Rating: PG
CHAPTER SEVEN: GAME PLANS
In the morning,
When House enters the kitchen, sniffing the cinnamon-scented air appreciatively,
“Not like I’d have been much help,” House says, indicating the injured hand. “Mmm… this is good. Home health aide gonna be able to cook?”
“That’s what she does, House. Hence the phrase ‘assistance with activities of daily living.’ She’ll get your meals, clean the apartment, even do the wash. And she’ll get an occasional set of vitals and make sure you don’t injure yourself further by doing anything stupid.”
House is insulted. “Stupid? Me? What could I possibly do?”
“For starters, you could, oh… say… try to open a childproof cap? I know you, and trust me—the possibilities for danger boggle the mind.”
“Hmmph.” House suddenly develops great interest in the remainder of his breakfast.
“What’s your rush? Who’s gonna refill my coffee, get the plates to the sink?”
Are you actually asking me to stay? “I guess I could use a second cup myself.”
“Could be fun,” House says thoughtfully. ”If you don’t hover or anything.”
House pretends to consider it. “Okay then. Yeah.”
House cuts him off. “You know what, think we’d better leave things alone; be rude to cancel the agency on such short notice.” He reaches for his cane, stands, and exits the kitchen.
“Since when did you ever care about rude?”
House flicks his eyes towards
“Yeah.”
House leans his head against the back of the couch and sighs. What do you want from me? We gonna rehash the scrip pad again? Rehab? Or maybe just have another go at how I’m depleting
House, frustrated, lifts his head and begins to slam his right hand into the couch pillows. He stops the motion in midair, stares thoughtfully at the hand—and he hears Cuddy’s voice. You’ll have blown your chance… blown his chance… nothing will have changed….
“Shut up, Cuddy,” he says aloud—but there’s a contemplative gleam in his eye, and a slow grin sneaking its way across his face.
---
Before he can leave his office, the phone rings again; it’s the lab. He listens intently and thanks the caller. “Damn!” he says as he hangs up the phone. This changes everything; hope Cuddy has some ideas.
Cuddy has plenty of ideas.
---
“I’ve taken care of better-behaved four-year-olds!” she tells him. “More polite, too!” She puts her hands on her hips and glares at
“I’m terribly sorry, Sara. He’s… in a lot of pain, and sometimes it affects his mood. I’m sure he didn’t mean to--”
“Oh, he meant everything he said and did, Dr. Wilson! I tried, I really did—but for your sake, not for his. You’re one of the nicest doctors at the hospital; I’ve had a lot of clients tell me you’re an angel. I tell ‘em they’re right; you are. I’ll never forget how good you were to my mom. So I tried, but I’m sorry—it’s just not gonna work out. And how an angel like you can be friends with a devil like him, I’ll never know.”
“Sometimes I don’t know either,”
“It’s the nurse. The poor nurse,” Sara tells him. She shakes her head at him and leaves.
“That is not a patient!” she spits. “That is a nightmare.”
Lissa isn’t buying. “Compared to him,” she interrupts, gesturing angrily in the direction of House’s room, “Mr. Thornton was a lamb.”
Her eyes narrow. “I was attempting to carry out my responsibility to him when he went ballistic. First, he refused to allow me to do wound care; said you did it early this morning. Told me if I was any kind of a nurse, I’d know it had to be done only once every twenty-four hours. Accused me of trying to cause him extra pain!”
“Well, that was just a little misunderstanding. I did do the wound care; I should’ve notified the agency. My fault; forgive me?” This time
Lissa’s able to resist it just fine. “Oh, that isn’t all. They paged me on the way over here, told me to start a heparin lock, get the vancomycin going. So I tried to do that. When I told him the initial cultures were positive for MRSA and we needed to put in the heplock, he said I had all the sensitivity of a rampaging rhinoceros, and that no one was doing anything until he heard it from you. So now you can tell him, and you can start the heplock, and he’s all yours. And you’re welcome to him. Rampaging rhinoceros, indeed!” She storms out while
Surprisingly, it’s not all that hard to find sympathy for House. Probably wasn’t the best way for a specialist in infectious disease to learn that he’s looking at systemic MRSA. And he’s scared, and not about to admit it. Not to me—certainly not to some battle-axe nurse.
By the time
Chapter Eight