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No happy endings
by Anna
The key felt heavy and slightly sharp in Chloe's palm. She turned it over and over as the cab made its way through the streets. Jetlag made her thinking slow and jumbled. What had it been? Three time zones in one week? She felt tired right down to her bones.
But when the plane had landed, despite her tiredness, the first thing she did was make the call. Booty call. Greg House, smart, sexy, strange and somehow irresistible.
He was distracted when she called; not up for their usual flirty conversation. She told him she'd stay in a hotel, he could call her tomorrow. Maybe it was the threat of no easy sex, maybe his distraction him went away, whatever, he immediately got more interested in the conversation. Said he couldn't leave right away but she could pick up a key to his place on the way. He'd meet her there later.
It was strange being in his apartment by herself. Although she been there half a dozen times in the past few months - knew where the light switches were, knew there'd be no food in the fridge - it was all him, a single man's place. The last visit she'd learned where the porn was kept.
She dragged her suitcase into the bedroom and slumped it in a corner; headed to the bathroom for a shower. The warm water was cleansing, washed away the stale aircraft smell, but still her tiredness was overwhelming. She knew that the right thing to do was to greet him when he got home, be the uber-sex kitten, play a game. Pretend to be the perfect 50s housewife, hand him a martini, ask how his day was, maybe wearing an apron and the black lace-top stockings she'd packed specially. If she just had a quick nap, she could set an alarm and get up to do it.
The thought of opening and unpacking her suitcase to find something to sleep in was too much. A red t-shirt was lying crumpled on the floor, the bed barely made, the covers roughly pulled up. She picked up the shirt, put it on, crawled into bed. Apart from the lack of his touch, it was almost like her was there with her - she could smell him on the t-shirt, in the bed, all around her. She had a moment to take a single deep breath and then darkness took her in.
****
He walked in the door, closing it quietly, still lost in thought. His current patient wasn't improving and despite prescribing new treatment, he still wasn't sure he had the diagnosis nailed. Arguing with the team had kept him there far longer than he'd wanted and he knew he'd been getting more and more irritable as the night had worn on, even by his standards. Not only had he been frustrated by not being able to solve the case; he hated being forced to defend his opinion over and over. Of course, in the end they went off and did what he had asked, as usual.
Apart from all that, he was also keenly aware that some of the best sex of his life was waiting for him. His Frequent Flyer, Wilson had dubbed her, after that first weekend when he came into work whistling. Wilson had known immediately that something was up, and to be honest he hadn't had to try too hard to get the truth out of House. He'd been happy to kiss and tell. Brag. Not just the fantastic sex but the perfection of it all. She flew into Jersey every few weeks, they had amazing sex, then she left; lived her life elsewhere. She was funny, entertaining - not to mention hot - and never asked anything of him outside of bed. In fact other than her name, a vague idea of what she did as a job, and what made her scream when she came, he knew barely anything about her. And in contrast to most of his recent sexual encounters, there was no bill at the end.
Their last weekend together they had barely left the bedroom. Afterwards he had felt a rare calm, as if some frantic, panicked part of him had been sated - for a while at least. When she'd called today, well, he'd been in the middle of refereeing the bickering between Chase and Cameron about whether or not to do an MRI. Distracted. When she'd suggested seeing him tomorrow instead it had finally clicked in his head - and he knew he didn't want to wait. Not even a day.
Walking into the darkened apartment, he realised he had some undefined expectation of finding her waiting to greet him at the door in some of that sexy lingerie she had. It was disappointing to turn on the lights and find no nymphette sitting on the couch, drink in hand. He glanced at his watch and discovered it was 3am - about six hours later than he had estimated. The last differential had taken way longer than he thought. Ruefully he decided it probably was a little unrealistic to expect her to have waited up.
Despite expecting to find her in his bed, he felt vaguely unsettled to walk into his bedroom and see a sleeping body under the covers. He couldn't remember the last time there'd been a woman here without him. From the faint light drifting in from behind him he saw she was wearing one of his t-shirts - the one he'd been wearing yesterday to be exact, which he knew was more than a little ripe. The unsettled feeling increased.
She stirred, disturbed by the light. She saw him standing in the doorway, the light streaming from behind him obscuring his face. Sleepily she smiled.
"Hi."
He walked closer, sat down on the side of the bed. Looked her in the face, checked the t-shirt again, definitely his.
"So you made yourself at home." He'd thought it would sound welcoming, but it came out with an accusing tone.
She got him. He probably had a scathing name for girls who wore their boyfriends' clothing. Not that he was. Her boyfriend.
"I couldn't face opening my suitcase." She said simply. "Bit too domestic for you, huh?"
He didn't say anything, just pursed his mouth and raised an eyebrow. One of the things he liked about her - no hesitation in calling a spade a spade.
"So, how about I just take this off?" She reached down to grab the bottom of the t-shirt and started pulling it up.
He leant in. "Sounds like a good idea to me."
****
They woke up late to the sound of a beeper, a message demanding his attendance at the hospital. While he showered and changed, she stayed in bed, stretching, dozing, knowing she had a few hours before she needed to get to work.
"Are you going to stay in bed all day?" he asked, about to head out the door, thinking that the thought of her lying in his bed all day waiting for him would make his day very distracting indeed.
"I'd love to," she said, stifling a yawn. "I'm so tired I can't begin to explain it. But, no, I have to get up for meetings this afternoon."
"So... tonight?"
She took a sultry pose, batted her eyelashes at him. "Yes, I was wondering. How do you plan to seduce me?" she asked.
"I don't need to seduce you. That's what I like best." He leered at her.
She giggled. "So, how am I going to seduce you?"
"Thai take-out and a red thong is normally effective."
"Bring out some of that wonderful 15-year-old scotch, and you're on."
****
Although Chloe had only had one two-hour presentation and a short meeting, she was already exhausted. The jetlag hadn't lifted and she had a sore back from the ridiculously small airline seat and long flying time. She seriously thought about booking a hotel and cancelling dinner, but what she really wanted was to be with someone in a home, not another anonymous hotel room.
She spent most of her life in hotel rooms. They never really talked about her life outside of her visits with him, but she assumed he thought she had a family, a home somewhere. In reality she was a corporate nomad, splitting her time primarily between Jersey and two other cities where her major clients were based, plus visiting wherever she needed to for presentations and meetings. There was an apartment, but there was little enough of her there that it just felt like just another hotel room.
They'd met five months ago and she'd been in Jersey about six times since. Over her past few visits they'd spent more and more nights at his place, her hotel room sitting paid, and empty. This was the first visit she hadn't booked a hotel and that still felt kind of scary.
When she walked in, he was already there, sitting on the piano stool facing away from the keyboard, chin resting on the handle of his cane, lost in thought.
****
A couple of hours later, they sat finishing their take-out and drinking shiraz. They'd been doing their usual flirty, debate-team competitive conversation. Really, Chloe thought, it was surprising how many words you could use to say almost nothing. She wanted to ask what he'd been thinking about when she'd come in. But it had been five months now - she knew nothing of his life except that he was a doctor at Princeton Plainsboro - reasonably impressive too, from what she'd found on Google - he read a lot, played the piano and guitar, had an injured leg. He knew even less about her and things worked. Why start now?
She stretched, deliberately pushing out her breasts and shaking back her hair, knowing he would look.
"My back is sore from the flight." She said by way of explanation.
"I don't do massage." House was blunt, but the glint in his eye, showed he'd picked up her thoughts.
"Didn't expect you to. But you might take my mind off it in other ways."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Isn't there a Bruce Willis movie marathon on tonight? I believe you have the remote."
He faked a hurt look. "Do you really think Bruce is manlier than me?" He mocked a macho pose.
"Bruce rocks."
"Yeah, but can he do this?" He lunged at her from across the sofa, thrusting one hand down her top, spilling ruby-coloured wine over the floor.
****
Chloe woke in the early dawn, a greyish pale light barely visible outside. The pain in her back had moved to her stomach and she felt sick. She thought of the Thai food and about how embarrassing it would be to throw up at his place. Not exactly sex kitten material.
She really wished she'd booked that hotel room. Then she would have a bathroom to herself this morning. He was still asleep behind her, not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth from his body.
The pain in her stomach ramped up a notch and she groaned quietly. It didn't feel like food poisoning. She didn't know what to do. Get up and lie on the couch? She wasn't even sure she'd be able to stand up now. She supposed she could crawl. He'd once told her he'd had to do that, when his leg pain had been bad.
She rolled onto her side away from him and curled her knees up to her chest. That relieved the pain a little, but it was still increasing. A tiny feeling was fluttering around the edges of her consciousness. She realised it was panic, but she didn't want to recognise it yet. And still she knew she was going to have to say something, wake him up.
"Greg."
"Yes, Chloe?" He sounded awake, still breathing evenly as in sleep, but definitely awake.
"Umm." She paused as the pain clouded her thinking for a moment.
"Are you OK?"
"No. I'm sorry to bother you with doctor stuff, but I think I'm sick."
"What sort of sick?" He yawned.
"My stomach hurts. And I feel nauseous."
"It's probably just a bad prawn from the green curry." With a dismissive tone he sat up and stretched his bad leg as he always did after sleeping.
"That's what I thought, but it feels different to that."
"Turn over." He sighed.
"What?"
"Turn over so I can look at you."
The pain came back, stabbing sharp and she gasped. "I don't think I can."
"Of course you can. Turn over."
The only answer she was able to give was a low groan. Her brain didn't seem to be capable of sentences anymore and that little tiny flitter of panic was growing rapidly, blocking out any remaining coherent thought. She felt herself start to shiver.
"Oh God. Now I have to get out of bed and come around and look at you. You know that's not easy for me, especially now with my prodigious morning glory in the way." She could hear him muttering various complaints under his breath as he limped his way around the room, but also heard him grab his mobile phone from the bedside table.
She was aware of him standing over her, pulling back the bed covers.
"I need you to lie flat. Put your legs down and turn onto your back."
Clasping her knees to her chest seemed to be the only thing holding the pain at bay.
"No, I can't."
"Don't be ridiculous." He grabbed her knee and started pulling her leg straight. Through the cloud of pain she realised she needed to let him check her out. That it might end the pain. She slowly began straightening her legs out. Her breath left her as she moved.
Glancing down as her legs moved apart he saw the blood, red-black in the dim light; watched it pool and then overflow in a trickle down her thigh.
"Crap," he muttered under his breath.
She'd managed to stretch almost flat. Sitting down next to her on the bed, he started gently feeling her stomach.
"Chloe, are you pregnant?" His tone was cold, professional.
The question reached the exact centre of the flitting feeling of panic, lit it and caused it to dance like fire through her brain.
"What? No." Even without the pain, the last week of international travel meant mental calculations of dates were beyond her, at this very moment Chloe didn't even know what day of the week it was.
"Could you be pregnant?" Irritably, he stressed the words, already knowing the answer.
"I guess... I mean, I suppose it's possible." She paused, her breathing shallow. "But there's only been you. And we've..."
He interrupted. "Yes, yes I know." Sighed. His mind leapt to those few moments where the passion had just been too overwhelming, reaching for the condom seemed to difficult, too much of a mood-kill. Besides, he'd pretty much figured his range of addictions had made him infertile by now. He gave himself a mental slap over the head.
Grabbing his mobile he quickly dialled with one hand as he continued to explore her belly with the other. When he pressed a spot in her pelvis she just managed to stifle a guttural scream that seemed to surprise her just as much as it unnerved him.
"Does your shoulder hurt? Over here?" He pressed along her collarbone.
She seemed to have to think about the answer. "Yes," she whispered.
He spoke into his mobile as she answered. "This is Dr Gregory House. I need an ambulance to Apartment B, 221 Baker St going to Princeton Plainsboro Hospital. I have a patient with a suspected ectopic pregnancy who has started to haemorrhage."
While talking he cast about looking for an item of clothing. He found a shirt, crumpled at the bottom of the bed and folded it, placing it between her legs.
Ending the call he threw the phone down on the bed and began limping around the room, finding and pulling on a pair of trousers and then searching for a shirt and socks.
"Am I bleeding?" she asked, confused by his call to the paramedics.
"Tell me your favourite color." He said briskly, like someone who didn't like children being forced to talk to a six-year old.
Chloe was shivering properly now, but she wasn't sure if it was fear or cold. Somewhere she registered that she was naked, but she couldn't begin to think of how to fix that. His question barely penetrated the fog and she didn't answer.
"Chloe!" He spoke sharply and loudly. "Tell me your favourite color."
She realised of course, he needed her to stay conscious. Made sense. If only it wasn't so hard to answer.
"Blue."
"Blue's boring. Everyone says blue. I thought you'd be more creative"
"Gold."
"Gold's good."
"But not yellow gold," she said, teeth chattering. "Gold the color of the metal. The shiny gold."
"Not bad. Blood type?"
"O positive."
"Again with the boring answer. Everyone's O positive, it's as boring as dirty dishes on Saturday night. What's your star sign?"
"Aquarius."
He sat down on the bed next to her, now fully dressed. He had grabbed the red t-shirt he'd pulled off her last night and started to pull it over her head.
"Come on, the paramedics will be here in a second. There's no point covering your lower half, but let's not let them see everything for free." Again his tone was caustic, but his touch was gentle as he manoeuvred the shirt over her head and helped her arms through the sleeves.
****
In the ambulance he monitored her heart through the paramedic's stethoscope. She'd lost consciousness as they'd lifted her onto the gurney and now there was nothing that could be done until they got her to surgery. Just hope the blood loss wasn't too bad before they got her there.
He grabbed his mobile, dialled Cuddy's home number. She answered, groggy, obviously woken from sleep.
"This is Cuddy."
"Who is your best OB-GYN surgeon?"
"House? Is that you?" She put on her warning tone. "This better be important House, it's not even six am."
"It's important. My Frequent Flyer. Suspected ectopic. We're on the way to the hospital now."
His tone immediately sobered Cuddy. House and Wilson had deliberately let her overhear some of their ribald conversation about House's latest companion, the woman they'd dubbed the Frequent Flyer. She knew he was serious.
"Pearl is on call, he should be at the hospital. He's good. You can trust him."
"Thanks, I'll call him."
"No, I'll call him and meet you at the hospital. I'll be there as soon as I can."
He started to speak, "No, you don't..." But she'd already hung up.
****
Cuddy found him sitting on a couch in the waiting area on the surgical floor. She handed him the coffee she'd picked up in the caf downstairs.
He looked up just long enough to accept it.
"So, what's the story?" She sat down next to him, wanting to put an arm around him, provide comfort in some way. She resisted, knowing that he'd hate it.
"She's in surgery now. Pretty serious blood loss, but they got her up here from the ER pretty quick." He knew that had mostly been to do with Cuddy making phone calls, warning people of their arrival in the ER.
He glanced sideways at her. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." She smiled sympathetically and this time couldn't resist reaching over and briefly squeezing his hand.
They sat together drinking their coffees in silence for a few moments until finally House exhaled loudly and stood up.
"I don't even know what I'm doing here. Waiting rooms are pointless. Being on the same floor isn't going to make any difference to what happens." He pointed his cane to the television bolted to the ceiling playing a fuzzy children's program.
"And I have my own TV upstairs."
Cuddy watched him stride away with his cane, thought briefly about following, and then sighed back into the chair. She'd get Wilson to check on him later.
****
House had spent a couple of hours wasting time in his office. Sometime during his third game of online sudoku the call had come through - the surgery had been successful. There'd been a few worrying moments when they'd needed to shock her heart to fix a minor arrhythmia from the blood loss, but her heart responded immediately and now she was fine; she was in a room on the OB floor.
Once he figured he'd given Wilson enough time to get in and settle in his office he walked around, opening the door and going straight in. He was glad to see there was no patient he'd have to get rid off.
Wilson looked up at his friend, noted the extra strain around his tired eyes. His clothes were crumpled, hair messy; for House this wasn't out of the ordinary. But Wilson know House well enough to know the difference.
He sat heavily into the chair opposite Wilson and rested his head on his cane, staring down at the floor.
"Cuddy called me." Wilson said.
House nodded. "Cuddy's got a big mouth."
"House," Wilson said reprovingly. " I don't think Cuddy has exactly told the whole hospital."
House recalled their arrival at the hospital that morning. He'd been treated by the ER staff as a doctor accompanying a critical patient, not as a relative or a person with a stake in what was going on. Not until Pearl discreetly pulled him aside as she was being taken up to the OR. Patted his arm in a reassuring way and said he'd call as
soon as she was out.
House nodded. "Yes, you're right."
"The surgery all went fine?"
"Pretty much. They removed the tube ok, blood loss caused an arrhythmia, but they were able to get her back immediately."
"Wow," said Wilson, sympathetically. "So you've had a big morning."
House nodded, "I guess you could say that."
"And how are you coping with all this?" said Wilson gently.
"I'm fine." House still hadn't looked up.
"House," Wilson probed, "this is a pretty intense thing to have happen for anyone. Are you sure you're alright about it?"
"I said, I'm fine," said House, irritably.
"I gather this wasn't a planned thing?"
House looked up from the floor, incredulous.
"Yeah, Wilson, I've been keeping it a secret from you, but I've been working on impregnating all the women in New Jersey to create an army and take over the country."
Trust House to answer a probing question with a joke, thought Wilson.
"So you didn't know until this happened?"
"I don't even think she knew." House prided himself on knowing a bit about deceit. He was pretty sure she wasn't lying, her surprise at his questions too genuine.
Wilson tried to find the right words for the question he was burning to ask.
"And, you're sure it was... well... yours?"
House narrowed his eyes. "I haven't exactly had time to do a paternity test." He sat back in the chair and paused for a beat.
"But, she said there hadn't been anyone else, and I believe her."
"Ah." Wilson watched as his old friend ran his hand through his hair. It was a gesture Wilson knew came when he was annoyed, frustrated or just plain confused. "So what do you think this is going to mean for the two of you?"
House sighed. "I really have no idea."
****
House sat at the end of the meeting table staring out the windows as Foreman and Chase argued their point about whether or not antibiotics would be effective against the infection - if, in fact the patient even had an infection. Cameron futilely interjected every now and then. He hadn't been listening for sometime.
Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the glass door separating his office from the diagnosis room. Wilson. Fuming.
Wilson put his head around the door. "Dr House, I need to see you right now."
House got up and walked towards his office.
Chase and Foreman shared a puzzled look, belatedly realising their boss had been silent for some time and was leaving room without providing any direction. "So do we give him the antibiotics or what?" asked Chase.
"I don't know." House was offhand. "Do whatever you think won't kill him."
"But House," stormed Foreman, "you can't just walk away, we need to..."
"Just do your jobs!" House spat over his shoulder as he stepped into the office to face Wilson, closing the door behind him; oblivious to the incredulous expressions the doctors behind him shared.
Wilson glowered at him.
"What are you doing here?"
House didn't answer. He sat down at his desk, grabbed the ball sitting on it and began bouncing it off the wall.
Wilson continued. "Chloe's been out of surgery for hours now, probably conscious, and all alone. Have you even been to see her?"
House still didn't say anything. Wilson gave an exasperated sigh.
"House?" he questioned again. Wilson realised that this was going to be a long conversation. He sat down and waited.
After a while House spoke. "I should have known."
"You should have known what?" asked Wilson, genuinely puzzled.
"I should have known she was pregnant." There were certainly signs there, he thought to himself, recognising them now, in hindsight.
"That's what you're upset about?" spluttered Wilson. "I can't believe you. Everything that's happened and you're upset about missing a diagnosis? You're incredible."
"I should have known. She had that look." House thought about it. Actually he wasn't upset about missing not realising she was pregnant. Wilson was right, there was no way he could have known. But it would do as a reason for now. For now, while he couldn't put into words exactly why he felt so... responsible. Guilt wasn't an emotion he much experience with.
"Look House, from what you've told me, she didn't even know, so how could you possibly be expected to have worked it out? And not only that, being ectopic it's highly likely she wasn't more than six or seven weeks' gone. When was the last time you saw her?"
House smiled ruefully. "About six weeks ago."
Wilson took a different tone, gentler. "Knowing she was pregnant wouldn't have changed what happened."
"I know that." House paused. "I never though this would happen," he admitted, hesitantly. "Not to me."
"You do know what sex is for, don't you?"
"Cure for insomnia?"
Wilson rolled his eyes at the lame joke. "You need to go see her. She's alone here, you're her only friend. She's going to need a friend. And this experience has affected both of you - you need to talk."
House caught the ball one last time, put it down on the desk. He sighed, turned his chair to face Wilson. Sighed heavily again.
"That's the problem. I don't know what to say."
Wilson smiled at his old friend, full of sympathy, understanding how hard this was for him. He wished there was some way he could make this easier.
"Maybe you don't need to say anything at all. Just being there might be enough."
House paused, then got up, walked toward the door. He gestured to the three doctors in the adjoining room, still arguing over treatment.
"Don't let them kill him while I'm gone."
Wilson nodded.
****
Chloe knew she'd been drifting for a while. She'd woken up once when a nurse had been checking something next her. This time she felt more alert, was aware of the needle in her arm and a faint sense that there was pain, but it was at a distance, somehow separated from her.
Opening her eyes she could see light coming in from the window on her left. Turning her head toward it, she guessed it must be late afternoon. She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath, coughing slightly; her chest felt tight.
House stood learning against the wall, on the furthest side of the room away from the bed. He'd been watching her sleep for quite a while. While she was sleeping he didn't have to worry about what to say, what to do, what she wanted from him. He still couldn't give any thought to what it all meant to him, what had almost happened. But for that small biological accident that caused this pregnancy to end, he could have been ... he didn't let the thought continue.
Chloe opened her eyes again, lifted her head slightly to look around the room. Saw him standing there, not looking at her, slowly spinning his cane in one hand. To her right, through half-closed blinds, she could see a nurse station and people moving around.
"What happened?" her voice was croaky.
He stood spinning his cane in silence for a while. Finally, he said, "You had surgery."
Speaking seemed to propel him into action. He walked forward, grabbed the chart from the end of the bed and flicked through the top pages.
She watched him read though. "Care to translate?"
"You had what's called an ectopic pregnancy. The embryo implants in the fallopian tube instead of the uterus where it belongs. As it grows it ruptures the tube and causes bleeding. They had to remove your fallopian tube." He paused. "And the pregnancy too, of course."
"Ah." She moved in the bed, trying to get more comfortable as her mind tried to process the information. It was difficult enough coping with him playing the role of the doctor - a side of him she hadn't seen before. But then again, the side she saw of him was mostly naked, sweaty, and just a little bit desperate.
"My chest hurts."
"Yes, it'll hurt for a couple of days," he said, placing the chart back on the bed end and moving around to a chair beside her bed. "They had to shock your heart, it fell out of its normal rhythm because you lost a lot of blood." He hung his cane on the back of the chair and sat down heavily, looking out the window.
"You've had blood transfusions too, so that unoriginal O positive came in handy in the end," he said lamely.
She lay still, staring at the ceiling, chewing her lower lip; trying to put all the information together.
****
"He's where?" Foreman exclaimed.
"Down in OB with a patient, apparently," said Chase, again.
"He never visits patients." Cameron rose to make another coffee. "Must be some reason for him to be there."
"No, this is exactly like him," Forman complained. "He leaves us here to deal with this problem while he goofs off with some stupid new idea about treating newborns for migraines or something. We need him here or this guy is going to die."
Chase rose, "I'll go get him."
"I'm coming too." Foreman got up, a thunderous look on his face.
Chase and Foreman stormed out of the room just as Wilson walked in.
"So, what the current status?" he asked Cameron.
"What, do you mean House being AWOL or the patient?"
"The patient."
"He's critical. We need to decide on the treatment. Chase and Foreman have just gone to find House. Apparently he's been spotted in OB. Probably trying to steal the coffee in the doctor's lounge again." Cameron snorted dismissively.
"Chase and Foreman have gone to get House?" said Wilson, alarmed.
"Yes. He needs to get back here so we can..." Cameron trailed off as Wilson turned and rushed off after them.
"What is going on?" Cameron asked the empty room, futilely. She sighed, put down her coffee and rose to follow.
****
House watched Chloe out of the corner of his eye. Could tell she was processing the information, saw her biting on her lower lip. He waited, chin resting on his cane, looking out the window. They sat in silence for a long time.
She started to speak, but her voice didn't work properly. She cleared her throat.
"Was it anything I did?" she said, weakly. "I was drinking. We weren't ... well, gentle."
"No, nothing. Nothing you did, nothing we did." He spoke gently but firmly. "It would have happened regardless."
She nodded, still staring at the ceiling. He watched her for a while. This sitting around in silence was killing him.
He got up. "Scoot over."
"What?" She turned to look at him for the first time.
"Chloe, you weren't the only one who got a crap night's sleep last night, remember? And you've been lazing around, asleep for most of the day. Move over." He lowered the side of the bed and sat down, lifting his bad leg up on the bed as he turned toward her.
Gingerly Chloe moved over to make room for him on the narrow bed. She could feel the tightness in her belly and chest indicating the pain to come, but thankfully whatever they were feeding her through the IV was still keeping it far away.
She lifted her head so he could put his arm underneath and moved into him, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. The connection felt warm, reassuring. Their relationship - if that was the right word - wasn't based on talking. It was based on touching. Maybe, she thought, that was the only way they could communicate.
Whether it was the comforting touch or just that she'd finally had enough time to think, the shock, the enormity of what had happened began to sink in. Tears burned from nowhere and there was nothing she could do but let them out.
She was mortified, horrified to be reduced to a crying mess in front of him; dampening his shirt with her tears and snot. She knew his cock intimately, but otherwise he was more or less a stranger. It just didn't feel right to be sharing this emotion with him.
"I'm ... sorry ..." she managed through her tears and sobs.
He rested his chin on the top of her head.
"Yeah," he sighed, "me too."
****
Chase and Foreman had arrived on the floor and saw House standing in the room opposite the nurse's station. They both strode towards the door, but pulled up short as they saw what appeared to be House, actually talking with a patient.
"What is going on here?" exclaimed Chase.
Foreman grabbed a nearby nurse. "What's wrong with the patient in room three?"
Without even glancing over, she said, "Ectopic pregnancy. She had surgery this morning."
"And was everything normal? I mean, was there anything out of the ordinary?"
"Pretty serious blood loss, but other than that everything's standard. She's doing fine."
Wilson and Cameron arrived a moment later.
"What's he doing?" exclaimed Cameron, as they all turned to stare at House who had, astonishingly, started to climb into the patient's bed.
Foreman put his hands on his hips. "This is getting ridiculous. I have no idea what he's up to. Apparently she had surgery for an ectopic pregnancy this morning. It's completely routine. I mean, sad she lost a baby, but nothing medically interesting.."
Wilson sighed. "For three very smart people, you can be awfully dumb."
The three young doctors each turned to look at him.
"It hasn't occurred to you that House has had something personal going on today? That apart from it not being medically interesting, maybe House lost a baby today too?"
Cameron gasped, covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh my God."
Chase and Foreman looked sheepish and embarrassed at their outbursts.
"It's so hard to tell when he's being difficult because he's difficult..." began Chase.
"Or when he's being difficult because there's something going on," finished Foreman.
"Yes, I know, I understand," said Wilson patiently. "Go. Give the patient the antibiotics. Leave House alone for a while."
"Of course," said Cameron, starting to shepherd the other two towards the elevator. "Let me know if I can do anything."
"I will. I think the only thing we can do right now is leave them to talk." Wilson turned back. House's body lying on the bed faced away from him and shielded them from Wilson's view. He grabbed the nurse who was making her way to the room.
"Can you close the blinds for them? They deserve some privacy."
****
The nurse's soft shoes shuffled against the floor as she walked in the room. Quietly and efficiently she closed the blinds, picked up the chart and began making observation notes from the equipment.
She'd seen a lot of weird things in her time, but this was Dr House, the Dr House, comforting a grieving woman. It would be a great story for the nurses' lounge. She tried to appear as if she wasn't looking at them, seemingly giving all her attention to the equipment readouts, but meanwhile did everything she could to soak in the details: the woman crying softly, House's hand stroking her hair soothingly, murmuring calming sounds quietly.
Then she became aware of the way his hip was snugly fit into her waist, the way her hand rested on his thigh. It dawned on her that they were a couple, this was their baby they were grieving. She didn't think she could take quite the same pleasure in the gossip now.
"How much morphine is she on?" House whispered to the nurse over Chloe's head.
The nurse checked the chart and read out the number.
"Take it up to 20mg, I'll sign the chart."
"Yes, doctor." She made an adjustment to one of the machines, made a note on the chart, then left the room, closing the door quietly.
The drug took a while to take effect. Chloe's quiet crying had subsided, but it still took time for her breathing to even out until House was sure she was sleeping. Carefully he lifted her head and removed his arm, reshuffling the pillows to make her comfortable. He slipped out of the bed as agilely and quietly as he could, a difficult task - his leg was aching from lying in one spot for so long.
Taking a moment to swallow a couple of Vicoden he grabbed his cane from where he had rested it against the chair and left the room.
****
House slept badly, and it was past 11 by the time he made it into the hospital. He had no idea what to say, what to offer her. He just knew he needed to find out what she wanted from him. Was she expecting him to play nursemaid for her recovery? Was she going to want some kind of relationship from him now? He didn't know what he wanted, but he did feel like he owed her something. Not that it was his fault, but it took two to tango, and so far she'd been the only one paying for it. At 3am he had decided that at least if he knew what she wanted he could make decisions from there.
When he walked in the room she was pacing slowly, holding tightly to the IV stand, watching her feet carefully as if she needed to coax each of them to move.
She looked up briefly when he walked in.
"They told me I had to get up and walk."
"Yeah, that's what they say."
"It fucking hurts," she stated bluntly.
"I imagine it does," he said dryly.
She looked up at him and their eyes met - sharing meaning across the room. It seemed the like the first time they'd looked each other in the eyes since his apartment. In that instant they realised that they were mirror images of each other: him, leaning heavily into his cane grasped in his right hand, pain and a bad night's sleep etched on his face; her, supported by the IV stand in her left hand, pale face, eyes smudged purple.
They held each other's gaze for a long time, trying somehow to communicate feelings that couldn't be fitted into words.
She was the first to break away, moving back to the bed, shifting herself on to it. The movement hurt and she groaned.
"I'm sorry," he said. He'd meant it as an expression of sympathy for her pain, but he knew as the words left his lips that they were much heavier than that; weighed down with meaning.
She looked up as he spoke, heard the emotion. Nodded.
"So," she asked, looking away, "what happens next?"
House took a deep breath in and his next words came out exactly as he intended. Crisp, professional.
"Well, you'll probably experience some pain and bleeding for a couple of days. You'll most likely be discharged tomorrow, but you'll need a follow-up scan to make sure everything has healed properly. Otherwise you should be fine."
"Right." She pursed her lips, musing. "That wasn't quite what I meant."
"I know." He turned to look out the window.
It seemed they couldn't look at each other any more, that one shared glance had been all the emotional connection they were allowed.
She broke the silence. "I made a call this morning. My sister's coming to pick me up tomorrow. Taking me home." She was matter-of-fact. "I'm going to do my follow up there."
"Oh." House nodded, as if approving a particularly practical plan. "That makes sense, I guess."
"Mmm."
He stood awkwardly at the end of the bed for a few more beats, still looking out the window as she watched him.
He began to walk to the door, out of the room, but paused after a step. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he turned and walked back toward the bed.
Once again, one last time, their eyes met. They shared a sad smile. He leant down, she lifted her head, and their lips touched, gently, lightly, and held for just a moment too long.
He turned and walked out of the room.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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