Strong Enough, Part 2
Forgot to mention last time that this fic came from a prompt from my Sister From Another Mister, aka Z the Wonder Pole. Her prompt was: What if House went back on Ketamine during his relationship with Cuddy? This chapter borrows a tiny bit from an episode you’re all familiar with. But it would be spoilerish to say which one. No copyright infringement intended. As always, I do not profit from my fan fics, except for in friendship, love, and the occasional hater. xo, atd
She began to notice his deterioration in tiny ways.
One day at the hospital, they were waiting for the elevator to go up to the third floor when he said, brightly, “Race you!” and sprinted toward the stairwell.
She expected him to be waiting for her when the elevator opened, looking at his watch, affecting an air of impatient boredom, but instead, he arrived a minute later, a slightly concerned look on his face.
“Back-up on the second floor,” he said. “Those nurses move like turtles.”
That was a lie and they both knew it. The stairwell was almost always empty.
The next morning, he didn’t wake her up early to go running.
When she looked at her alarm clock, it was 7:30.
“Hey,” she whispered. “We running this morning?”
“Rain in the forecast,” he said, curling his pillow over his ear and turning away from her.
Cuddy looked at the window-bright sun was peaking through the curtains.
The next day, she saw him limping down the hallway at work.
“You okay?” she said.
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I must’ve pulled a muscle or something. It’s possible I’ve been pushing myself a little too hard.”
“That wouldn’t be like you at all,” she cracked, and they exchanged an uneasy smile.
Two days later, however, his limp was so pronounced he was almost painful to look at. Any credible doctor would suggest a cane, or even a wheelchair.
She followed him to his office.
“House,” she said. “The Ketamine has worn off.”
The look on his face was one of both fear and confusion.
“But that’s impossible,” he said.
“Why is it impossible?”
His eyes widened.
“I mean, um, it’s only been seven weeks!”
“House, we always knew this was a possibility.”
He put his head in his hands.
“It doesn’t make sense,” he said, almost to himself.
“What?”
He looked up.
“Nothing. I…I guess you’re right.
“I’m so sorry.”
He swallowed hard.
“Yeah, me too.”
###
That night, he called her.
“Where have you been?” she said. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”
“I’m going to stay at my place tonight, if that’s okay with you.”
“Your place?”
(He hadn’t stayed at his apartment, or referred to it as “his place” for five months.)
“But why?” she said.
“I’m miserable,” he said. “And I don’t want to take it out on you or the kid.”
“House, you’re supposed to share your pain with the people who love you. That’s sort of the how this whole thing works.”
“You once said that we average our misery,” House said. “But I don’t want you anywhere near my misery tonight. It’s toxic. Please just let me deal with this on my own.”
“House, no. . .”
“Cuddy, please. If you love me, give me one night to punch some walls and rage against the unfairness of the world.”
“At home,” she said, reluctantly. “Not at a bar?”
“Not at a bar.”
“And you promise you won’t take any…”
“Jesus, Cuddy, why do you think that all roads lead to me going back on Vicodin?”
“I don’t always think that. This is a rather extreme circumstance.”
“Can you just fucking trust me-for once?”
She recoiled a bit, at the anger in his voice.
“I do trust you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said, hanging up.
But 15 minutes later, he called back.
“I’m an asshole,” he said, chastened.
“No you’re not. You’re in pain.”
“This is why I need a night alone. I hate myself when I’m like this. I hurt the people I love.”
“House, I just want to be there for you.”
“Then let me be. Just for tonight. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, reluctantly.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she muttered, and stared helplessly at the phone.
###
Cuddy was completely useless that night. Her mind kept drifting to House. His impulse not to let his anger affect the ones he loved was a generous one, but what about hurting himself? There was no one better at self-destruction. He could be passed out cold on the floor or even cutting himself. Or maybe he had lied. Maybe he’d gone to a bar, gotten drunk, picked a fight, and was lying someplace in an alley. She shuddered at the thought.
And then something occurred to her: She had his cane.
He would need his cane, obviously, just to get around. She could check in on him, under the guise of returning it. Maybe he’d see it for the ploy it was, but hell, it was better than sitting around the house slowly driving herself crazy.
So she called Julia, asked if she could drop off Rachel for the night, and drove to his apartment.
She felt uneasy as she stood outside his door. She had been feeling so close to House these past few months, so wonderfully merged with him, but now it seemed like he was miles away. What if he got angry at her? Screamed? Accused her of not trusting him? Kicked her out?
Tough shit, she thought stubbornly. My peace of mind that he’s okay is more important than his ridiculous lone wolf routine.
So she knocked.
No answer. She knocked again, more loudly this time. Still no answer.
“House!” she yelled. “House!”
Now, of course, she began to panic a bit. She reached into her purse, found the spare key he had given her, and opened the door herself.
“House!” she said, entering the living room, which was empty. “Where are you? You’re scaring me!”
No answer.
And then she heard a faint sound, a groaning of some sort, coming from the bathroom.
She barged in.
What she saw was so horrific, it took a moment for her to process it completely.
House was lying in the bathtub, coated in sweat and blood, shivering. His leg was splayed open, he had scans taped to the wall. He appeared to be doing some sort of self-surgery.
“Oh my God,” she said, rushing to him.
He looked at her, barely able to focus.
“Oh my God,” she repeated.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket, dialed the hospital’s ER.
“This is Dr. Cuddy. I need someone to send an ambulance to Dr. House’s apartment right way. It’s an emergency.” And before House could protest, she gave his address and hung up.
“House, what the hell is going on here?”
“You were supposed to stay home,” he said, through chattering teeth.
“Thank God I didn’t. Please tell me what’s happening here. Are you operating on yourself?”
House licked his lips, which were turning a bit blue, and tried hard to stay conscious. He felt light-headed.
“I didn't take Ketamine,” he admitted. “I’ve been injecting myself with an experimental drug. It’s called Compound CS-804.”
Cuddy’s mouth dropped open.
“Are you suicidal?” she said. “That drug hasn't even made it to safety trials yet.”
“I thought it was going to work,” he said. “It was working. But there were unintended side effects. Like, well, dying. The rats were riddled with tumors.”
She grabbed the scan off the wall. The leg had three tumors.
“This is your leg,” she said, her voice quavering as she unsuccessfully fought off tears.
He looked at her.
“Please don’t cry,” he pleaded. “Please. I can’t deal with this if you cry.”
She inhaled sharply, tried to contain herself.
“You’re excising tumors?” she said.
“Yes. I already got one of them. They’re all close to the surface. Maybe you can call off your dogs, do the rest of the surgery yourself. I can walk you through it”-he gave a queasy laugh-“no pun intended.”
“House, are you out of your mind? You can barely stay conscious. And doing a surgery in a bathtub is a recipe for all sorts of disasters: Bleed-outs, post-op complications, infections.”
“It’s a very sterile environment. Well, was.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“You can’t take me to PPTH!”
“Watch me!”
“The surgeons there are idiots. They’ll just hack away at the muscle until my leg becomes as useless as they are.”
Cuddy closed her eyes. In truth, cutting off House’s leg would be a blessing in disguise. He’d be pain free. He could get a great prosthetic. They’d never have to deal with this insanity ever again. But of course, it was also his greatest fear.
“I won’t let them do that,” she said.
“You promise?” he said, his eyes at half-mast.
“I promise.”
There was a loud knock on the door as the ambulance attendants arrived. Even they seemed a little freaked out when they saw the hospital’s world famous diagnostician lying in a pool of his own blood in the bathtub.
“Easy there, we got you, Dr. House,” they said, carefully placing him onto the gurney.
Cuddy rode with House in the ambulance, holding his hand. His face was clammy and his blood pressure was low. He kept drifting in and out of consciousness. She squeezed his hand.
“Stay with me,” she said.
At the hospital, she bulldozed through protocol and got House to the top of the surgery list. Then she woke up her two best surgeons-Drs. Hardy and Hillman-and called them in.
“I’m not on call,” Dr. Hardy said, annoyed.
“You are now,” she replied.
When the doctors scrubbed up, Cuddy rolled up her sleeves and got washed right beside them.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Hardy said, eyeing her.
“I’m observing the surgery,” she said.
“Loved ones observe the surgery from up there,” he said, pointing to the observation booth. “Not the OR.”
“I want to be able to stop you if you’re cutting away too much of the muscle.”
“I’ll only cut away as much of the muscle as necessary.”
“Good. Then we shouldn’t have any problems.”
He looked at her and, realizing he had no choice in the matter, shook his head.
She followed them in.
The removal of the second tumor, as House predicted, was fairly routine. But the third tumor was proving more tricky, as it was lodged behind his thigh muscle. At one point, Hardy leaned in and said quietly to Hillman, “The muscle is half-atrophied as it is. Why don’t we just remove the leg altogether?”
“I don’t even know how the guy walks on this thing,” Hillman said back.
“With a whole lot of pain,” Hardy said.
They turned to Cuddy.
“We’re going to have to remove the leg,” Hardy said, like it was settled.
She squared her shoulders.
“Like hell you are,” she hissed, with barely contained fury.
“Dr. Cuddy. Your boyfriend suffers from chronic pain, in case you hadn’t noticed. And he’s so stubborn, he thinks he’s better off with this mangled limb. We’d be doing him a favor.”
“That is NOT your decision to make!” she yelled.
“Funny, I actually thought it was,” Hardy said.
“Save the leg, or I call in two different surgeons,” she said, her eyes flashing. “And you can both start looking for new work, effective immediately.”
Hillman and Hardy exchanged a look, then Hardy gave an irritated laugh.
“You’re as stubborn-and crazy-as he is,” he said, adjusting his surgical glasses so he could get a better look at the tumor.
######
House opened his eyes several hours later. Cuddy was curled up, asleep, in a chair she had pulled up beside his bed, still wearing her clothing from the night before, holding his hand.
When he woke, she stirred, woke up, too.
He immediately reached for his leg. When he felt it, his eyes fluttered and he heaved a sigh of relief.
“Thank you,” he croaked out. “I’m just so sor-”
“Shhhh,” she murmured. She stood up, smoothed his hair, kissed his forehead. “Don’t try to speak now. Just get some more rest. We’ll talk about this later.”
By the time he woke up again, it was the next night. Cuddy was sitting in the same chair, still in the same (now rumpled) clothing. She had bags under eyes. She was reading a book.
“Hi,” he said to her.
“Hi,” she said, surprised, putting the book down. “How are you feeling?”
“Relieved, grateful, bipedal.”
She gave him a loving smile but then suddenly her face clouded, like a dark thought had just entered her mind.
“You idiot,” she said. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“What happened to Nurse Cuddy who held my hand and kissed my forehead?” he said. “I liked her better.”
“That was when you were still in critical condition. Now you’re not. You lied to me.”
“The truth didn’t seem like it would go over that well: ‘Hey, honey, I’m going to inject myself with an experimental drug, wanna watch?’”
“You’re right. It wouldn’t have. And we both know why.”
“I take risks. I do it in my medical practice and I do it in my life.”
“Not cute House.”
“I’m not trying to be cute.”
“You almost died-and for what?”
“So I could be pain free.”
“That is such bullshit. Look, I know you’re in pain, House. I know your leg hurts every minute of every day. I’m not diminishing that. But this all started because you couldn’t run after a damn pickpocket in the park.”
House’s Adam’s apple tensed in his neck.
“So what if it did? I want to be a whole man for you. Is that so hard to understand?”
“House, I don’t care if you can run or not. I want you to be alive!”
House gave a half shrug, but didn’t reply.
“Were you even in Richmond?” she asked, shaking her head.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Just not at the hospital. In a hotel room. That’s where I first began injecting the compound.”
Cuddy closed her eyes.
“I’m so mad at you right now, I could spit. Do you know what it was like for me, to walk in on you in that bathtub?”
“Horrible,” he said guiltily. “It must’ve been horrible.”
“It was the worst moment of my life.”
He bowed his head.
“I’m sorry. I screwed up.”
She gave a sad sigh. Her voice softened a bit: “Look, you’re going to be okay and that’s all that matters. But I’ve been sitting in this same chair for 18 hours. I haven’t seen Rachel all day. I’ve got to go home and see my daughter and get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She stood up, gave him a half-hearted kiss on the lips, and started to leave.
He grabbed her arm.
“I love you,” he said.
“I know you do,” she said.
####
“So I’ve been dying to ask you,” Dr. Hardy said mirthfully to House, checking his chart. “Did you buy that home surgery kit at the Hobby Shoppe? Or did you find it at a yard sale?”
“Fuck you, Hardy,” House said.
“Ah, feisty again. That’s a good sign.”
He adjusted House’s IV drip.
“Can you bend the leg?” he asked.
House tried. “A little.” Then he winced in pain.
“Not bad,” Hardy said. “By the way, you can thank your insane girlfriend for that pain you’re feeling right now. Or for the fact that you have a leg at all. Hillman and I were going to amputate-which was the medically sound thing to do, as you well know. Dr. Cuddy had a…I believe the professional term is ‘cow.’ Threatened to fire us both. It was very Joan Crawford meets Medusa.”
House lurched forward, somewhat uselessly given his current state. “Say one more word about her and I will jump out of this bed and fucking end you,” he snarled.
Just then Wilson walked into the room.
“Everything okay here?” he said, noticing House’s coiled posture, and the obnoxiously smug look on Hardy’s face.
“Patient is almost back to his old self,” Hardy said, adding as he left: “God help us all.”
Wilson shrugged, confused, and turned back to House.
“How are you feeling?”
“Not bad for a guy who operated on his own leg two nights ago.”
“You’re an idiot,” Wilson said.
“That seems to be the consensus opinion.”
“Why the hell did you do it?’
“My mom told me I could do anything if I really applied myself!” House said, with false cheer.
“I’m serious.”
House rolled his eyes.
“Why do you think I did it, genius?”
“To fix your leg. Yeah, yeah, I get that. But you told me just a month ago that your leg hadn’t felt this good in years.”
“Domestic bliss will do that to a guy.”
“So why this ridiculous stunt?”
House looked at the bed.
“Recent events made me acutely aware of my own inadequacy.”
“The purse snatching thing?”
“That’s what started it, yeah. But it proved to be true. Cuddy has looked at me differently these past few weeks. She finally sees me as a real man.”
“Cuddy already saw you as a real man.”
House shrugged. “But it’s been better. Everything has been better--and yes, I’m talking about what you think I’m talking about.”
“You’re right,” Wilson said, to House’s surprise. “Your life would be better if you weren’t a cripple. But your life is pretty fucking great as it is, much as it pains you to admit it. You’re a world-famous doctor. You’re dating the woman of your dreams-who loves you right back. Do you know how upset Cuddy was these last two days? Inconsolable. She wouldn’t eat, she barely slept, she refused to leave your side. Maybe you should focus on what you do have instead of what you don’t. I’m sick of this self-destructive crap.”
And he stormed out.
House stared at the door for a second, scratching his head, until Cuddy appeared.
“Was that Wilson I just saw storming down the hallway?” she said. “It was all very dramatic.”
“Yes,” House said. “We had…words.”
“A fight?”
“Not so much a fight. More like, he told me what an asshole I’ve been.”
She sat down next to his bed.
“He does have a point,” she said, taking his hand.
“I know,” House said, looking down.
“How you feeling?”
“Fine now. That morphine stuff is as good as advertised.”
“Was this all just an elaborate ruse to get back on pain meds?” she cracked.
“No,” House said, seriously. “I’m actually planning on doing a little outpatient rehab after this, just to stay on the straight and narrow.”
Cuddy nodded approvingly. “Good for you.” Then she suddenly remembered something. “I brought you this.” She pulled a piece of pink construction paper out of her bag. “A note from Rachel. Okay, dictated to me-but her words and original art. Should I read it?”
House nodded.
“Dear House,
Please get better and come home soon because I miss you because you are cute and funny and you make mommy and me smile and laugh all the time and we have fun.
Love,
Rachel.
p.s. You are a bloody scallywag.”
She looked up. “I guess that last part is an inside joke,” she said.
House laughed, “It is,” he said. Then he frowned, “But cute?”
“Oh, trust me, cute is the highest form of three-year-old praise.”
House took the letter from Cuddy, looked at it. There was a picture of a smiling family-man, woman, child, and dog-in front of a house.
“Is that me?” he said, pointing at the man, who seemed to be about 7 feet tall.
“Of course.”
“And what am I holding? A gun?”
“That’s your cane, silly.”
“Ahhh,” House said. “Also, we don’t have a dog.”
“Subliminal advertising,” Cuddy said.
House smiled, carefully folded the letter and put it on the table next to his bed.
“Notice something Rachel didn’t mention in her letter?” Cuddy said, leadingly. “Your ability to swing her around or crawl on the floor with her.”
“Yeah,” House said. “I picked up on that.”
“And I don’t care about that stuff either.”
“But what about…other things?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“What, sex? Our sex life is and has always been off the charts. I thought you knew that.”
“It’s been better these past few weeks. Admit it.”
“I’ll admit no such thing. Each of my orgasms is like a beautiful snowflake. I love then all equally.”
Then, slightly embarrassed, she glanced at the door. No one was there.
“Yeah?” House said, cocking an eyebrow.
“House, I told you. I love your body. I love what your body does to my body. And trust me, my favorite part of your anatomy is definitely not your leg.” She gave him a dirty smile.
“Okay, I’m getting wood in a hospital bed. Probably not a good sign.”
“Au contraire,” she said, reaching between his legs. “A great sign.”
“Not helping,” he gasped.
She smiled, let go, sat back in her chair.
“House, to quote Billy Joel, ‘I love you just the way you are.’ So stop fucking things up!”
“I’ll just…I’ll never forget the feeling of helplessness watching that punk run off with your bag.”
“House, I’m going to tell you a somewhat embarrassing secret, in the hopes it will make you feel better. Do you know what I was doing moments before that kid grabbed my purse?”
“Wishing you’d worn a fannypack?”
“I was fantasizing about our wedding. In that park.”
He looked at her.
“Our…wedding?”
“Yes,” Cuddy said, a slightly sheepish smile playing at her lips. “It got very elaborate. I had the bridesmaids outfits all picked out. Rachel was wearing a crown of flowers.”
“Really?”
“I know, ridiculous. . .The point is-”
“Marry me,” he blurted out, before she could finish her sentence.
She stared at him.
“C’mon, don’t tease me.”
“I’m serious. I love you. And Rachel. So much. I’m an idiot for not realizing how lucky I am. How happy I am. How great my life is. So marry me.”
Cuddy didn’t say a word, just kept staring at him, in shock.
“I hope to God that look on your face doesn't mean that-”
“Yes!” she said, leaping up from her chair to wrap her arms around him. “I will marry you! Yes!”
House laughed, hugged her back, kissed her neck.
“But not in the park,” he said. “Too many bad memories.”
“Not to mention the bugs,” Cuddy said.
“And that crown of flowers idea is dumb.”
“Hey!” Cuddy said, swatting him. Then she laughed, “But you’re right. It is kinda dumb.”
He laughed.
“I love you, my future wife,” he said.
“I love you too, my idiot future husband.”
THE END
She began to notice his deterioration in tiny ways.
One day at the hospital, they were waiting for the elevator to go up to the third floor when he said, brightly, “Race you!” and sprinted toward the stairwell.
She expected him to be waiting for her when the elevator opened, looking at his watch, affecting an air of impatient boredom, but instead, he arrived a minute later, a slightly concerned look on his face.
“Back-up on the second floor,” he said. “Those nurses move like turtles.”
That was a lie and they both knew it. The stairwell was almost always empty.
The next morning, he didn’t wake her up early to go running.
When she looked at her alarm clock, it was 7:30.
“Hey,” she whispered. “We running this morning?”
“Rain in the forecast,” he said, curling his pillow over his ear and turning away from her.
Cuddy looked at the window-bright sun was peaking through the curtains.
The next day, she saw him limping down the hallway at work.
“You okay?” she said.
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I must’ve pulled a muscle or something. It’s possible I’ve been pushing myself a little too hard.”
“That wouldn’t be like you at all,” she cracked, and they exchanged an uneasy smile.
Two days later, however, his limp was so pronounced he was almost painful to look at. Any credible doctor would suggest a cane, or even a wheelchair.
She followed him to his office.
“House,” she said. “The Ketamine has worn off.”
The look on his face was one of both fear and confusion.
“But that’s impossible,” he said.
“Why is it impossible?”
His eyes widened.
“I mean, um, it’s only been seven weeks!”
“House, we always knew this was a possibility.”
He put his head in his hands.
“It doesn’t make sense,” he said, almost to himself.
“What?”
He looked up.
“Nothing. I…I guess you’re right.
“I’m so sorry.”
He swallowed hard.
“Yeah, me too.”
###
That night, he called her.
“Where have you been?” she said. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”
“I’m going to stay at my place tonight, if that’s okay with you.”
“Your place?”
(He hadn’t stayed at his apartment, or referred to it as “his place” for five months.)
“But why?” she said.
“I’m miserable,” he said. “And I don’t want to take it out on you or the kid.”
“House, you’re supposed to share your pain with the people who love you. That’s sort of the how this whole thing works.”
“You once said that we average our misery,” House said. “But I don’t want you anywhere near my misery tonight. It’s toxic. Please just let me deal with this on my own.”
“House, no. . .”
“Cuddy, please. If you love me, give me one night to punch some walls and rage against the unfairness of the world.”
“At home,” she said, reluctantly. “Not at a bar?”
“Not at a bar.”
“And you promise you won’t take any…”
“Jesus, Cuddy, why do you think that all roads lead to me going back on Vicodin?”
“I don’t always think that. This is a rather extreme circumstance.”
“Can you just fucking trust me-for once?”
She recoiled a bit, at the anger in his voice.
“I do trust you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said, hanging up.
But 15 minutes later, he called back.
“I’m an asshole,” he said, chastened.
“No you’re not. You’re in pain.”
“This is why I need a night alone. I hate myself when I’m like this. I hurt the people I love.”
“House, I just want to be there for you.”
“Then let me be. Just for tonight. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, reluctantly.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she muttered, and stared helplessly at the phone.
###
Cuddy was completely useless that night. Her mind kept drifting to House. His impulse not to let his anger affect the ones he loved was a generous one, but what about hurting himself? There was no one better at self-destruction. He could be passed out cold on the floor or even cutting himself. Or maybe he had lied. Maybe he’d gone to a bar, gotten drunk, picked a fight, and was lying someplace in an alley. She shuddered at the thought.
And then something occurred to her: She had his cane.
He would need his cane, obviously, just to get around. She could check in on him, under the guise of returning it. Maybe he’d see it for the ploy it was, but hell, it was better than sitting around the house slowly driving herself crazy.
So she called Julia, asked if she could drop off Rachel for the night, and drove to his apartment.
She felt uneasy as she stood outside his door. She had been feeling so close to House these past few months, so wonderfully merged with him, but now it seemed like he was miles away. What if he got angry at her? Screamed? Accused her of not trusting him? Kicked her out?
Tough shit, she thought stubbornly. My peace of mind that he’s okay is more important than his ridiculous lone wolf routine.
So she knocked.
No answer. She knocked again, more loudly this time. Still no answer.
“House!” she yelled. “House!”
Now, of course, she began to panic a bit. She reached into her purse, found the spare key he had given her, and opened the door herself.
“House!” she said, entering the living room, which was empty. “Where are you? You’re scaring me!”
No answer.
And then she heard a faint sound, a groaning of some sort, coming from the bathroom.
She barged in.
What she saw was so horrific, it took a moment for her to process it completely.
House was lying in the bathtub, coated in sweat and blood, shivering. His leg was splayed open, he had scans taped to the wall. He appeared to be doing some sort of self-surgery.
“Oh my God,” she said, rushing to him.
He looked at her, barely able to focus.
“Oh my God,” she repeated.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket, dialed the hospital’s ER.
“This is Dr. Cuddy. I need someone to send an ambulance to Dr. House’s apartment right way. It’s an emergency.” And before House could protest, she gave his address and hung up.
“House, what the hell is going on here?”
“You were supposed to stay home,” he said, through chattering teeth.
“Thank God I didn’t. Please tell me what’s happening here. Are you operating on yourself?”
House licked his lips, which were turning a bit blue, and tried hard to stay conscious. He felt light-headed.
“I didn't take Ketamine,” he admitted. “I’ve been injecting myself with an experimental drug. It’s called Compound CS-804.”
Cuddy’s mouth dropped open.
“Are you suicidal?” she said. “That drug hasn't even made it to safety trials yet.”
“I thought it was going to work,” he said. “It was working. But there were unintended side effects. Like, well, dying. The rats were riddled with tumors.”
She grabbed the scan off the wall. The leg had three tumors.
“This is your leg,” she said, her voice quavering as she unsuccessfully fought off tears.
He looked at her.
“Please don’t cry,” he pleaded. “Please. I can’t deal with this if you cry.”
She inhaled sharply, tried to contain herself.
“You’re excising tumors?” she said.
“Yes. I already got one of them. They’re all close to the surface. Maybe you can call off your dogs, do the rest of the surgery yourself. I can walk you through it”-he gave a queasy laugh-“no pun intended.”
“House, are you out of your mind? You can barely stay conscious. And doing a surgery in a bathtub is a recipe for all sorts of disasters: Bleed-outs, post-op complications, infections.”
“It’s a very sterile environment. Well, was.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“You can’t take me to PPTH!”
“Watch me!”
“The surgeons there are idiots. They’ll just hack away at the muscle until my leg becomes as useless as they are.”
Cuddy closed her eyes. In truth, cutting off House’s leg would be a blessing in disguise. He’d be pain free. He could get a great prosthetic. They’d never have to deal with this insanity ever again. But of course, it was also his greatest fear.
“I won’t let them do that,” she said.
“You promise?” he said, his eyes at half-mast.
“I promise.”
There was a loud knock on the door as the ambulance attendants arrived. Even they seemed a little freaked out when they saw the hospital’s world famous diagnostician lying in a pool of his own blood in the bathtub.
“Easy there, we got you, Dr. House,” they said, carefully placing him onto the gurney.
Cuddy rode with House in the ambulance, holding his hand. His face was clammy and his blood pressure was low. He kept drifting in and out of consciousness. She squeezed his hand.
“Stay with me,” she said.
At the hospital, she bulldozed through protocol and got House to the top of the surgery list. Then she woke up her two best surgeons-Drs. Hardy and Hillman-and called them in.
“I’m not on call,” Dr. Hardy said, annoyed.
“You are now,” she replied.
When the doctors scrubbed up, Cuddy rolled up her sleeves and got washed right beside them.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Hardy said, eyeing her.
“I’m observing the surgery,” she said.
“Loved ones observe the surgery from up there,” he said, pointing to the observation booth. “Not the OR.”
“I want to be able to stop you if you’re cutting away too much of the muscle.”
“I’ll only cut away as much of the muscle as necessary.”
“Good. Then we shouldn’t have any problems.”
He looked at her and, realizing he had no choice in the matter, shook his head.
She followed them in.
The removal of the second tumor, as House predicted, was fairly routine. But the third tumor was proving more tricky, as it was lodged behind his thigh muscle. At one point, Hardy leaned in and said quietly to Hillman, “The muscle is half-atrophied as it is. Why don’t we just remove the leg altogether?”
“I don’t even know how the guy walks on this thing,” Hillman said back.
“With a whole lot of pain,” Hardy said.
They turned to Cuddy.
“We’re going to have to remove the leg,” Hardy said, like it was settled.
She squared her shoulders.
“Like hell you are,” she hissed, with barely contained fury.
“Dr. Cuddy. Your boyfriend suffers from chronic pain, in case you hadn’t noticed. And he’s so stubborn, he thinks he’s better off with this mangled limb. We’d be doing him a favor.”
“That is NOT your decision to make!” she yelled.
“Funny, I actually thought it was,” Hardy said.
“Save the leg, or I call in two different surgeons,” she said, her eyes flashing. “And you can both start looking for new work, effective immediately.”
Hillman and Hardy exchanged a look, then Hardy gave an irritated laugh.
“You’re as stubborn-and crazy-as he is,” he said, adjusting his surgical glasses so he could get a better look at the tumor.
######
House opened his eyes several hours later. Cuddy was curled up, asleep, in a chair she had pulled up beside his bed, still wearing her clothing from the night before, holding his hand.
When he woke, she stirred, woke up, too.
He immediately reached for his leg. When he felt it, his eyes fluttered and he heaved a sigh of relief.
“Thank you,” he croaked out. “I’m just so sor-”
“Shhhh,” she murmured. She stood up, smoothed his hair, kissed his forehead. “Don’t try to speak now. Just get some more rest. We’ll talk about this later.”
By the time he woke up again, it was the next night. Cuddy was sitting in the same chair, still in the same (now rumpled) clothing. She had bags under eyes. She was reading a book.
“Hi,” he said to her.
“Hi,” she said, surprised, putting the book down. “How are you feeling?”
“Relieved, grateful, bipedal.”
She gave him a loving smile but then suddenly her face clouded, like a dark thought had just entered her mind.
“You idiot,” she said. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“What happened to Nurse Cuddy who held my hand and kissed my forehead?” he said. “I liked her better.”
“That was when you were still in critical condition. Now you’re not. You lied to me.”
“The truth didn’t seem like it would go over that well: ‘Hey, honey, I’m going to inject myself with an experimental drug, wanna watch?’”
“You’re right. It wouldn’t have. And we both know why.”
“I take risks. I do it in my medical practice and I do it in my life.”
“Not cute House.”
“I’m not trying to be cute.”
“You almost died-and for what?”
“So I could be pain free.”
“That is such bullshit. Look, I know you’re in pain, House. I know your leg hurts every minute of every day. I’m not diminishing that. But this all started because you couldn’t run after a damn pickpocket in the park.”
House’s Adam’s apple tensed in his neck.
“So what if it did? I want to be a whole man for you. Is that so hard to understand?”
“House, I don’t care if you can run or not. I want you to be alive!”
House gave a half shrug, but didn’t reply.
“Were you even in Richmond?” she asked, shaking her head.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Just not at the hospital. In a hotel room. That’s where I first began injecting the compound.”
Cuddy closed her eyes.
“I’m so mad at you right now, I could spit. Do you know what it was like for me, to walk in on you in that bathtub?”
“Horrible,” he said guiltily. “It must’ve been horrible.”
“It was the worst moment of my life.”
He bowed his head.
“I’m sorry. I screwed up.”
She gave a sad sigh. Her voice softened a bit: “Look, you’re going to be okay and that’s all that matters. But I’ve been sitting in this same chair for 18 hours. I haven’t seen Rachel all day. I’ve got to go home and see my daughter and get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She stood up, gave him a half-hearted kiss on the lips, and started to leave.
He grabbed her arm.
“I love you,” he said.
“I know you do,” she said.
####
“So I’ve been dying to ask you,” Dr. Hardy said mirthfully to House, checking his chart. “Did you buy that home surgery kit at the Hobby Shoppe? Or did you find it at a yard sale?”
“Fuck you, Hardy,” House said.
“Ah, feisty again. That’s a good sign.”
He adjusted House’s IV drip.
“Can you bend the leg?” he asked.
House tried. “A little.” Then he winced in pain.
“Not bad,” Hardy said. “By the way, you can thank your insane girlfriend for that pain you’re feeling right now. Or for the fact that you have a leg at all. Hillman and I were going to amputate-which was the medically sound thing to do, as you well know. Dr. Cuddy had a…I believe the professional term is ‘cow.’ Threatened to fire us both. It was very Joan Crawford meets Medusa.”
House lurched forward, somewhat uselessly given his current state. “Say one more word about her and I will jump out of this bed and fucking end you,” he snarled.
Just then Wilson walked into the room.
“Everything okay here?” he said, noticing House’s coiled posture, and the obnoxiously smug look on Hardy’s face.
“Patient is almost back to his old self,” Hardy said, adding as he left: “God help us all.”
Wilson shrugged, confused, and turned back to House.
“How are you feeling?”
“Not bad for a guy who operated on his own leg two nights ago.”
“You’re an idiot,” Wilson said.
“That seems to be the consensus opinion.”
“Why the hell did you do it?’
“My mom told me I could do anything if I really applied myself!” House said, with false cheer.
“I’m serious.”
House rolled his eyes.
“Why do you think I did it, genius?”
“To fix your leg. Yeah, yeah, I get that. But you told me just a month ago that your leg hadn’t felt this good in years.”
“Domestic bliss will do that to a guy.”
“So why this ridiculous stunt?”
House looked at the bed.
“Recent events made me acutely aware of my own inadequacy.”
“The purse snatching thing?”
“That’s what started it, yeah. But it proved to be true. Cuddy has looked at me differently these past few weeks. She finally sees me as a real man.”
“Cuddy already saw you as a real man.”
House shrugged. “But it’s been better. Everything has been better--and yes, I’m talking about what you think I’m talking about.”
“You’re right,” Wilson said, to House’s surprise. “Your life would be better if you weren’t a cripple. But your life is pretty fucking great as it is, much as it pains you to admit it. You’re a world-famous doctor. You’re dating the woman of your dreams-who loves you right back. Do you know how upset Cuddy was these last two days? Inconsolable. She wouldn’t eat, she barely slept, she refused to leave your side. Maybe you should focus on what you do have instead of what you don’t. I’m sick of this self-destructive crap.”
And he stormed out.
House stared at the door for a second, scratching his head, until Cuddy appeared.
“Was that Wilson I just saw storming down the hallway?” she said. “It was all very dramatic.”
“Yes,” House said. “We had…words.”
“A fight?”
“Not so much a fight. More like, he told me what an asshole I’ve been.”
She sat down next to his bed.
“He does have a point,” she said, taking his hand.
“I know,” House said, looking down.
“How you feeling?”
“Fine now. That morphine stuff is as good as advertised.”
“Was this all just an elaborate ruse to get back on pain meds?” she cracked.
“No,” House said, seriously. “I’m actually planning on doing a little outpatient rehab after this, just to stay on the straight and narrow.”
Cuddy nodded approvingly. “Good for you.” Then she suddenly remembered something. “I brought you this.” She pulled a piece of pink construction paper out of her bag. “A note from Rachel. Okay, dictated to me-but her words and original art. Should I read it?”
House nodded.
“Dear House,
Please get better and come home soon because I miss you because you are cute and funny and you make mommy and me smile and laugh all the time and we have fun.
Love,
Rachel.
p.s. You are a bloody scallywag.”
She looked up. “I guess that last part is an inside joke,” she said.
House laughed, “It is,” he said. Then he frowned, “But cute?”
“Oh, trust me, cute is the highest form of three-year-old praise.”
House took the letter from Cuddy, looked at it. There was a picture of a smiling family-man, woman, child, and dog-in front of a house.
“Is that me?” he said, pointing at the man, who seemed to be about 7 feet tall.
“Of course.”
“And what am I holding? A gun?”
“That’s your cane, silly.”
“Ahhh,” House said. “Also, we don’t have a dog.”
“Subliminal advertising,” Cuddy said.
House smiled, carefully folded the letter and put it on the table next to his bed.
“Notice something Rachel didn’t mention in her letter?” Cuddy said, leadingly. “Your ability to swing her around or crawl on the floor with her.”
“Yeah,” House said. “I picked up on that.”
“And I don’t care about that stuff either.”
“But what about…other things?” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“What, sex? Our sex life is and has always been off the charts. I thought you knew that.”
“It’s been better these past few weeks. Admit it.”
“I’ll admit no such thing. Each of my orgasms is like a beautiful snowflake. I love then all equally.”
Then, slightly embarrassed, she glanced at the door. No one was there.
“Yeah?” House said, cocking an eyebrow.
“House, I told you. I love your body. I love what your body does to my body. And trust me, my favorite part of your anatomy is definitely not your leg.” She gave him a dirty smile.
“Okay, I’m getting wood in a hospital bed. Probably not a good sign.”
“Au contraire,” she said, reaching between his legs. “A great sign.”
“Not helping,” he gasped.
She smiled, let go, sat back in her chair.
“House, to quote Billy Joel, ‘I love you just the way you are.’ So stop fucking things up!”
“I’ll just…I’ll never forget the feeling of helplessness watching that punk run off with your bag.”
“House, I’m going to tell you a somewhat embarrassing secret, in the hopes it will make you feel better. Do you know what I was doing moments before that kid grabbed my purse?”
“Wishing you’d worn a fannypack?”
“I was fantasizing about our wedding. In that park.”
He looked at her.
“Our…wedding?”
“Yes,” Cuddy said, a slightly sheepish smile playing at her lips. “It got very elaborate. I had the bridesmaids outfits all picked out. Rachel was wearing a crown of flowers.”
“Really?”
“I know, ridiculous. . .The point is-”
“Marry me,” he blurted out, before she could finish her sentence.
She stared at him.
“C’mon, don’t tease me.”
“I’m serious. I love you. And Rachel. So much. I’m an idiot for not realizing how lucky I am. How happy I am. How great my life is. So marry me.”
Cuddy didn’t say a word, just kept staring at him, in shock.
“I hope to God that look on your face doesn't mean that-”
“Yes!” she said, leaping up from her chair to wrap her arms around him. “I will marry you! Yes!”
House laughed, hugged her back, kissed her neck.
“But not in the park,” he said. “Too many bad memories.”
“Not to mention the bugs,” Cuddy said.
“And that crown of flowers idea is dumb.”
“Hey!” Cuddy said, swatting him. Then she laughed, “But you’re right. It is kinda dumb.”
He laughed.
“I love you, my future wife,” he said.
“I love you too, my idiot future husband.”
THE END