in the doorway. "I told you not to come" House stated flatly.

He began to turn his chair to leave, his thoughts suddenly locked behind a blank, expressionless mask. Wilson and Carter both reacted as one. Wilson called for him to wait, while Carter tried to reason with him "Dr House, please just wait a moment, they have driven a long way to see you. You should listen to what they have to say." House ignored them both and wheeled determinedly away.

He was about to round a corner when Cuddy called out. "Greg…" Here he faltered, surprised at hearing his first name, his chair slowed to a stop and Cuddy approached him, rounding the chair. She bent down so that they were level. At first House avoided her eyes. He stared down the corridor, eyes on the corner that had nearly been his escape, his hands gripping his wheels so tightly his knuckles turned white. Cuddy waited until his eyes flicked up to her face involuntarily, once, twice, his throat working as he struggled to keep his composure, finally he gave up trying to avoid her and turned to face her, removing his hand from the wheels, sighing in resignation.

"Hey…" she began nervously, placing her hand on his. "I've missed you... How are you getting on..?" House remained quiet, not quite trusting himself to speak.

House was still learning to adjust to his new life, learning to pause before getting up so that he didn't try to put his missing right leg on the floor first and falling into an undignified heap. Learning to adjust his weight when he stood so he didn't overbalance, learning to go everywhere in a wheelchair or on crutches. Relying on his upper body to move from the bed to his chair, from wheelchair to seat and back or supporting him while he used crutches to hobble slowly around. The only time he felt comfortable lately was on the court. It felt great to be able to exercise again, to be able to move and use his natural agility and athleticism to score, to fight, to win. His leg had taken this away from him all those years ago, now it had finally been returned, but at such a high cost.

Now he felt like he was in shock, his new world and his old one had come together so unexpectedly that his tenuous hold on his emotions was threatening to break. All of the pain from the last two months was now threatening to overwhelm him. He moved his hands back to the wheels and made to move around her, but, seeing what he was about to do Cuddy grasped the hand rests, her fingers inches from his, halting him.

"Stop." She said, firmly. "Please Greg, talk to us." She added more softly. "We've waited for weeks with barely a word. We were worried. When we talked to Dr Carter we knew we had to see you."

Here House shot an accusing look to his Doctor. "What did you tell them?" he demanded, rounding his chair on the younger Doctor.

"He told us what we needed to know."

"I'm fine!" He stated simply to Cuddy, as he stared at that corner again, once again finding that he couldn't look her in the eye.

"That's not what we heard. You haven't been doing your rehab, or attending counselling. You're depressed." Wilson finally chimed in unapologetically.

House glared at the man, who stole himself against House's anticipated onslaught. "You had no right! Have you even heard of Doctor/ patient confidentiality?"

"Perhaps we should talk more privately… Dr Cuddy, Dr Wilson?" Carter gestured to the door behind him. House considered this for a moment, looking from Cuddy to Wilson. He had missed them, at times longed for Wilson to be there with him, smothering him with care and worry, fussing after him. Or for Cuddy's soft embrace, her warmth, one of her no nonsense speeches. But he just couldn't forget, couldn't forget how they had a hand in enacting one of his worst fears, that they had forever consigned him to a life of pity and reliance; how they couldn't give him time to process his new disability, instead opting to allow his Doctor to drug him into oblivion while they sat around watching his humiliation. He had hoped that time would dull these feelings, allow him to miss them. But as they stood in front of him today, totally unexpectedly, he felt nothing but anger and resentment bubbling up in him.

As Cuddy and Wilson moved towards the privacy of the meeting room House looked to his Doctor his face pulled into a mask of nonchalance "No thanks, things to do, people to see. Or is that the other way round?" With that he shot a dark look at Cuddy and Wilson and swung his chair around to begin his escape.


	24. Chapter 24

Before he could get more than a few feet he felt his chair tug backwards, and a burning pain in his hands as the rims of his wheels were pulled, none to gently, through them. "Enough!" Wilson thundered. House quickly pulled his hands away, glancing down to see dark friction burns on the pads of his hands. "Everything we did, we did for you. It was an impossible situation, it was either remove your leg or let you die. We came all this way to talk to you, and that is what we are going to do." He heard Wilson continue, before he was whirled around, to face the small group again and Wilson, his hands now resting on the arm rest, his face uncomfortably close to House's. "So stop being and ass and hear us out."

"Hey." Shouted the main in the chair behind him, wheeling himself forward to defend his new friend. It was an unwritten rule that you never took control of a wheelchair without the rider's permission. "Not cool, man!"

At the same time Carter took a step forward, "Dr Wilson, I think it would be best if..." But his comment was interrupted by House, who put up a hand to stop both men coming to his aid, his palm now glistening with blood.

"It's fine, Sanchez. Maybe it's finally time to get everything out in the open, once and for all." With this he looked at his sometimes best friend, letting all of his animosity and resentment show.

He ignored Carter as he tried to usher them once again into the privacy of the small meeting room and suddenly wheeled himself forwards with a jerk, ignoring the pain in his hands as he rammed into Wilson's shins with his chair. The younger Doctor took a couple of stumbling steps backwards then fell to the floor, hissing in pain. Finally feeling like he had the upper hand House continued.

"You want to know why I've been ignoring your calls? Why I haven't let you visit? It's because I've come to realise something. I don't need you." He glared at the man on the floor front of him, who was still clutching his lower legs, trying to will the pain to subside. "I don't need to be fussed over, to be judged for how I live my life. I don't need to be lectured or controlled. I don't need to be treated like some kind of project. I don't need to be changed." His voice began to rise, seemingly of its own volition. "I don't need a friend who would ruin my life, then stand by as I'm drugged and strapped into a bed. Who watched as everything was stripped from me and, instead of helping me, stands by and watches it happen." Now he was shouting, losing control. Wilson was glued to his new position on the floor, looking up at the man who clearly hated him. "As you have pointed out so many times in the past, we are not friends." He enunciated, coldly.

House then spun to face Cuddy, leaving smears of blood on the wheel rims. "And you..." He began. She took a step back when she saw the extent of his anger. But his features softened slightly when he saw her face, filled with anguish. Here he faltered, his walls crumbling, his fury ebbing away, as he saw the tears snaking down her face, her red rimmed eyes framed with the dark smudges. She, too, had lost weight, and looked more tired than he had ever seen her. "...How could you do that to me?" He breathed after a long silence, his eyes suddenly fixed on her tear streaked face.

From his place on the cold floor tiles Wilson looked on, amazed. He had never seen House look so open, so vulnerable, so heartbreakingly childlike. His own friendship with House may be over, but Cuddy still had a chance to salvage her relationship with the enigmatic Doctor.

"I'm sorry." Cuddy finally admitted, her voice full of sorrow. All of the hurt she had caused her lover, every bad decision she made, every wrong word uttered, every painful memory she gave him was finally acknowledged in those two inadequate words.

House finally relented and followed Cuddy into the small room, but refused to allow anybody else to enter. With a final furious glance at Wilson, Sanchez wheeled himself away. Leaving Wilson and Carter to shuffle their feet uncomfortably, before they went off to find coffee.

Alone together in the small room the two people suddenly became uncomfortable. House had retreated behind those high walls, his expression guarded. Cuddy looked around, lost, before her gaze settled on the man she loved. He was clearly in a terrible amount of pain but after his admission, that had been so out of character, he seemed fearful of the next step.

He was fiddling with his hands, it was then that she noticed the blood. "Here, let me help." She began, gesturing to his hands before pulling a packet of tissues out of her purse.

"It's fine." He mumbled. Once again avoiding eye contact.

Nevertheless, she approached him, she may not be the best at relationships, but she knew medicine. "It's not fine, I need to clean it up before it gets infected." Pausing slightly for some sort of acknowledgment and getting a slight shrug in return, she gently reached for his right hand, sitting down as she did so and pulled it towards her. House allowed the contact, but looked at her as though he was working out a puzzle. She began to gently clean the blood from his hand and wrist. Before moistening more tissue from the water cooler and cleaning the wound itself. If it hurt he didn't react, causing Cuddy to muse sadly about his high pain tolerance and how he came by it.

While she busied herself cleaning him up, House watched her. The tenderness with which she held him, the efficiency with which she worked, the slight frown as she gauged the severity of his wounds, which softened as she found them to be minor. As she leaned forwards angling his hand towards the light he detected a hint of coconut from her hair, the musk of her perfume, the blossom scent from her lotion and felt an ache awaken deep in his chest. He had missed her.

They stayed in the room for over an hour talking. Wilson, who had returned to stand on the outside of the closed door to wait for them, could occasionally hear raised voices from both of them, sobbing from Cuddy and the muffled sounds of tentative, faltering conversation.

When they finally emerged Cuddy's eyes looked more puffy and red rimmed, but her face was tear free. House, as ever, wore his stony expression. His face displaying none of the emotion that had previously overwhelmed him.

Without a word he began to wheel himself away. As he got to the corner he paused, without looking back he called out. "See you next week… Wilson's not invited." Then he was gone.

HHHHHHHH

The next week passed in a whirl of emotion for Cuddy. Every spare moment she had was spent pouring over their conversation. He had finally begun to open up. It had been difficult, he had almost shut down a number of times, retreating into himself, before forcing himself to continue. Everything she feared he would feel after she agreed to the surgery, he felt. His anger, and bitterness and pain all stemmed from that one awful decision she had been forced to make and he knew it. But she had also talked, finally describing her refusal to go ahead with the operation in the face of all of those Doctors, Nurses and even Wilson, how she had advocated for him and protected him fiercely. Then described being awoken on that fateful night to find him on the brink of death. How she had sobbed as she relented. Her reaction in the waiting room when she realised what he had finally lost, and what she too would lose. His shock at what she had been through was written clearly across his face, he had not anticipated the turmoil she was in as he slept.

The week passed too slowly and too quickly at once for Cuddy. When she dreaded the meeting, worrying about a sudden change of heart, or more recriminations time leapt forwards, racing ahead to the evening in the blink of an eye. When she longed for time to speed up so that she could see his blue eyes again, witness a rare fleeting smile, enjoy his acerbic wit time slowed to a crawl, so that the day stretched ahead of her, meetings interminably long.

However, when the weekend finally arrived she felt completely unprepared. Unsure of what to wear, what, if anything to bring. Rachel was going to her sister's for the day, but even here she couldn't seem to decide what to do with her daughter. What to dress her in, what to feed her, what toys to allow her to take. Sensing this strange turn in her mother's mood, Rachel became sullen and sulky, refusing to wear the outfit that was finally picked out, throwing her breakfast on the floor, running away from her mother when it was time to put on her shoes. When Rachel was finally ready she realised they were running very late. Feeling flustered and sweaty, she wished she had time to run back to her room to change, she scooped up her bags, took her daughter's hand and left the house.

HHHHHHH

She arrived to find House awkwardly standing in the doorway, propped up uncomfortably on a pair of underarm crutches. The loose trouser leg of his sweat pants was pinned up. Was holding himself stiffly, wincing at every movement. Cuddy realised that he must have had a physio session before their arrival, and again felt a stab of guilt over the on-going pain she caused him.

Once again he seemed unsure of himself. Now that his walls had been lowered he seemed to struggle to control the emotions that were clearly broadcasting themselves across his face. Instead of being pleased to see his girlfriend, he appeared apprehensive. Cuddy felt unsure of how to greet him, she settled for a quick hug, he stiffened slightly for a moment, but then she felt his right hand, still holding his crutch, move in to encircle her. However, he had not compensated for the shift in his weight and his balance was thrown off slightly, he wobbled precariously before he was able to plant his crutch firmly on the floor again, hissing as he jarred his aching muscles. Cuddy quickly reached up to his chest to help him regain his balance. House gently pushed her away, his face clouding over. He hated showing signs of weakness at the best of times, this was clearly not the way he wanted to start their visit. Without a word he turned and slowly made his way into the clinic. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, Cuddy followed him.

They walked together down the sunlit corridor, House slightly in front as he led the way. He didn't tell her where they were going, they had, in fact, not uttered a single word since the car pulled up. Cuddy contented herself with looking around her boyfriend's temporary home. The corridors were wide and sunny, skylights opening up the space. The floors were wooden, but pleasantly sprung, accommodating wheelchairs easily, but also cushioning the fall of those who might be unsteady on their feet. Wide doorways offered glimpses into common areas: a TV room, a recreation area with ping pong tables, foosball tables and electronic equipment, a large, well stocked gym. The smell of chorine lingered on one corridor, announcing a pool hidden nearby.

House finally led her to a canteen with a snug seating area. Unlike the canteen at PPTH, this looked almost cosy: the chairs were padded and comfortable, the tables small, allowing intimate groups to sit together, the floor was covered in a warm chocolate carpet, and the walls were painted a rich shade of fern green. Cuddy immediately felt at home.

Instead of offering drinks or food House sat down stiffly at a table in the corner and made a fuss of arranging his crutches, deliberately avoiding eye contact. "I'll get the drinks then shall I?" Cuddy said, her voice sounding overly bright, but House sullenly shrugged his shoulders. Suppressing a sigh, she left to get their refreshments.

When she returned with a tea for herself and a soda for House Cuddy began to fill House in on the latest Hospital gossip, while he twirled a coin, that he produced from nowhere, between his fingers, seemingly engrossed in his task. When a well-built man, with a cropped head of red hair and ruddy cheeks, sporting prosthetics on both arms, stopped to greet House. He seemed like a different person, chatting comfortably about a wheelchair basketball game they had played the day before. Before he left, the stranger looked at Cuddy expectantly, then, when an introduction was not forthcoming, he extended one of his hands, two gleaming hooks protruding from the end of the one proffered to Cuddy. "Hi, Frank Ross."

Cuddy hesitated for a moment, before delicately clasping a hook between her thumb and two fingers, shaking it slightly. "Lisa Cuddy... I'm... Greg's girlfriend..." She looked to House uncertainly, only to see a slight smirk play across his face. Of course he was enjoying this uncomfortable exchange. Frowning slightly she turned back to the hook she was still daintily shaking, then up to the man's friendly face. A broad grin stretched across his features.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. You guys looked as though you needed someone to relieve all this tension, and I know it's not going to be House." Cuddy let go of his hook hurriedly.

"That's you Ross, always thinking of others." House commented easily, amusement now clear in his voice.

Smiling easily the man turned away. "What can I say, I'm a giver." He began walking away, but threw over his shoulder, "It's what I do." He approached a small group of men and women chatting animatedly and made a comment that elicited guffaws of laughter. No one turned their way, so Cuddy assumed it was not at her expense.

When Cuddy turned back to House he looked more relaxed, a ghost of a smile still lingered around his eyes as he watched his friend interact with the other group. He looked more like his old self she mused, then felt a wave of regret when she realised she had not been the cause of his change in mood.

She was mulling this over when she realised that House was looking at her, as if studying her. "I missed you." He uttered, thoughtfully.


End file.
