Hold On

Chapter 19

His mouth moved before his brain could process her question. “Why?”

She shrugged. “It’s been a long day. Thought you might be hungry.”

This was one of those moments where his brain to mouth censor had utterly failed. “Because you have developed some recent compulsion to feed me, or because you don’t want to be alone?”

“A little of both, I think. Is that okay?” She seemed a bit uncertain.

“Fine. I just had to satisfy my curiosity.”

Dinner was in front of the television, as had become their habit. They ate silently, Allison staring at the television, and House looking back and forth between Allison and the television, wanting to say something, but having no idea what, certain that saying the wrong thing would be worse than the silence, and wishing for the first time in his life that his brain-to-mouth censor actually functioned. Finally after the credits scrolled and the screen turned to flickering black, he asked the question that had been on his mind all evening.

“Are you okay?”

“That depends.” She replied, her eyes remaining on the television.

“On what?” Was this going to be twenty questions?

“On your definition of ‘okay’.” She turned her shoulders to look at him. “If by ‘okay’ you mean alive, breathing, and relatively undamaged, then yes, I’m okay. If you mean no longer jumping at shadows and prone to fits of hysterics for absolutely no reason, then no, probably not.”

“I wouldn’t say you have no reason for hysterics.” He knew she had every reason. Hell, if House had been through what she had, he’d probably be catatonic.

Allison shrugged. “The ancient Greeks would say being female is reason enough.”

“And 19th century doctors prescribed vibrators.” There went that brain-to-mouth censor failure again. He reached for his beer.

Allison blushed, but looked him straight in the eye. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

House almost choked on his beer. He had been trying to avoid saying anything remotely sexual to Allison, but apparently the comment had been, if not well received, at least well tolerated.

“House?”

He looked at her, swallowing the last of his beer. “What?”

“Can I come back to work?” She asked softly.

“Eventually.” Of course she could come back, but she wasn’t ready now.

“Tomorrow?” She must have noticed the look on his face. “Just to do lab work or whatever. Not to see patients. I want to keep busy.”

“Next Friday.” He countered. That way, if she had a bad day, the weekend would follow.

“This Friday.” Two days. Way too soon.

“Your ribs aren’t healed yet.”

“They don’t hurt any more. Monday.”

He held up his hand. “Wednesday, and only if your shrink says it’s okay.”

“But you stop by tomorrow and bring the charting so I’ll have something to do.”

He held out his hand. “Done.” They shook on the deal, and he noticed as she smothered a yawn. He stood, picking up his coat. “I should get going.”

He saw a brief flash of panic cross her face before she got control of it. “Play a song for me? Just one?”

He had promised himself that he would give her anything she needed if it was within his power to give. He nodded and headed for the living room, tossing his coat over the arm of the couch there. Allison curled up on her beanbag to listen. He played until he was sure she was asleep, transitioning smoothly from one song to the next so she couldn’t protest that this was beyond the single tune she had asked for. When he finished, he picked up his coat and keys, and covered her with her blanket, leaving the hall light on for her as he left so she wouldn’t wake alone in the darkness.

*****

The next day, he brought the charting by, as promised, and they settled in for television and dinner. He had a new patient and no diagnosis yet.

“So your only symptoms are seizures and renal angiomyolipoma?” Allison raised an eyebrow, peering at the chart.

“Well, that and the retinal hamartoma he came in for.”

“But what causes tumors in the eye and kidney without anything in between? And how’d you find the kidney problem to begin with if he came in because of a vision issue?”

“Something didn’t sit right. I told Chase to run a blood panel. His kidney function was off.”

Allison chewed the end of her pencil as House sat on his hand to resist the temptation to smack it out of her mouth. Just as his willpower failed him, she removed the offending writing instrument and snapped her fingers. “This sounds familiar!” She jumped up and rushed up the stairs into her office.

House followed and watched as she manipulated the annoyingly cute mouse, ears and tail not hindering her in the least.

“Here it is!”

“Cameron, CNN is not a diagnostic tool!” House protested.

“No. House. Look at this.” He refused. “Come on. Humor me.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, glancing at the screen. “Tuberous Sclerosis Complex! “ Why hadn’t he thought of that? It explained everything, and was about as common as ALS. Feeling like an idiot, he whipped out his cell phone. “Chase. Go test the kid for TSC.”

Confident in his diagnosis, he returned to the den and propped his feet on the coffee table, Allison settling next to him to watch television. Later, she fell asleep in her beanbag as he played the piano.

They fell into a pattern. He’d bring by the new charting and update her on the patient, she’d feed him dinner and return the charts from the prior day. Then, she’d fall asleep to his playing, and he’d leave the hall light on for her as he left.

No longer on vicodin, Allison drove herself to her shrink appointments, and Dr. Westein had apparently cleared her to start work on Wednesday, provided she avoided direct contact with patients and stuck to lab work and differentials.

Finally, it was Tuesday night. House came by to pick up the charts, even though he knew it wasn’t necessary, as Allison could bring them herself tomorrow, but it was dinnertime, and he was hungry, and Allison was a good cook and was certain to feed him, which, of course, was his only reason for visiting. At least, it was the only reason he would admit. He couldn’t just tell her he wanted to check on her. He’d never say that, and he knew it wouldn’t be well received if he did.

After dinner, he informed her that he would pick her up at nine. His tone left no room for argument, although he knew she could drive herself just fine. He told her she was on his way, and even though they both knew that to be false, she didn’t call him on it.

He set his alarm that night, knowing he’d be late anyway, and rolled into her driveway around nine-fifteen. She had been watching for him, and he didn’t have the chance to get out of the ‘vette and knock, rushing out to the car when she saw him pull into the drive.

She greeted him with a “Good morning.” and he managed to refrain from responding ‘what’s so good about it?’. She yawned and settled into the front seat.

“Sleep okay?” He asked. She looked tired.

“Not really. Nervous, I guess. My stomach has butterflies. My first day back in a month.” She fidgeted with her hands.

“It’ll be just like old times! You’ll make coffee!”

“Chase’s coffee isn’t that bad.”

“True, except Foreman’s been making it.”

They both shivered. Foreman’s coffee was unquestionably bad, and occasionally thick enough to stand a spoon.

“I’ll take care of the coffee.”

He nodded, and they continued the rest of the way in silence.