Strong Enough
This one is set in S7. House tells Cuddy he wants to go back on Ketamine.
It was House’s idea to go for a walk.
Cuddy never suggested such things: What if they got caught up in the moment, walked too far? What if his leg began hurting him? Would he ever admit that he needed to take a break, to sit down, maybe even needed to call a cab?
But they had just finished dinner-a wonderful, flirty dinner, where they had shared a bottle of wine, held hands, laughed a lot-and it was a crisp, starry night and Rachel was sleeping over at Arlene’s and when House suggested the walk in the park, Cuddy couldn’t resist.
So they were strolling, and House had his arm around her, keeping her warm, and they nearly had the park to themselves and it was all so perfect and romantic that she was actually allowing herself ridiculous flights of fancy: Maybe we can get married in this park. Rachel can wear a crown of daisies and the bridesmaids can carry wildflowers and we can put the chuppah under that tree. . .Wait, would House even go for a chuppah?. . .
But her reverie was disrupted by a thunderous, stampeding sound behind her-it startled them both-and then she saw the source of the sound: A young man, in a dark hoodie, charging toward them. And before she could react, before she even knew what had happened, the man snatched her purse and took off.
“My purse!” she yelled, pointing.
On instinct, House dropped his cane and began to run.
Adrenalin took him several yards before the reality of the searing pain in his leg set in and he nearly crumpled to the ground, doubled over.
“House!” she said, running up to him. “Are you out of your mind?”
His face was red and his eyes were closed and he was grimacing in agony.
“Your purse,” he gasped.
“House. . .I don’t care about my purse. You can’t go running after people like that!”
“Why not?” he said, still trying to catch his breath. “It’s not like he had a gun. Guys with guns don’t snatch and run.”
“You know I’m not talking about that.”
He was in pain and upset-breathing through his nose like a caged bull. “We should call 911,” he said, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his phone.
But it was unnecessary because two police officers, in uniform, were approaching them, carrying Cuddy’s bag.
“Is this yours, ma’am?” one said.
“Yes, thank you!” Cuddy said, relieved.
“The kid dropped it and took off when he saw us. Did he get anything?”
Cuddy looked through her purse.
“He took my cash. About $120. Not my credit cards, thank God.”
At that point, one of the cops noticed that House was bent over.
“Did he hurt you, sir? Are you okay?”
“Do I look okay?” House snarled.
“He’s fine,” Cuddy said quickly. “Old …sports injury.”
The cop picked up House’s cane, which was lying on the grass.
“Is this yours?” he said.
“Brilliant deduction,” House said., grabbing it. “They should promote you to detective immediately.”
“House!” Cuddy scolded.
Then she turned back to the cops, “Sorry officers. We’re both pretty upset.”
“It’s okay, ma’am. Sorry the guy got away. Do you want to fill out a police report?”
“I’d rather just go home and forget the whole thing, if that’s an option.”
The cops looked at each other, nodded.
“Sure. We’ll patrol the park for a few hours just in case he comes back.”
“Thanks again officers. I thought my bag was a goner!”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. Good night.”
She and House walked in tense silence back to the car. His limp was noticeably more severe, but she didn’t say anything, for fear of agitating him further.
“Are you okay to drive?” she asked, cautiously.
“I’m fine,” he said, getting in without bothering to open the door for her like he usually did.
She opened the door herself, buckled her seat belt, looked at him. They drove for a bit.
“Hey,” she said finally.
“What?” he answered, testily.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She held up her hands defensively.
“Okay, if you say so…”
There was a pause.
“Sports injury?” he growled.
So that was it.
“I…I thought it would be easier than explaining your condition to a couple of cops. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. . .”
“You’re ashamed of me,” he said, his knuckles getting white where he gripped the steering wheel.
“That is so not true!”
“You’re ashamed to have an ineffectual boyfriend who can’t even run after some kid who snatches your purse.”
“House, no. That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Yes!”
They had pulled up in front of her house, but neither of them moved.
“House, look at me.”
He turned to her, a somewhat defiant look on his face.
“I know you’re upset. Because even the smartest men I know have this ridiculous, useless machismo. But I love you. And I’m proud of you. And I never want to hear you say otherwise-ever again.”
“But I can’t protect you,” he mumbled.
“I don’t need protection,” Cuddy said. “I’m not some helpless damsel in distress.”
“I’m not saying you are…” he said. “It’s just that any other guy…”
“I don’t want any other guy,” she said, taking his hands. “I want you.”
He swallowed a bit, managed a weak smile.
“Do you mind if I…can I just sit here for a few minutes alone?”
She looked at him sadly, sighed.
“Okay,” she said. “But not too long.”
She gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek, went inside, and got ready for bed.
About half an hour later, he joined her.
“Sorry about that,” he said, taking off his pants and shirt and climbing into bed beside her. “Caveman moment.”
“It’s okay,” she said, cuddling him. “If I’m allowed to think I look fat once a month, you’re allowed to have your moments, too.”
He shook his head.
“I can never understand that. Your body is perfection.”
“So is yours,” she said pointedly, turning to kiss him.
“I see what you did there,” he said, smiling.
Idly, he began to caress her.
“No man has ever turned me on like you, Gregory House,” she said, climbing on top of him. “Got that? And it’s not even close.”
####
They had great, especially acrobatic sex that night and she thought that would be the end of it until a few days later, over lunch in the cafeteria, when he looked down at the table and said cautiously, “I’m thinking of trying Ketamine again.”
She stopped chewing her salad and stared at him.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Is this about the other night?”
“Sort of,” he admitted.
“House, I thought we resolved that.”
“We did,” he said. “But why not try the Ketamine again? I mean, it worked the last time, for a while at least.”
“We both know that it gets less effective every time you use it. Last time it lasted 10 weeks, this time it might last eight. Or not at all.”
“Even being pain free for one day is better than not being pain free at all. Besides, I have a good feeling about this.”
“A good feeling? You’re a scientist. You don’t go off of ‘good feelings’.”
“This time I do. Last time I took Ketamine I was an addict, miserable. Now I’m happy, drug free, regularly getting laid.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe it’ll work even better.”
“But. . .it’s a dangerous procedure, not without its risks.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“And when it wears off?”
“Then it wears off.”
“But what if you. . .”
He squinted at her.
“What if I what?”
“I mean, what if you. . .”
“Go back on Vicodin once the pain returns?”
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
“That won’t happen.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Cuddy, trust me on this. Please.”
She inhaled.
“Alright. If this is really what you want. We’ll admit you next week-have Dr. Singh do the. . .”
“No,” he said quickly.
“No? I just told you that you could do it.”
“I know. I already called Stan Sanders over at Richmond General. They’re going to do the infusions.”
“What? Richmond is a six hour drive…why?”
“Because if it doesn’t work, I don’t want people hovering, worrying, feeling sorry for me. And that includes you.”
Cuddy folded her arms.
“I don’t like this.”
“It’s not really your call,” he said. “Well, except for the part where I need to take a week off from work.”
“Then I’ll go with you,” she said.
He gave a tiny smile.
“What part of ‘I don’t want you hovering’ didn’t you understand?”
“You’ll be in a coma. You won’t even know I’m hovering.”
“All the more reason for you to just stay here. At the hospital. With your daughter. Where you’re needed.”
“But I. . .” she pouted a bit, involuntarily. “I’m going to miss you.”
House laughed. The look on his face was one of adoration tinged with pride: She’s going to miss me.
He took her hands.
“I’ll be back in a week,” he said. “Hopefully with two functioning legs.”
#####
He left for Richmond a few days later and then, a week after that, he knocked on her door.
She was so happy to see him, standing there, looking no worse for the wear, that she leapt into his arms.
They kissed, several times and unexpectedly, she found herself crying, getting his neck and collar wet with her tears.
“I guess you did miss me,” he said, ironically.
“I was worried about you, House. I feel like I can breathe again.”
“Worry no more, m’lady. I’m home.” And he bowed gallantly.
“And your leg?” she said.
“I’ll still be needing this cane,” he said sadly. Then he broke into a huge grin. “For BATON TWIRLING practice!” He spun the cane a few times, then dramatically threw it across the room, toward an open closet. It knocked over a lamp before falling well short of its intended target.
“Oops,” he said. “That looked much cooler in my head.”
“Really?” she said, so excited and nervous, she didn’t even care that the lamp was broken.
“I mean, there’s still some pain,” he said. “A 3 at worst. Two weeks ago it was an 8. Back when I was jonesing, it was a solid 10.”
“House, I’m so happy for you,” she said, kissing him again. “I just don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves here. Let’s just enjoy this for what it is. One good day at a time.”
He picked her up in such a swift, strong motion she actually gasped.
“Don’t harsh my mellow, Cuddles,” he said, carrying her to the bedroom.
#####
Every day, House’s leg got stronger.
He was going to physical therapy at the hospital, regularly running on the treadmill, doing leg lifts with weights at home, and she could see how happy he was, how carefree. But she worried.
Despite insisting that he knew the treatment was likely short-lived, he wasn’t acting like a man on borrowed time. He was acting like his painlessness was permanent.
He would roughhouse with Rachel on the floor, letting her climb all over him, spinning her around, throwing her in the air.
“Be careful!” Cuddy would say, watching them.
“Again!” Rachel would say, red-faced, giddy, and out of breath.
“The kid says, ‘again,’” House said, shrugging like it was out of his hands and hoisting her in the air. “Who am I to deny her?”
One day, he grabbed Cuddy from behind when she was doing dishes, turned her around and started kissing her up against the kitchen counter.
“I had no idea the sight of me doing dishes was such a turn on,” she laughed.
“Shhhh,” he said, kissing her throat and between her breasts, getting her excited.
“Maybe we should take this to the bedroom,” she breathed.
“No,” he said. “Here.” He reached under her dress, pulled down her panties, felt between her legs.
“My God,” he said, feeling how wet she already was.
“House,” she groaned. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He picked her up. On instinct, she wrapped her legs around him and he was fucking her, using his thigh muscles to keep her aloft against the counter, thrusting deeply and rhythmically inside her. In their year together, they’d had all sorts of sex, in all sorts of positions. But never standing, never like this. It felt exciting, forbidden. She came quickly and loudly, and he was right behind her.
Then they both slid to the kitchen floor-sweaty, out of breath, laughing a bit.
“Go Ketamine,” Cuddy said, with an ironic pump her fist.
Like all men, House always looked exceedingly proud of himself after giving a woman a great orgasm. Today, he looked prouder than usual.
“You liked that huh?” he said, cockily.
“It was okay,” she chuckled, putting her head on his shoulder.
####
“Wake up, lazy pants!” House said, swatting her lightly with a pillow. She poked open an eye.
He was standing there, jogging in place, dressed in baggy shorts and running shoes.
“What time is it?” she said, grabbing the clock off the nightstand. Then she groaned. “7 am? I didn’t think you knew there was a 7 am.”
“The sun is shining-well, will be soon. The birds are chirping. And the running path won’t exercise itself.”
Cuddy pulled the covers over her head.
“Marina doesn’t get here until 8.”
“Incorrect. I called her and told her to come early. She’s fixing Rachel’s breakfast as we speak.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. Get dressed and get ready to get your ass kicked by your incredibly fast boyfriend.”
So she got dressed and they ran together. She kept watching him for any signs of pain or weakness, but there were none. He sprinted ahead of her, eagerly, running in place while he waited for her to catch up. His gallop was swift and graceful and she had brief flashes to the boy she knew at Michigan, the brilliant mind who was also a brilliant athlete.
“Let’s see someone try to swipe your purse now,” he said, with an out of breath grin.
####
“House, what’s this?” Cuddy said a few days later, brandishing the offending object angrily.
“Ooh, I know this one!” House said. “It’s a cane.”
“It’s your cane.”
“Wow. You’re as good as detective boy.”
“Why did I find it in the trash?”
“Because I threw it away?”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t need it.”
“House. It’s been five weeks. The Ketamine only lasted 10 weeks last time. And we both acknowledged the fact that it’s rarely as effective the second time around.”
“I know, but I feel better this time.”
She folded her arms.
“It’s not like you to be so…”
“Optimistic?”
“I was going to say, unrealistic.”
“Cuddy, can’t you just be happy for me and stop reminding me of my imminent decrepitude?” he said, putting his arms around her.
She sighed.
“Okay,” she said. “But I’m putting the cane in the closet. All the way in the back of the closet. You won’t even know it’s there.”
House gave a half shrug.
“If you insist,” he said. “It might come in handy as a hockey stick one day.”
She shook her head, concerned, and put the cane in the back of the closet.
To be continued . . .
It was House’s idea to go for a walk.
Cuddy never suggested such things: What if they got caught up in the moment, walked too far? What if his leg began hurting him? Would he ever admit that he needed to take a break, to sit down, maybe even needed to call a cab?
But they had just finished dinner-a wonderful, flirty dinner, where they had shared a bottle of wine, held hands, laughed a lot-and it was a crisp, starry night and Rachel was sleeping over at Arlene’s and when House suggested the walk in the park, Cuddy couldn’t resist.
So they were strolling, and House had his arm around her, keeping her warm, and they nearly had the park to themselves and it was all so perfect and romantic that she was actually allowing herself ridiculous flights of fancy: Maybe we can get married in this park. Rachel can wear a crown of daisies and the bridesmaids can carry wildflowers and we can put the chuppah under that tree. . .Wait, would House even go for a chuppah?. . .
But her reverie was disrupted by a thunderous, stampeding sound behind her-it startled them both-and then she saw the source of the sound: A young man, in a dark hoodie, charging toward them. And before she could react, before she even knew what had happened, the man snatched her purse and took off.
“My purse!” she yelled, pointing.
On instinct, House dropped his cane and began to run.
Adrenalin took him several yards before the reality of the searing pain in his leg set in and he nearly crumpled to the ground, doubled over.
“House!” she said, running up to him. “Are you out of your mind?”
His face was red and his eyes were closed and he was grimacing in agony.
“Your purse,” he gasped.
“House. . .I don’t care about my purse. You can’t go running after people like that!”
“Why not?” he said, still trying to catch his breath. “It’s not like he had a gun. Guys with guns don’t snatch and run.”
“You know I’m not talking about that.”
He was in pain and upset-breathing through his nose like a caged bull. “We should call 911,” he said, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his phone.
But it was unnecessary because two police officers, in uniform, were approaching them, carrying Cuddy’s bag.
“Is this yours, ma’am?” one said.
“Yes, thank you!” Cuddy said, relieved.
“The kid dropped it and took off when he saw us. Did he get anything?”
Cuddy looked through her purse.
“He took my cash. About $120. Not my credit cards, thank God.”
At that point, one of the cops noticed that House was bent over.
“Did he hurt you, sir? Are you okay?”
“Do I look okay?” House snarled.
“He’s fine,” Cuddy said quickly. “Old …sports injury.”
The cop picked up House’s cane, which was lying on the grass.
“Is this yours?” he said.
“Brilliant deduction,” House said., grabbing it. “They should promote you to detective immediately.”
“House!” Cuddy scolded.
Then she turned back to the cops, “Sorry officers. We’re both pretty upset.”
“It’s okay, ma’am. Sorry the guy got away. Do you want to fill out a police report?”
“I’d rather just go home and forget the whole thing, if that’s an option.”
The cops looked at each other, nodded.
“Sure. We’ll patrol the park for a few hours just in case he comes back.”
“Thanks again officers. I thought my bag was a goner!”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. Good night.”
She and House walked in tense silence back to the car. His limp was noticeably more severe, but she didn’t say anything, for fear of agitating him further.
“Are you okay to drive?” she asked, cautiously.
“I’m fine,” he said, getting in without bothering to open the door for her like he usually did.
She opened the door herself, buckled her seat belt, looked at him. They drove for a bit.
“Hey,” she said finally.
“What?” he answered, testily.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She held up her hands defensively.
“Okay, if you say so…”
There was a pause.
“Sports injury?” he growled.
So that was it.
“I…I thought it would be easier than explaining your condition to a couple of cops. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. . .”
“You’re ashamed of me,” he said, his knuckles getting white where he gripped the steering wheel.
“That is so not true!”
“You’re ashamed to have an ineffectual boyfriend who can’t even run after some kid who snatches your purse.”
“House, no. That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Yes!”
They had pulled up in front of her house, but neither of them moved.
“House, look at me.”
He turned to her, a somewhat defiant look on his face.
“I know you’re upset. Because even the smartest men I know have this ridiculous, useless machismo. But I love you. And I’m proud of you. And I never want to hear you say otherwise-ever again.”
“But I can’t protect you,” he mumbled.
“I don’t need protection,” Cuddy said. “I’m not some helpless damsel in distress.”
“I’m not saying you are…” he said. “It’s just that any other guy…”
“I don’t want any other guy,” she said, taking his hands. “I want you.”
He swallowed a bit, managed a weak smile.
“Do you mind if I…can I just sit here for a few minutes alone?”
She looked at him sadly, sighed.
“Okay,” she said. “But not too long.”
She gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek, went inside, and got ready for bed.
About half an hour later, he joined her.
“Sorry about that,” he said, taking off his pants and shirt and climbing into bed beside her. “Caveman moment.”
“It’s okay,” she said, cuddling him. “If I’m allowed to think I look fat once a month, you’re allowed to have your moments, too.”
He shook his head.
“I can never understand that. Your body is perfection.”
“So is yours,” she said pointedly, turning to kiss him.
“I see what you did there,” he said, smiling.
Idly, he began to caress her.
“No man has ever turned me on like you, Gregory House,” she said, climbing on top of him. “Got that? And it’s not even close.”
####
They had great, especially acrobatic sex that night and she thought that would be the end of it until a few days later, over lunch in the cafeteria, when he looked down at the table and said cautiously, “I’m thinking of trying Ketamine again.”
She stopped chewing her salad and stared at him.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Is this about the other night?”
“Sort of,” he admitted.
“House, I thought we resolved that.”
“We did,” he said. “But why not try the Ketamine again? I mean, it worked the last time, for a while at least.”
“We both know that it gets less effective every time you use it. Last time it lasted 10 weeks, this time it might last eight. Or not at all.”
“Even being pain free for one day is better than not being pain free at all. Besides, I have a good feeling about this.”
“A good feeling? You’re a scientist. You don’t go off of ‘good feelings’.”
“This time I do. Last time I took Ketamine I was an addict, miserable. Now I’m happy, drug free, regularly getting laid.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe it’ll work even better.”
“But. . .it’s a dangerous procedure, not without its risks.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“And when it wears off?”
“Then it wears off.”
“But what if you. . .”
He squinted at her.
“What if I what?”
“I mean, what if you. . .”
“Go back on Vicodin once the pain returns?”
She looked at him.
“Yes.”
“That won’t happen.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. Cuddy, trust me on this. Please.”
She inhaled.
“Alright. If this is really what you want. We’ll admit you next week-have Dr. Singh do the. . .”
“No,” he said quickly.
“No? I just told you that you could do it.”
“I know. I already called Stan Sanders over at Richmond General. They’re going to do the infusions.”
“What? Richmond is a six hour drive…why?”
“Because if it doesn’t work, I don’t want people hovering, worrying, feeling sorry for me. And that includes you.”
Cuddy folded her arms.
“I don’t like this.”
“It’s not really your call,” he said. “Well, except for the part where I need to take a week off from work.”
“Then I’ll go with you,” she said.
He gave a tiny smile.
“What part of ‘I don’t want you hovering’ didn’t you understand?”
“You’ll be in a coma. You won’t even know I’m hovering.”
“All the more reason for you to just stay here. At the hospital. With your daughter. Where you’re needed.”
“But I. . .” she pouted a bit, involuntarily. “I’m going to miss you.”
House laughed. The look on his face was one of adoration tinged with pride: She’s going to miss me.
He took her hands.
“I’ll be back in a week,” he said. “Hopefully with two functioning legs.”
#####
He left for Richmond a few days later and then, a week after that, he knocked on her door.
She was so happy to see him, standing there, looking no worse for the wear, that she leapt into his arms.
They kissed, several times and unexpectedly, she found herself crying, getting his neck and collar wet with her tears.
“I guess you did miss me,” he said, ironically.
“I was worried about you, House. I feel like I can breathe again.”
“Worry no more, m’lady. I’m home.” And he bowed gallantly.
“And your leg?” she said.
“I’ll still be needing this cane,” he said sadly. Then he broke into a huge grin. “For BATON TWIRLING practice!” He spun the cane a few times, then dramatically threw it across the room, toward an open closet. It knocked over a lamp before falling well short of its intended target.
“Oops,” he said. “That looked much cooler in my head.”
“Really?” she said, so excited and nervous, she didn’t even care that the lamp was broken.
“I mean, there’s still some pain,” he said. “A 3 at worst. Two weeks ago it was an 8. Back when I was jonesing, it was a solid 10.”
“House, I’m so happy for you,” she said, kissing him again. “I just don’t want us to get ahead of ourselves here. Let’s just enjoy this for what it is. One good day at a time.”
He picked her up in such a swift, strong motion she actually gasped.
“Don’t harsh my mellow, Cuddles,” he said, carrying her to the bedroom.
#####
Every day, House’s leg got stronger.
He was going to physical therapy at the hospital, regularly running on the treadmill, doing leg lifts with weights at home, and she could see how happy he was, how carefree. But she worried.
Despite insisting that he knew the treatment was likely short-lived, he wasn’t acting like a man on borrowed time. He was acting like his painlessness was permanent.
He would roughhouse with Rachel on the floor, letting her climb all over him, spinning her around, throwing her in the air.
“Be careful!” Cuddy would say, watching them.
“Again!” Rachel would say, red-faced, giddy, and out of breath.
“The kid says, ‘again,’” House said, shrugging like it was out of his hands and hoisting her in the air. “Who am I to deny her?”
One day, he grabbed Cuddy from behind when she was doing dishes, turned her around and started kissing her up against the kitchen counter.
“I had no idea the sight of me doing dishes was such a turn on,” she laughed.
“Shhhh,” he said, kissing her throat and between her breasts, getting her excited.
“Maybe we should take this to the bedroom,” she breathed.
“No,” he said. “Here.” He reached under her dress, pulled down her panties, felt between her legs.
“My God,” he said, feeling how wet she already was.
“House,” she groaned. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He picked her up. On instinct, she wrapped her legs around him and he was fucking her, using his thigh muscles to keep her aloft against the counter, thrusting deeply and rhythmically inside her. In their year together, they’d had all sorts of sex, in all sorts of positions. But never standing, never like this. It felt exciting, forbidden. She came quickly and loudly, and he was right behind her.
Then they both slid to the kitchen floor-sweaty, out of breath, laughing a bit.
“Go Ketamine,” Cuddy said, with an ironic pump her fist.
Like all men, House always looked exceedingly proud of himself after giving a woman a great orgasm. Today, he looked prouder than usual.
“You liked that huh?” he said, cockily.
“It was okay,” she chuckled, putting her head on his shoulder.
####
“Wake up, lazy pants!” House said, swatting her lightly with a pillow. She poked open an eye.
He was standing there, jogging in place, dressed in baggy shorts and running shoes.
“What time is it?” she said, grabbing the clock off the nightstand. Then she groaned. “7 am? I didn’t think you knew there was a 7 am.”
“The sun is shining-well, will be soon. The birds are chirping. And the running path won’t exercise itself.”
Cuddy pulled the covers over her head.
“Marina doesn’t get here until 8.”
“Incorrect. I called her and told her to come early. She’s fixing Rachel’s breakfast as we speak.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. Get dressed and get ready to get your ass kicked by your incredibly fast boyfriend.”
So she got dressed and they ran together. She kept watching him for any signs of pain or weakness, but there were none. He sprinted ahead of her, eagerly, running in place while he waited for her to catch up. His gallop was swift and graceful and she had brief flashes to the boy she knew at Michigan, the brilliant mind who was also a brilliant athlete.
“Let’s see someone try to swipe your purse now,” he said, with an out of breath grin.
####
“House, what’s this?” Cuddy said a few days later, brandishing the offending object angrily.
“Ooh, I know this one!” House said. “It’s a cane.”
“It’s your cane.”
“Wow. You’re as good as detective boy.”
“Why did I find it in the trash?”
“Because I threw it away?”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t need it.”
“House. It’s been five weeks. The Ketamine only lasted 10 weeks last time. And we both acknowledged the fact that it’s rarely as effective the second time around.”
“I know, but I feel better this time.”
She folded her arms.
“It’s not like you to be so…”
“Optimistic?”
“I was going to say, unrealistic.”
“Cuddy, can’t you just be happy for me and stop reminding me of my imminent decrepitude?” he said, putting his arms around her.
She sighed.
“Okay,” she said. “But I’m putting the cane in the closet. All the way in the back of the closet. You won’t even know it’s there.”
House gave a half shrug.
“If you insist,” he said. “It might come in handy as a hockey stick one day.”
She shook her head, concerned, and put the cane in the back of the closet.
To be continued . . .