A/N: I'm not sure how I feel about this one, but I just needed to get it finished and out there, you know? I reserve the right to take this down and fiddle with it if I get motivated.
Feedback: Gives me warm fuzzies and lets me know how I'm doing. Please review!
It wasn't fair.
It was usually House's MO to act like a petulant child, but Wilson felt like taking up the slack, as his friend was otherwise occupied, fighting off waves of pain. Irony must have a nasty sense of humor. Another clot, different leg. They'd caught it earlier than the last one, but this one was bigger and nastier, practically as dangerous as the first. Lightning wasn't supposed to strike in the same place twice. Well, technically it did, and this wasn't the same place, being the other leg, but Wilson wasn't going to let minor details disturb his inner ranting. He suddenly realized what he was thinking and dropped his head to his hands, unsure whether to laugh or cry. He was railing against Mother Nature—this is what being House's friend did to people.
Wilson straightened again and sighed, running a hand over his face and through his hair as he glanced at the man in the hospital bed. It was okay. House would get through this—he was too stubborn to die.
But it still wasn't fair.
Cuddy stood outside House's room, syringe in hand, fighting off a wave of deja-vu. It had been less than a day since Wilson had rushed into her office, stumbling over his words in his hurry. Telling her of wandering into House's domain on a break, lazily observing the diagnostics team at work. Watching as House rubbed his leg and grimaced, reaching for the Vicodin, such a rote gesture that nobody really paid attention. Until they all seemed to realize as one that it had been his left leg and not right, and House looked at Wilson in horror until the pain intensified and he collapsed to the floor.
It had been another clot, as they'd all already known. Cuddy instantly assigned herself to the case. She may not have been a practicing doctor for years, but she'd been House's doctor, and she'd let him down. She was going to get it right this time.
House insisted on the familiar treatment. Remove the clot and wait it out, chemically inducing a coma if the pain got too intense—"But without any surprises," he added, leveling his gaze at her. Cuddy held his stare for a few moments before looking away. House would get his way this time, even if it sent him to his grave.
The pain returned, and now Cuddy was waiting outside another door, identical snapshots separated by time. She was about to go in and administer the drug when Stacy rushed up to her. "I need to see Greg."
Cuddy drew herself up to her full height. She and Stacy may have been on good terms, but there was no way they were going to agree on this. "He doesn't want to speak to you."
Stacy scoffed, undeterred. "Greg never knows what's good for him. Get James out here—he's Greg's health care proxy now—"
"No." Cuddy's voice was soft but firm, and more effective than if she'd shouted. "We do what he wants this time. No going behind his back."
"I saved his life!" Stacy's voice was getting higher. "If we hadn't done the surgery, he could have died!"
"Or he could have pulled through with full use of his leg." Cuddy stated, her voice laced with steel. "But we'll never know what could have happened, will we? He doesn't want to see you, Stacy. Leave."
Stacy moved as if to speak again, but the door they were standing in front of opened and Chase and Foreman exited, apologizing as they brushed by the two women. Cuddy glanced at Stacy after the doctors passed, and saw the worry and fear in her expression shift to resignation and reluctant acceptance. "Take care of him," she whispered, then turned and slowly started walking down the hallway, never looking back.
Cuddy watched her leave. "I will," she murmured, then turned and opened the door, stepping back in time once again.
The overhead lighting in House's room was dimmed, a fruitless attempt to help keep him comfortable. Not even the morphine they gave him was enough to stop the blinding pain, although it had lessened in intensity for the moment. The meager light threw shadows onto the four other people in the room—Wilson, in a chair in the corner, and Chase, Cameron, and Foreman around his bed. Chase and Foreman were expressing their confidence that House would be on his feet and browbeating them again before they knew it. They were the first expressions of kindness and good will that House had received from someone besides Wilson for a long time. As much as House liked to think he was impenetrable, it helped somehow to know that the others were thinking of him, and he mumbled his thanks as they left. Cameron was still in the room, and his gaze went to her as she came closer to the bed.
Cameron's heart lodged in her throat as she took in the pale, exhausted man lying in front of her. House wasn't supposed to look like this. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that Wilson was still in the room, but it didn't matter. Everything but House faded into the hum of the hospital. She cleared her throat, hoping her voice wouldn't tremble when she spoke. "I'm having an odd sense of deja-vu, and I don't like it. I don't want to go through this again."
House frowned. "You weren't here last time."
Softly. "That's not what I meant."
Oh. House wasn't sure how he felt about that. He hoped he had the chance to decide.
"Don't know why I'm worried, though. It's like Wilson said—you're too stubborn to die." Cameron gave him a shaky smile, valiantly trying to keep the mask of calm in place. She could fall apart later.
There was a noise at the door, and then Cuddy was by House's side, reaching for his IV. "This won't take long, but then, you know the drill," she stated, giving him the drug. "See you on the other side."
"Not if I have to make up my clinic hours," House muttered. Cuddy dropped her head, a sad smile on her lips. "Of course not."
"Cuddy." House's voice caused her to look up again. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Cuddy said, voice thick, eyes bright. And then she turned and left the room, the click of her heels echoing behind her. Cameron pulled up a chair, then sat down and took his hand.
"You can't stay here the entire time, you know. There are rules, and work." House's voice was already slurring.
Cameron leaned forward. "We'll make it a game. See if you can catch me out of the room when you wake up."
When, not if. House could sense the promise beneath the words. He squeezed her hand, the warmth from it seeping up his arm. "Thank you," he mumbled, looking at her until his eyes finally slid shut.
And when House woke up, Cameron was holding his hand.
Fini