Hold On

Time seemed to blur by. He had no idea how long he had been sitting there. It was time to buy a new fucking watch. Not that he’d have really been paying attention to it if he had one. The heart monitor was a better way to mark the time. One beep. One more beat. One more breath. One more second, minute, hour, day she was lying here.

Wilson had thrown him out yesterday. Something about showering, shaving, and food. Spare clothes had been acquired from his office, and he did admit, but only to himself, of course, that he did feel slightly more human after a shower. Well, as human as he ever felt. Shaving wasn’t something he bothered with regularly, so he dismissed that recommendation, and when he returned to the ICU, Wilson was gone and there was food. Hospital food, but it was food. He ate a few bites and left the rest for the attendant to pick up whenever.

Wilson had left the vicodin bottle. Apparently he had concluded that House was unlikely to head home and retrieve his other bottle, or do something stupid with the nearly full new bottle. House cringed a bit at that thought. If he’d had the guts to off himself, he’d have done it five years ago. Five years ago, he’d genuinely thought he had nothing to look forward to. Today, well, there were a few bright spots. Very few, but enough. Harassing Cuddy, ribbing Wilson about his marital disasters, getting Chase to do his clinic hours, teasing Cameron about ‘girly Gs”.

Cameron. The reason he was sitting here. Actually, he really had no clue why he was sitting here. It wasn’t as if she’d know. She was unconscious. He just somehow felt compelled to keep an eye out for her, since he’d failed so miserably at that same task two days before. He could at least keep her chart away from prying eyes, make sure she stayed warm and well hydrated, and irritate the nurses. Plus, Cuddy seemed to be leaving him alone. He should’ve been in the clinic today. Or was that yesterday? Didn’t really matter. Hanging out here with Cameron was getting him out of clinic hours. That was as good a reason as any.

As he finished that thought, Chase and Foreman trampled noisily into the room. The sound was as jarring as fingernails on a chalkboard. “The noise isn’t going to wake Sleeping Beauty here. She’s sedated, not napping.”

Foreman at least had the sense to look properly chastised. Chase, on the other hand, was completely oblivious as usual and plowed right into whatever it was that he wanted. “Infant down in ICU. Looked normal at birth, but the skin blisters at any contact.”

House sighed. “Epidermolysis Bullosa.”

Chase looked surprised. “That’s it? No white board, no discussion? Just a diagnosis?”

“Yes. Are you done?” House snapped, wondering what it would take to get them out of the ICU and off to somewhere where they would be less irritating. Or at least off irritating someone else.

Foreman looked up uncertainly. “If they wake her… let her know we got all her stuff moved. Cuddy took care of her clothes and Wilson, Chase and I dealt with the rest. Even got the damn piano moved.”

House looked up in surprise. “Cameron has a piano? What kind of piano?”

Chase appeared as if he had no clue what House was asking. “The wooden long flat kind with the black and white keys?”

“You mean a grand piano?”

“I guess. It said ‘Steinbeck' or something.”

Foreman raised an eyebrow at Chase. “Isn’t Steinbeck the guy that wrote those books they made me read in high school?”

House sighed. “Steinbeck is the author. Steinway is the piano maker.” He paused, realizing what he’d just said. “How did Cameron manage to afford a fifty-thousand dollar piano? I know I don’t pay her that well.”

Foreman looked at him as if wondering which rock he’d been living under for the last year. “She got it when her grandmother died a few months back. Same way she got the money for the down payment on her new place… Wait a sec. That thing’s worth fifty grand?”

“I didn’t know that her -“ House stopped himself quickly. “What the hell were you morons doing moving a Steinway?!” As Chase and Foreman looked at each other blankly, House grabbed his cell phone and hit a speed dial number.

“Larry? Greg. I’ve got a friend with a Steinway. Two morons here decided to move the thing across town. Can you check it out? Make sure they didn’t do too much damage?... Oh… tune it while you’re at it?... yeah. Just bill me.” He hung up after acquiring Cameron's new address from Foreman and passing it along.

“Chase, go tell that moron pediatrician in the NICU that her patient has EB. Then, clinic. Keep Cuddy off my ass.” He turned to Foreman. “You, get back to Cameron’s house and let Larry in to take care of that Steinway. He’ll be there in twenty.”

As he settled back into his chair, his thoughts drifted to music. Steinway. His own piano was decent. Good, even. But a Steinway was every pianist’s dream. He could almost feel that perfectly balanced weight of the keys under his hands, the way the action sprung back perfectly every time… He paused when he realized he’d been playing air-piano on the railing of Cameron’s bed. Shaking himself back to reality, he filed away the thought that he’d have to find a way to convince Cameron to let him near that piano.

He picked up Cameron’s hand again, turning it over gently and examining the fingertips. He pressed gently on the nail, checking her capillary refill, noting that the pink tone returned to her nails quickly, as it should be. Good circulation to her fingers. If she actually could play that piano, she’d appreciate proper function in her hands all the more.

He glanced at the medication levels remaining in her IV, noting to himself that the sedatives should be wearing off in a few hours.

*****

He must have dosed off again. Sleeping in an uncomfortable ICU chair for two nights in a row is likely to do that to a person, though. Especially someone with chronic pain issues anyway, he reasoned to himself.

He felt a light pressure on his hand and looked up. Her eyes were open, and she was blinking as her eyes adjusted to the light level in the room. “House?” she rasped, her throat dry from almost three days of non-use.

He nodded. “Right here.

She tried to swallow and coughed slightly, wincing in pain as her eyes darted around the room. “Water?”

He glanced around and quickly located a pitcher and plastic cup on the table, pouring her a glass. He handed it to her, and, although her fingers closed securely around the cup, her hand and arm shook as she tried to lift it to her lips, spilling it slightly.

Instinctively, he reached out to help her, but something in him made him snatch his hand back a split second before he touched her. Stumbling over his words, he clumsily managed “Do you want me to help? Is that okay?”

She nodded, looking at him curiously. Permission granted, he reached forward, taking the glass from her hand, while he slid his other arm under her neck and lifted her slightly as he guided the cup to her lips. After a few swallows, he pulled the cup away. “Not too fast. Don’t want you to choke. You can have more in a minute.”

She glanced around, taking in her surroundings. “ICU. How bad?”

“You’ve got two fractured ribs. That’s why coughing and breathing hurt. You’ve got a fractured cheekbone and a moderate concussion, which is why your head hurts. You had some internal bleeding. Dr. Hill was able to repair a small rupture in your spleen, which is why you’ve got stitches in your abdomen, and why it probably hurts too. Do your hands and feet hurt?” He waited for her nod. “You had some minor frostbite. I think we’ve taken care of that, and we don’t think there will be any permanent damage.”

“Wha’happnd?”

He looked at her cautiously. How the hell was he supposed to handle this one? Figures. The one time Cuddy would actually be useful, she wasn’t anywhere nearby. “You don’t remember?”

She started to shake her head, but then her eyes widened, although it appeared her vision was still slightly out of focus due to the meds. “Was going home. Remember man. Pain. Lots of snow. Blood. Mine? You. You were talking to me? Called me Al’sn. Kept moving fingers. Counting. Remember shoes.”

He saw her eyes travel over to where he’d set her water glass. “More water?” She nodded. “Would you like help?”

Her confusion flashed across her face. “Why’re you askn again?”

House took note that her words were still slightly slurred. “I just want to make sure.”

She nodded. “Water, plse?”

He slid his hand under her neck again and brought the water cup to her lips, allowing her a few more swallows. “That’s enough. You don’t want to drink too much and upset your stomach. Vomiting with fractured ribs is, well, not something you want to be doing.”

She tried to lift her hand towards him, and the frustration showed in her eyes as her arm fell back to the blanket. “Why?”

Instantly realizing what she was asking, he explained “You’d lost a lot of blood outside, and more with the internal bleeding. We gave you two bags, but it’ll still take some time to get your strength back. The medications are probably contributing to the lack of energy as well.”

She nodded and he could see that she understood. She looked relieved at the simple explanation for such a scary symptom. “I’m sleepy.”

“You do realize you’ve been sleeping for three days?”

“Three days?” she repeated.

“Apparently your concussion was worse than we’d thought. Echolalia isn’t usually a symptom.” The remark prompted a weak smile. “If you’re tired, close your eyes. You’ll need to rest frequently to recover.”

“Mkay” Her voice was barely a whisper as her eyes slipped closed.

He waited until her breathing was slow and even, eaed over and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, collected his cane and headed for the door, glancing back to check on her one last time. When she remembered everything, he was certain he was the last person she’d want to see at her bedside.